by Joan Hohl
Four weeks of snide remarks and veiled innuendos had proved to be Valerie’s limit. It was Lynn who had so carelessly told her that Maria Cinelli was back in Jonas’s good graces and in his office. It was Lynn who inferred that Jonas was paying the rent on Maria’s apartment. It was Lynn who hinted that Jonas had dropped several obscure remarks to the effect that he was now sorry he’d married so hastily. But the real topper came when Lynn slyly suggested that, should Valerie waken one night to find herself alone, she should check Lynn’s room first. It was because of Lynn that Valerie had not yet told Jonas that she thought she was pregnant.
And then, tonight, something had just snapped inside of Valerie. Again she sighed. I could have taken it for myself, Valerie thought angrily, but why did she have to start on Jean-Paul? God! The memory of Mary Beth’s stricken face made her want to weep. Hadn’t Lynn seen the love growing between Mary Beth and Jean-Paul? How could she have missed it? But then, Valerie knew Jonas had not seen it either. But, of course, that was different. Jonas was much too busy to see anything as unelectronic as love. He hadn’t even seen his own wife’s love for him!
Which still doesn’t answer that question of why I had to ruin Jonas’s dinner by flying to Jean-Paul’s defense when Lynn made that disgusting remark about how she’d heard somewhere that French brothers shared their women. Even though Lynn had laughed as if teasing when she said it, she had hurt two people who were close to Valerie: Jean-Paul and Mary Beth—who was now dear to Valerie because of Jean-Paul. So I told her to shut her filthy mouth! It was long past time someone did. The problem was, now she had to face Jonas.
With sudden determination she turned the shower off. What could he do, stand her against the wall and shoot her? The picture that formed from that idea—she could see herself against the wall, a blindfold over her eyes, a last cigarette dangling from her lips—was ludicrous. Valerie had to stifle a giggle. She didn’t even smoke! A hand flew to her mouth to muffle her nervous laughter.
“Val, what are you doing in there?”
Valerie’s laughter dried along with all the moisture in her mouth and throat. Squaring her shoulders she went to face the firing squad.
The first volley hit her as she walked into the bedroom.
“Does he look like Etienne?”
Valerie paused, controlling the urge to step back. “No, not much,” she answered truthfully. “His voice and eyes are almost the same, though.” Why, she wondered, had he waited till now to ask questions?
“You obviously got to know him very well.”
Valerie didn’t trust his tone. It was much too silky. Surely he hadn’t taken Lynn’s sick remark seriously? “What do you mean?” she bristled.
“You called him darling when he arrived. You flew to his defense tonight.” He shrugged. “You’re very fond of him?”
“Yes, very,” Valerie admitted. Her voice grew husky. “He— Jean-Paul was very kind to me when—when…”
“Never mind,” Jonas cut into her throaty explanation. “I get the picture.” He turned away, then swung back to face her, his mouth grim. “You must not let Lynn get to you. She loves shocking people.” He shook his head. “I sometimes think she is less mature than Mary Beth.”
“I’m sorry your birthday dinner was spoiled,” Valerie said softly.
“Are you?” he asked with equal softness. “Well, in that case, we could celebrate the occasion right here.”
Walking to her, he slid his arms around her and drew her close to his long frame. “Say, happy birthday, Jonas,” he ordered in a near growl.
“Happy birthday, Jonas,” Valerie repeated, smiling.
“Very good,” he murmured close to her ear. “Now say, take me to bed, Jonas.” His tongue, teasing the side of her neck, sent expectant shivers down through her body. His hands, tormentingly caressing the very outer curve of her breasts, removed her inhibitions.
“Take me to bed, darling.” Valerie gasped when his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her breast.
“Do you call all your lovers darling?” he demanded harshly.
“Jonas, you’re hurting me,” Valerie cried, holding her breath in an effort to relieve the pressure.
“I know.” His fingers loosened but his arms tightened. “You make me want to hurt you.” His lips brushed hers, the tip of his tongue urging them apart. “Say it again, Val, I want to hear it, even if it means nothing.”
Nothing. Valerie closed her eyes against the rush of hot tears. It means nothing to him. Which means I mean nothing to him. Nothing deep, nothing lasting. I’m a convenience, a warm body that’s nearby whenever the need arises. Dear God, I love him, and all he wants from me is an heir and the moaning, feverish words that attend the begetting of that heir. Meaningless. Nothing.
