She glanced ruefully at her slightly swollen ankles. 'Who's worried? My only concern is that I won't ever be able to get into all those fabulous dresses you promised to buy me when I get my figure back.'
'You child,' he said fondly. 'You'll soon by sylphlike again, and then there'll be no one around to touch you in looks.'
'If you say so.' She clung to him. 'Samuel?'
'Mmm?'
'You were right, you know.'
He opened his eyes and regarded her lazily. 'About what this time?'
She gave an embarrassed smile. 'I do love you.'
He laughed and pinched her cheek. 'Good.'
She wanted further reassurance. 'We will be happy, won't we?'
'I hope so,' he said quietly.
'I think we will be.' She sounded like a sleepy, contented cat.
He wound a strand of her silken blonde hair around his hand. 'Have you thought of a name? For the boy?'
She didn't remind him again that he was taking it for granted that she would produce a son, lest their intimacy be shattered. Connie gave a casual shrug without replying.
'Then we'll call him Martin, after my father,' Samuel went on cheerfully. 'The old man would've liked that, made him really proud.'
'Call it what you want. I don't care.' She sounded bored.
'You might in time,' he said generously.
'I don't feel that they'll be my children. Only when you and I have our own will I have my own, if you see what I mean ... ' She yawned. 'I'm going to bed, Samuel. G'night.' She rubbed her cheek against his.
'Night, Constance.'
He prayed that nothing would happen to spoil their present happiness.
Nevertheless, as the weeks passed Connie found time weighing heavily on her hands. She had been depressed and fed up with herself, increasingly growing more irritable. It got so that she hated to see herself in the mirror, she felt she looked so drab and dowdy. Samuel was often away on business and now that she was growing accustomed to her new life, she was often bored. He'd told her she could go shopping as often as she liked, having accounts in most of the largest stores in town. Connie decided one day to take up his offer and amuse herself.
Connie took a cab into town, it being he chauffeur's day off, and wandered around for a while, just looking and wondering what to buy when she was slim again. It was a hot, humid day and Connie felt stale and damp. She was looking forward to a cool shower when she went home. Then it happened. She'd been trudging around a store for over an hour, when she suddenly felt giddy. A manageress quickly came to her aid and led Connie to a staff room.
'Thank you,' Connie said, a little breathlessly. 'I think it was that last flight of stairs that did it.'
'One of our lifts is out of order at the moment, I'm afraid,' the manageress replied. 'You really shouldn't have attempted to climb them at all in your condition,' she added, looking reprov ingly at the swollen belly. 'Would you like me to get you something? Perhaps call your husband?'
'Oh, no,' Connie said quickly. 'Don't bother him, I'll be all right in a moment. But I could do with a glass of water, please, if it's no trouble.'
'Surely, Madam. Just lie still and I'll get it for you.'
She went out, leaving Connie alone. The divan on which she lay was quite comfortable and Connie soon found her eyelids dropping. She still felt hot and sticky, and was glad that the window was open, allowing in some fresh air. It was really too hot to have gone out, she thought sleepily before she drowsed off.
Her back ached unbearably. She had, she thought, only closed her eyes for a moment, when she suddenly found herself swimming in water. Immediately, her senses were alert. She thought she was drowning and for a moment thought the manageress had returned with the glass of water, which perhaps had been knocked over. Then realisation dawned and she struggled to sit up. My God, she thought despairingly, my waters have broken! She began to scream in panic as the pain knocked her flat.
In less that ten minutes, an ambulance was bearing her swiftly to the hospital. Connie clutched on to the attendant frantically and kept asking that Samuel Jessop be notified immediately.
She was admitted for internal examination on arrival and didn't have to be told that the babies were imminent. Connie was in for yet another shock. Mr Myers, the consultant who was to have been in charge of her case, was still away on holiday.
'But I'm his patient, I trusted him,' Connie yelled at the sister fearfully, clutching at the woman's hands in agony as the pain wrenched at her insides.
'He wasn't to know that this would happen, Mrs Jessop,' the sister said, trying to soothe the overwrought girl as best she could. 'You weren't expected until later.'
