The Open Marriage

by Flora Kidd

  'You were very rude just now, leaving us without a word,' he said coldly. 'Where did you go?'

  'I felt sick. I went for a walk on the beach. To clear my head,' Jessica replied stiffly, continuing with her packing.

  'And what are you doing now?'

  'Can't you see?' She was deliberately acid. 'I'm packing. I can't stay here any longer. I can't stay while that . . . that woman from New York is in the house.' Her voice shook a little and her hands were still. Distress that he could insult her by inviting Ashley King to come and stay in the same house as herself welled up inside her; that he, whom she loved so much, could be so depraved.

  'That woman, as you call her, happens to be the owner of this house,' he drawled quietly. 'And I didn't invite her. She always comes to stay here at this time of the year.'

  'Oh.' Her hands began to move again, folding and re-folding a peach-coloured underslip. She hardly knew what she was doing, she was so upset. 'It doesn't make any difference. I'm still leaving,' she muttered.

  'Because your memory has come back?' he asked jeeringly. 'Because you've remembered we'd been living apart for two years before you came to see me in Wales? Because you've remembered you want to divorce me so you can marry someone else? Is that why you're leaving?' His voice had taken on the soft menacing sibilance which warned that his temper was fast reaching boiling point, and Jessica glanced up warily. Alun was moving towards her and his eyes were blazing with anger and something else; something that seemed very close to hatred. 'You've been lying to me, haven't you? All the time you've been here you've been lying, pretending you couldn't remember; playing on my sympathy and at the same time keeping me at arm's length... .'

  'I ... was going to tell you the truth tonight,' she whispered, backing away from him. 'Honestly I was, Alun. I ... I've remembered everything ... but I ... I hadn't remembered Ashley. I'd forgotten about her, and when I saw her it was as if a blinding light blazed through my mind and I ... I remembered you'd been having an affair with her and that was why we quarrelled, why you stayed away from me all this time. Oh, how could you, Alun? How could you have an affair with her? She's old enough to be your mother!'

  'She is my mother, you stupid little bitch!' he hissed at her, and grabbing hold of her he dragged her against his hard lean body, and holding her face with cruelly biting fingers he bent his head and blistered her lips with the heat and hardness of his own.

  There was nothing loving or tender in the way he kissed her. His intent was to punish her, and he did, pressing his mouth against hers until her own sharp teeth cut into the soft flesh, drawing blood. Around her body his hard lean arms tightened so much that she was afraid he would crack one of her ribs and he thrust a leg roughly between her knees, forcing them apart. Hate was his motive for doing what he was doing to her, not love, and she struggled with all the strength she had to free herself without success.

  Across the flat cotton-cool surface of the bed they fell, and Jessica managed to free her mouth from the domination of his to gasp.

  'Alun, no! Please wait. Let me explain. I didn't know you . . . you never told me about your mother. . ..'

  'No explanations. No more excuses,' he panted, his eyes flaming with golden fire. 'You're mine, and by God, I'm going to have you here and now! You can't keep me at arm's length any more with your lies!'

  He'd gone mad. She had driven him to madness, was the overriding thought running through her mind as his lips claimed hers again. And what was the best way to deal with a madman? It was to humour him, wasn't it? Go part way along the path he wanted to tread.

  But he made her go with him all the way, and she couldn't resist his kisses or the caresses of his long fingers on her arms, her legs, her body. Her mind reeling with sensuousness, she was more than ready for him when he took her, and culmination for her was just as much a shuddering explosion of passion as it was for him, leaving her limp and moaning, bruised and shaken, incapable of coherent speech, completely vanquished.

  Dawn was breaking, pale light slanting into the room, when Jessica moved at last, coming to the surface of a deep sleep, disturbed by some noise. Above the fan whirred softly. For a few moments she lay aware that she was alone, that someone had laid her against pillows and had covered her with a sheet, and slowly the memory of what had happened in the night trickled into her mind.

