Arian

by Iris Gower

  She was in bed when Gerald returned home. She stirred as he climbed in beside her. Her eyes were still red and swollen and she felt vulnerable and ill at ease.

  ‘I threw the stuff away,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, Gerald.’ She lay dry eyed beside him and, after a moment, Gerald put his arms around her, not in passion, as he usually did, but as if he was suffering some of her pain.

  Together, they lay in each other’s arms and, though it might only be pity on his part and despair on her own, Arian was grateful to Gerald for his gentleness at a time when she most needed it.

  As the weeks passed and the winter winds blew through the mountain sides, Arian woke one morning to the realization that she had been mistaken – she was not going to have a baby. She gloried in the knowledge, falling down on her knees beside the bed she shared with Gerald, silently thanking God for sparing her that ordeal and yet, at the same time, an edge of guilt crept into her mind and would not let her rest. She would have to speak with Gerald, tell him of her mistake, and she bit her lip wondering what his reaction would be. She was soon to find out.

  ‘So you did your worst.’ His voice was bitter. ‘In spite of everything I said, you went ahead and got rid of my child.’

  ‘No I did not.’ Even as she spoke, Arian knew it was pointless. Gerald had drawn his own conclusions and nothing she said now would make him listen to the truth but she needed to try to convince him of her innocence.

  ‘I did nothing, took nothing. It was a mistake, I was just late. I couldn’t have caught for a child after all. Listen to me, Gerald.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said flatly. ‘In any case, it doesn’t matter now, does it?’ He walked out of the room and Arian stood staring at the closed door, her mind in a turmoil, her hands trembling. She was guilty, in a way. The intent was there to rid herself of the child and even if she hadn’t actually done it, she had wanted to.

  After that, Gerald was cold and withdrawn. He moved his things into the spare room and Arian breathed a sigh of relief; what did it matter what Gerald thought, so long as he left her alone. But strangely, she found it did matter.

  She immersed herself in her business more than ever before. Most days, she worked mornings at the bench with the old cobbler she’d hired. Together, she and Vincent repaired boots and shoes for their growing number of customers.

  In the afternoons Arian wrote out orders to other firms like Clark’s of Somerset and Lotus who made fine slippers, a favourite with the ladies of the town.

  Later she would spend an hour or two walking around the streets of Swansea, collecting money due and giving out catalogues. She was always recruiting new customers, as though she felt the need to prove that she was making something of her life. The business, though the profits were small and the money sometimes slow coming in, brought her a small measure of independence, the feeling that she still had an aim in life.

  One evening as she sat over her books, working out her profit margins, adding up her expenditure and balancing it with her intake, she sat back and took stock. She was not making a fortune – the repairs were a regular if small source of income and the catalogue business was just about breaking even. Still, all things considered, she was beginning to make some meaning out of her life. She was comfortable in the house Gerald had bought for them, even if she was often alone there. Her hours she could fill with things to do, new catalogues to design, new slogans to write, this was part of the work she really enjoyed.

  Gerald came home early. She folded away her papers and sat back in her chair. She could hear him moving about in the other room and she wondered what had brought him home at such an early hour. There was nothing for him here, not now – he didn’t even share her bed. Their marriage was no marriage at all.

  Gerald came into the room and looked down at her. ‘You know something? You look very desirable tonight.’ He sounded a little worse for drink. She thought she could smell another woman’s scent on him but she remained silent. What he did was no business of hers.

  ‘Very desirable.’ He rested his hand on her shoulder, his fingers moved down to her breast and she tensed, knowing by the light in his eyes that he wanted her and intended to have her.

  ‘Gerald,’ she spoke softly, urgently, ‘please believe me, I’m sorry about everything, about the mistake … the …’ Her words trailed off as he drew her to her feet.

  ‘Let’s not talk about that now.’ He rested his hands on her shoulders, his tone was abrupt but he was roused and made no attempt to conceal it.

  She had no illusions about him. Gerald wanted her, wanted her body. He did not care about her responses. He was a man after all. Love and gentleness did not enter into it.

