Emily

by Cooper Jilly

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Sleep in that bed. Not after seeing you and Marina… I get nightmares night after night… I couldn’t sleep there, I couldn’t!’ My voice was rising hysterically.

  Rory caught my arm. ‘Stop it, Em! You’re behaving like a child.’

  ‘Let me go!’ I screamed. ‘I hate you. I hate you!’

  After that I said every terrible thing I could think of, and then started hysterically beating my fists against his chest. Finally, he was reduced to slapping me across the face, and I collapsed, sobbing, on the divan.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  I awoke next morning with an awful head. I lay for a moment with my eyes closed. Slowly, painfully, I pieced together the happenings of the night before. I looked around me, wincing. I was in the studio.

  Then, suddenly, I remembered Rory had hit me. ‘The louse,’ I muttered, getting unsteadily to my feet. In the mirror above the fire, I examined my face. Not a bruise in sight — how infuriating. My eyes lit on Rory’s oil paints on a nearby table. Why shouldn’t I paint in a black eye myself?

  Soon I was busy slapping on blue and crimson paint — now a touch of yellow. Rory wasn’t the only artist round here. Within five minutes I looked exactly like Henry Cooper after a few brisk rounds with Cassius Clay. Hearing a step outside, I hurriedly jumped into bed.

  Rory came in, carrying a glass of orange juice.

  ‘Awake, are you?’ he said. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Not very good,’ I quavered.

  ‘Don’t deserve to, after all that liquor you shipped.’

  Then he caught sight of the bruise.

  ‘Heavens! Where did that come from?’

  ‘I think you must have hit me,’ I said in a martyred voice. ‘I don’t remember much about it — it must have been quite a blow. But I can’t really believe you would have thumped me on my first night home — me being so weak and all. Perhaps I bumped into a door.’

  Rory looked as discomfited as I’ve ever seen him.

  ‘You were hysterical,’ he said. ‘It was the only way to shut you up. I’m sorry, Em. Does it hurt?’

  ‘Agony,’ I said, closing my eyes. A flood of vindictiveness warmed my blood.

  ‘Let’s have a look,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t come near me,’ I hissed.

  He put a hand under my chin and forced my face up.

  ‘Poor Em,’ he said shaking his head. ‘What a brute I am.’

  ‘You should be more careful in future,’ I said.

  ‘I will, I will,’ he said getting to his feet. He looked the picture of contrition. ‘And next time don’t add so much ochre. Bruises don’t usually go yellow till the second day.’

  I opened my mouth, shut it again, and started to giggle. I giggled till the tears, and the bruise, ran down my cheeks, until Rory started laughing too.

  After that I slept for most of the day. When I woke up, Rory was painting and it was dark outside.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘About six.’

  Six o’clock — suddenly I wondered what had happened to Finn.

  ‘Did anyone ring?’ I asked.

  Rory had his back to me. There was a pause, then he said nastily, ‘Your boyfriend did telephone about half an hour ago. I told him you were asleep. I’m just going down to the village for some cigarettes,’ he added. ‘Don’t start getting out of bed, or making a bolt for it. I’d track you down in no time, and if you put me to the bother, you wouldn’t find me in a very nice mood.’

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  As soon as he’d gone, I leapt out of bed and rang the hospital. Finn sounded relieved to hear me, but somehow detached.

  ‘Are you OK, darling?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I lied.

  ‘Rory said you were asleep.’

  ‘I was — but, oh, Finn, he’s as touchy as gunpowder. I do need you — can’t you come over later?’

  ‘I can’t, lovie, some of those poor sods from the petrol tanker are in pretty bad shape.’

  ‘Oh, God.’ Why did Finn always make me feel slightly ignoble? ‘What a horrible, self-centred little bitch I am. I’d forgotten all about them.’

  ‘I hadn’t forgotten about you,’ said Finn, then someone said something in the background. ‘Look, darling, I’ve got to go. I’ll try and come and see you tomorrow.’

  The receiver clicked. At that moment Rory walked through the front door and stood in the doorway looking murderous.

  ‘Have you gone quite mad?’ he said softly. ‘Standing in a howling draught when you’re supposed to be in bed? Who were you talking to?’

