by Janet Tanner
Her determination kept her going to the showroom though she had begun to hate the atmosphere there. Now that it had been pointed out to her how unpopular she was with the work force the sudden silence that descended the moment she entered a room became more obvious to her than ever and she could feel the eyes that followed her with dislike when she left. Worse, she had to bite her tongue and refrain from telling the workers what to do, or risk another lecture from Hugo and knowing they must know, every last one of them, why she had changed her ways made her feel angry and humiliated and fuelled her determination to find a way to get even with Laddie.
It was one stiflingly hot afternoon in July when her opportunity came and when it did it happened by the sheerest chance. Paula was in the showroom when she saw Laddie come hurrying out of his office and she thought there was something oddly furtive about the way he looked around to see if he had been observed. Paula experienced a small thrill of anticipation which owed more to some sixth sense than to anything she had yet seen. As Laddie started down the stairs (he suffered from claustrophobia and had a terror of elevators) she slipped into the lift, then waited until he appeared, panting a little, at the bottom of the stairs and followed him outside into the street. There was a car drawn up at the kerb and at the wheel was a boy, very clean cut, very good looking – and with a face that was familiar to Paula because of the circles she moved in. As she watched unseen from the doorway Laddie hurried around to the passenger side and climbed into the car. The boy turned eagerly toward him, Laddie leaned over, put an arm around the slim shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. After a moment when they appeared to simply sit looking at one another the boy put the car into drive and it took off into the honking hustling traffic.
Paula stood in the doorway, a smile playing around her mouth, as she savoured the implications of what she had just seen.
She had known, of course, from the moment she had met him that Laddie was homosexual and she had scarcely given it a second thought. The fashion world was riddled with gays and Gary, perhaps the best friend she had ever had, had been one. But what she had just witnessed was something else again, for the boy in the car had been Chris Connelly, son of the senator Jimmy Connelly who might, it was rumoured, run for President next time around.
Tingling with excitement Paula watched the car disappear in the heavy afternoon traffic. So – Chris Connelly was Laddie’s lover – no wonder he had been so discreet! A whisper of scandal like that would do the Senator no good at all – he was always portrayed as a regular family man with a regular wholesome family. If it ever got out that his son was gay the news media would have a field day.
Chris must have phoned Laddie and asked him to meet him urgently or the designer would never have left his office in the middle of the day and perhaps they had thought one moment of carelessness would not matter. How wrong they had been!
Paula returned to the showroom, her mind busy with plans to make the best use of her knowledge. Laddie was out for over an hour and when she heard sounds of movement in his office Paula decided to act.
‘Is everything all right, Laddie?’ she asked in mock solicitude, knocking on his door and looking in.
‘Yes, of course – why shouldn’t it be?’ he replied, but she could tell he was not being entirely truthful.
‘I was concerned when I saw you rushing out like that,’ Paula said. ‘And then when I realised it was Chris who had called, wanting to see you urgently, I thought there might be something dreadfully wrong in your private life …’ Her tone was ingenuous, her expression concerned, but her eyes were sharp and eager. She was guessing, of course, that it had been a phone call that had sent Laddie scurrying out of his office and down to the street but the moment she said it she knew she was absolutely right. Laddie’s boyish face had turned pale and he was quite unable to hide his expression of utter horror.
‘Oh Laddie – I’m sorry – is it a secret?’ she asked in mock concern. ‘ Of course – I can see that whatever it is it must be terribly sensitive with Chris being who he is. It could be so embarrassing for everyone concerned, couldn’t it, if word got out. But you need not worry. I won’t breathe a word. Your secret is quite safe with me.’
She saw high spots of colour begin to stain Laddie’s ashen cheeks and the feeling of power she so enjoyed began to surge through her. How he must be cursing himself for his carelessness! Well, she had him now. He would never dare to talk about her to Hugo – or anyone else – again.
Paula smiled to herself. He wasn’t to know she meant it when she said his secret was safe with her. She wouldn’t tell it because once she did she would no longer have any hold over him and it was that that was making her feel so good, as if she had just had the biggest orgasm of her life.