  He led her into the bedroom and undressed, dropping his clothes on the floor. He pushed her back on the bed and took her as he would take a whore, it was a quick coupling with no regard to her feelings.

  When he had finished, he rose from her and disappeared into the other room. She could hear him pour water into a bowl and she lay there feeling used and angry. He returned after a few moments and stared down at her.

  ‘Perhaps I should leave a few shillings on the bedside table.’ The sarcasm in his voice brought the colour to her cheeks.

  ‘You underprice me, Gerald.’ Her reply was sharp. ‘I demand much more than that for the sale of my body, you more than anyone should be aware of that.’

  ‘Move over.’ He climbed into bed beside her. ‘I might as well have my money’s worth.’

  In the morning, Arian could not bear to stay indoors. Instead, she did her rounds of the nearby streets, taking so many orders that she wondered if she would have to employ a younger, full-time cobbler; the work was getting too much for Vincent and her to handle alone.

  She was outside the house of one of her richer customers, busily writing in her notebook that, yet again, Mrs Willerby had failed to pay for the goods she’d received over a month ago when she became aware of a presence, a shadow falling over her.

  Arian looked up into the eye of the cold sunlight and for a moment was blinded by it.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t Mrs Simples.’ Calvin Temple’s voice held a marked note of derision. He moved a shade and she saw him clearly; he was looking at her as though she was something distasteful to him. ‘Happy are you with your well-to-do husband?’

  ‘Calvin …’ she began, but he made an impatient gesture which silenced her.

  ‘You are looking well,’ he said. ‘Living off your husband’s ill-gotten gains suits you.’

  ‘Don’t be so quick to judge. You are no angel, your sins are just different ones so why should you be anyone’s judge?’

  ‘Defending your husband are you? Don’t say you’ve fallen in love with him now that he has lined his pockets.’

  Arian lifted her head. ‘Mind your own business.’ She put her hands on her hips and her coat swung open. She saw Calvin’s eyes move over her slender body.

  ‘I suppose Simples finds you a worthwhile bargain.’ His implication was plain and galled. Arian struck out at him, her words like stones. ‘Don’t act holier than thou. I happen to know that you made a Sarah Frogmore pregnant and she a married woman with a child. Is that the behaviour of a gentleman?’

  She turned as though to walk away and then she was aware of his hand on her arm.

  ‘You’re right, of course,’ he said. ‘Who am I to judge anyone?’ He dropped his hand. ‘I could have loved you so much, Arian.’ He said it so softly that she hardly heard the words. Then he was striding away, the line of his shoulders taut as though they carried a heavy burden.

  Suddenly Arian was tired. She felt weak and rather ill. She moved slowly back along the streets wanting nothing more but to reach the peace and privacy of her own home. She hoped Gerald was out, that he would stay out. But he was there, seated at the dining table, his arms folded across his chest as though he was waiting for her. She took her place beside him and they ate in silence. He made no reference to the previous night and Arian hoped he’d b
een so drunk that he didn’t remember what had happened.

  The hope was short lived. That night Gerald again reached out for her, only now he was coldly sober. He took his time having his fill of her and his words, spoken in a drunken anger the night before, rang in her ears. It was clear he meant to have his money’s worth of her. In the darkness, when he was asleep, Arian lay dry eyed at her husband’s side feeling as though she was trapped in a web from which there was no escape.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Sarah sat in Calvin Temple’s sumptuous drawing room and knew that her visit had been a mistake. He was distant from her, even his expression was remote as though he’d much rather be somewhere else. She felt miserable, humiliated and she knew it was all her own fault.

  She decided to be honest with him. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here,’ she said. ‘It was just that I felt so … so abandoned.’ She paused, wondering if she was being silly and melodramatic.

