Miranda's Marriage

by Margery Hilton

  'What for?'

  'You know what for.'

  'Of course I've forgiven you—would I be having lunch with you today if I hadn't?' Miranda sighed. 'You did what you thought was best. Now please… let's forget it.'

  Susan nodded, and to Miranda's relief relinquished the sub­ject at last. Soon after that they parted: Susan to rush back to work, and Miranda to the unavoidable session that awaited her at the dentist's.

  She was early for her appointment and settled herself in the silent, aseptic-smelling waiting-room, for once indifferent to a prospect that usually made her very faint-hearted indeed. What exactly had Susan tried to tell her? Had she discovered the facts behind that disturbing warning on her wedding eve?

  She reached for a magazine, looked at it unseeingly, then laid it down again without opening its pages. She should have let Susan talk; perhaps it might have allayed some of her doubts, and Susan had protested that she wanted to clear things up. But what was there to clear up? It happened before our wedding, Miranda insisted to herself. There was probably a perfectly innocent explanation—always supposing that he had been seen with a married woman. I must have trust, she told herself, desperately trying to short-circuit the vain reiteration of the old argument. Resolutely she closed her mind to it all and selected a magazine from the assortment on the table.

  She leafed through it steadily, skipping the centre gravure section devoted to society news and gossip. But somewhere in the blurred rush of print a certain name registered and made her search back until she located it. It was a half-page photo­graph of Catrina Kay, taken at a star-studded charity function held some time previously. Miranda looked curiously at the gamin features which must once have held Jason in such thrall, and then at the startlingly attractive man depicted with the starlet. His pale hair looked almost as brilliantly platinum as the shining locks of Catrina herself.

  Miranda's mouth curved. Strangely she felt no pangs what­ever of jealousy. Some instinct told her that Jason would scarcely register the fact were Catrina to walk by right under his nose. Then she read the caption and a cold shock gripped her. True to the style of the particular magazine, the caption gushed:

  'Off with the old! And our Trina's new affair—gorgeous Beau Blaze, the sensational new singing star. But the old love, pictured below left at an E.E.C. affair in Brussels, seemed un­concerned. And why should he be, with luscious Mrs. Alicia Lindsterne, deb-of-her-year, back in his arms? Carona-Steele's tough young titan isn't saying. But we can't help wondering: was the orchestra playing, 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never…?'

  Miranda almost dropped the magazine. Lissa! The lovely features were unmistakable. All the pieces began to fall into place. This was the girl they used to talk about. The debby type who'd turned him down… who'd married someone else, some­one with rolling acres down in Hampshire… She was the source of the rumours avidly seized on by Rena Harvey… she was the married woman…

  The sick aching fear rose in waves, leaving her numb while she fought to control the terrible suspicion. It couldn't be true. It was over. It had to be. It would be an old magazine—the date would prove it.

  With nerveless fingers she sought the date on the cover. April 20th. It almost wasn't an old copy. Just a week after her mar­riage. But when had the photograph been taken? Didn't some magazines take weeks to go to press? But not all of them. It must have been taken before that momentous night when Jason pro­posed. It had to be. But Jason had proposed totally without warning. He could scarcely have known his own intention that night; if it hadn't been for giving her a lift, and going to sleep, and Mrs. Saunders turning awkward, maybe he would never have uttered those calm little words… But Lissa… did he still love her? Was this the explanation for his behaviour over her invitation this week… Oh, no!

  Miranda got up like an automaton and replaced the maga­zine. It stared back at her like an object of fate and she sank back into the chair, burying her face in her hands.

  'Mrs. Steele.'

  The receptionist's voice, a hint of impatience in it, came from a long way away. Miranda stood up on legs that trembled and took a step forward. The nurse-receptionist's expression changed and her voice took on a practised quality of soothing.

  'There's no need to be nervous, now…' She took Miranda's arm. 'Lots of patients are nervous the first time, but never the second, not here. Take my word for it. It'll probably only be a tiny filling, my dear.'