‘If there is anything I can do to help just let me know, won’t you Laddie?’ she said sweetly.
He was still staring after her in horror as she left the room.
The discovery that she was pregnant came as an even bigger shock to Paula than had the news from England that her young sister Sally had given birth to an illegitimate son whom she intended to keep and bring up alone. Paula had been surprised but not dumbfounded when the letter had arrived – wasn’t it always the quiet ones who ended up in what her mother would refer to as ‘trouble’? The fast ones were too streetwise to find themselves in such a predicament and if they did they would get out of it, fast. But it was quite in keeping with Sally’s nature that she should have refused both an abortion and adoption. ‘ Silly idiot, she’s ruined things for herself now’, Paula thought, and promptly forgot all about her sister.
When her own pregnancy was confirmed however she was shocked beyond belief. She had had no intention of starting a family yet – if at all! – and had been meticulous in the use of her diaphragm. Except … yes, there had been one occasion, a lazy Sunday morning when she had felt too languorous to get out of bed and visit the bathroom. And just that once had been enough seemingly.
Her first thought was dismay at how drastically her social life would be curtailed for the best part of a year, her second was anxiety for her looks. What would having a baby do to her body? Her breasts weren’t big enough to sag much but if they lost their firmness they’d turn into a couple of fried eggs and slim as she was any thickening of her waist would destroy the balance of her figure so she would end up looking like a plank, straight up and down. Lax tummy muscles and varicose veins were just two more horrors to be feared and the fact that millions of women cope with such problems and emerge virtually unscathed was of little comfort. It wasn’t enough for her that she would still be a very attractive woman no matter how many children she bore; Paula could not be satisfied with less than perfection. She knew she would look in the mirror and hate every inch of bulge and she dreaded the discomforts of early morning sickness, indigestion, the clumsiness, the indignity of it all.
Hugo, on the other hand, was as excited as a child on Christmas Eve when she told him the news.
‘Don’t kid me, Paula,’ he said, gazing at her with an expression of wonder that said he half-believed her already.
‘I’m not kidding. Would I, about something like that? People do have babies you know, especially when they make love as often as we do.’
‘I guess they do!’ he said, still sounding amazed. Unable to contain his delight a moment longer he picked her up and whirled her round, then just as suddenly set her down again, terrified he might hurt her. ‘I’m sorry, honey, but it’s such wonderful news.’
‘It’s all right, I won’t break,’ Paula said, laughing because his happiness was infectious.
‘This calls for a drink!’ He turned to her anxiously. ‘Is it all right for you have a drink?’
‘I don’t suppose a glass of champagne will hurt me.’
‘I’m going to make sure you’re completely spoiled,’ he said when he had opened a bottle and filled two flutes. ‘Good food, plenty of rest … you’ll stop working immediately, of course.’
‘I suppose
so,’ Paula said, sipping her champagne and feeling pleased for the first time since the doctor had confirmed her condition.
Her only real pleasure in going to the showroom these days was knowing the discomfort her presence caused Laddie; it would really be very nice to have a cast iron excuse not to have to go in again except to swan in occasionally in the wardrobe of beautiful maternity clothes she felt sure Hugo would design for her. It was a pity that mini skirts were in – they were not very flattering with a bulge. But Hugo would come up with something that was both fashionable and attractive, she was sure, and she would be the most glamorous mother-to-be in New York.
Perhaps being pregnant was not so bad after all.
By the time Harriet was born Paula had changed her mind yet again. She had been right first time – being pregnant was awful! As the months had passed she had viewed her increasingly ungainly body with distaste. Ugly – so ugly! Would it ever return to its former shape? And her poor skin, stretched like a child’s balloon over that enormous bulge, would it ever be smooth and taut again? Twice a day she massaged almond oil into it, but still she worried, and the lovely nutty perfume of the almonds which she normally loved made her feel nauseous. In fact almost any kind of smell, pleasant or otherwise, did the same.
