Marnie (19 page)

One thing I found in the garage was an oldish two-seater car. It had belonged to her – she’d used it going to her excavations, and the boot looked like it – but Mark said I
could drive it if I wanted, so I did go off one or two afternoons exploring round about, though I hadn’t anywhere special to go.

After a few weeks, when he still kept his distance, I began to let go, to relax, to feel easier in the house. There was no way of leaving him yet, except the way I’d tried at Camp de Mar
– and I knew I’d never try that again – so for the present it was a case of making the best of it.

One night after supper I’d opened up a bit about myself and he said suddenly:

‘Marnie, why don’t you do this more often?’

‘Do what?’

‘Talk about yourself. It might help.’

‘Help what?’

‘It might help you to get free of – of things that at present get in your way. It even might help us to understand each other better.’

‘I don’t see how.’

‘Well, at its lowest it interests me. It’s important to talk. Otherwise one gets ingrown. Any psychiatrist would tell you that. So would a Catholic priest.’

‘I’m not a talker.’

‘I know. That’s what I’m saying. Tell me about losing your brother, for instance.’

‘What about it?’ I said sharply.

‘Well, you did lose one, didn’t you? Wasn’t it through neglect?’

I told him. He said: ‘If it went as far as a court case the doctor was lucky to get away with it. I suppose it was wartime. Is that why you hate doctors?’

‘I don’t think it happened because it was wartime. I think it happened because we were poor.’

‘Well, that shouldn’t apply now, should it?’

‘Oh, but it could. You don’t realize; you’ve never been poor, Mark. When my—’ I stopped.

He was watching me. ‘When your what?’

‘When my aunt had a varicose ulcer,’ I said carefully. ‘You know, the one who brought me up. She was in hospital and I went to see her; I had that job with the accountants in
Bristol and I came back to see her and she wasn’t being well looked after at all. I made a fuss and it helped a bit, but I could see she was being treated badly because they knew she was poor
and couldn’t stand up for herself.’

‘From what I’ve seen of the Health Service I shouldn’t have thought that was often so. It may be pretty rough and ready, especially if you’re not too seriously ill, I
grant that, but I shouldn’t have thought it made much difference, once you were in, whether you were rich or poor. Of course, if you can stand up for yourself, that’s a help. But the
important thing in hospital these days is to have a rare and interesting disease. If you have, then you’re treated like royalty. If you haven’t, then you take your chance.’

‘What’s the use of asking me to tell you these things if, when I tell you, you don’t believe them?’

‘It isn’t that I don’t believe them. But I try to see it through your eyes and then I wonder if I should see it the same through my own . . .’

‘Well, of course not. I—’

‘But never mind. Go on.’

‘You think I’ve a chip on my shoulder about poverty and being poor. Well, perhaps I have. But no one’s entitled to criticize me who hasn’t tried it.’

‘You’ve a chip of some sort on your shoulder, Marnie, as big as an Admiral’s epaulette, but I doubt if it’s just poverty that’s caused it. I can’t tell you
what it is. I wish I knew. Maybe a psychiatrist could tell. But you wouldn’t let him try, would you.’

‘Try what?’

‘To find out if there was something wrong.’

‘No.’

‘Would you be afraid?’

‘What of?’

‘Of going to see one.’

‘A psychiatrist? Why should I be afraid? It would only be a waste of time.’

‘Perhaps yes. Perhaps no.’

‘Do you go to a doctor when there’s nothing wrong with you?’

‘Do you think he would find nothing wrong with you?’

‘Oh, they always make up something to earn their money.’

He was quiet for a bit. Then he got up and went over to one of the bookcases and began to leaf through a book. But he wasn’t looking at it.

‘Marnie, tell me something . . . Perhaps you don’t know but . . . since we were married you’ve shown pretty clearly that you hate the physical side of love. What I want to know
is, do you hate love as such or do you merely hate me?’

I picked up one of the Christmas cards on the table and read the name inside. It didn’t mean a thing.

He said: ‘Try to tell me exactly the truth if you can. Could you imagine finding pleasure in love with another man?’

‘No.’

‘Then I think a psychiatrist might help.’

‘Thanks. I’m all right as I am.’

‘Are you?’

