Wishing Water (33 page)

‘You must see Doctor Robson again.’
 

‘Yes.’
 

‘And take more care. We don’t want you overdoing things.’ There were times when he wanted her to appear sensual and sophisticated, when he liked to invite men to dinner and watch them drool over her beauty and their wives grow cold with envy. He loved to sense their need, bask in their jealousy. But in the bedroom he preferred her to exhibit a more virginal appeal. ‘You must rest more. I shall insist upon it.’
 

She saw at once her mistake. If she became too tired to please him he would confine her to the house even more.

‘I’m just ready for a good sleep, that’s all,’ she said, sounding bright and cheerful as she went to draw the curtains. ‘What a dreadful night.’
 

He moved up behind her and slid his hands over her hips and down between her legs, making her jump, loving it when she gasped. ‘I need a contented wife. Willing and loving.’
 

Lissa eased herself gently from his grasp to attend to the other window.

‘I thought I might take the children for a drive tomorrow. I promised Meg. I haven’t seen her in ages.’
 

‘A drive? Alone?’
 

‘Why not? May I use the new car?’
 

He looked doubtful. ‘I would feel happier if I were to drive you.’

‘I can drive. I took lessons and passed my test, remember?’ It had been one of her minor successes.

She’d finished attending to the curtains and moved back to the dressing table. Philip watched every nuance of the way the silk gown clung to her slender body, the peak of her nipples thrusting against the flimsy fabric. The need in him was growing and he revelled in the anticipation, only half aware of her words. ‘You are such an innocent, my darling. Driving a car is a serious business.’

‘I’m perfectly capable.’
 

‘We’ll discuss it later, shall we?’ He smoothed his hands about her throat, kissing the nape of her neck.

Her chin came up, neatly evading his hand. ‘No, Philip, we’ll discuss it now. I want to go. I’m perfectly capable of driving myself.’ Rebellion was crisp in her voice and he felt a flush of irritation that she should spoil this sensuous moment for him.

‘Dear me. You sound like a sulky child.’

‘I mean to go.’
 

‘Perhaps your little adventures have gone to your head?’ He kissed her bare shoulder and she shrugged it away. A look of irritation came to his face. ‘I’ll take you on Sunday if you wish, and we can fit in a visit to Larkrigg at the same time. More effort on that score wouldn’t come amiss.’
 

Lissa bit down on a sigh of vexation but said no more, taking her frustration out on her hair as she dragged her brush furiously through tangled curls.

Philip smoothed the curls with his fingers, noting how she shivered at his touch, how she really wanted and loved him to touch her. ‘I can understand how you might have a problem with families, having been rejected by your mother. I know Meg claims to have loved you, but you’ve failed to keep her love, haven’t you? My own mother, now, was a wonderful woman, absolutely devoted to me. But you have me to take care of you now. I will never let you down, my darling. A visit to your grandmother wouldn’t come amiss, as I have told you many times. You could make more effort to build a relationship.’
 

‘Perhaps.’ Lissa was tired of the argument, wishing he didn’t make her feel so inadequate, knowing the subject would be brought up time and again until in the end she would be forced to agree for the sake of peace. I dare say you’re right, Philip.’
 

‘Of course I’m right.’ He laughed. ‘Aren’t I always?’

Lissa closed her eyes in despair. How could she fight him? It was like hitting a marshmallow that bounced and clung to you, resolutely sticky and sweet. Once she had longed to be loved devotedly, to feel she belonged to someone. And there was no doubt that Philip loved her. He couldn’t bear her out of his sight. Yet now she longed only for freedom.

‘We should give Rosemary a great-grandson. That would do the trick.’
 

‘I very much doubt she would care. Even if it were possible.’

His tone sharpened. ‘Most women find no difficulty in conceiving. Yet you’re dealing with this matter with your usual degree of incompetence. You don’t try.’
 

‘That’s not fair,’ Lissa cried, spinning about to face him, feeling the pain of his accusation as if it were really true, as if she didn’t spend hours each day dealing with revolting jelly from long white tubes. ‘I have tried. I never resist you, do I?’
 