  Well, she had got what she had been longing for, hadn't she? She had wanted Alun and she had got him—in fury and frustration, it was true. Sighing, she licked her lips. They were bruised and throbbing. She supposed she should feel ashamed and angry at the way it had happened, because he had taken her in anger and not in love. But she didn't, because she had felt the same as he had, fury and frustration at the situation in which they had both been trapped.

  She wished he had stayed with her, though, then they could have talked. She could have made those explanations she had wanted to make and he had refused to let her make, closing her mouth with his hot demanding kisses. And she could have asked him about his mother, Ashley King. She could have asked him why Sally had never told her that Ashley King was his mother.

  Perhaps they could talk now. Jessica turned and looked at the unshuttered window opening. The sky was growing lighter, streaked with pink. She pushed the sheet from her and swung off the bed. From the case where she had packed it the previous night she took her blue and white cotton dressing gown and wrapped it around her nakedness. Shaking her hair back from her face, she padded past the bathroom and into Alun's room.

  In the greyness of dawn the room looked bleak, devoid of colour. The double bed was smooth, untouched. He wasn't there and it looked very much as if he hadn't been there. She felt a flicker of panic. Where was he? Surely he hadn't left. Suddenly she was running to the closet, sliding back the doors. A few clothes were hanging there. But hadn't he brought more with him? And where was his lightweight flight bag, the one he always took with him when he had to fly somewhere on an assignment?

  Although she searched the room thoroughly she couldn't find that bag. Nor could she find some of his clothing; the heavy working denims, the tough denim shirts, the jungle boots.

  Puzzled, she went into the bathroom. Sunrise flooded the room with peach-coloured light. Steam still shrouded the mirror and water still dripped from the shower tap. It wasn't long since someone had been in there. Maybe Alun hadn't left yet. Maybe he was having breakfast, planning on returning to her room to wake her up and say goodbye to her, tell her where he was going.

  She hurried along the passage. He wasn't in the lounge, he wasn't in the breakfast room and there was no one in the kitchen cooking. Jessica went back to the lounge and stepped out on to the terrace. Sea and sky were flushed flamingo pink now and in the distance the horizon was a smudged violet line. Birds were singing among the exotic, sweet-smelling shrubs and some were flitting about, swooping through the open lounge. Alun wasn't there.

  She was just thinking of returning to her room when she heard the sound of a car's engine as the vehicle turned into the driveway. She went down the steps to the driveway. The dark blue Cadillac was just stopping. The engine was turned off, a door opened and Pierre got out, big and burly, his shiny brown head fringed with greying curls. He came towards the steps whistling cheerfully. When he saw Jessica he stopped abruptly, his big eyes opening wide. A white-toothed smile slashed his brown face.

  'Good morning, missus,' he drawled. 'You're up early this morning. You feeling much better now?'

  'Good morning. Yes, I am feeling better, much better, thank you. Where have you been?'

  'I just took Mr Gower to the airport to catch the early morning flight to Miami.' He cocked his head to one side and glanced skywards. 'I guess that's his plane taking off right now. Can you hear the roar of the engine.'

  She could hear the distinctive noise of a jetliner taking off and she also looked skywards. In a few seconds the silvery plane appeared flying past, its nose in the air as it ascended. Aware that Pierre has gone into the house, Jessica stood where she w
as watching the plane until it was out of sight. Then slowly and thoughtfully she returned to her bedroom.

  There was no note on the dressing table. Alun had gone without a word, without a parting kiss. Having found out that her memory had returned, knowing that she was back to full strength and well able to take care of herself, he had gone, probably on an assignment for the magazine for which his mother worked as an editor.

  His mother. Ashley King was his mother and was owner of this house, King's Fancy. But why had she never known? Why had no one told her? Why had Sally let her think that Ashley King was younger and Alun's mistress? Why hadn't Alun himself told her about his mother?

  Oh, she knew that answer to that last question, she thought as she made her way back to her room. Nosy questions about his family had been taboo in their relationship. That had been part of their arrangement. They had married each other, not a family, not each other's parents, sisters or brothers, Alun had once said to her. Family had been something he hadn't wanted to know about and had apparently not wanted to tell her about.