  ‘Coco. I was just letting her know I’m home.’

  ‘She happens to be in London,’ said Rory acidly.

  He walked towards me, put his hands on my shoulders, and gazed down at me for a minute. The fury seemed to die out of his eyes.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘you think you’re hung up on Finn, but he isn’t the answer for you. He’s married to his work, always has been. He’s a man with no nonsense about him,’ and for a minute his face softened. ‘And you’re a chick with an awful lot of nonsense about you, Em. Now go and get into bed and I’ll bring you something to eat.’

  I went back to bed and thought about Finn — but at the back of my mind, like an insistent tune, the thought kept repeating itself: if Finn had really loved me, he’d never have let me leave the hospital. He’d have whisked me back to his flat. Rory didn’t love me at all, he loved Marina but even so, he’d been utterly single-minded about getting me home and keeping me there. I felt very confused and uncertain of my feelings. I wanted my mother.

  Next morning the telephone rang. ‘That was your Doctor friend,’ said Rory when he’d put the receiver down. ‘He’s coming round to see you in half an hour.’ He went back to his easel, rummaging noisily about for a tube of burnt sienna that he’d mislaid. Finally he gave up looking and poured himself a drink and started painting.

  I was dying to go and tart up for Finn. Surreptitiously I levered myself out of bed.

  ‘Where are you going?’ said Rory, without turning round.

  ‘To the loo,’ I said.

  ‘Again?’ said Rory. ‘You’ve just been.’

  ‘I’ve got a bit of an upset stomach,’ I said, sliding towards the door.

  ‘I should have thought it was hardly necessary, then, to take your bag with you,’ said Rory.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, blushing and putting my bag on the table.

  In the bathroom there was nothing to do my face with. I washed and took the shine off my nose with some of Rory’s talcum powder, and tidied my hair with Walter Scott’s brush. I got back into bed. Rory was still painting ferociously. Very cautiously I eased my bag off the table and just as cautiously opened it. Of course, my bottle of Arpège was at the bottom. I’d scrabbled my way down there, managed to unscrew the top, and was just about to empty some over my wrists when Rory turned round and my bag, plus all its contents and the unstoppered scent bottle, fell with an appalling crash to the floor.

  Rory was not amused. We were in the middle of a full-dress row when Finn rang the doorbell. Rory went to let him in. I shoved the bag and all its contents under the bed. The whole room stank of scent like a brothel.

  Finn came in, looking boot-faced, but he smiled when he saw me. Rory went and stood with his back to the fire, his eyes moving from Finn to me.

  ‘All right, Rory, I won’t be long,’ said Finn dismissively, and picked up my wrist.

  ‘I’ll stay if you don’t mind,’ said Rory.

  ‘Well I do,’ I snapped. ‘I feel like a biology lesson surrounded by medical students with you both in here.’

  ‘I’ll turn my back if you like,’ said Rory, ‘but keep your thieving hands off her, Doctor,’ and he gazed out of the window, whistling Mozart.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ said Finn gently. ‘Are you eating all right?’

  ‘Like a horse,’ said Rory.

  ‘I am not,’ I snapped. I grabbed Finn’
s hand.

  ‘No need to feel Finn’s pulse, Emily,’ said Rory.

  ‘Oh shut up,’ I said.

  Finn was a bit like a dignified cart-horse with a couple of mongrels rowing between his legs.

  ‘It’s not fair,’ I said to Rory afterwards. ‘Look at the way you and Marina carry on.’

  ‘We’re not talking about me and Marina,’ said Rory, his eyes glittering with strain and exasperation. Walter Scott was noisily eating a coat-hanger in the corner.

  ‘Walter thinks your behaviour is appalling,’ I said, ‘and he knows all about dogs in the manger.’

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  A week went by. I corrected the proofs of the catalogue for Rory’s exhibition. He was painting frantically; wild, swirling, self-absorbed canvases of savage intensity: babies with no arms or legs, feeling their way into life; the agonized features of women giving birth. They were ghastly, hideous paintings but of staggering power. For the first time it occurred to me that Rory might have minded my losing the baby.

