City Girl (36 page)

Then there were Richard’s political meetings. His interest in politics stemmed not from the fact that he was particularly passionate about his party’s policies, but from the fact
that there was business to be made from all the contacts. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours, was Richard’s motto, as he confided to his wife. And so, while he attended branch
meetings and strategy meetings, Caroline attended fashion shows for every conceivable charitable organization and owned more clothes than she knew what to do with. Richard insisted that she bought
expensive clothes and would frequently go shopping with her, commenting authoritatively on how he wished to see her dressed. They mixed in affluent circles where The Label was of the utmost
importance.

‘Darling, is that an Ib Jorgensen? Isn’t it divine? Have you seen the new Pat Crowley collection yet? And darling you simply must get something from Ton Sur Ton. They’re
absolutely terrific!’

Once she went to a diplomatic do wearing a silky black skirt that swirled softly around her shapely legs. The compliments amused her no end. ‘Caroline, it’s fabulous. Where did you
buy? Do tell? Is it a Bruce Oldfield?’

Had she told them the truth, that she had bought it in Dunne’s for less than thirty pounds, they would have been genuinely horrified. And so would Richard. One didn’t buy clothes in
Dunne’s, for heaven’s sake. A chain store! So she had murmured something about a little place she knew and gone to get another drink.

She had started to drink much more than before. At first it was to bolster her spirits when they were going to a function she had no interest in. Although she disliked the taste of it, vodka
relaxed her the best and there was no tell-tale smell. Usually she would down a quick double before leaving the apartment, that same apartment she had sold Richard so long ago. Now Caroline hated
it with a vengeance. Everything was so perfect.

She was never at home in the place, always feeling that she was just another decorative object like one of his paintings or pieces of sculpture. When he bought it, Richard had commissioned an
interior designer to decorate the penthouse. The result was a sterile high-tech effect with harsh geometric lines, stark white walls and highly polished parquet floors covered by black rugs.
Gleaming chrome and glass furniture highlighted his growing collection of objets d’art, each piece selected for maximum impact. It was an impressive showplace but not a home, and the more
unhappy Caroline felt there, the more she drank, until after a while it was unthinkable for her to go anywhere or do anything without a stiff vodka.

Twenty-six

As she sat in her luxuriously appointed bathroom nursing her wounds, Caroline knew again that she needed a drink. The thought frightened her a little. It was only nine in the
morning but as she wrapped a soft fluffy towel around her aching body she knew that by five past nine she would have had her first drink of the day. Swallowing her second, Caroline eyed herself
wryly in the mirror. ‘Cheers!’ she said raising her glass in bitter self-mockery. ‘It’s not every day a girl becomes a battered housewife.’

By lunch time the pain in her body had become almost unbearable and by searching the yellow pages she managed to locate a doctor who lived in the area. He lived close by and held afternoon
surgeries, so dressed in the most loose-fitting clothes she could find, she walked stiffly towards the address.

Caroline sat in the antiseptic waiting room fighting a strong urge to leave. What in the name of God was she going to tell the doctor? A whingeing child who hadn’t stopped fighting with
his sister since they had come in with their harassed mother aimed a toy and hurled it at his sister. It missed but caught Caroline square in the ribs. Giving an agonized gasp of pain she crumpled
up in a heap on the floor. When she came to, the doctor was kneeling beside her on the floor, his fingers on her pulse. Through a giddy mist she could see the rest of the patients watching in
fascinated horror. Distressed, she tried to rise.

‘Gently now,’ murmured the doctor kindly, as he eased her up into a sitting position. The pain in her ribs was excruciating but nothing compared to her mortified embarrassment. Her
one thought was to get away as fast as she could. The doctor and his receptionist were helping her to her feet and leading her through to his surgery. ‘I’m going to examine you
now,’ he said. ‘Can you manage to remove your dress?’

‘I . . . I . . . yes.’ Caroline wished she was a million miles away as she slipped painfully out of her dress. Her cheeks flamed when she saw the bruises, but no expression crossed
his face as he examined her thoroughly.

