by Iris Gower
He walked briskly along the Stryd Fawr and made for the tall buildings of Wind Street. The offices of the Swansea Times were situated in Green Dragon Lane, the small strip of cobbled roadway that led to the Strand. Gerald doubted if he would find Jono James there but even if he did, the man couldn’t prevent him from making a perfectly justified complaint.
The windows of the offices were freshly painted with the name of the newspaper and Gerald peered through the glass, seeing the wooden floors and the long counter within, with people walking about busily, or sitting at desks writing.
‘Good God!’ He realized suddenly that this was no twopenny-halfpenny concern but a real, thriving business. Perhaps it was time he took an interest in it, he had his rights after all.
Of his wife, there was no sign but at a desk near the front an older man was working, bent over a sheaf of papers, a frown of concentration on his high forehead. Another man, a much younger one, sat at the counter and Gerald felt a dart of jealousy. How dare his wife work in the company of other men like a common hussy? Where was she skulking, anyway? Could she be shut away somewhere with a lover? He wouldn’t put anything past her.
He remembered then with startling clarity what the row with Sarah had been all about. She had told him that Arian had taken a lover, Paul Marchant, owner of a shipping line.
‘They were lovers while she was at sea with him, everyone was talking about it.’ Sarah had a gleam of triumph in her eyes. It was then Gerald had remembered his own doubts about the voyage Arian had taken with the man.
‘You are talking rubbish,’ he had protested weakly. ‘Bridie James is married to the man, it was in all the papers, wasn’t it?’
‘Well, he married Bridie after he dropped Arian,’ Sarah had continued remorselessly, ‘Arian was a married woman. No future in that, was there? Oh, no, Paul Marchant knows which side his bread is buttered. Bridie has her own shipping line, much bigger than his. She’s money, is Bridie and he wanted a share of it so Arian was dropped like a hot cake.’
It was then that Gerald had shouted abuse at Sarah, had, as she’d claimed, raised his hand as if to hit her. It had only been the stricken look on her face that had brought him to his senses but in that moment, he had been close to murder.
He pushed open the door of the Swansea Times offices and strode inside. ‘Mrs Simples, I must see her at once. ‘The young lad at the counter looked at him uncomprehendingly.
‘I don’t know any Mrs Simples,’ he said laconically. ‘You must have the wrong address.’
Gerald leaned across the counter and caught the young man by his lapel. ‘Don’t be high handed with me. I know she’s here and she’s my wife, I demand to see her.’
Quietly, the man at the desk had risen and come to the counter. He eased Gerald’s hands away from the collar of the frightened young clerk.
‘Take it easy, sir,’ he said. ‘I’m a partner here, Mac Brown. Can I help you?’
‘Arian,’ Gerald said, ‘Arian Simples is my wife. I want to see her, now.’
‘Well, sir, perhaps if you could call back another day we might be able to sort this little matter for you. Could you do that, sir?’
‘Don’t patronize me.’ Gerald was trying to keep his temper under control. ‘Is Arian here, or is she not?’
‘It’s all right, Mac. I’ll see him.’ Arian was standing in the doorway and Gerald was struck at once by the paleness of her skin. She was visibly upset and the thought gave him a certain sense of satisfaction.
She led the way upstairs to her own quarters and closed the door firmly behind them. Calmly she turned towards him, her face still pale but her features composed.
‘What makes you think you have the right to come here and make a nuisance of yourself?’ she asked coldly. ‘You are openly living with Sarah Frogmore, everyone in town knows about it. It’s only because I’m still married to you that your name hasn’t appeared in the gossip column of the newspaper.’
‘You’ve made enough insinuations though haven’t you, Arian? Everyone knows who you write about in your nasty little column.’
She was so lovely, so desirable, he didn’t want her looking at him as though he was an unwelcome stranger. He wanted to own her, to possess her, to make her submit to his will as he’d done so many times before.
‘I am your husband and deserve some respect,’ he reminded her.
‘Do you think you’re worthy of respect, then?’ There was a heavy irony in her voice and anger poured like wine through Gerald’s blood.
