Arian (50 page)

Gerald’s love-making was all that Sarah wanted. She felt him move within her, strong, as vigorous as he’d ever been. She cried out as he gripped her hips, thrusting himself deep, possessing her in the way she loved.

‘Gerry, Gerry, my darling, I love you so much!’ He fell away from her and she lay gasping in delight. Her hand reached out to catch his and together, they fell asleep.

Arian moved from the doorway and crossed the street, staring back at the two buildings, both of which she was utilizing for her growing business.

The windows and doors were freshly painted and above the façade, the name of the newspaper stood out in black:
The Swansea Times
. Within the grey stone walls were housed the tools of her trade; the printing presses, the brand-new guillotines for cutting the paper, the indian ink in bottles. The very smell of the place excited her.

Housed in the original building were the offices, the front desk where the public came to place advertisements; the reporters’ rooms equipped now with the new typewriting machines and above, Arian’s private rooms, enlarged and extended with new drapes and a brand-new bathroom.

She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she was not aware of the man coming to stand beside her until he spoke.

‘Arian.’ The name fell into the quietness, the voice was so familiar, so masculine, so loved and the sound of him saying her name had the power to thrill her.

‘Calvin.’ She wanted to go into his arms, to tell him how much she loved him but she stood quite still, looking at him as if he were a stranger. ‘You startled me.’

‘I understand you’ve had problems with Gerald Simples. He’s sick, Eddie Carpenter told me. I hope you don’t mind, he was concerned about you.’

‘Let’s walk.’ She was filled with a complexity of feelings; she wanted to be with Calvin, was pleased that he cared enough to come to find her and yet what sense was there in talking? There was nothing to say that hadn’t already been said.

He led her towards a waiting carriage and helped her inside. She sat next to him on the cold leather seat, savouring the moment, breathing in the scent of him, the rich aroma of his tobacco and she felt herself melt. It was a long time since she’d felt like a woman, she realized suddenly.

He took her to his house and when he opened the door and she saw the familiar, gracious hallway, she remembered with a pang of longing how happy she had been working for Calvin, being under the same roof with him. What a long time ago it all seemed now.

In the drawing room, she sat down in the large upholstered chair near the glowing fire. She took the glass of porter he handed her and closed her eyes for a moment, sighing with a sense of release.

‘Talk to me Arian.’ His voice was mellow. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

‘I don’t know what to say, I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I can’t say anything except that I went to ask Gerald for a divorce. I wanted to make a new start but he’s sick, very sick.’

She looked into the glowing liquid in her glass. ‘He could be violent, dangerous even. I tried to warn Sarah Frogmore but she doesn’t believe me.’

‘Gerald Simples is not your problem,’ Calvin said reasonably. ‘Why should you be responsible now after the way he has treated you?’

‘He’s my husband.’ She looked directly at Calvin. ‘I wish to God things were different but they’re not.’ She wanted to hold out her hand to him, beg Calvin to hold her close. She needed love so badly. But what was the use? She was no good to him. She must keep her distance, allow Calvin to find a wife, to have the son he always wanted.

He came towards her quickly and took her in his arms. His mouth was on hers, searching, thrilling. His hands caressed her. He bent and kissed her throat, her breasts and she took a ragged breath, her eyes closed, wanting him so much.

He drew away and spoke to her softly. ‘Why did you want a divorce, Arian? Was it so that we could be together?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know, Calvin. Perhaps I just wanted to be free.’

He moved away from her and stood staring at her, his eyes warm. ‘Tell me you don’t love me and I’ll never bother you again. Go on, Arian, tell me.’

She looked away from him. ‘I can’t, Calvin, I just can’t tell you a lie.’ She stared up at him in anguish. ‘That’s what you wanted and that’s what you’ve got – you’ve forced me to admit to my feelings, but it doesn’t change anything, can’t you see that?’

She turned and moved away from him but he caught her up in a few strides and drew her back against him, his hands gentle.

‘We love each other, Arian. For now, that’s all that matters, everything else can be sorted out, just leave it to me.’

