Alysse Aallyn

Category: #Family

  • Embattled Love – the diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    18 Sun Jan 81


    Up early to take Granma to Quaker Meeting. Very boring. Elder from my first wedding came up and spoke to me – I didn’t recognize her! It was Grandmother Day – spent the afternoon with Mother Louise who forgets who everyone is after 20 mins. In the evening long ecstatic phone gossip with Avril.

    Mon 19 Jan 81
    Jam packed day – filed grades at Guilders, Financial Aid lecture at Fordham then drinks at World Trade Center with T & Old roommate. Tues depressing orientation at Fordham – can’t get “life experience” credits till you have 20 Fordham credits! Decided to apply for guaranteed student loan – T will be happy. Considering Study Abroad in Eng! After I get pregnant that will be no longer possible. Letter from Book Forum asking me to come in – they might have something for me to do! That would be the first thing I haven’t had to claw for – its welcome. Set up apt for next Wed.
    Bad thriller by Stanton Forbes & good one by Anne Morice.

    22 Jan Thurs 81
    Wonderful women’s service at Trinity – new minister Joan Platt – like her very much. Completely relaxed about me sobbing my way through the Nicene Creed – “it gets some people that way!”


    Went to the Fordham party with Donna – Dr Dohrn seems to think I could be pulled out of the Excel program fairly soon. Introduced Donna to T’s old roommate – she was nervous and he was supercilious. I give up matchmaking. T (due in ½ hr driving the ’65 Chrysler Imperial from Phila) said people create their own hells of loneliness.

    Sat 24 Jan 81
    Off to Trenton library with T – he studies and I enjoy Caroline Gordon’s How to Read A Novel. We look at washers and driers – you really can’t get anything for under $700 so we buy a heated bed-pad instead. I read The Denatured Novel – then we have chicken soup in bed watching Desk Set.

    Thurs 29 Jan 81
    I like the women’s service even better than the discussion afterwards.


    Stress interview with Book Forum – wanted me to “throw out 1,000 ideas really fast.” Became completely tongue tied – hadn’t expected that – thought we’d talk about what THEY need. As a result I looked like an idiot. Could barely smile. Awful. I came up with my “Impure Women” concept – Mansfield, Plath, Woolf – that was it. Sounded tired even to me. Obviously never hear from them again. Imagine me being taken for an academic! Hilarious.


    Fast registrations at both Fordham & Guilders – only had to pay ½ when I said I was getting a loan.
    Dinner with Charlene but I rushed home missing T – it was 12:10 and he waited up for me. Delirious marital sex all over the place.

    Fri 30 Jan 81
    Terrible arguments with T about Episcopalianism vs Quakerism. He’s not looking forward to The Episcopalian dance.

    Sat 31 Jan 81
    T in his wedding tuxedo – me in a blue bridesmaid’s dress at the Episc. Dance. I especially enjoyed meeting Joan Platt’s husband Peter. Also the new curate – slight pretty girl. (The poor Catholics! We have a deep bench.) Connected with my parents’ old friends the Macdonalds. Bob McD hilariously funny. T had a great time; no fighting, no biting. We left at 11.

    Sun 1 Feb 81
    Met T’s brother Dom on train – T in “correction mode.” He never does this at home. I called him Mr. Persnickety.


    Wait a solid hr at Lois’ house till we can leave for Chadd’s Ford. I eat too many cookies while marveling at Lois’ ability to estrange people. She goes on and on about how the Garden of Eden is a birth myth – this has never been noticed in the history of time by anyone but her. We don’t argue because that would trigger an endless “scene” – she would make us sit there for an eternity unable to move while she beats us into submission.


    That’s the kind of audience she prefers – cowed. Ricardo wiggles his eyebrows at his behind her back, gesturing “Please don’t say anything so we can just get out of here and have a nice day.” She goes on and on in her baby-girl voice while batting her eyelashes until you want to smack her. The worst thing that could ever happen to her in life would be to meet herself – neither would ever give ground until they both died, like a Greek myth. If she read any actual books she would not be so impressed with her own ideas – she hasn’t gotten through a whole one the entire time I’ve known her. She’s still reeling from the Deep Truths of The Road Less Travelled – gave everyone copies so they can see how terrible others are – it’s never her.


    Finally we get out of there and take both grandmothers out to dinner in Chadd’s Ford to celebrate their birthdays and have a very nice meal. I’m bored solid so eat too much.


    Reading the last vol of Kathleen Raine’s autobio – she’s having a rough time with Christianity and there’s no comfort I can give her.

    Tues. 4 Feb 81
    First day of class both teaching & taking. Met with Fordham advisor who wants me to switch out of Excel and pursue a double major – maybe philosophy! Whoa there!


    My teaching class is all babies with glazed eyes – my fiction seminar wrangles about the Death of the Novel. Very dispiriting. They are excited by horrible shit sans character or plot. Plot is contrived and character is MUTABLE. I need to stop reading thrillers – must learn to like Robbe-Grillet.

    Wed 5 Feb 81
    Miss T – haven’t seen him since 9. Gave my class a really easy test they could pass they all failed. Blue, blue blue.


    Women’s group wonderful on the other hand – I adore Joan. Want to ask her to christen our children.

    Sat 7 Feb 81
    Spent $359 on bathroom floor tiles. It had to be done.


    Dinner at the neighbors who wanted to show off their friend Jon Purvis a famous journalist. I got too drunk – T has forgiven me but I can’t forgive myself. Bad day all day. The sorrow of teaching English to the deprived – taking their money and flunking them – is always with me. Don’t like this system. Tried moving novel into first person voice – something my class can respect. Wonderfully cheering call with Avril – she is so good.

    Mon 9 Feb 81
    Off to library in Chrysler – got a flat tire – had to wait an hour for AAA – missed appt with man to hook up tiny washer dryer we are installing in dining room closet. Feel squeezed & helpless.

    Discouraged by mess in house. Frustration the most difficult emotion to deal with. Not impressed by Ross Macdonald: “There’s nothing worse than an ugly woman with a gun.” Really? Bid of $1000 for wiring & plumbing. We’re not paying Lois for rent, she’s not compensating us for improving her property. I try not to care or keep track. Bills bills bills and soon it will be tax time while every job prospect for T melts mysteriously away.

    18 Feb 81
    Coming out of depression. IRS is auditing me – Toss being completely calm and supportive. I have an attorney! He will represent me! Costume dinner at Snowbury was waste space but we had fun wearing the costumes & we met some interesting people. (Mayor & his girlfriend, a lawyer.)

    Weekend at StormFall where I officially give up on fiction and surrender to poetry. Offer to help Gretchen Fuchs find a publisher for her book. I can’t believe we won’t be successful, she’s so good. Toss pantingly bathroom.

    20 Feb 81
    My depression climaxes and I call in sick – feel like an ugly hopeless worthless slob. Housework all day until I become depressed over how ancient and broken everything is. So desperate I try prayer. The cure lies in orderliness I’m sure.

    Sun 22 Feb 81
    One cure for depression is reading my diaries – the horrors of Ryder, Devon, Jervaze. Toss so wonderful by comparison. More relief offered by Anne Sexton’s poems.

    Mon 23 Feb 81
    Feel so unequal to everything. Trying to please too many people with my writing – obvious cure: please only myself.


    T asked if I would mind him working for the govt – prosecutor or IRS. I said no – if he wasn’t bored. He said he’s never been as close to another person as he is to me – relief. I was considering myself a hopeless case. Dancing the only job where I didn’t have the fear of being “found out” because I knew I was good at it.

  • Embattled Love – the diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    1 Nov 80.
    Toss so angry when I criticized his procrastination (he keeps saying he’s going to look for a job and not doing it) he pushed me into the bathtub! He denies that housework is humiliating but he doesn’t do it because he doesn’t want anyone to see him doing it. When I was having coffee in bed he pulled all the sheets off as if he was going to wash them but when I got home they were still on the floor. Guests to dinner – in the middle of the meal he would suddenly turn and glower at me hostilely.


    Horrible day at school – EVERYONE IN THE CLASS got an F on their Prelude paper! We all had the “wrong” reaction because we had the nerve to react personally. I immediately bought my first-ever set of Cliff’s Notes. If there’s a “right” response I’m going to give it – don’t want another F. (We all get one more chance.)


