Semi-Detached Marriage

by Sally Wentworth

  On the short drive home Cassie was silent, trying to work out all the arguments she could use to try and make Simon change his mind. Not that she didn't sympathise with him; to have been offered a directorship in such a large and important company as Mullaine's at the relatively early age of thirty two was, she knew, a real advancement and proved that they had great faith in him. But to go to live in Scotland, it just wasn't on.

  Back in the flat, Simon immediately walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a large whisky. 'I'd like one too,' Cassie told him tartly, although she hadn't wanted a drink until she saw that he hadn't bothered to get her one.

  'Sorry.' He handed her a glass and then went to sit on the settee. Cassie sat opposite him in the armchair and took a rather defiant drink of whisky.

  'Look, darling, I'm sorry if this means that you'll lose your chance of being a director for a while, but I just couldn't live in Scotland, I know I couldn't. I'd never be happy there.' She looked at him pleadingly. 'Please try to understand, Simon.'

  'Oh, I understand all right,' he answered bitterly. 'You want everything to go your way and you aren't willing to make any sacrifices, or even any concessions, to please someone else.'

  Cassie fired up immediately. 'Why should I be the one to make concessions and sacrifices? I've just reached the highest I've ever got in my job and you're asking me to give it up.'

  Simon drained off his whisky and stood up. 'So are you,' he pointed out heavily. 'And don't forget that I've worked just as damned hard, and for longer, to get where I am. But that seems to mean nothing to you; without much thought-and certainly without a qualm-you expect-no, demand, that I should give up what is virtually an unprecedented rise to director level. The fact that I'll then lose the confidence and reliance that the Board of Directors have placed in me seems to be completely immaterial to you.

  For God's sake use your brain and think, Cassie. Or even bring it down to the basis of economics; whether you like it or not, I'm earning more money than you and therefore my job is more important to us.'

  'But mine has great potential,' Cassie put in heatedly.

  Simon's face hardened, grew grim. 'So has mine and for a while today I had the laughable belief that you would be pleased that I'd achieved that potential not throw it back in my face!' He shot the last sentence at her, waited for her to reply, but when she didn't turned on his heel and walked out of the room towards the hall.

  Cassie gaped in surprise for a moment and then got up to run after him. 'Where are you going?'

  'Down to the pub for a drink.'

  'Don't you dare walk out on me when we're in the middle of a discussion!'

  'Is that what you call it?' he demanded jeeringly.

  'All right, argument, then.'

  He turned on her, suddenly angry. 'What's the point of going on? It's checkmate. You won't give up your job and I won't give up mine. So, unless one of us is prepared to give in, we've reached an impasse. And as I don't feel like arguing round and round the subject all evening, I'm going out for an hour.'

  `Just an hour?' Her voice was small, uncertain. `Just an hour,' he agreed, and Cassie was relieved to hear some of the coldness had gone from his voice. She was sitting on the settee watching television when he got back, but her attention hadn't really been on the screen, she'd been thinking about the situation and realised that she wasn't handling it very well. Coming right out and saying that she refused to go to

  Scotland had put Simon's back up. She was asking him to give up a lot, and there were more persuasive ways for a woman to get what she wanted than having a stand-up fight about it. So she'd changed into a new black lace nightdress that she'd bought in Paris and he hadn't seen before and brushed her hair until it shone like a brilliant flame upon her shoulders.

  Simon didn't speak when he came in, just tossed his jacket to one side and came to sit at the other end of the settee, picking up her bare feet to make room and resting them in his lap. Idly he began to play with her toes, and Cassie was glad that she'd painted the nails with a delicate pearly-pink varnish.

  'Was there anyone at the pub that we know?' she asked him, liking the way his hands caressed her feet. `Just a couple of the chaps from the tennis club. They didn't have their wives with them.'

  'Oh.' His hands moved down from her toes and tickled so that Cassie wriggled her feet.

  `Sorry.'

  He went to let go of her feet, but Cassie said swiftly,

  'No, I like it. It just tickled, that's all. Don't stop.'

