The Road to Forever

by Jeneth Murrey

  'I shouldn't think you would,' she flared. 'When I think what I have to do, the hours I work…'

  'Poor little thing—but as I was going to say when you so rudely interrupted—your sweetly gentle voice and your loving little gestures are worth every penny I've been paying into the bank for you and I don't grudge a farthing of it.'

  Lallie hid an expression of relief. Somehow, the idea of having a definite position in the house, even if it was only temporary, meant a lot to her. She was being employed here, she wasn't existing on his charity, and it pleased her enormously.

  She recalled a discussion she had once had with the Whitechapel lady. They had been talking about appreciation and Lallie had said how much it meant to her, how it made the work seem worth while. She had been rather surprised at the lady's views.

  'The only real appreciation is the size of your salary,' she had told Lallie. 'I know it sounds cynical, but it's true. Kind words, thanks and compliments don't mean a thing, they don't cost anything and they wouldn't even buy you a new pair of tights!'

  At that time, it had sounded very mercenary to Lallie's naive understanding, but now, she was more than ready to admit, there was something in what the Whitechapel lady had said.

  'Thank you, Owen,' she murmured, then her belligerence reared its head again. 'But don't think you've bought me body and soul. I'd have done it without pay, you know that.'

  'Mmm.' He whistled the collie, who obediently slunk into its kennel, and Owen paused with his hand on the latch of the back door porch. 'Another negotiation, while we're about it. Three months' notice on either side?'

  'One month,' she bargained.

  'Too little,' he countered. 'I'd need longer than that to find a replacement. Two months?' and at her nod, 'Let's seal the bargain,' and his mouth swooped down on to hers, hesitating only for a second as he whispered, 'Make it look good, there's somebody watching.'

  Lallie made it look good, although as she afterwards confessed to herself, she personally had nothing to do with it. It was as if there was somebody else inside her, a somebody who was hungry for kisses, who made her body soften and come alive against his so that, just for a few seconds, her lips parted willingly under his, her eyes closed and she couldn't get close enough to him. Jonty's old anorak which she was wearing, her clothes, his jacket and shirt, they were all in the way. She wanted to feel his skin against her own, slide her fingers over it and hold him to her, not let him get away.

  She sighed as she felt her breasts harden against the cotton of her shirt, and she felt neither shame nor embarrassment when Owen's hand came to caress their pointed fullness. Later on she would; she knew that, but just at present she'd joined that despised seventy-five per cent of the female population, and she was enjoying it thoroughly so that when he raised his head and his mouth was no longer a hot demand against her own, she felt cold as though something wonderful and beautiful had been taken away from her.

  'Inside.' Owen pushed her through the inner door into the kitchen just in time for her to see the door into the hall close quietly.

  'Who?' she heard her voice shaking.

  'How do I know?' he said indifferently. 'Nerys perhaps, or Stella.' He stood for a moment, holding her by the shoulders and looking into her eyes seriously, then his mouth curved into the old mocking smile.

  'You won't believe this, Lallie, but we're not as unalike as you like to think. We have the same basic drive,' and as she opened her mouth to protest, he slapped at her rear end. 'Tea now, there's a good girl, we'll talk later.'

  It couldn't have been Nerys, Lallie worked that out as she went upstairs to wash and change into something a little more respectable than jeans and a tee-shirt—Nerys' bicycle had been gone from the back door and she thought she had seen the glimmer of the girl's gay flowered nylon overall hanging from its usual peg behind the kitchen door.

  And she knew instinctively that it hadn't been Dwynwen. Dwynny could certainly get that far with her walking aid, but she would never venture into the kitchen, not while Stella was in the house and Lallie was out of it. Therefore it must have been Stella, unless Owen had been indulging in one of his twists of humour. She frowned at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Somehow, she didn't mind either Nerys or Dwynwen seeing her making a fool of herself, but Stella was another matter.

  When she came downstairs to prepare tea, she was neat and clean in her black pleated skirt and the second of Owen's cashmere twinsets, the gold one, which glowed against the black of her skirt. Her slim legs looked their best in cobwebby tights and the high-heeled black patent pumps and she hoped she hadn't overdone her make-up. She had felt in need of confidence and it was remarkable what a bit of powder and eye-shadow could do.