'Oh, Christ!' Connie bit her lip. 'Where's my husband?'
The sister pushed her flat gently. 'We've managed to contact him. He'll be here as soon as he can. Please lie still, you're making it worse for yourself.'
Connie stared around with huge, petrified eyes. 'Can't you get Mr Myers back? I like him! I know him!'
'It's impossible, Mrs Jessop. You'll have given birth by the time he arrives at the airport.'
'So soon ... then I'm all alone,' she whispered.
'Dr Swan will look after you,' the sister said briskly.
'Who's he?'
'He's just one of the many capable doctors we have at this hospital, my dear. Now, you mustn't be afraid. We'd better get you straight into the delivery room, no time for the labour ward,' she said, as Connie gritted her teeth. 'Your twins will be arriving any time now.'
'I want my husband ... '
'Yes, yes. Nurse!' The sister looked over her shoulder. 'Take Mrs Jessop along now. Quick about it.'
For Connie, the next few hours were a complete blur. The contractions began to come with increasing regularity until they seemed to merge into one, long drawn out excruciating throb. Dr Swan's face swam before her eyes as she gulped in gas and air. Only when she was informed that Samuel had arrived at the hospital was she able to relax as she'd been taught. The incubators stood ready like small, transparent coffins, and she was surrounded by people, garbed all in white, only their eyes showing.
Samuel bounded to his feet, his face as white as the masks the nurses wore. One hurried out from the delivery room and he stepped in front of her.
'How's it going?' he gasped, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief.
'Doing very well. Mother and first child are coming along nicely.'
'A boy?'
'Girl.' She went back inside.
The baby girl Connie had produced prematurely was under-weight and fighting for life, a tiny bundle in an incubator, while her mother moaned and ground her teeth for the second time. The young doctor was suddenly perspiring, eyes worried over his mask for Connie was too exhausted to push any longer.
'I am trying,' Connie moaned, 'but I'm so tired... '
The doctor realised the difficulty and cursed under his breath. His fingers searched inside her. The umbilical cord was around the baby's neck. The doctor untwisted the cord and withdrew his hand.
'Forceps, please!'
A still birth. The baby was dead on arrival, but for half an hour artificial respiration was applied and the baby was plunged into hot then cold water.
When Samuel Jessop was told the news, his face froze into a mask. For a full ten seconds he neither moved nor spoke. He was like a snapshot of a man, poised, lifeless, made of cardboard. Then slowly he sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands. Still he uttered not a sound. The nurse tried to placate him by saying his wife was well and that his daughter should be fine. Tears seeped through his fingers, his body rocked to and fro.
Connie lay in bed – a marble statue. She heard the door open and close, then someone trod softly to her bedside. She turned her head. Samuel dropped a bunch of flowers awkwardly on to the table and looked down at his wife. Her heart contracted with love and pity when she saw the state he was in. He looked as if he hadn't slept for a week, and dark circles ringed his eyes. Reflected in th
em was such anguish that she couldn't bear to look. Briefly, her eyes fluttered, closed.
'How are you feeling?' he asked tonelessly.
'Weak,' she murmured. It was a strain to meet his eyes but she managed valiantly. 'I'm ... sorry ... about the boy, Samuel.'
'Yes, I know.'
God, this was terrible, they were like strangers. She wanted to weep, felt she'd failed him utterly, and it had been so important to him. If only he'd make a gesture, say something, even cry… she'd know what to do then, how to react, but what could she say to a zombie?
She wet her lips. 'I could've died giving birth to him,' she whispered.
'Well, you didn't, and he did.'
'Don't look at me like that! It wasn't my fault, Samuel!'
'No.'
She turned her head into the pillow but felt too miserable even to enjoy the comfort of tears. The silence was broken when she heard a chair being pulled towards the bed and, when she turned her face, Samuel was sitting with his body bowed over the bed, head cradled in his arms. Hesitantly, almost as if she feared the contact, Connie lifted her hand and stroked his hair. He didn't move. They remained like that for a few moments.
