Richard took his whisky outside and went and stood under the flagpole where he had the best view of the bay. He caught a glimpse of blue on the path and peered into the sun, shading his eyes with his hand. His spirits rose. It was Isabella and he watched her moving towards him.
Her beauty never ceased to thrill him. Daniel was right. Isabella needed children, it was what women were born for, it was their role in life; whatever they pretended, a woman without a child was to be pitied.
As Isabella reached the turn in the path where it became steep, she paused, and like him turned to look out at the bay and the busy trail of small boats making for home. The wind caught her hair and blew it around her face, caught at her dress and blew it tight to her body and the thin material clung to breast and limbs.
Richard stared down at his wife. Since her influenza she had grown thin. It was noticeable in her arms and face. But her body was … thicker, the material tighter around her breasts and waist. She turned to continue up the path and Richard clearly saw the small protuberance of her stomach as Isabella placed one hand on her side, as if to balance herself as she climbed.
For a second his heart leapt with joy as he fought to remember how long it was since he had shared a bed with his wife. Too long. At least four months. Something cold clutched at him. He might have been a bachelor for a long time but he had sisters, and he knew Isabella was not that far gone. If it was mine she would have spoken to me.
She had disappeared around the bend in the path and would reappear any moment in front of him. He wanted to turn and run for the house but he could not move. He could feel the blood draining from his face and for the first time in his life he felt he might pass out unconscious. He clutched the flagpole, his eyes still fixed to the point Isabella would emerge from the path.
As Isabella came from the trees she saw her husband ashen and clutching the pole and ran towards him with a cry; ‘Richard, Richard, what is it? Are you ill?’
He could not answer and Isabella, believing he must have had a heart attack, cried out to the house, ‘Come quickly. Please come quickly, Sir Richard is ill!’
She went to him. ‘Richard, Richard, lean on me. Can you walk? We must get you inside. Oh dear! Richard, can you speak? There, that’s it, lean on me …’
Richard’s steward, Trathan, and the groom came running from the side of the house, alerted by Isabella’s cries. They helped Richard slowly back to the house, but he would not let Isabella’s hand go and she ran awkwardly beside him as they got him inside and into the drawing room and laid him on the chaise longue.
‘Ride for the doctor,’ she told the groom, ‘as fast as you can.’
‘No!’ Richard had got his voice back. ‘No, it is just a turn, give me brandy. I will recover in a moment.’
The groom hesitated. Isabella said, ‘Richard, you must see the doctor in case it is your heart. Go, at once.’ She waved the groom out of the room.
She felt Richard’s brow; it was clammy. She turned to the steward, ‘Could you please find Sir Richard a brandy and call one of the maids to bring me water with lavender?’
When it came Richard leant back and closed his eyes and let Isabella gently bathe his face, the inside of his wrists and between his fingers. Helena had taught Isabella this reviving trick with lavender. Isabella was so gentle and loving that for moments Richard pretended that all was normal. This was his beloved wife tenderly caring for him. This sweet girl would never betray him. Then he saw again the clear shape of her body silhouetted against the dying sun and a light was snuffed out like the sudden movement of two fingers extinguishing a candle.
The doctor ushered him up to bed and examined him. His heart rate and blood pressure were up, otherwise he could find nothing wrong with Sir Richard, except perhaps overwork or too much excitement. The doctor viewed the much younger wife from beneath half-moon glasses and ordered, ‘No undue exercise or excitement for a week or so.’
He was more perplexed by the undue quietness of his patient, normally so loud and bluff. If it was anyone but Sir Richard the doctor would have diagnosed a malaise of the spirit, a depression. He said to Isabella, in case he had missed something, ‘If there are any other symptoms you must call me straight away.’
After he had gone, Richard turned to Isabella.
‘Will you stay with me for company? I do not wish to be alone tonight?’
‘Of course, Richard,’ Isabella said. ‘Could you take some soup?’
He shook his head. ‘Just ask Trathan to bring me brandy.’
Isabella went downstairs. She had never seen Richard like this. Lisette was waiting for her.
‘Is it his heart?’
‘The doctor thinks not, but I shall stay with him tonight just to be sure.’
When Isabella was ready for bed she went back to Richard. He smelt of lavender water and brandy and seemed asleep. She climbed into bed beside him and lay on her back, knowing she would not sleep.
Richard was very still beside her. He did not turn or move, his breathing was shallow, but she felt sure he did not sleep. She lay, acutely aware of him and frightened in a way she did not comprehend. His unnatural stillness was disturbing.
Such misery emanated from Richard that Isabella got up quietly and drew back the heavy curtains so that she might see his face. She looked down upon him. His eyes were shut against her but he silently wept for a precious thing lost.
Isabella felt weightless. All was now clear. She felt as if she had struck a child or shot a decent man in the back. What she had done was break a man’s heart.
With the edges of her nightdress she dabbed at the steady yet incessant flow of her husband’s tears, terrible to see for she had never seen a grown man weep. Isabella’s betrayal rose up in her in an anguish that would become part of her. She wept with her husband, bent her cheek to his, sobbing uncontrollably.
Richard brought his arms up and enfolded her, and she lay with her head turned from him, buried in his shoulder, weeping until she could weep no more. Richard thought, I will have this one last night holding the woman I have loved beyond anything sensible. I will have it, not to remember, but to seal the end of my happiness, when I was a reasonable man and would not hurt another human being. To remind myself of that.
As a new day edged up over the water beyond their window in a thin straight line of gold, both Isabella and Richard fell into a strange, awkward and unreal sleep. They held each other closer than they had ever done in their short marriage. Held each other in denial of a thing that could not be undone.