Tiger Men (42 page)

‘She is strong,’ he said. ‘The doctor is most pleased with her progress.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ When their time was limited, as it was today for he was not staying the night, they didn’t allow themselves the luxury of drifting off to sleep. Instead, they talked, and she always asked after Evelyn.

‘Only several weeks now; God how I pray all goes well,’ he said fervently, ‘and how I pray it’s a boy.’

‘All will go well, dearest.’ She could see the innate fear in his eyes. ‘Evelyn has carried the baby to nearly full term and the doctor says she is strong. I am sure there will be no cause for concern.’ She propped on an elbow and smiled down at him, the glare of her hair startling in the sun’s rays. ‘And if by chance the child is a girl,’ she said challengingly, ‘do not demean her, for we women are remarkable creatures.’

He laughed. ‘Some of you are, my love.’ He pulled her to him and kissed her. ‘Oh yes, indeed, some of you certainly are,’ he said as he felt himself becoming aroused. Again, he thought, and in such a short time. She was remarkable – there was no doubt about that.

During the four years of their relationship, Reginald had not once felt the desire to seek fresh conquests. In his eyes, no woman could match his mistress’s beauty, and he doubted there were any who could match her sexual expertise. But there was another service Shauna offered that over the years had proved of inestimable value, more than even he could have realised. Shauna was his confidante, and as such she was possibly his very sanity.

Reginald had shared his feelings with no-one throughout the whole of his life, his anger and resentment remaining bottled inside, fermenting, occasionally exploding in a flash of rage or a black mood that seemed to come from nowhere. Now finally there was someone with whom he could communicate, someone he could trust. He had found an outlet.

It had been just one year into their affair when he had first poured out his rage: the day after his wife’s first miscarriage.

‘She lost the child!’ He paced about the living room of the cottage in Molle Street, fists clenched as if he might smash everything in sight. ‘The incompetent bitch couldn’t carry it past four months!’

Shauna watched in silence. She’d never known the reason for his mood swings and she’d never enquired, she’d simply soothed away his anger by making love to him. She made no move now, but waited while he vented his anger.

‘She’s been barren for nearly three years.’ he raged. ‘Dear God, that should be grounds enough for divorce! I married her to expand the company, the perfect business merger . . .’

So it isn’t only women who marry for money, Shauna thought, detached and quite unmoved by his tirade. Men, even wealthy ones, sold themselves for a ‘business merger’, which only proved that everyone had a price.

‘. . . I would build an empire for our sons to inherit, that was the plan. But what happened? She was barren! The bitch was barren!’

Reginald smashed his fist on the wooden mantelpiece above the small stone fireplace. A porcelain vase toppled on its side and crashed to the floor. He appeared not even to notice and Shauna made no move to retrieve the shattered remnants.

‘The woman can’t produce an heir! What damn use is she, I ask you.’ The anger and frustration continued to spew out of him. ‘Barren for three whole years, and now a miscarriage – what sort of a wife is that!’

‘One who’s not barren.’

It was the first time she’d spoken and her words brought him to a halt.

‘What?’ He looked at her, bemused, perhaps by her comment, or perhaps by the mere fact that she’d had the audacity to respond to his rhetoric.

‘Your wife is not barren, Reginald. Evelyn has proved to you that she can conceive. It is a great shame for you both that she has miscarried, I agree, but she will conceive again; you just have to be patient.’ In only seconds she had defused his anger. Then she boldly went one step further. ‘And I believe also that you must be kind. It is difficult, I am sure, for a woman to conceive if she lives in fear of her husband.’

Their relationship had changed from that day on. Subtly at first, but as the months passed it became obvious they had moved to another plane altogether. They talked now. When he was in one of his moods, she would ask what was troubling him and, if he knew, he would tell her, although more often than not he had no idea what had triggered his ill-temper. Shauna observed that his moods often followed a visit to his father, and when she mentioned the fact he told her of his childhood, openly admitting to fears and resentments he would never have thought to tell a soul. As their discussions took on new depth, Reginald discovered a sense of freedom in Shauna’s company. She had a calming effect that remained with him for some time after he’d left her. In fact she was the perfect mistress in every conceivable way. He congratulated himself on having found her.

