by Paul Kelly
I longed for a miracle... Perhaps one day, Darius would get in touch with me. Things like that did happen... sometimes... well, they did in most of the stories I’d read, but I was living in the real world where miracles seldom happened. I wished at times that Garry would drop me a line. He had my address for goodness sake... but don’t ask me why I didn’t make the effort myself... and write to him... I was an idiot, I know, but I honestly believed at that time that the man should always take the initiative. It was how I was brought up and what I had been taught to believe... Damn it... damn it all, I say now.
Towards the end of October of 1947, - I can’t remember the exact date, but it was a wet and stormy evening and I was sitting by the log fire in Rowan Trees with Monty by my side. I remember feeling very much alone... despite his company and perhaps more so than I had done for some time when suddenly I could feel his breath in my ear as he kissed my neck. I did not turn away. Life’s potential seemed so desolate and dreary in comparison to the warm glitter of the life that Monty led and the circle of friends whose company he so much enjoyed. I began to feel flattered that he chose to stay with me so much, when there was so many more things he could do with his time; so many more exciting people he could have been with. I wanted him to put his arms around me, but I don’t know why. Perhaps I needed more warmth than the log fire could give... I don’t know. I wanted him to be someone else... some other man, who would take me in his arms and tell me that he loved me... and I was afraid. Monty was a nice person to be with, so why did I have such a fear? He was good-looking, with a life that sparkled with enthusiasm and ambition. Maybe that was what I wanted too and wasn’t fully aware of my own needs. Monty wanted to marry me... he had told me that on several occasions and my answer had been nothing but a condescending smile. He must have thought I was a snooty cow but he never said.
That evening as the logs crackled in the old Victorian grate, falling about in lazy abandon in white and orange embers, with resin spitting carelessly across the hearth, hissing in utter contempt at my situation of sorrow and desolation... he asked me again.
“Frannie darling... will you marry me?”
I wanted the voice to say, I love you... but it never did. They were words that Monty had never used in all the time I had been with him.
My heart said NO to the appeal, but my pale, dry lips said yes.
***
We were married at the Kensington Registry Office on November 2lst of that year and planned to have our honeymoon in Spain, staying there until after Christmas and thus avoid the cold English winter, much to the annoyance of Aunt Martha, who disapproved entirely about the whole affair. Jeremy was Best Man and Sebastian’s sister Rosemary was the Bridesmaid. It was all very quiet, with only a very few people attending and those were Monty’s friends, not mine. Harrod’s did me proud, I remember... as we still had clothing coupons and I wore a powder blue woollen suit with shoes of the same colour. My hat and gloves were just a little shade out but they looked O.K. and didn’t clash. Jeremy was sweet and kept telling me how lovely I looked...
Dinner in the evening was at Monty’s penthouse flat in Belgravia and he had everything laid on in style with two maids and a butler. The food was out of this world and one would never have guessed that only a couple of short years ago, we were at War.
I remember looking at my very expensive white gold wedding ring and wondering what it was all about. Monty promised me an engagement ring on our honeymoon, as we didn’t have time to get one before the wedding. Her I was... a married woman and yet I didn’t feel any different, except that all my intentions of getting rid of my double-barrelled name had gone to the wall. I had hoped to be plain ‘Smith’ and now I was Mrs. Montague Roland Blythe-Summers... I wanted to cry. I cheated all through the ceremony by thinking of Darius and I saw his fine smooth handsome face as I closed my eyes and said, ‘I do’ when I really didn’t …
I imagined I was standing there in a magnificent church, with the organ playing quietly in the background and with Darius by my side. I was dressed in my white trousseau of fine Spanish lace, with a veil so long that they had to leave the church doors open for it to spread out and my arms were filled with my favourite flowers of white tulips. Darius stood erect and proud beside me in his grey morning suit and top hat tucked under his arm. I looked at his cravat around his slender neck and saw Blythe-Summers smiling at me …
If I needed to be reminded of what I had just done, the rice and confetti more than did that... combined with the wind and the rain, but I don’t think I cared very much. I had reached a state of sterile numbness where I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I felt this strange overwhelming feeling of being possessed from the moment we got into the white limousine on the way to the flat. Everyone was laughing and full of congratulatory joy for our well being and happiness as I looked through the car’s rear window, but Monty’s kissing never stopped and he was far too intimate with his hands so soon after promising for better or for worse. He was making sure of the best, as soon as he could and I responded as I felt I should, but passively and without warmth.