‘I fell down the stairs,’ she said faintly.

‘I see,’ was all he said. When he was finished and she was dressed he told her to sit down and began to write on a form his receptionist had handed to him.

‘Mrs Yates?’

She nodded.

‘You’ve never been here before, isn’t that right?’

‘That’s right,’ she agreed miserably. He was about fifty, a grey-haired fatherly man with a lined rugged face. Noting her address, he remarked evenly, ‘Don’t they
have lifts in those apartments?’

‘Yes. Of course,’ Caroline answered in surprise, too late, remembering her excuse for being injured.

‘Is this the first time you’ve been battered?’ he asked in the same even tone.

She couldn’t answer, just nodded her head mutely.

‘I see . . .’ he paused a moment and then said crisply, ‘I don’t think you’ve sustained any cracked ribs, it’s more bruising and internal contusions but I
would like you to go for an X-ray just to make sure.’

‘No.’ Caroline shook her head in determination. She just couldn’t go through the whole ordeal again.

The doctor eyed her steadily. ‘My advice to you is to go to the hospital and the next time your husband beats you go to the Gardai or your solicitor. If you wish I can give you the address
of the battered wives’ hostel.’

Caroline almost laughed at the irony. Go to your solicitor. Ha! ‘Please, just give me something for the pain,’ she asked.

The doctor raised a weary eyebrow. ‘Well if you won’t take my advice, you’d better take these,’ he retorted drily, handing her a sachet that contained four capsules. He
bent his head and wrote on a pad, tore off the page and handed it to her. ‘I’ve just given you some painkillers and here’s a prescription for some more. They’re pretty
strong. Take two every four hours and if the pain persists, call me.’ He stood up to see her out.

‘For what it’s worth, I’m always here if you ever feel the need to talk,’ he assured her, wishing he could have five minutes alone with the bastard of a husband who had
battered her. He knew she would be back again. He had seen too many battered wives in his day to delude himself that it was a once-off thing. They always said the same thing too. It was always the
stairs. He felt a great pity for this young girl who had just had her illusions about marriage shattered into pieces. As he walked her to the front door he said, ‘Mrs Yates, I wouldn’t
drink while taking those tablets. It could be very dangerous.’

Caroline felt her face go scarlet. ‘Of course not,’ she murmured, highly embarrassed that he realized she had been drinking so early in the day.

‘Go home and rest,’ he instructed her, giving her a fatherly pat on the shoulder. Caroline smiled wryly. ‘I’ve nothing else to do, thank you, doctor.’

He nodded understandingly. ‘If the pain persists, come back, and you know where the surgery is if you need to talk.’

‘Thanks.’ She was almost in tears at his kindness. If she didn’t get out the door soon she’d disgrace herself by sobbing her heart out.

Managing to compose herself, she paid the receptionist and left the surgery.

As she walked down the tree-lined suburban road with its expensive Victorian red-bricked houses she wondered if there were any other women living behind the white lace curtains who were in the
same position as she was. Devlin had told her about her upstairs neighbours where the husband engaged in frequent physical violence against his wife. She had never given the subject much thought,
being sure it could never happen to her. How wrong she had been. Richard had turned on her with a viciousness she hadn’t thought possible. Usually he was so contained and reserved. The only
time he ever let himself go was when he was in Charles’s company and they were discussing the merits of some case or other, then he could become quite animated and they would spend ages in
legal arguments, forgetting about her completely.

With her, Richard was never less than charming and attentive when she was doing what she was told. He lavished compliments and jewellery on her and was always greatly pleased if their pictures
appeared in the social and personal columns. But the closeness and love she had hoped would be hers when she married had not happened between them. Their relationship was still the same as when
they had been dating. Caroline saw herself as no more than a decorative social asset on his path to success.