She put her head backwards onto his shoulder. Her eyes were closed and hope washed over her. Perhaps, just perhaps, Calvin could make everything right, just as he said he would. But, no, she was only fooling herself. Slowly, she drew away from him.

‘I’ll speak to you some other time, Calvin. For now, I must be alone to think things out.’ She didn’t look back, otherwise she might have been tempted to go with him and damn the consequences. And in the back of her mind, the thought of Gerald rose like a big dark cloud.

Sarah wandered around the room, picking up first one expensive piece of china and then another, replacing the objects without really seeing them. She thought of Gerald, how he’d held her in his arms, made love to her as he used to. Doctors, they didn’t know everything. She loved him, she knew what was best.

She smiled to herself. By throwing away his medication she’d done him a favour. He was out now, in town, buying himself a new suit and a few shirts. She’d insisted that he go to the best shops and put the goods on her account. He’d lost a little weight and his old clothes no longer fitted him but he was looking well, his eyes were clear again and he seemed to be more and more in love with her each day.

She paused and looked at herself in the mirror that hung over the ornate fireplace. She was getting older, not really old, not yet, but there were creases around her mouth and lines around her eyes. Gerald didn’t seem to notice. He was grateful for her love and support. She was the only one who cared, that’s what he was constantly telling her.

One thing she needed to make her life complete was to have her son home again. She missed Jack terribly. She should be settled down now with a husband and family like any other woman but there was no way her husband, Geoffrey, would ever release her. She knew that even if he did, she would have no means of support. Gerald was not earning anything these days and sometime, even his seemingly endless source of funds would dry up.

Gerald was one of the finest men to come her way, and there had been many men in her life, too many if the truth were told. None of those men who had been her lovers – and somehow the word lovers comforted her – none of them had brought her more than a passing happiness, none except Gerald.

Abruptly she moved away from the mirror. It told the truth too starkly, it told her things about herself she would rather not know.

She glanced at the clock. Gerald would be a while yet and she was bored on her own. Perhaps it would be an idea to go round to see her son. Geoffrey would not be best pleased about a surprise visit but she had rights and it wasn’t often she exercised them.

The morning air was chill when she stepped out onto the small drive of her house. Sarah glanced up at the lowering skies and shuddered. It would rain soon. Over the bay of Swansea hung a string of clouds like washing on a line; dirty smudged washing, ragged and grey.

The sea ran ceaselessly reaching for the shore and then receding, pewter in the dying daylight. Even the sand on the beach appeared colourless, as though the world had been robbed of light.

Sarah almost laughed. She was being fanciful in her old age. Stop it! she admonished herself. She was not old and mustn’t even begin to think that way.

After she left the train, the walk to Geoffrey’s modest retreat was not a long one. It would have been pleasant if the weather had been a little more kind. She passed a small wooded field, heard the tinkle of the stream running over smoothed stones, saw the contours of the land as though for the first time.

Sarah felt, quite suddenly, that her eyes had been opened to the world around her and for a moment she was frightened. She didn’t want to see too clearly, for then she might learn that no-one really loved her at all, that she was just being used.

As she reached the house, she saw a lamp glimmer in the window. There was a silence about the place and as she raised her hand to the knocker, Sarah felt a sense of being outside an empty building.

The maid who opened the door to her was red eyed with weeping and Sarah felt a dart of alarm.

‘What’s the matter?’ She pushed her way into the hall and looked around her fearfully. ‘Is it the boy? Is my son hurt?’

The maid shook her head. ‘Mr Chas.’ Her voice broke with emotion. ‘I still can’t believe he’s gone. Living in those awful draughty rooms by the docks has done for him. He’s dead. The master’s down at Oystermouth church. He’s been there every day this past week.’

A sense of relief washed over her, and Sarah bit her lip. She’d imagined that Jack had fallen sick with some dreadful malady and the fear had made her almost fall into a swoon. She clung to the banister in the hallway and tried to get a grip on herself, trying to sort out her mixture of feelings. She should have heard about Chas, would have heard had she not been so engrossed in Gerald.

