That'll Be the Day (2007) (21 page)

She smiled down at him, cool and calculating, laughing softly as she saw the effect she still had on him. And of course her brazenness produced the desired effect.

Leo pulled her down beneath him, and, determined to rid himself of this other image haunting his consciousness he drove into her with a greed that shocked and repulsed him even as the blood roared in his ears and the sweat slicked his body. Helen was like a wild cat in his arms, biting and licking, spurring him on to greater heights.

When it was over she turned from him to coolly walk away, presumably to wash the smell of his sweat from her lovely body as she always did. There were never any post-coital cuddles with Helen. Talking was never part of their love-making. Sex, so far as she was concerned, was all consuming, not to be interrupted by soft words or romantic discussions.

Instinct told him that making love to Judy Beckett would be very different.

The thought of love making was not, at that precise moment, high on Judy’s list of concerns. She sat amongst the remnants of her slashed canvasses and wept. How could he do this to her? How could Sam be so cruel, just so that he could get his own way?

Even Ruth, not the most sentimental of girls and deeply loyal to her father, sat grasping her mother’s hand in speechless horror.

The child should have been in bed, of course, but she’d heard the row and the crashes, heard her mother run upstairs in a flurry of panicking sobs. The moment Sam had left the house, slamming the door behind him, she’d crept up to the loft to see what was going on.

‘Oh, Mummy, all your pretty flower pictures have been spoiled. And that one of me and Tom in the back garden. He’s ripped that too. Why would Daddy do such a terrible thing?’

Judy was struggling to steady herself. She felt as if she might actually vomit as she looked at the wreck of months of hard work, but the last thing she must do was to allow her children to hate their father. ‘Daddy lost his temper. People do bad things sometimes when they’re angry, like when Tom broke his fire engine by flinging it at the wall that time when I told him to put it away.’

‘Is Daddy angry, because you didn’t close down your stall? Doesn’t he like you doing so well?’

Ruth was far too astute for her own good and at least deserved an honest answer. ‘He thinks I should stay at home and be a better mother to you and Tom, and I suppose he’s right.’

‘I said he wouldn’t like it,’ Ruth agreed, her small face thoughtful. ‘I could always make the gravy in future, would that help?’

‘Oh, Ruth, this isn’t about gravy, sweetheart.’ Ruth never ceased to surprise her, one minute being deliberately difficult and objectionable, the next as soft-hearted and kind a daughter as any mother could wish for. She was growing quickly into a typically confused adolescent, and Judy had no wish to have her caught up in the back-fire between two warring parents. ‘Daddy just wants me to concentrate on being a good mum.’

‘Can’t you do both?’

‘I thought I could, but perhaps I shouldn’t have tried. Perhaps he doesn’t think my pictures are any good.’

‘
I
like your pictures, Mummy,’ Tom said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he came into the room.

‘Tom, you should be in bed asleep.’

‘I couldn’t because of all the shouting. Are you going to paint new ones?’

‘I don’t think I can,’ and when a tear trickled down Judy’s cheek, it was Ruth who wiped it away.
 

‘I think you should, Mummy. You think so too, Tom, don’t you?’

The little boy nodded, then clambered up onto his mother’s knee, not quite able to understand all the nuances of the discussion but anxious to show that he cared. He stroked his mother’s cheek. ‘I love you, Mummy, even if Daddy doesn’t.’

‘Daddy does love me, sweetie. You mustn’t think that. He’s just . . . concerned, that’s all.’

Ruth said, ‘But you mustn’t give up your painting. Remember when I didn’t get picked for the netball team and I said I wasn’t going to practise any more? You told me that would be wrong because God had given me a special talent to run and catch a ball, and I should use it. And look, they picked me for the team this year, didn’t they?’

Judy could hardly see her daughter’s face for the tears in her own eyes. ‘Yes, my darling, they did indeed.’

‘So there we are then. You’ll just have to paint better pictures next time, and make him see how important they are to
you
. We’ll explain to Daddy that you have a special talent, and that’s why you have to paint.’

If only it were so easy, Judy thought, hugging her children close.

Helen returned from the bathroom looking immaculate, as cool and enticingly beautiful as ever. She lay upon the bed with the clear message that she was sufficiently refreshed to start all over again, should Leo wish to. For some reason her very eagerness revolted him.
 

Leo stood staring blankly out of the window into the darkness of night, seeing nothing of the street beyond. ‘I’m thirty-six years old, my father is dead, my mother increasingly frail, and it’s long past time I justified my own existence. I feel as if time is running out for me too.’

A chuckle from the depths of the bed behind him. ‘Don’t talk silly, darling. You’re a man in his prime.’

He half turned to glance at her over his shoulder, savouring the pale outline of her shapely figure in the shaft of moonlight that slanted in through the window. This was how she had always appeared to him, like a moon goddess: distant, remote, untouchable unless she allowed him the privilege. He half smiled, still distracted by his own thoughts. ‘I’m growing older by the day. We all are. Beautiful though you undoubtedly still are, my sweet, you too are not immune to the passing years.’

Helen stiffened, dragging the sheet higher. ‘What a horrible thing to say. Are you implying that I’m growing old and ugly?’

Leo chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t dare.’ He came to sit beside his wife, taking her hand in his to stroke the long elegant fingers. ‘But if we are to have a family, it should be soon. I’m trying to say that time doesn’t stand still.’ Even as the carefully chosen words were spoken he felt her hand jerk away from his.
 

‘Don’t start that again. You know how I feel about babies.’

‘Did you use something tonight?’

He was looking at her with such sadness in those deep brown eyes that Helen felt obliged to look away. ‘Of course I did, I’m not a fool. Why won’t you accept my decision? My sister has ruined her health by having children, four of them for God’s sake, as you well know, and at least two more that she lost.’ A shudder ran down her spine. ‘And look at the result.’