‘You can cast no stones. Haven’t you taken a lover? And don’t think you can lie to me, I know the truth.’
‘I have no intention of lying to you,’ she said. ‘What I choose to do with my life is my own business. You have made your own way and I have made mine, let’s leave it like that.’
He was at her side in a few quick strides. He caught her in his arms and lifting her easily he carried her through the open door of her bedroom. He dropped her on the bed and then locked and bolted the door.
‘How dare you?’ Her voice was still low but filled with anger. ‘How dare you treat me like this?’
He didn’t answer. He pushed her back onto the bed and undid her bodice, his fingers finding the buttonholes with ease born of long practice.
‘You are my wife,’ he said, ‘and I have rights. I mean to exercise them, so shut your mouth before I shut it for you.’
He saw the look of alarm and horror on her face but he was pulling at her skirts, listening to the tearing of the material with indifference. She must be taught a lesson. She was his, his alone and she would obey him in all things.
He climbed astride her and she looked up at him, her eyes suddenly hard with anger. ‘You said you would never force me against my will,’ she reminded him. ‘I believed you were a man of honour, Gerald, a man of your word.’
He hesitated. He wanted her. Nothing else in the world seemed so important as having her, if only for one more time. He heard her muted cry as his hands gripped her, felt her twist and turn in an effort to get away from him. His head was filled with pounding blood. He could not let her go. He gripped her more tightly.
She was still then, accepting, her arms were no longer pounding at him. She knew she was helpless against his strength. He wanted to hurt her, to give her pain as she had given him pain. His hand tightened around her neck. He was the victor, triumphant in his power over her. She was here, lying naked before him; all he had to do was to take her.
A tear rolled from beneath her lids. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. He wanted to hurt her but he could not. Slowly, the haze cleared from his head and he slumped to the floor.
When he turned his head to look at her, she had turned on her side, her shoulders heaving. Her neck was turning blue with bruises and one of her eyes was swollen from where he had slapped her. There were bruises on the whiteness of her thighs and on the softness of her belly and when he met her eyes he saw only loathing there.
In an agony of remorse, he put his head down on her body. He could not believe his own brutality, he could not believe that he had almost raped and killed his own wife.
‘I’m sorry,’ his voice was a croak, ‘Arian, I’m so sorry.’ He heard his voice as though it was that of a stranger. ‘I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m losing my mind, Arian.’
She didn’t move but lay quietly crying. He had lost her, lost her for good. He rose and in a dream fetched a bowl of water and tenderly sponged her shrinking body. He held a cold cloth to her bruised eye and then, tenderly, he tucked her into the sheets.
‘I don’t know what happened then but it won’t happen again. I’ll stay away from you, I promise you.’ He tried to plead with her to forgive him but she remained still, her eyes turned away from him, as though she couldn’t bear the sight of him.
‘I know I’m not fit to live, Arian. Please say that you forgive me.’ He knelt on the bed and took her face in his hands and made her look at him. He saw, by the look in her eyes, the
re would be no forgiveness.
He rose and left the room and walked slowly down the stairs and into the office. The older man was busy once more at his desk and the young man was opening the drawer of a cabinet. Obviously none of them had been aware of what had been taking place upstairs.
‘You’d better call a doctor, Mr Brown,’ he said slowly, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth. ‘I don’t think …’ his voice trembled, ‘I don’t think my wife is very well.’
The older man took one look at him and turned and made for the stairs. Slowly, Gerald walked out of the building and he knew he was walking out of his wife’s life, for good.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Eline sat looking down at the books on the table before her. She rubbed her eyes wearily and then looked up to see Will watching her.
‘Put those away, love,’ he said softly. ‘You’ve done enough for tonight. You’ll ruin your eyesight if you go on like that.’
She smiled. ‘My eyes are fine, so don’t fuss.’ She shut the books with a snap. ‘The business is doing well,’ she said, ‘and I keep forgetting that it’s not our business, it’s Arian’s. She thought of the idea and she put it into practice. It was she who found the customers, invited them to order goods from her catalogues, and we have no right to take all the profit.’