‘Cheer up, honey, a bad pregnancy means an easy confinement’, Melanie Shriver, her greatest friend amongst the lunch set, comforted her, but Paula was soon to discover that that was just another old wives’ tale.
The birth was long and difficult. When Harriet Bristow Varna finally came screaming into the world Paula was too exhausted to want to look at her, let alone hold her. She lay back on the delivery bed, hair damp and straggling about a waxy face, vaguely aware that a great deal of fussing was going on around her lower half which felt strangely wet, hot and sticky. She heard the word ‘haemorrhage’ mentioned, but registered more annoyance than alarm.
‘Lie quite still now, Mrs Varna, don’t try to move,’ a nurse said in a worried voice and Paula merely thought: Silly cow! As if I would!
More fuss, more voices. ‘I’m going to give you an injection, Mrs Varna, to stop the bleeding.’ The needle sinking deep into the vein. Anxious faces. The stickiness had spread; she could feel it around her shoulders and in her hair. But she really was much too tired to care.
Everything was muzzy now, the faces floating, the voices seeming to come from a long way off.
Never again, thought Paula as she slipped into the soft blanketing mists. Never, never again!
‘Honey, are you awake? There’s someone to see you.’
Paula, lying back against the pillows, sighed inwardly. Since she had been allowed home from hospital a week ago it seemed there had been an endless stream of visitors and she was sick to death of them.
The ladies she met at charity lunches and fund raisers had come, mostly under the pretext of bringing a gift for Harriet, though Paula suspected half of them had come because they were curious to see the new house and the other half wanted to evaluate how well her looks had stood up to her ordeal. Then there had been a delegation from the showroom, headed by Maura Hemingway bearing a huge bouquet of flowers and a card signed by each and every employee – ‘ Hypocrites!’ thought Paula bitterly.
But most of all she resented Hugo’s mother and sisters. They had never liked her but now they took a proprietorial interest that was both irritating and cloyingly claustrophobic. They hung over the lace-bedecked crib, cooing at the baby, straightening the covers and discussing how this feature was exactly like Grandmother Docherty and that one the image of Aunt Sophia.
‘That’s the Docherty nose for sure!’ Hugo’s mother said triumphantly and Paula had to bite back the urge to scream – It’s not! It’s my nose! I’m her mother, for goodness sake, surely you’ll allow she can be just a little like me?
Besides hanging over the cot Martha insisted on sitting beside Paula’s bed like a sentinel, as if being the baby’s grandmother also gave her the right to watch over Paula, and she refused to be budged even by the nurse whom Hugo had employed to take care of ‘his girls’ as he called them and who was seriously concerned about the strain on Paula of the constant stream of visitors.
‘New mothers need their rest,’ she had said politely, but Martha had bridled.
‘You think I don’t know that? I’ve been a mother myself four times. How many times have you been a mother, young lady?’
Ellie, the nurse, had kept her patience with difficulty.
‘You must know then how tiring visitors can be. I don’t want Mrs Varna’s temperature to go soaring up again. She has been very poorly.’
Martha had sniffed loudly. A lot of fuss about nothing, that sniff seemed to say.
‘We’re not visitors, we are family,’ she said aloud.
‘I’m sorry. The doctor’s orders are that Mrs Varna must be kept quiet otherwise he will take her back to hospital again. I’m afraid I must insist you leave now.’
So eventually she had enforced her authority and Martha, looking indignant, had left. Paula had smiled to herself. It was good to have someone else to fight her battles, especially when she felt so dreadfully weak and tired.
This afternoon, however, Ellie was having a few hours off and there was no one to object when Hugo looked in to announce that Paula had a visitor.
‘Oh Hugo, I’m not feeling too good. Can’t you send them away?’ she begged.
‘It’s Greg, honey,’ Hugo said gently.
Greg. Her heart leapt and suddenly she was not tired any more.