'We'll give the girl away for adoption as soon as she's strong enough,' Connie said softly. She waited but, when he didn't reply, went on: 'They'll keep her here for six weeks or so but, unless you want to, neither of us ever has to see her.' She shifted her position, her body seeking coolness under the starched sheet, but didn't remove her hand from his hair. 'It'll be hard for you to get over this disappointment, I know, but you will in time, and then we can start afresh.'
She heard him mutter and lifted herself slightly to hear better. 'What did you say?'
He raised his face. 'I said, disappointment isn't the word for it.'
His callous tone surprised her. She was weak, needed his support and love more than ever, and all he could do was blame her. 'It's not as if I can't get pregnant again, Samuel!' Connie knew she sounded resentful, rebellious, but she couldn't under stand the depths of his behaviour. Yet her words seemed to do the trick. He gave a faint semblance of a weary smile and at last his eyes were compassionate.
'Poor little girl,' he said gently. 'Of course you're right. You must hurry and get better now.'
Absurdly, she felt as if she were going to cry, and turned aside. 'Perhaps ... you'd better leave now, Samuel I'm tired, I think I'll try to get some rest.'
Samuel, who had been to see her daughter in the hospital, told Connie that the baby was going to be very pretty, blonde, a lot like her mother. She tried to gauge her feelings towards the baby but couldn't seem to work up any strong emotion either way. It all seemed so unreal, as if the birth hadn't actually involved herself, as if she hadn't participated. Yet once or twice during the next few weeks Connie wondered whether she were doing the right thing, giving her baby up for adoption, rejecting it as she herself had been. She persuaded herself that since she didn't have any maternal feeling towards it, adoption must be the best course for them both.
She was relaxing in her bedroom when Samuel came to inform her that he had signed the necessary legal papers and documents, and the adoption was under way.
'It's all arranged, honey.' He stroked her long hair as she lay on the bed. He thought she looked very demure and womanly in a silk Japanese housecoat in vibrant colours. The loose, flowing material effectively hid her stomach which was still a little flabby, although she had been assured that with exercise she would soon be her normal size.
He pressed his lips briefly against one bare shoulder where the robe had slipped. 'She'll be going to a Mr and Mrs Came. You don't have to worry that she won't be looked after properly.'
'She's getting a better start than I did. I didn't have anyone I could call mum and dad.' She sat up and he put his arm around her. 'You do think we're doing the right thing, don't you?' she asked tremulously.
How could he tell her that to have it otherwise would mean that the child's presence would be a continual reminder to him of his disappointment. 'Don't you think so?' he parried.
'I guess so,' she said distantly. She flung her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. 'What happened doesn't make any difference to us, does it, Samuel? I mean about the way you feel for me?' Connie gazed at him earnestly.
'You know it doesn't. You said yourself that we can start anew.'
'I know, I know.' She squeezed him to her. 'But sometimes I can't help being a bit afraid. When you came to see me at the hospital, it seemed like I waited for you for ages to come to me, and there was no one, no one at all.'
'I was very upset, very distressed ... '
'Then when I saw you, I felt as if somehow I'd lost you. That you had died with the baby ... '
'You're being fanciful.'
'I suppose so.' She stared up into his eyes. 'You do love me, Samuel? Really, really love me?'
To pass the time Connie joined flower arranging classes, pottery lessons, spent hours lazing around the suite or going shopping with friends; new friends, girls belonging to a class that Samuel encouraged her to mix with. They all seemed to spend money wildly, freely. Connie was the youngest in her set, the most unsophisticated and gauche, but the young marrieds weren't deterred and included the young Mrs Jessop in their luncheons and coffee mornings. She had a great deal of freedom and did as she pleased. As the wife of a rich man, she wasn't even a housewife. There was nothing for her to occupy herself with at home; the cook and maids did all the work. She learnt who the best hairdressers were, began attending beauty clinics regularly, grew idle and was spoilt by everyone.