    K. Mansfield’s Letters unbearably sad. She would envy T’s & my life together so much.

    Sun 9 Nov 80
    Thrashed it out and fell into each other’s arms. One must insist on justice but not too much. Love requires acceptance and we both are suffering. He envies me having someplace to go and I wish SOMEONE ELSE was going there! I have to give up this 50/50 concept – our definitions are just too different. If you want it done your way you really have to do it yourself. He applied for a job in Princeton – relief. Hope he gets it.


    Still reeling from nightmarish election results. T. telling me I threw my vote (for Anderson) away.

    Vet Day 11 Nov 80
    Toss out sleeping in his study. Poor man. He promised he wouldn’t but the next 2 weeks will be a nightmare for him so I hate waking him. The house is at last tidy which is something that’s frustrated me for a long time. I think I talked T into my plan to paint the wicker furniture dark blue. We can use my study as the baby’s room for the first year.


    Just finished Sackville-West’s Challenge – the whole course of the Violet -Vita affair laid out there.

    15 Nov 80 – 4:30
    Toss and Lois’ boyfriend Ricardo roofing the barn – but it’s getting dark and they’ll have to come in soon. My nerves are snapping with exciting revelations about my writing. Cut my teeth on other people’s writing – sharpened my tools – now it’s time to do my own thing. A bit frustrating that my Fiction is class so stuck in Stage 1.

    17 Nov 80
    Bad times for us get worse and worser. Intense nostalgia for my dancing days washes over me – because I feel alienated from my own body! Part of the “psychology” of “giving it up” to get pregnant I know. Need to find a dance class for fatties.


    T. and I had a terrible argument about child pornography – he says acts can be censored, ideas never. I totally disagree! One bad idea leads to another one – you have to cut SOME of them – bad social ones – off at the pass. They’re taking up brain space you could use to think other thoughts – it becomes a race to the bottom. He said I was trying to “control” him which surprised me. Doesn’t he try to change MY thinking? Aren’t we trying to influence each other?

    Fri. 21 Nov 80
    Toss read my diary – said, “I want to save you from this ogre but it’s me.” I said I have to write what I think is happening and how I feel about it! He asks – why aren’t I controlling my own thoughts the way I recommend others do?


    I say I’m trying. But we need to figure out what reality is first and if you’re a writer you REALLY need to. I found and read him some good parts where he’s the hero!


    Really enjoying Fat is a Feminist Issue. I’ve definitely been eating my
    anger!

    1 Dec 80
    Easier holiday than usual for everyone except Avril. She’s gained weight during the scary move, then the frightening job search then the threatening days of a new job surrounded by traumatized women. “I don’t even want to THINK of anyone touching me now,” she says. I get it! I am contemplating swelling up to blimp size on purpose! Will my husband still love me? Will the honeymoon be over forever or will I be able to get back to normal? Stay tuned. I lend her Fat is a Feminist Issue which I think is a big help but she never likes those books as much as I do.


    Thought of a good ending for Pinch of Death. Hate myself for compromising all the way along trying to get Fiction class to like me. Means this novella is not good enough to represent me.

    6 Dec 80 –
    Lying in bed with a glass of vermouth while Toss in long underwear plays on the floor with Weasel. Soon he’ll take a shower – then delicious sex.


    A wasted day – cooking, housework, letters – making social engagements for Xmas. T read my story Kisses in the Dark through and liked it. Made love last night after movie It’s My Turn (not very good) partially clothed on the living room floor! I prefer the bed!

    9:30 PM 8 Dec 80
    Lying in bed with a beer – there is no wine – feeling very bad tempered. Fordham very dissatisfied with Chevenix transcript – they say they need some sort of “evaluation.” Why do I attend these hippie schools? Oh, the horror.


    Rough time today Christmas shopping. Toss thinks it’s an insult to buy inexpensive presents – he wants to follow the rich people’s “codes” but on the other hand we’re broke! Conundrum. The bar exam’s the end of Feb. Can we make it till then?

    9 Dec 80
    Glamorous new gilded diary – I was hoping for a new life to go with it but here are the same old problems. Last night I was so upset at the prospect of having to find someone to evaluate my work at Chevenix I cried. Feels like having to describe a rape in order to get “compensation” – how could that be worth it? What a horrible school that was. Toss very, very good with me, so tender & supportive.


    We were supposed to get up early and go running – I woke at 7 still with the headache I’d had the night before – realized that in my crowded life I’m crowded to the wall – something has to give. Won’t even try to grade those papers today – maybe not go in tomorrow. Finish up the Seiden paper as good as I can do it.


    9 Am phone call from Lois – Aunt Henrietta died in her sleep, John Lennon shot by a crazy. If he’d stayed in London where it’s harder to get a “warm gun” – oh well.


    Toss & I went running – lost Weasel dog – called & called – came home to find her cowering. Me furious. Run ruined. Gotta dress & go.

    9:05 PM Another bad, frighteningly depressing day. Being necessarily humbled, I suppose. I am as sick with fear over this Shelley paper as if I were a 15 yr old about to be tested in math by Master Don Byerly.


    Read Prometheus Unbound when I got home, glanced through criticism, had a bath, “treated” myself to Monica Dickens’ Winds of Heaven. The shrieking blasts of anguish through that book doing nothing for me, however. The point of Dickens’ books – God hardening us. Prophetic case on 60 mins.


    Should reason myself out of this depression. Happy memories of Washington, sitting in my garden reading Bloomsbury Portraits, lolling in restaurants over wine, no bills due. Bad conjunction with Ezra giving me bad news about Kisses and this awful Shelley paper. (Charlene wrote a good one but it mentioned God and Seiden gave her an F.) I take my F with all the equanimity I can muster. Long break upcoming – maybe finish Pinch for Ezra’s inspection.


    What I hate most about depression is being depressed. The physical condition. Worry it’s hurting Toss (who has more reason to be depressed than me.) Give it up to God. Throw it at Her like a curveball.

    15 Dec 80 2:30 PM
    Living with Toss kills my diary dead. I use it as a steam valve. The only things I can’t discuss with Toss are my fears about him! The result; it seriously distorts our life together. Decided to forget “stream of consciousness” and try Page A Day (I really need 2 pages) so bought a beautiful white leather one I can’t wait to attack. Full of horoscopes, religious holidays, full moons.
    But now in the 16 days remaining I glut myself of Complaints & Fears.


    I really don’t know what’s the matter with Toss. (I’m sure he’d say, “Marriage”.”) He talks endlessly of wanting a job but takes no steps whatever. (Says he only has Jan to look, Feb he needs to study.) Look back on my times of similar paralysis – mainly 1973 – every step an effort. I blamed PLUMLY. All the “assumptions” of my life completely unacceptable. Bound hand and foot by speechlessness – needing new definitions of world & self.


    In Toss’s case can’t be that – he was “successful” before me – and it’s gone on too long for mere indecision. I think it’s an overwhelming fear of rejection – something I can sympathize with (although his chances of success are 1000 times mine.) This AM he was in a bad mood because of sleeping till 11:15. It’s against my nature to push, shove & nag, I just won’t do it.


    Saturday we made an agreement – I would clean the kitchen, he would vacuum. He didn’t get to it till Sunday! I had to remind him about rest of the house. He seemed surprised but cracked down & did excellent job. I think it’s critical we share housework but his non-violent non-cooperation tough to get around. He thinks a big effort once every 2 weeks should cover it.


    My slightest comments become part of his “mythology” so I guess I’m handling this badly. Maybe I should assign tasks. I am cooling off on the idea of him having his own law firm. He really needs to work for someone else. I like the idea of having our own press or buying a small newspaper. He’d be wonderful at that.

    11:45 PM – Finished Waugh’s Letters. Very instructive – a necessary corrective to the impression one gets elsewhere. His loneliness, fear of poverty and modernism are sad enough – but not so tragic (TO HIM) as people thinking him a “bore”. That was the revelation from which he never recovered. (He WAS a bore because of the drinking. His solution? Drink more!)


    Always a mistake to surrender one’s responsibility. (Only possible result: alienation.) Inevitable that Waugh’s identification with Catholic injunction against birth control would lead exactly where it did – unbridgeable distance from wife. (They lived in separate houses so he wasn’t bothered by kids’noise.)


    Half read, half skipped Wills’ Chesterton. Very PhD thesis – no concession to reader. No frills.
    Radio program about Christian employment agency got me thinking. I’ll write to Witness and see if they want my writing. Put my name in at the agency – just fishing. I’m sure there are more born-agains and Catholics looking for edit jobs who would fit in better but you never know. Toss’s friend Dave Swift might turn up something also.


