I'm not making up the stuff about civet coffee, but Marcus obviously doesn't buy his online.
The Seven Year Itch (996 words)
The shower blasted icy water over Georgiana, but the red rash round her belly and back still burned and itched. She sighed. She’d been letting her game slip lately. A few months ago she wouldn’t have got into bed without checking. She used to change her bedroom lock every week so that Marcus only got in when she let him in, and she still did. Sex was a well-used weapon in the arsenal.
It had been a gleeful impulse that made her salt the whole bag of Marcus’s fifty-pound-an-ounce-shat-out-the-backside-of-a-civet coffee. And of course, Marcus had to drink it with feigned enjoyment every morning. One of the rules, unspoken, but understood was that the staff must never know. It had been a childish tactic, utterly without class. The crushed leaves in her bed, placed where the marks wouldn’t show, were a deserved rebuke. Poison ivy, perhaps, ordered from the States, or even brought back from their last trip just in case.
Georgiana towelled off, and dressed in the elegant pastel silk suit laid out on her bed. She was surprised by a fierce burst of longing for a scarlet dress with flounces, for red and black flashes in her gold hair. She ignored it.
The trouble was, she just hadn’t been inspired lately. When was the last time she’d had a triumph like Marcus’s thirtieth birthday party? Something that looked like heaven from the outside, designed as Marcus’s personal hell?
She had considered once, in a white heat of fury, having a child as another weapon, brought up as mummy’s girl, and taught to rub up against daddy’s principles in all kinds of ways. She’d seen exactly how that could be done. But that was just silly. Marcus would use their public front against her, she’d have to play the perfect mummy; she’d be chained to the house, isolated and up to her neck in vomit and shit with a screaming creature’s life in her hands. She couldn’t imagine anything worse.
She began the familiar routine that would turn her out into the world perfectly polished. What she needed was a campaign, something she could really get her teeth into. What she needed was an idea. What she had was a stupid society wedding to attend, as half of the perfect couple.
#
Georgiana and Marcus posed on the church steps.
“Had a good morning, darling?” Marcus asked as the cameras flashed.
“Invigorating. Thank you so much for the present.”
“I’d like to see how it looks on you.” Marcus took her arm gently. “Let’s go in. From what I’ve seen so far I’ll give you a straight bet. Twenty thousand that they won’t make a year.”
The vicar held forth at some length on what it meant to love, honour and obey while Georgiana and Marcus exchanged smirks. Georgiana toyed with the idea of making Marcus fall in love with her, then she laughed at herself. Marcus would never fall for it. Perhaps she could find somebody, instruct her, put her in his way. She wasn’t sure what, or rather, who would work, though.
A little voice from the back of her head said, “What if he leaves?” Georgiana laughed that off. They were both bound up in barbs of money, pride and reputation. But Marcus really hadn’t been trying lately either. She hadn’t cried with rage since he’d made sure she had to leave her weekly crochet circle. Was he giving up? Planning an escape?
She stared at Marcus, studying his expression, until he caught her eye and pointed discreetly at the happy couple. The gorgeous groom seemed to be eying up the bridesmaids over his bride’s shoulder. The bride’s smile looked pinned on and she fussed with her dress through his vows.
“No bet,” Georgiana said.
#
At the reception, Georgiana asked Marcus for a Buck’s fizz. He brought her an orange juice but she barely noticed, her mind racing. Marcus drifted off to talk business.
What would she do if Marcus did escape? Breathe Georgie, breathe. You can’t think clearly while you’re frightened. Somebody tapped her on the arm.
The bride, Jocasta, was looking at her with an expression of creeping panic. “I’ve got to talk to someone.”
“Of course darling,” Georgiana said. “Whatever is the matter?”
“How long have you and Marcus been married?”
“Seven years.”
“And you still look at each other like’s there’s no-one else in the room. But do you, I mean, what do you do,” Jocasta dropped her voice to a whisper, “if you get bored.”
“Oh darling, your feelings for your husband will change in cycles. There will be calmer times and then the – the passion will come back all over again.” That was the answer. This was just one of the quiet times. Time for a temporary retreat, some intelligence gathering. She’d run out of material to work with. She needed to get to know Marcus better again, then she’d be able to plan a new campaign. “Just keep putting the effort in. Really. I’m never bored with Marcus.”
Jocasta smiled. “If I do get bored. I suppose I could always have children,” she said.
You stupid girl, thought Georgiana. Children shouldn’t be toys. And I remember the fuss you made when made when you cut your finger at the Hampson’s barbeque. How are you going to cope with childbirth? All that blood...
“Are you alright?” said Jocasta. “You don’t look well.”
Georgiana slumped into a chair.
“I’ll get Marcus for you.”
Georgiana felt cold. Two months ago, she’d been at some tedious gala, gritting her teeth through period cramps. She hadn’t had any since then, and Marcus had been in her room. All it took was one pill missed or tampered with.
Marcus took one look at her face and smiled. “Ah, I see you’re onto my latest move. No more champagne for you. But you’ll be able to put your crochet skills to good use.”
Georgiana smiled back. Marcus was still making the effort.
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