Not that Jack and Laura were poor, Caroline knew. Far from it, but both were expanding their relative businesses, so the less drain she was on their finances the better. As well, she assured herself, as she warmed a tin of tomato soup and made toast for her dinner, a frugal life nurtured the soul; she thought she’d read that somewhere.
Caroline had done her best to inexpensively brighten the bedsit with colourful scatter cushions, posters of warm, sunny holiday destinations stuck around the walls and a striped cotton rug bought second-hand at the Portobello markets. Her one concession to luxury was more of a necessity for survival: a two-bar convection heater that she used sparingly because it pushed up the electricity bill.
One afternoon, Caroline was walking up Darcy Street towards her bedsit. Despite moving at a brisk pace to keep warm, she still had trouble keeping up with Teddy Rivkin’s longer strides. She knew that until she turned her heater on and it began to heat the inside air, it was warmer outdoors than in the bedsit. As she walked she slung her briefcase over one shoulder while, in her other hand, she carried a bag of groceries. The collar of her topcoat was pulled up to keep the warmth in, and she wore a fine wool beret over her blonde hair. Knee-high leather boots, the most sensible item she had purchased since her arrival in London, kept the chill out of her feet.
‘Looks like you’ve got a visitor,’ Teddy said, pointing to a figure sitting hunched over against the cold on the bottom step of her building.
‘Please God, let it not be another derelict,’ Caroline whispered. She deduced that the word had gone round to those who eked out a subsistence living on the streets that she was a soft touch for a hard-luck story. As well, being marginally better off, she could be encouraged to give up a percentage of her groceries if the tale were sufficiently heart-rending.
‘The local bobbies usually move the itinerants on, poor buggers,’ Teddy reminded her as he came to the corner of the street. His digs were down the lane. He glanced at her and asked, ‘You’ll be okay?’
Caroline nodded. ‘Of course.’ For a moment she watched him weave his way down the dark lane, thankful that her bedsit wasn’t located there. The lane looked gloomy and dank and depressing, though Teddy — blessed with a gregarious nature — never seemed to notice.
She looked towards the figure on the steps. He shifted, lifted his head. Caroline gasped as she recognised who it was. Nick!
‘Nick.’ As he rose she ran into his waiting arms. ‘What are you doing here? Why didn’t you let me know you were coming? You sold the hotel?’ She fired questions at him, in between kissing him and laughing for the sheer joy of seeing him.
‘I’ll answer all your questions when we get inside. It’s too bloody cold out here,’ he promised as, rubbing his hands against the cold, he reluctantly let her go so they could enter the building.
As soon as they were in the bedsit, Caroline switched the heater on. She watched him look around. He wasn’t fast enough or sufficiently diplomatic to successfully mask his expression. ‘I know. It’s a dump, but you’re not to tell Mum or Jack. I’m trying not to spend too much money.’
‘It’s okay.’ He shrugged his shoulders as if it weren’t important. ‘You’re not going to be here forever, are you?’
‘God, I hope not!’ She said the words with so much feeling that they both laughed. It was so good to see him. She could hardly believe he was here.
‘I’ve wanted to see you so much,’ he said huskily as he drew her into his arms. ‘You know, it’s been over four months … The hotel hasn’t been sold, but we have an “interested party,” as they say in real estate circles. I’m hoping it won’t take too much longer. I didn’t tell you I was coming because I wanted to surprise you.’
‘I can’t think of a nicer surprise,’ she whispered and promptly kissed him again as she nestled close to his chest. Nick being here brought back just how long and lonely the nights had been since she’d arrived and how good it was to be in his arms.
They gravitated to the bed and sat on its edge.
‘How is the study going?’ He slid the beret off her head and ran his fingers through her silky hair. Then he began to help her out of her top coat, but stopped and rebuttoned it. ‘Jesus, it’s as cold as a frog’s nose in here.’
‘I know. There’s no heating other than the bar heater.’