‘
Yes
. Everyone isn’t made alike! Some people love music. Others hate it. It would be a poor world if we all wanted the same thing.’

‘Ah, but—’

‘The only mistake you made, Mark, was forcing me to marry you. The mistake I made was being caught.’

It was the nearest we had ever come to the horrible things we’d said to each other on our honeymoon. He seemed to swallow it now and push on.

‘That’s all right as far as it goes. But it doesn’t go far enough.’

‘Because you think I should be like Estelle?’

‘Because sex is a fundamental instinct that you can’t compare to love of music. If it isn’t there in some form something is wrong.’

‘I’m not the only woman who’s ever disliked it.’

‘God, no. Some people put the number as high as thirty per cent of the female population. But there are degrees and yours is an extreme degree. And you haven’t the face or figure of
a frigid woman—’

‘Is there such a thing?’

‘I think so.’

‘Well, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if you’ve been deceived.’

The next morning, Sunday, was wet, so he spent it mostly rearranging his wife’s Greek pottery. But over lunch he said:

‘I’ve been thinking about what we said last night. There’s a man I know called Charles Roman. I wish you’d meet him.’

‘Who is he?’

‘A psychiatrist. But a very practical one. The sort of person one can talk to.’

‘Oh, no.’

‘I thought I might get him over to dinner one evening. He’s about fifty, and very wise, and very simple. No frills.’

‘Ask him to dinner one evening when I’m out.’

Mark ate for a few minutes in silence.

‘Perhaps we could do a deal.’

‘A deal?’

‘Yes. You oblige me and I oblige you . . . Supposing I promised to have Forio brought here. It wouldn’t cost much to turn the old garage at the end into a stable, and the paddock
beyond is empty. Then he could be here permanently, and you could ride him whenever you wanted.’

I crumbled bread in my two hands, waiting for the catch. ‘Yes? What do I do in return?’

‘You agree to go to Roman for one hour, say, twice a week to see if he can help you.’

‘I don’t want help,’ I said, but my thoughts were jumping like fleas. I’d expected Mark was going to make the one condition I couldn’t consider. But this . . .
Well, it had to be thought of.

‘You want Forio?’ he said.

‘Well, of course.’

‘It might make you happier?’

‘Yes, of course it would.’

‘Well, there’s the proposition. Think it over.’

I said: ‘I’d – think much better of you if you let me have him without conditions, Mark.’

‘I expect so. But I’m afraid they have to come into it.’

At lunch I said to him: ‘You mean I could keep Forio for good? You mean I could ride him any time I liked? You would pay for his keep?’

‘Of course.’

‘And how long would I have to see this man?’

‘It would depend on what he said. Perhaps he wouldn’t feel he could help you at all. But if he did try, it’s only fair to say it might be a long treatment. These things are
usually very slow.’

‘What would he do?’

‘Chiefly encourage you to talk.’

‘I’m not a talker. I’ve told you.’

‘I know. That would be his problem.’

I didn’t say any more then, but all through Monday my mind was working hard. If I couldn’t escape from Mark altogether – yet, I might escape in a way by having a horse to ride.
And just to have Forio here, with me, would be like having a friend to turn to.

I thought highly of the idea. The more I thought of it the more I liked it. But to get it I took a risk; Mark would see to that. People like this man Roman had a way of inching into your
thoughts so that in the end you gave something away. I couldn’t afford to give anything away.

But only two hours a week. Couldn’t I hold my own with any doctor for two hours a week? The fact that I hated them all would make it that much easier. It would be a battle of wits, a
question of keeping on the alert. Was it worth the risk to have Forio?

I said nothing until the Tuesday morning, and then I said: ‘Mark, I’ve been thinking over what you suggested.’

‘Oh?’ It was too casual, trying to hide the look in his eyes.

‘Yes. I – haven’t decided yet. But if you like to ask this Dr Roman to dinner I’ll look him over and see if I think I can bear him. But, mind, I haven’t agreed to
anything.’

‘No doubt he’ll want to see what you look like too. He’s pretty choosy.’

‘What would you tell him about me?’

‘I hadn’t thought of it. Principally, I think, that you would like treatment. The rest is up to him.’

‘I mean,’ I said, ‘I mean, if you’re going to begin by telling him about me stealing the money, then it’s off right away.’

