"I couldn't care less," she retorted. "My whole day's been ruined anyway."
He looked at her helplessly, then with a shake of his head, walked out of the room.
The rest of the evening was a repetition of the afternoon. Jess sat stolidly in front of the fire, and Stella found conversation so difficult that she was thankful when at half past eleven her sister-in-law folded her knitting and stood up.
"I'm off to bed. I'm up at six in the morning."
"Are you going out?"
Jess looked surprised. Then she smiled loftily. "I'm always up at six. I worked in a mill when I was a girl and old habits die hard."
"Surely you like to lie in occasionally?"
"Never. There'll be plenty of time for resting when I'm dead!" v
On this cheerful note she departed, and Stella drew closer to the fire. More than ever she felt a stranger here, with no affinity to the house or it's occupants. The man whose muffled voice she could hear across the hall was her husband, but she felt no warmth towards him, only hurt and disappointment. She had known their outlook was different, but had been sure they would find some mutual understanding on which to base their marriage. His behaviour today had proved her wrong, for in her wildest imaginings she had not foreseen a wedding day like this.
The clock chiming midnight roused her from her thoughts and with an exclamation she went upstairs. The bed had been turned down at both sides and she avoided looking at it as she undressed. Even a hot bath did not ease, her tension, and she trembled with humiliation and fatigue.
At one o'clock she was lying in bed staring at the ceiling. With every passing moment her body grew more rigid, but the clock had chimed two before she heard Matthew's step on the stair.
Gently the handle turned and Stella closed her eyes, her heart beating heavily as she felt him approach the bed and look at her before he made his way to the dressing-room. Doors opened and closed, a wardrobe squeaked and there was a muttered oath, then he went into the bathroom land she heard the sound of running water.
When he came back her eyes were open, and he smiled and sat on the edge of the bed, unfamiliar in a dark green dressing-gown.
"Hullo, sweetheart," he said softly. "Sorry I'm late."
"I thought you weren't coming to bed at all!"
"On my wedding night?" There was a hint of laughter in his voice and he leaned across and stroked her arm. "Don't be upset, Stel. I couldn't help it."
"Is that going to be your excuse for everything?"
"Please darling, try and understand. This sort of thing happens once in a lifetime." He took her in his arms. "I've waited so long to hold you like this, don't spoil it now. Why sweetheart, you're shivering — you're cold as ice!" He rested his cheek against her hair. "I love you so much. I can't bear you to be angry."
Tenderly he kissed the hollow of her throat, his hands clumsily playing with the frail straps of her night-dress. "Sweetheart," he muttered thickly, "I love you." Pulling her closer still he pressed his lips to the swelling curve of her breasts. He was breathing heavily, his words incoherent as he savoured the smooth coolness of her skin, so soft against his own, so dry against the dampness of his brow. His hands were more insistent now, their touch firmer, demanding, moving with the assurance of possession along her waist and down her thighs.
In an agony of mortification Stella stared into the darkness, hating her body for its abandoned response, hating Matthew for his assumption that he could leave her alone for hours and then come and possess her as though it were his divine right. How dare he touch her like this! How dare he put his hands — his mouth —
"No!" she screamed. "Don't touch me!" Like a wild cat she tore away from him and slithered to the other side of the bed. "Leave me alone," she panted. "I can't bear you!"
"Darling, you're upset. You don't mean it."
"I mean every word! Do you think you can make love to me when it suits you? That I can wait until there's nothing better for you to do? I'm a woman Matthew, not a statue!"
"You're upset, sweetheart. If —"
"Upset sweetheart," she mimicked. "Is that the only word in your vocabulary. Of course I'm upset! Upset that I was stupid enough to marry you! Stupid enough to think we could ever be happy together."
"You don't know what you're .saying!"
"I do! I do! You're selfish and inconsiderate and — and common!" She tossed her head. "That's what you are — clumsy and common!" Her face crumpled and she buried her head in her arms, her thin shoulders shaking with sobs. "You leave me alone all day and half the night and then expect me to — to… and I can't," she cried. "I can't! Go away and leave me alone."
The bed creaked as he stood up. "There's no need to cry. You've nothing to be afraid of. I won't come near again unless you ask me."
Her sobs grew deeper; for herself, for him, for both their shattered dreams. "Matthew," she gasped, and lifted her head.
But he was gone. .
Lying wakeful throughout the night Stella faced the knowledge that her outburst had brought into the open a fact which she had even been hiding from herself: though she found Matthew attractive; his personal mannerisms and speech jarred on her so forcibly that it destroyed her desire for him. Had Charles acted in the same way — putting an important case before his honeymoon — would she have been so angry? In all honesty she knew the answer was no, and acknowledging this, she wondered dismally where she and Matthew could go from here. If only she had realised her true feelings for him before she had become his wife! Yet during their engagement she had thought her fear of his lovemaking the natural reaction of- an inexperienced girl against the ardour of a mature and passionate man. She had hoped that once they were married, her liking for him would make a normal relationship possible.
Now she knew this was out of the question. Any happiness they might achieve would have to be worked for by both of them. But could Matthew forgive her outburst of last night? Could he forget the wounding things she had said?