She should feel pity for her husband and yet there was a sort of triumph in knowing that he was free, free of the love that had bound him so tightly. She realized he must be sad. He’d lost so much, the man who in all the world had been his dearest friend. And lover, said a sharp voice within her.

‘When are you expecting Geoffrey back?’ she asked, standing up straight, feeling she needed to be strong. Somehow, all along, she had felt this to be a day of moment, a day when the world had grown a dark place, with sorrow round the corner waiting to pounce. And yet it wasn’t her sorrow, it was Geoffrey’s.

‘He’ll be in the cemetery a while yet, Mrs Frogmore.’ The maid tried to dry the tears that persisted in running into her mouth. ‘Can’t bring hisself to leave Mr Chas alone in the ground, if you ask me.’

‘My son, where’s Jack?’ Sarah heard her voice take on a note of panic and the maid visibly stiffened.

‘He’s safe in my care. Gone to bed, he has, Mrs Frogmore. Worn out the poor child is, sick from all that crying.’

Sarah glanced upstairs. She must see him, make sure her son was safe. Then she would go to her husband and comfort him. He would need her now more than he ever did before. Somehow the thought gave her a strong sense of power; no-one had ever really needed her. Perhaps in the last few weeks Gerry had clung to her but now he was recovered, he seemed to want to stand on his own two feet again.

She felt happy, reassured; if she so wished, she could resume her rightful place in her husband’s life. They could never give each other physical love but there would be a strong warm bond of friendship between them. And if the day ever came when Gerry no longer wanted her, Geoffrey would be there, to care for her as he always had, in his own strange way.

Arian was outside the buildings that housed her newspaper, her very own newspaper. It seemed she never grew tired of admiring it, this, the solid proof of her growing success. The newly painted façade was old but gracious, the windows arched by stone, that appeared now like eyebrows raised in question. The windows shone, the paint on the woodwork new and fresh. And yesterday in the vaults, she had found the deeds that had proved the building was hers, something her father had left her, a building he’d thought worthless, not even valuable enough to gamble away at cards or dice. Now, it was worth everything to Arian. It offered her security, a future.

She stepped back a pace, watching the passers-by glance with interest at the sign above the door. It gave her a sense of pride to know that her name was there, hers alone: Arian Smale, proprietor. It was an achievement, of course it was. Why then, did she still have a sense of being unfulfilled?

She heard the clock on the Guildhall chime and knew it was time she got some work done. There was an obituary to write, a difficult one about Geoffrey Frogmore’s friend, his lover if what Mac said was correct and it usually was, but what to say about a man who seemed to have no identity, no job, no aim in life?

Mac had refused outright to write the obituary. ‘Don’t like that sort of man, spot ’em a mile off. Should be tolerant, I suppose, but I can’t understand it myself.’

Arian had taken the task upon herself, not knowing quite how tactful the younger reporters would be in such a situation and she wasn’t about to risk either bringing her paper into disrepute or harming Geoffrey Frogmore’s reputation, perhaps even condemning him to a prison sentence into the bargain.

When she knocked on the door of the modest house where Geoffrey Frogmore lived, the maid who opened it looked at her suspiciously. ‘Yes?’

‘I would like to talk to Mr Frogmore. I’m from the
Swansea Times
.’

‘I’m not sure…. Mr Frogmore isn’t in at the moment, you see.’ The maid hesitated and Sarah appeared in the doorway behind her.

‘Arian, do come in.’ Sarah’s eyes were alight with triumph. ‘I should like to talk to you, anyway.’

Arian stepped inside the neat house. The place smelled fresh, the furniture glowed and in the polished grate, a warm fire was burning.

Sarah led the way into a tiny sitting room. She stood, arms folded, looking at Arian as though she’d scored a victory over her.

‘Gerald is better, much better.’ Sarah’s cheeks dimpled coyly. ‘The doctors were wrong, quite wrong. His recovery is the result of living with me. I care about him, you see, really care. Oh, I know he can be difficult at times but he really is a wonderful man. You’ve never understood him.’

‘He’s taking his medication, is he?’ Arian asked and Sarah laughed out loud.

‘That rubbish! It made him dull and boring. He’s fine without it.’