  'I—I'm not nervous,' Miranda denied in a thin voice.

  It was true now, but the older woman's smile was one of soothing disbelief.

  Miranda emerged a little while later with a new filling in the troublesome tooth and a new ache elsewhere that would not be banished. The waiting-room was empty, and she did something that normally her honest soul would never permit. With a hasty glance round to make sure she was unobserved she stole the magazine and walked quickly out of the building.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The glossy black and silver cover of that magazine haunted Miranda's waking moments during the weeks which followed, and every detail of the photograph on page thirty-seven was indelibly stamped on her mind. All the way home that after­noon she was resolved to ask Jason when he had last met Lissa, but when the moment came, when he inquired about the dental verdict she could find no words to frame the question. It should have been so easy simply to say lightly: 'There was a mag in the waiting-room—look and show him, then wait for his com­ment. But like a lot of things in theory, to put it into practice proved impossible.

  She hid the magazine in her dressing table drawer, and tried to forget it existed. Common sense assured her that she had no reason to suspect Jason of being unfaithful and she would be foolish to allow suspicion to poison her marriage. But despite her attempts to make logic keep the darker emotions in check something had withered in the fragile new relationship that had scarcely begun to grow between herself and Jason. Often she thought of that happy evening which had ended so un­happily with her mention of Lissa's visit, and even though Lissa made no further personal contact, nor was she referred to again, her shadow was a tangible thing on Miranda's path. Sometimes she thought that Jason noticed the air of restraint, but he never commented, even though she knew she had lost the delightful spontaneity that had characterized her first ten­tative response to his lovemaking.

  One morning in June he looked up from a letter he had singled out from the morning's personal mail and said sud­denly: 'We need a break—and we've got to fit it in before this.' He passed the deckle-edge missive across the breakfast table.

  She took it, and saw that it wasn't a letter but a silver en­graved card. She scanned it, then gave a wondering excla­mation. 'Their ruby wedding anniversary! That's forty, isn't it?'

  Jason nodded. 'Our chairman and his lady have survived forty whole years of connubial bliss—I reckon they deserve a celebration.'

  She pretended not to notice the cynical note in his voice. 'It's on the tenth of next month and we're invited. Oh, I hope you won't be away.'

  'Not for this one—I wouldn't dare. I believe they're planning quite a do.' He reached for the toast and marmalade. 'They're praying for one of those fine warm summer evenings so that the celebration can flow out into the grounds. I believe the pro­visional programme is to start with cocktails and a formal dinner and the toasts, then a cabaret and dancing, followed by a midnight barbecue—weather permitting—and an informal free-for-all until the last guest is too weary to stay awake. So,' Jason paused, then went on through a mouthful of toast, 'I thought we'd steal a break now in case I can't take it later.'

  She nodded. 'You must have a break this year. You told me you haven't had a holiday for two years.'

  He shrugged. 'I'm thinking of you mainly. Where would you like to go?'

  'Anywhere.'

  'Rather a broad choice in that helpful statement!'

  'Well, I think it should be somewhere quiet,' she qualified.

  'So do I. Abroad?'

  'If you want to.
Where do you want to go?' she asked seriously. 'It's as much your holiday as mine.'

  'Well, I thought we might go to the Highlands. There's a lodge I borrow occasionally. It's private—on an estate—and overlooks the loch. There's a river close by and superb fishing, and no phone. One has to walk half a mile to the factor's house to use the phone, or drive several miles to the village. The scenery is out of this world, but when I say it's quiet I mean quiet. You might get bored after the first couple of days,' he warned.

  Instinct told her that Jason needed this chance to unwind and she said firmly: 'It sounds perfect, and I've always wanted to go to the Highlands. Let's go there if you can fix it.'

  'I can, provided it's this month. But he's letting the lodge to an American family during July and August, so it has to be now. Shall I fix it for Friday week?'

