Semi-Detached Marriage (20 page)

'Who is that?' Simon demanded, then, his tone
altering, 'Cassie? Is that you?'

'Yes.' Somehow she got the word out, though
her voice was ragged.

'How are you?'

'I'm—I'm fine. You?'

'I'm very well.' There was a pause in which
Cassie's throat was so tight she couldn't speak or even think of anything to
say, broken when Simon said, 'Did you want me for anything special?'

Cassie's heart cried out, oh yes, for
something very special, my darling. I want you to come home, to take care of me
and love me again. But just as she opened her mouth to pour it all out, she
heard another voice, a woman's voice on the other end of the line. The woman
started to speak and then stopped abruptly.

Simon said urgently, 'Cassie? Look, I…'
     She interrupted immediately, her tone cold and
impersonal. 'No, not really. I've had a letter from the tennis club wanting to
know if you're going to renew your subscription. And there are letters from
your insurance company and your old college about a reunion dinner. Do you want
me to deal with them or shall I send them on to you?'

'Perhaps I'll be able to deal with them
myself. I might be able to get down to London next weekend.'

`Come by all means,' Cassie
agreed briskly. `I'll leave the letters in the desk for you. I shan't be here
myselfi I'm going on a buying trip to Italy. Goodbye, Simon,' she added,
putting the receiver down before he could say anything else.

A thousand times during the following week
Cassie cursed herself for a fool for having made that phone call. It had been a
cry for help that had rebounded to slap her in the face. Now she was tortured
by pictures of Simon with another woman, and the idea made her feel physically
sick. But it was just another misery to add to the generally wretched tide in
her life. Nothing seemed to go right at work; goods didn't arrive or were found
to be below standard and had to be sent back, Sue was upset most of the time,
which made Cassie, knowing that Chris and Julia had met at her house, feel
responsible.

She couldn't sleep at night, lying awake for
hours on end and feeling like death when she dragged herself to work in the
morning. Tom, too, was pushing her to make a decision because he would have to
go back to the States soon. Added to which the weather was continuously wet and
cloudy, typical London weather when it seemed that summer would never come. All
in all, Cassie just wanted to stop the world and get off, feeling that if she
had to cope with anything else she'd end up having a nervous breakdown.

As the week went on she felt so beset on all
sides that she knew she just had to get away and be alone. There was no way she
could go to Milan and buy clothes for the store; she would probably order all
the wrong things and give Mrs. Nichols a weapon to hold against her. So she
offered the trip to Sue, who jumped at it, eager to get away from her own
problems for a

few days. Cassie had
already told Tom that she was going to Italy and was on the point of phoning
him to tell him of her altered plans when she changed her mind. Perhaps it
would do her good to be by herself for a while, to get right away from the flat
and all its memories and go somewhere where she could think things through
without any outside influences.

So early on the Saturday morning, Cassie
packed a holdall with a few essentials and took a train out of London towards
the south coast. There were a lot of people on the train heading for the
seaside, but she got off at Taunton and caught a bus headed inland into
Somerset, which took her on an unhurried, meandering mute through sleepy
villages of stone and thatch cottages until it pulled up outside a small hotel
that looked as if it was still in the last century, where Cassie got off and
booked a room.

The plumbing, too, seemed pretty ancient, but
Cassie didn't care. She spent the whole two days walking round the countryside
or sitting on a wall gazing at the view, and, in the evening, lying on her bed,
watching the moon through the little dormer window set under the eaves. It
rained most of the time, but that didn't matter either, in fact it seemed to
wash away many of her doubts and uncertainties, leaving only the bare
essentials, so that for the first time in many weeks she saw her way clear
before her.

At first she had been filled with anger about
Simon and the woman he'd been with, but then she tried to put herself in his
place and realised that he must be feeling exactly the same way about her and
Tom, and perhaps with more cause. She had turned to Tom out of loneliness, and
might not Simon, too, be feeling just as lonely, as much in need of love and
companionship, the things which she had bluntly refused to give him?

And Tom? Did she love him enough to divorce
Simon and marry him? She tried to foresee a future with him and couldn't, it
just wasn't there! The only future she could ever envisage was with Simon, and
God help her, she had been on the point of throwing it away. But perhaps it
wasn't too late; their love for each other had been very strong, perhaps it was
still strong enough to overcome what had happened.

On Sunday evening Cassie began the journey
back to London, phoning Tom before she caught the train at Taunton and asking
him to meet her at the station. He was waiting for her at the end of the
platform, casually dressed in jeans and sweater and looking so masculine and
virile that he drew every female eye in the place. Cassie knew now that she
didn't love him, but as she walked towards him she realised the power of his
attraction and how, for a while, it had gone to her head to be loved and wanted
by such a man. But what girl's head wouldn't be turned by him? He was
everything a woman could want-but he wasn't Simon.

And that was, more or less, what she told him
as he drove her home through the wet streets.

He didn't take her refusal without a fight,
at first trying argument and persuasion to make her change her mind and then
abruptly stopping the car and taking her in his arms to try and persuade her
that way, but she held out against it all, her determination strong enough to
withstand all his arguments. At last Tom had to accept it and started the car
again to drive her home. He pulled up outside the block of flats and sat looking
bleakly out of the windscreen, his hands tight on the wheel.

'I guess this is goodbye, then?'

'Yes. I'm sorry, Tom. What will you do?' she
asked tentatively. 'Go back to America?'

'I guess so.' He turned his head to look at
her. 'What if Simon doesn't want you?'

Cassie winced at his bluntness but answered
steadily.

