Wishing Water (34 page)

Lissa squared her shoulders. ‘I’m only asking to rent the shop, that’s all. I can’t go on like this with nothing of my own, I really can’t.’

Or the girl would break. Any fool could see that. Miss Stevens nodded, looking thoughtful. ‘I shall give your request careful consideration, but I make no promises. And you would do well to remember that the law is not easy to face for a woman alone shunned by society.’ The dragon could still roar. And speak utter sense.

The weeks dragged by and Lissa heard nothing from Miss Stevens. Gradually she lost hope, nor did she find the strength to ask Philip again. The idea died, stillborn.

‘Don’t give up,’ Renee told her. ‘Tell him you want to be a typhoon like Mr Woolworth.’
 

‘Tycoon. I’m not sure that I do.’ Lissa would laugh and change the subject. She enjoyed her visits to Nab Cottage. Renee always managed to make her smile. And Lissa did decide to take up one of her suggestions. Surely there must be something useful she could do. It wasn’t exactly the kind of freedom she’d had in mind but it was a start.

‘I thought I might take up some voluntary work,’ she said one evening as she handed Philip his drink. ‘Just an hour or two a week.’
 

‘Excellent,’ he said, his attention on his newspaper.

‘I thought perhaps I’d ask Hilary. She might know of something I can do. Would you mind?’
 

She kissed him on his forehead and he glanced up, surprised. It was rare for her to be demonstrative and the gesture touched him. ‘Of course not, darling. The woman always seems to be dealing with some good cause or other.’ And it would do him no harm with Don Cheyney.

Lissa smiled, as if he had offered her a gift. He loved her best when she was weak and gentle, showing her dependence upon him. She’d turned out to be surprisingly stubborn, not at all like dear, sweet Felicity. Far less malleable than he’d expected or hoped for. There was the matter of her grandmother, for instance. He still had great difficulty in persuading her to visit Larkrigg Hall, with no sign of a reconciliation between them. Not that he had given up hope of winning that one. But then he always did win, in the end.

‘Did you see Doc Robson again today, as I asked?’
 

Lissa turned away, busying herself with arranging flowers that were already immaculate.

‘Yes.’
 

Philip wanted to know what treatment he’d offered to help her to conceive, if she must go into hospital for it, which would demand yet more lies. Lissa’s head was spinning with the complexity of the web of deceit she was weaving. The prospect of even more duplicity were she to acquire the shop, was daunting. Perhaps it was just as well nothing had come of that.

One of the old school, Doctor Robson had been unsympathetic when she tried to explain her problems. ‘You are depriving your husband of a son.’
 

‘As he tries to deprive me of my freedom, of any say in my own life, even in whether or not I want to make…’
 

‘Make what?’
 

Lissa, blushing with embarrassment, had stared at the worn carpet in the doctor’s surgery and pretended she’d forgotten what she was about to say. She couldn’t talk about sex, not with the doctor. ‘He seems obsessed. He must have me near him at all times. Constantly checking on where I am and what I’m doing. It’s unhealthy.’
 

‘It sounds as if you are a very lucky young woman. Few men care so much for their wives.’
 

She’d looked at him then with pleading eyes, begging for him to understand. ‘I was too young when I married, too inexperienced. I don’t know what I expected, but not this. I didn’t realise what I was taking on.’
 

Doc Robson had looked very sternly at her over his spectacles. ‘Then it is time you grew up, Lissa. You have made your bed and you must lie in it. Match your expectations to suit your husband’s requirements. That is your responsibility as a wife.’
 

She’d argued no more. There seemed little point. More worryingly he’d refused to refurbish her contraceptive supplies.

‘I think I’d like to discuss the matter with you both together,’ he’d decided, and Lissa had felt herself go quite white and shivery.

‘That would be too embarrassing.’
 

‘Don’t be silly, Lissa. He’s your husband.’
 

Taking her courage in both hands she’d tilted her chin and outfaced the doctor with a courage she did not feel. ‘I thought patient confidentiality meant these things should be private?’

‘Having, or preventing, children is something you should decide together, dear girl.’

‘I’m not ready to have any more babies yet. I had thought about trying this new pill which a friend told me about.’
 

He’d been so shocked Lissa thought he might have a heart attack there and then. Then he’d proceeded to give her a long lecture on sinful promiscuity, as if it automatically went with the pill. But she’d stuck to her guns and got the prescription she needed. Victory was sweet. How long it would last was another matter.

Now she faced Philip with another lie. ‘He says there’s nothing wrong with me. It’s just one of those things. We must simply be patient.’ She went to him and put her arms about his neck, wanting to distract him. ‘If we’re meant to have another child, one will be given to us. The twins are young yet. Doctor Robson says I’m a perfectly healthy young woman.’ That, at least, was true.

Chapter Seventeen

By February Jan announced that she was pregnant again. In late March, around the time of Lissa’s birthday, Philip insisted they visit Larkrigg Hall. She always protested vehemently but it was hard to deny Philip anything once he’d set his mind to it. And she wanted to see her family, so what excuse could she give?

They sat now in the shrouded sitting room, Lissa’s heart filled with dread as usual, Philip at his most charming. It was like a scene from her childhood bringing back all her old feelings of rejection.

Rosemary Ellis poured tea brought by Mrs Stanton, the housekeeper, more ancient and crabby than ever. She responded to Philip’s attempt at small talk with such a frosty politeness they might well have been strangers, instead of a part of her own unacknowledged family.

Lissa made no effort to join the conversation, having learned long ago that any remark from her was rarely granted the courtesy of a reply. She wondered why the woman even received them. As always, Lissa fixed her gaze on the panorama of mountains through the trefoiled windows, which brought their usual comfort, trying to detach herself from the scene being played in the stuffy drawing room.

