by Daphne Clair
'Yes, of course.'
'I'm not staying,' said Jason. 'I must get to the office. There'll be a backlog waiting, and getting worse all the time. I've already had my secretary cancel three appointments.'
Catherine tried not to show her relief. She was turning to open the fridge again when he said, 'If my mother wants to visit Dad again this afternoon, could you take her?'
'Yes, of course.'
'I may be late tonight,' he told her. 'But I'll be back in time to take Mother for evening visiting.'
'Would the children be allowed to see him?' she asked. 'They're very anxious.'
'Not yet. Maybe later.' He paused with his hand on the door knob. 'I hope you'll be able to keep Mother company over the next few days, when I can't be here.'
Dismayed, she said, 'But the strike is over. I have to work tomorrow—and regularly after that.'
Jason's mouth compressed. 'Can't they get someone to stand in for you? It's only a children's programme, after all.'
'Some people think children are important,' she said huskily, more hurt than he could know by the dismissal in his voice.
He made an impatient gesture. 'I don't mean that! There's a crisis on here, for God's sake!'
Unexpectedly, his mother intervened. Briskly, she said, 'Nonsense, Jason.
The crisis was yesterday. There's no need for Catherine to hold my hand all day. I shall be perfectly all right. Perhaps she could drop me off at the hospital when she goes in to work.'
'Of course I will,' Catherine said quickly, once she had recovered from her surprise. 'And I'll see if Bridie can have the children after school.'
'There's no need,' said Althea. 'I can get a taxi home and be here when they arrive.'
'Oh, please don't ---' Catherine started.
'No, I insist!' her mother-in-law said. 'I have to keep busy. I'm sure it's best.'
'Well—all right,' Catherine agreed rather reluctantly.
Jason said nothing, but she thought he was displeased. 'I'll put Bridie on standby, anyway,' she promised. 'And the high school girl who babysits for us sometimes. Then if for any reason you can't make it, just phone the studio and I'll arrange for one of them to take over.'
Jason opened the door and went out without another word, closing it with a snap behind him.
The two women ate in virtual silence. Althea picked at her food without interest, and drank two cups of tea, and Catherine, too, found it difficult to force herself to eat.
They had just washed up the dishes when someone rang the bell at the front door.
Catherine went to answer it, and found Russel standing on the little porch.
'Hello, Cathy,' he said quietly, as she stared at him in faint shock. 'Can I come in?'
Althea had come into the passageway fpom the kitchen, and was standing watching them. Catherine stepped back/and Russel walked into the carpeted hall. He looked past her at Althea, and Catherine turned and said, 'Althea, this is my boss, Russel Thurston. Russel, this is my mother- in-law, Mrs.
Clyde.'
Althea held out a cool hand. 'How do you do, Mr Thurston. We've heard a lot about you.'
He shook her hand and said, 'I've heard something of you too, Mrs. Clyde, and of your husband's illness. I'm sorry about it. I wondered if there was any way I could help.'
'That's very kind of you, Mr Thurston. Catherine, aren't you going to ask your visitor into the lounge?'
'Yes, of course,' said Catherine. She gestured to the doorway, and led the way. Althea came, too, seating herself in one of the armchairs.
Russel cast Catherine an unreadable look as he waited for her to sit down before taking a chair himself. 'I won't stay long,' he said, if you're not in need of anything ...'
'Thank you, Russel, we're coping quite well,' Catherine told him. 'He's apparently quite a lot better. They expect him to recover.'
'That's good.' He looked at her again, and she saw that there was a message in his eyes that he was trying to hide from Althea.
She became a little panicky, because Althea was very astute. She dragged her eyes from his and said, 'Would you like a cup of tea or coffee, Russel?'
'No, I've just come from lunch, thanks.' There was an awkward pause, which Althea seemingly felt must be filled. In her most social manner, she leaned forward a little and said, 'You have a most interesting job, Mr Thurston, don't you? I'm sure you must have met so many fascinating people.'