'It doesn't make any difference. I'll
just-live by myself.'

'He'll take you back, he'd be a damn fool not
to.'

Tom's hand came out to cover hers for a
moment, then he abruptly got out of the car and came round to open her door for
her. 'Goodbye, Cassie.'

She looked at him uncertainly. 'Goodbye,
Tom.'     

He shut the car door and looked as if he was
going to walk away, but then he turned back and lunged for her, pulling her
into his arms and kissing her with a compulsive passion. 'Cassie! Oh, God. If
you ever need me… just remember I love you!' He kissed her again, then let her
go so suddenly that she almost fell. The next moment he was in the car and
pulling away fast out into the road.

Cassie watched him out of sight, then turned
and slowly climbed the stairs to the flat. It was late, she'd been with Tom a
long time, and she felt tired, but pleasantly so. Now maybe she could start
building her life again.

The light was on in the hall and she blinked
in surprise, then hurried into the sitting-room. Simon was there. He was
standing at the uncurtained window that overlooked the entrance to the block of
flats.

'Simon!' Cassie's face lit up when she saw
him and she started towards him, then stopped as he turned and she saw the
cold, harsh look on his face. 'Simon?'
she said again, her
heart filled with uncertainty and foreboding.

`Did you have a good trip?' His voice, too,
was cold as the wind in winter.

`Why-why, yes, I suppose so.'

His eyes ran over her, taking in her casual
clothes and the holdall. 'Was that all the luggage you took with you?'
          Cassie frowned, trying
to work out why he was like this, what he was getting at. 'Yes, I didn't need
very much.'

A look of such savage fury came into his face
that it frightened her. 'No, I don't suppose you do need much when you're
spending the whole weekend in bed with your lover!'

She stared at him, appalled as much by his
assumption as his fury. 'No, I didn't. I…'

'You bitchl Don't lie to me. I saw you out
there with him!' He pointed savagely at the window. 'Do you understand? I saw
you!'

'It's you who doesn't understand,' Cassie put
in desperately, but Simon hardly heard her.

'I thought if I gave you enough time you'd
come to your senses,' he swept on furiously. 'I thought that when you phoned me
it was a way of saying that you were ready for us to talk things out, but now I
see that it was just to lie to me about going to Italy, to make sure I wouldn't
come down this weekend.' His mouth pulled back into a sneer. 'But why bother to
lie, Cassie? And why bother to go away for the weekend? Surely, if you're going
to behave like a cheap little slut, you're not too fastidious to do it here in
our marriage bed!'          

Cassie stared at him, too shaken for a moment
to speak, then anger ripped through her like a flame. She went for him with her
fists and feet, hitting out at his face and trying to kick him. Simon swore
savagely as one or two punches landed, then caught hold of her wrists, twisting
them cruelly, then with disdainful case propelled her backwards and shoved her
forcefully down on to the settee. He looked down on her for a moment as she lay
winded, his face contorted by rage and disgust, then he wiped his hands as if
he'd just touched something dirty, picked up his case and left her lying there.

Staggering to her feet, Cassie called his
name and went to run after him, but the coffee table had been knocked over in
their fight and she tripped over it, cutting her hand on some broken glass. By
the time she got down to the entrance of the block of flats it was too late, he
was gone.

The following night she again dialed Simon's
number. When he answered it she said, coldly and without preamble, 'I want a
divorce.'

CHAPTER EIGHT

THERE was a long pause on the line, then
Simon replied, 'Very well. I can't get down to London again for a while, you'll
have to come up here and discuss it.'
         

 'I don't see why we have to discuss it at
all,' Cassie answered baldly. 'Why can't we just let our solicitors handle it?'

'Divorce can be an expensive business; why
pay lawyers when we could probably save time and money by working out how we're
going to set about it first?'
         

'I don't care how much it costs. I just want
to be free of you.'

There was an almost tangible silence before
Simon said coldly, 'As Tom Rydell's obviously paying your expenses I don't
expect you do care about cost, but presumably you do care about the time
factor, in which case you'll have to come up here.'

'No.'

'If you want a divorce you'll have to. And
come alone, this is between you and me. I don't want Rydell here.'

Cassie recognised that tone of voice and knew
there was no arguing with it. After a few minutes she said,

'All right, I'll come up on Saturday.'

'I'll make arrangements with Mullaine's to fly
you out in the firm's plane. There's one leaving at three in the afternoon.'

'I'll make my own way up, thanks,' Cassie put
in sardonically.

'Suit yourself. But you'll have to take their
helicopter here from Glasgow'

`All right.'

Cassie snapped the receiver down, her hand
trembling, not trusting herself to talk any longer without breaking down.

On Saturday morning she dressed with extra
care, putting on a tight-skirted blue woollen suit and a cream silk blouse with
ruffles and a bow at the neck. Her make-up and hair she made sure were as
perfect as she could get them, because she was going to need all the confidence
that looking good could give her when she met Simon. The journey up in the
train was long and uneventful, giving her plenty of time to think about what
she would say to him. All hope of a reconciliation had gone now, driven out by
the unjust assumptions he'd made about her and Tom and the things he'd called
her. What hope could there possibly be after that?

She was too uptight and nervous to be able to
eat when she reached Glasgow, so she hired a cab and went straight to the
airport, sitting in the waiting-room with her hands clasped tightly together in
her lap until it was time to get in the helicopter. Surprisingly, it wasn't
raining as she was led across the tarmac, but the skies were grey and cloudy
and there was no warmth in the air. The day felt as cold and miserable as her
heart.