“Of course we understand,” said my mother, “and we are only too pleased that it has all worked out so satisfactorily.”
Satisfactorily? I thought. I wondered what she would say if she knew what had happened between Jonathan and me.
So the plans for Christmas went on.
I saw Jonathan alone in the gardens. He said to me: “I must see you again, Claudine… alone. I can’t go on like this.”
I begged: “Please don’t. I’m beginning to forget…”
“You can never forget. It was too wonderful to be forgotten. Claudine, we must—”
“No, no,” I said.
“Admit then that you love me.”
“I don’t know. I don’t understand myself, you, or anything any more.”
“But it was wonderful for you.”
I was silent.
“You were tempted, weren’t you? You could not resist. Do you think I didn’t know! You’re so marvelous. No one else will do for me, and it must be the same with you.”
“It can’t be. David is my husband.”
“And I am your lover.”
“It is an impossible situation.”
“How can it be when it exists?”
“It must not exist. It is finished… Finished, I tell you.”
“It will never finish, Claudine, while you are you and I am myself.”
“Please, don’t…”
“Admit it then. Admit that you love me. Admit that it was wonderful… more wonderful than you have ever believed anything could be.”
I heard myself shouting: “All right. It was. It was…”
Then I ran into the house.
Once I had made that admission, I knew there would be no holding back. He would seek every opportunity and when it came, snatch at it. And I knew that I should be there. I could not fight this. I was learning something of my own nature which I had not known until Jonathan aroused it. I was not the woman to be content with a quiet tender passion. I wanted to soar the heights, not just dally in the pleasant lowlands. He was right when he said I wanted both him and David. I did. I loved David. I found the way in which he seemed so delighted and almost surprised that I loved him, most endearing. I loved to read and discuss with him. I was interested in matters of the mind, but there was another side to my nature too. I was a voluptuous and sensuous woman. I had needs which demanded satisfaction; and as with such physical desires, when they presented themselves, they could subdue everything else.
Jonathan knew me better than I knew myself. He had probed that hidden part of me. It was that which appealed to him. He wanted the sort of woman I was. My position in the household had made me the most desirable wife he could have. It had never occurred to him that in such a short time after his disappearance, I could have married David.
His journey to France had not been one of those on-the-spur-of-the-moment decisions we had been led to believe it was. He was involved with his father’s secret life, and Dickon, in the past, had made many journeys to France. Men doing such work contrived to have an obvious reason for their voyages, the better to help disguise the real one. Jonathan had gone to France not only to rescue Sophie but to gather certain information—of that I was sure now. He had seized the opportunity to go with Charlot and had intended to return when his mission was accomplished… and then he planned to marry me.
But I had ruined his plans by my hasty marriage to David. Looking back, I wondered why I had slipped into that so easily. It might have been because I was piqued by Jonathan’s departure. Always it was Jonathan who was in my thoughts. Had I been older, wiser, I should have guessed; but because I was innocent, life seemed simple to me. I had imagined that when I married David that would be the end of all conflict and we should live happily ever after.
Now I was being revealed to myself and I saw a woman who would risk a great deal to be with her lover. My marriage vows, everything I had been brought up to believe was right, my guilty conscience… all could be pushed to one side when I was confronted by the overpowering need to make love with this one man.
I can make no excuses. I went into the next betrayal eagerly. We had the key of the house. We knew when no one would be there, and we went again to that room and made frenzied love, and it seemed to me more excruciatingly exciting the second time than the first.
Then my remorse returned. I was weighed down by my guilt. It was even heavier than before because I could not now tell myself that I had been trapped into the situation. I had gone willingly. I had clung to him; I had shared his impatience and his ecstasy. I had admitted that I loved him, that I had made a bitter mistake. I was a wicked and abandoned woman and, during the height of my passion, I revelled in my abandonment.
There was no excuse for me. I was wanton. I had deliberately deceived my husband.
Jonathan felt no such guilt, although he was betraying his own brother. He said fatalistically: “It had to happen. It was meant.”
Afterwards I felt angry—mainly with myself. I was aghast at my own behaviour. I suffered anguish when I was with David, who was so kind always. I felt irritated with him merely because of his kindness, for his goodness only accentuated my depravity.
I wished that I could confide in my mother. I wanted to talk about it. I wanted to know why I—who previously had always had a sense of honour, a sense of duty—could behave so.
We must get away, I decided. Jonathan must go away. We could not continue to live like this under the same roof.
As we walked back to the house Jonathan said: “Tomorrow?”
“No,” I cried. “It must never happen again.”
But he only smiled at me, and I knew as well as he did that it would.
I was shocked, too, to find that I did not have such difficulty in behaving normally as I had done on the first occasion. I did not go to bed pleading a headache. I went down to dinner and we all sat round the table, talking, laughing, making Christmas plans—myself as merry as any of them outwardly, and it was only when I glanced across the table and caught Jonathan’s blue eyes on me, and I looked sideways at David, that the terrible sense of remorse overcame me.
The Pettigrews arrived the day before Christmas Eve. Their carriage was very grand with the Pettigrew crest prominently engraved on it and Lady Pettigrew at least was eager that everyone should be aware of their importance. Lord Pettigrew was much quieter than his wife. No one would have believed that all her glory came through him. He held a post at Court which I imagined was so arduous that when he was in the heart of his family he was ready to agree to anything for the sake of peace.
The Honourable Millicent was a handsome young woman who looked as if she had a will of her own, and I imagined that she and her mother were a formidable pair who managed to get what they wanted.
It became obvious that what they wanted was Jonathan as a prospective husband for Millicent. I was acutely aware of anything connected with Jonathan and now suffered twinges of jealousy. Jonathan would be a match which would be highly approved of by Lady Pettigrew. Dickon was not only an extremely wealthy man but an influential one. Yes, I could see that Lady Pettigrew and Millicent had selected Jonathan for his role.
I mentioned it to my mother. She laughed and said: “Well, it wouldn’t surprise me. I think Dickon would be quite pleased. He’s very friendly with Lord Pettigrew. They have a great deal in common… in the City. Mind you, Lady Pettigrew is rather a forceful lady and I am not sure that Millicent doesn’t take after her. But I think Jonathan would be able to handle that. Is anything wrong?”
“No… What makes you think so?”
“I thought you looked a little depressed. Not tired are you?”