An Unbroken Marriage Read online

  ‘But at least she’s healthy,’ Alison told India cheerfully. ‘And I have you to thank for that. Mel is over the moon. He’s always wanted a daughter. Simon came to see me while I was in hospital. He seemed very withdrawn. Is everything all right, India?’

  ‘Fine,’ she lied cheerfully. ‘He’s rather busy at the moment and has been staying in London.’

  ‘Aha, so that’s the reason for it! Obviously he’s missing you. Why didn’t you go with him?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve been feeling a bit tired lately,’ India fibbed.

  ‘Umm—well, if you’ll take my advice—and remember I’ve been through it, so I am speaking from experience—you’ll get him home just as fast as you can. To men like Simon and Mel, work is an important part of their lives—in fact I almost lost Mel to it, so don’t make the same mistakes I did, India. Be at your husband’s side, not away from it.’

  ‘Don’t worry about us. Tell me more about the baby.’

  Alison was easy to divert, and it was half an hour before India was able to replace the telephone receiver. She had been spending her afternoons during the week working on plans for Meadow’s End. Simon hadn’t said whether she was to continue or not, but she had doggedly gone ahead, telling herself that if she had no faith in the future what hope was there.

  Two days after Simon’s departure for London, a brand new, shiny estate car had been delivered to the house—something she would need, Simon had told her when he rang up to see if it had been delivered, and while she had been overwhelmed by his generosity she had also been chilled by his cool reception of her thanks. He had rung her from the flat and in the distance she had been able to hear music and the chink of glasses as though he were not alone, but rather than stoop to jealous questionings she had said nothing, and the estate car had proved extremely useful for her forays into Bristol and Gloucester to investigate the shops. She wanted to keep Meadow’s End as authentic as possible and had, with the aid of a list published by the National Trust, found a firm who specialised in interiors, and furnishings which were exact replicas of those produced in the past. India already had her own ideas, but she was reluctant to crystallise them until she had spoken with Simon, and somehow the telephone was not the ideal means of discussing her plans.

  When she had finished speaking to Alison she decided to go into Gloucester to do some shopping. Simon might return for the weekend and she had nothing very exciting in the fridge.

  It was a fifteen-mile drive, and when she got there she parked the car and headed for her favourite food store, pausing now and again to study the displays in sundry dress shop windows. Jenny had been keeping her up to date with everything that was happening at the salon, but very soon she was going to have to a make a decision about her future and that of the business. Officially she was having a month’s holiday, which she could well afford to take, because most of their orders were well in hand and if any crisis did arise Jenny knew that she was only a phone call away.

  It was while India was studying one of the windows that a familiar female voice hailed her. She spun round, surprised to be confronted by Ursula Blanchard, clad in an elegant black suit, her hair and make-up flawless.

  ‘Dear me, the little bride, and window shopping too. How dreary! Shall I give Simon your love when I see him tonight?’

  Somehow India managed to keep her face rigid, even managing to force a smile past stiff lips, as she said coolly, ‘Don’t bother, it’s something I prefer to do in private.’

  She could tell by the momentary flash of rage in Ursula’s eyes that she had scored a hit, but her triumph was shortlived when the other woman said with acid sweetness, ‘But not very often, surely? Simon hasn’t been home in a week, has he.’

  It was a statement rather than a question, and India felt the nausea churning like bile in her stomach.

  ‘He’s taking me out to dinner,’ Ursula continued blithely, ‘and then afterwards we’re going on to a new club. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if we don’t see the sun rise together—it used to be one of our favourite pleasures,’ she added meaningfully. ‘You’re out of your depth, my dear. Simon is not the man to be entertained for long by inexperience or doting adoration. I’ve told him that sometimes it’s necessary to be cruel to be kind, but he’s a man who prefers the subtle approach—you know what I mean? Those little telltale things that tell a woman silently but clearly that she’s no longer wanted…’

  ‘As he did to you?’ India asked, fighting not to let Ursula get the better of her, but it was a losing battle and they both knew it. She writhed in self-torment, imagining Simon telling Ursula about the circumstances of their marriage.