“You’ll have to do a bit better than that darling, if you want me to love you as I should,” he murmured as he pushed his tongue into my mouth. It was the first time I had ever heard him use the word ‘love’ and I didn’t like the context in which he used it. I knew in that moment that I had made a mistake... One of the biggest, if not THE biggest mistake of my life... but it was too late …
***
The honeymoon was fraught with tension and I must admit that most of the fault was my own. I saw Monty in a different light from then on... when he didn’t have to ask or plead any more. He had bought the goods and he could do as he wished with them and it got to the point where I hated even to be touched by him. He acted as any man would on his honeymoon I suppose... and as I have said, the fault was mine and I felt nothing but revulsion for him after such a very short time of married life. He wasn’t gentle in his ‘love-making’ and each time it seemed to me like an act of rape. I began to dread the nights, but in time... in a very short time, even the mornings, the afternoons and the evenings were ‘play-times’ to Monty. He had an insatiable sexual appetite and we spent the first five weeks in the beautiful village of Valalina, virtually in bed. His demands wore me down and I began to suffer from nervous exhaustion, so you will understand why I was delighted when the honeymoon was over and we were preparing to return to England, having seen so very little of Spain. I made plans to get a job when I got back to London; something in the Nursing line... it didn’t matter what... just as long as it took me out of the flat... and preferably by night duty.
***
We agreed, very happily for me, I would like to add, that we should live in Monty’s London flat during the week and keep Rowan Trees for a weekend casual retreat. I hated the thought of Monty mauling and pawing me at Rowan Trees. I wanted... NO, I needed to keep something that I could regard as my own and Monty was never very enamoured of the Banbury surroundings anyway, regarding Rowan Trees as an old fashioned and quaint incumbency. I think he visited it about four times in all after the marriage, but he never left his clothes there. Everything was in the Belgravia flat, high up in the air.
***
Perhaps I could have tried more conscientiously to be a ‘good wife’ if it were not for the mysterious telephone calls that I received at fairly regular intervals. I thought at first, the calls were misrouted and were not for me, but when I confirmed the telephone number to the caller and discovered the nature of the calls, I knew without doubt that Montague was up to something that wasn’t just quite right. Several females called to ask if they could speak to him urgently but as they wouldn’t give their names, I hung up. I didn’t have the enthusiasm nor the desire to ask Monty about these calls and I didn’t really care that much what these women wanted with him, but you don’t need medical knowledge to realize the dangers of sexually transm
itted diseases if you sleep around and I had enough problems without anything like that. Monty never wanted children. He made that clear from the first day AFTER the marriage... and neither did I, with him... therefore we took the necessary precautions, however one of the calls did give me quite a start. It was from a woman with a foreign accent, which I thought might be German. It sounded rather guttural and she asked if I was married to the Director of Hammond and Gore in the City. She said no more than that, which made me wonder what she meant as Monty was indeed a director of that Company, but there were five other Directors as well and I hesitated to answer immediately. She then became very rude, shouting down the phone that she had rung this number before and someone kept putting the phone down on her. She started to cry and then apologised for her rudeness, explaining that she had been trying to contact this man whom she called, Reginald... and that she needed some money. I explained that I was unable to assist her enquiries and that there was no Reginald living at this address, but her request for money worried me.
“The address... bitte?” she asked and my hand shook.
I, too wanted to put the phone down and end the conversation there, but I felt sorry for this woman somehow, regardless of the existence of her Reginald. I thought that somehow or other she had got a raw deal from Reggie, whoever he was ...and I had fears about that raw deal...
“This is a private address and I cannot give it to you I’m afraid, but there is no Reginald living here, I do assure you,” was all I could say and I quietly and gently replaced the receiver.
***
That same evening, I approached Monty when he returned home and told him of the telephone call, which had caused me so much distress. He had been drinking and I guessed heavily, from the strong smell from his breath as he kissed me. He raised his eyebrows as if unconcerned.
“Did she... this woman... did she give a name? This woman with the accent,” he enquired, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb.
“No, she wouldn’t say who she was.”
I stared at him as he swayed a little before me and I felt disgust for him that I had never felt before. I poured myself a large scotch and clinked some ice cubes into my glass, although it was not my practice to drink alcohol.
“That for me?” he asked and his voice was slurred.
I studied the glass I held in my hand for a few seconds before I handed it to him. It didn’t matter about his drinking to me any more. He could do whatever the hell he liked, I thought. He grabbed the glass, spilling some of the whisky on the carpet as he tottered and sat down heavily on the settee.
“Who the hell was she, I asked you?” he demanded, “Didn’t she give a name?”
“Does it matter about her name?” I asked, but he ignored me and tried to get up from the settee, spilling the entire contents of his glass all over the carpet. He scowled as he eventually got to his feet again, knocking the decanter from the drinks cabinet to the floor.
“She asked for Reginald,” I said coldly as I picked up the decanter and put it back.
Monty grinned as he faced me. He looked tired.
“Well... there you are then... obviously a wrong number, wasn’t it?”
He tottered towards a chair near the cheval glass and studied his reflection as he ran his tongue across his teeth and sighed deeply, before he lowered himself into the chair and belched loudly.
“Are you this Reginald? “ I asked directly but he would not answer. There was a long silence before he spoke again.
“Would it make any difference if I were?” he asked eventually with a slurred voice and I moved towards the coffee table and glared at him.
