Laura Possessed

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘Yes. It was when you said that, that Noel really started pushing to get back to you.’

  ‘In any case I was wrong. It hadn’t faded, it was just lying dormant. I love her—you—as much as I ever did.’

  She said quietly, ‘You don’t love me at all, Lewis, and I don’t love you. I told you that. What’s more, I’m becoming more and more convinced that I love Paul, after all.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ His voice was firm and authoritative. He pulled her to her feet and into his arms, holding her gently, his fingers caressing the back of her neck. ‘One thing you must get completely clear, Laura. I do love you, and not only because you give me Noel back. And you love me, however much you may fight against it. You know that, don’t you?’

  She looked up at him, troubled and confused. His face just above hers was exactly as it had been in her dream those long months ago—hooded, slate-grey eyes, broad nose, self-indulgent mouth and the dark hair falling over his forehead. She sighed a little, too worn-out to fight his strength combined with Noel’s.

  ‘Don’t you, Laura?’ he persisted.

  ‘Yes, Lewis, I suppose I do.’

  And as his face came down towards her, she let herself be swept away again, tacitly relinquishing her body to the powerful resurgence of the ebullient Noel.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  July slipped past. Robert and Helen returned from school and presumably Paul travelled north to Yorkshire; Laura had not heard from him again. Suddenly, all the talk at Four Winds was of ‘the holiday.’

  ‘What holiday?’ Laura enquired at last, and they all looked at her incredulously.

  ‘Our holiday, of course! In Italy!’

  ‘But—I don’t know anything about it—’

  Edward regarded her smilingly. ‘My dearest Laura, you must have been in a world of your own these last few weeks!’

  ‘I vaguely heard you mention holidays, but I just thought you meant when the children came home.’

  ‘In that case,’ Caroline remarked, ‘you’d better have a quick look through your wardrobe to make sure you have everything you need. We go a week on Friday.’

  ‘But—I can’t go!’ She stared at them, panic-stricken.

  ‘Might I ask why not?’ Edward enquired.

  I can’t leave Lewis! The words were in her head but she managed to hold them back. ‘Well, I—you don’t want me there all the time.’

  ‘Of course we want you, and what’s more we’ve no intention whatever of going without you, so you can forget that.’

  ‘Fancy not wanting to go to Italy!’ Robert said wonderingly.

  ‘Could you tell me something more about it, then?’

  ‘Of course. We rent a villa on the Adriatic coast. You must have heard about it before, we’ve been there for the last two years. It’s a lovely spot within easy reach of Venice without all the rowdy tourism you get if you’re too near. We lie on the beach all day on a diet of fruit and cheese, and have a slap-up meal in the local ristorante every evening. It suits us perfectly.’

  Later, when she found Edward alone with the evening paper, Laura said tentatively, ‘You know, I’m really not at all sure that I want to go to Italy, Edward.’

  ‘Oh, Laura, really! It will just put the finishing touch to your recovery, I’m sure. You might even meet a handsome gondolier!’

  She smiled dutifully but her eyes were troubled. He said more seriously, ‘It’s Lewis, isn’t it? Surely you can bear to leave him for three weeks!’

  She flushed. ‘I suppose you think I’m very stupid.’

  ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing, love? If you’ve really set your heart on him and he feels the same, I suppose I’ll just have to accept it, but—I don’t know. There’s something about him I’m not happy about, though I can’t really put my finger on it. And even allowing for love’s young dream, there is something a bit—obsessive about your attitude to each other. Frankly, I think it will do you good to get away from him for a while. You might even feel differently by the time you get back.’

  ‘I shouldn’t count on that,’ she answered with quiet fatalism.

  ‘What about young Denver? Has he bitten the dust completely?’

  She held down the surge of unhappiness which rose inside her and replied almost steadily, ‘There was never really anything between Paul and me.’

  ‘Not for want of trying on his part, I imagine.’

  ‘Please, Edward!’

  ‘All right. Well, Lewis or no Lewis, you’re coming to Italy with us, my girl, and he can like it or lump it!’

  ‘I’d better go and tell him,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Can’t you phone?’

