Holding On by Marcia Willett Page B

interested in listening to gossip for hours on end.’
    â€˜I should have thought that it’s better to listen to a bit of gossip than sit weeping on your own for weeks at a time,’ said Hal impatiently. ‘Just what is it that you want, Maria?’
    She was silent, head bent, near to tears. Why couldn’t he understand and sympathise? After looking at the available married quarters in the Portsmouth area, this little cottage had been heaven-sent. It hadn’t mattered then that she’d be isolated. The low-beamed ceilings and private garden, the charm of Sarah’s choice of decoration and furniture was bliss after the unimaginative uniformity of the quarters. Hal had simply no idea of the horror she had felt at being transported from her parents’ comfortable home to the vulnerability of the married patch. She’d felt safe in this tiny, fairytale cottage. The thought of moving from it, of going to a new place, of living in the semi in Compton Road, filled her with alarm. How could she say this to Hal, especially when Fliss seemed to be facing the thought of Hong Kong with such equanimity? She finished the preparations without answering, stepping past him as if he didn’t exist, confused and miserable.
    Hal watched her, his anger evaporating. Her long dark hair swung loose, hiding her down-slanted face, and her bare arms and legs were tanned from hours of sunbathing. She disliked the long Indian clothes which Fliss had adopted and continued to wear miniskirts or jeans. This evening she wore one of his own cotton shirts, left loose over her bikini, but for once he was unaroused. He was too tired. She told him that she longed for them to be together, said that she felt every moment apart was wasted time, yet these bickerings broke out so often. He knew that one way to solve the problem would be to catch her in his arms and make love to her. She would pretend to put up a fight but she would be relieved to allow their mutual passion to sweep away the anger and the tears.
    Hal thought: But I don’t want to. I’m fed up with this coaxing and pleading. Anyway, I’m damned hungry.
    Aloud he said, ‘Come on. Have a drink and let’s forget it. Thank goodness I shall be home for the move. At least that’s a bonus. Gosh, that looks good. What a clever wife I’ve got.’
    He slipped an arm about her, nuzzling her hair, but keeping everything light and easy. Torn between self-righteousness and loneliness, Maria allowed herself to relax against him, accepting the glass of wine. She longed for his approval, to be admired and desired.
    â€˜It’s only a salmon,’ she said, ‘and new potatoes and salad. Nothing really.’
    She smiled reluctantly at him and he bent to kiss her, putting as much passion into it as he could commensurate with it not distracting her from supper. Once or twice he’d been obliged to take her to bed early and the food had been ruined. Tonight things were not quite that bad. There would be time later to reassure her in the only way which really seemed to matter to her, time to show her that she was the only one he loved, the only one he’d ever want. Perhaps this time she’d become pregnant . . .
    Â 
    In this hour before dinner all was quiet at The Keep. Theo crossed the cool, shadowy hall and, selecting a walking stick from the tall brass container by the door, stepped out into the courtyard. Earlier, Josh had been mowing the central rectangle of grass and the scent lingered, evoking other summers of years long past. He passed beneath the gatehouse roof, between the tall wooden gates which were rarely shut now that there were no small children to keep inside, and out on to the drive which led to the lane.
    Fields stretched away on either side and he paused from time to time to examine the beauty of the minutiae which grew on the old stone boundary walls. It never ceased to amaze him that such a dry, even hostile,