  At twenty-six, she was no longer a naive young girl, the one who had gone off to London full of determination to succeed. True, her experience was strictly limited, mainly to the behaviour of the odd boy-friend, but there were no longer any stars in her eyes. They had all been wiped out in the glare of unpleasant publicity, and after that she had been approached mostly by men who had read the papers and decided she was an easy touch. It had bred a cynicism in her and also an awareness of danger. She knew very well the feel of the hot demand of a man's body against her own, and there had been that demand in Owen's this afternoon.

  Carefully she controlled a weak desire to burst into tears—she had been a bit generous with mascara and the damn stuff would run! She was wondering what Owen had in mind. He had said before that he could have her any time he wanted; she hadn't completely believed him then, but she believed him now.

  But a mere sexual relationship wasn't good enough for her, it wouldn't satisfy. She had the depressing thought that what she felt would probably last for the rest of her life, that she'd never get over it, not completely.

  She wiped any thought of marriage from her mind. Owen, she was almost sure, was too fastidious to take what he looked on as another man's leavings to wife, and she wouldn't have him if he was being pressured into it by Dwynwen. That would be worse than anything, worse than nothing. To live with a man she loved but who didn't love her—lots of girls might have settled for that sort of thing, but not Lallie Moncke.

  She couldn't stand it, to see him off on one of his so called veterinary conferences—to watch his face when he came back—sniff to see whether the perfume on his clothes was her own or somebody else's—that way she'd end up a suspicious nagging bitch, impossible to live with.

  Her face as she sat down at the table behind the teapot was set in a little mask of pleasantly quiet lines which admirably covered her inner turmoil, and she carefully paid no attention to Stella, who seemed a bit prickly. As soon as possible she escaped, going into Dwynwen's sitting room to pick up the empty tea-tray.

  Dwynwen, her plate cleared down to the last crumb, was practising locomotion with her walking aid, but when Lallie entered, she put it away in a corner and sat down for a chat. She was still in her blue woollen dressing gown because dressing properly was out of the question until she could manage her corsets, and she looked up with a stern light in her eyes.

  'Enjoy your tea?' Lallie made light conversation.

  Dwynwen took note of the forced smile. 'What are you looking so sour about? Lost a shilling and picked up sixpence?'

  'Nothing as bad as that,' Lallie smiled, and let the smile grow. 'I've been promoted, though. I'm now the official stand-in housekeeper—I'm even being paid a salary!'

  Dwynwen sniffed; it wasn't what she wanted to hear. 'You've been out this afternoon—over to Jonty's?'

  'Mmm,' Lallie nodded, but at the eager enquiry in Dwynwen's sharp eyes she shook her head. 'No news, I'm afraid.'

  'But the lambing's over, or nearly so.' Owen had come in unnoticed, his pigskin casuals making no sound. He put a careless arm around Lallie's shoulders and smiled down at the old lady enigmatically. 'They might have more time now for the less important things of life.'

  'Bah!' Dwynwen was not to be diverted. 'Less important things indeed!
There's nothing so important as living a good, pure life.'

  'They could be doing just that,' Owen pointed out humorously. 'Perhaps it's all in your mind, Dwynwen. After all, you haven't a scrap of evidence, I believe you listen to gossip!'

  Dwynwen didn't rise to the bait—ordinarily she would have given him the length of her tongue, but now she sat silent, looking defeated. Then her old head reared erect, like a cobra striking. 'And when are you two going to get married?' she demanded with asperity.

  Owen's arm tightened about Lallie's shoulders, his fingers closing on her upper arm without mercy. 'In about three weeks' time,' he drawled. There was something in his manner which made Lallie think it would be unwise to contradict him, so she remained silent. 'Stella will be in her hotel by then, superintending the last touches,' he continued smoothly. 'That'll leave Lallie free for other things, and we don't want another scandal in the family, do we?' He made himself sound virtuous. 'One's enough!'