  ‘No, I’ve some papers to return to him anyway.’

  In the warm enclosure of the garden at Gillet’s cottage, Lewis listened carefully to what she had to say. ‘Do you want to go, darling?’

  ‘I don’t want to leave you.’

  His fingers were tight on hers. ‘I shall miss you every second of every day.’

  ‘I suppose we have come to the end of the collaboration on the book, anyway.’

  ‘You think you’ve finished with me then, do you?’ he asked teasingly. ‘You won’t get rid of me as easily as that!’

  ‘But we haven’t any—reason—’ she had almost said ‘excuse’—‘to see each other so often now.’

  ‘I imagined,’ he said softly, ‘that we had the best reason in the world.’

  ‘Lewis—’

  ‘Who are you today, sweetheart? You’re so alike now, I’m not always sure!’

  An apprehensive tremor lifted the hairs on the back of her neck. It was true. She too was finding it increasingly difficult to detect Noel’s presence. Slowly, insidiously, Noel’s infatuation with Lewis was seeping into her own consciousness, making her restive when she was away from him. Only occasionally, when Paul’s name was mentioned, did she feel a stab of the remembered pain.

  She leant her head against Lewis’s shoulder and his lips moved over her hair. He loved her. It was all right. Somehow they would live through the three weeks without each other, and perhaps, when she came back, he would mention marriage again. This time, she knew, she would not resist. There was no point any longer in imagining she had any life without him.

  The next morning’s post brought a letter from Paul. The writing was unfamiliar, a black, forceful scrawl, but the Huddersfield postmark was identification enough and her treacherous heart gave a little jump. She tore open the envelope at once, standing in the hall, her eyes flying down the closely written pages. He began ‘Dear Laura’ and ended ‘Yours, Paul.’ In between was news of his family and his home, the books he was reading, the films he had seen. Illogically she felt flat, let down. She folded the letter neatly and put it back in its envelope. Since it had been she who had asked him to write, she must reply before they went away and let him know their holiday address. Thoughtfully, she went in to breakfast.

  It was three days before they were due to go to Italy that Richard phoned. The telephone rang as they were going through to dinner, and Caroline stopped in the hall to answer it. A moment later she came to the dining-room door, flushed and tight-lipped.

  ‘Edward, will you come and speak to Richard? He’s got some ridiculous idea of coming to Italy with us, and nothing I say makes any difference.’

  Edward pushed back his chair. ‘He wants to come? But that’s splendid! Why on earth shouldn’t he? Heaven knows when we last had a holiday altogether.’

  Caroline said tightly, ‘It’s out of the question. You’ll see that if you just think for a moment. For one thing there aren’t enough bedrooms and he’ll expect to bring—that girl.’ Her colour deepened and her eyes went guardedly to the children.

  ‘I can sleep on the sofa in the living-room,’ Robert volunteered eagerly. ‘Richard can have my bed!’ Richard had long ago refused pointblank to be called ‘Uncle,’ a stand which still rankled with the conventional Caroline.

  Edward was already in the hall. Caroline sat
down at the table and her eyes went resentfully to Laura. ‘No doubt you’d be only too delighted to have them, too.’

  ‘Yes, I would. I know it will mean extra work, but you’ll have me to help you this year, and I’m sure Gillian would too.’

  ‘Gillian!’ said Caroline contemptuously.

  ‘What’s she like,’ Helen asked curiously, ‘Richard’s new girl friend?’

  Caroline bit her lip and it was left to Laura to answer tactfully, ‘Very nice. You’ve probably seen her on TV.’

  There was a clamour of interest from the children. ‘What’s her name? Gillian Marlowe? Yes, she was in “The Persuaders” once. And the Herries series which Mummy watched on BBC 2.’

  ‘That was before she became friendly with Richard,’ Caroline said defensively. Helen dropped her fork and flew out of the room before her mother could stop her. Her voice reached them clearly.

  ‘Daddy, they are coming, aren’t they? Gillian Marlowe too?’

  Caroline called angrily, ‘Helen! Come here at once and eat your meal!’

