Part One Hundred And Fifty Four
George hated everything for the next few days. She couldn't sleep with John, and she couldn't sleep with Karen. The doctor had warned her not to sleep with anyone, man or woman, until she was completely cured. This meant that her usual level of frustration and tactless comments was exponentially increased. Her secretary was almost ready to resign, and anyone who represented the people her clients were fighting, found themselves coming under the verbal knife at every possible opportunity. Everyone who worked with or alongside George had thought she'd mellowed down a lot in the last eighteen months or so, but they were all beginning to question their judgment on this point, after a few days of a distinct return to the old Georgia Channing. But, on the fourth day after her utterly humiliating confirmation from the doctor, she received two phone calls. The first was from Karen, to say that no, she didn't have anything resembling a sexually transmitted infection, which definitely meant George and possibly Jo had picked it up from John, not her. "This is driving me mad," Said George, and Karen could hear George's resolve beginning to crack. "I really didn't think that a simple case of sexual frustration could drive someone completely insane." Karen laughed. "How long are the antibiotics for?" She asked. "A fortnight," Replied George miserably. "Oh well," Said Karen cheerfully. "Only just over a week to go, and then I'll give you the best night you've had in a long time," She said, lowering her voice to that husky, incredibly sultry, sexy level that never failed to turn George to jelly. "Don't talk to me like that when I'm in the office," She said, half amused, half pleading. Her office door was firmly shut, but she wasn't about to be caught half-aroused in the middle of the working day. "Perhaps that's the answer," Said Karen contemplatively. "What is?" Said George, her frustration almost palpable. "Well, if your secretary is going to get the slightest chance of a moment's peace from you," She said, a smile in her voice. "Then you need to release some of that tension that's coming off you in waves." "Well, at the moment," Said George, the old bite returning to her voice. "That's pretty bloody impossible." "In the normal way," Continued Karen unperturbed, "Yes, it is. But seeing as my voice appears to turn you on at the merest suggestion, maybe it could be put to good use." A slow, wicked grin crossed George's face. "Good god," She said in realisation. "I haven't done that since I was married to John and he spent so much time travelling all over the country defending anyone at a moment's notice." She stretched like a cat, thinking that Karen's suggestion definitely held possibilities. "So, will that thought keep you going till tonight?" Asked Karen with a smile. "Definitely," George replied, in the slightly exaggerated upper class drawl that had attracted Karen to her in the first place.
The second call she received was from Jo. "Yes," She simply said, "I have got Chlamydia." "And Karen hasn't, so I think we know where and who we got it from." "I haven't felt so humiliated since the day I had to go and ask for a termination," Said Jo, and George could hear the resurface of some of Jo's worst memories. "Are you all right?" Asked George in gentle concern. "Yes," Said Jo, making an effort to keep it together. "I'm just angry, quietly but murderously angry. I don't think I've been this angry since John told me he'd slept with his therapist." "Well then," Said George decisively, "I think it's time we poured some of our combined fury over his head. Don't you?" "Oh, yes," Replied Jo. "He's not going to forget this in a hurry." "Why not ask him over this evening?" Suggested George. "Make him think he's got a relaxing evening in store, and hopefully he'll go away thinking that his fights with me when we were married, were a picnic compared to what's coming to him."
As it was a Friday, Jo asked John to come over that evening. She asked him to come later, making work the excuse for her not cooking for him. Jo knew that she certainly wouldn't be able to sit through a meal with John, with all the anger and hurt churning away inside her, and she thought that George's ability to eat full stop would have disappeared completely. All day, as she dealt with clients and prepared her opening speech for the trial that was starting on Monday, her thoughts kept going back to John. Just where or from whom had he caught this? And more to the point, how long had they all had it? The doctor had told her that a disease such as Chlamydia often had no symptoms whatsoever, meaning that she could have had it for ages without knowing. He had also said that if left untreated, it had the potential to make the infected woman infertile. She was forty-three now, and no, having any more children certainly wasn't something that she thought of as being on her personal agenda. But that did not give John the right to put her at risk like this. George had been having similar thoughts, spontaneously breaking into bouts of sheer fury at the thought of it. However, as she had to wait all through the day before tackling John, her fires were allowed to build, the coals of rage being stoked up in readiness to release her wrath.