  ‘Of course,’ Ursula added insincerely, ‘Simon has a ridiculously chivalrous side to his nature as well, but I feel sorry for the type of woman who clings pathetically to a man who no longer wants her, knowing that he’s too compassionate to shake her off, don’t you?’

  She was gone before India could retaliate, and, her shopping forgotten, she walked slowly back to where she had parked the car.

  That Ursula was speaking from selfish motives India did not for one moment doubt, but she also knew that the only reason Simon was continuing with their travesty of a marriage was because he thought she might be carrying his child, and because of his own childhood he could not bear to desert his son or daughter, but he did not want her. Or at least, India amended, not permanently.

  The house felt cold when she got back. Even though they were well into spring it was still very cold. She turned on the radio just in time to hear a news bulletin that snow might be expected before evening. There was then a discussion involving two weathermen and an expert on changing climatic conditions, all trying to explain exactly why the seasons appeared to have become so muddled up.

  By late afternoon India was shivering and decided to switch on the central heating, but for some reason the mechanism refused to respond. She rang the service number indicated on the panel, but was told by a harassed receptionist that only emergency calls were being dealt with and that she would be put on what was apparently an extremely long list.

  In order to keep warm she lit the living room fire with some logs she found in the garage, and added an extra sweater and thicker tights under her jeans for extra protection. It was cold in the kitchen, so she made do with a supper of toast and coffee, eaten huddled over the fire.

  At just after seven o’clock the snow came, not pretty, fluffy flakes, but driving, blinding whiteness which hurled itself malevolently at the windows and clung tenaciously to the ground. Within half an hour everything was white. The temperature seemed to have stabilised, but India could feel her body heat starting to drain away with the enforced inactivity. The fire was burning low, and as she saw that the blizzard was showing no signs of blowing itself out she bitterly regretted not continuing with her planned shopping. Apart from the basic necessities and sundry tinned foods, there was literally nothing in the house. She had no experience of driving in snow and ice, and could only pray that the morning would bring a thaw.

  CHAPTER TEN

  IT didn’t. India, who had slept downstairs, to keep warm, wrapped in the quilt off her bed, awoke to a world of blinding whiteness, where the sun shone brightly out of a cold blue sky on to the snow which had been driven by the fierce wind and now lay piled in huge drifts over the drive and the road beyond it. Nothing moved in a landscape that was all white and blue, and it was an eerie sensation which made India shiver as she stared disbelievingly out on to a landscape of which she seemed to be the only living inhabitant.

  The blizzard must have affected their supply of electricity, India realised when she went into the kitchen and waited in vain for the kettle to boil. The house felt cold, the central heating system refusing to respond to her tentative manipulation, the telephone was completely dead when she picked up the receiver. Forcing down the panic which had filled her at the knowledge that she was completely alone, cut off from the outside world in a house which was gradually growing colder and c
older, India battled to control the primitive fear racing through her. There was an open fireplace in the living room. She could light that; there was wood and coal in the garage. He liked an open fire, Simon had told her, and upstairs there was a radio alarm clock which ran off batteries. She raced upstairs, switching it on quickly, relief flooding through her as she heard the sound of a D.J. announcing a record, the sound of another human voice restoring a little of her normal self control.

  The snow would melt, she reassured herself. Her imprisonment would not last very long. She had food, the means of providing herself with warmth and the radio for company, what more could she want?

  As though by doing so she could keep at bay the fear which attacked her every time she glanced out of a window and saw the still, alien landscape beyond it, India forced herself to wash and dress, piling on extra layers of clothes to protect herself from the cold which seemed to seep deeper into her body with every breath she took. Only when this task was completed did she allow herself to think about her meeting with Ursula. Simon didn’t want her. That was something she had to face—but not now, a tiny voice pleaded, not now.

