Every Woman for Herself

by Trisha Ashley

  ‘Good home and a meal ticket for life, for Jessie,’ Em said, looking grim. ‘Unlimited sex forever for Father.’

  ‘Do we have to have this sort of family discussion in front of our guests?’ Father asked with some asperity.

  Em looked suspiciously at the vicar. ‘Did you know, Chris?’

  ‘No, but I think it’s a good idea. I think marriage in general is a good idea,’ he added meaningfully, trying to hold Em’s hand.

  She glowered at him, and then absently drained the wine glass Gloria had just refilled, although she’s not generally a heavy drinker.

  ‘Yes, congratulations,’ Mace contributed. ‘And on the baby, too, if there is one.’

  ‘There won’t be,’ Em said firmly. ‘She’s too old.’

  ‘I am not too old!’

  ‘If there is, it might not be Father’s anyway,’ Anne suggested.

  ‘If I had a baby it would be obvious who the father was – unlike Branwell and Charlie,’ Jess said. ‘Just look at them – they could be anyone’s!’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re hinting at, Jessica, but not all children take after their fathers,’ Em said.

  ‘Yes, there’s no Rhymer family birthmark shaped like a bloody strawberry,’ Anne contributed. ‘Chaz looks just like Mother.’

  ‘But no one seems to know who Branwell takes after!’

  Father, who had been ignoring the argument, looked up, frowning. ‘I can’t remember what Maria looked like after all this time – but no, the boy has to have got his brains from me.’

  ‘So that’s where they went,’ Em said.

  ‘Ho, ho,’ Father said, glowering.

  ‘I saw this really good programme on TV the other day,’ Jessica said brightly. ‘About a new test you can get to prove whether you’re the father of your children – and lots of men have found that they really aren’t. Have you heard of that, Mace?’

  There was a small silence. I thought Jessica was just trying to get his attention, but it was an unlucky shot in view of what his ex-wife had said.

  Mace turned and stared at me, like I was some kind of traitor. ‘You overheard what Kathleen said? And I thought—’

  He stopped abruptly, and turned his head away as if he couldn’t bear to look at me.

  ‘No, Mace!’ I protested. ‘I haven’t – I didn’t…’

  ‘Only I always get Surprise! magazine on Fridays,’ babbled Jessica, ‘and today it says in “Stolen Secrets” that you had an argument about Caitlin with your ex-wife, and Caitlin’s quite plain, really, isn’t she? She doesn’t look like you at all. And then it said Kathleen Lovell hasn’t been seen since she visited you, so I wondered…’

  She petered out in the face of the incredulous silence. Open mouth and insert both feet.

  ‘Mace, I did overhear, but I didn’t tell anyone – no one at all!’ I said urgently, putting my hand on his arm. ‘It was obviously something she tossed out in the heat of the moment. Caitlin’s yours.’

  He sort of shrugged me off, like an insect. ‘Surprise! magazine? Again? What did I ever do to them to be victimised like this?’

  ‘Didn’t you know about it?’ Jessica asked brightly. ‘There was a picture of Kathleen Lovell – she’s gorgeous, isn’t she? – but I still think she’s lucky marrying Rod Steigland. And a Christmas honeymoon on a Caribbean island, too!’

  ‘I think you’d better get this gossip rag and show the man, now you’ve gone this far,’ Father said, but Gloria had already fetched her own virgin copy and was thumbing through it.

  Em, largely uninterested in the face of her other problems, had been having a muttered discussion with Anne from which I’d only heard odd snippets like: ‘evicted from my own home’ and ‘end of the whole effing family’ and ‘stay to be treated like a servant’ and ‘bloody invader!’

  This time, when Chris tried to take her hand, Em let him.

  ‘Some Birthday Feast this turned out to be!’ muttered Father bitterly.

  The magazine article was quite short. Father removed it from Gloria’s grasp and read it aloud.

  ‘An anonymous source—’

  ‘Not me!’ I put in hastily.

  —‘said dishy but notoriously bad-tempered actor Mace North had allegedly flown off the handle when ex-wife Kathleen Lovell told him he wasn’t really the father … blah, blah blah – daughter Caitlin was still staying at his country retreat, but no one’s seen Kathleen since … blah blah,’ Father said, editing ruthlessly. He tossed it aside. ‘Load of poisonous rubbish.’