  She showered and dressed in shorts and sleeveless shirt and hung up the clothes she had packed the previous night. There was no need to run away quite so precipitately now. She could make arrangements for her departure to England in a more leisurely fashion once she knew where Alun had gone.

  'Good morning, Jessica.' Ashley King, dressed as simply yet as elegantly as she had been the previous evening in well-fitting lilac-coloured pants, a flowered-patterned long-sleeved shirt made from cotton and a lilac scarf swathed around her head, its ends tied at the back, was sitting at a table on the terrace where Pierre was serving her breakfast. 'And how are you feeling today?' Ashley smiled, showing that she still had very good teeth.

  'Good morning.' murmured Jessica, feeling suddenly shy and uncomfortable now that she knew who Ashley was. She slid on to the chair that Pierre pulled back for her. 'I'm feeling very well, thank you, Mrs King. . . .'

  'Please call me Ashley. I'm not Mrs King nor Mrs anything else. King is my family name, just as Martin is yours.'

  'Ashley, then. I ... I just wanted to say I'm sorry I was rude yesterday evening. It was a shock meeting you so suddenly. You see, I'd forgotten. . . .' Jessica broke off pink with embarrassment as she remembered what it was she had forgotten—or rather, what she had deliberately closed her mind to. She had once believed that Alun had had an affair with a woman called Ashley King and she had quarrelled with him about it.

  'Alun explained to me,' said Ashley, smiling again. 'About your loss of memory after the accident.' The smile faded and Ashley looked suitably sympathetic. 'It must have been a terrible time for you. But I'm glad you're better now. I know Alun has been very concerned about you and quite disappointed that your stay here didn't seem to be helping your memory much. He knew, you see, that he couldn't stay with you until the end of the month, but he didn't want to leave you on your own. That's why he phoned me and asked me if I'd come and stay with you for a while so he could go off to New Guinea to join Bruce Kerowski there. Bruce is one of our best photographers and together they've been compiling information about rain forests which the magazine is featuring in next March's edition.'

  'Oh, I see,' said Jessica stiffly. Pierre had brought her fruit juice and her own separate pot of coffee. She ordered croissants and strawberry preserve and he went away. She sipped some orange juice and then said quickly before she could change her mind, 'I didn't know until last night that you're Alun's mother.'

  'You didn't?' Ashley's glance expressed surprise. Then she laughed. 'How like Alun not to tell you! He's really very secretive, as you must have found out over the years. That's the Welsh in him. Huw was like that too—fiercely proud and independent and never letting anyone know his thoughts and feelings ... except in poetry.' Ashley paused and then added, 'That lovely lyrical poetry of his that none of us could understand except in translation because it was all written in Welsh.' She looked across at Jessica. 'You did meet him, didn't you?'

  'Yes, once. Not for long.' Pierre came with the croissants and jam. She poured herself some coffee and slit open a croissant, wondering how she could ask her next question without seeming to be too curious. 'I stayed in his house too, last June. Alun was living there.'

  'Whitewalls?' asked Ashley, her eyes dreamy. 'I stayed there too, before and after Alun was born. It's a pretty place, but I couldn't have lived there. It was too remote for me, too misty and mysterious.' Her faint smile mocked herself. 'I'm strictly a city bird, and that city has to be the Big Apple. I can only stay here for a short time.'

  'Is ... is that why you left him—Huw Gower, I mean?' ventured Jessica tentatively. 'Because you couldn't live where he wanted to live?'

  Across the table Ashley studied Jessica's face with narrowed eyes.

  'Alun hasn't told you anything, has he?' she remarked. 'He's just expected you to understand him without you knowing anything.' She sighed and leaned back in her chair.

  'Then I guess I'd better fill you in on a few things.' She smiled again, an ironic quirk of the lips that was familiar to Jessica. Alun had inherited it. 'After all, that's what a mother-in-law is for, isn't it?' Ashley laughed outright this time.