  He smiled slightly. `You'll be telling me next I'm a foot fetishist!'

  'I always wondered how people like that get their kicks.'

  `With feet as perfect as yours it's hardly surprising.' And lifting up her foot he kissed her instep.

  `Hmm. Of course, you don't find any women who're foot fetishists.'

  Simon burst out laughing. `Are you saying that all men have ugly feet? You're crazy, you know that.' He looked at her then stretched out a hand. 'Come here, woman.'

  Happily Cassie twisted round until she was sitting on his lap, her arm round his neck.

  `Is that a new nightdress?'

  `Yes.'

  His eyes ran over it, taking in the while gleam of her skin behind the thin lace, the curves of her waist and hips. 'It's very sexy. Why don't you take it off?'

  'Simon!'

  'Well, that's the idea of sexy nightwear, isn't it? That it's to be taken off?'

  'You have no romance in your soul,' Cassie complained.

  'A girl likes to be flattered a little first.'

  'I've already told you you've got beautiful feet, what more do you want?'

  `There's more to me than my feet,' she pointed out.

  'Mm, so I've noticed.' Undoing the silk bow at the front of the nightdress, he parted it to reveal the creamy swell of her breasts. He undid another bow to open it to the waist, then his hands moved inside to cup the soft fullness of her breasts, to gently fondle and caress them until they hardened under his hands, thrust towards his mouth as he bent to kiss them.

  Cassie put her hand down to hold his head there, loving what he was doing to her, the soft, insistent pull of his lips already driving her wild with desire. His head came up and he kissed her hard on the mouth, bending her head hack against the arm of the settee.

  `Does this nightdress turn you on?'

  Simon laughed softly. 'Now who isn't being romantic?'

  `Does it?' she insisted.

  `Why don't you find out for yourself?' He took her hand and guided it down.

  'Oh, Simon.' Her eyes gazed into his pleadingly. 'I love you so much. Please, please don't let's argue any more. I can't stand it when we fight.'

  For a moment his hand tightened on her arm, hurting her so that Cassie bit her lip to stifle a wince of pain, fleetingly afraid that she had been too direct, had aroused his anger again, but then he said roughly, 'Don't worry, we'll work something out. We have to work something out.'

  And she knew a glow of inner satisfaction as she passionately returned his kiss, using every sexual wile she knew to rouse-him into a violent storm of lovemaking, from which all outside problems and differences were completely obliterated.

  It was Saturday the next morning and Cassie slept late, the strident ring of the alarm clock turned off and nothing to disturb her except the usual incessant hum of traffic that was so much part of the background that only its absence would have penetrated. She finally woke about nine, turned over in bed and realised that she was naked. Simon wasn't beside her, so she hurriedly slipped out of bed and pulled on a bathrobe, fully aware that, although their quarrel last night had been more than adequately made up, it still hadn't been settled. She padded out of the bedroom and through the flat, looking for him, her bare toes sinking into the soft, deep pile of the carpet.

  He was sitting in an easy chair by the window of the sitting-room, reading the morning paper in the soft February sunlight, casually dressed in jeans and a sweater, an empty cup of coffee on the
small table beside him. As she came in he looked up, smiled and held out a hand to her. Cassie went to him at once, took his hand and bent down to kiss him.

  When she raised her head he kept hold of her hand as he said, 'You look very sexy like that, still half asleep and your hair tousled. I've a good mind to take you back to bed.'

  Cassie laughed at him and backed quickly away. 'Not until I've showered and cleaned my teeth, and then I'll be fully awake and you won't feel like it any more.' She turned to go to the bathroom, but paused in the doorway. 'What are the plans for today? Do you want to go down to the Portobello Road antique market, or would you rather go up to the West End to do some shopping?'

  Simon regarded her levelly. 'Maybe we'll go out later on, but right now I think we have some talking to do, don't you?'

  The bright smile faded from Cassie's face. 'Can't it wait until some other time? Tomorrow maybe?' Simon shook his head in a single, curtly negative gesture. 'No, we have to settle it here and now.'

