Wishing Water (29 page)

‘Is it the Yacht Club dinner tonight?’

‘No, that’s next week. Don’t you ever listen? We are due at the Cheyneys on the dot of seven-thirty.’
 

‘The Cheyneys. Of course.’ Nothing to do with either the Town Council or the Yacht Club. Don Cheyney was a magistrate of some standing, so the talk this evening would be of legal matters. ‘How delightful. It won’t take me long to get ready.’ It would be boring in the extreme. His wife would be no help at all since she was at least fifteen years older than Lissa and constantly trying to persuade her to join some worthy ladies’ group or other. Lissa stifled a sigh and started to pull the pins from her hair.

‘I’ll do that.’ She looked up, catching sight of his expression through the mirror, and felt her stomach clench.

Lissa stood unresisting as he released her hair, spread it upon her shoulders and combed his fingers through the tumbling curls from scalp to tip. Then he lifted it with one hand so he could kiss a bare shoulder. Lissa suppressed a violent urge to slap his hand away. ‘You said we were in a hurry.’
 

He half glanced at the clock but his eyes were already glazed, the pupils darkly dilated. It was an expression she had come to dread. ‘Not that much of a hurry,’ he said thickly, letting his lips linger over the silky skin. His hands slid to her buttocks. ‘Damn, you’re not wearing suspenders. Did you go out in those ankle socks again? Haven’t I told you always to be properly dressed?’
 

Lissa said nothing. She had learned the art of silence.

But he made her put them on now, and as she did so, she was aware of his growing eagerness. She watched him taunt himself by making her remove the silk slip and walk around the bed to him. He could barely wait for her to come to him before he was running his hands over her firm body and pushing her back on to the bed. He dropped his own robe to the floor, spread her legs and the next instant he was on top and inside of her. The pain of it was unbearable and she tried to lift her knees in order to ease it, putting her arms about him. His impatience was always at its worst when she had displeased him. ‘Wait for me, Philip. Give me time.’
 

‘Keep still, for God’s sake. You’re so clumsy.’ He shook her arms away, took hold of her wrists and held them back while he pounded into her, pouring out his frustration till moments later it was all over. For which she was deeply thankful.

‘God, that was good.’ He slumped against her on a great gasping groan. Lissa eased herself from beneath him. He never asked if she had enjoyed it, didn’t seem to require it. At least it spared her the need to pretend.
 

‘I’ll have to shower again now,’ he said, sounding irritable as if it had been her intention to distract him with unplanned sex.

He pulled on his robe and went into the bathroom while Lissa rolled over on the bed and curled into a tight ball, her hands between her legs, testing the sore tenderness there. But she did not cry. She never cried.

When they were first married, his love making, if that was the right name for it, had pleased her. He’d certainly behaved with more consideration, being gentle and kind, calling her his darling virgin bride, and she’d taken care not to disillusion him on that score. But she’d been young then and was so grateful to Philip for choosing her as a wife that she’d been eager and anxious for love, not minding if they didn’t quite reach the heady heights of ecstasy she’d found with Derry.

It was all her own fault of course. Somehow she’d failed in that as in everything. As time went by Philip became more ardent and demanding. No matter how hard she tried, she could not please him. Her inadequacies had at first distressed and then annoyed him. She was either too slow, too clumsy, or too tired. In the end he’d lost patience, accusing her of being frigid and abandoned all consideration for her.

‘Some women find no pleasure in sex,’ he told her on countless occasions, and were it not for the dreams which haunted her at night of reckless young love on empty golden fells, she might well have believed it to be true. ‘But
I
must have it, Lissa. You do understand that, don’t you, my darling? It’s a physical necessity for a man.’
 

‘Of course, Philip,’ she would assure him. ‘I want so much to make you happy.’
 

And he would smile and pat her cheek as if she were a child not able to understand such adult mysteries. ‘Of course you do, my darling.’
 

In their everyday life together he remained everything she could wish for in a husband, she told herself now. Exquisitely caring, in his own way, helping her to cope with the complexities of life. But in the bedroom his charm too often vanished, replaced by a driving need. He took what he required as and when he required it and her own needs were forgotten or ignored. Sometimes, as today, she made an effort to respond, to kiss or caress him. But it rarely worked.

She had learned it was better to damp down her emotions when he was in an impatient mood, and not think of what he did to her. Sometimes it took all her courage simply to stay ice cool in his arms, waiting for him to be done, glad when he was.

And really he was not unkind, Lissa thought as she struggled to pull the hair brush through tangled locks. Sometimes he could be charm itself, sweet talking and caressing her, making her feel like a young bride again, precious and beloved. He would often let her massage his shoulders and bring him breakfast or supper in bed, then read snippets of his newspaper to amuse and educate her. She loved to make him happy for that made her happy too, and they had grown used to each other, developed a sort of contentment.

So if she found little pleasure in their love making, how could she blame him? She was the one with hang ups about love, and belonging, as he very reasonably pointed out.
 

‘Wear the burgundy suit with the navy trim,’ he told her later as she reached for her favourite silk dress in lupin blue, which so suited her eyes.

‘It makes me look old,’ she demurred, but he took the blue silk from her hand and hung it firmly back in her wardrobe.

‘Let me be the judge.’

She put on the suit with its pleated skirt of a demure length, and short fitted jacket, and he told her how beautiful she looked.

‘Perfect. The very thing for a magistrate’s dinner.’

She couldn’t help but smile. ‘How fussy you are, Philip. But I’m glad you like it.’
 

He’d thrown away all her pretty cotton dresses and rainbow net petticoats, declaring them too young and frivolous. It was a new decade and a new era in her life, so she had made no protest.