‘Bloody primitive.’ He shook his head. ‘The poms sure are a hardy lot, aren’t they?’
‘You get used to the cold, so they tell me. In about fifty years.’ Smiling, her eyes feasted on him. ‘Where are you staying?’
‘The Dorchester, only for five days though.’
‘Very nice,’ she said, tongue in cheek. ‘I must come visit. Would you like a cup of tea? That will warm us up. I can’t offer you a beer. Sorry.’
‘Tea will be fine.’
He relinquished his hold on her so she could go to what served as a kitchen, of sorts. It was no more than a short row of cupboards with a sink, a two-burner stove top and a small, ancient refrigerator next to the cupboards. Hanging on chains from the ceiling was a horizontal piece of wood from which various-sized saucepans and other cooking utensils hung. When the tea was ready they sipped it appreciatively, sitting at the round table near the window that looked over the garden.
‘Let’s celebrate being together by going out for dinner,’ Nick suggested with a grin. ‘You know somewhere close that serves good food?’
Caroline looked at her watch: 5.30 pm. ‘Yes, but it’s too early. We’ve got some time to kill.’ She got up and walked towards him.
The months of separation, the wanting, burst into a mutual, consuming passion as he took her in his arms again. Suddenly their hands were all over each other, their lips were exploring too.
‘There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for months,’ he said, and then he whispered a phrase he’d never said to any other woman. ‘I love you, Caroline Ashworth.’
Her smile widened, her cheeks grew pink. ‘I love you too, Nick Beaumont.’
Their lips met, sealing their mutual declaration. Perhaps that should have been enough, but it wasn’t.
‘Show me how much you love me, Nick. Please.’
Nick knew she was innocent, untouched. He hesitated. ‘We should wait, there’s plenty of time …’ Although he said the words, waiting was the last thing he wanted to do. He was burning up for her. Every muscle, bone, sinew. His blood was heating to boiling point — so much so that he needn’t worry about how cold the bedsit was, he was on fire … for her.
‘No. Now.’ Her tone was decisive, and when Caroline Ashworth made a decision, she meant it.
‘Are you sure, darling?’ He watched her nod, encouraging him with the warmth of her expression.
‘I … I want us to make love,’ she declared, a little shyly.
He knew she hadn’t gone all the way before, that it would be a time of discovery for both of them. She shivered as, with reverence, he began to undress her. First she lost the topcoat and sweater, then the blouse and skirt. He knelt to ease her boots off her feet, then massaged and kissed them, taking his time to work his kisses and caresses up to her thighs.
It was a sweet, delicious torment and Caroline revelled in it. She had often tried to imagine how it would be — making love for the first time — but imaginative as she was, the reality of the warmth of his touch, his loving, exploring hands and her reaction to them went beyond her imagination. The months of longing, the desire for more — his sweet possession — built until she could hardly bear it …
With a dramatic flourish he threw back the covers on the bed and lay her on top of the sheet. Quickly divesting himself of his own clothes, he joined her and drew the blankets and the eiderdown up over them both. Now it wasn’t the cold that made them cling to each other. Arms and legs entwined, torsos, hips, thighs touched. She could feel the hardness of him pressing against her and a corresponding throb intensified in her womanly core. He caressed her breasts, sucking, nibbling, toying with the nipples until they harden
ed, which made slivers of exquisite delight radiate around and down to the centre of her being. She wanted him so much, inside her. When he touched her there, she arched against his hard male length and moaned with impatience as he stroked and caressed her to the peak of anticipation.
And then, the tension building, with infinite gentleness he slid inside her and lay still until she was comfortable with his invasion. Slowly he began to move, his thrusts becoming bolder and deeper as her muscles relaxed, welcoming and responding to him. Successive waves of pleasure made her shudder and cling to his broad back as if she would never let him go. She heard his groan as he exploded deep inside her and was swept along with him on a flowing river of sensual delights until she crested the highest peak. Then, sublimely satisfied, she rested.