This was the first time she had seen the darker side of her husband’s personality. He was not the suave reserved person she knew. A violently abusive almost bitter man had surfaced and she
couldn’t forget the look of wild despair on his face as he had lashed out at her. Maybe he was under pressure at work, she thought miserably, trying to make excuses for him. If only he would
share his worries with her, it would mean far more to her than all the clothes and jewellery he gave her.

She knew the nature of his job frequently put him under intense pressure. Since she had first known him he had become even more successful. His practice had expanded so that he now had two other
solicitors, a secretary and two typists working for him. It was almost, she felt, as though he was driven by some force to be the biggest and best there was. When he lost a court action he would
brood for days, taking it as a personal insult. Not that his firm lost many. He had gained the reputation of a solicitor who got results and was much admired in the legal field.

When he heard that his most detested rival was celebrating the birth of a son, he sat down with Caroline and worked out her fertile period. Every month since he would make love to her, always in
the same manner, on the days she was ovulating. Once she had asked him if they could do it from the front and he had glumly agreed. It had been a disaster. As he lay on top of her she felt his
erection wilting against her. Her confidence had evaporated until there was even less of it than his erection and she had burst into tears of dismay and frustration. Richard had stalked out of the
bedroom, his face like a thunder-cloud, his naked buttocks pale with lost dignity.

Oh God, why could she not arouse him? Was she now too thin where once she had been obese? Why couldn’t she be normal like other women? She could never be normal, she decided in despair.
She must be some kind of freak! Why had he ever married her? Caroline had no answers. She began to dread the monthly acts of messy misery, feeling an intense pressure to conceive and bear him the
son he so badly wanted to inherit his firm. Maybe parenthood would bring them together as marriage had not. The obvious annoyance he felt when her periods arrived would cause her immense misery.
She was such a failure that she couldn’t even conceive. He had found out this morning that once again she had failed in her womanly role. Maybe it was his frustration that had made him beat
her so savagely.

As Caroline let herself into the apartment that bore the hallmarks of Richard’s personality – restrained and impersonal, lacking warmth or comfort of any description – she
remembered the doctor’s advice about resting. She smiled scornfully at herself in the mirror. What else had she done since her marriage? What a fool she had been to allow Richard to persuade
her to give up her job. ‘I don’t want my wife to work. I’ll support us, darling. Take life easy, go shopping with the girls, maybe you could get involved with a charity or two,
you know, the Central Remedial Clinic or something. I don’t want you to be too tired to go out with me. It will be nice knowing that you are waiting here when I get home.’

This had been said two weeks before her wedding and the girls at work, who though they were married were unable for financial reasons to give up their jobs, thought Caroline was so lucky to have
a husband who could support them both and in such style.

The idea of not having to get up in the morning, of being able to swim in the complex’s pool and maybe do a spot of exercise in the gym and then take a sauna before having breakfast on her
secluded balcony overlooking Dublin Bay appealed to her enormously. It would be a completely different lifestyle to what she had been used to. Like something out of a TV programme. Caroline was an
avid watcher of the American soaps. Pam, Sue Ellen, Alexis, Maggie Giobertti, were to her the ultimate women. So self-confident, powerful and assertive, everything that she was not but would like
to be. After watching them, she would escape into fantasy, imagining herself head of the biggest auctioneering firm in the country, jetting off to Europe to sell properties in Marbella, the
Algarve, the French Riviera. When Richard suggested she give up work, she hadn’t been too keen as she enjoyed her job very much. But she was now a married woman with a husband to think about
and so her fantasies took another turn. Like her heroines, she could just imagine herself after her morning swim and workout, going shopping, having coffee mornings, lunching with friends, and then
having cosy intimate candle lit dinners with Richard. It would be a lovely lifestyle, after all the years of hard work. Giving up her job would be no hardship at all!

The reality had been somewhat different to her imaginings. Perversely, once she did not have to get up in the morning she no longer felt like turning over and going back to sleep. Richard kept
on his daily help so there was precious little housework to be done. True, she swam and worked out in the mornings and indulged in social chit-chat with the other wives who lived in the complex but
she had nothing really in common with them as most of them were older than her.