“Val.”
Jonas’s urgent groan pierced her mind, and her heart. Why not, she thought wildly. His teeth nipped her lower lip and she shuddered in response. Why not give him what he wants? It’s his birthday. Curling her arms around his neck, she returned his playful bite. Happy birthday, Jonas, she cried silently, you’re going to be a father. Her voice, when she spoke, was thick from unshed tears.
“Take me to bed, darling.”
It was late when Valerie woke, which was not surprising. Jonas had not let her sleep till near dawn. Groaning aloud, she stretched aching muscles. Lord, where did that man get his energy? He was gone. Hours earlier, she had been vaguely aware of his movements as he showered and dressed to go to the office. Had he invented some kind of machine that kept him charged electrically? Valerie would not have been in the least surprised to find that he had. And during the night he had transmitted some of that electricity to her. It had been like a charge running between them. Jonas had generated fresh sparks with each new impassioned endearment she had moaned against his mouth or skin.
Sliding her fingers into her tangled hair, Valerie swallowed against the tightness in her throat. Was this the way the rest of her life was going to be? Hours and hours of indifference followed by moments of sweet, hot passion? Shaking her head to banish the chilling thought, she jumped out of bed. She had to do something, anything that would keep her from thinking.
* * *
Two weeks later, Valerie visited a doctor. During those two weeks she had seen more of Jean-Paul and Mary Beth than of Jonas. In an effort to avoid Lynn, Valerie had spent more time away from home than Jonas had. Dear, gentle Jean-Paul, what would she have done without him? He had not only become her shield against Lynn, he had, in effect, given her Mary Beth.
Mary Beth had felt a natural resentment on coming home to find a stepmother in residence. Jonas’s flat announcement about his hopes for another heir hadn’t exactly endeared Valerie to her. But Jean-Paul’s love had enabled Mary Beth to let her guard down enough to get to know her new stepmother. By the time Jonas celebrated his thirty-ninth birthday, Mary Beth and Valerie were friends—a fact that Jonas had not yet come to recognize.
Not having the slightest idea of which doctor to see, Valerie made an appointment with Dr. Milton Abramowitz, simply because Marge had mentioned having to see him for her six-month checkup soon after Valerie and Jonas had married.
It was not until after she was ushered into Dr. Abramowitz’s office that Valerie learned he was a member of Jonas’s small circle of close friends. By the time she left his office, Valerie was calling him Milt—at his request—and glowing at his confirmation of her condition.
Her euphoria lasted all the way home. Lynn burst her rosy bubble as soon as she entered the house by announcing, in a self-satisfied tone, that Jonas would not be home for dinner. Valerie had her foot on the bottom step of the stairs when Lynn added, sweetly, that she also would not be there.
For several seconds Valerie felt nothing but devastating disappointment. Then, suddenly, anger engulfed her. Who, she seethed, did this woman think she was? And for that matter, who the hell did Jonas Thorne think he was? Lifting her head regally, Valerie stared coldly at Lynn.
“Let me assur
e you,” she said icily, praying she could back up what she was about to say, “Jonas will be home for dinner. As for you,” she went on scathingly, “I couldn’t care less if you never came back.”
“Indeed?” Lynn sneered. “Well, darling,” she simpered sweetly, “We’ll see about that! When Jonas hears about this you just might find that you’re the one who goes and never comes back. I’ve put up with this situation long enough,” she snapped. “I think it’s time Jonas put an end to this farce of a marriage.”
Valerie, shaken by Lynn’s complacency, hesitated a moment, and then, with far more confidence than she was feeling, she went to the phone.
“I’m afraid you are riding for a fall, young lady. A bad fall,” Lynn opined condescendingly as Valerie punched out the number of Jonas’s private line. Steeling herself against rejection and subsequent humiliation, Valerie forced her voice to a cool calmness as she replied to Jonas’s impatient “Thorne.”
“Jonas, this is Valerie,” she said unnecessarily. “Lynn tells me you won’t be home for dinner and I…”
“That’s right,” Jonas cut in harshly. “I called to tell you I had some work I wanted to finish up here, but Lynn told me you were out…again. Strangely, Jean-Paul had to be out of the office today also.”
