The Garnett Marriage Pact

All the way to the register office she tried to tell herself that she was doing no more than millions of women before her had done; reminding herself of how in her book she had praised the institution of arranged marriages.

Lyle was driving. She had been too bemused to beat him to the driver’s seat, and unexpectedly after that brief demonstration she had had of his ability he was proving to be a good driver.

The register office was surprisingly festive, decorated with fresh flowers, the registrar a charming man in his mid-forties, who greeted them with a smile.

The service was brief, but not rushed, and it was only after it was over that she realised the enormity of what she had done. It was like being douched with cold water. She turned automatically to Lyle to tell him that she had made a mistake, and totally unexpectedly he smiled at her; really smiled for the first time. The world spun dizzily round her, her lungs bursting as she forgot to breathe. It was like suddenly discovering a totally unexpected and powerful ally in the middle of an alien and terrifying war, and its effect on her was so paralysing she could do no more than stare at him open-mouthed.

‘Jessica?’

The smile was gone, his eyes sharply questioning, the impatient sound of his voice bringing her back to reality.

‘I’ve left the boys with Mrs Hedges, my receptionist-cum-nurse. She won’t be pleased if we’re late back.’ He looked rather grim and she suppressed a faint sigh.

‘Do they know about…that we’re getting married?’ she supplemented, still unwilling to use the word ‘us’ in connection with them as a unit. She had a feeling that Lyle had no desire to be thought of as part of a married couple. He had married her to provide his children with a substitute mother, not because he wanted a wife.

‘I told them last week, after you’d agreed,’ he informed her, maddeningly not adding anything else.

How had they taken it, Jessica wondered. Had they been shocked, hurt, surprised? Well, she would be able to find out for herself soon enough.

Lyle had parked his car quite close to the register office and while she got into her own he went off to get his.

She didn’t feel married despite the service, Jessica decided as they drove towards Sutton Parva. In fact she didn’t feel any different at all, merely slightly disorientated. She didn’t want to think too deeply about that illuminating moment in the register office when Lyle had smiled at her. It provoked too many questions she had no wish to answer.

* * *

MRS HEDGES, Lyle’s receptionist, turned out to be a smartly dressed, well-upholstered woman in her mid-fifties, with carefully sculptured blue-rinsed grey hair. She looked, Jessica thought, as she was introduced to her, the type of woman who would be a staunch supporter of the local Women’s Institute, and a demon for efficiency and routine.

She didn’t express either surprise or curiosity when Lyle introduced Jessica as his wife, merely greeting her with a formal smile and explaining that she had to rush off as it was her bridge evening.

The two boys had followed her into the hallway and now stood side by side watching Jessica in silence.

There was something nerve-racking about such silent scrutiny, she acknowledged, forcing herself not to fill the void with empty chatter, sensing that it would be best to let the children come to her when they were ready.

She proffered them a smile and then turned to Lyle without speaking to them.

‘If you’ll show me my room, I’ll make a start on emptying the car.’ She paused and added uncertainly, ‘I’ll also need a room to work in if that’s possible.’

‘The house has six bedrooms,’ Lyle told her, ‘I’ve put you in one with a small boxroom off it which I had thought of converting into a bathroom, but somehow I’ve never been able to get round to it. If that isn’t large enough for you to work in, then we’ll have to find something else, although we’re a little short on space downstairs because two rooms are taken up by my surgery and the waiting-room.’

‘Isn’t that a little old-fashioned?’ Jessica commented as she followed him upstairs. ‘I mean most places these days have modern purpose-built health centres, surely?’

‘In the cities, and in commuter areas rich enough to afford such luxuries, but not in the country.’ He sounded rather grim.

‘But what happens in case of an emergency, or

if you’re out on call?’ Jessica persisted. She wasn’t too happy at the thought of an emergency call coming through to the house when Lyle wasn’t available.

‘They have to call out the ambulance service from the cottage hospital. Between us we cover a radius of just over fifty miles. Not very reassuring if you happen to live on the outer edge of that radius and you need treatment urgently. I’ve been pressing the local health authority for funds to equip a small clinic here. There’s room in the grounds to build a purpose-built unit, but it’s the policy these days to cut down on facilities—not extend them.’

From his voice Jessica could sense the frustration he obviously felt, and it altered her view of him fractionally, giving her an insight into what she had previously thought of as merely bad temper, but which now she could see could well be a mixture of exhaustion, worry and frustration.

‘This way.’

They were on a long, rectangular landing with several doors going off it. The floor was uncarpeted, the boards dull and in need of a good polish. Housework wasn’t one of Jessica’s favourite activities, but the boarding-school which both she and Andrea had attended after their parents’ divorce had held old-fashioned views on cleanliness. Did Lyle have any help in the house? Surely he must, but from what she had seen so far it was of a very indifferent quality. It struck her as he strode across the landing and pushed open one of the doors how little she knew about him, or his lifestyle—which was now going to be her lifestyle. Dismayed, she followed him into the room. It was comfortably large, but furnished with the same poor-quality oddments as the rooms she had seen downstairs. An old-fashioned square carpet of indeterminate colour covered most of the floor, apart from the edges which to her horrified disbelief were covered in a cracked, grainy lino, which she vaguely remembered last having seen in her grandparents’ house as a child.

‘Not exactly the Ritz, I know.’

His voice had gone hard and faintly hostile and when Jessica looked at him he was regarding her with narrowed eyes, densely blue between their thick black lashes. Something inside her turned to warm liquid, a sensation so disturbing that she actually felt quite weak. It took her several seconds to conquer it and say calmly, ‘I hope you won’t have any objection to my making some changes in the house—at my own expense, of course.’