    Met Toss at the station at 8:40 we agreed we’re too ornery & snappish, must be more gentle in future.
    A perfect night. Me in nightshirt, T in bathrobe – silver tray between us containing emptied manhattan & rob roy glasses. We share a stogie. Feels like Christmas!


    Reconciled to not getting pregnant immediately. We talk of taking Sept trip to Ireland – how I’d love it! Discuss a year in Eng – me absorbing the place while T studies law. Time is closing in on us making it impossible to break free. I think about Chesterton’s statement that Christianity represents a crossroads in one’s life. Feeling free.

  • Embattled Love – the diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    2 Oct 80
    Not pregnant, alas. Period came two weeks late but it came. Hard to keep up with this level of disappointment. BA crisis solved – I can keep teaching as long as I’m WORKING toward BA which is all right with me. Investigating Fordham discover they have a “Math for Poets” class that gets me out of their science requirement! That’s the school for me! Been having good meetings with students lately – finally getting through to some of them. If they pass the essay they can stay in the school – they’re on trial, just like me.

    5 Oct 80 –
    Lois upset with me because I want to sell the piano – I even found a buyer. We could really use the space. But she says she doesn’t want to sell – it’s a boring unspecial upright piano. But a reminder whose house this is. She also told me not to get pregnant before we have health insurance! I smiled and said it seemed my body IS waiting! Did not enjoy the evening so overdrank. Not too badly – just enough to be annoyed at myself.


    Finished Marge Bacons’ Lucretia Mott. A charmed, serene life.
    More laundry, more writing.

    6 Oct 80 –
    A good day – much accomplished. Ordered the most beautiful stationery in Princeton – had to pay extra for colored ink but it’s worth it.


    Asked Toss over after-dinner cigars if he thinks this house will ever be his. He said he thought it was an excellent chance. After all, a farmer farms the land and the whole place desperately needs updating which his mother doesn’t want to pay for. I rhapsodized about adding a stone tower like the Brandywine Museum – he said we’re more likely to be cooking over a sterno pot in a field! Not very confident of his chances for passing the bar apparently! He needs a job because he’s driving me crazy.


    He spent the afternoon rewiring the garage so it can be lit from the house. Anything rather than basic housework which he considers low on thrills. He doesn’t seem to understand how insulting that is to me! However, he’s fine with hiring a cleaning lady which I’ll do the minute I can afford it. Read Love & Work: The Crucial Balance. Distinguishes between “love” oriented people who want to love their work and task oriented people.

    Wed 8 Oct 80 –
    All my emotional eggs are in one basket! Overwhelmed with love for Toss – don’t want anybody else. People come – and then they go – and I’m overjoyed to see the back of them. I’m not sure I even need friends. Disgusted by the world weariness of PD James’ Black Tower. I’ve given up on her. Pity. Everyone else likes her.

    Sat 10 Oct 80 – StormFall Farm
    Absolutely exhausted. Next time Toss suggests coming here I’ll have to tell him my idea of rest & recuperation isn’t cleaning a 7 bedroom mansion! Toss is frenzied about the place. When I asked him who put him in charge he admits he just took over. He lashes himself constantly with imaginary humiliating words he assumes “everyone” is saying. Right now he’s yelling downstairs – some kind of breakthrough with the water system. I’m so tired I could just fall over.

    5:30 PM – Thurs 15 Oct – 80
    Can still be thrown by a bad day. Got so absorbed counseling a student I was 15 mins late to class – now I’m hiding in the library calming myself down with Mary Daly’s Beyond God the Father. Very interesting but kind of naive. Don’t reject airplanes because you hate bombers! How would most men score on the Sermon on the Mount test? But I certainly understand the hopelessness of “institutionalizing” emotionality. Supernature gets us off the gerbil wheel. Too much gerbilling here. Don’t see how I can handle more than a year of this place.


    At least T & I see eye to eye about the housework. I got him to see everyone wants to do “executive” functions, no one wants to do grunt work so we have to share that out. An hour a day would be plenty!

    Fri 17 Oct 80 – On the train
    Just finished May Sinclair’s 3 Sisters. Fascinating & beautiful feminist plot. Can’t think why she’s so forgotten – probably because she didn’t make a fuss of herself.


    Managed to forget a teacher’s meeting this AM – another sign I’m trying to fit the round peg of my life into that square hole.

    20 Oct 80
    Staying home with an awful cold finishing Prelude so I can write my Wordsworth paper. Type tomorrow AM.


    Difficult weekend with friends. Don’t know how to handle Toss’s anger in front of other people. Friday night was his night to cook – he made a wonderful boeuf bourguignon. But on my night (Sat) he was so interfering I just let him do it. He’s moved everything around in the kitchen so I can’t find anything – embarrassing.


    He seems to be reproducing his mother’s ploys and tensions. Wish he had a little more of his laid-back father in him!


    Read Jean Rhys’ Quartet and Smile, Please. What a writer! Such purity! I am really envious. Don’t agree she’s beyond self-pity however – the books pulsate with it. What a pity respect & love aren’t joined in the male as they are in the female.


    Now reading Janeway’s Powers of the Weak. There’s a chapter missing! Interpersonal power politics between husband and wife!


    Avril called tonight to say she got the Maine job – (domestic abuse shelter) $11,000 the first year! Bravo! Avril wants to open a bar in Hallowell called “So’s The Governor’s Sister.” Funny.

    22 Oct 80 – Train
    Creature from the Black Lagoon discussed in Eng class. I was too stupid to contribute. Brent criticized my story Travel Fever – bad ending – (fair enough) but he also said he was surprised at the cruelty in the family! (Katrina the scapegoat.) This from a man who admires Flannery O’Connor. Better off working on novel and NOT short stories. Don’t think I have the art.

    26 Oct 80
    Horrible fight with Toss began with my criticism of his old newspaper and rusty tobacco tin collections – do we really have to save all this moldering junk? He blames me for the “bad move” from KY in which he lost so much stuff. But I moved, too. (TWICE.)


    He also had the nerve to say we “live like slobs” when he was supposed to clean the living room 2 days ago. (He’s doing it now.)

    6:30 PM – He came upstairs and apologized – very sweetly. Lovingly, courageously and open-heartedly. So we did go for walk – gathering branches & berries to decorate house. Saw a beautiful dead bird with a black ruff around its neck – feathers green and black. Blissfully happy reading Rose Macaulay’s Letters. News that Commonweal will publish my poem Life of the Virgin!

    30 Oct 80
    Very interesting discussion with Toss – he cooked a fabulous leg of lamb (but still refuses to vacuum.) He said Henriette Wyeth not worth the ink she’s getting for her show – I said art is really lacking in feminine emotion (Rothko Pollock & de Kooning masculinity reduction ad absurdum) and a woman painter raised in a family of male painters is a “test” case. What’s the missing element? Supernaturalism! Since we borrow our bodies from earth our souls are our only true individuality.

  • Embattled Love: the diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    4 pm 4 July 80


    I most mind the separation from Toss; our “togetherness” is an “affront” to his father’s loss he thinks. But it gives me more time for writing.

    Today was the worst day – no, yesterday was pretty bad too. Long ordeal of preparing food and sitting around waiting for somebody to eat it. Awful. Toss keeps trying to take away jobs his poor father really wants to do – everyone wants the man to sit there stunned and feel his loss. Subtle struggle for power between Lew’s brother Avery & Toss. Toss wants to do everything and he’s physically angry with other people’s interference; locking his jaw, snapping his head and waving his fists. This makes ME angry!


    Current thinking is its “good” to let your anger out but since anger is infectious this really is a stupid idea. I’m sure Toss is angry because he was raised by a really angry woman. Reminds me of my father’s anger – my mother’s response was to drift away, humming. It’s impossible to love a really angry person – anger is a rejection. Granma doesn’t help – tries to goad people into activities; sorting, cleaning fussing projects; busywork. Really annoying. We contemplatives get short shrift around her.

    Sat 12 July 80 – Grover’s Mill
    A week since Val’s funeral. Toss forced me to buy horrible clothes – I thought since it was all his and his family’s affair I’d give in to his taste – results shockingly bad. Things I never wear: Khaki, stripes, constricting belts: Yuck! So much for his “You have no taste Alysse.” Now we know what he thinks taste is: BEIGE CANVAS. Comfort not only NOT a consideration, It’s an insult – to the universe apparently. Never again. Saw Val in her coffin – touched her rock-hard chest, her frozen face. Nothing more shocking than a dead person – it’s like any object. God!