  The child came back dutifully and resumed her place. ‘I’ll be able to get her autograph for all my friends,’ she remarked with satisfaction. ‘Richard always knows such interesting people!’

  ‘What did you tell him?’ Caroline demanded, as Edward also returned to the table.

  ‘We could hardly say no, could we? Anyway, the more the merrier.’

  Caroline did not reply, but later, when the children had gone to bed, she returned to the attack. ‘Surely you can see that it’s most unsuitable for Richard to bring that woman? It was bad enough when they came here for the weekend, but fortunately Peter’s too young to notice that kind of thing. But Robert and Helen—’

  ‘Relax, darling, he’s promised to be the soul of discretion. We’ll have to shuffle the bedrooms about a bit, but there’ll be nothing untoward, don’t worry.’

  ‘How many bedrooms are there at the villa?’ Laura asked.

  ‘Three, two double and a single. Normally the boys share a room and Helen has the little one. There’s also a pile of camp beds, but we’ve never needed them before.’

  ‘And how,’ demanded Caroline, ‘do you propose to reshuffle?’

  ‘Simple. Laura and Gillian can have the boys’ room, with Helen on a camp bed in the corner. We’ll have Peter in with us, Richard can have Helen’s room and Robert, as he said, can sleep on the sofa.’

  ‘It’ll be like a doss house!’ Caroline said disgustedly.

  ‘Nonsense! We’re hardly there anyway, only to sleep.’

  Edward smiled across at Laura. ‘Richard will have a pleasant surprise when he sees you. You’re like a different person!’

  The coffee cup she was holding rattled on its saucer and she hastily replaced it on the low table. ‘Yes,’ she answered quietly, ‘I suppose I am.’

  The villa was painted strawberry pink. It had a riot of oleanders in its tiny garden and beyond the gate the ground fell away to shingle leading to the beach. Inside, it was cool and airy with stone floors and brightly painted shutters to all the windows.

  ‘Isn’t it fabulous,’ Gillian commented, ‘that they actually have to try to keep the heat out!’

  Laura laughed and agreed. Since leaving England, she had been aware of a soaring of the spirits. Noel, having lost the battle against her going away, had let her go in peace. Perhaps she herself remained with Lewis. It didn’t seem to matter. For the next three weeks she was free to relax with her family, and she was unequivocally grateful.

  The days passed as Edward had foretold—days full of sand, sea and hot sunshine. They all lived in their swimsuits, their skins turning deep brown. Even Laura, who normally did not tan easily, acquired a lovely rich colour, and only the red-haired Gillian lamented her misfortune in having to stay under the beach umbrella for most of the day. Her thin birdlike body was even more minute in the skimpy bikini she wore and her arms, shoulders and face were liberally spattered with a peppering of freckles.

  ‘And how’s my favourite sister?’ Richard enquired lazily during the first week. ‘You’re blossoming into quite a dish, my love!’

  ‘Thank you kindly, sir!’

  ‘That hair-do suits you. I should think it’s cool, too, in this heat.’

  ‘But it makes her look a lot older,’ Gillian remarked, rubbing the suntan oil along his smooth brown back.

  ‘Different, certainly. How’s the magnum opus progressing?’

  ‘All right.’ She didn’t want to think about it, but added perforce, ‘All the preliminary work is finished now, so I’m ready to start writing in earnest.’

  ‘And did this fellow whatever his name is have as interesting a life as you hoped?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. What about you? Any new plays on the stocks?’

  ‘A couple, yes. One commissioned for a TV series, another for a single play slot. I’m going to have a shot at producing the single.’

  ‘So he won’t have his precious dialogue mucked about!’ Gillian said with a laugh, settling down beside him. ‘There was a ding-dong battle over the last one!’

  ‘I remember, it was when I was staying with you. I did enjoy that couple of weeks, even though I was feeling so groggy.’

  ‘But not enough, apparently, to come back when invited,’ Richard remarked, opening one eye to look at her reproachfully.

  ‘I couldn’t at that particular point. I’d just decided on the book.’

  ‘Well, now you’ve reached a pause, how about coming back with us straight from here? We’d love to have you, wouldn’t we, Gillie?’

  ‘Of course we would.’