Shauna may perhaps have outsmarted herself. She may have been subconsciously observing her mother’s advice. ‘In order to maintain a man’s interest you must pretend an interest of your own,’ Eileen had long ago instructed her daughters, ‘give him your undivided attention and find him fascinating at all times.’ Shauna’s problem was, in becoming the outlet through which Reginald could channel his anger, she
had
found him interesting and he
had
become fascinating. During the first year of their affair he’d remained attractive to her, his moods and unpredictability merely adding to the sense of danger that had drawn her to him from the outset, but now she was discovering a new dimension, a vulnerability that only she was privy to. No-one else in the world knew Reginald Stanford as she did. But such intimacy came with a price. She found herself in love for the very first time, and this lent her a vulnerability of her own. It was a price she was prepared to pay.

She never told him she loved him. Such an admission might invite complacency, which would court disaster, but she was convinced he loved her too, in his own way. He’d proved it surely when he’d taken her to Europe. It had been over a year before. They’d travelled separately to the mainland, boarding the ocean liner in Melbourne, and the ensuing four months of their travels had drawn them closer than ever, cementing their relationship. He’d never openly admitted his love, it was true, and he probably never would, but he’d recognised his need for her, particularly during the crises of his wife’s ongoing miscarriages. She’d been indispensable to him then.

‘Be patient, Reginald: she carried the child for a full six months this time, be patient and kind, other chances will follow . . .’

And then the third time, when he’d been in despair and revisited by the blackest of rages. ‘You must not give up hope, dearest. The doctor has said she is to be confined to her bed throughout the next pregnancy. Every care will be taken; you must not give up hope.’

The doctor had actually voiced his doubts as to whether Evelyn was capable of carrying a child to full term, and by now Shauna thought he was probably quite right, but it was her duty to comfort Reginald, and she did.

Never once had she held any personal expectations, even when after the third miscarriage Reginald had sworn at the height of his fury that he would divorce his wife and find another. She doubted he would carry out such a threat, given his business involvement with Evelyn’s father, but were he to do so she had no delusions that she would be his next matrimonial choice. She had nothing of value to bring to a marriage, no family fortune, no business or social connection that would be to his advantage. But marriage was immaterial anyway. The trip to Europe had sealed their bond and she was content to remain his mistress in the knowledge that their relationship was superior to that of husband and wife. Whether Reginald was prepared to admit it or not, he loved her. And that gave her a power no other woman in his life had ever possessed or was ever likely to.

‘I’ve promised Father I’ll visit the property at Pontville next week,’ he said as he dressed. ‘I could tell Evelyn I’m staying there two nights, what do you think?’ He made the suggestion hopefully.

A whole night to themselves, how she would welcome the prospect, but she gave a light laugh and shook her head. ‘Oh Reginald, you never stay longer than one night at Pontville. Evelyn is fully aware you detest the country.’

Shauna rose from the bed and shrugged on her silk dressing gown. She had never once met Evelyn, but she had spoken so often on her behalf she felt she knew the woman intimately. Indeed, she felt sorry for Evelyn and was quite comfortable, even genuine, in coming to her defence. Admittedly, there was an ulterior motive involved. Reginald had never loved his wife and never would. The preservation of Evelyn’s marriage was very much to Shauna’s advantage.

‘You’re right, as always,’ he agreed. ‘Wishful thinking on my part I’m afraid.’

She’d advised him that during his wife’s confinement he should arrange stringently legitimate excuses for a night away from home. ‘Be attentive, Reginald,’ she’d urged, ‘be attentive and loving, give her no cause to doubt you. She must avoid stress at all costs.’ Now, with the birth so close and all appearing safe, it seemed to Reginald that, as usual, Shauna had been right.

‘What would I do without you, my love?’ he said, and he kissed her tenderly.

‘What indeed?’ she replied. If that wasn’t a declaration of love, she didn’t know what was. ‘Enjoy the countryside,’ she said helping him on with his jacket. ‘I’ll see you when you get back.’

He slipped out into the early dusk of the day and she locked the door behind him. She had wondered whether or not she should tell him her news, but she had decided to leave it for now. Better to wait until after Evelyn had given birth. Besides, she needed another fortnight to be absolutely certain, although in her heart she knew she was pregnant. She hoped that when the time came it would be a boy, for if Evelyn’s child proved a girl, then at least Reginald would have a son. Not one he could acknowledge, it was true, not the legitimate son and heir he so craved, but a son nonetheless. She would ask and expect nothing beyond the current support he provided, but the child would be a secret the two of them could share, it would be a further bond between them.