  'Yes, please.' Suddenly she felt a warm rush of anticipation. It would be wonderful to get away from the pressure of city life and relax in the serenity of the countryside. 'Shall I tell Libby, so that she can cancel milk and things?'

  'Yes, and will you send a formal acknowledgement of this, accepting?' He stood up, indicating the invitation as he did so. 'Incidentally, we'd better get the present one day this week. Any bright ideas?'

  She hadn't, not at that moment, but a few days later they went shopping for this very special gift for Sir Charles and his lady. After much deliberation they chose a rare old Venetian goblet of rich ruby crystal. It cost the earth, so much that Mir­anda refused to carry it home, and Jason took charge of the precious package with a nonchalance that secretly appalled her, announcing that he would instruct the faithful Miss Mayo to deliver it personally to the chairman's home.

  As the week drew to its close Miranda was possessed by a secret sense of anticipation and by the eve of the journey she was filled with excitement and feeling happier than she had felt for several weeks. The weather was warm and promising—almost too warm in London where the streets seemed airless and stifling—and the long range forecast predicted a heatwave.

  They set off very early on the Friday morning, and crossed the Border with ample time to wend their way to the small country hotel where Jason was breaking the journey for the night.

  The weather still kept its promise, staying dry, clear and sunny, showing the beautiful Scottish countryside to its fullest advantage as they wended their way north through the western approaches and on to Fort William, where they stopped to stock up provisions for the week-end. London seemed a thou­sand miles away beyond the blue-hazed mountains when at last Jason sighed and murmured: 'Nearly there.'

  The sun had set and the crimson pearl was shading into night when Jason swung the car into the narrow turning under an avenue of oak and rowan, and some five miles further along the tortuous twists it widened into a small clearing, and there was the lodge.

  The stillness was intense when the whine of the car engine ceased, and then she heard the gurgling music of a burn nearby. But they had failed to beat nightfall, and the irresistible beck­oning sounds of a stream that seemed to say 'Come and find me', had to be resisted until morning.

  There were the provisions to be carried in, the cases to unpack, the lodge to explore, and a meal to be fixed on a calor gas cooker. To say nothing of lamps to be lit!

  'You didn't tell me there was no electricity,' she said with mock ruefulness.

  'No, but I did warn you that you might be bored,' he re­torted.

  She shook her head, watching him examine fishing tackle that was sorted with scrupulous neatness along one wall of the lobby. 'You wanted to come here very much, didn't you?' she asked with a flash of perception. When he nodded she said lightly: 'You can teach me to fish—I've always wanted to.'

  She wanted to believe that during those calm days she found a new camaraderie with Jason, one in which the frequent long silences were as companionable as the amusement her fishing efforts invoked in him. For the first three days they saw not another living soul apart from the factor, who called in on the Sunday to see if all were well with the visitors.

  She forgot the crisp summery frocks she had brought and lived in an old pair of jeans and a checked shirt that really belonged to Jason. Far from being bored she found so much to explore and do that the days seemed to flash by. The burn was one of her favourite spots, just a short distance away. It was like crystal come to life as it tumbled joyously down its rock-rough bed, to a cascade feathered in fern and moss that fell to a wide pool in the cool green shadows of the forest. And the view of the loch that waited her eyes each morning on waking was her favourite subject for musing on, with elbows spread along the windowsill, until Jason demanded breakfast.

  There was a small sandy beach from which they could swim, but she ventured in only once. Despite the warmth of the sun the water was glacial, and after that first icy experience she shed any thought of bravado and enjoyed lazy hours stretched out in the sun, watching the sun sparkles glissading over the water to the dark green firs on the far shore and the violet-misted majesty of the encircling mountains.

  She had almost forgotten her doubts, and she had almost succeeded in banishing Lissa from her memory. When the first week ended she knew a genuine regret that only three days remained. Suddenly they became precious, to be hoarded and spun out to their fullest extent in the savouring of this frail contentment, one which she dared to believe Jason also shared. So when the last day dawned, hotter than ever, and they tacitly agreed to spend it lazily by the lakeside, she was a little sur­prised the moment when she looked up and discovered Jason surveying her bikini-clad form rather more than intently.