  Despite the fire she had managed to light the living room seemed to grow colder and colder. The temperature was well below freezing, and would drop even further, the radio weatherman announced, following a news bulletin during which India learned that vast areas of the country were cut off and isolated by the unexpected blizzard. People were warned not to attempt to travel along motorways blocked by huge drifts of snow, and in country areas food was being dropped by helicopter for those animals who had managed to survive the storm. Electricity supplies were cut off in many areas, and no firm promises could be given as to when they would be restored. People were warned to stay inside and keep warm, and India shivered as she heard this last item. Despite her endeavours, despite her extra layers of clothing her teeth were chattering with every breath she took, her body chilled to the bone. But worse than her physical discomfort was the knowledge that she was not carrying Simon’s child. This last blow had destroyed her last fragile hope that she might be able to save their marriage. If there was to be no child, there was no possible reason for the marriage to continue.

  She wanted to cry, but somehow the tears would not come. She was too cold, too tired, numbed by the terrible coldness which seemed to have invaded every part of her body.

  During the late afternoon it snowed again and then froze, a thin crescent moon shining down from a midnight blue sky, the silver illumination of the moon and stars glittering on the white brilliance of the snow. India drifted into an uneasy sleep, punctuated by nightmares wherein she was constantly trying to reach Simon—a Simon who remained elusively just out of reach, surveying her with that same sardonic indifference he had shown at their first meeting. She cried out protestingly in her sleep, begging him to listen to her, to wait for her, but always just when she was about to reach out for him he turned on his heel, Ursula’s heartless laughter filling the silence.

  India awoke, reality and fantasy merging in her cold-numbed brain, until she was sure of nothing save for the fact that she had lost Simon; and with him all reason for living. Never had she envisaged feeling like this; experiencing this tearing sense of loss, of hopelessness, of desire to turn her back on the world and simply slide into oblivion.

  Simon, Simon, her aching heart called, while her tired brain yearned simply for peace, for escape from pain and hurt.

  She slept and dreamed, dragged out of her cold-induced sleep occasionally by a body too young and full of life to simply submit without a fight. Occasionally reality managed to break through and India would come to with a start, shivering and acutely conscious of her danger. The fire had gone out. There was wood still and coal in the garage, but she simply lacked the will to go and get it. What was the point? She had lost Simon, without him life held no meaning, no purpose.

  Coward, an inner voice mocked her, but she refused to listen; it was much easier simply to curl up into a small ball and pull the quilt round her, letting sleep claim her. Someone was shaking her, rubbing agonising life into numbed limbs, the stabbing red-hot needles and pins torturing her flesh and dragging her back from the endless sleep reaching out for her. She mumbled a protest, curling herself into a small ball, trying to avoid contact with whatever it was that was inflicting the unwanted pain on her body.

  ‘India… wake up! Open your eyes!’

  Responding instinctively to the calm authority in the voice calling her name, India’s eyelids flickered, her eyes focusing slowly on the taut male features, the mouth set hard in a grim line, the dark grey eyes, almost black in their anger. A deep shudder racked through her, causing Simon’s hands to cease in their ministrations to her cramped limbs.

  ‘India—no, don’t close your eyes. Wake up! Drink this…’

  Fiery spirit trickled down her throat, forcing her back to life in spite of her protests.

  This time when she opened her eyes she focused them properly.

  ‘Simon!’ His name whispered disbelievingly past her lips. What was Simon doing here? He should be with Ursula. Ursula was the one he loved. India had no rights to him. The child which might have held them together was not to be. These and other muddled thoughts flashed through India’s cold-numbed brain, while her senses struggled to relay to her the fact of Simon’s presence, his hands rubbing briskly at her near frozen legs, his dark head bent towards her, while he muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

  ‘Why didn’t you light the fire?’

