Chapter 4

 

“What’s the matter with you?”

John’s voice was chilly and Daphne couldn’t miss the sharp interrogatory tone. She’d have to watch her step.

This cat and mouse situation between them had crept up on them to the point where it now constituted a large part of their behaviour to each other.

She watched his every move, was conscious of every inflection in his voice. If she looked up from her magazine in the evening, it was often to find his eyes on her with what she could only think of as a sly look in his face. They didn’t trust each other. Daphne told herself it would be better if her complaints were like other women, that he spent too much time at his work, or on the golf course. That would be a stroke of luck. If she were a neglected wife, she’d have an excuse to escape. But, just like her blasted mother, John was determined to smother her. So her marriage had turned into a silent war, one she’d a horrible feeling that she wasn’t going to win. Well, maybe she wouldn’t win, but she would go one better; she would escape.

The seeds of the war had probably always been there. What could you expect when there was such a mismatch?

“Nothing’s the matter, darling. Why should there be?”

Her tone was cool and her hand was steady as she spread Cooper’s marmalade onto her toast. A sick feeling struck the back of her throat and chest and water sprang into her mouth. She gulped.

John’s eyes were still on her, the stare hiding, it seemed, a multitude of thoughts and suspicions.

She’d have to say something–head him off. If she could speak, that is. A rush of heat flooded her face.

Another married woman might suspect pregnancy was causing this nausea, which was now subsiding slightly, but Daphne made damn sure that wasn’t the case. It may be what John wanted, but she was not going to be caught in the oldest trap there was. She was going to escape and nothing would stand in the way of her plan.

“I’m not feeling particularly well,”

It was true; now the heat subsided and she felt the cold shiver of sweat on her forehead and upper lip. Blotches appeared and disappeared before her eyes.

“Well, maybe you should have a lie-down then.”

She looked at his face, searching out the expression.

Was this a caring side? Was he being sarcastic, or humouring the little woman. Hardly likely.

But whatever his motives, she was going to take up his suggestion. She was desperate to get back to bed. Not just the sick feeling, but having to keep up this act, was a strain. A morning in bed would buy her a little respite, and she could think about Giles.

It was like being a child and thinking about future treats and happiness, like the circus or the fair or the seaside. She remembered golden light coming through light summer curtains–a little breeze lifting the corner, a dash to the window, eager to let the day in, the sweet smell of honeysuckle, growing on the wall of the house in Lizard in Cornwall that her parents used to take for the month of August. There would be just a moment of ecstasy when she woke up and realised where she was and that the day ahead held treats; ice cream, sand, paddling and best of all being with her cousins. She’d hated being an only child; all her happiest memories had been with her cousins.

“But, you have nothing to compare it with!” John had said to her in the early days, half exasperated, half- affectionate.

Well, she had, she had seen how different life was for her cousins and her school friends. All that attention from her parents; her mother in particular. It had been like being one of those bugs on a slide in a laboratory. She didn’t need experience to tell her that having brothers and sisters would have diluted that.

Sometimes, she wanted attention, even now, of course. That was natural, but at other times she wanted to fade away into the wallpaper, except when she was with Giles. When she was with Giles everything fitted, all was right. She didn’t feel like she had to be any way, to watch her step or to play her part. She could, probably for the only time in her life, be completely herself.

There was something that always worked when she felt like this, sick and anxious. She thought about the early days with Giles. She could close her eyes and re-play their meeting. It had been at a party at a house belonging to friends of John’s parents. Dull, dull, dull, had been her thought as she had dressed. Dull, stuffy, boring people.

“Don’t get squiffy, darling,” John had told her as he did up the tiny buttons on the back of her blue evening gown.

She met his eyes in the mirror–as usual, she couldn’t read what was there. Cat and mouse. A sick feeling had gripped her stomach–it felt like bile, black bile. Why had she married him? Why had she been so weak and keen to please her mother and so easily influenced. She felt as though she were was in prison.

Now, she lay on the bed and let the fantasy sweep through her mind. She watched it like a film and she heard the dialogue–well, maybe just odd sentences, like.

“It’s no use, Daphne. I can’t be without you. I won’t be without you. We’ll do whatever it takes.”

That’s what was going to happen. She would just have to wait.

The nausea was easing and John would have left for his chambers now. She could phone one of her friends, Pat maybe or Clarissa. They could meet for lunch. Then they could go shopping and that would cheer her up, take her mind off all this damn waiting.

Where was her maid? That was another thing. Elsie was good. In fact, she was probably now, pressing an outfit for Daphne to wear out, but sometimes Daphne found her too watchful. She had taken the girl on but could John be getting her to spy on her mistress? Daphne rang the bell to summon her.