“Are you the father of this woman’s child?” I demanded... coming to my own conclusions, but he only sneered at his image in the mirror and repeated the same as he had said before.
“Would it make any difference if I were?”
I kicked the coffee table over in my fury and he jumped with fright.
“Yes, it bloody-well would... “ I shrieked, “You’re supposed to be my husband... or have you forgotten?”
He stared at me in surprise for a moment, then he narrowed his eyes and began to laugh.
“Oh God... yes, your husband... your husband indeed... For all the wife you are, I could get a rubber inflated doll to make more response.”
It hurt when he said that, but I could understand how he felt.
“And how many dolls have you had, now that you mention the subject, eh?” I shouted at him and he laughed again as he staggered towards the brandy bottle.
“You got what you wanted from this marriage... didn’t you,” he shouted and splashed some cognac into his glass, “ No need to work any more in those stinking, sweaty hospitals. No more emptying the piss pots for the young handsome soldiers who needed mothering, eh? No more thrills as you caught a sneak glance of their balls, eh? Was that exciting for you Frannie? Were they bigger than mine?”
He pulled at the crotch of his trousers and made a rude sign with his fist before he tottered back into the chair.
“You are disgusting, but I’ll pretend I didn’t hear what you said... you’re drunk.”
“Oh, that is noble of you, my dear, to pretend you didn’t hear what I said, but I don’t want you to pretend anything... do you hear? I want to know all about your antics with those young bucks... before you hooked me....”
I stared at him in loathing and wanted to be sick.
“How dare you talk to me like that? How DARE you?”
His lips curled round his mouth as he turned on me and screamed, knocking the chair over and stumbling across the room.
“I’ll talk to you any fucking way I chose, madam... and as you said, you’re my wife... aren’t you?”
I clamped my hands over my ears and closed my eyes as he lunged towards me and his breath was foetid.
“An you’ll just lie back and think of England, my lovely as you always bloody do,’ he shouted in my ear and I could feel his saliva on my cheek. I went to leave the room, but he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to the floor as he fell down with me.
“You like a little bit of rough, don’t you darling? …well then, take that... “
He lashed out and hit me full across the face with the palm of his hand, “And that... and that...” he went on, punching and kicking me as I lay beside him. I wanted to scream, but no sound would come from the back of my throat and my eyes ached.
“What about a little something before dinner, my love... what about a little aperitif, eh?” He pushed his hand into the top of my negligee and clawed my breast so savagely, that it hurt.
“Stop it... stop it... I tell you... you’re hurting me.”
He ignored my demands and ripped off my clothes, pinning me naked to the floor, kneeling across me and glaring down into my eyes and I could hear a zip being undone …
“Yes, a little bit of rough is what every gentle lady needs now an’ again,” he snarled and if he hadn’t been so drunk, he would have raped me ...instead he keeled over and fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
I bumped into Jeremy and Sebastian as I was shopping in the West End, a few days after my affray with Monty. I knew I was badly bruised about the face and my body ached, but I thought the fresh air would help and besides, we had used up everything that was in the fridge and I had to stock up the freezer. The boys didn’t actually see me as they were going in through the revolving door at Densham’s and I was coming out. I pulled my headscarf closely around my face and stood up against a wall nearby, relieved that they had not seen me, but I winced with the pain, as I carried my heavy bundles of shopping to the car. If only I could get there before they came out again, I thought... and then I remembered... I hadn’t come by car... I couldn’t drive for the pain in my groin and thighs ...and I had hardly taken two steps when
I heard the high-pitched, shrill voice of Jeremy as he called my name. I closed my eyes and wished to God, the earth would open up and swallow me, but there was no such luck....
“Frannie... Frannie dahling... I thought it was you … how nice to see you again and how,”. ... He stopped talking and his mouth fell open as he stared at my face. “Oh My God... what’s happened to you dahling? Have you been in some sort of an accident?”
I tried very hard to smile and pulled the headscarf closer round my ears, tucking it into my collar, but Jeremy took it away gently and touched my cheek tenderly with his fingers. He turned to Sebastian and screwed up his face but Sebastian turned his head away. I don’t think he wanted to know.
“Whatever is the matter Frannie?” Jeremy returned his attention to me and held his friend by the arm. “I’m taking you back to the Manse, this minute... Sebastian, are you coming?” he called out to his friend again, but Sebastian looked away, squinting in the dull sunlight.
“No, but I’m O.K ...I’ll see you later... seven o’clock alright... usual place?”
Jeremy’s friend nodded his agreement and then he left us.
“Jeremy, I don’t want to upset your arrangements... really I don’t and besides, I can manage perfectly well on my own. I just want to get back to the flat... quickly.”
I watched Sebastian as he hurried away and I turned again to speak to Jeremy.
“Go on... go with him. I think he may be upset.”
I hoped Jeremy would take my advice but he ignored what I had said and took my heavy bags from me.