He looked surprised at the very idea. ‘You make it sound as if you’re doing me a service.’
 

‘Sometimes I feel that I am.’ Reckless words, bravely spoken. Philip was not pleased. Dark eyes sparked with a quiet fury, the expression she most feared, as if he enjoyed these little spats, as if they added to rather than detracted from his arousal.

‘I need no favours, Lissa. I need a son.’
 

She fought for breath, for courage. ‘And I need a little more consideration.’
 

‘I devote my entire life to loving and caring for you.’ He took the brush from her hand and tossed it impatiently away, then gripping her wrist led her to the bed, urgent now, stripping his clothes off as he went.

‘Take off your nightdress. No, I’ll do it. I’ll teach you how to please a husband as a good wife should, then there’ll be babies. Just do as I say for once. No protests.’ As Felicity had used to do so very nicely, he thought, meekly obeying his every whim as a woman should. Dear, sweet Felicity.

‘Philip, please, you’re hurting me. Give me time.’
 

He had hold of both her wrists and was pushing her back on to the green silk cover. Then he took one of her hands and thrust it down between his legs, closing her fingers about his member. He felt her stiffen and flinch. Her resistance filled him with annoyance, firing the anger in him. He tried to push her head in the same direction but Lissa wriggled free, pretending she didn’t understand what he asked of her.

Hot temper showed itself in a white line above his tight upper lip. ‘What’s the matter with you? I’m your husband, dammit. You should be happy to love me, to do as I ask. Instead of chasing after independence and stubbornly resisting me at every turn.’
 

She knew he was right. She should want to love him. But she didn’t. Lissa could hardly bear to be near him any more, let alone touch him. ‘Please. Not tonight, Philip. Not like this. I’m very tired.’
 

‘Damn you, woman!’ If she didn’t become more amenable to his needs, he might have to consider chastisement, a touch more discipline. If he did ever resort to such actions, she could blame no one but herself. He pushed open her legs and drove himself into her, enjoying the sound of her cries. It gave him the proof he needed that he could control her body if not her obstinate mind.
 

Two days later Lissa went to call upon Miss Stevens. Her former employer lived in a cottage clinging half-way up Benthwaite Crag, its precipitous garden held in place by a border of clipped laurel, surrounded by a thicket of hazel and beech that stretched across the hillside and hid other, similar properties. A glass conservatory fronted the little house, offering a magnificent view of the lake and it was here that Lissa found her, busily watering plants. She smelled of damp earth and dahlias and welcomed Lissa as if she were an old friend. ‘How lovely to see you. How is Jan?’

‘In rude health, as they say. Produced a beautiful baby boy.’
 

‘Oh, how wonderful. I must send her a card.’
 

Once Lissa had enquired about Miss Stevens’ own health, admired the geraniums, commiserated over the loss of a favourite rose due to the notorious black spot and exchanged other family news she came eventually to the point of her visit. ‘I’m interested in taking on the lease of your old shop.’
 

‘Goodness me. Really?’ Miss Stevens looked startled. ‘But I thought you were married, to Mr Brandon?’
 

‘I am.’
 

‘With lovely twin daughters?’

‘I am, but...’
 

‘Then surely a lady in your station in life has no need to work.’

Lissa cleared her throat. ‘I would like to. I need to feel more fulfilled.’
 

‘My dear, isn’t marriage to a wonderful man fulfilment enough?’ Miss Stevens would have given anything for such joy.

Lissa took a deep breath. ‘May I speak in complete confidence?’
 

Miss Stevens looked suddenly panic stricken, having little knowledge of matrimony. ‘Oh, my, well of course, only – Mr Brandon is my solicitor and…’
 

‘I need to do this, Miss Stevens.’ Lissa nervously tapped the hanging bell petals of a pink fuchsia. ‘I need something of my own, and for my girls. I think my marriage may be in trouble.’
 