  Mace looked up, his eyes dark and steely with anger, accusing me.

  ‘If Charlie’d told anyone, it would have been us, Mace,’ Anne said. ‘And she didn’t. Rhymers don’t phone up effing gossip columns. Rhymers don’t even read magazines with gossip columns in them.’

  ‘I do,’ Jessica said.

  ‘You aren’t a Rhymer.’

  ‘Rhymers seem to be writing their own magazines,’ Mace said nastily. ‘Perhaps I merit a double-page spread of slime in there?’

  ‘Now, now, Mace,’ Father said. ‘You should read some of the things they say about me!’

  ‘Yes, but they’re all true, Father,’ I said. ‘And this isn’t.’

  ‘It’ll soon blow over. Where’s your ex-wife gone, Mace?’

  ‘No idea – she stormed off in a temper. Nearly ran me down. But wherever it is – and I assure you it isn’t a shallow grave down in the woods – she’ll turn up in a couple of weeks, for the wedding.’

  ‘There you are then,’ said Father, losing interest. ‘Storm in a teacup.’

  He didn’t know how true that was.

  Then he looked down at Kathleen’s picture again and amended, absently: ‘B cup.’

  I looked at Mace’s dark, angry face and wondered … and a shiver ran up my spine. I mean, he sounds civilised, but he certainly doesn’t look it, and he was glaring at me a few minutes ago as though he’d like to get his hands around my throat.

  ‘I think I read the leaves wrong,’ Gloria muttered in my ear. ‘And maybe the love philtre’s not working. But everything’s all right – no problem.’

  ‘Can you give him the antidote tomorrow anyway?’

  ‘Perhaps I better had.’

  It was an oddly segmented party after that. Outwardly it ran its usual course, and after a short birthday speech Father pulled out a ring of Christmas-cracker proportions and rather sheepishly put it on Jessica’s bony finger, to her unconcealed triumph.

  After that, Anne excused herself on the grounds of fatigue and went to bed, and Em suddenly announced that she and Chris were going out for a little while. ‘Chris is going to show me the vicarage.’

  ‘Why? You pass it almost every day on your walks,’ Father said, puzzled.

  ‘Yes, but I don’t pass through it,’ Em said. ‘Come on, Chris.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about nothing here, blossom,’ Gloria told her. ‘Walter and me will tidy it away before we go home, and Charlie can help.’

  Mace, who’d been perfecting the art of abstracted brooding, now pulled himself together enough to take his leave. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Ran, and a delicious meal.’

  ‘You won’t get none of those when you’re married, Ran,’ Gloria pointed out.

  ‘Of course I will. Why shouldn’t I?’ he said heartily. ‘Things will just go on as before.’

  So like a man.

  ‘You can go out through the Summer Cottage, Mace,’ I said, getting up. ‘It will be quicker.’ And give me another chance to try and persuade him that I really didn’t grass on him.

  ‘No, don’t bother,’ he said curtly. He didn’t even glance at me. ‘I need the fresh air.’

  ‘Mace—’

  But he was gone. And after all, why should he believe me – and why should I care? In a minute he would be turning the corner of the Parsonage and walking down the track, still thinking I was the sort of person who would do that sort of thing …

  I got up, said: ‘Happy birthday, Father. Congra
ts, Jess – hope you’re happy,’ then shot out of the door, down the stairs, through the kitchen where the dogs slumbered by the stove, and then almost fell headlong down the dark stairwell to the Summer Cottage.

  Without stopping I ran out onto the track, but Mace must have moved faster, for he was already ahead of me.

  There was only one way to catch him: hitching up my skirts with both hands I cut straight across the rough, steep corner, losing my balance and falling headlong down the bank to land on the track at his feet.

  There might have been more dramatic ways of getting his attention, but I can’t think of any.

  The ground was frozen hard, my cheek stung, and my ankle had twisted. It hurt; but then, so did Mace’s hands gripping my arms and hauling me upright.

