Unforgettable (Gloria Cook) - By Gloria Cook Page 0,17
Dorrie uttered firmly and headed for the doorway.
‘Don’t you want to buy the North Cornwall Gazette?’ Delia demanded airily, quickly on Dorrie’s heels.
Over her shoulder, Dorrie stared at the other woman. Delia was ten years younger than she was but her pursed features had consequently aged her with many more wrinkles. Delia had never been an easy person although she had been pretty once, but that was now lost under pockets of saggy skin. She sided with the Reverend Wentworth Lytton against the idea of a village hall. The general agreement in Nanviscoe was that they were both outdated and mean. Delia agreed with all the ageing vicar’s views, it was how she felt important and she constantly rubbed it in to the locals that Soames was the vicar’s warden and as such was a gentleman to be highly respected.
‘You know very well we have all our papers delivered from your very stores. Don’t be disrespectful. Good morning.’
‘What did you come in for then? Just to hang about?’ Delia threw after her in accusation. She never failed to attempt to pull others down. People declared if there were another grocery shop and post office in the village they would patronize it and let the Newtons ‘go hang’.
‘I shall return bye and bye,’ Dorrie said loftily. Delia Newton was the one person she liked to put in her place. She couldn’t see Delia’s face but knew she would be quilling with turkey-faced indignation.
Dorrie caught Verity up hurrying for the churchyard. There was a secluded wooden seat under the trees round at the north side of the church and the pair headed there. They sat and Dorrie held Verity’s hand. ‘You told Greg and me the facts, that you and Julius disagreed over when to have children, that he refused to go ahead with the wedding unless you agreed to have them straight away. I think it’s very reasonable that you wanted to wait a year or two after typing your way through the war and then the resettling programmes in a stuffy Whitehall office; that you preferred to build up your new home and travel before starting a family. You said Julius’s attitude hurt you and that you felt rejected and you’re very angry, but what else is there, darling? What did you mean when you said to Greg that he’s an affront to womankind?’
Verity gripped Dorrie’s hand fiercely but she wasn’t crying. It was outrage alone that was running though her like an unquiet engine.
‘He was totally hateful.’ She spat the words as if her hate was a tangible thing. ‘He humiliated me, Aunt Dor. He said I wasn’t normal; that breeding children was what marriage was all about, and what else did I expect when I’d one day be a baronet’s wife, that I would from the start have access to his money, and the finest house and the best social position. That I’d only have to drop a few sprogs and then I could do what I liked, providing I kept it concealed.’ Then Verity was trembling and gazing at Dorrie in a bewildered way, and Dorrie was horrified to read fear in her. ‘When I mentioned love, he laughed in my face. “Don’t be bloody foolish,” he said. I’d always suspected he didn’t really love me but considered me rather as a good catch. I thought he’d come out with the old chestnut that he wanted a separate life outside our home and keep a mistress, and perhaps allow me to take a lover, but what he actually said was, the bloody rotten swine, “How could you expect someone to love you?” He crushed me to pieces, Aunt Dor. I felt like I was in splinters. There’s nothing wrong with me, is there?’
Still Verity did not cry but all the while her eyes swelled in size as if the core of her very self was fast being eaten away. Dorrie pulled her in close. ‘Oh, darling, of course there’s nothing even the slightest bit wrong with you. It’s him, don’t you see? He wanted you – and what man wouldn’t, you’re beautiful in every way – but he wasn’t prepared to allow you your spirit, your zest for life, or even to have your own thoughts. It’s clear to me the man’s a beast and a bully. He would have systematically drained you until there was nothing left of our wonderful Verity. He’d have turned you into one of those nervy slavish wives. You truly would have