  ‘It’s sweet of you, but by the time we get back, I’ll have been away long enough for the moment.’

  ‘It’s a shame we haven’t more room at the flat. I have the feeling you’d be better off with us than with the worthy Edward and his good lady!’

  Laura smiled a little guiltily. ‘They’ve been very good to me.’

  ‘Caroline too?’ Richard enquired with raised eyebrow.

  ‘Certainly. I know you don’t like her—’

  ‘Really? I hoped I’d managed to conceal the fact. God, she puts years on me! Expects every man within range to pay her homage. It wouldn’t wash with me and she’s never forgiven me!’

  ‘Oh, Richard!’ Laura protested laughingly. ‘She’s not that bad!’

  ‘As hard as nails too,’ Richard continued imperturbably. ‘Every time I see her I have a regrettable urge to try to shock her!’

  ‘If it’s any comfort, you nearly always succeed!’

  ‘How gratifying! Oh, Laurie!’ He reached out for her hand. ‘You don’t know how good it is to have this kind of conversation with you again—just like old times. Last time I saw you at Four Winds, you were so uptight I could hardly get near you, and dear Caroline put the fear of God into me with wild talk about dreams and portents and Lord knows what else. That’s why I did my damnedest to get you to come back with us.’ He laughed. ‘What a lot of moonshine it seems now!’

  She returned the pressure of his fingers and did not reply. These few weeks were too precious to spoil with doubts and conjectures. If only she need never go back! She pulled herself up sharply. Not go back to Lewis? And to underline her perfidy, it was at that moment that Edward, who had been to the village, appeared above her and dropped a letter onto her.

  She sat up quickly, her fingers trembling as she tore it open. Unlike Paul, Lewis had begun uncompromisingly, ‘My darling—’ She read through the letter with her heart thundering against her ribs. Seeing the words of love in black and white was like hearing them for the first time and as her eyes lingered over the tender, passionate phrases, she was filled once more with restless impatience to get back to him.

  ‘Stop brooding, Laura!’ Richard commanded, tugging her to her feet. ‘Gillie and I are going for a swim. Come and join us!’

  She slipped the letter under her towel and ran down the beach with them, and as she ran, the impact of Lewis fell away again and rec
eded into a past which, until it linked up with the future on her return to Brocklehurst, could for the time being be put out of mind.

  The holiday was punctuated with such interludes. Laura’s share of the post became a family joke. She had three letters from Paul while they were away, and six or seven from Lewis. The fact that no one else received any added to her embarrassment. And all Paul’s began circumspectly, ‘Dear Laura.’ Several times she found herself wishing just a few of Lewis’s extravagant words could overflow into Paul’s unembellished prose, but she was quick to push such thoughts away. If she had responded differently in the car that day, she knew that Paul’s letters would have been very different. She had only herself to blame. Somehow that knowledge brought little comfort.

  The weeks slid into one another. They spent a day in Venice, another in Viareggio, but for the most part they slept and swam and ate. They stopped at the little shop each morning on the way to the beach to buy bottles of the local wine, long loaves, fruit and cheeses for their picnic lunch. The adults never wanted much to eat in the middle of the day, though the children’s appetites were undiminished.

  After lunch each day, Richard and Gillian returned to the villa for their siesta, allegedly because the midday sun was too strong for her fair skin and Richard was too gallant to allow her to go back alone. That explanation patently satisfied the children, which was all that mattered, but Laura was always uncomfortably aware of Caroline’s hard, resentful eyes following the two of them as they wandered hand in hand up the shingle. They usually returned soon after three, and at five or six they would all wander back in twos and threes, queuing for the shower. It was only then that the women changed into dresses for the evening meal which, Italian fashion, they ate about nine o’clock. It was a long day for the children, especially Peter, but since they slept a lot on the beach they were all allowed to stay up with the others.

  The evening meal was the time of the day that Laura loved most, sitting outside the restaurant under the gay awning while the exotic food was laid before them, hearing the laughter of their fellow diners and looking across the square to the lights of the pavement cafes where other holiday-makers, French, German and American, sat drinking coffee or Campari-soda.