After a while, conscious of his weight on her, Nick rolled away and they lay facing each other. His hand came up to gently touch her face. ‘I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?’ He waited anxiously for her reply.
‘No. Well … a little, but it was worth it,’ she finished with a dreamy smile. ‘I didn’t know it could be so …’ It was hard to find the right words to describe her feelings, the first-time experience. None were adequate, but she settled for, ‘So … thrilling. I thought I was going to die from it.’
He chuckled as he drew her close. ‘Making love is often referred to as “the little death,” you know.’
And so began their love affair …
Eighteen months later they married in Sydney, after which Caroline completed her studies in London and went to Milan for a year. Nick continued to work at B & S Constructions and commute to Italy several times a year to be with his wife. When she was accepted into one of the prestigious colleges of music in Vienna for three years, which would complete her music studies, he took a leave of absence from the company so they could be together all the time.
They rented a small apartment on the outskirts of Vienna and, for the first time, both settled into living a relatively normal, married life.
After three months Nick became bored, being at home alone in the apartment for long periods while she was at college. He found whatever work he could to keep himself occupied. Hotel experience in Lake Tahoe gave him entry to the hospitality business where, though he wasn’t fluent in German, which was spoken by most of the population, he spoke and understood enough to communicate and to get by.
However, Nick had problems, other problems. They were, in fact, deep-seated problems that had begun before their marriage and stemmed from an unwillingness to share Caroline with anyone other than their immediate family. Secretly he resented the time she spent at the college, the studying, the hours of practice. And he could barely disguise his jealousy over any male attention bestowed upon her, be it benign or otherwise. In a sophisticated European city like Vienna, where Mozart and Johann Strauss and his son were revered, many were steeped in and had a love for classical music. Nick disliked it when she gave recitals and was afterwards drawn into the social whirl of people who appreciated her emotive playing. Greedily, selfishly, he wanted to keep her to himself, and he even grew to resent the fact that Caroline appeared to have no understanding of how he felt.
So over the next two years, Nick tired of playing ‘second fiddle’ to her music. At the beginning of their relationship he had exhibited an ambivalent, even indulgent attitude to it, thinking, in his male arrogance, that she would tire of the rigour and discipline required on a day-to-day basis. Eventually he came to accept that music was Caroline’s consuming passion and that his wife was good at what she did, better than good. He knew too that one day she would achieve her goal and become a concert pianist and … Where would that leave them and their marriage?
Even with his lack of understanding and, simmering, below-the-surface intolerance towards her music, Nick realised that being applauded and feted for her talent could and most likely would become addictive. Once that happened, his Caro would never want to give it up. As well, during their time in Vienna, Nick had defined what he wanted out of their marriage: a full-time wife, not a part-time wife and, in time, a mother for their children, not an international concert star.
And what about his career?
He had put everything on hold while she studied. Initially he hadn’t minded. It had been fun setting up apartments in Milan and Vienna but, increasingly, he came to feel shut out of her world. That Caroline had no understanding of his need to get on with his career because she was absorbed by what she was doing, made him very angry and frustrated.
Nick knew his business future lay half a world away in Australia. His father and Lou were, supposedly, grooming him to one day run B & S Constructions. Young Michaela and Joel, both under ten, wouldn’t be ready to come on board for another decade at least. So, how long could he afford to trot around behind Caroline and mark time all over Europe?
If only he didn’t love her so much …
Then Caro became pregnant. It hadn’t been planned — she was on the Pill — but both were happy even though she suffered severe morning sickness for the first three months. Two weeks after Fern Michelle Beaumont was born, Caro returned to her studies and, for a while, Nick stayed at home, taking on the unusual role of house father. He loved Fern dearly, obsessively, but deep inside the resentment towards Caro’s apparent single-mindedness festered and grew, though as a mother — when she was around — he couldn’t fault her devotion to Fern.