  ‘You fool!’ he exclaimed. ‘You could have broken your stupid neck running over ground like that in the dark – and you must have known there was a drop down onto the track!’ And he gave me a whiplash-injury-inducing shake, my feet dangling in mid-air like a rag doll’s.

  ‘I did hear what Kathleen said, but I really didn’t tell anyone!’ I gasped painfully. Then I gave a sudden galvanic shiver; well, I was out in December wearing a wisp of chiffon and not much else, being mildly roughed up by a large, bad-tempered man whose wife had disappeared under sinister circumstances.

  He stilled and looked down at me, though it was hard to make out his expression in the moonlight. ‘Who else could it have been?’

  ‘How should I know who she’s told? Perhaps she told them herself!’

  Though he could, of course, be convinced she hadn’t told anyone because he had after all buried her in a shallow grave in the valley …

  I shivered again, and he said roughly: ‘You’re twice a fool: running after me like that when I’m in a rage, and in just a thin dress,’ and pulled me inside his warm, downy coat.

  ‘Could you put me down, do you think?’ I suggested, struggling weakly. But when he did, my left ankle was too painful to stand on, and he scooped me back up again effortlessly like so much illicit loot, and strode off.

  ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with me tonight!’ he muttered. ‘I want to be angry with you, but whenever I look at you, I just can’t!’

  ‘It’s only Gloria’s love philtre – it was in your sherry. You were supposed to fall for Jessica, but you looked at me instead. But don’t worry – you can have the antidote tomorrow when she’s brewed it.’

  ‘You can’t possibly really believe in love potions,’ he said shortly. ‘And you had some too.’

  ‘Only a tiny sip – too little to matter. You drank most of it.’

  ‘Okay, so maybe she spiked the drinks with a few herbs, but…’ He stopped, and looked down at me, his expression unfathomable in the moonlight. ‘No,’ he said firmly.

  ‘It doesn’t matter whether you believe in it or not – Gloria’s spells usually work. Maybe all that rage cancelled it out? But what’s important is that you believe me now, about my not telling anyone what Kathleen said.’

  ‘I suppose I’ll have to, since you nearly broke your neck telling me.’

  ‘Then do you think you could take me home?’

  ‘No, we’re nearly at my place and I want to see what you’ve done to yourself first.’

  ‘It’s all right – Gloria’s probably still there, and she will clean my scratches and do something for my ankle. It’s only twisted.’

  ‘That does it – I’m not taking you back until she’s gone home! And I thought Em was the one to watch.’

  ‘Oh, Em just wanted you as a sacrifice.’

  ‘A sacrifice? She was going to kill me?’

  ‘Of course not, don’t be silly. She just wanted your body, because you have a dark side and could help her get in touch with her darker powers. But actually, none of us wants her to try any black magic, because she does tend to throw herself into things so enthusiastically that there’s no saying where it will end. So Gloria and I sort of spiked her drink with the love philtre, too, while she was talking to Chris.’

  ‘Does that make Chris the sacrifice?’

  ‘Willing victim, but not to the black arts, which is a relief.’

  ‘So why did I get the potion? And why was I supposed to fall for Jessica? No, don’t tell me – to get her away from your father and Upvale?’

  ‘Probably. I didn’t know Gloria was going to do it until the last minute, so I’m not sure. Or maybe it was because she got the mistaken impression that you were interested in me, and she doesn’t like it.’

  ‘Any particular reason?’

  ‘Something in the teacup, mostly.’

  ‘The teacup?’

  ‘The leaves, but she won’t tell me what. I expect she thinks you will use me and cast me aside, or something – after all, she’s been reading Surprise! for years. I’ve told her I’m not interested.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Well, it’s so silly of her to imagine you would be, isn’t it? I’m no pretty young girl, and there must be plenty of those interested in you.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m a babe magnet, all right,’ he said shortly, kicking the cottage door open and walking in with me. ‘Fame and money are all it takes.’

  I looked up at his distinctive face and said involuntarily: ‘And the rest!’ and he grinned, and kissed me like the season for it was about to run out.

  I don’t know what got into me.