    Finished wedding invites, immediately invaded by terror. Why? Wish the wedding was tomorrow – wish I was pregnant – Is it because now I have to write? Probably. Other people don’t seek out electric jolts. Invaded by hunger which I tried to ignore by biking to Post Office. While riding, I think.

    Sun 13 July 80 5:35
    Finished sewing pearls on my wedding veil. A peaceful activity. Yesterday Seth (T’s brother) and his fiancé Sue came to dinner. Talk about Lois who is struggling to write a “You deserve it” letter to Sutton. Found pix to show of Sutton & Lois’ courting phase. Even when he’s smiling down at her (1949) he’s holding his body in an attitude of withdrawal. They married 2 months before Toss’ birth! But Lois looks happy.


    When he failed to respond up to what she considered his romantic potential she began the punishments, the denigration, and when he turned away she acted so amazed! Her power, her charm, her luck – rushed out of her like air from a punctured balloon. What did she expect! “He’s so awful he doesn’t deserve to leave me?” When does THAT ever work? Doesn’t even work with kids! They flee at the first opportunity!


    She received all God’s gifts – except…the one everybody wants. It’s more like a curse.

    16 July 80 – 11:30 PM
    Retire with the rum, hot milk & honey I promised myself – this will do more for my headache than aspirin. Been stupid all day. Wrote a few pages on Prisoner – hope it goes better when I get to Labarraz. Villains always interesting.


    Tried unsuccessfully to read Straub’s Ghost Story. How can something so coarse-fibred be so praised? Someday we’ll look back on him the way we look back on Ms Humphrey Ward. Clueless in Paradise.


    Avril called – Daddy gets a million and a quarter from Corning or $55,000 year for the next 30 years. Says he hopes we won’t mind if he “squanders” it. Inzar kids get a million each. I admit it – I’m jealous. What would I do with it? Philosophy degree from Fordham?

    Sat 19 July 80
    Housework not finished – unfortunately. We have a guest interrupting my dreaming hours – Galaine – elderly cousin of T’s whom I politely asked to be my matron of honor takes it as an invitation to move in. Fortunately, she sleeps late. Horror stories about how her husband beats her – she used to flee her home to sleep in the church. They’re divorced thank God. Washed Weasel AGAIN – she tangled with a skunk and is stiff and pink from tomato juice.


    Toss leaves Monday for 5 days in Kentucky studying with buddy Boone Macafee. In 5 days alone can’t I get 75 pages? We’ll see.

    9:15 PM – 21 July 80
    Light spatter of rain can’t break the heat – still in the high 90’s though it’s dark outside. Perfect half-moon burns a hole though the cloud cover. Strange gunpowder noises could be thunder or carnival a mile away. Dixie the Labrador very worked up.


    Inside myself I grapple. Reading theology is a help. I feel people come into the world not blank but as coded entities. Trying to figure out the code. Reading Rosamond Lehmann – Swan in the Evening & short stories – it sends me into a Woolf frenzy. My psyche knows the vitamin it needs.
    Can’t write so I address wedding invitations – it’s like a dinner party – the more you can do in advance the better.

    9:30 PM – 23 July 80
    Excellent days I’ve had. Wise waiting to write till things fall into place inside.
    Thoroughly enjoyed (and mostly agreed with) Garry Wills’ Bare Ruined Choirs. Shouted & cheered my way thru the sex chapters. He was good, too on the Jesus freaks.


    It hit me – here’s my Secaire. It’s my religious novel. I was dumb, I was slow but feel now I’ve got it.
    Up most of the night reading Greeley’s Making of the Pope 1978 – NOT an edifying story. We are all made in each other’s image.


    Housework. Avril’s train 10:30.

    The Barnacle Cabin – Shadow Island MAINE – 11:30 AM – Mon 28 July 80
    Argument with Avril – can Mom & Dad change? Should we nudge them? She is hostile to the idea: don’t EVEN TRY!!! But last night at dinner I pointed out how Mom interrupts – won’t let us get a word out – she was flabbergasted!! She’d been completely unaware of it – and so’s Mom! And it goes against Mom’s philosophy etc. So, there’s a change we could make if we pointed it out.
    Genevieve did give me some support. Agreed Plumly made a mockery of religion for the students (which Mom & Dad did NOT want to hear).


    Merrill very threatening and formidable – will not allow her schedule with Baby Barney to be interrupted. PERIOD. Whew!


    When I asked what time I could come to the Periwinkle Cabin and make coffee she said NEVER.

    The Barnacle needs hotplate!


    Merrill NOT a good ad for pregnancy – her body looks collapsed like a beanbag chair. I remind myself – this is where all the gins & tons are tending.


    Genevieve on the other hand looking particularly gorgeous – very challenging about my desire to go to Fordham; says “It’s CATHOLIC” the way you’d say “It’s fascist.” Wish I could have explained my emotional feeling that mysticism is “beyond all that.”

    The Barnacle – midnight July 30-31 – 80
    Talked to my sweetie on the phone and he read me some mail. Cindy thanks me for my note but “can’t face” the wedding. What did I say? Can’t remember.


    He had a good day on his exams – felt excited and competent. But he feels utterly unprepared for tomorrow’s New Jersey exam.


    Finished Jean Love’s Virginia Woolf – Sources of Madness & Art which I adored – can’t wait for the next volume. Especially interesting to read it “in the bosom of family” so to speak. Jean Love points out family members’ development is complementary to all others’ (family members’) development. Mom & Dad less insulting this time – they must be starting to think this wedding might really come off.

  • Embattled Love: the diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    Thurs 12 Jun 80


    Rode my bike to Evening Prayer in Princeton. Perfect length (1/2 hr) 2 hills of equal size so neither direction is “harder”. Ordered more wedding invites, then discovered it was 5:23 so had to rush to intimidatingly big church.


    7 people arranged around a side altar – my plan to go unnoticed conks out. What is my obsession with invisibility? Because parents were so agonized whenever I launched forward?
    Minister female, short, stocky. Daphne?


    Turned out to be a healing ceremony! Quite beautiful! Lots of rising and standing. At some point I just burst into tears. Awful. Everyone asking if they could help but I don’t know what’s wrong so just slobbered away. I think now I was feeling “expulsion”, exclusion – “The gifts of God for the people of God” but I don’t really know. I may just be emotional as parents said; “we won’t let your peculiarities interfere with your health” direct quote.


    I was so embarrassed leaving – apologized but the minister grabbed my hand and looked piercingly into my eyes.


    GOD IT WAS POWERFUL! Said, “I’m Daphne Hawkes!” Wow!


    She insisted she “knew me” and “recognized my name” (Reader of Devlyn? Impossible.)


    She said she had time to talk, I said I DIDN’T and blundered away. She said, “You’re in my prayers, Alysse!”


    I stagger off, exalted & terrified.


    Bike conked out, I walked home.

    On the Palmetto from Washington – Princeton Jct 10 PM Tues 17 Jun 80
    I love trains. I like Arthur Conan Doyle because he loved them too. All his fuss over timing, carriages & tickets delicious to me.


    Feeling bad about Avril – she says her life is suddenly empty. Her heart membrane as thin as a racehorse’s ankle.


    We got her a cat and helped her pack – best way to free her I can think of. Bought my wedding lingerie, tried on the veil Maureen is making for me – STUNNING!


    Avril & I saw 2 classics – The Empire Strikes Back and The Shining.


    Missing my angelic male half.


    House sale should net $5,000 – M & D giving me $3000 stock Nov 1. Relief to have SOME money coming in.

    Thurs June 19 – 80
    Letter from agent – Devlyn sold to Germans for $1000! (One edition – rights revert to me.) Der Todestrank or some such thing. “The Death Drink.” Maybe I don’t have to take a job this summer (fellowship starts Sept.)


    Late again to Daphne’s service – this is awful but I had to drive T to pick up his car. Forgot to bring Kleenex – so sure I wouldn’t need it! Wrong!!!


    Trying Zen breathing to control the sobs – zilch. Total humiliation.