  She took off her sunglasses. 'What's the matter?'

  'Nothing, except… He hesitated. 'You've seemed a bit withdrawn of late.'

  'I haven't.' Her face puckered as she stared back.

  'I don't mean here. I mean before we came away. Almost as though there was something bothering you.'

  A whisper of breeze suddenly seemed cool on her skin. Slowly she replaced the shielding sun-shades. 'I don't think so,' she said uncertainly.

  His head made one of those small sideways movements that express contradiction but also a disinclination to argue. He looked at the lake. 'I suppose you're not…'

  The unfinished allusion failed to register. 'Not what?' she asked, her eyes puzzled.

  He gave a lopsided grin and slapped her thigh lightly. 'What is fashionably known outside wedlock, I believe, as being in the club.'

  'Oh.' She knew now and her expression betrayed her distaste. 'But we're not outside wedlock.'

  He jutted his lower lip, then his own expression changed.

  'I'm sorry, darling. But it did occur to me—although you shouldn't be,' he added dryly.

  'I'm not going to have a baby, if that's what's worrying you,' she said flatly.

  'It isn't worrying me!' He sighed impatiently. 'I'm trying to discover if anything is worrying you'

  A constriction caught at her, and she felt thin prickles of chill down her limbs, despite the hot sun. This was the perfect op­portunity, at last. No risk of interruptions, no phone, no business to summon him away. She had his undivided attention and a wide open lead. This was the moment to sit up and say: Yes, I'm worried, frightened, because you might be still in love with a girl called Lissa, because everything seems to point to your having an affair with her right till the eve of our marriage, may be still, for all I know, and because you've never yet told me in so many words that J matter to you more than any other woman in the world, and that your only reason for marrying me was because you loved me, not because you wanted me—for there's a difference—and not for some strange reason of your own which 'I've always sensed but never dared ask you to di­vulge…

  But her lips framed none of those questions which still tor­mented her whenever she failed to force them out of her mind. The truth was, she dared not. She still didn't know enough of the man who was her husband to predict the outcome.

  He said suddenly, 'I suppose we should discuss the matter
seriously one of these days.'

  She was so far distant in her own train of thought that she stared at him, her eyes narrowed with query as much as with the bright sun.

  'Do you want a family?' He betrayed impatience. 'Some­times I can't read you at all. Are you a maternal kind of girl after all, I wonder?'

  She was silent, and he went on musingly: 'I seem to remem­ber; once you stated quite clearly that you wanted marriage, a home, and children—but you omitted the one vital factor usually associated with that particular combination.'

  'Yes,' she sat up and folded her arms round her knees, 'I remember. You reminded me then of my omission.'

  'Naturally.' He stretched lazily and lay back, making his hands into a pillow for his head. 'But you haven't answered my question, Miranda.'

  She looked down at his tanned body, broad and muscular before it tapered down to narrow hips in the dark blue swim slips. She bit her lip as her glance moved to the enigmatic line of his mouth.

  'Do you want children?' she asked.

  He hesitated, then turned his head. 'I'd like a son, and then a daughter.'

  'So would I, I think,' she said slowly.

  'But not for a while,' he said, his gaze turning towards her, caressing her with its sudden flicker of awakening desire before he reached up towards her. 'I want to get used to the state of marriage before I face fatherhood…'

  The words, although spoken without any trace of cynicism, nevertheless inflicted a small chill, and she did not realize how deeply she sighed as she went into his arms…

  * * *

  There was the usual accumulation of what Jason called 'Bumph' waiting on their return home. But among the circulars, the holiday postcards from vividly-hued faraway places, and persuasively worded offers of never-to-be-repeated-again bar­gains was a letter for Miranda.

  She scanned the closely written sheet, and a smile curved her mouth. Jason noticed it and raised his brows. 'It's not a bill, anyway.'