Connie was greatly admired for her beauty and was in a fair way to having her head turned by all the flattery and compliments she received when they dined with friends. Yet Samuel kept her feet securely on the ground and Sheila, whom Connie still saw now and again, kept the girl sensible. Connie was a great favourite with all Samuel's men friends but, in spite of many subtle hints and offers from some of them, never dreamed of being unfaithful to Samuel.
And then her doctor gave Connie the green light and all that day she pampered herself. Sheila, who was unfailingly useful to Connie when it came to choosing clothes, met her for lunch and together they went to buy Connie a new gown. She had her hair done, had a session in her beauty salon, then gave the cook the evening off. She would prepare dinner that evening herself. Vases of flowers were everywhere and she spent ages arranging the table. When Samuel arrived home he looked at his wife curiously when he saw how she looked. He automatically pecked her cheek, then stepped back to take a longer look.
'Are we going out again, or have I forgotten that we're expecting guests?'
Excitement made her appear unusually vivacious and her eyes positively sparkled. She looked entrancing.
She gave a low laugh. 'Silly man, this is all for you.'
'I'm flattered. What's the occasion, your birthday or something?'
'You'd have known about it before now had it been my birthday.' She laughed. 'No, I just decided that for once, you and I were going to have a cosy evening at home together. We're always going out for dinner or having guests in for drinks, I thought it was about time that we had an intimate U!te a tete, brush up on that homely domestic scene that you're so fond of imagining.' She smiled gaily. 'And I cooked the meal myself, so don't you dare say anything, even if you hate it.'
'I promise.' He smiled, falling in with her good humour. He cocked his head to one side. 'New dress, too?'
'Like it?'
She pirouetted for him and the black, foamy material billowed around her long, slender legs. She looked as if she'd stepped out of Vogue, good enough to eat.
'Why shouldn't I look my best for my husband?' she enquired, with mock severity. 'Anyway, stop gloating over me like that, the dinner'll be getting dried up, and I've got champagne on ice to go with it.'
They had dinner, then relaxed on the couch together, listening to the stereo. They chatted about his day, what she had done, whether her French
seemed to be improving, how Sheila was, and then Samuel announced with a yawn and a stretching of his arms that he was tired and was going to bed.
'Good night, darling, it's been a lovely evening.'
She laughed impishly. 'You sound as if you're leaving me. Then she patted his cheek indulgently. 'Go on then, get yourself ready.'
Samuel was in bed reading a novel when the door opened softly. Connie often: came to kiss him good night before she went to sleep herself, so he smiled, dropped his book, and held out his arms for her embrace. He was just thinking how lovely she was looking tonight, when having reached his bedside, she pulled back the covers and jumped in.
'What do you want, Constance?' Samuel laughed. 'Come for a cuddle?'
He drew in his breath sharply as she put her arms around his waist tightly and nibbled his ear. She flattened her body against his long length.
'I want more than that tonight'
Samuel swallowed. 'Is everything all right, then?' he asked unsteadily.
Connie giggled. 'I should say so. Come on, lover, show me what a wonderful man you can be. Show me what I've been missing all these months.' She sighed. 'It's been such a long wait, Samuel.' .
He rolled over on to his side and their lips met in a deep kiss. He ran his hands up and down her body over the thin chiffon, felt her tremble. Connie sat up, lifted her arms above her head and pulled off the short baby doll nightie, then lay back and, wriggling her hips suggestively, her eyes teasing, pulled off the pants. She lay there, naked, looking up at him adoringly while her breasts rose and fell from her heavy breathing. When he didn't move, she reached up and unbuttoned his pyjama top, then ran her fingers over his chest. Her hands gripped together at the back of his neck, and she pulled him down on her. He kissed her lips, eyelids, cheek and neck while sliding his hands over her smooth, perfumed body all the while.
Then: 'Let me,' she whispered, and dipped down under the covers.
Samuel lay still, eyes closed. Her hair tickled his stomach as she pulled down his pyjama trousers, and then her mouth was working on him. He clenched his fists, willing on himself an answering excitement. Five minutes later, her head popped up and she took deep breaths of air. She grinned at him cheekily.
Capital Sins Page 15