    Daphne hugged me said she was glad I’d come – I took the oil & communion although I’m “unbaptized.” Daphne said a different prayer for each of us. Lovely woman. The wine was real! (Unlike at Devon’s church.) Nice touch!


    I think I’m crying about “losing control.”

    Thurs 26 June 80
    Writing wedding invites not as much fun as I thought it would be – can’t use my fountain pen (paper too absorbent) can’t get as good an effect with a felt tip. Oh well!


    I’m up to 90. Can only do 20 per sitting because I become paralyzed with boredom.


    Last weekend on Cape first time I felt I was “myself” around T’s family. Having a book out nobody read is not much to establish an identity.


    T’s aunt Mimsey staying with us now – up late arguing with her about adopted cousin Katey. She argues – weirdly I think – against adopted children finding their biological parents! If they could just accept a Beneficial Social Fiction as reality wouldn’t we all be Fine? Where have I heard that before! I was so relieved Toss saw all the issues immediately – he’s so smart – the biggest one being TIMES CHANGE. (Often in ways we can’t imagine but since we know they do, why pretend? ”We’re gonna fix this for you kids right before we die and you’ll never have to address that problem again” is sheerest idiocy.) He really is a superior intellect. (He does have a flaw; sees abortion and adoption as similar! Typical male!)

    Mon 30 Jun 80
    Lethargy – extreme, prolonged, profound – the key to my personality these days. Fallow. Torpid.
    A little Teresa of Avila goes a long way – Elinor Wylie is fascinating & sad. Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s latest volume. of diaries is an irritant. I WANT to identify with but she’s too oppressively DIFFERENT.


    Jonathan Valin’s Lime Pit ho hum, Eliz Cadell’s latest totally empty. A Marriage of True Minds had some interesting data.


    Not finding what I want I reread Nancy Drew with an eye to a Modern Version. What would that look like? I sketch out a Mystery at Mirror Lake – trying to help a friend – it becomes Last Year at Marienbad pretty quickly.


    Want to rewrite Prisoner of St Secaire & getting some good ideas. I don’t want the heroine to be “unsure”, that’s Nancy’s appeal in a nutshell. She’s so confident! She’s always being accused of being a spy and a snoop and it doesn’t faze her. Yes, she is! So there! She has no problem pocketing evidence and keeping it to herself.


    Probably why Bobbie Mason (?) condemned her as “cold” and “calculating” in The Girl Sleuth. She NEVER solicits male help! (Asks Dad for a favor once in blue moon.) “Unfeminine”? But why then is she so popular WITH GIRLS? She represents an absent vitamin? Obviously. We’ll suck tree bark to get it if we have to (and you DO have to suck tree bark to read Nancy Drew.)


    A possible direction for Fawn in Demon Roused?

    11:AM – 3 July 80- StormFall Farm
    Toss’s father Sutton’s third wife Val died suddenly yesterday morning at 2:30 AM. T. was on the phone with his father about 11 PM when Sutton suddenly said – “there’s something wrong with Val.” And dropped the phone.


    When he came back on he said they were calling Rescue.


    Toss and I jumped into the car and drove straight up to Masschusetts arriving at the hospital where they said, “She expired.” Like a library card! Couldn’t understand it at first. She was only 46!


    Back at Sutton’s house he was cold and grey still in a state of shock; “They couldn’t start her heart.”
    No one knew she had anything wrong with her heart! I don’t know who suggested birth control pills as the culprit – or smoking? She had decided to break her diet for a dish of ice cream and that was it.


    Toss is with his father, I should be washing my hair; instead I write a poem for Val I can’t share but like better than anything since Alyssum.


    At this rate I’ll have a volume in 20 yrs!

    Sutton’s Place
    Everybody crying, Sutton on the phone with his sister Mimsey, Granma’s plane just landing, youngest brother Dom will be here within the hour. Minister came over to lead prayer service – did quite well – we discussed immortality & warmed to each other – I was stupid enough to say I’d written a poem – he said I could read it at the service Uh oh. Better come up with something for public disclosure.

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 46. Cavern of Treasures

    They couldn’t finish the wine. To drink such wine just for the sake of drinking would seem sacrilegious. After a single glass each, Pom corked it,


    “For Miss Bottomley’s breakfast.”


    She giggled. “For our next celebration,” she suggested instead and Enid said, “Tomorrow night?”
    Pom rapidly found a working bulb and carried it down to the wine cellar. Scarlet remained at the top of the stairs, but once flooded with light, the cavern was not so intimidating.


    “Look at this,” said Pom, struggling with an ancient door, “I wonder where this goes.”


    “Let’s check by daylight,” Scarlet suggested. “I’m ready for coffee to clear my head.”


    Miss Bottomley had gone to bed. Enid was tidying the kitchen while the dishwasher hummed.


    Scarlet locked the wine cellar door carefully. “We’d better make certain this wine appears on the insurance inventory,” she said. “Must be worth a bundle.”


    Enid poured out coffee. “I appreciated your toast,” she said. “I realized I should have toasted you for rescuing ME.”


    “Miss Bottomley put her finger on it,” Pom agreed. “It was Rescue All Around.”


    “To the Mutual Rescue Society and Norfolk Crescent Irregulars.” Scarlet lifted her mug. And they toasted their new affiliation with excellent espresso.


    “Let me call you tomorrow after I’ve spoken to Kirby Crousam,” Pom told Scarlet as she walked him to the door. “He’s my man at the Albert and Victoria. I know enough to see I’m way out of my league here– we’ll have to call in the big guns.”


    “Big guns indeed,” said Scarlet. “Tomorrow we’ve got the security people coming to look at Miss Bottomley’s setup.”


    And, it would seem, not a moment too soon. They both saw the man who rushed into the phone booth as Pom climbed into his car. Darned detectives!


    Scarlet was changing into pajamas when Nick woke, and she had the pleasure of giving him a bottle. Enid was dead to the world.


    Palace Security – “by appointment to her Majesty the Queen” – showed up at precisely eight a.m. in the person of a Mr. Dyson who looked for all the world like a brigadier general. Turned out, he was retired British Army. Miss Bottomley was not awake but Scarlet walked them through the requirements.


    “We need something easy that Miss Bottomley can master.”


    Mr. Dyson’s eyes glittered. “How about a code? Such as banks use?”


    “Perfect. I’ll ask Miss Bottomley for her favorite number.”


    She was delighted to stun him with the sight of their new Cavern of Treasures.


    “Good Lord,” said Dyson, “We’ll need a new door here. Something metal. Where does this go?”
    “Are you ready to find out?” asked Scarlet. “It will be news to me.”


    Steps led up to the carpark. It was flimsily secured with a padlocked cellar entry.


    “Well, I’m glad to see there’s some security,” said Mr. Dyson. “I suppose this is where the vintners brought in the casks. All this will have to be replaced.”


    Enid rewarded him with a cup of Earl Grey in the kitchen.
“I’d like to introduce a touchy subject,” said Scarlet. “We’ve already had a man try to gain admittance to the house through a ruse.”


    “Shocking, but it makes no difference,” said Dyson, stalwart. “You’ve got an elderly lady sitting on a treasure house – just a matter of time before the cons look to test it. I’ll put a bodyguard on. You’ll like him – easy fellow. The front’s a fast job – can be over in a morning – but the back will take a week. And we’ll have to secure all these windows. The bodyguard can vet the workers for you, make certain everyone’s who they say they are.”


    “Perfect,” said Scarlet.


    After he’d gone, Enid commented, “Is it the divorce causing these ructions?”


    “I’ll say,” said Scarlet. “We’ve both hired detectives.”


    Enid sighed. “Must be nice to be wanted.”


    “It isn’t me he wants, it’s Nick.” Scarlet was aware as she said it that this wasn’t strictly true. Ian wanted something from Scarlet – but what was it exactly? Subjugation? Her admission that he was right and she was wrong? Her conversion to his double standard philosophy of male-female relations?


    Bob Thomas showed up while Miss Bottomley was finishing her late breakfast.


    “Only one glass of wine for me in future,” she said. “I’m not accustomed to getting so much sleep and feeling wuzzy next day. Show Mr. Thomas into the dining room.”


    Since the dining room had no door to the hallway and their conversation could be heard all over the house Scarlet resolved to take Nick for a walk. It would be interesting to see who was spying on the property.


    It was a chilly day with a promise of snow – mother and baby needed bundling up. At the door, Scarlet touched Enid’s heavy greatcoat and grey wool hat thoughtfully.