He turned to her almost with relief, smiling as he agreed. She kept him on the subject for some time, and Catherine sat almost totally silent, tense in her chair.
When he rose to go, she went with him to the door, while Althea remained in the lounge.
At the door he grasped Catherine's arm lightly and took her outside with him. In a low voice, he said, 'Cathy, I'm sorry—your husband was trying to contact you all yesterday afternoon, and the staff could see your car in the car-park, they knew we'd left together ---'
She looked up at him with a pale face and shadowed eyes, and he made an exclamation under his breath and said, 'I wish I could take you in my arms here and now—'
Instinctively she made a small movement away from him, and he smiled grimly and said, 'Don't. I won't touch you—not right now. I just thought you should be warned. I don't think that anyone will say much to you—though I've taken a bit of flak already. Still, they can't really know anything, except the fact that we were together.'
'I see,' she said woodenly.
'Cathy,' he breathed, pain in his eyes. 'I hadn't planned it, you know. But I can't pretend to be sorry for what happened. I'm only sorry that it's maybe caused some gossip that could embarrass you. I suppose if your husband hears it ---'
'Jason knows.'
After a moment's silence, he said, 'Did you tell him?'
'He—guessed.'
Russel groaned, raising his eyes. 'Oh, honey, your face! I told you about it, didn't I?'
'I think—I would have told him, anyway,' she admitted.
'Yes,' he agreed soberly, 'I guess you would. You're too honest to hide a thing like that.' He bit his lip briefly and asked, 'How did he take it?'
'How would you expect him to take it?' she asked him.
His mouth compressed. 'Yes, I see. Where do we go from here, Cathy?'
She looked at him steadily, something inside her contracting in misery.
'Nowhere,' she said calmly.
His eyes searched hers. 'If that's how you want it,' he said slowly. 'It's over, just like that, is it?'
'That's right.' Her voice was barely a whisper.
'That easily?'
She quivered at the slight, bitter note of accusation in his voice, and momentarily closed her eyes. 'I didn't say it was easy, Russ. It isn't going to be easy.'
'I—suppose ---' he said, 'I took advantage of you, didn't I? Caught you in a weak moment?'
'No, Russ, you took no advantage. Don't think that I blame you—please. You know ---' she flushed slightly, '--- the feeling was mutual.'
His eyes gleamed. 'Thanks for that, anyway. You won't leave the programme, will you? I promise not to make things hard for you.'
A smile glimmered. 'Do all men manage to put their work first?'
'I wasn't.' He spoke quietly, but with force. 'I was thinking of you. You love it, you know you do. I don't want you to feel you have to sacrifice it to your conscience—or your husband.'
A strange melting warmth seemed to trickle through her. That constant, genuine concern for her was still there, and it had always been very seductive. 'Thank you, Russ,' she said, her eyes stinging with tears. 'You're so—no wonder I ---'
She turned away and went blindly back to the house, pausing inside the door after she had carefully closed it, to take several deep breaths and control the threat of tears. She heard the car drive away, and Althea came out of the lounge and said, 'I think I will lie down for half an hour, Catherine, after all. Then perhaps we could go back to the hospital. Will that give you time to be home before the children?'
It would, Catherine said, amazed that the other woman noticed nothing wrong. She felt wrung out, haggard. But then, Althea probably felt even more so. She was in no state to take particular notice of other people's emotional crises.
Althea told Jason that evening, when he was seated in the lounge drinking coffee after a late dinner, that Russel had called. 'A very pleasant young man,' she said tranquilly. 'It was kind of him to take the trouble to come round and offer sympathy and help, don't you think?'
Catherine saw the cup in Jason's hand still in mid-air before he raised it to his mouth. 'Very kind,' he said unemotionally, as he replaced the cup in its saucer. His eyes found hers, a deep blaze of contempt in them. 'He's done a great deal for Catherine already, of course.'
Catherine knew she had gone cold, trying not to flinch from that gaze.
