The Hills and the Valley (45 page)

‘That's because he was on his best behaviour, I expect. He doesn't seem very different to me. Don't worry about it. Time is a great healer they say and I'm sure it will prove to be just that in Marcus's case. After all, he has his work to think about and he has you. I'm sure that's all he needs to come to terms with what happened.'

Barbara turned away helplessly. How could she tell his mother that she thought he hated his work and that she could be no comfort at all. She could not bring herself to tell the truth about their sterile relationship. It was too private. And even if she did she thought Lady Erica would remain unmoved. Nothing seemed to touch or disturb her, no emotion ever rippled the surface of her serenity. Barbara had a vision of her countering any confidence with her unruffled smile: ‘Oh yes, dear, Richard is just the same. It's nothing to worry about. You mustn't let it upset you …'

I don't believe she's all there, Barbara thought in irritation, as Erica reached for her embroidery and began stitching a delicate butterfly as if nothing else was of any importance.

Barbara continued to suffer in silence, wondering sometimes why Marcus had asked her to marry him at all. Then he had seemed to want her. Now he did not. On more than one occasion she cried herself to sleep waiting for him to come to their loveless marriage bed and wondered what she could do to improve matters.

One evening Marcus's bad temper had caused a major upset with his father. Throughout dinner he had been quiet and withdrawn eating little and drinking a good deal. When the meal was finished Sir Richard lit a cigar and stood up.

‘I want to talk to you, my boy, about the lease of the swimming bath to the council.'

For once, Marcus made no attempt to follow him.

‘Not tonight, Pater. I don't feel like it.'

‘That's beside the point. I saw Harry Hall today on a colliery matter and he spoke to me about it.'

Barbara pricked up her ears at the mention of her uncle's name.

‘He had no business speaking to you about it,' Marcus said pettishly. ‘I thought the estates were my responsibility now.'

‘They are. Which is why I want to pass on his comments to you.'

‘Won't it wait?'

‘From what Harry Hall says it has been waiting long enough already. He tells me the Clerk to the Council has written to you on three separate occasions and has not received a reply.'

‘I'll get around to it. I can't do everything at once.'

‘Sometimes I think you do bugger all!' Sir Richard exploded.

Lady Erica averted her eyes and Barbara's anxiety grew, along with a desire to defend Marcus. It really was not fair that Sir Richard expected him to be able to take on all the administration work and do it as well after a few months as his brother had done after years of experience.

‘He does his best,' she protested.

Lady Erica reached over, touched her sleeve and cautioned Barbara to silence with a small shake of her head. Sir Richard did not appear to notice the interruption.

‘We have to remain firm on this one,' he asserted. ‘The agreement on the council lease for the swimming bath does not expire for another three years. Now they want to pull out and have it revert to us – just because they allege it is it being polluted from the graves in the churchyard or some such nonsense. We can't allow that. We have their agreement in writing that they will pay us rent for it until 1944. We have to make it clear that we shall hold them to that or before we know it we shall be losing three years'rent. A letter must be sent to them tomorrow stating our clear intention.'

‘All right, Pater, you've made your point,' Marcus said sullenly.

‘I hope so. You can't run an estate without keeping on top of things. If you ran your unit like that it's no wonder you lost the lot of'em.'

Barbara saw Marcus whiten. She leaped up and ran to his side.

‘That's a terrible thing to say!'

‘True, though,' Sir Richard blustered.

Marcus's hands were clenching and unclenching, his face working.

‘I'd like to have seen you do better.'

‘Give me half a chance and I would have. The trouble with you, my lad, is that you think you can swan through life like you swanned through school. But it isn't one damn great cricket match. It's serious business.'

‘You think I don't know that?' Marcus yelled. ‘You think seeing my men killed was no worse than having my team all sent back to the pavilion? Maybe everything did come to me too easily. But I've found out about life the hard way. And death too. I‘ve learned more than you'll ever know!'