    “Enid? May I borrow your outdoor things? I want to see if anyone follows me.” It seemed a less embarrassing excuse than, “My anorak no longer fits me” but it was none the less true.
    Enid emerged from the kitchen, her face pink from a morning of baking.


    “Of course you may, if you promise to wear the police whistle you’ll find in my pocket! Clever girl! Can you pick up a jar of lemon curd for me at Sawditch’s?”


    “Will do.”


    It was a wonderful big greatcoat – impossible to tell what kind of body was underneath. In her nondescript wellies and hair tucked up into the wool hat, Scarlet could have been anyone – male or female. To make the impersonation perfect she even slipped on Enid’s big gray mittens, much coarser – and less warm – than her own lambs’ wool lined leather gloves. Last of all she put the police whistle around her neck. Amusingly it made her feel less ridiculous when someone like Enid was taking extra steps to be so careful.

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 45. Norfolk Crescent Irregulars

    It turned out Pom had just the same idea. He appeared at the door – six o’clock exactly – with a bottle of good burgundy and a crop of invitations to upcoming gallery shows.
    “These belong on the mantelpiece,” said Miss Bottomley excitedly, using the scraps of pasteboard to ornament her previously under-used drawing room.


    “I see what you mean about these paintings,” commented Pom, as he walked slowly around a large daub depicting haymaking. “This one’s so filthy they seem to be performing farm work after dark.”
    “What’s the point of cleaning them?” Miss Bottomley complained. “They’re SO hideous. Just get rid of them.”


    “I think it’s a Stubbs,” Pom assured her. “Someone will want it. And this furniture is probably worth quite a bit of money,” he opined. “It looks original to me but I’m no expert.”


    These dark, heavy furnishings represented the ugliest pieces of the Victorian era to Scarlet’s mind. The nice Directoire bits were all upstairs.


    “We don’t care anything about money around here,” Miss Bottomley asserted loftily. “My man of business Mr. Bob Thomas assures me I have more than enough and can choose to suit myself and I say this room is too uncomfortable.” Scarlet couldn’t argue. It was a very cold room. “I prefer a good squashy chair from Heal’s. In a nice Liberty print.”


    “You might enjoy looking at the beautiful rosewood tables and chairs made by Dansk,” offered Pom. “Very light and airy. I’ll take you any time you like. As for this stuff, I know a fellow at the Albert and Victoria who would offer an appraisal – they’d be delighted to have them if you don’t want to sell.”


    Miss Bottomley’s face shone. “The Albert and Victoria Museum? That would be lovely! Would there be a plaque – “gift of Esmé Hope Bottomley? That sort of thing?”


    “Certainly,” said Pom. “Exactly that sort of thing.”


    Scarlet had one of those flashes of insight that seemed to come to her around Miss Bottomley.


    “You could say on behalf of The Miss Clew Trust,” she offered. “Get a bit of free advertising.”


    Miss Bottomley’s eyes closed in ecstasy as she clutched Scarlet’s arm.


    “Well done!” she gasped. “You are a good, good girl. Hiring you was the smartest thing I’ve ever done. Everything in its proper place, isn’t that what Miss Clew always said?”


    “She did!” agreed Scarlet. “When you put the pieces in their proper places, the meaning of the puzzle reveals itself.”


    “I wrote that?” sighed Miss Bottomley. “What a clever, hopeful young woman I must have been.”


    And at that very moment Enid announced dinner.


    It was a rollicking evening of delicious food and pleasant company. Pom’s delicious burgundy was soon exhausted.


    “You know, there’s a wine cellar downstairs,” said Miss Bottomley. “I’ve never been. The key is hanging behind the kitchen door.”


    Scarlet was about to refuse further alcohol but when she saw the way Pom’s face lit up she knew they’d at least be obliged to take a look.


    Hanging as it was beneath aprons, the key was difficult to find.


    “Better take care,” Pom said as the tiny door squeaked open, “These steps look treacherous. I’ll go first.”


    When the light switch failed to perform its job, Pom produced a pen light from his pocket allowing them to proceed downstairs. They were confronted by a cellar full of wine.


    “Oh my God” said Scarlet at the sight of dusty racks going on forever.


    “It’s like the treasures of the Thousand and One Nights,” said Pom and Scarlet added “With Miss Bottomley as our Sharhazad.”


    She chose a bottle at random from the closest rack.


    “Romanée-Conti. It’s a burgundy but I can’t see the year. Will this do?”


    “I hope so,” said Pom. “I’ve never actually worried about being worthy of a wine before. In fact, I would have said such people are idiots. But that’s seems to be definitely what I’m feeling now.”


    “I think it’s Miss Bottomley we have to struggle to be worthy of,” said Scarlet.


    “You’re absolutely right. What a good way to put it.” He squeezed her shoulder.


    “Is there is a store of electric bulbs anywhere?” Pom asked Miss Bottomley when they were back at the table.


    “I’ve no idea,” Miss Bottomley replied.


    “On the second floor are lots of unused lamps,” suggested Scarlet. “Some of them must have working bulbs.”


    “There’s a good plan,” said Pom and Enid offered up her glass.


    “I’ll drink to that.”


    As Pom dusted the bottle he said, “1937. Let’s hope that was a good year for French reds.”


    “Probably the last for awhile,” said Enid. “Considering what was going on in the rest of the world.”


    He opened it with some ceremony, poured out a smidgen for Miss Bottomley and waited attentive as a sommelier.


    She sipped.


    “I’ve never cared for wine,” she said, “But this tastes lovely.”


    It was. Rich and subtle, flavored with sunlight, the wine brought tears to their eyes.


    Scarlet choked up.


    “I’d like to toast our hostess,” she offered, rising to her feet.


    “Oh please,” Miss Bottomley disparaged, “Don’t bother. You’ve brought me so much. I’m so proud to be the founding partner of the Norfolk Crescent Irregulars.”


    Everyone laughed at this dedication but Scarlet pressed forwards.


    “But I want to say it. I was at the worst time in my life – I couldn’t allow myself to think quite how bad it really was, because I had Nick to consider. And you – rescued me. Thank you.”


    “Hear, hear,” said Pom and Enid seconded, “Aye, aye.”


    Miss Bottomley’s cheeks were pink. “That three month trial period we discussed? Consider it over – you’re both hired as long as you care to stay, Enid and Scarlet. Think how you’ve helped ME! I was hiding in my kitchen – I think eventually I’d have signed any document Mr. Inkum put in front of me just to get rid of him – and the only thing that stirred me was the thought of my novels lying mangled and bloody two for a penny on a railway stall. And look where I am now!” She raised her glass. “Here’s to you! All three of you!”


    Pom and Enid also rose.


    “We accept,” said Pom. “To us.”


    Solemnly they drank their delicious wine.

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 44. Dolly Birds

    Scarlet felt less surprised about the story Pelham had shared about some woman “setting up base camp at Ian’s town residence.” Too young and too footloose to be Margalo but Scarlet felt confident that the BBC doubtless pullulated with skimpily attired, pretty young things, all skimpily paid of course, in desperate need of a London bolt-hole with “all found”; girls who would adore offering comfort to a handsome, lonely man whose wife had abandoned him. What had Ian called them? Dolly birds? Unfortunately, judging by Candi’s hospital records, these poor women failed to reckon with just how “abandoned” Ian actually was!


    A two storey “maisonette” (with balcony!) in central London – that girl probably felt fortunate indeed. He could have his cake and eat it too – nanny, housekeeper and girlfriend all mixed together! So probably unpaid? Worse and worse, poor thing. And it sounded just like Ian, thinking himself so clever for dangling before Scarlet just how easily and cheaply she could be replaced.
    The most bothersome aspect of all this news was how little it seemed he really knew the girl he had married! Scarlet found this new picture of Ian repellant rather than inciting. She couldn’t imagine Pom putting some girl in hospital!


    But if she was honest with herself, hadn’t Ian’s aura of danger been a large part of his attraction when they were in college? She knew her rivals thought so. But around children such explosive potential seemed suddenly very unappealing. Maybe I just grew up, thought Scarlet.


    Scarlet might be a mystery to her husband, but Scarlet felt she understood Candi all too well. It was Scarlet whom Candi yearned to supplant, Scarlet whom in fact she wanted to be. She had made that very clear in Foyle’s – she was angling to become Mrs. Wye. Poor Candi may have felt that throwing over her job and even being injured by him made Ian “owe” her something. Candi didn’t realize that it was Scarlet’s personal power that she envied, and not the power Scarlet acquired as a wife, if any. But it’s my “power” as a confident, educated woman with a sense of my own value, she thought.


