We mounted the stairs, he leading the way.
“Small, as I told you,” he was saying. “But compact.”
We had reached a landing and he threw open a door. There was a large bedroom with a four-poster bed. The curtains were of green velvet; they matched the drapes at the window and there were touches of green in the carpet.
“Your brother was very fond of green,” I said.
“His favourite colour obviously. Do you like it?”
“Enchanting. It’s so fresh.”
He shut the door and I said: “Show me the next room. Then I must go.”
He put his arms round me and pulled me down to sit on the bed. “What are you doing with your life?” he said.
I laughed on a rather high note. “I believe,” I answered, “that I am doing what most people do with their lives. I am living it.”
“You are living in a half world, Jessica. You have shut yourself away from reality.”
“My life is real enough.”
“You are merely existing. Why did you do it?”
I turned rather angrily to him. “I had to do it. Why did you leave your home and become a gypsy? Why did you kill a man for the sake of a girl and almost lose your life for it?”
“Why do we do these things? But having done them should we suffer for them for ever?”
“You won’t. You have cast your misfortunes aside admirably. I shall never forget how you looked at the Inskips’ ball. No one would have guessed.”
“One doesn’t have to live for ever with one’s mistakes. You cannot shut yourself away. You can’t just wither away in that place.”
“I’m not withering away. I am living a very useful life.”
“Now that I have found you, you don’t imagine that I am going to let you go.”
I was shaken. I wanted to hear him say that. I should have gone then … but I could not. More than anything I wanted to stay.
I replied: “I have made my bed, as they say, and I must lie on it.”
He shook his head. “You and I will find happiness together.”
“How can that be?”
He drew me to him and kissed me over and over again.
No, said my conscience. But something else said: Stay. Why shouldn’t you? What harm is it doing?
Harm! But I was married to Edward.
Edward would not know.
That was the danger signal. I was actually telling myself that Edward need never know. I felt quite depraved and with it a sensation of great excitement. I knew in that moment that I was going to succumb to temptation.
He went on kissing me.
“It had to be,” he said.
I made no effort to break away.
“Please, Jessica,” he said, “I have dreamed of this for so many years. It has sustained me … brought me through. One day I shall find her, I told myself. And now I have, I shall never let you go.”
I was in love with him. How different this was from the mild attraction I had once felt for Peter Lansdon. This was overwhelming, an intense longing to be with him. I thought, I shall never be happy when he is not there.
“I know you love me,” he said.
“I can’t. I must not.”
“You cannot say you can’t when you do.”
“Jake,” I said pleadingly. “Jake, I must remember my obligations. I never knew until now what a terrible mistake I have made, but it is done, and it is my mistake. I must live with it.”
As I was speaking he was slipping my gown from my shoulders; and I knew I could not resist.
So it had happened. I felt bewildered and exhilarated by the experience. I felt as though I were dreaming. But there he was beside me and I knew that I loved him, had always loved him, and would love him for ever.
He kissed me tenderly. “You must not be sad,” he said. “It had to be. You could not go on in that way … not when I was near you. You must not be afraid.”
I could only say: “I have done this … to Edward.”
“Edward would understand.”
I shook my head. “He must never know.”
“He won’t.”
“I would die rather. He has been so good. That terrible accident… to happen to such a man. I have to care for him for the rest of our lives.”
“It will not always be like this,” he said. “We will think what it is best to do.”
“We must never meet again.”
“That is quite out of the question. My dearest Jessica, this is not such an unusual occurrence as you think.”
“I know wives are unfaithful to their husbands, husbands to wives. But that does not help me. This is not any husband and wife. This is Edward. It is myself.”
“My dear sweet Jessica, life is not meant to be a penance. It is to be lived to the full… to be enjoyed. As soon as we met again this was inevitable. In view of what your marriage has been no one would blame you.”
“I blame myself.”
“I will teach you differently.”
Then he took me into his arms and made love to me again … this time less urgently, tenderly.
And I made no attempt to restrain him.
I knew that I had changed the course of my life then. I knew that this was a beginning and that I should not be able to resist him. I was about to embark on a double life.
Blackmail
IF THAT HAD BEEN the end perhaps there would have been an excuse for me. But it was not. I was as though intoxicated. I made excuses for myself. I was a woman with natural desires. Edward could never help me fulfil these. I had taken a lover. That sounded casual. I loved deeply and was loved in return. I believed now that I had always loved Jake. Something had passed between us when we first met and I had only to see him again to realize that he was the man for me.
I went on explaining to myself. Edward would understand. He had always been worried because he knew that this was not a natural life we were living. I would make up to him for what I had done. I would be even more solicitous, even more caring.
I told myself that I must never go to that house again; but I could not keep away. We had planned to spend four more days in London. Four more days! I could not help it. I sought every opportunity to be with Jake.
I was shameless, I supposed. I realized that I had been starved of love. I was wildly happy in some moments, filled with remorse in others. I would experience a deep sadness when I contemplated Amaryllis who had made such a success of her life—the happy wife and mother. I often thought how happy I could have been if I were married to Jake.
As for him, he was less burdened by guilt than I. Indeed I believe he felt none. But then I was deceiving my husband. He had no such matrimonial burdens to consider. He constantly tried to lift my spirits. Mine was no ordinary marriage, he insisted. It was understandable that this should happen some day. Edward would understand if he ever knew.
“He must never know,” I cried vehemently. “He has suffered enough.”
“He would realize …”
I shook my head. “He would be kind, understanding, forgiving, but he would be wounded … deeply wounded.” Then I added: “I must not come here again.”
I said that often, but I did go … again … and again, and I waited through the days for the opportunities, so that I could slip into that house in Blore Street.
They were such strange days—days of exultation, days of shame. The hours flew by as they never had before and yet those four days seemed like a year. I had experienced so much; grown up, I supposed. I had ceased to be an innocent girl. I was a vital woman, scheming for meetings with her lover—eager, passionate … and then suddenly remembering what I was doing.
I felt my guilt must be written on my face for them all to see. But no one noticed. Not even my mother.