Seasons of Love by Anna Jacobs

of your decision, fair gaoler?’ he asked, trying to make a joke of it.
    But she could see the fear lurking in his eyes. She could see it quite plainly and that made her decision easier, somehow.
    ‘Yes. I've decided to do as you wish. I’ve decided to stay with you.’
    ‘Ha! Told you my luck had turned.’ His voice was triumphant. He tried to take hold of her hand, but she moved it away. ‘You won't regret it, Helen. I promise you won't regret it. Things will be different this time. I know they will.’
    She took a cloth and wiped his forehead. ‘There is just one condition.’
    ‘Anything!’
    ‘I couldn’t share a bed with you again. Not after the other women.’
    He scowled, forgetting his gratitude. ‘I'm not diseased, you know! And there weren’t that many other women.’
    ‘I believe you. But my feelings won't recover, not in that way. I don't love you any more, Robert.
    So I must warn you that if you ever try to - to force me - then I shall leave you. Immediately. Within the hour. I cannot do that sort of thing without love.’
    He shrugged. ‘If that’s the only condition, you’ve no need to worry. I've never forced myself on a woman yet. Besides, we couldn't risk having another child, could we?’ He scowled across at Harry.
    ‘One's more than enough.’
    She did not make the obvious retort, that he had never looked after Harry in any way, never shown any interest in being a father.
    I feel as if I have two children, she thought, looking at her husband. What had happened to the handsome, laughing man she had married? What had happened to her, come to that? She felt old - so very old and tired.
    She looked sideways. Ah, but there was Harry – and he made up for everything.
    Thanks to another lucky gambling streak that had her husband crowing with triumph at the return of his luck, Helen spent her twentieth birthday in Calais. She didn't mention to Robert that it was her birthday. She had nothing to celebrate, after all. It had been a smooth crossing, but eve so Harry had been unwell, turning white and fractious before the boat had even left the harbour.
    When they disembarked, they found a cheap pension, dined early and surprisingly well, and went to bed. Although Robert and Helen shared a big bed, he made no attempt to touch her, but he smiled wryly when she looked at him watchfully as they undressed.
    In the morning they began their long journey to the south of France, travelling by easy stages in the cheapest ways possible, often by carrier's cart. When Robert began to look tired, she would insist they rest for a day or two.
    It was better for the boy as well. Harry grew so tired of the jolting and he wasn’t a good traveller.
    He was a good child in every other way, though, such a joy to her, even now. She took care to point things out to him, talking about the countryside they were passing through and teaching him a few French words. She didn’t want him to grow up ignorant of the world around him.
    But she took care to hide the pride she felt, because Robert easily became jealous of his son and that made him spiteful. It must be wonderful, she thought wistfully, to have a husband who cared about his child. But perhaps she was expecting too much of the world. Her experience hadn’t included that sort of man.
    Twice they met up with men who shared Robert's taste for gambling. Twice he came back to their room flushed with success. ‘See what good luck you've brought to me! Didn’t I tell you things would improve?’
    Why did he always ascribe his success to her? It made her feel uneasy. Would he blame her for his bad luck, too? Good luck never lasted. How could he not realise that?
    But some of the recklessness seemed to have gone out of him. He didn't return to the game on the following night on either occasion, but said he'd not push his luck at the moment, just use the money he’d won to continue the journey.
    It was cheaper to live well in France than in England. The meals at even the