Althea said calmly, 'Yes, I know that he was the one who persuaded her to go on the TV show. And I don't think he's regretted it.'
'I'm sure he hasn't,' Jason said smoothly, his eyes still holding Catherine's.
'He said she's very good, though at first she was lacking in confidence, a little. However, I daresay that was better than over-confidence. He said it's been very easy to teach her the right techniques.'
'I'll bet,' Jason murmured, but Althea seemed not to notice the fleetingly ugly expression on his handsome face. Catherine, suppressing a shudder, turned away, wrenching her eyes at last from his cruel stare.
She went to bed early, hoping that he would stay in the lounge talking to his mother until she could reasonably pretend to be sleeping. But he came soon afterwards, as she was standing in her nightdress before the mirror, taking pins from her hair.
She picked up the pretty silver-backed brush with the flowered design that he had given her for her birthday two years ago, and nervously began using it.
When he came near, she felt her skin shiver, and it was all she could do not to jump when he leaned close, but he only placed his keys and some small change on the dressing table, then walked over to the big wardrobe as he shrugged out of his jacket.
She wondered where he was going to sleep, but didn't dare to ask. She put down the brush, knowing that he had removed his shirt and was unbuckling his belt. She stood fiddling with the things on the dressing table, moving the hand mirror over a few inches, picking up a cut crystal scent bottle and putting it down again.
Jason had pulled on maroon pyjama trousers before he spoke, saying harshly, 'So lover-boy couldn't keep away from you today? Was he very put out when he found my mother here to chaperone you?'
'It wasn't like that,' Catherine protested.
'No? He came just to offer his condolences and see if he could help, did he?'
'Yes,' she said, knowing that she sounded unconvincing. He hadn't come just for that, of course. He had hoped to see her alone, to warn her about the gossip that might be circulating. She didn't want to tell Jason that. It was bad enough that he knew himself, without being made aware that the whole of the television studio staff were making only too accurate surmises.
'You're a bad liar,' he said, coming over to her. She turned to face him fully, trying not to show how nervous he made her.
He took her chin in a hard hold and his eyes glittered into hers. 'I don't want him in my house,' he grated. 'Ever again, understand? Don't you ever invite him here again!'
'I didn't invite him,' she protested.
'No, I don't suppose you did,' he said cynically. 'Not knowing my mother was here. He's a bit too eager, isn't he?'
'Jason, please stop it. I know you're angry, but—'
'Angry? You have a genius for understatement, darling. I'll tell you something. I always thought of myself as a civilised human being, but in the last two days I've realised just how primitive emotions can be. I would take the greatest pleasure in beating your boy-friend to a bloody pulp—and what I'd like to do to you doesn't bear thinking about. Like breaking every bone in your body, for starters. Does that frighten you? It should. It terrifies me.
So don't—don't give me any excuses, Catherine.'
Her eyes wide, she shivered in his hold. She had always known that Jason had a capacity for violence that he kept under rigid control. Now it threatened to escape that control, he had admitted it. She was mute, afraid to speak.
He released her abruptly and muttered, 'I'm going to the bathroom.'
Catherine got into bed, still shivering in spite of the blankets. She closed her eyes, and fifteen minutes later he came back and slid into bed beside her, not touching her, but only inches away. She lay tense, trying to keep her breathing even, every muscle rigid.
When he moved, her hands clenched by her sides and her eyes flew wide in the darkness. His hand was on her waist, and when it slid up to her breast and rested there, she held her breath. Jason shifted his body, his hard thigh coming between hers, and his hand stroked up to her shoulder until his fingers were on her neck, the thumb lightly pressing on her throat as he lowered his mouth and kissed her.
She had almost expected naked savagery, her mouth quivering under his with apprehension. But although it was hard and brooked no refusal, his kiss was not cruel. She raised a tentative hand to his shoulder, and he lifted his mouth abruptly and with his fingers on her wrist forced her hand back down on the pillow. 'Jason,' she whispered.
