She addressed herself to Yvonne first, and without an instant’s hesitation. “How dare you do this to Julian? How dare you, you tramp, with his own brother, in his own home under my roof! How dare you!” But Yvonne only tossed her long, blond hair over one shoulder and stood there. She hadn’t even bothered to get dressed, and she stood there without shame in all her naked beauty.
“And you!” She turned to Phillip then. “Always sneaking around … always cheating on your wife, and consumed with jealousy for your brother. You make me sick. I am filled with shame for you, Phillip.” And then she looked at both of them as she stood there shaking, for Julian, for herself, for what they were doing to each other’s lives and their complete lack of respect for everyone around them. “If I discover that you are continuing this, that this happens again, anywhere, I will tell Cecily and Julian immediately. And I will have you both followed in the meantime.” She had no intention of doing it, but nor did she intend sanctioning their infidelities, particularly not in her own home, and at the expense of Julian, who didn’t deserve it.
“Mother, I … I’m terribly sorry.” Phillip had managed to cover himself with a horse blanket by then, and he was mortified at having been discovered. “It was one of those unusual things … I don’t know what happened …” he blustered, on the verge of tears.
“She does,” Sarah said brutally, looking straight at her. “Don’t ever let it happen again,” she said, looking deep into her eyes. “I warn you.” And then she turned on her heel and left. And once she had left them, and was outside again, she leaned against a tree and cried, out of grief and shame and embarrassment for them, and herself. But as she walked slowly back to the château, all she could think of was Julian and the pain he had coming to him. How foolish her children were. And why was she never able to help them?
Chapter 29
And when they got to Paris, Julian asked Yvonne gently if anything had happened to upset her.
“No.” She shrugged. “I was just bored.” But when he tried to make love to her that night, she resisted.
“What’s wrong?” He persisted in asking her, she had been so enthusiastic about it the night before, and now suddenly she was so cool. She was unpredictable all the time, mercurial, but he liked that. Sometimes he liked it best when she resisted him, it only made her more exciting. He reacted that way to her resisting him now, but this time she wasn’t playing.
“Stop it … I’m tired … I have a headache.” She had never used that excuse before, but she was still annoyed about the performance the night before, with Sarah acting like she owned the world and threatening them, and Phillip grovelling to her like a child. She had been so angry, she had slapped him afterwards, hard, and he had gotten so excited they’d made love again. They hadn’t left the stables until six o’clock that morning. And now she was tired and annoyed that all of them were so affected by their mother. “Leave me alone,” she repeated to him. They were all nothing but mama’s boys, and their damn snob of a sister. She knew that none of them approved of her. But she didn’t care. She was getting what she wanted. And now maybe she’d get more of it, if Phillip did what he said he would, and came to see her from London. She could still use her old studio on the Île Saint Louis, or go to the hotel where he stayed, or make love to him right here in Julian’s bed, if she wanted, no matter what the old bitch said. But she was in no mood for any of them just then, least of all her husband.
“I want you now…” Julian was teasing her, excited by her refusal, and sensing something animal and strange, like a predator who had somehow come too near him. It was as though he sensed someone else’s scent on her, instinctively, and he wanted her now to make her his again. “What’s wrong?” he kept asking, trying to excite her with his deft fingers, but she kept him away this time, which was rare for her.
“I forgot to take the pill today,” she said, and he whispered huskily as he brushed against her.
“Take it later.” But the truth was that she had run out the day before, and now she wanted to be careful for a few days. She’d had enough abortions to last a lifetime, and the one thing she didn’t want was brats. Julian’s or anyone else’s. And when he pressed her about it eventually, she was going to quietly go and get her tubes tied. That would make things easier, but for right now things weren’t quite that easy. “Never mind the pill.” He played with her, and turned her over to face him, and then as he did, just as his brother had the night before, he was overwhelmed with desire for her, just as men always had been, since she was twelve and she began to learn just exactly what it was they wanted. She knew what Julian wanted now, but she didn’t want to give it to him. She preferred torturing him. She lay with her legs open, and her eyes wide, and if he came near her, she was going to hit him. But he couldn’t stop himself by then. She had pushed him too far, denying him, and lying there, naked and lovely, with her legs apart, her body calling to him, while she pretended not to.
He took her quickly and hard, and she was surprised by the force of it, as she shuddered with pleasure, too, and then afterwards groaned at how stupid she had been. But she always was and this time she was really angry.
“Shit!” she said, as she rolled away from him.
“What’s wrong?” He looked hurt, she was behaving very strangely.
“I told you I didn’t want to do it. What if I get pregnant?”
“So?” He looked amused. “We have a baby.”
“No, we don’t,” she spat at him. “I’m too young … I don’t want a baby now. We just got married.” She wasn’t ready yet to tell him more than that, and she knew how much he wanted children.
“All right, all right. Go have a hot bath, or a cold shower, or a douche or something, or take the pill. I’m sorry.” But he didn’t look it as he kissed her. He would have liked nothing better than to get her pregnant.
But three weeks later, he came home unexpectedly in the afternoon, and found her retching over the toilet.
“Oh, poor baby,” he said, helping her to bed. “Is it something you ate, or flu?” He had never seen her so sick, as she looked at him with eyes filled with hatred. She knew it too well. It was the seventh time for her. She’d had six abortions in the last twelve years, and she was going to have another one this time. She got sick from the first moment, the first hour, and she always knew, as she did this time.
“It’s nothing,” she insisted, “I’m fine.” But he hated to leave her again, to go back to the office. He made her soup that night, and she threw that up too. The next morning she wasn’t much better, so he came home early without warning to take care of her. She was out when he answered the phone, and the receptionist at her doctor was calling to confirm that her abortion was the following morning.