He turned and stormed out of the room. With an anguished look at Sir Richard, almost apopletic with fury, and Erica, still serenely sewing, Barbara ran after him. When she reached their room he was sitting on the bed, head in hands. She dropped to her knees beside him.

‘Marcus – don't! He didn't mean it.'

‘Oh yes he did.' His voice was muffled. ‘I've disappointed my father – you know that?'

‘Don't be silly. He gets impatient, that's all.'

‘I've disappointed him all my life.'

‘What nonsense! Everyone in Hillsbridge knows you are a hero. You were very brave.' Her voice was soft, eager. ‘You were decorated, Marcus, for what you did.'

‘Decorated! For losing all my men!'

‘For valour in an impossible situation.'

‘Tell that to my father! You know something, Barbara? All my life I've tried to live up to what he expected of me and I don't believe I've ever managed it. I wasn't clever like Henry. He was always held up to me as a shining example. Make sure you do as well as Henry, my boy. Don't let the side down. I knew I couldn't keep up with him academically, no matter how hard I worked and I wasn't that keen on work. So I tried to shine in my own way.'

‘And you did!' she said loyally, taking his hand. ‘You did!'

‘It wasn't enough for Pater. Oh no. He was still making comparisons.'

‘You're wrong, I'm sure. And he is very proud of you now. He must be.'

‘No. I know what he's thinking – that Henry wouldn't have lost his men.'

‘Henry wasn't even there. He was here doing nothing more demanding than running the estates.'

‘A damn sight better than I am! You see – I can't even manage that.'

‘Oh Marcus!'

‘I'm not even a proper husband to you.'

‘You will be when you're well again. And I can wait.' She felt strong suddenly. She dropped to her knees beside him, loosening his tie and collar button. ‘Come to bed. You're all in.'

He raised his head. His handsome face was ravaged. Then he reached for her pulling her in between his knees.

‘I love you, Barbara.' His voice was little more than an anguished whisper. ‘I know I have a funny way of showing it but I do. You're the best thing that ever happened to me.'

She wound her arms round him, resting her head against his chest so that she could feel the beat of his heart against her cheek. For long moments they remained that way, then slowly she was aware of the bridge of power that was building between them. Her chest was tight with tension and she was afraid to move or breathe deeply in case it was shattered. Then she felt his hands moving over her back into the curve of her waist and down to the curve of her bottom. Still she remained motionless. It had to come from him. Any move on her part and he would draw back. But beneath his touch every nerve seemed to be coming to life.

His hands moved up to the swell of her breast, slid round, unbuttoned her dress and slipped inside. Her nipple hardened as he stroked it. Then and only then did she lift her face so that she could see the clean cut profile of his cheek and chin. He eased her dress off her shoulders, she dropped her arms, a quick wriggle and it fell to her waist. He buried his face in her breasts, kissing the hollow between, then exploring with growing urgency. His lips moved to her throat and then they were on her mouth. With a small moan she parted her lips, kissing him back as she had not kissed him for weeks – months. Her fingers found the buttons of his shirt and unfastened them and she ran her hands over the muscular lines of his chest.

‘Oh Barbara!' It was a sob, almost inaudible. They moved as one; somehow they were lying on the bed. As she felt his weight on her she was afraid for one wild moment that even now he would draw back. He did not. He took her quickly, desperately, and too soon it was over. As he rolled away she wanted to cry out to him ‘No – don't stop – please don't stop!' but she did not dare. It was too fragile, this moment of communication between them; she had experienced so many rebuffs. And though her own need ached in her still, she was aware of a feeling of satisfaction. She reached out her hand and he took it, pressed it to his lips, then held it between them against his chest. Within moments it seemed his breathing had become deep and even and she knew he was asleep.

As her own sensitised body relaxed Barbara felt the warmth within her grow to a sense of anticipation. Tonight, for the first time, Marcus had made love to her – really made love. Tonight he had forgotten the horrors of war and his sense of inadequacy in her arms. Surely now they had overcome the barrier and from now on things would be different.