  Dwynwen's face cleared. 'Glad to hear it,' she muttered, and then, as if she needed justification, ' 'Bout time too. Oh, go on, get out of here. I want to get on with my walking practice, and you've got something better to do than stand here talking to an old woman!'

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Back in the kitchen, Owen whirled on Lallie before she could open her mouth, pushing her into the rocking chair and standing over it, his face set and hard.

  'Explode quietly,' he advised. 'I don't want a noisy row.'

  'If that's your idea of a joke,' she struggled against his hands while kicking out at his knees, 'I'm not amused!'

  'Nobody asked you to laugh your head off,' he snapped, 'but that's the way it's going to be, you can take it from me. I'm doing the best I know for this damn family of mine and you aren't going to stop me!'

  Lallie stopped struggling and kicking; from somewhere she found some dignity. 'I'm not going to marry you, Owen—not in three weeks, three years or thirty. Don't be any more of a fool than you are already, it won't work and you know it.'

  'I'm not a fool, my girl, and it will work.' He was supremely confident.

  'You can't make me,' she pointed out reasonably. 'You could perhaps tie me up, drag me off to the church, but unless you gagged me, you couldn't stop me from saying "No".' She had a vivid mental picture of herself, trussed up like a chicken, gagged and very mute, and it made her giggle almost hysterically. 'I couldn't say "Yes" either.'

  'I can make you do anything I want,' he wasn't smiling at her feeble little joke. 'I think I've proved that already, and I've only been coasting. Wait till I get into top gear.' Lallie closed her eyes and shivered at the thought, and he shook her till her head felt as though it would drop off.

  'Listen to me,' he stopped shaking her. 'I told you, we have the same basic drive, you and I, we'll do very well for each other. You've gone your own road this last eight years and it hasn't been all that rosy for you, has it? No, don't try to tell me you've enjoyed every moment of it, because I wouldn't believe you if you swore it on a stack of bibles.' He watched her wag her head at him and a grim smile started to play about his firm mouth. 'Now you'll go mine, Lallie, for a while at least; it won't be a hard road and I'll help you over the bad bits. Oh, I see what it is,' as she continued to wag her head. 'You want the pretty words, the sugar on the pill. Come off it, girl, you've been away a hell of a time, you're twenty-six and you've been around—you know exactly how much those words are worth, you've heard them before.'

  As usual, his almost bitter condemnation robbed her of words and her eyes filled with tears. She didn't want pretty words. As he said, she'd heard them before, enough of them to know their worth. All she wanted was for him to believe her—believe in her, not to think she was the promiscuous little tramp she'd been made out to be.

  And part of it was her own fault, that was what was making her cry. Her damn tongue, she admitted to herself miserably. When she lost her temper, when she was pushed right at the edge, it ran away with her and she'd let it run with a vengeance. Oh yes, she wanted love, but over and above that, she wanted, needed respect. One without the other was no good.

  'Three weeks.' Owen looked at her enigmatically, quite unmoved by her obvious distress. 'I want your word on that—and hurry up, cariad, or I'll make it three days!'

  'No!' It burst from her as a host of thoughts started up and began running at top speed through her brain. Three days! Stella wouldn't have gone by then, and that she couldn't bear. Not to come down in the morning to see those pale blue eyes looking at her, dissecting her and becoming filled with a private knowledge. Because Stella would know, she had been there before!

  'Three weeks,' she agreed huskily, 'but it won't work, Owen. It's all built on lies and deceit.'

  'What lies, what deceit?' Now that she had agreed, now he was sure of getting his own way, he lost a lot of his menace and became more human and reasonable. 'I'm telling no lies and neither are you, so where's the deceit? You'll stay here and be a model wife, curb your nasty little temper and keep your eyes off other men—and don't think you'll be able to skip off just when the fancy takes you, because I won't let you. In a year's time, cariad, you'll be wondering what you made all the fuss about.'

  'All this to keep Dwynny happy!' Lallie said drearily, and was surprised at his response.

  'Dwynwen's only a side issue, my girl, although I admit that what she wants does have a small bearing on things, but that's because the old lady's got more sense than you credit her with, and in any case, we all owe her a lot. She spent a great many years of her life caring for you little ones, you and Jonty and Dorcas—she deserves to spend the rest of her time in comfort and security—but as I said, she's really only a side issue. I'm doing what I think best for all of us—you, me, Jonty and Dwynwen.'

