Chapter 4

Samantha did indeed come home twice more that year. The first time was for a fortnight's holiday and Marty came with her. Henry managed to take leave to coincide. Henry decided he really did like Marty. He was amusing and enthusiastic. He was also clearly very much in love with Samantha treating her with almost old world courtesy and with the utmost gentleness. They did all the usual things but for Marty's benefit visited a number of tourist attractions such as Stonehenge. In the middle of the holiday Samantha and Marty headed up to Northumberland for a couple of days. Marty's family had originally come from there and he wanted to see it.

Henry was sad when they left but nowhere nearly as much so as the previous time. In any case, he had found a girl he was quite serious about. She was the flatmate of a brother officer's sister. She was the opposite of Samantha in looks being small with dark hair and huge brown eyes. Her name was Alison Worthington.

They met at a party at her flat and got on well. Henry started to take her out once a fortnight or so and it soon became more frequent. He took her down to Carlton Parva one weekend. On the Saturday night he took her to The Crown at Atheldiston where she met a girl she had been at school with, Libby Williams, and her husband Court. Libby had been a senior when she was a junior but Alison remembered her for her piano playing. The four of them ended up eating together and had a hilarious meal. Libby was now performing successfully around the country. Court went with her everywhere and they had had some very funny experiences, including one when the loud opening chord of a piece Libby was starting to play sent a very startled mouse leaping out of the piano onto the key board. Libby had screamed and the audience thought it the best part of the performance. She had then completely won them over by reappearing armed with an ancient metal flit gun.

Henry was becoming very attached to Alison. Not only was she attractive but she was clever and amusing. She had a degree in English Literature and worked at a publishing firm. He was not sure that Alison returned his growing affection. She never turned an invitation from him down, always appeared pleased to see him and was fun to be with but never gave him anything more than a sisterly kiss. He wondered about it but determined not to push things. He did not want to push her away.

Samantha's next visit to England was on business and she made the same arrangements as the previous time. Henry did not have London Duties this time but drove up from Windsor every evening to be with her. He sensed that she was not herself and asked her why.

"We can't have children," she said sadly.

"Oh Lord! How long have you been trying?"

"Over a year."

"Have you seen a specialist?"

"You bet: two each."

"And?"

"I'm OK but Marty's sterile."

"Can they do anything about it?"

"Yes. He has a very low sperm count and they have offered a course of drugs."

"Is he on it?"

"No. He's normally so balanced and reasonable but this has knocked him sideways. He won't accept that being the big strong man he is anything could be wrong with his masculinity."

"That's dotty, Sams."

Samantha nodded glumly. "He refused to believe the test results. I persuaded him to have another one. He consented to on condition that I did too. Same results."

"And he still wouldn't believe them?"

She shook her head.

"He's crackers."

She turned to him, buried her face in his chest and wept. He held her gently stroking her hair and shoulders. He said nothing. He did not know what to say that could either help or comfort her. He wondered what might stop Marty from being so pig-headed.

Eventually Samantha pushed herself away and groped for a tissue. Henry offered her his handkerchief.

"Sorry, my love," she said as she handed it back.

"Don't be Sams, my sweet. I'm sorry for you. Have you told Mum?"

She shook her head. "I don't want to upset her."

"Do Marty's parents know?"

"His mother does because I told her. I hoped she might get his father in on the act but she won't: 'it's not the sort of subject he would ever discuss, dear, and Marty would be mortified if we ever mentioned it.' So I'm sunk on that front."

"Oh, my poor little Sams, I don't what to do or say." He squeezed her hands gently.

"There's nothing you can." She paused for all of ten seconds and he could see her mind racing. "There's something else," she whispered.

"Go on," he answered gently.

"I used to enjoy making love with him so much. It was everything: tender, loving, generous, passionate. Now I can hardly bear it. During my fertile period each month anyone would think I was a bitch on heat. Three times a bloody day and it's not making love. It's plain bloody rutting. First thing in the morning with two pillows under my bum so that his non-existent sperms can travel downhill. Same again at night. Maybe once in the middle of the night. Then he comes to my office at lunch time and just screws me again. I'm sure my secretary knows what's going on. It doesn't matter to him if I have a client at two with the office smelling like a bloody brothel. Then he's so bloody exhausted we do nothing for the remaining three weeks of the month while he recharges his damned batteries. There are no preliminaries so I'm dry as a bone. During that week I'm sore the whole time and he doesn't give a stuff."

She burst into tears again.

Once again Henry held her but this time his emotions were running over: sorrow, love and pity for Samantha and fury with Marty for his brutal and selfish treatment of her.

"Oh, my darling," he murmured against her head. "My poor, precious little darling. Oh, Sams, my sweet, you've got to leave him."

She shook her head against his chest.

"Why not? He's treating you appallingly."

She shook her head again and then looked up.

"In ... sickness ... and ... in ... health," she stuttered. "And he's sick."

She buried her head again and howled.

Henry held her trying to pass comfort and love to her. It was not easy because at the same time he was furious. All sorts of senseless thoughts went through his head: fly to Washington and shoot the bastard. That anyone could treat his beloved Sams like that. Then he too wept, wept for her.

They continued to cling to each other for the best part of half an hour. Samantha did draw comfort from him. She felt the fierceness of his love for her in his anger. She felt the tenderness of his love in the way he held her. She felt the purity and innocence of his love, a love she had always known and revelled in but never realised its depth and intensity. Slowly she relaxed and her own anger and bitterness dissolved.

She looked up. "Henry, my sweet, thank you," she said gently and lovingly. "I don't know where I'd be without you. Mum and Dad are wonderful but you're the one that understands my heart. Can I have a kiss?"