  He was like a mine-field: one would inadvertently tread on him and he’d explode and smoulder for hours. He was always worse after the times Finn came to see me.

  Each time I found Finn increasingly more remote. I couldn’t even talk to him because Rory stayed in the room all the time, scowling. It was horribly embarrassing.

  Then one night I woke up to find Rory standing by the bed. The fire was dying in the grate. Outside the window the sea gleamed like a python.

  ‘W-what’s the matter?’ I said nervously.

  ‘I’ve finished the last painting.’

  I sat up sleepily. ‘How clever you are. Have you been working all night?’

  He nodded. There were great black smudges under his eyes.

  ‘You must be exhausted.’

  ‘A bit. I thought we ought to celebrate.’

  He poured champagne into two glasses.

  ‘What time is it?’ I said.

  ‘About five-thirty.’

  I took a gulp of champagne. It was icy cold and utterly delicious.

  ‘We ought to be sitting on a bench in a rose garden, after a Common Ball,’ I said with a giggle. ‘You in an evening shirt all covered in my lipstick, and me in a bra-strap dinner frock and a string of pearls.’

  He laughed and sat down on the bed. Suddenly I was as jumpy as a cat in his presence — it was as if I were a virgin and he and I had never been to bed together.

  He leaned forward and brushed a strand of hair back from my forehead — and it happened. Shocks, rockets, warning bells, the lot, and I knew, blindly, that the old magic was working and I was utterly hooked on him again. Emily the pushover — lying in the gutter with a lion standing over her.

  Rory, however, seemed unaware of the chemical change that had taken place in me.

  ‘Oughtn’t you to get some sleep?’ I said.

  ‘I’ve got to pack up the canvases,’ he said. ‘Buster’s taking them down to London in his plane.’ Then he said, not looking at me, ‘He’s giving me a lift to Edinburgh.’

  Panic swept over me. It was Thursday. Marina’s singing lesson day. Oh, God, oh, God, Rory was obviously going to meet her.

  ‘What are you going to Edinburgh for?’ I said in a frozen voice.

  ‘To see an American about an exhibition in New York. And a couple of press boys want to talk to me about the London exhibition.’

  ‘When are you coming back?’ I said.

  ‘Tonight. My mother’s giving a party for my aunt. She’s arriving from Paris this evening — you’re invited. I think you should come. They’re pretty amazing, my aunt and my mother, when they get together. It’d do you good to get out.’

  I lay back in bed trying to stop myself crying. Rory bent over and kissed me on the forehead.

  ‘Try and get some more sleep,’ he said.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Mrs Mackie, our daily woman, came to look after me while he was away. Her gossiping nearly drove me insane. I washed my hair and shut myself away in the studio to get away from her.

  Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

  ‘Someone to see you,’ said Mrs Mackie.

  And Marina walked in.

  I felt weak with relief, as though a great thorn had been pulled out of my side. So Rory hadn’t gone to Edinburgh to see her. I wanted to fling my arms round her neck.

  ‘Hello,’ I said, grinning from ear to ear.

  She seemed shattered by the warmth of my reception.

  ‘Are you going to Coco’s party tonight? Hamish wants to, but I’m not sure if I can face it.’

  ‘Oh, I am,’ I said, suddenly feeling I wanted to sing from the rooftops. ‘It should be a giggle — if Coco’s sister’s anything like her.’

  Marina looked terrible. Her eyes were hidden behind huge amber sunglasses, her face chalky. She looked like someone who was shaking off gastric ’flu.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I said suddenly, feeling sorry for her.

  ‘Not very,’ she said. ‘I’m suffering from a broken heart. Can I have a drink?’

  I gave her a huge slug of Rory’s whisky. She looked at the golden liquid for a minute, then said: ‘Has Rory said anything about me?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Oh, God.’ She put her head in her hands. ‘I’ve spent days and days waiting for the Master to ring, but the Master did not ring. He obviously doesn’t wish to avail himself of the service.’

  ‘Are you still… well, crazy about him?’

  ‘Of course I am!’ she screamed, her eyes suddenly wild. ‘And he’s crazy about me. Nothing will ever cure that.’

  I didn’t flinch — I was making great strides in self-control these days.