    Candi didn’t know herself – or Ian – or even marriage – well enough to realize she’d made the worst possible decision. Scarlet wondered if she should reach out to David Pourfoyle, Candi’s abandoned husband. He must be a wreck. In hindsight, all these actions and reactions seemed so easy to categorize. Look at the mistakes Scarlet herself had made – allowing herself to become the “country wife” – a benefit more honored in fantasy than reality. In Ian’s eyes women cheapened themselves by becoming “convenient”. And Candi hadn’t even insisted on a ring! How could she – married to someone else.


    The phone rang again, and since Scarlet was sitting right there, she answered it.


    “Er – Scarlet?” Pom’s unmistakable voice.


    Scarlet felt an enormous gush of relief.


    “It’s for me,” she said to Enid’s, “And who’s that now?”


    Enid signed off with a harried, “Very well then.”


    “Your life appears to be heating up,” said Pom. “Who was that, if I may enquire?”


    “It’s a long story. I hired a nanny and she turned into a godsend. In fact, she’s been rather – taken over by Miss Bottomley.”


    “So you’re still in nanny straits?”


    “No, Mrs. Rumson can tackle both jobs – quite well, so far, I believe. She’s the most fantastic cook! Miss Bottomley’s eating like a rescued castaway.”


    “Well, she really is one, isn’t she? Anyway, I phoned to say I’m back in town – Freddie did a bang-up job on my car – and wondered if we could dine? Or does divorce case forfend?”


    I’ve got to get my emotions under control, thought Scarlet. She was rocketing between the ecstasy of seeing him again – the embarrassment of feeling the depth of that need – and her dashed hopes over Pelham’s lawyerly injunction.


    She was rescued by a brilliant idea.


    “I say,” she proposed, “What do you know about art?”


    “A lot,” said Pom. “I hope.”


    ‘Would you be willing to do a job for Miss Bottomley?”


    “Anything at all.”


    “Why don’t you come to dinner tonight and make an aesthetic inventory of her paintings? She’s got a lot here.”


    Pom sounded intrigued. “An aesthetic inventory?”


    “Certainly.. She inherited all this stuff and she has insurance policies and inventories and that sort of thing, but she doesn’t care about these works and she never looks at them. Perhaps they would be better off in some museum and she could decorate her walls with…something more modern. Something of her own choice, that gives her meaning and pleasure.”


    “Oh, I see. What a fun idea! I couldn’t charge money of course. This would be strictly friend-to-friend. I mean, otherwise my conflicts of interest would be too opprobrious.”


    Scarlet laughed. “Too, too opprobrious.”


    “Shall we say seven?”


    “We’d better say six. There’s old ladies and infants to consider. Unless you can’t.”


    “Oh, but I can.”


    And just like that, Scarlet was happy again. Lovely Pom!


    She found Enid and Miss Bottomley in the kitchen playing the card game “crazy eights.”


    “I do love this game,” said Miss Bottomley enthusiastically.


    Nick was just starting to fuss so Scarlet picked him up, snuffling up his delightful talcum-y smell. She was certain that he recognized her and was gazing up at her trustingly.


    “I wonder if I might invite Pom to dinner,” she inquired shyly.


    “Oh, your delightful friend! I do like him so.” Miss Bottomley smacked an eight down on the table and declared “Hearts. You’ll like him too,” she told Enid.


    “Do you think he’d like spaghetti Bolognese?” inquired the chef.


    “I know for a fact he loves anything Italian.”


    “What fun!” exclaimed Enid. “Would you like me to take Nick?”


    “No, I need fresh air. I think I’ll take him walking. Miss Bottomley, Pom is willing to take a friendly look at your pictures and perhaps suggest some moderns you might buy. Would you like that?”


    “Scarlet, you have the best ideas!” declared Miss Bottomley. “These daubs are so DREARY. Do you know in my bedroom there was a picture of a cow. I ask you! Who would want a picture like that? I had it moved of course – exchanged for boring old flowers but that’s hardly better. It would buck everyone up to see a bit of color. The previous owner’s taste seems all dark green and mud brown. Dreadful stuff.”


    And expensive to insure, thought Scarlet.


    “I’m so glad you feel that way,” she said, taking Nick to get changed. “It would be fun looking for new stuff. Perhaps we could attend some openings and shows.”


    “Auctions!” Miss Bottomley brightened. “Let’s go to auctions! Auctions are so thrilling, don’t you find?”

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 43. Rupture

    Mr. Gammel the bank manger had been appropriately primed. Scarlet opened a trustee account for her son and one for herself. She did feel relieved – and rich – as she pocketed her new chequebook, even though she had yet to actually get a paycheck. The thirty pounds deposited in each account – she only hoped Ian would cover the checks when they were presented and that depended entirely on his mood – could not yet be accessed.


    Enid had prepared a lovely lunch – in the dining room for a change. Her eyes shimmered.
    “Salmon mousse!” she exclaimed. “Look how beautifully it came out. Miss Bottomley’s kitchen has every amenity – conveniences I’ve only heard about and am looking forward to discovering the use of. I’m having as much fun as a bride!”


    In Scarlet’s memory, her “fun” as a bride was quite different, but Enid had spent her morning sorting pots and pans and implements in Miss Bottomley’s kitchen while Baby Nick waved his legs and the elderly author looked on, bemused.


    “Nick was as good as gold. He had his bottle and now he’s having a sleep. I spoke to your lovely solicitor Mr. D’Arcy and he’s promising to set me right with my finances. It will be such a relief not to have to sound pathetic and uncertain when I speak to the children. My husband can well afford an adequate disposition.”


    It was quite a Mediterranean lunch. Salmon mousse ornamented with black and green olives, a green salad with sliced tomatoes and buttered whole meal bread. Tea to drink – Miss Bottomley’s favorite Earl Grey. No alcohol in sight, Scarlet gratefully noted.


    “Mr. Thomas seemed interested about our plan about investing in publishing,” said Scarlet succinctly, shaking out her napkin as she addressed Miss Bottomley. “He said you need another business!”


    Miss Bottomley perked up visibly. “Isn’t it wonderful, being rich!”


    The ladies agreed that it certainly seemed to be.


    “He’ll do a bit of research and come by tomorrow afternoon to discuss it with you.”


    “Good plan,” agreed Miss Bottomley. “Scarlet, how can I ever thank you enough? Enid, dear, will you mark it in my book? By the phone?”


    Scarlet would have thought that keeping Miss Bottomley’s “books” was her job, but she didn’t argue. Perhaps it was best to see how things shook themselves out. After all, if Miss Bottomley really did buy a stake in Coltsfoot & Briggins, Scarlet might find herself working there. At least temporarily. Having Enid care for Nick and Miss Bottomley at the same time would clearly be the beau ideal. If, that is, she was trustworthy as she seemed. A big “if.” But she certainly appeared to be, so far.


    Scarlet’s offer to do the dishes was roundly turned down.


    “No, thank you,” said Enid. “I feel Miss Bottomley’s generous pay entitles me to make the kitchen my dominion. I don’t mind it a bit. In Morocco and India, we had servants and they wouldn’t let me do anything. I found it horribly frustrating. We have the most elegant commercial dishwasher and I’m dying to use it! Would you care for coffee?”


    There seemed no point waking Nick merely to carry him upstairs so Scarlet took her coffee upstairs instead.


    She was kicking off her shoes and looking forward to an exhausted nap when the phone rang.
    “Mr. Pelham D’Arcy for Mrs. Wye,” announced the careful clerk Mr. Gotobed. Enid came on the line.


    “What is it?”


    “It’s for me,” said Scarlet shortly.


    “That’s all right then.” Enid hung up noisily.


    “Good news about Mrs. Rumson,” said Pelham as soon as he took up the line. “I wanted to reassure you that Jim Bogswell made a couple of calls and there’s no black marks against her. I think you made a good hire. Nothing damaging known.”


    Scarlet felt relieved to the point of tears. “That’s marvelous. You can’t think how knowing that relieves me. Mrs. Rumson’s doing such a fantastic job here – and Miss Bottomley’s having the time of her life. I would feel dreadful if I brought a wolf into the fold.”