She sang next morning as she dressed and her face looked back at her from the mirror with its old healthy glow. Lately she had been looking more and more pale and peaky. Not today. Today she was buoyed up with the residue of pleasure from the previous night and the anticipation of all the nights to come. For the first time she felt like a bride. It was a good feeling. But it was not to last.

To Barbara's frustration and disappointment she soon discovered nothing had changed. After another day in his office Marcus came home as silent and morose as ever. And he made no attempt to repeat the experience of the previous night.

However, he did talk to her about his confrontation that day with the Clerk to the Council over the lease of the swimming bath.

‘I couldn't get anywhere with him at all. It seems the council are determined to close the bath and not pay us another penny in rent. Father is going to be mad as a hatter – I'll bet he thinks if Henry was dealing with it he would be able to sort something out. And I expect he could. But I can't.'

Barbara said nothing. Her mind was working overtime for an idea had occurred to her. Perhaps if she was to have a quiet word in Uncle Harry's ear he could do something. If Marcus could emerge the victor in this one small thing maybe it would bring him some praise from his father and bolster his self-esteem. But he must not know what she was thinking of doing. He must believe that anything he achieved had come about from his own efforts.

The following afternoon Barbara decided to pay a visit to Uncle Harry and Aunt Margaret. It was a Saturday so she knew it was likely they would be at home. Marcus and his father had gone to watch a rugby match at Marcus's old school and Lady Erica was resting; Barbara left a note saying she had gone out without any further explanation. Then she set out to walk the mile and a half to Uncle Harry's house.

It was a bleak afternoon, a gusty wind driving the newly fallen leaves into swirls and huddles at the sides of the road and a thick drizzle which would probably become fog at nightfall dripping down from the almost bare branches of the trees. Barbara turned up the collar of her coat and shivered. She was glad she was not spending the afternoon watching a rugby match.

She reached Uncle Harry's house, went around to the back door and knocked. After a moment it was opened by Margaret. She was wearing an apron and her hands were floury.

‘Barbara! What a surprise!' She opened the door with her elbow. ‘Come in, dear.'

Barbara went into the kitchen. It was warm from the heat of the oven, comfortably untidy with the pastry Margaret had been rolling out on the table and a clothes horse airing laundry in front of the fire. Thinking of the elegant rooms in her new home Barbara felt a twinge of nostalgia for the life she had left behind when she had married Marcus.

‘I'm just making a pie for tomorrow's dinner,' Margaret said, explaining the pastry. ‘I thought I'd get it done while I have five minutes to myself.'

‘Don't let me stop you!' Barbara took off her coat and hung it on the hook behind the door. ‘Are you alone?' She was glancing around for some sign that Uncle Harry was in; if he was not her plan would have to be rethought.

‘Elaine and Marie have gone to the Saturday afternoon pictures at the Palace. Thank heavens for the pictures, I say! I don't know what I'd do with them otherwise. It's really hard work to interest them in anything. And your Uncle is in the front room working on some council business,' Margaret said, unknowingly answering Barbara's question.

‘He's busy then,' Barbara said.

‘I'm sure he'll be pleased to see you. Pop in and say hello in a minute. But first
I
want to hear how you're getting on. We hardly see you these days. How do you like married life?'

She had returned to her pastry, neatly rolling and cutting as she spoke and suddenly Barbara wished she could tell her all her troubles. Margaret was so sensible, yet so caring – the warmest person I have ever met, she thought. And she was not involved as Amy was. Any advice she offered would be wise and impartial – there would be no ‘I told you so'from her. But how to begin? She could hardly blurt out that her marriage was a disaster, even to Margaret.

‘It's all right,' she said.

Margaret glanced up at her sharply then her face softened. She was very fond of Barbara and she knew instinctively something was wrong.

‘Adjusting is never easy,' she said. ‘You think because you love someone you can live with them anywhere, anyhow, but of course it's not that simple. And you've moved into a totally different world. It must seem very strange to you.'