  ‘He’s crazy about me, but he feels guilty about you losing the baby. He thinks you’ve had a lousy deal, so he’s got to grit his teeth and try and make a go of it.’

  ‘Charming,’ I said, combing and combing my wet hair. She took off her dark glasses. Her eyes were suddenly alight with malevolence.

  ‘Look, you don’t love Rory a millionth as much as I do. You wouldn’t be playing around with Finn if you did. Finn’s crazy about you, and he’s a much better proposition than Rory is, he’s straight and utterly dependable. You’re not tricky enough for Rory, he needs someone who can play him at his own game. You drive him round the bend.’

  ‘It’s absolutely mutual,’ I said acidly.

  ‘All you’ve got to do is go to Finn,’ said Marina.

  ‘Why doesn’t he come and take me away?’ I said. ‘He’s got a car.’

  ‘Because he’s had a rough time; he’s had one broken marriage, and when he wanted you to leave Rory before you wouldn’t go. He wants you to come of your own free will.’

  ‘How idealistic,’ I said, sulkily. ‘For someone who throws his weight around as much as Finn does, he’s very diffident when it comes to sex.’

  ‘He doesn’t want to go through hell again, he’s got the hospital to consider, and if you don’t hurry, Dr Barrett will snap him up. Anyway, can’t you realize that if Rory wasn’t my brother, he’d drop you like a hot coal?’

  Suddenly her face crumpled and she burst into tears. ‘I can’t stand Hamish any more,’ she sobbed. ‘You don’t know what it’s like waking up to that awful old face on the pillow every morning.’

  I turned away with a sense of utter weariness. I felt as though I’d been struggling for hours up a hill, and just as I reached the top, my hold had given way and I was pitching headlong into darkness.

  After she’d gone, I told Mrs Mackie to go home. I couldn’t stand her chatter any more.

  Half an hour later, Finn’s car drew up outside. I watched him get out and lock it. What the hell did he have to lock it for round here, I thought irritably. There was no-one to pinch any dangerous drugs, except a few sheep.

  ‘Go away,’ I said miserably to Finn, refusing to open the door.

  ‘Five minutes,’ he said.

  ‘What for?’ I said.

  �
�I don’t like unfinished business.’

  ‘Is there unfinished business?’

  ‘Come on, stop messing about, let me in.’

  ‘Oh all right,’ I said, sulkily, opening the door. He followed me into the drawing-room.

  ‘Do you want a drink?’ I said.

  ‘No, I want you,’ he ran his hands through his hair, ‘I haven’t been able to get you on your own since Rory took over.’ He looked almost as bad as Marina. Deep lines were entrenched around his mouth and his eyes. He seemed to have aged ten years in as many days.

  ‘You haven’t tried very hard,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve been run off my feet — two men from the petrol ship died last night, another early this morning.’

  ‘Oh I’m so sorry,’ I said, horrified, ‘did they suffer a lot?’

  ‘Yep,’ said Finn. ‘It hasn’t been very pleasant at the hospital — in fact it’s been hell.’

  ‘Did you get any extra help from the mainland?’ I said.

  ‘I’ve got another doctor arriving this evening — at least it’ll give Jackie a break, she’s been marvellous.’

  ‘I’m sure she has,’ I said. ‘Oh dear, she’s far more suitable for you than I am.’

  ‘Maybe she is,’ said Finn, ‘but it happens to be you that I love. You certainly need more looking after than she does; what the hell are you wandering about with bare feet and wet hair for?’ He picked up a towel. ‘Come on, I’ll dry it for you.’

  ‘No, it’ll go all fluffy.’ Finn took no notice. Christ, he rubbed hard.

  ‘I won’t have any scalp left,’ I grumbled.

  After that, the inevitable happened and I ended up in his arms, and I must confess that I did like kissing him very much. It was one of the great all-time pleasures, like smoked salmon and Brahms’ second piano concerto. Then I started getting nervous that Rory might walk in, so I wriggled out of his grasp.

  ‘Who told you Rory was away?’ I said.

  ‘Marina did.’

  ‘She has been busy,’ I said. ‘She was here earlier telling me how much she and Rory still love each other, and how noble Rory had been coming back to me.’