  ‘I did,’ she told him, shivering fitfully, longing to close her eyes and blot out his angry face. She had been asleep and comfortable. He had woken her from that sleep, making her aware of cold, aching bones, and a pain that seemed to go on and on for ever. ‘It went out. Simon, I’m cold, I want to sleep. Leave me alone.’

  India was barely aware of uttering the words, unaware too of the look which crossed her husband’s face, before it settled into lines of grim determination and he bent, scooping her up and carrying her effortlessly over to the settee, where he wrapped her in the quilt before turning his attention to the fire.

  It was the noisy crackling of burning logs that woke India, her forehead furrowed as she tried to recall events that were no more than vague, hazy images. She was aware of someone coming between her and the fire, and she shivered at being cut off from this source of heat.

  ‘India, I know you’re awake. Open your eyes!’

  Unwillingly she did as Simon commanded. What was he doing here? Why wasn’t he with Ursula?

  ‘How did you…’

  ‘… get here?’ she had been about to ask before exhaustion robbed her of the strength to frame the words, but Simon obviously misunderstood her because he said tersely, ‘How did I know you were here? Jenny rang me. She’d heard about the weather conditions on the news and she was concerned about you.’

  There was something contained within the words that India knew was important, but which eluded her, some discrepancy which she knew she ought to question, but she was too tired and cold to do so. Her teeth started chattering together. She heard Simon curse and saw him move towards her. ‘You ought to be in hospital, but I daren’t risk moving you yet. You must try to stay awake, India. It’s important. You’re suffering from hypothermia—you know what that is, don’t you?’

  She managed to nod her head, wishing she had the courage to tell him to go away and leave her. She had been quite happy, drifting away on a peaceful cloud, but he had come and wrenched her back from that dream world, into another filled with harsh realities; a world where she was forced to acknowledge her love for him and the folly of it.

  ‘Ursula,’ she managed to murmur painfully, watching him frown with misery in her heart.

  ‘I’ve brought some Calor gas with me and a small stove. I’m going to heat up some soup for both of us…’

  Simon disappeared and India closed her eyes, shaken out of her lethargy what seemed to be only seconds later when he return
ed, cursing angrily as his fingers tightened round her upper arms, shaking her into unwanted consciousness.

  When he was sure that she was awake he connected the cylinder of gas to a small portable stove, deftly opening a tin of soup which he poured into a pan.

  ‘How did you get here?’ India asked him hesitantly, glancing towards the window. Although dusk was gathering outside she could still see the snow-covered landscape, and could remember the size of the drifts covering the drive and the road.

  ‘Land Rover,’ Simon told her briefly, not telling her how hazardous the journey had been and the sheer impossibility of transporting her in her present state to the hospital care she so obviously needed. He frowned as he poured a generous helping of the soup into a bowl and handed it to her.

  India drank it without enthusiasm. Pins and needles attacked her legs and feet whenever she moved. She felt so cold that she could not imagine ever being warm enough ever again. When she had finished the soup Simon handed her a glass of brandy, telling her to drink it. She obeyed him docilely, unable to find the energy to defy him even though she hated the taste of the liquid as it brought burning life to her throat and stomach. However, the soup and brandy combined together to make her more aware of her surroundings, of what had happened to her, of the fact that Simon was no longer under any obligation towards her. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but Simon himself was already on his feet, removing the protection of the quilt and staring down at her with a frown in his eyes.

  ‘You’re half frozen.’

  It was a statement, not a question, and as such did not need an answer. Besides, India’s body spoke for her, shivering with reaction at the removal of the quilt. Simon dropped the quilt back over her and turned on his heel, leaving the room without a word. It was beyond India to guess at his thoughts. The soup and the warmth of the fire had revived her to the point where she could think with reasonable clarity, but despite the flames licking so greedily at the stacked logs none of their heat seemed able to reach out and melt the ice which seemed to have invaded her body.