Slowly the darkness limped it's way to dawn, and as her watch showed seven, she put on her dressing-gown and went across to the dressing-room. There was no reply when she knocked on the door, and she went in hesitantly to find Matthew still in bed, his face flushed from sleep, his hair awry.
He regarded her in silence and she sat on the end of his bed and hid her trembling hands in her lap.
"I — I want to apologise for last night," she whispered. "If I could take back what I said… make you forget it…"
"I can't forget," he said huskily.
"But if you could at least understand…" She went over to the window, heedless of the cold wind blowing in on her. "If only you'd know what it was like for me to be here… alone in this house… feeling like a stranger… unwanted — in the way… and then having to wait up for you — knowing you weren't even thinking of me until you came in and saw me in bed!" Her voice cracked but she forced herself to continue. "I'm not making excuses for what I said. I’ll hate myself for it for the rest of my life." She swung round and forced herself to look at him. "That's what I want you to know. That I'd give anything in the world if I could turn back the clock — if I could have the last few hours over again."
"I wish it too," he said heavily, "but we can't. And there's no use fretting about it." He patted the side of the bed. "Come and sit here, Stella, you'll catch your death of cold by the window."
Close to him she saw that his eyes were dull, as if he too had been awake for most of the night. The stubble on his cheeks and chin showed dark against the whiteness of his pillow and he looked tired and defeated.
"I can understand you not wanting me to touch you last night When a woman's hurt, it's her first reaction. But I can't forget what you said. I didn't even know you thought them."
"I'm sorry," she repeated miserably.
"I daresay you are. But I'll not keep any woman against her will."
"Matthew, don't! I've tried to explain. Can't you understand?"
"I understand too well. Not that
I blame you," he went on. "If we'd gone on our honeymoon none of this might have happened. In Africa I'd have been an Englishman abroad; but in England itself I'm a foreigner to you — a stranger with whom you've nothing in common. To understand me, you've got to learn another language — but it's a language you despise. You made that abundantly clear."
"I despise myself" she protested, "not you."
"You say that now — because you're sorry for me. But deep down — in your heart — it's what you really think of me."
"No!"
"Yes," he contradicted. "You do. I must have been blind not to have seen it for myself." He gave a harsh laugh. "Blind or in love. It amounts to the same thing!" He leaned against his pillow, talking half to himself, half to her. "I knew you were critical of me — some of the things I said grated on you — I could tell from the way you sometimes looked at me. But I didn't think it mattered. Lots of people from different backgrounds are happily married. Their love helps them to meet each other halfway, I suppose. Our problem is that you don't love me. That's why I irritate you."
"You make me sound an awful prig."
"You are! But I thought we'd overcome it." He smiled, slightly amused at her look of surprise. "Many things you do irritate me. You never thought of that, did you?" -
She shook her head. "What sort of things?"
"Your way of speaking, for one. All stiff upper lip and politeness. And the way you're always so formal and reserved. But I love you in spite of it. In your case, you love me less."
Chastened, she looked away from him. "If we get used to each other perhaps —"
"I won't change," he said forcefully, "and neither will you. It's just whether or not you can accept me as I am." -
"I want to!" Bursting into tears, she fell on her knees beside the bed. "I want to, Matthew, but you must help me."
"I am as I am. I can't change.?
Then I will. But give me time."
"As much as you want." He tenderly stroked her cheek, waiting until her sobs had subsided before he spoke again. "Go and rest, Stella. You look tired."
"So do you." Wiping her eyes she stood up. "I hope you — you won't tell your sister about last night. I don't want anyone to know."
"You've no fear of that Ifs not something I'm likely to boast about!"
Tears filled her eyes again, and overcome by self-loathing she closed the door and went back to bed.
Matthew had accepted her apology — had even acted as though he understood the reason for her behaviour — but this in no way lessened the pain she had caused him, nor eased the bitterness he must feel when he remembered her wounding remarks. Only when she could love him properly, when she could hold him in her arms and return his passion, would he forget her taunts.
"Let me love him soon," she prayed. "Let me love him the way he deserves." With these words on her lips she fell asleep, not waking till the maid came in with her breakfast. Watery sunshine seeped through the curtains, lightening the heavy furniture, and though the room was still sombre there was nothing sinister about it in the light of day.
Stella sat up. "Good morning, Elsie." -"'Morning, Mrs. Matthew. You'd best cover up a bit. It's colder here than down south."
"My bed-jacket's in the top drawer. Would you get it for me?"
The girl did as she was told. "My, what pretty things! Which one do you want?"
"The blue one's the warmest."
Elsie brought it' over and put the tray on the bedside table. "Hope you manage to get all this inside you!"
Stella looked in dismay at a bowl of porridge, a kipper and a pile of toast "I'm afraid I don't eat half of | it — I'm not used to more than toast and coffee and fruit juice."
"You'll not get fruit here in winter. Miss Jess says it's too dear for squeezing."
"I'll have to see what I can do," Stella smiled and changed the subject "Have you been here long?"
