Lucy Gordon - Taming Jason

WHEN the door had closed behind Nurse Smith, Jason Tenby lay in the darkness, straining to listen. His body ached with tension, his head was thumping and the very silence seemed to sing in his ears.

He wished he could force himself to relax, but he’d never known how. From the moment of his birth he’d been the Tenby heir, carrying the burdens of Tenby expectations. His father had died when he was twenty-two, leaving an inheritance of death duties that had fallen like a lead weight onto his shoulders.

He’d broadened them to bear the load. The family traditions made him personally responsible for every worker on the land and in the factory. It was his job to ensure that there would always be work for them.

Jason had never shirked an obligation in his life.

He’d paid off the debts and made the property more prosperous than ever before, but it had taken its toll on him. He hadn’t consciously renounced pleasure, but he’d deferred it to some indefinite future, and now he hardly remembered it.

‘Don’t let any man—and certainly no woman—see that he knows more than you,’ his father had barked. ‘You’re the top man. Nobody must get the better of you.’

Over the years he’d learned the value of that advice. And he’d added ‘Never let the world know you’re afraid’. There had been a lot of fear. Fear of not being up to the job, fear of people suspecting that he wasn’t up to the job.

But nothing had prepared him for the fear that lived with him now. It stalked him in the daytime darkness. It waited to pounce when he slept.

It filled the void of his life. Fear of the nightmares. Fear of the future, of people he could hear but not see, of medical staff because they knew more than he did.

Nurses came and went, driven off by his bitter rage. But today there had come one who wouldn’t yield. He’d sensed it in her manner, heard it in her quiet voice. She was strong and confident, and she would fight him back.

Soon his factory manager would arrive to make his twice weekly report and receive Jason’s instructions. He tried to clear his mind so that he could appear to be in command. He mustn’t think of what might wait for him: years of being blind and crippled. Because then the fear would rise up and engulf him.

‘Mrs Hadwick—’

‘Call me Hilda, love.’

‘Thank you, Hilda. And I’m Elinor.’ She gave her friendliest smile. ‘I’m sorry to be a nuisance, but could you find me somewhere else to sleep? I need to be near my patient at night.’

‘There’s a room right opposite his,’ the housekeeper said doubtfully. ‘But it’s just a cupboard.’

It turned out to be very small, with barely enough space for a bed, a chair and a wardrobe.

‘I’ll be fine,’ Elinor said. ‘What matters is to be where he needs me.’

Hilda regarded her with approval. ‘None of the others thought of that. They were only too glad to get away from him. He’s not the easiest patient.’

‘No, I gathered that.’

‘When it first happened, I thought he’d go crazy. He’s always been such an active man, and suddenly he couldn’t see or move. It’ll be terrible if—’ She broke off as if she couldn’t bear to speak the thought.

‘You’re very fond of him, aren’t you?’ Elinor said, surprised. It was hard to picture anyone fond of Jason Tenby.

‘Oh, yes,’ Hilda said at once. ‘He’s been very good to my Alf and me. When Alf lost his job Jason found him work on the estate. That’s Jason for you. He looks after his own.’

Elinor didn’t answer this. She had reason to know how Jason Tenby looked after his own.

As they made up the bed together Hilda gossiped about the family.

‘Not many of them left now,’ she said regretfully. ‘Only Jason, his brother Simon, and their sister. She married and went to Australia. Simon lived here until a couple of years ago. He’s in London now.’

Elinor had known that Simon had left because the last nurse who’d held this job had given her a rough briefing. It was a relief to know that she needn’t fear meeting him.

How bitter his face had been at their parting. How terrible were the names he’d called her. It wasn’t his fault. Jason had forced the situation on them. But Simon had believed the worst of her so easily. How could he?

She pulled herself together and asked some bright, meaningless question. Hilda answered it and the moment passed.

‘But with any luck there’ll soon be a family again,’ she chattered on. ‘We’re all looking forward to the day Jason brings his bride home. Just as soon as he’s well, he’ll marry Miss Virginia.’

‘Not Virginia Cavenham?’ Elinor said before she could think.

‘Yes? Do you know her?’

‘No, but I’ve heard the name Cavenham.’ The Cavenhams were a notable local family. Elinor hadn’t met Virginia, but she’d heard her called the pride of the crop. Simon had spoken of her as a future bride for Jason even then. She was ‘suitable’.

‘The families have been friends for years and we always knew Jason would probably marry one of the two girls,’ Hilda said now.

‘Suppose he hadn’t wanted to?’ Elinor asked curiously.

‘Then he could have had Jean Hebden, or one of the Ainsworths,’ said Hilda, naming local wealthy, land owning families.

‘But suppose he wants to look beyond the Cavenhams, the Hebdens or the Ainsworths?’

‘Land marries land,’ Hilda said firmly. ‘Or money. That’s how great old families survive for centuries.’

When Hilda had gone Elinor looked about her, struck by how easily her meagre possessions fitted into the cramped space. There were a few clothes, a change of uniform, something for ‘best’, some sweaters, a couple of pairs of jeans. Her underwear was white and functional without a flower or a piece of lace to be seen.

Her make-up told the same story: enough to wear when necessary. Nothing elaborate. Her books barely filled the shelf: a few detective stories for lighter moments, but mostly medical works. She liked to keep abreast of the latest advances.

Of course she could explain this austerity. She travelled light. She’d never been fond of accumulating possessions. There were always plenty of reasons.

But in her heart she knew it wasn’t much to sum up a life. A withered life. A withered heart. She resisted the thought, but she couldn’t entirely deny it.

The mirror inside the wardrobe door showed her a neat, efficient young woman, her face unadorned, with a hint of tension about the mouth. The beginnings of frown lines between the eyes told of long nights of study, days filled with work, years without a holiday, without feelings, without anything.

Yet her skin still had the peachy bloom of youth. Her features were regular, her mouth wide and shapely, with something that might have been sensuality still lurking in the corners. If her face had been animated it would have been beautiful. If her large blue eyes had glowed with love or laughter she would have been irresistible.

But love and laughter had died long ago.

The memories came in swift, dazzling pictures now, and she was forcing herself, like a rider ramming an unwilling horse at a jump. With every step the horse tried to retreat, knowing that what lay ahead was misery and horror. But the rider drove it on.

The dinner party in her honour. Simon crowing that Jason had given in, silencing her instinctive knowledge that Jason would never give in. Puzzled. Fearful. Wondering what Jason was planning.

On the day of the party, a team of caterers arrived and started preparing the dining room, carrying in baskets of food and wine. In the midst of the bustle the two brothers withdrew to Jason’s study and had a furious row from which each emerged set-faced and grim.