  Her voice tight and a little unsteady, Cassie shrugged and said, 'Okay, if that's what you want.' She had spoken casually enough, but her heart was beating rather fast and she felt strangely nervous as, fully dressed and carrying a mug of coffee, she came to sit down opposite him.

  Simon tossed aside the newspaper and ran his eyes over her, taking in her black sweater and long legs in black cord designer jeans. If he also noted the wary look in her eyes that she was trying unsuccessfully to hide, he gave no sign of it. He merely looked amused and said, `Why the all-black outfit? Do you intend to take up cat-burglary or are you going to a, funeral?' Cassie shrugged rather impatiently. 'I just felt like wearing them, that's all.'

  'Because they suit your mood?'

  Her eyes flicked over him and then quickly away. Damn Simon; he knew her far too well. 'I'm not in a black mood, if that's what you're trying to imply.' She made a business of stirring her coffee. 'All right, you wanted to talk, so why don't you start?'

  'All right.' He leant back in the chair and put his hands together, pyramiding his fingers, his face stem and serious, and Cassie had a sudden insight into how he must appear to his colleagues, especially those under him; highly intelligent, coldly efficient and rather remote. For a brief second he seemed to be a stranger and the idea frightened her, but then he spoke again and the feeling was gone. 'Straight question-after sleeping on it are you willing to give up your job and come with me to Scotland?'

  'No.'

  His dark brows flickered at the boldness of her answer, but he went on, 'Not under any circumstances?'

  'None that I can envisage.'

  'I see.'

  He paused for a moment and Cassie said impatiently,

  'Look, Simon, what's the point of this? Nothing's changed since last night. I'm sorry, but I just don't want to go.'

  The skin at his fingertips whitened as he pressed them harder together, but he said easily, `But let's bear in mind that you haven't even seen Kinray yet.' 'Kinray? Is that where the oil terminal is?' 'Yes. It's on the north-west coast of Scotland and is actually called Mull of Kinray. As I told you, the house is about a mile from the terminal and hidden from it by a range of hills. It faces the Atlantic and has the most marvelous views of the sea and coastline, with the hills, purple with heather in summer, to the right and behind it. The first time I went up I stayed there for a couple of days and it was fascinating to have the whole valley, or glen as they call it, filled with a mist that comes up from the sea in the morning, which would gradually thin and then suddenly lift to reveal this most fantastically beautiful scenery.'

  Cassie gazed at him for a long moment, for the second time feeling that she was talking to a stranger, but an entirely different one this time; Simon didn't usually wax eloquent about places he'd visited. And the idea that he had found somewhere beautiful made her feel strangely jealous; she wanted to be the only beautiful object in his life. But then she realised that he was trying to sell the place to her and that he was bound to come over strong. So, to squash any hopes be might have on that score, she said sardonically, 'It sounds extremely cold and damp. It must be hell there in the winter, with the gales blowing in straight off the Atlantic. And it must get snowed up all the time—they always have terrific amounts of snow in Scotland.'

  Simon looked at her for a moment over his steepled fingers, then lowered them as he said, 'Strangely enough they don't have very extreme weather in that area because it's in the path of the Gulf Stream. You can even grow palm trees and other tropical plants there. That's one of the reasons why the oil terminal was sited in that area.'

  'So that they could grow palm trees?' Cassie quipped. 'What are they going to do resort to palm oil if North Sea oil runs out?'

  'Ha, ha. Very funny.' Simon stood up abruptly, anger in his face. 'When you've finished making cheap puns perhaps you'd care to remember that this is our future we're discussing. Perhaps even a future in which we would be able to see more of each other, not just pass one another going through the door and correspond in notes stuck on the fridge door or messages left on the answer-phone,' he added grimly.

  Cassie instantly felt ashamed and got up to follow him as he went into the kitchen. Plugging in the percolator, he stood silently waiting for it to heat, his face averted.