  ‘It’s as though no-one in the world cares for me,’ she added in a small voice. And why should Calvin be any different to the rest of the world? she thought, suddenly seeing their relationship for what it was – nothing more than a brief, casual encounter, at least to Calvin Temple.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ His voice held genuine sympathy. ‘You are a lovely, charming lady, very persuasive too.’ He smiled though his eyes did not meet hers. ‘I was wrong to take advantage of your vulnerability. We were both very foolish. Still, you’re a very attractive young woman. Don’t underestimate yourself.’

  She felt suddenly warmly grateful to him. She longed to go to him, rest her head on his shoulder, beg him to hold her, but she knew he wouldn’t welcome such a move. Whatever had been between them was all her doing. He’d never wanted her, not really. He’d just been like her, needing someone to turn to in a weak moment.

  She rose to her feet. ‘I’d better be going. I’m sorry I troubled you but thank you for seeing me anyway.’

  He rose quickly and opened the door for her, and his eagerness to see her go compounded the hurt she felt.

  ‘There’s nothing to thank me for.’ He looked down at her, his brow creased. ‘I was irresponsible, I shouldn’t have made love to you.’ He smiled then. ‘But it was an experience I very much enjoyed.’

  She knew it was a salve to her pride – he was a good, kind man – but the truth was, their encounter had been only a momentary dalliance on his part.

  She left the house and began to walk slowly down the drive. She felt bowed down with humiliation but worse, she was so lonely, so alone.

  Leaving the large gates behind her, Sarah headed for the town. She didn’t know where she was going or what she intended to do next. She was at a loose end, wife and mother yet none of those things. There was no-one who cared for or needed her, no-one in all the world.

  There was a hard lump in her throat and she wanted to cry, to tell everyone of her pain but who would want to know? She took a deep breath and held her head high, unwilling to make a show of herself in the streets of Swansea. She suppressed her tears – she was Sarah Frogmore, respected now by the community who had once looked down on her. She had at least achieved that much but it was a hollow victory.

  In a desultory manner, she strolled past the shops, scarcely seeing what was inside the windows. She needed nothing. Her wardrobe was filled to capacity with clothes, so many clothes that she would never find time to wear them. Then her eye was caught by a sign in the window of one of the buildings advertising the catalogue of a Mrs Arian Simples, supplier of boots and shoes. Slippers, perhaps that was something she did need.

  As Sarah stood there, idly looking at the bright picture on the front of the catalogue, the door of the building opened and a woman came out into the street. A lock of pale gold hair had escaped from under her hat and her eyes seemed large in her pale face. In her arm was a large bundle of catalogues. They were too heavy for the woman to hold and they slipped to the cobbled roadway into a fan of colours.

  Sarah took a step forward. She knew the girl by sight, of course, knew her as Arian Smale, daughter of Bob Smale who had once owned the newspaper. There’d been all sorts of tales about Arian roaming wild over the hillside, living like a hermit in some hut or other but by her dress, Arian was far from the itinerant she had been branded.

  Arian seemed to sway, putting her hand against the wall for support and Sarah found herself moving quickly to Arian’s side. ‘Are you sick? Here let me help you.’

  Arian shook her head. ‘I just need to sit down, rest a little. I feel so cold and tired.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Sarah said reassuringly, ‘I’ll call a cab to take you home.’

  It was as if Arian hadn’t heard her and Sarah, holding Arian upright, took a deep breath and lifted her hand, waving frantically towards the busy roadway. To her relief, a driver reigned his horse in to the kerb and she gestured to him to help Arian up into the cab.

  ‘There, there,’ she soothed, ‘everything is going to be all right.’

  ‘I can manage.’ Arian’s voice was faint and Sarah squeezed her arm reassuringly. As she sat in the cold leather seat of the swaying cab, Sarah realized Arian was looking at her strangely, almost as if she didn’t want her help. But that was absurd.

  ‘Are you in pain?’ Sarah asked solicitously. She was, in a peculiar way, enjoying the experience. It was a change to be in control of the situation.

  ‘I’m upset, that’s all it is.’ Arian spoke through gritted teeth. ‘I’ve been let down. Rich people seem to be all the same, even Calvin Temple is a liar.’