Reginald left Stanford House early on the Monday, bidding Evelyn a fond farewell before he went.

‘I shall be gone overnight only, my dear,’ he said as he sat on her bed holding her hand, ‘and when I return I shall not leave your side until the baby is born, I promise.’

Evelyn smiled gratefully. He’d shown such kindness and consideration during this pregnancy that he seemed like a different man. She’d lived for so long in a state of anxiety, fearing to disappoint him yet again, but of late her tension had eased in his company. She’d gained confidence; she felt strong now. She would bear him a healthy child. She could only pray that it would be a son. ‘Have a safe trip, dear, and do give my fondest regards to Amy and the family,’ she said.

‘I shall.’ He leant down and kissed her cheek. ‘Take care.’

He caught the train to Brighton, a journey of around thirteen miles or so, crossing the Derwent at the causeway that led from Granton to Bridgewater and, when he arrived, Amy was waiting at the railway station.

She is so unmistakeably a woman of the land, he thought as he stepped off the train and saw her there. The slender young creature he vaguely recalled from his childhood days was long gone. Amy was stout and matronly and her hair, without the restrictions of a bonnet or scarf, was a mass of wild grey curls. She rather reminded him of one of the Merinos she so successfully bred.

Only one other passenger alighted at Brighton. As the train puffed up steam and chugged off on the next leg of its journey to Launceston, Reginald crossed the semi-deserted platform and greeted her.

‘Hello, Amy, you’re looking well.’

‘Hello, Reginald,’ she gave him a hearty hug. ‘Good to see you at long last.’

He tried to return the hug with equal heartiness for he liked his half-sister, but heartiness did not come naturally to Reginald. ‘Most flattering, I must say, to be picked up by the lady of the house,’ he said as he followed her out into the street where the horse and trap were waiting. Her husband Donald or her son Edwin collected him as a rule, or else they sent one of the farm labourers.

‘It’s the lambing season so the men are busy,’ she said, hauling herself up into the trap, ‘besides which I haven’t seen you for so long. I thought it would give us a nice chance for a chat.’

As he tossed his small travelling case in the back and climbed into the passenger seat he wondered whether her mention of how long it had been was intended as a criticism, and he wondered also what exactly she might wish to chat about. Given the recent discussion with his father, Reginald was immediately on the defensive.

‘How is Evelyn?’ Amy flicked the reins and the sturdy grey gelding set off at an obedient trot.

‘She is very well, thank you,’ he replied stiffly. ‘The child is due in little more than a fortnight and the doctor does not envisage any problems.’

‘Oh, what wonderful news.’ Amy’s homely face broke into a broad smile. ‘I am so happy for you, Reginald.’

He relaxed: she was clearly genuine. ‘Yes, it is a relief, I must admit.’

‘And how is Father?’

His guard was up again in an instant. ‘Father is father,’ he said with cold indifference. ‘Some things never change.’

‘I meant his health, Reginald.’ Amy, sensing her brother’s defensiveness, decided she would have none of it. ‘I hardly expect to hear of any change in Father’s character – he will remain the cantankerous old man he has chosen to become – but he is ninety after all, and it is only natural I should enquire after his physical well-being.’

Realising he’d overreacted, Reginald gave a wry smile. ‘I’m sorry to report that Father is as fit as ever,’ he said, ‘unfortunately for us all he’ll probably live to a hundred.’

She laughed. ‘He probably will. I am sure it is his intention.’

They relaxed in each other’s company. She asked after Mathilda, noting the change in his face, how it softened when he spoke of his mother. What a strange man he is, she thought. But then the circumstances of his life had been strange from the start, growing up in that gloomy house she’d been so glad to escape from, and under the rule of an old man who’d turned into a tyrant. Their own relationship was bizarre to say the least. Here she was, his half-sister, yet she was only four years younger than his mother and had a son his age. No doubt it all compounded to make Reginald the remote man he has become, she thought, although he seemed that way even as a small boy. She recalled the occasion of their first meeting. He’d been six years old when she’d brought little Edwin to the city to visit his grandfather. Edwin had met his grandfather in the past when Silas had visited the property at Pontville, but it had been her first trip into town since her son’s birth and the first meeting for both the boys and herself.