Proserpina
We rode back home in total silence, Lucien and I. I sat, slumped in a corner, staring outside. I could have been in a stationary car for all I knew, my mind was abuzz with the thoughts I had tried to fight; reverberating with the things he had told me.
Bethany, the favourite wh*re.
He had sired a child with her.
And now her sister and the son had turned up.
I shuddered, taking a deep breath. I could feel Lucien’s eyes on me but I did not turn to look at him.
Now I knew what hate was.
*
As we drove up to the house, Lucien said shortly,
‘I shall come back later. I need to see…’
“To go back to bed with your favourite wh*re?’
I sighed wearily and slipped out of the car before he could respond. His face was thunderous but I ignored him and walked inside, nodding absently to the staff.
Camille and Beatrice followed me; they knew I was upset. Bea took one look at my face and murmured,
“Honey childe..’
I could not bear it. I walked unerringly into the room where I spent my time writing. It had a large comfortable bed in a corner and I sank onto it. When Beatrice came and pulled me into her arms, the dam burst; I burst into tears, sobbing loudly, as though my heart would break.
Warm arms wrapped themselves around me and I hugged her as I whispered, hiccupping,
“He has a son, Bea, a son who is around our Claude’s age…Lucien has a son and he never told me…’
Beatrice held me, stoking my back and I felt a wad of tissues being handed to me. Camille, of course. She began to speak in a language she used when she was upset, the Guarani dialect.
I did not require a translator to know she was using the foulest words to talk of my husband. Beatrice said nothing she just held me to her ample stomach. Someone handed me a glass of warm milk and I drank it in a gulp; Bea must have had them add something to make me sleep for I felt woozy and drifted off into a deep sleep very soon.
*
Later that evening, I made my way to dinner and greeted my children.
My youngest children, Dominque, Tara and Louis had arrived, returning from their hike that evening. I sat wanly, smiling, nodding mechanically as they recounted their adventures excitedly, in their thirteen-year-old fashion. I could not bring myself to eat and I barely swallowed a cup of broth that Bea had prepared and forced me to drink.
“You need to think of the babe.’ she said, her arms folded across her chest, her stern gaze on me. I bowed my head, wanting to weep.
“Mumma, are you even listening?’ piped up Louis in annoyance and I looked up into the pale grey eyes that all the children had inherited from Lucien.
I smiled faintly,
“Yes, darling.’
He nodded importantly and repeated, “I said, Leo wants to learn Japanese and I told him to come to you.’
Leo was Melissa’s son and around the age of my children.
I smiled absently.
*
The sound of my husband’s harsh baritone suddenly carried over and I stiffened. Standing up abruptly, I left the dining hall, to the astonishment of my children who paused in the middle of their stories to stare at me.
‘Mumma is not feeling well,’ I heard Camille’s strident voice covering for me as I scurried up the stairs. Behind me, I thought I could hear Lucien’s voice calling me but I ignored him and almost ran to the safety of the room I worked on. Slamming the door, I leaned against it, trying hard not to cry.
Something had broken inside me. Something that made me want to throw myself down from the roof, to end my life.
All through my life, even when I had encountered the worst possible difficulties ever, I had never wished to kill myself. Now, I wanted to.
*
Sometime in the night, I came awake. I had been sleeping on the bed in my study, and I felt hungry. I had not had anything for dinner. Peering at the alarm clock, I realised it was close to 3 a. m. Being pregnant inevitably made me hungry at odd hours, I thought with a sigh.
When the rumbling from my stomach increased, I realised that I simply had to raid the fridge to find some leftovers to eat. I had baked a pie last evening; slices of it were still bound to be there, I thought hopefully as I crept downstairs quietly. The last thing I needed was to run into Beatrice or Camille.
As for Lucien, I sighed sadly, he was probably making love to the wh*re waiting for him in the townhouse.
*
Lucien
He had been beside himself with self-loathing when he heard his wife’s words, had seen the contempt in her eyes as she looked at him that was when she looked. It was as though she had lost any kind of faith in him
Grimly, he twisted the Infinity ring on his finger, the ring she had put on his finger with such love and trust. He had wounded her.
He swore and drank some more.
*
Lucien had returned to the house to find a set of three bewildered children, his thirteen-year-old triplets, who could not fathom what was wrong with their mother.
She had run away on hearing his voice, he noted with a sinking heart.
Now he looked at the bottle of whiskey on his desk. He had finished it himself.
His man, Gustav, who was a dumb mute, replenished his tumbler silently but he could sense the man’s disapproval. Of course, he was another one who was swayed by Proserpina’s charms.
The scene at the townhouse had been an ugly one; his son, Cole, was an irritating youth, a braggart. Lucien knew that he was a dealer and he had felt a cold dislike grow in him. The young man was totally unlike his other children and even though it was probably due to his upbringing, Lucien felt a growing dislike fester in him when he listened to the youth.
As for Britney, she kept trying to touch him and was furious when he rejected her. he found himself wondering why he had found her remotely attractive when he was younger; now the only woman who could make him hungry for her body was his Woman.
“Get your filthy hands off me, you wh*re!’ he had shouted finally, driven to the end of his patience.
“So now you only care for your fat cow?’ she had spat and he had raised his hand to strike her. Striding off, ignoring Cole who called out to him, Lucien had headed home, but his wife was not having anything to do with him anymore. Beatrice and Camille sent him murderous looks all through dinner, which had been a subdued affair. His triplets had seemed confused.
Dinner was always a rambunctious affair, with laughter and lip-smacking food prepared lovingly by his wife. Tonight, Proserpina had not prepared dinner; she was unwell, snapped Beatrice crossly. The pizza the kids had ordered seemed tasteless and he had been drinking all through dinner.
Lucien glanced at the clock. It was now a little after 3 in the morning. Swaying, he rose to his feet. He had better try and get some sleep, alone in his massive bed, he thought bitterly as he stepped out and nodded at the man who stood at the door.
But he stopped as he reached the stairs. Proserpina was descending the carpeted steps carefully, and she froze on the last step when she saw him.