When she arrived at Jo's just before nine that evening, she was relieved to see that John wasn't there yet. She needed some time, and a very large, very dry Martini before she began on him. When Jo let her in, she could see that George was as tense as reinforced concrete. When she'd closed the front door, and they were moving towards the living-room, Jo put a hand on George's shoulder, turning her to face her, and enclosing her in a pair of gentle arms. No words needed to be said, they were both feeling hurt, angry and betrayed. George returned the embrace, resting her cheek against Jo's neck, taking in the warm, subtly female fragrance of her skin. "Are you all right?" Jo asked, gently running her hands over George's back, easing some of the tension out of her muscles. "I am now," George sighed almost contentedly, wishing she could stay here forever. "But I've been verbally scrapping with everyone all week." Jo laughed softly into George's hair. "I should feel sorry for your secretary." "She'll resign if I'm not careful." When George drew slightly back from her, Jo could see the question in her eyes. George clearly wanted to kiss her, but she wasn't sure if such a gesture would be welcome in their current situation. When Jo gave her a soft encouraging smile for an answer, George reached up to tentatively place her lips on Jo's. The last time they'd done this had been just before the performance of 'The Creation', and it felt as though they'd waited far too long to do it again. Their lips were soft and gentle, exchanging a warmth that went far beyond the texture of their skin. "I needed that," George said when they eventually came up for air. "Could you do with a drink?" Jo asked, fondly touching her cheek. "Definitely," George replied. "A positively enormous martini might just help me to give him his just desserts."
When John arrived, about half an hour later, George breathed an inward sigh of relief. Yes, she knew that the coming row would be a huge one, but she couldn't go on waiting as she had been doing. She'd been lighting one cigarette from another, the tension positively exuding from her every pore. John was surprised to see George's car in the drive, because he hadn't been expecting her to join them. "I wasn't expecting to see you tonight," He said when he walked into the lounge. "Surprises come in many forms, John," She said sardonically. As he moved to kiss her, she jerked away from him, walking away to put the coffee table between them. "What have I done?" He asked, sitting down on the sofa, and getting that old familiar feeling of apprehension that usually preceded one of George's tirades. "Oh, he's learning, Jo," George said with a brittle smile. "Mind you, he's had years of giving us both the run around to acquire the practice." "All right," John said impatiently. "Cut to the chase. We've all had a hard week, and could no doubt do without your particular form of verbal sparring." "Would you like me to pour you a glass of wine, John?" Jo asked almost sweetly. "Because I think you're going to need it," She added with more bitterness than he'd heard in her for a long time. This worried him far more than George's sniping. Putting out every one of her spiky barbs, was George's raison d'etre. She lived for fighting, both in court and out of it. Even though she had mellowed down significantly over the last couple of years, it didn't mean that she couldn't be riled up in an instant if necessary. But Jo was different. John positively hated it when Jo was angry with him, because he could always see her hurt just below the rage. "You better have one too," He said to George. "It might help to quell some of the smoke that's coming out of your ears." He knew he was goading her, but until he had been accused of something against which he could mount a defence, he would go on giving just as good as he got. Instead of seeking to put out her fire, George lit up another cigarette. She couldn't stay still, her body like a coiled spring, getting ready for the kill. "A couple of weeks ago," She began, once John had been given his glass of wine, and Jo had sat off to the side in an armchair. "I had a routine smear test. I was then written to, and invited to return for further consultation. Now, why do you think that could be?" "I've no idea," John replied, his tone belying the fact that he was fervently hoping that she was all right. "Well," George went on, taking a long and satisfied drag. "I was politely informed, that casually germinating away inside me, is a lovely little disease called Chlamydia." "Ah," John said quietly, the thoughts slowly and painfully coming together, to tell him that he had given it to her. "Oh, you know what it is, do you," She said scornfully. "Well, I suppose that's a start. You see, not only did you give it to me, but you also gave it to Jo. The only respect in which you have been lucky with this, is that Karen didn't manage to pick it up from me, though I am told that could have been possible. So, what was her name, John, or are you going to tell us that she isn't relevant. I do hope for your sake and hers, that it isn't someone either of us knows." His thoughts briefly straying to the Sunday afternoon he'd spent with Yvonne, John tried to formulate an answer.