  'Jonty as well?' Lallie raised a supercilious eyebrow. 'My, Owen! You seem to have everybody's welfare at heart, and it's such a big heart, isn't it? We all have to go your way, don't we, because as always, you know best.' Her mouth twisted bitterly. 'Do you think that once Jonty sees how blissfully happy we are, what an aura of domestic felicity we live in, he'll at last get the message and go and do likewise? A fine example we'll be—you despise me and I hate you, all the acting in the world won't cover that up. In any case, I think it's Vi who's holding back.'

  'And I might believe you, but I'm taking no chances. I hoped the poor young devil was over you, I believed he was, but now I'm not so sure any longer so I'm going to make certain. Once you and I are married, he'll be able to put any thoughts about you and him out of his mind, I'm almost sure the thoughts do linger.'

  'Nonsense!' she flared.

  'No, it's not, not from where I'm standing,' there was a rueful gleam in Owen's eyes. 'You caught him young, cariad, and I think he might be still dazzled, although as you say, it might be Vi who's hanging back. But again, if she is, why? Could it be that she's the same as the rest of us, waiting to see which way you'll jump? He's probably bored her to tears with his talk about you and she might be worried that if it came to a choice, he'd choose you.'

  'You're out of your mind!' Lallie's temper was rising. 'We've seen each other once since I came back, and that time he hardly spoke to me.'

  'No, but he watched you and Vi watched him watching you and I watched Vi watching him watching you. Never mind, in a few months' time, when he sees the bad-tempered little shrew you've become, when it gets through to him that I'm a henpecked husband, he'll probably start counting his blessings. Then Vi will have him and another problem will be solved.'

  'Leaving just you and me.'

  'No problem there,' he smiled smugly. 'I can handle you, Lallie, with one hand tied behind my back. Of course, I shall give the impression of being a downtrodden husband, but you and I, we'll know who's the boss, won't we?' It was a definite threat, and she contemplated the future with a jaundiced eye.

  'It's going to be hell,' she sighed.

  'Only during the daylight hours,' he comforted, 'we'll make the nights enjoyable. Now, make some coffee an
d I'll fetch the whisky—we'll have a drink to celebrate this happy occasion. Are you going to insist on a white wedding?'

  Lallie didn't ignore the last question, she merely put it aside. She knew the answer to that one, she was determined on it! A white wedding—and why not? She was entitled, wasn't she? Let Owen and the rest of them sneer, she'd wear white just to spit in his eyes! Instead of saying this, she roused herself to make a suggestion.

  'When you're fetching the whisky, you'd better ask Stella to join us.'

  'Stella?' He looked at her as though she'd gone out of her mind. 'Stella went down to her sister's directly after tea. What else did you expect after that convincing little act we put on outside the back door?'

  So that had been an act as well. Tears came in a hard lump in Lallie's throat so that she found herself swallowing with difficulty.

  'Quite a performance, wasn't it?' she croaked. 'I think we did very well for an off-the-cuff, spur-of-the-moment thing.'

  'That's right. You see, another little problem solved and no bones broken.'

  No bones, only hearts—and Lallie's heart wept as she spooned coffee into the percolater and set cups on the table, but she fought back her tears and maintained a stolid front; she even scraped up a bit of humour from some last reserve.

  'It's the transition.' She heard Owen coming back, the bottle and glasses chinking, and she hurried into an explanation for her lack of enthusiasm.

  'At four o'clock this afternoon, I was a working girl, a housekeeper with a good position and a modest salary to make up for the lack of prospects. Now I'm a bride-to-be. What's going to happen to that salary?'

  'It ceases, my mercenary little cat, as from your wedding day.' He came behind her and put a heavy hand on her shoulder and she let it stay there, she was too tired to shrug it off.

  'Can't we fix things some other way?' There was desperation in her voice. 'There's the Parry cottage, Owen, it's been empty since Mr Parry died and his wife went to live with her daughter. Couldn't we have it, Dwynwen and I? I'll take care of her…'