‘Harriet seems very content with her brood.’

‘How can she be content living with a jobbing building who is struggling to keep a roof over their heads?’ Helen snapped, irritated that Leo refused to understand her point of view. ‘They live in that untidy, overcrowded little house in Atkinson Street and she has never taken a holiday in her life.’

Leo smiled softly at his wife, drawing her hand back into his and kissing her fingertips. ‘I’ve never heard her ask for one. Anyway, I doubt such a fate would happen to you, my darling, were you to become pregnant.’

Helen lifted a determined chin. ‘I am not as strong as Harriet. I might not even survive the pregnancy. The doctor has told you how very delicate I am.’

‘Doc Mitchell is an old fuddy-duddy. He told you what you wanted to hear, and it’s absolute nonsense. You’re a fine healthy woman and there’s no reason on earth why you shouldn’t have a beautiful healthy baby. Wouldn’t you like that, Helen? Wouldn’t you love to hold your own child in your arms?’

She looked up at him from beneath her lashes with cool indifference. ‘Why would I? Babies are such messy creatures, always screaming and crying, judging by my many nieces and nephews. Dreadfully demanding.’

Helen never tired of pointing out to him the mess and bother babies caused. In fact, Leo would have welcomed a little more disorder, some disturbance to bring this immaculately presented house to life. ‘I am reliably informed that one’s own children are far less obnoxious than other people’s.’

Helen suddenly got to her knees to grasp his face between her hands, flickering sensual fingers over his wide mouth. ‘There are so many
other
things we could do with our lives that are far more important, far more
useful
than producing noisy little brats. Power is what really counts in this world.’

He pushed her hand aside. ‘You’re not still trying to persuade me to aim for political glory? I thought I’d made it clear that I wasn’t interested? I have no desire to present myself as a rival to Harold Macmillan.’

‘Don’t be so damned stubborn.’

‘I’m perfectly content running my distribution business on the docks, which more than fulfils me.’ If there was a gap in his life, it wasn’t one that could be filled by politics. Leo wanted to be a family man, not stand for Parliament. Why could she not see that?

Helen shrugged off his protests as not worth listening to. ‘Nonsense! You’d make an excellent MP. I’ve said so a million times. Why were you so difficult when David Barford was attempting to make you change your mind the other evening? Did you have to be quite so blunt?’

Leaving her to drone on: all about how she was quite certain he could be the kind of politician who would appeal to the vast majority of electors and rise quickly to the very top, Leo got up from the bed to again take his stance by the window. He’d heard it all so many times before.

Now she was reminding him how he would never have been considered as a possible parliamentary candidate in the first place, if it weren’t for her own efforts on his behalf. ‘You simply don’t appreciate how much I have done for you, or how much
you
could achieve if you would only put your mind to it.’

When she finally ran out of steam Leo allowed the silence to lie between them for some moments before he responded. ‘Quite frankly, I wish you would cease making efforts on my behalf, Helen. The answer is no, and will ever remain so. I have no objection to becoming involved in community affairs, would in fact be happy to stand for the
local
council, but have no interest whatsoever in the national, let alone the international stage.’

‘But, my darling, you would be wonderful and I . . .’

Leo turned to offer her a wry smile which didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘And there’s an end of the matter.’

‘Are you deliberately trying to upset me?’

‘No, my dear, I simply need you to listen occasionally to what
I
have to say. I will
not
be involving myself in any parliamentary by-elections, this May or at any time. That is completely out of the question.’

Helen knew when he used that particular tone of voice she’d been bested. Even so, she must have the last word. She knelt up on the bed, her milk pale limbs draped beguilingly in the sheet, her beautiful face sour with temper. ‘How could you
possibly
consider refusing? It’s a
wonderful
opportunity, and not one given to just anyone. You could be
such
a success, and naturally I would be more than happy to continue to work on your behalf. That goes without saying.’

Leo made no response. He’d made his position clear. There was no point in arguing further. When did his wife ever listen to any opinion but her own? Silence, he’d discovered, was the best way to shut her up.

But it didn’t work tonight. She came to him, curling her arms about his neck, pressing herself against him. ‘We can talk about this some other time, darling, when you’re feeling less morose. I’m sure you’ll come round to accepting David Barford’s offer once you’ve got over your father’s death and start thinking more clearly. In the meantime, I’ve decided, Leo, that I need a car of my own. Having my own transport will allow me the freedom I need. I have so many functions, so many committee meetings to attend these days. All vitally important if we are to keep the right people sweet.’

‘Indeed.’ Leo’s tone was dry.

‘I believe I shall soon be adopted as chair of the resources committee for the new leisure centre. Then once you’ve got over your sulks and been elected as MP there may be times when you are tied up with constituency affairs while I could drive myself down to the country on my own, should I choose to. You can afford to do this little thing for me, couldn’t you?’

Leo drew in a rasping breath through gritted teeth. ‘I do a great deal for you already, Helen. When are you going to do something for me in return?’

She slipped her hands between the folds of his dressing gown, seeking to bring him to hardness once again. ‘I will do anything for you, Leo, you know I will.’

‘Except have my child.’

She gave a tiny, disinterested shrug. ‘Except that.’

Chapter Twenty-Two

‘So what kind of flowers do you fancy, Belle?’

Something to cheer me up.’

‘You do look a bit down.’ Betty selected a bunch of narcissi. ‘How about these? That’s what they’re called, Cheerfulness, and such a lovely creamy colour.’ Privately, Betty thought it a perfect choice for the market superintendent since in Greek legend Narcissus fell in love with his own reflection, and nobody could say that Belle Garside wasn’t full of her own importance. ‘And how about a few daffs to go with them?’ She added a dozen daffodils with bright orange trumpets.