‘Oh, my dear.’ Shock registered in the other woman’s eyes. ‘Has he left you? Oh, my goodness.’
 

‘No, nothing like that. We are not particularly compatible, I suppose.’ How to explain her feelings of being held in a trap? That although her husband plainly adored her, he insisted on controlling every part of her life, even in bed, and she couldn’t bear it. But Lissa felt quite unable to explain all of this to Miss Stevens. ‘He is too possessive,’ she said, on a falsely bright laugh.

Stella Stevens set down her watering can and considered her ex-employee more seriously. She had suffered enough romantic disappointments in her own life to recognise distress when she saw it. She could see it in the haunted expression in the girl’s eyes, the pinched quality of the skin about the mouth, the darting glances and quick gasps for breath.

‘I believe a cup of tea is called for.’
 

‘That would be lovely.’
 

The tea was made and brought, along with triangles of cucumber sandwiches with the crusts neatly cut off. Lissa struggled to eat one. This meeting was even worse than she’d expected.

‘It is no concern of mine, my dear, but have you seen a doctor, for your nerves at least? And you’ll do that fuchsia no good at all if you don’t leave it alone.’
 

Lissa guiltily relinquished the flower petals and pleated her fingers tightly together in her lap, trying to keep them still. ‘Could we discuss the shop, do you think? I don’t have much time.’
 

‘Of course. I hadn’t really done anything more about letting it. It’s very rundown, you know.’
 

‘It doesn’t matter.’
 

Stella Stevens liked Lissa. She was lovely, sensible and intelligent, though at this moment her beauty had taken on a brittle quality quite at odds with the liquid, golden grace of the young girl who had first come to work at her drapery. She warned herself not to get involved, that it was no business of hers if Philip Brandon was proving to be a possessive husband. For all she knew he may well have cause. He was certainly not a man to cross for all his outward charm. He was a professional, a man of affairs. And a gentleman. A thought struck her.

‘Goodness me, you weren’t considering…’ she paused, breathless with horror. ‘
A divorce?
’
 

The word jolted Lissa. She hadn’t gone so far in her thoughts. It seemed rather too daring for her. ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Lissa admitted, and Stella grasped her hand in a gesture of relief.

‘Oh, thank goodness.’ And lowering her voice to a confidential whisper, ‘Divorce is not at all the done thing, you know. Very vulgar. You would lose your reputation, my dear. It is only for those scandalous women who are no better than they should be.’
 

Lissa stared at Miss Stevens in distress. Would this be how everyone would view her if she did leave Philip? Vulgar. Scandalous.
Just like her mother.
She could almost hear Rosemary’s purr of satisfaction at being proved right. ‘I’m sure it won’t come to that,’ she said. ‘I have my children to consider.’
 

‘Of course you have. I appreciate your confidence in telling me of your troubles, and not a word of it shall pass my lips, but I really think you should consider the matter most carefully before making any rash decisions. There is great stigma attached. Why, every week my magazine implores women to be good wives and mothers. It is up to the woman to make a marriage successful, is it not?’

Lissa set down her uneaten sandwich with a small sound of exasperation. ‘Then they are living in the past. You’d have thought the war would’ve changed all of that, wouldn’t you? Yet here we are, years later, as tied as ever. Duty. Obedience. Responsibilities. Making our husband’s happy. What about
our
happiness? Are we not entitled to some of that ourselves?’
 

Miss Stevens looked flustered by her cry for independence. ‘I know nothing of marriage, dear. As a maiden lady.’
 

‘You are a woman, Miss Stevens.’
 

‘Quite so, quite so.’ To cover her confusion she got up from the small table and, picking up a small pointed trowel, dug it into a pot of begonias, the soil as rich as fruit cake. ‘I must say I don’t necessarily agree with these opinions but they are generally held. I did have a young man myself, once.’ Her faded old eyes grew misty for a moment as her mind slipped back to those early days of her youth, before the war. ‘But Mama decided he wouldn’t be suitable. I’m sure she was right.’