  Sarah was taken aback. This woman knew something about her and Calvin, she was sure of it. But how?

  ‘You know Lord Temple?’ her voice was strained.

  ‘I doubt if anyone really knows him,’ Arian said bitterly. ‘You perhaps know him better than most.’

  ‘Not really.’ Sarah bit her lip. Did Arian know the truth about Sarah’s sham marriage and her liaison with Calvin? And if she did, so what? What harm could she do? But no, Arian couldn’t know anything. She was acting strangely because she was ill.

  The sound of hooves clip-clopping along the streets seemed to have a soporific effect on Arian and she sank back in the seat, her eyes closed, her hand over her side.

  Sarah regarded her thoughtfully. Here was Arian, sick and ill with no-one, it seemed, to care about her. The husband was probably an unfeeling brute who took his pleasure of her however bad she was feeling. Sarah bit her lip, would that were her problem.

  There was no-one at home when Sarah knocked on the door of the plain sunwashed house in the hills. She pushed the door wide open and helped Arian inside.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘there’s no need to worry. I’ll get you into bed and call the doctor. He’ll know what’s up with you.’

  ‘I don’t want a doctor to tell me what’s wrong,’ Arian said flatly. ‘I know what’s wrong.’

  ‘Why, what is it?’ Sarah pushed the kettle onto the hob and looked round for the teapot. A cup of tea always seemed to help whatever the situation.

  ‘I’m two months gone,’ Arian said, her eyes hooded by her lids. ‘I didn’t want to tell my husband because last time I thought I’d fallen for a baby, I was mistaken. It caused nothing but bitterness between us.’ She rubbed at her eyes. ‘It’s a punishment on me. I’m miscarrying the child, I just know it.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this, I don’t know what I think you can do to help.’

  Sarah felt a sense of panic. No longer in control, she turned around as though searching for help. There seemed to be no house near by, no neighbourly old woman to call on.

  ‘Come on,’ she said with a firmness she didn’t feel, ‘I think you’d better get into bed.’

  It was difficult negotiating the stairs. Arian kept crumpling under the pain but, at last, Sarah managed to get her into the bed. Breathing heavily, Sarah looked down at Arian; her eyes were squeezed together in pain, her knees drawn up to her stomach.

&nbs
p; ‘There’s a good girl,’ Sarah said softly. ‘It’s going to be all right. Let’s get your skirts off you, shall we?’

  Arian looked at her with huge eyes. ‘Help me, I don’t want to be alone, not now.’

  ‘I won’t leave you, don’t you worry.’ Sarah swallowed hard. She’d been about to suggest running for help, she just wasn’t equipped to handle such a situation. Her thoughts were confused, she was almost as frightened as Arian but at least she made a pretence of being calm.

  She rolled up her sleeves, a gesture designed to infuse some confidence in both herself and Arian but inside, she was trembling. She remembered, with a feeling of pain, the time she’d miscarried her own child, hers and Calvin’s, the baby she’d given up so much for. It had been an awful experience but at least she’d had an experienced midwife at hand, someone who knew exactly what to do.

  She became aware that on the bed, Arian was straining against the cruel contractions. Sarah felt a momentary pang of fear, Arian cried out, and then it seemed Sarah was too busy to worry about making any mistakes. She looked for clean towels, ran up and down stairs with bowls of water. Someone had told her that cold compresses prevented heavy bleeding, it was worth a try.

  At last it was over. Sarah found herself almost in tears as she sat back onto the bed. Arian, lying panting beside her, was exhausted, drained and pale but no longer in pain.

  ‘It’s finished.’ Sarah began to clean up the bedroom. She knew that all she could do now was to make Arian as comfortable as possible. ‘You’ll be all right, you’re a strong girl.’

  Arian didn’t reply. She seemed empty of feeling. Her face lacked any vestige of colour and tears slipped from under her closed lids.

  Quickly, with a deftness she hadn’t known she possessed, Sarah made up the bed with fresh, clean sheets and plumped up the pillows beneath Arian’s tangled hair.