"A year. There used to be another girl but she only stayed a few months. I give Miss Jess as good as she gives me and no offence, but anyone with a weak will can't work for her." The pale eyes crinkled. "I'd better go, or she'll be after me for wasting time."
Left alone, Stella picked at her breakfast Although she had Agreed to leave the housekeeping in her sister-in-law's hands, there were several innovations she would make. Jess must not be misled into taking what she had said -last night too literally. As Matthew had said, there could be only one mistress of Grey Walls.
After breakfast she made a tour of the house. There were eight main bedrooms, all furnished in heavy wood and dark colours, as well as a large playroom with a service lift that led down to the kitchen, and she wondered with a pang whether Matthew had intended it as the nursery quarters.
Down in the hall once more she gave a cursory, glance into the drawing-room before opening the door to Matthew's study, surprised to find it light and modern. Two walls were lined by bookcases filled with leather-bound editions of the classics, while & smaller bookcase stood behind the maple desk, the volumes technical and much more well thumbed.
She debated whether to go in search of Jess, and after a moment's hesitation pushed open one of the doors and found herself in a rectangular kitchen on one side of which was a sitting-room and On the other a scullery.
Jess was by the stove. "So you're down. Matt said you would be staying in bed all morning. If I'd known you weren't, I wouldn't have sent up your breakfast"
"I like it in bed anyway, thanks."
Jess grunted. "You'll be lucky if you get Elsie to " climb the stairs with a heavy tray every morning. It's a big enough house for one to manage as it is."
"I agree." Stella perched on the kitchen table. "Don't you think we should advertise for someone else — or perhaps even a couple? The woman could do the cooking and the man —!'
"Matt won't have a man around his house! He's not the type to put up with a butler."
"He needn't be a butler — more of an odd-job man. He could wait at table and polish the silver and —"
"Bit of an expense to have a man for that."
"He would find more to do once he started," Stella said pleasantly. "If you could tell me what paper to advertise in, we could work out what to say between us."
Jess's face was red with anger as she turned from the stove. "You're taking a great deal on yourself, aren't you? You've only been here a few hours and you-want to change everything! You agreed to let me run the house —"
"As long as I have a say in it."
"It's more than a say you're wanting, by the sound of it."
"Not at all. I just think you're more economical than- you need be."
"You know a good deal after one day, don't you?" Jess's voice was strident. "Ill thank you to let me mind my business and you mind yours."
"But it is my business!"
"Matt's never complained. We may not be as fancy as you, but we know how to live even if we don't use finger bowls! Matt had to slave for years to get where he is now, and I'm not having a chit of a girl spend all the money he's worked so hard to earn!"
Stella was aghast at the tirade she had evoked. In a good Humour her sister-in-law was none too pleasant, but in a rage she was even more unprepossessing, "There's no point in discussing it any more, Jess. If you have anything else to say, you'd better say it to Matthew."
"I certainly will."
Still shaken by the scene, Stella took refuge in the garden. No one had ever spoken to her so belligerently, and it was several minutes before her annoyance had cooled sufficiently for her to become aware of her surroundings.
As Matthew had said, the land at the back of the house was extensive, with wide-lawns bordered by beech trees and firs. Strolling along one side of a grass verge that led to a small pond, she saw a large bush of wintersweet, the long sprigs laden with such lovely maroon and yellow flowers that she would have liked to take some back to the house, reluctantly deciding not to in case it gave Jess another cause for complaint
For half an hour she wandered the gravel paths
, finally driven indoors by the cold. In the drawing-room the fire was laid but unlit, and she pressed the bell by the mantelpiece.
After a moment Jess appeared in the doorway. "Was it you on the bell?"
"Yes. I wanted Elsie to light the fire."
Her sister-in-law stumped over to the grate, and taking a box of matches from the pocket of her apron, set light to the paper and wood. "You'll find matches in the cabinet over there. We've never made a practice of ringing for maids to do our work."
Jess walked out, and Stella sat down and warmed her hands. Her sister-in-law was going to be more difficult to get on with than she had imagined. She would leave Matthew to deal with her.
To Stella's chagrin he seemed reluctant to do so when she tackled him a few days later. Throughout the week she tried to hide her irritation that Jess never left them alone together, equally irritated with Matthew for not showing he wanted his bride to himself; how did he expect her to get to know him if there was always a third person present? But tonight Jess was out, and though it seemed a pity to bring up a subject which was bound to lead to controversy, unless she took the opportunity it might be some time before they were on their own again.
As soon as they finished dinner and went into the drawing-room she took the plunge. "I think we ought to have more help in the house, Matthew."
"Do you? It's always been enough in the past."
"This house is too big to be run by one maid," she . persisted.
"Jess has never complained."
"I know, but I don't agree with the way she manages."
"How d'you mean?"
"Well, for one thing I'd like breakfast in my room every morning, or at least have it in the dining-room and not the kitchen. And for another, I'd like someone to wait at table. I know Elsie brings the food in, tmt she can't be expected to hand it round when she has the dishing-up and everything else in the kitchen to cope with."
"We never stand on ceremony here."
"It's hardly standing on ceremony to follow a few simple conventions of good living! After all, you can afford it!"
Roberta Leigh - And Then Came Love Page 7