    “It seems the wolves are all outside,” Pelham warned sententiously. “We are numbering and fighting them off, one by one. Now, don’t ring off. Bogswell had some other news. It seems your husband has more than one girl-friend.”


    That more than explained Candi’s anxiety! Apparently Candi’s upgrade to “house-help” created a vacancy! Now that the poor woman found herself in Scarlet’s old job, maneuvering her way around a prevaricating, untrustworthy male, she as being acquainted with the stresses and strains of the position. Scarlet’s conscience smote her – she hadn’t even mentioned Candi’s threat to Pelham. Should she bring it up now? But D’Arcy was in full cry.


    “He’s got some woman staying at the flat. Bogswell’s trying to find out more about her.”


    “That was quick work,” said Scarlet. “He only told me this morning he was just beginning the move in.”


    “Taradiddle,” said Pelham shortly. “Our source says some young woman – early twenties – has established base camp.”


    Well then why on earth had Ian invited her over? To make her jealous? She couldn’t put it past him.
    “And there’s more.”


    “More girls?” No wonder Candi was feeling desperate!


    “More facts. I believe I mentioned that Mrs. Pourfoyle gave up her employment and moved to Verne on Wye?”


    “You didn’t say she’d quit her job!”


    “Oh, yes. Gave in her notice. And she had –“ he cleared his throat – “A recent hospitalization.”


    Scarlet couldn’t parse his heavy emphasis. “Some kind of miscarriage?”


    “It seems,” Pelham said with the delicacy of an elephant, “She experienced a rupture.”


    “A physical rupture?”


    “Correct. Requiring stitches.”


    Scarlet was imagining Ian had socked Candi in the eye when Pelham continued, “Er – gynecologically.”


    “Oh, my God!”


    “Precisely. Was your husband excessively adventuresome in the bedroom?”


    “I believe I used the word “pushy”,” Scarlet said somewhat coldly. This was what people warned you about with divorce attorneys.


    “Ah, yes. Forceful.” He seemed to be making a note. “Well, let me tell you this news puts our case in very good standing. We are certainly entitled to a no-contact order at the very least. I will notify you of further developments.”


    “Thank you,” gasped Scarlet and fell back on her pillows, all chance of a nap gone.
    Would she ever sleep again? Poor Candi! Stitches! Hospitals! She would discover first-hand that Ian really had no sympathy for the sick, the disabled, or the “hors de combat.” Candi was truly, now, a “whore de combat.”


    Scarlet had never imagined feeling sorry for the woman, but it seemed her rival had unleashed a whirlwind. This was a vision of the country gent as member of the Hellfire Club. Could it be that Ian divided “wives” and “girlfriends” so thoroughly in his own mind that it liberated his aggression if the woman had no legal claim on him? If so, poor Candi! She seemed like the unlucky sorcerer’s apprentice who couldn’t manage her own spell and was now being threatened by her own creation.
    In which case, why not wash her hands of him? Militate for a better position? But how could she when she had given up both husband and job?

    In fact, it was apparent to Scarlet that now that Candi had given up her London work she was dramatically worse off – at Ian’s mercy in fact. How could Candi have not foreseen this? She had always bragged about her gallery job as if it were a wonderfully lucky break. Plainly she considered Ian an even luckier break, only to discover the man was all smoke and mirrors. What was the matter with women?


    At the center of all this was Ian, wreaking havoc and feeling entitled to wreak more. In a way, this piece of unholy medical information erased much of Scarlet’s guilt over a “non-contact” order. She needed to come out the other side, with a good arrangement to focus Ian’s good behavior around his own son, as well as terminating Scarlet’s dependence on such an undependable man.

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 42. Plots & Ploys

    D’Arcy, too, suggested she sit and helped her off with her coat – probably thinking the sweat on her forehead meant she was overheated instead of merely tense. He closed the door behind her with a conspiratorial air.


    “Your husband has acquired an attorney,” he said. “Really it could not be better for us. He seems to have instructed a Mr. Jellicoe, who shares offices with his detective.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “It sounds to me as though the cart was driving this particular horse, and we all know what is the result when THAT happens.”


    “It sounds horrible,” said Scarlet faintly. “I can’t imagine.”


    “Disaster, my dear Mrs. Wye, disaster. I suspect here we have the client who thinks he can manage his solicitor – NEVER a good idea.” He looked repressive. That’s Ian for you, thought Scarlet. He considers himself the smartest man in the room.


    “I saw Ian this morning,” she interjected. “His showed up unexpectedly at Norfolk Crescent. To take the car.”


    Pelham’s eyebrows knit worriedly but he said nothing.


    “That was all right with me,” she hurriedly asserted – “I don’t want it and he’s moving into the BBC flat. I told him in future he should make an appointment. Say, to see Nick.”


    “Naturally,” Pelham agreed. “Mr. Jellicoe and I will iron out a schedule. Until we have I suggest you inform your husband there will be no visitation. I will be serving Mr. Jellicoe with our Notice of Potential Harm to a Minor Child.”


    He’ll love that, thought Scarlet.


    “Have you been to the bank?”


    Scarlet looked guilty.


    “Not yet.”


    “You really need to set that up account. Planters Bank around the corner is the one we use. Would you like me to instruct Mr. Gammel, the bank manager?”


    “I wish you would,” said Scarlet hopefully. If there was any way to make this rough course smoother, she would take it.


    “I’ll give him a call. Do step round and ask to see Mr. Gammel at conclusion of our business. Should I know any more about this surprise meeting with Ian?”


    Should I mention Candi? Wondered Scarlet. The fact that Ian insisted he wouldn’t be getting a divorce. But she couldn’t see how that would help.


    “He invited me to help him move into his flat. I declined but I offered to help with a room for Nick. Should I mention the nanny? Could he use mine? My new nanny’s that new client I told you about – the one with the Foreign Service husband. How should I handle this?”


    “Ah, Enid Ransom.” Pelham D’Arcy gave a wolfish grin. “We have a lovely case there. Mrs. Ransom will be coming into a tidy sum. I hope that won’t interfere with her need for employment. It would be too cruel if your good interventions deprived you of a nanny.”


    “I doubt it,” said Scarlet. “Miss Bottomley also hired her as a cook – I think both of them are having the time of her lives. And Norfolk Crescent’s a most comfortable place to live.”


    D’Arcy assumed a serious mien, “Mrs. Wye, I cannot emphasize strongly enough that you NOT go to your husband’s flat. You simply cannot be alone with him. If he assaulted you before the separation is final, such are the marriage laws in this country, we could not prosecute a rape. It would be assumed to be consensual. Every conjugal act sets us back to the beginning of the process, as if you had accepted and forgiven him.”


    Scarlet felt faint. Rape as a method of subjection! Like a cruel colonial power subduing recalcitrant populations.


    “I did think my husband had some ulterior motive inviting me,” she gasped nervously. “I can’t believe he would be…force me.”


    Pelham looked alarmed. “Let’s not wait to find out what he does when he feels desperate,” he insisted, “But assume at the outset that if the worst is possible, the risk is unacceptable.”


    Just what Miss Clew would recommend! Thought Scarlet. She began to see the possibility for a new book: Miss Clew’s Advice to Young Girls. Always carry a hatpin would be Precept #1! In spite of the general tension, she giggled.


    Pelham D’Arcy pulled out the brandy bottle. Evidently, he considered his client on the verge of becoming hysterical. It had probably happened many times before.


    “I’ll do as you suggest,” Scarlet agreed hastily, but declined the brandy. It was eleven thirty in the morning, and on an empty stomach, brandy probably promoted hysteria.


    “Have there been occasions in the past” – D’Arcy gasped, pouring himself a snifter, “I realize I should have enquired earlier – when your husband has been – punitive?”


    Scarlet blushed uncomfortably. “He is customarily quite pushy,” she said finally. “He hasn’t had occasion to feel…deprived. I was the one being deprived…as soon as he got a girlfriend.”


    Pelham tossed back his brandy. Obviously he found discussing marital intimacies the toughest part of his job.


    “Live and learn,” he said finally. “We frequently handle suits for restitution of conjugal rights and I confess I usually consider the problem from that point of view. But given the situation, you must have nothing to do with your husband. Consider yourself at risk. Any further questions?”


    “No. Thank you very much – for all you have done.” I’ll get right over to the bank.”


    She left as Pelham D’Arcy was placing his call to Mr. Gammel.