‘My dear, it’s up to you, what you tell him. I shan’t. Anyway – as you should know – that’s not what worries me.’

‘So you say.’

I could tell Mark was pleased, and it didn’t give me any satisfaction to please him. But I’d agreed now. Did he really think something helpful to him would really come out of it? Did
he really think a few talks with a psychiatrist would turn me into a sweet and loving wife? How hopeful, I wondered, could one really get?

Although living with Mark might mean I’d no special need to worry about money for myself, it did not mean all my money troubles were over. For the last three years
I’d never given Mother less than four hundred pounds in any one year; and it was usually more. She and Lucy lived the way they did only because of what I gave them. I’d taken on the
responsibility when I bullied Mother into giving up that awful shop job in Plymouth and got her the first home in Torquay. She’d been miles better in every way since she’d given up
work. So there it was. If I’d been able to pull off this Rutland job I should have been easy for eighteen months or more. As it was I only had dribs and drabs of money scattered about the
country. Two hundred and ninety-one pounds ten shillings.

On the Thursday Terry called. I happened just then to be sitting at the desk working all this out on a piece of paper, so I stuffed the paper away and asked Mrs Leonard to show him in.

He was wearing a tweed hacking jacket with a yellow silk scarf and pale brown cavalry twill trousers. It was funny how, after not seeing him for a time, it was his dandyism again that hit you
first. He didn’t look particularly sharp, like he really was; and he didn’t look sly; and he looked sure of himself, which he wasn’t. Not nearly as sure of himself as Mark, I
thought, who
looked
so modest.

We talked for a minute or two, and he made a few silly remarks, but I knew he hadn’t come just to be silly. After a time he got up and walked round the room, stopping to finger one of the
Greek vases.

‘What does it feel like, being married to Mark?’

‘All right.’

‘Compare favourably with your first? You know it
shouldn’t
work.’

‘What shouldn’t?’

‘Your marriage to Mark, my dear. I’ve said so before. You’re far too
submarine
. We can’t all be dashing naval craft like him, churning up a hell of a froth on the
surface. Anyway, where does it get you?’

‘Do you expect me to answer that?’

‘No, I will. It gets you one of the fashionable stress diseases before you’re fifty – and a
lot
of money which you’ve no time to spend.’

‘I shouldn’t have thought Mark was like that.’

‘Ah, that’s newly-wed loyalty. Wait till you’ve been yawning your head off here for a couple of years. Life’s a gilded
cage
, my dear, for girls like you. What do
women really want in life? I’ll tell you. Lots of new clothes, lots of leisure, lots of admiration, lots of sex. But you can’t trade the first two for the last two – as
you’ll find. Woman’s no more monogamous by instinct than man.’

‘Well, thank you for telling me.’

He smiled in a crooked way. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry you won’t come to my party next Saturday.’

‘What party?’

‘Didn’t Mark tell you? I invited you both after dinner for drinks and maybe a little gamey. All friendly like, but he said he couldn’t make it.’

I tucked my legs under me on the sofa, and then, seeing Terry’s look, pulled my skirt down.

‘I expect he was speaking for himself,’ I said.

‘Mean to say you’d come without him?’

‘No, I didn’t say that.’

‘Pity. You did so well last time.’

‘So well?’

‘At poker. The MacDonalds are coming and three or four others. You’re a natural, you know. A natural player. Alistair was saying so
only
last week.’

Neither of us said anything for a minute. Terry was staring at a piece of broken pottery. ‘Can’t think what people see in this sort of thing,’ he said presently. ‘You can
get as good on Hampstead Heath any Sunday.’

Last time, me a beginner, I’d won twenty-two pounds.

‘I don’t get it,’ he said again. ‘The whole thing’s bogus. If anyone was ever chi-chi it was Estelle, the way she used to go around excavating bronze-age barrows.
What conceivable use is that to a girl?’

‘Tell me about Estelle,’ I said.

‘I’m telling you. She slouched about in slacks, and only put on lipstick at sundown. I should think even Mark was absolutely distraught with her. What’s the good of being
bronze-age in bed.’

‘You men have only got one idea, haven’t you?’

‘Well, it’s rather a good one, isn’t it?’

Of course twenty-two pounds was nothing much. It wouldn’t really solve anything.