‘Not all, I agree,’ Will said, ‘but we’ve earned a good percentage of the takings for the work and effort we’ve put into it. Without you, the catalogue business would have failed.’
‘I know you’re right, Will, but I must see Arian and talk it over with her, sort out exactly what is hers and what is ours. Even if we split the proceeds in half, we will all have done well out of it.’
‘Half and half is more than generous to Arian. It’s your ideas have kept the catalogue going, Eline, your styles, your designs and both of us have put materials and workmanship into making the shoes.’
‘I’ll go and see Arian soon. Mind, she’s doing very well with that newspaper of hers, I shouldn’t think she’d have too much time for this catalogue business anyway.’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps she’d like to be a sleeping partner.’
‘Talking about sleep, isn’t it time we went to bed, Mrs Davies?’
Eline looked up at him mischievously. ‘Are you making improper suggestions, Mr Davies?’
‘Well, no, I don’t think so. Once my suggestions would have been most improper but then we weren’t married.’ He smiled with mock regret. ‘These days, of course, all my suggestions are treated with mirth, that’s what happens when you make an honest woman out of a mistress.’
Eline threw a pencil at him and Will made a wry face and addressed the walls as though they could hear him. ‘See what I have to put up with from this shrew I married?’
She launched herself at him and he caught her in his arms and kissed her. The kiss deepened. They clung together and Eline felt the old sweet feeling of love and desire that Will always roused in her.
‘Come on, love,’ she whispered in his ear, ‘we’re wasting time.’
Will lifted her easily in his arms and carried her into the bedroom, gently kicking the door closed behind him.
The offices of the Swansea Times were clean and neat. Eline was impressed. She breathed in the unfamiliar scent of beeswax mingled with ink and, as she moved forward, she saw Arian talking to an older man seated at a desk. Arian glanced up at Eline and smiled in recognition.
‘Eline! Come upstairs and have a cup of tea with me. It’s lovely to see you looking well. How’s Emlyn and how is that handsome husband of yours?’
In spite of her cheerful chatter, Arian looked pale and there was a suspicion of a bruise around one of her eyes. Eline was introduced to the older man who stood very tall to shake her hand, and she liked Mac instantly in spite of his rather eccentric appearance.
Several young men were seated at desks further back in the office, most of them busy writing. The whole feeling of the place was of efficiency and industry and Eline felt a new respect for Arian.
Upstairs, the rooms were tasteful and quiet, the furniture good but old, the curtains on the windows adding a touch of freshness.
‘So this is where you live now,’ Eline said, resisting the temptation to ask Arian about her private life.
‘Aye, this is where I live,’ Arian agreed. ‘Sit down, Eline. I’ll make us a cup of tea and I think I’ve got some biscuits here somewhere.’
‘You know why I’ve come,’ Eline said smiling. ‘It’s about the catalogue business. It’s doing very well, Arian, it was a wonderful idea of yours.’
Arian looked at her in surprise. ‘I’d forgotten all about it, to be honest.’ She poured the tea and then sat down opposite Eline. ‘It’s more your business than mine, let’s face it. You’ve done all the work.’
‘We have worked hard at it, Will and me,’ Eline agreed, ‘but part of it is still yours, Arian. We don’t want to cheat you out of anything that’s owed to you.’
Arian smiled slowly. ‘I don’t think for a minute that you’d do that.’ She sighed. ‘But it’s yours, I gave it to you. I didn’t put very much of myself into it, did I?’
‘You must have your fair share of the profits,’ Eline argued. ‘You started the business, after all.’
‘I let it run down, too,’ Arian said. ‘It would have died the death if you hadn’t stepped in and saved it.’
‘I suppose so.’ Eline was unconvinced. ‘Still, you must look over the books and decide what we are to do about it all.’
‘I’m doing very nicely here,’ Arian said. ‘I don’t want any part of the catalogue business. You’ve built it up, you and Will, you deserve the rewards.’