  After a moment, Cassie said exasperatedly, 'All right, I'm sorry. But let's face it, Simon, all you've done so far is try to sell me something I don't want to buy. Okay, the place may be beautiful on summer days when the mist lifts and the sun shines. But what about all those other days: the days when it rains incessantly or the place is shrouded in cold, damp mist for the whole twenty-four hours? I've been on holiday to Scotland more than once with my parents, Simon, I

  know how miserable the weather can be. And even then there's all the other things that would be missing- work, entertainment, friends.'

  The percolator started to bubble and the red light went out. Simon switched it off and picked it up to pour himself another cup of coffee. 'Couldn't you look on it as a sort of sabbatical, an interval of peace and quiet in between work? You could always go back to work afterwards.'

  'Simon, it's three years! In that time I'd have lost most of my contacts, someone else would have taken my position and consolidated themselves in it.

  Fashion buying is just as much a cutthroat business as anything else; if you leave it for any length of time there's little or no chance of getting back. It's all or nothing.'

  Simon looked at her keenly, the coffee pot still raised in his hand. 'Will you at least meet me halfway by coming with me to Kinray to see the place before making any final decision?'

  Cassie shook her bead unhappily. 'Simon, it wouldn't do any good. I've already…' Will you?' he interrupted her, his voice suddenly harsh and cold.

  She stared at him, realising that never before had she ever deliberately defied her husband, that she hardly knew him now that his will was crossed. It was something new and something she didn't know how to handle. There was no other way out, so slowly, almost in a whisper, she answered, 'Yes, all right. If that's what you want.'

  'It is.' He set the coffee-pot down with a snap. 'We'll go up there next weekend.'

  Her lips drawn into a tight line, Cassie glanced at him for a moment, then said, 'Well, now that's settled, perhaps we can get on with the present. I'll go and get ready to go to the antique market; if you remember we said we'd go and look for that little table we wanted for the hall.'

  She turned and went into the bedroom, Simon watching her frowningly. She hadn't openly defied him, of course, but by wanting to go out and choose something for their present home she had clearly shown how little importance she placed on the projected trip to Kinray. It was just going to be a complete waste of time, Cassie thought as she put on her lipstick, watching her image in the mirror.

  They would have a long, tedious and tiring forty-eight hours in which she would take one look at the place and make the same refusals as she had already made here. The situation would still be the same, a
nd all Simon was doing was postponing the inevitable. He was just being infuriatingly stubborn and implacable. Because nothing, not even if Kinray turned out to be another Garden of Eden, was going to persuade her to leave London!

  CHAPTER THREE

  They left London for Scotland the following Friday evening, and even Cassie had to admit that the journey was fairly painless. A company chauffeur called to pick them up and drive them to Heathrow Airport where a twelve-seater plane, again owned by Mullaine's, was waiting to take them and ten others to Glasgow. There was no baggage checkin to queue at, no sitting around in the departure lounge for the usual interminable wait, they were just ushered into a private room and given a drink while their luggage was put on board, then taken out to the plane with the others and took off within minutes. The plane was smooth and luxurious, even if it seemed incredibly small after all the large airliners that Cassie was used to on holiday trips, and there was an attractive young stewardess to see to their needs.

  Cassie looked the stewardess over, noting her pretty face, slim figure and trim ankles, and decided that she was too pretty. The other men on the flight-she was the only woman passenger-all seemed to find the girl attractive too, one or two of them openly trying to chat her up, and Cassie wondered wryly just what they got up to while they were away from home. Simon had told her that most of the workers had a contract in which they worked every day for three weeks, then had a whole week off. From the look of some of the men they were no saints, and she could imagine them getting up to all sorts of mischief when they were away from home for so long.

  The stewardess brought them drinks and Cassie watched Simon as he took his, murmuring a word of thanks. For the first time in their marriage it occurred to Cassie to wonder if he, too, was ever unfaithful to her during his frequent trips away from home. Certainly the opportunity was there, for it was obvious from the way the girl had looked him over when they boarded the plane that she found him attractive, and would much prefer a young, handsome junior executive to any of the rather crude labourers who were trying to chat her up. But beyond giving her a brief smile of thanks, Simon showed no interest in her at all, merely turning his eyes immediately back to the report he was reading.