She sipped her tea, not tasting it, longing for the agony to be over so she could return to the warm cocoon of Broombank kitchen and gather her children on her lap.

‘I’m glad to see you looking so well after your difficult winter,’ Philip was saying. He really could appear a most charming, handsome man when he wished, she thought.

‘I’m old,’ said Rosemary starkly. ‘Prone to colds and chills. Which no doubt pleases you.’
 

‘My dear lady, you have no idea how it distresses me.’ Philip set down his cup and saucer on the polished table and edged closer. ‘Forgive me for saying so, but you should not live alone in this big house, now that you are reaching your most vulnerable years.’ His voice seemed filled with genuine concern so that even Rosemary paused before barking out her reply.

‘Vulnerable years indeed. And I do not live alone. I have Mrs Stanton. We do very well.’
 

‘I’m sure you do. But there is really no necessity for it when you have a family only too ready to care for you. You could come and live with us, or we could move in here, if you prefer?’
 

‘I do not prefer,’ she snapped.

Thank God, thought Lissa, horrified by Philip’s unexpected suggestion. She certainly had no wish to live with Rosemary Ellis. But he was oddly persistent. ‘You would love the twins. Perhaps we could bring them to see you one day?’

No response.

‘Did we tell you that Melissa and I are trying for another child? A boy this time, hopefully.’
 

‘There’s no hurry,’ Lissa interjected, then flushed as Philip frowned at her.

She had said the wrong thing. Yet again. But sensible thought seemed to desert her when she had the eyes of these two people resting so critically upon her.

For the first time that Lissa could recall, Rosemary turned interested eyes upon her. For a full half minute grandmother and granddaughter’s gaze locked and she saw a terrible bleakness in the faded eyes. She’s unhappy, Lissa thought, and lonely.

A part of her ached to reach out and put her arms about the old woman, beg Rosemary to forgive her for whatever it was that had turned her so firmly against her in the past. She wanted to ask for her love, her acceptance at least, but then the face seemed to close and turn away, and Lissa felt the familiar rebuff like a slap.

Her grandmother had never wanted her, not when she was small, not now. She would never accept her. Even as a child when Lissa used to clamber on to Jeffrey’s knee and he would give her sweets and presents, laugh and play with her, Rosemary had never unbent a fraction from her rigid disapproval.

Now Lissa stiffened in the straight-backed chair, staring into the empty grate as she remembered doing as a child. Could that be the same cobweb? The very same spider? She would not allow the woman to see that she cared, that her words could still hurt.

‘There seems to be a problem, but we’ll resolve it,’ Philip said.

‘At least you are respectably married,’ Rosemary commented, glaring accusingly at Lissa. ‘I suppose we should be grateful for that small mercy, in view of her undisciplined, hoydenish youth.’
 

Philip laughed. ‘Hoyden? Hardly a word I would use to describe my wife.’
 

Rosemary stared at him without expression. ‘Then you do not know her very well. Or she has disguised her true character from you, as Katherine did from me. You have my utmost sympathy.’
 

Lissa felt a tremor come into her limbs. He would interrogate her later, ask what Rosemary meant. And she would feel guilty even though there was nothing to feel guilty about. She felt a prick of annoyance that they should talk about her as if she weren’t there. Lifting her chin, she outfaced them both.

‘I was no more a hoyden than any other child. Nick and I fell in the beck a few times it’s true, as children will. No other terrible misdemeanours that I can recall.’
 

Rosemary fixed her with the same cold unblinking stare while continuing to address her remarks to Philip. ‘I used to see her riding the fells on a pony, reckless and alone. Or wandering about on foot. Staying out all night on one occasion, up to goodness knows what. Meg exercised no control over her. None that I could see. She ran wild and free. It is a relief to see you using some discipline over her. She has long been in need of it. More tea, Mr Brandon?’ Rosemary twisted her face into what might pass for a smile.

Red hot fury was pouring through Lissa’s veins. How
dare
Rosemary Ellis talk about her as if she were a child needing correction, or a dog who needed to be trained? She found herself on her feet, limbs trembling, and two pairs of eyes swivelled to hers, surprised that she had dared move without their permission.

‘I think it’s time we returned to Broombank, Philip,’ Lissa said in her stiffest manner. ‘I must see to the twins.’ If she relaxed her control for a second she would burst into tears and shame herself before them both. ‘Meg will be wondering where we are.’
 

‘Sit down,’ he said, in his quiet voice. ‘Finish your tea and treat your grandmother with more respect.’
 

‘But…’

‘Sit down.’
 

Rosemary Ellis smiled, if only with her cold narrow lips.

Lissa was shaking, the cup and saucer clattering in her hand as she searched blindly for the table. The cup wobbled, fell over and rolled to the floor where it snapped into two pieces. The sound was like gunfire in the still room.

Lissa stared appalled at the broken flowered porcelain, then at the two coldly furious faces. ‘I-I’m sorry,’ she whispered, her throat constricting with fear and shame. But the anger was still there, deep inside, burning right to the heart of her. Then she started to speak, the words spilling out. ‘I won’t have you treat me like this, as if I’m some sort of problem to you both. I’m a living, breathing person who needs to be loved. Can’t
either of you see that?’
She looked wildly from one stiffly blank face to the other, then she was running from the room and the sobs were coming from her in great tearing gulps.

Philip did not speak to her for days. And when he did it was to demand she write her grandmother an apology, which she absolutely refused to give.

‘I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m not a wilful child in need of discipline.

‘That is exactly what you are.’
 

‘I won’t do it.’
 

‘I say you will. Old ladies sometimes say foolish, hurtful things but she is your grandmother.’