  'You know, being a mother-in-law is the last role I would ever have cast for myself. I was very surprised when Alun told me he'd got married. Marriage didn't seem to be his life-style at all.'

  'That's what other people have said about him,' said Jessica.

  'What other people?'

  'His sister Margian and Sally Fairbourne, his cousin.'

  'Hmm. Well, Margian would know him as well as anyone, I guess. After all, he grew up with her at Whitewalls. But this cousin Sally, who is she? I don't seem to have heard of her.'

  'I'm not sure of the actual relationship, but her family used to live near my home in Beechfield. It was at the Fairbourne house that I met Alun.'

  'I don't know them at all. You see, I was never married to Huw,' said Ashley coolly.

  'Not married?' gasped Jessica.

  'He was married to someone else, to Margian's mother, and she might have been a Fairbourne for all I know. She died, unfortunately, soon after Margian was born. I met Huw when I was attending an English university, taking a postgraduate course. He came to give a talk on the influence of Welsh rhythms and imagery on poets who had written in English.' Ashley's eyes grew dreamy again as she looked into the past. 'Even now I can remember the impact he had. He was about forty at the time, tall and black-haired, with a handsome haggard face—he was still mourning the death of his wife. He looked, I suppose, like the romantic poet he was. I fell in love with him and made every effort to get to know him. To my surprise he responded and invited me to visit him in Wales. I went to Whitewalls and stayed for a while. We were very happy together.'

  'Then why didn't you stay with him for ever?'

  'He didn't ask me to,' replied Ashley. 'He was, I guess, still in love with his first wife. As for me, I'm very independent, too, and I had my life all planned. I wanted to return to New York to work for the magazine my father had helped to found. I wasn't interested in domesticity.' Her lips curved in an ironic smile. 'I was extremely annoyed when I realised I was pregnant. I could have concealed the fact and had an abortion, I guess, but that thought didn't enter my head. The child I had conceived was the result of my love for Huw, so when Alun was born I wrote to Huw and told him. He was delighted to have a son and said I was to take Alun to him, to live with him and to grow up in Wales. And that is what happened. I took Alun to Huw. Margian was three at the time, and I don't think she has ever known Alun is not her full brother. Only one other person over there knows that I'm Alun's mother, Huw's close friend and neighbour, David Jones. And now you know. Does knowing make a difference to you, Jessica?'

  'Yes, it does. You see, Sally Fairbourne once told me that Alun was having an affair with a woman called Ashley King. I believed her and was very upset. Alun and I quarrelled about it and he left. We'd been separated for nearly two years when I
was hurt in that accident.'

  'So he has told me. He told me too that you went to see him in Wales to ask for a divorce. Do you still want one?'

  'If he wants one I'll agree,' Jessica muttered. 'I don't want to come between him and what he wants to do. I love him too much to do that.'

  'But I had the impression it's you who really wants the divorce, so you can marry someone else; someone who would be a better husband, stay with you all the time, give you security and children. Is that what you want?' asked Ashley, looking puzzled.

  Jessica frowned and bit her lip as she played with the remains of a croissant on her plate. After a while she looked up and straight at Ashley.

  She's a beautiful woman, she thought, and she must have been even more beautiful thirty-seven years ago when she first met Huw Gower. She's strong too— stronger than I am or will ever be. Strong enough to make a life for herself without the man she loved. Strong enough to give up her own child. I don 7 think I could do that. I'm too possessive, I realise that now. I want Alun to be apart of my life always and I want to be the mother of his children and mine. I suppose I'm just plain old-fashioned.

  'Say what you feel, Jessica,' Ashley prompted softly. 'Don't hide from the truth about yourself.'

  'I ... I'd like to have Alun in my life always,' Jessica confessed diffidently, 'but I'm afraid that if ... if I show I'm possessive about him, he'll leave again and won't come back to me. I love him very much and I would like to have his children. I don't want to be married to anyone else, and I have no need to be now.'

  'Then you must tell Alun when he returns from New Guinea, because I don't think he knows how you feel,' advised Ashley gently.