Love in the Valley

‘Richard Marlow, I suppose,’ Phillip pounced scornfully. ‘I wouldn’t bank on him too much if I was you. Actors are inclined to be a bit unstable. You can’t rush into these things without considering the practicalities, Julia.’

Julia gritted her teeth at his condescending tone. Why shouldn’t she rush in? Love should be spontaneous, not planned out like a financial campaign. Anyway, Phillip was wrong, she had had plenty of time to work out all the practical details of living with Hugh.

First, she would move into his apartment; then find a job with more reasonable hours—maybe catering for private lunches. She would insist on financial independence, respect the more entrenched of Hugh’s solitary habits, do his typing if he asked nicely. If there were children (perhaps a girl who could become a lawyer, and a boy to be a chef!) she would become an enthusiastic, housewifely mother, at least while they were young. God, what bliss it would be to have such beautiful certainties in her future!

Observing her drift into a daydream Phillip let the subject drop, but he didn’t let her forget. He took to leaving brightly coloured travel brochures lying casually around the house. Julia didn’t even bother to read them. She knew the problem wouldn’t go away just because she ignored it, but she couldn’t bring herself to seriously think about it.

She had promised Connie when they left Craemar that she would keep in touch, but somehow it didn’t happen. Julia felt that, though she hadn’t said anything, in some indefinable way she had let Connie down. The feeling seemed to be confirmed as the weeks passed and she didn’t hear from any of the Marlows. She read in the papers that rehearsals for Romeo and Juliet had begun, so she excused Richard on the grounds of work, though it had never stopped him before.

She also learned from the newspapers that Hard Times had cancelled its concert tour of the Far East, and that Steve was immersed in the composition of a rock opera, to be performed by the group in conjunction with one of Auckland’s professional theatres.

From the Arts section of one of Phillip’s glossy magazines she discovered that Olivia Marlow (‘promising young Auckland artist’) had received a grant to study for a year in Paris under the aegis of a famous French tutor. The grant, made through the Queen Elizabeth II Arts Council, was by an anonymous donor. Hugh? Julia’s throat thickened with tender yearning as the page blurred before her eyes. The timing was right, and who else would be so anxious to hide an impulse of generosity? Dear, darling Hugh. Where was he now? And with whom? She sniffed fiercely at the thought of the wretched Farrow woman. A man who preferred a woman like that deserved everything he got. It probably wouldn’t have worked anyway—a relationship with Hugh—Julia lectured herself sternly. A one-sided love was doomed from the start. And they were such fundamentally different people. They probably would have spent all their spare time arguing. All the time they spent out of bed, that is.

Julia caught herself up on the slip. ‘Out, out, damned spot,’ she muttered as she answered the doorbell late one evening. She must concentrate on the negative things about Hugh, the things she didn’t like: the secretiveness, the intermittent coldness, the ease with which he ignored people … the … the … oh, what was the use! when all she really wanted to remember was the sweet warmth of his breath on her body, the silken sweep of those large, gentle hands, the heady excitement of feeling him pressing against her, the times when he made her laugh, when he made her think.

It was a shock to throw open the door and find Richard standing sheepishly outside. As if her thoughts had conjured up a Marlow, even if it was the wrong one.

Richard greeted her cheerily and was inside, chatting about the play, and the family, making himself at home before she had a chance to open her mouth.

Finally he paused.

‘And how are you? You look … blooming.’

‘So I should be,’ said Julia, thinking of all that damned exercise. She was sitting on the couch, hands clasped loosely on her stomach and she gasped as she followed his suspicious gaze. ‘No, I’m not! Fancy even thinking it!’

‘These things happen in the best of families.’

‘Not unless you’re God.’

‘What!’ Richard’s nimble mind alerted. ‘Julia! You’re not still a virgin are you?’

‘You look more shocked than you did when you thought I was pregnant,’ Julia complained, embarrassed at his astonishment.

‘But … I … we all naturally assumed … ‘

‘It never got that far. Not for want of trying on my part,’ admitted Julia with a painful honesty. How she had tried!

‘ “She burnes that never knew desire,

She that was ice, she now is fire.” ‘

Richard lapsed into quotation, but his voice held sympathy as well as knowledge and Julia was hard put not to burst into tears. How well that described the state she was in, the heated turmoil of her thoughts and feelings.

‘Well, here’s something that might cheer you up, the reason I came,’ said Richard, fumbling in his jacket pocket. Julia was too het-up to notice his unusual lack of curiosity. She didn’t want to talk about it anyway or she would be in tears. She hated the thought of being one of those clingy, weepy females.

‘Here. Two tickets to our opening Friday night.

Connie gave them to me. Said she’d love to see you. You’ll be sitting next to the girls. There’s a party afterwards, too.’

Julia stared at the proffered tickets as if they might bite.

‘Hugh won’t be there,’ he said, with what she thought was unnecessary callousness. ‘He’s going back down to Craemar again for the weekend, editing something or other.’

Back down? So he had been here, in Auckland, and not contacted her. Another door slammed in her face. Still, she avidly lapped up the crumb of information.

‘Hey, what’s this?’ Richard found one of Phillip’s brochures. ‘Thinking of running off into the wild blue?’

Julia told him about Phillip’s plans.