Lissa called in to kiss goodnight to the children and Philip did the same. ‘We should have a nurseryful,’ he said, gazing on their sleeping faces. ‘Girls are very pretty and appealing but a man needs a son.’ As if in some way this would prove his virility or perhaps his status. Lissa made no reply. It had been a difficult pregnancy carrying two babies, a prolonged labour and worse delivery. It had taken her months to recover from the exhaustion and she had no intention of repeating the experience. Not until she had sorted out the problems in her marriage.

He led her out to the car as if she were a princess. ‘You will be the most beautiful woman there, and you know how much that means to me. I’d be lost without you.’
 

‘I know,’ she said, smiling radiantly up at him, loving this evidence of his adoration.

‘I may decide to join the Golf Club. Don Cheyney is the Vice Captain this year.’
 

As he pulled the front door closed he happened to glance at the coloured patterns in the pane of glass in the top of the door and ran his finger along the strip of black lead that divided each portion. He stared at the tip of his finger, grey with dust. ‘Have you cleaned this door recently, my sweet?’
 

Lissa’s heart sank. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow.’
 

‘Tomorrow never comes though, does it, darling? We’ve discovered that before, haven’t we?’ He glanced at his watch. The fingers stood at twenty past seven.

‘You’ll have to hurry. We mustn’t be late.’
 

Lissa was appalled. ‘You can’t mean that I do it now?’
 

Dark grey eyes opened wide. ‘Why not? No time like the present. I wonder sometimes what you do all day. Wasting time feeding the ducks. And keeping the children out far too late.’
 

‘The children like the ducks and…’ What was the use? ‘I’ll do it first thing in the morning, Philip, I promise. I can hardly start cleaning windows in my best suit.’
 

He was unlocking the door. ‘You should have thought of that before, my pet. It won’t take a moment to get a damp cloth. Wear an apron and rubber gloves. We don’t want you to spoil those lovely nails.’
 

He stood on the doorstep, tapping his foot impatiently while Lissa hurried into her pristine kitchen, smartly decked out with every modern appliance, and collected the necessary items. She was flushed and flustered by the time the task was done to Philip’s satisfaction, and tendrils of carefully lacquered hair were already escaping to lie with clammy heat on her brow.

By the time she’d hurried back to the kitchen with the bowl, wrung out the cloth and hung the gloves on the taps to dry he was calling for her, a note of hard impatience in his voice. ‘It’s twenty-five to eight.’

‘The fault is all Lissa’s,’ he informed their hosts as they arrived twenty minutes late with everyone else well into the soup course. ‘You know how women are. Such perfectionists.’
 

All she could do was bite on her lip and try to smile so that the tears that blocked her throat would not betray her.

Lissa cleaned the house from top to bottom the next day. Not that it needed it. Every surface gleamed, the mahogany table in the hall reflected a carefully arranged copper bowl of gold chrysanthemums as if it were made of glass. The pristine white paintwork glistened in the sun. Even the tastefully plain blue carpet looked brand new. Indeed she kept out of the drawing room for fear of marking the pile with her footprints.

But she knew that once Philip had spotted an imperfection he was likely to go on the hunt for more. It made her feel dreadful when he found her wanting in some way. It simply wasn’t worth the risk.

When she had vacuumed every square inch of carpet and dusted and polished the furniture till it glowed, she switched on the electric kettle and settled herself with a thankful sigh on one of the lemon yellow kitchen chairs, a magazine and a plate of biscuits to hand. She felt more comfortable in the kitchen, where she wouldn’t mess things up. Lissa pulled the pins from her hair, fluffing it free with her fingers, the way she preferred it.

When Nanny brought back the twins from their shopping expedition she would play with them in the nursery until it was time for their afternoon nap. That was her escape. The twins made her life worthwhile.

Even so the day stretched endlessly before her. There were times when she longed for the heady freedom of the drapers shop with Miss Stevens calling them ‘my dear gels’ in that frosty manner she had. You knew where you were with old Stevens, dragon though she undoubtedly was. Lissa was never quite sure with Philip.

But Stella Stevens had long since retired. The old drapery was now a not very successful Gifte Shoppe, providing the increasing numbers of visitors who crowded the streets of Carreckwater with rather tacky souvenirs. And even if it had still been there, Philip would never have countenanced her working. She was a wife and mother, that should be enough. Lissa wondered why it wasn’t.

He’d been quite shocked once when she’d suggested she might take a part-time job. Almost as outraged as if she’d suggested taking a lover.

‘I hope I can keep my wife without her needing to demean herself by clocking in every morning.’
 

‘But the house doesn’t fill my day and it would only be in the mornings. Nanny is with the children in any case.’
 

‘I won’t have you worn out when I come home from the office.’ Since then he had perversely made sure that her day was filled to capacity. If she could not find sufficient tasks, he found them for her, or make her do them all over again.

It was a large house. Six bedrooms, attics, cellars, and three reception rooms all on different levels. Spacious lofty rooms filled with old fashioned furniture, cornices, picture rails and stained glass windows that were all difficult to clean. The fact that most of the rooms were never used did not prevent the necessity of their having to be turned out regularly. Certainly not in Philip’s view. He was punctilious in keeping her up to the mark, as he put it.

‘They still get dusty,’ he told her. ‘What if someone should call or come to stay?’
 

‘Who?’
 

‘I’ve no idea. Does it matter? We must be prepared for all contingencies.’
 

‘I could cover the furniture with dust sheets in the rooms we don’t use.’
 

‘I’ll not live in a museum.’

‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t think.’
 

He shook his head with a sigh of exasperation. ‘You never do. Leave the thinking to me, darling.’