  All right, I do; and it wasn’t just the love philtre. My secret fantasies about dragging Steve the gardener into the bushes had at some point been entirely replaced with ones involving Mace: I just wasn’t expecting them actually to happen.

  Caution prevailed for – oh, maybe three seconds, give or take one or two – and then was tossed away. I mean, so maybe he had done away with Kathleen, but did it seem important at that juncture? No.

  Or perhaps it was Gloria’s potion working in both of us – or all that champagne?

  Who cares? It was now or never …

  ‘Now!’ I said, an abandoned nymph indeed.

  Little did Felicity Hake-Hackett know on which illustrious bedroom floor her dress would end up. How much she would have loved to be the one from whose body it was stripped by impatient fingers; in silence. He’s a great one for deep, meaningful silences.

  Later, drowsily, I let him clean up the mark on my face and convey me (boneless and almost entirely witless, I fear) back to the cottage.

  He deposited me safely in my own bed, kissed me long and hard with one hand planted on either side of my head, and took himself off.

  Intense isn’t in it.

  A note from Gloria was pinned to the side of the bedside cabinet.

  Drink contents of glass the moment you return, to avert evil consequences.

  The contents of the said glass looked like they’d been dredged hastily from the bottom of the nearest cesspool, and the only evil consequence would occur about a second after I drank it.

  The other sort of consequences I haven’t had for years; I’m a barren vessel, except for the paintings … and Flossie.

  I intended to go and find Flossie, but I couldn’t even raise the energy to switch the lamp off before great waves of sleep completely submerged me.

  Chapter 18

  Absolution

  It was very late when I woke the next day, strangely tired, aching and disorientated.

  For a few heart-stopping moments I couldn’t remember where I was, then my eye fell on the glass of disgusting liquid on my bedside table, now separated out into a layer of sludge topped by clear green, and it all came back to me in Glorious Technicolor, along with my sanity.

  Perhaps my vocation in life is to become a hermit and never leave the house, or speak to anyone outside my family, ever again.

  Especially Mace.

  Not that he’d actually said very much last night, as I recall, after that first kiss – but his actions spoke volumes. (The sort that should be behind locked bookcase doors.)

  But it was no good; I couldn’t hi
de forever. Besides, I was feeling guilty about abandoning Flossie of whom there was no sign.

  After a shower I felt a bit better, and apart from a graze on my cheek, a few promising bruises, and a tender left ankle, I didn’t look too bad either.

  And at least it was a Saturday, so I didn’t have to go down and fetch Caitlin, for how would I ever face him again after last night’s goings-on?

  I mean, I’m sure they were entirely due to Gloria’s potion, probably helped along in Mace’s case by enforced abstinence due to being marooned in the country with Caitlin – and there are not many nubile young starlets in Upvale.

  I suppose handsome, rich actor/playwrights have casual sex all the time usually, though, so he will not think any more about it once he’s had the antidote.

  I have no excuse for my actions (except for the enforced abstinence bit) because I only had one tiny sip. It was just irresistible lust and champagne.

  Mind you, had I known how good sex could be, Fidelity would not have been my middle name all these years. Either Matt was not very good at it, or Mace is a master of the art. I suspect the latter.

  Last night was wonderful (in a ‘my God! Did I really do that?’ sort of way) but it mustn’t happen again. Gloria will just have to find a way of giving him the antidote to the love philtre fast.

  I dressed in jeans and jumper and went upstairs, where I found Flossie curled up with Frost; quite sweet, really. I expect that’s where she spent the night, so we are both loose women.

  Em was sitting quietly at the table – the whole house seemed strangely quiet – and the only place still set for breakfast was mine.

  Unusually, she wasn’t doing anything, just sitting dreamily over a cup of coffee.

  ‘Well, madam!’ Gloria said, appearing in the doorway and surveying me with her hands on her hips. ‘Here’s another one who was up to goodness-knows-what last night. It’s to be hoped you drank what I left for you, because you need some powerful magic to oppose the likes of that one!’

  ‘It’s all right, Gloria,’ I assured her, although I fear I poured the disgusting stuff down the loo. ‘I – just went after Mace to try and explain that I hadn’t told anyone about what his wife said when they quarrelled.’