"I think her name was Angela," He said eventually, for the moment not looking at Jo because he couldn't bear to see the hurt in her face. "Oh, a real little angel she must have been," George said sarcastically. "Is she your only conquest since this relationship began, or is she one of a few?" "She's the only one," John told her, knowing that if either of them ever knew about Yvonne, he really would be for the high jump. As George took another drag, John used the opportunity to start apologising. "I'm sorry," He said, looking between her and Jo. "Oh, really," Jo replied scathingly. "So why did you do it?" "Jo, I..." "I thought this relationship actually meant something to you, John," She continued, furious tears rising to her eyes. "Let's face it, that's why it originally began, to keep you on the straight and narrow. I don't want to hear the apologies, I don't want to know how sorry you are, because you've been saying that for as long as I've known you. I just want to know why, so that we might both have some idea of how to stop you doing it again." "Or shall I take a shot in the dark," George put in, bringing his gaze back on her. "Because I can think of only one thing that might have made you wander again after all this time." "You make me sound like a roving tomcat," He said disgustedly. "Oh, and do you blame me?" George retorted hotly. "Would I be right in suggesting, that you picked up this little angel of death to fertility, on the night we had that awful row?" She could see immediately by his face that she was right. "But... You..." Jo just stared at him, the clashing thoughts in her mind removing her capacity to formulate a coherent sentence. "I all but accused you of doing that, the night after that rehearsal, where you and George..." She didn't finish the description. "I said to you, how do I know whether or not you did exactly that, and you said you hadn't." John felt terrible. He knew he'd been skating on the thin edge of truth that evening, when she'd told him how bad things had been for George that weekend. "I'm sorry, Jo," He said, the weight of guilt for what he'd done to her pressing down on him. "Do you know what Chlamydia does, John?" George continued. When he didn't answer, she said, "If it is left undiagnosed and untreated for a significant amount of time, it can render the woman infertile." "Well," He responded without thinking. "You're not planning to have any more, are you?" "And do you think that makes what you did any less actionable?" She demanded. "No, perhaps not," He replied, growing tired of her prosecution. "But you've only had it three months, less than. I'm sorry that I didn't live up to expectation, though quite why you still expect me to after all these years is beyond me, but I can't turn the clock back. I'm assuming you've both been given a course of antibiotics for this, so I'll go and get some for myself. I really am sorry for breaking my promise, but your shouting at me isn't going to achieve anything." "So, what you're saying," George strove to clarify his assertion. "Is that if we hadn't argued as furiously as we did that night, you wouldn't have gone out and screwed some random tart?" "I wish you wouldn't talk like that," He said almost as an aside. "But yes, if you like, that argument got to me more than I'd thought it would. Forgetting about it for a while seemed to be the best solution at the time." "What did she look like?" George threw back at him, using the increasing hurt to fuel her anger. "You don't need to know that," He told her, not wanting to admit that the girl, Angela, had looked just like George at twenty-years-old. "No, go on," Jo prompted. "I'm interested. It would be nice to know precisely what you find attractive these days." Looking straight into George's eyes, where she stood across from him, John took the bull by the horns. "She looked very much like you did, when I first met you," He said quietly. This hit George smack in the gut, making her stand stock-still, staring at him in horror. Feeling the tears mounting in her throat, and the hurt at his actions almost choking her, she rounded the coffee table and moved swiftly towards him. As she raised her hand to deliver the slap, Jo saw in an instant what she was about to do. "George, no," She protested, but it was too late. The crack of George's hand connecting with John's cheek was a sound that none of them would ever forget. It had been easy for George, because she was standing, and John was sitting on the sofa. As a result of George's exponentially increased stress levels, she'd not eaten much all week, and this had meant that she'd lost even more weight than she normally managed to maintain. The delicate sapphire ring of her mother's that she always wore on the forth finger of her right hand, had slid round her finger, so that the jewel was on the inside. As her frightened eyes flitted between her upraised hand and the cut on John's cheek, she could feel all the anger draining out of her. There was a long, awful pause, as they all took in what George had done. John just stared at her, not knowing what on earth he could say. Not even during the countless times he'd played away during their marriage, had she ever done anything like this. His face stung where that sapphire had caught him, and as he became aware of the slight trickle of blood running down his cheek, he rose from the chair, barely sparing either of them a backward glance, and strode out of the front door.