Eline bit her lip. ‘I can’t accept that, Arian. I’d feel guilty for the rest of my life thinking I’d cheated you.’
Arian’s face brightened. ‘All right, what if you advertise in my paper then? That way we’ll both benefit.’
Eline was silent. It was a good idea. The catalogue would be brought to the attention of everyone who took the Swansea Times and Arian would be paid for the advertising.
‘Don’t you like the idea?’ Arian asked, leaning forward eagerly. ‘I think it’s the perfect solution.’
‘Well, if you think that’ll be enough,’ Eline said doubtfully. ‘I don’t think it is, myself. I’d rather you take some of the money from the business.’
‘Look, we had a gentlemen’s agreement,’ Arian said. ‘There was never anything on paper, either way. I had the idea, it’s true, but you and Will have done all the work. The business is rightly yours.’
‘If you’re sure, then …’ Eline said slowly. ‘I …’ Her voice faded away as Arian touched her arm.
‘Let’s talk about something else. How are you? Happy, obviously and quite prosperous, too. Tell me all about it.’
Eline smiled and relaxed a little. There was nothing more she could say at this point but she would talk it over with Will again, find out what he thought.
‘Our son is doing well,’ Eline said. ‘Growing up fast, mind and under my feet all the time.’ She drank some of her tea. ‘We’re on our feet, now. We’ve had difficulties but there’s every chance that we’re over most of them now. I needn’t ask you how you’re doing, Arian. The paper is a success, and you seem happier than you’ve been for a long time.’
‘Happy is a funny word,’ Arian said thoughtfully. ‘I’m content, fulfilled in my work. It’s enough.’
Eline saw then by the stubborn set of Arian’s chin that she would say no more. In any case, her private life was her own business.
Arian’s husband had been working for Sarah Frogmore last time Eline had heard of him. It was quite obvious that Arian didn’t want anything to do with him, didn’t even want to speak of him. What a pity Arian seemed destined to be alone. Eline had William, she was so fortunate, life would have been empty without him.
‘So now you are respectably married to William,’ Arian said as if she had read Eline’s mind. ‘It must be a wonderful fe
eling to be with the man you love. That’s something I’ll never experience.’
‘I know a bit of what it’s like to be tied to a man you don’t love,’ Eline said quickly. ‘When I was married to Calvin, I was so unhappy, so guilty that I didn’t love him.’
‘At least Calvin Temple was no crook, no maniac either.’ Arian said briskly and then, as if she regretted her hasty words, she rose to her feet.
‘I’m glad we’ve sorted out the business,’ she said smiling warmly, ‘but I really have to get on and do a bit of work otherwise I’ll have my reporters revolting.’
Eline put down her cup. ‘Arian, if ever you need a friend, you know where I am. I accept that you’re an independent woman, that you like to sort out your own problems but sometimes it does help to talk, mind.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind.’ Arian led the way back downstairs and towards the front door, but as Eline left the building she turned back briefly and caught sight of Arian’s pale face looking out of the window, and it was as if she was trapped there, within the glass like a fly in amber.
Arian opened the envelope that had been delivered to her offices by hand and there, inside, she found a roll of banknotes and a letter. She smiled. It was a gift from Eline and Will, their payment to her for her share of the profits from the catalogue business.
She shook her head. ‘Obstinate devils, the pair of them.’ But she put the money away in the heavy safe with a warm feeling of gratitude. In return for their generosity she’d put a series of advertisements in the newspaper; she would make Eline’s catalogue service famous throughout the town.
‘Going out?’ Mac looked up at her enquiringly as she moved through the front office. She nodded briefly.
‘I’m going to see Gerald,’ she said, her voice matter-of-fact. ‘I want to divorce him.’
Mac frowned. ‘I’d like the bastard to rot in hell,’ he said in a low voice and Arian smiled.
‘Language, Mr Brown, one of our customers might hear you.’ He didn’t apologize and she hadn’t expected him to; Mac was a law unto himself. In any case, she was inclined to agree with him. Pity Gerald Simples couldn’t just vanish off the face of the earth.