He said, 'Be quiet. Just be quiet,' and kissed her again, parting her lips forcibly, moving his mouth back and forth over hers.
His hands on her * body caressed her with controlled violence, and he stilled every move she tried to make, just stopping short of hurting her. Her heart was thumping with fear and something else, and she accepted the message of his body and lay quietly as he made love to her in a totally new, totally puzzling way. He wanted her only to be passive, not to stir at all, either in resistance or in reciprocation. In the end she felt that he had reduced her to some sort of object, a thing for his own use, reasserting his ownership as though she was a possession that had been illegally borrowed by someone else.
It was the first time he had ever had a total lack of care for her feelings during lovemaking, and when it was over she had tears slipping silently down her cheeks.
Jason felt them on his fingers as he released her, sliding his hands away from her face where he had been holding her while his mouth kept hers captive.
He lay on his back, breathing hard, then said, if it makes any difference, I didn't enjoy that much, either.'
Catherine wiped away the tears with the sheet, and swallowed. Her eyes were burning and sore, and she shut them, tightly.
'Go to sleep,' Jason said harshly.
She swallowed again, biting fiercely on her lower lip. She felt humiliated and wildly unhappy, and she wanted to die. To go to sleep and never, never wake up.
CHAPTER NINE
Catherine had to nerve herself to turn up at the studio the next day, but although she thought there were a few covertly interested looks cast at her and Russel, nothing was said. Russel helped, his manner so normal and unchanged that she was soon able to take her cue from him and appear quite unconcerned and unaware.
Winston recovered gradually in the next two weeks, but of course his and Althea's return trip had been postponed. Catherine resigned herself to having them both stay for at least another two weeks after Winston had been discharged from the hospital. She felt guilty because the prospect filled her with dread, but at the same time there was a measure of relief in the thought that not yet would she be alone with Jason, apart from the children. There had been no repeat of the coldblooded lovemaking which had shocked and distressed her, and in front of his mother she and Jason managed somehow to maintain a facade of normality. But in the privacy of their own room, an icy estrangement prevailed between them, the tension at snapping point every evening.
The children seemed not to have noticed the strain. There were times, when the whole family was together, when both Catherine and Jason tried so hard to pretend there was nothing wrong, that she could almost believe it
herself. Then he would catch her eye, and she would see the bleak enmity in his, and hastily look away.
Several times she tried to make an opportunity to talk to him, to try and get through the invisible barrier that seemed to divide them from each other as effectively as a brick wall. Each time she retreated in failure, defeated by his apparent indifference or his occasional biting sarcasm.
One evening there was an office party which Jason was expected to attend, and to bring his wife to. Catherine would have seized on any excuse not to accompany him, but Althea had offered to babysit, and when she dared to suggest that she would prefer to stay home, Jason turned on her with a savage expression and said, 'You'll come, Catherine, if I have to drag you by the hair. I know you'd rather be anywhere else but with me, but you can at least pretend to act like a wife!'
So she went to the party, suitably dressed in a long, dark synthetic dress that left her shoulders bare and skimmed her slim figure seductively, and with her hair newly shampooed and styled in pretty tendrils about her face.
The occasion was a farewell for a longrserving member of the senior staff, with cocktails served for over a hundred people, and dinner afterwards for the 'inner circle' of senior staff. She found herself singled out by many as someone other, now, than simply Jason's wife. Several people made a point of mentioning her TV performances, and asking her questions about how the show was made. She found that although at first she felt rather selfconscious, it was far more pleasant being able to talk about the work which she found fascinating than, as on previous occasions, searching for small talk with the wives, and listening to Jason's colleagues as they 'talked shop.' By the time dinner was served, she had begun to almost enjoy herself, and she even had enough confidence, after a couple of glasses of sherry, to boldly ask one of the men what was meant by a term he used when speaking to Jason of some aspect of business leases.
Jason looked surprised, but the other man smiled and apologised, saying,
'I'm sorry, Mrs. Clyde, we shouldn't be boring you with this stuff.'