As dissatisfaction and alienation multiplied inside Nick, so too did the arguments between them, often over silly things. Whose turn was it to do the laundry? Who was getting up to Fern that night? Who was going to the supermarket? Caroline was compulsively tidy and Nick the opposite. His untidiness in the small apartment, now littered with a variety of baby items — stroller, bouncinette and toy box — as well as his own cast-offs, caused additional friction. And Caroline, one of the best students at the college, was often invited to functions to do with the arts. Sometimes Nick tagged along and tried not to look bored, but now that they had Fern he used their baby daughter as an excuse not to go. Instead, he would spend the evening in a kind of mental agony, wondering who she was talking to, who was coming on to her or trying to take advantage of her.
After one such evening they had a major row.
Caroline, a touch tipsy, had come home just on midnight and been escorted to their apartment door by Parisian concert agent Emile de Vere. Nick had met Emile, and he didn’t like or trust him. Caroline hadn’t finished her studies yet, but de Vere was pestering her to sign an exclusive representation contract with him. Nick had advised against it, saying it was premature, but Caroline continued to hem and haw over whether she would.
Nick waited until she had checked on Fern, who was sleeping soundly, and tiptoed into the living room. ‘So … how was your evening?’
‘Wonderful. Teddy Rivkin was there. Monica d’Est, the soprano too, and the Mexican opera singer everyone’s raving about, Placido Dominguez, made an appearance and gave an impromptu performance. I accompanied him. Monsieur de Vere was very impressed. There were so many Viennese notables present too …’
‘I’ll bet de Vere pressured you to sign with him.’
‘I fobbed him off. Again. Emile’s persistent, though, I’ll give him that.’
She slid into one of the armchairs opposite him and realised, guiltily, that it had been pleasant tonight because Nick, with his increasingly suffocating possessiveness, hadn’t been there. Caroline frowned as a melancholy thought enveloped her. What was happening to them?
‘Teachers at the college have advised that when any publicity starts to bring bookings, I’ll need someone to manage the dates and the fees. They all agreed that having an agent to organise things makes it easier for the artist.’
‘I could manage you,’ Nick said impulsively.
Caroline laughed, but not unkindly. ‘You’re not serious, are you, darling? You know practically nothing about classical music, neither do you care for it and you’re not conversant with the concert houses o
f Europe. Besides, you don’t speak any foreign languages, not even Italian, very well. Emile speaks four fluently. I’d need to have someone with that kind of expertise to represent me.’
‘I’m not good enough?’
‘It’s more a matter of professional expertise, Nick, not whether you’re good enough.’ Caroline’s answer was conciliatory. Why was he so prickly, she wondered? Lately, he seemed to question and criticise everything she said or did. It wasn’t like him.
The next instant he flung himself out of the chair and paced over to the window. It had begun to rain and droplets were splashing and sliding down the windowpane. The room, his world, was closing in on him, and he felt trapped in a kind of limbo, neither belonging nor completely alienated — somewhere in between and certainly not doing what he wanted to do.
‘Christ, I’ve had enough of this,’ he muttered, half to himself.
Caroline heard him; she was sure he’d meant her to. ‘Enough of what? What do you mean?’
‘If you didn’t walk around with your head in the clouds so much, thinking about your music, you’d know. Can’t you see I’m sick and tired of life the way it is? I spend more time with Fern than you do. I work nights so you can study and practise during the day. Everything we do — our life, our marriage, the baby — is geared around you and what you want.’ He turned back to look at her, his gaze belligerent. ‘When do I get to do what I want to do, Caro, follow my career path? Have you bothered to give that a thought?’
Caroline blinked, utterly shocked by his outburst. She’d had no idea … So much anger and unhappiness simmering inside him. Had she been walking around with blinkers on, believing that they were happy, that their marriage was okay? Maybe it wasn’t! ‘We’ve talked about this before. I thought you understood and agreed with what I was doing, that I had to complete my studies.’ She smiled weakly. ‘I’ve always made my goal clear and now I’ve only one more year. Our lives will be different then. Fern will be older, too. There’ll be less demands on my time.’
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