Since that July evening in the garden she had not seen him. Business had taken him to Europe direct from Texas – and Paula had been glad, for by then she had been pregnant and she had not wanted Greg to see her looking anything less than her best. As the months had passed she had all but forgotten the effect he had had on her. Now, as Hugo told her he was here to see her, it all came flooding back and with it something close to panic.
She couldn’t see him looking like this – make-up minimal, hair mussed up by the pillows! But oh how she wanted to just the same! A pulse was beating in her throat and she felt her hands trembling.
‘Paula. Congratulations. How are you?’
He was in the doorway, every bit as handsome as she remembered him, carrying a huge bouquet of flowers and a basket of fruit.
‘Oh I’m quite well.’ Her voice was slightly breathless; she hoped he would not notice.
‘You certainly look it! Well, Hugo, you old son of a bitch, I can’t leave you alone for five minutes can I? First time you’re out of my sight you get yourself married, the second you become a father.’
‘Hardly in five minutes,’ Hugo remarked drily. ‘You have been gone more than six months.’
‘Yes, I suppose I have. Anyway, I’m quite sure that left alone with Paula I would be every bit as bad as you.’ His eyes met hers, teasing, and she felt her cheeks growing hot. ‘For you, Paula, the most beautiful mother in New York,’ he said, holding out the flowers for her to take.
‘Thank you, they’re beautiful …’ She thought, oh God how stupid I am! I’ve never been like this with a man before – any man! ‘ Let me take them, shall I?’ Hugo suggested. ‘I’ll get Doris to put them in water. And what about something to drink? We should open a bottle of champagne to wet the baby’s head, don’t you think?’
‘What a good idea,’ Greg said. ‘Still the same old Hugo, drinking champagne at the least excuse.’
‘Our first child is hardly a flimsy excuse,’ Paula said lightly as Hugo left the room. ‘Wouldn’t you like to have a look at her? She’s asleep, but …’ She reached over to draw aside the lace drapery around the crib but Greg made no attempt to move and when she glanced up questioning she met his eyes, still on her – and still very disconcerting.
‘I’d much rather look at her mother,’ he said almost insolently and the words make something tight and sharp spiral within her.
‘Mr Martin …’
‘Greg,’ he corrected. ‘Oh yes, mo
thers are much more interesting.’
His eyes were moving over her lazily, mentally undressing her, removing the nightgown of virginal white silk and gazing at her breasts, fuller and more voluptuous now than they had ever been. She had had injections to stop the milk coming in but they did not seem to have been entirely successful – she still felt uncomfortably full and occasionally a spot of liquid squeezed from her nipples and moistened the white silk. Now, beneath his gaze, she felt herself colouring once more, but this time the blush seemed to spread all over her body.
‘Get well soon, Paula,’ he said in the same tone, light and teasing but with hidden meaning. ‘It will be good to see you back on the social circuit. We’ve never really had a chance to get to know each other, you and I, have we? I hope it won’t be long before that can be remedied.’
She couldn’t reply, her breath had constricted in her throat. How dare he talk like this, with Hugo practically in the next room? And yet what had he said? Nothing out of place, really. No, it was the way he looked at her as he said it that gave his words a deeper meaning.
‘Here we are then!’ Hugo appeared, bearing a bottle of Moët et Chandon in a silver bucket. ‘I’ve been keeping the stuff permanently on ice! So – what do you think of my little Tumbleweed, Greg? Isn’t she the most beautiful baby you ever saw?’
‘I haven’t actually seen her yet,’ Greg admitted.
Paula drew the lace drapery aside again hoping she was managing to conceal her excitement and confusion and this time Greg peeked inside.
There was no doubt Harriet was a beautiful baby. Paula did not think she could have borne it if she had been ugly – red, wrinkled and bald. But she was not. She had a smooth cherubic face with wide blue eyes and a button nose and her well-shaped head was covered with corn coloured strands of silk.
‘Thank God she doesn’t look like you, pal,’ Greg said to Hugo. ‘She’s just like her mother – a little beauty.’