There was something disturbing in the way he emphasized his last statement, but, filled with the importance of her news and the fear that he would refuse the request she was about to make, Valerie shrugged aside her feeling of unease and plowed on.
“Jonas, I would—” She paused, searching for the right word. “I would appreciate it if you could get home. There’s something I must t…” She almost said “tell,” but quickly changed her phrasing. “There is something I must discuss with you.”
Valerie held her breath through the moment of silence that followed her request, letting it out slowly and soundlessly when Jonas finally spoke.
“Is this discussion—important?” he asked somewhat grimly.
“Yes,” Valerie said quietly.
“All right, Val, I’ll be home in time for dinner,” Jonas said as quietly and then, without a good-bye, he hung up.
Schooling her features into an expressionless mask, Valerie turned to face Lynn. “Jonas will be home for dinner.” She looked Lynn straight in the eye. “Perhaps you are the one riding for a fall.”
“We’ll see, little girl,” Lynn spat, pure hate glittering in her eyes. With a dramatically sweeping motion she walked to the door. Pulling the door open she cast a withering glance over Valerie. “Oh, yes, we will see.”
Suddenly exhausted, Valerie walked tiredly up the stairs and into the bedroom to drop limply onto the bed. Hours later the slamming of the bedroom door startled her awake. Jonas was standing just inside the door, his narrowed eyes fixed on her.
“You said there was something you had to discuss with me?” he prompted without preamble.
“Yes,” Valerie whispered through parched lips. Why, she thought wildly, should telling him be so difficult? She was going to give him what he had wanted from her, wasn’t she?
“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out, then held her breath. She held it a long time, finally releasing it when he didn’t respond. Why was he so still and quiet? Why didn’t he say something? He had claimed he wanted an heir, so why was he so silent, so taut? When he finally did reply his voice had an odd, tense inflection.
“You’re positive? It’s been confirmed?”
“Yes, I saw Dr. Abramowitz this afternoon.”
“This afternoon,” he repeated softly. “I see.”
What did he see? Valerie asked herself blankly. What was there for him to see? She was going to have his child and all he seemed capable of saying was “I see.” Where was the tender concern she had hoped for? Where was the joy? Glancing up at him, Valerie stopped breathing altogether. Joy? His eyes were slate gray with rage, his body stiff with the emotion. As she cringed, Jonas strode to the bed to stand over her menacingly.
“And did you really believe I’d support your fun and games?”
“Fun and games?” Valerie shook her head in confusion. “Jonas, what are you talking about?”
“You,” he rasped. “And that damned Frenchman.”
Frenchman? Jean-Paul? Me and Jean-Paul? No! She cried silently, he can’t believe that Jean-Paul and I are… The idea was insupportable, and in an effort to deny it she began, “Jonas, you can’t—”
“And the burden you’re carrying inside your body,” he interrupted nastily.
His words, his tone, were shocking. His crudeness insulting. Enraged, Valerie flung herself off the bed with such force that Jonas was startled into backing up. “Burden!” she screamed. “How dare you! Why are you talking like this?”
“Very simple, Val,” Jonas retorted. “What exactly are you carrying? A young Thorne—or another DeBron?”
Another DeBron? The words echoed inside her head as Valerie felt the color drain out of her face. Wide-eyed with shock, she stared at him in disbelief. He actually thought…?
“I don’t believe what I just heard.” Although her voice was a rough whisper when she began, it rose steadily. “You…you think that I’ve been…like that? With Jean-Paul?” Gasping for breath, she controlled her voice enough to say, “You’re nothing but a gutter-minded…” she raked her mind for the most stinging condemnation she could think of, “bastard!” Valerie flung the word at him.
“Exactly,” Jonas agreed quietly. “In every sense of the word.” Valerie stared anew at the unfamiliar sound of contrition in his tone. “I’m sorry, Val.” Turning away from her abruptly, he strode out of the room.
He was on the stairs before Valerie came out of her shock. She couldn’t let him go like this!
“Jonas!” Galvanized into action, she ran after him. She heard his car start up as she reached the bottom of the stairs and in an effort to intercept him she ran out of the front door. Jonas was backing the silver Cadillac out of the drive alongside the house.
“Jonas!” Without pausing to think, she flew down the steps and along the front of the house toward the car just as he swung it back in her direction onto the curving drive.
The anguished shout was heard an instant before the car’s back fender brushed her hip and spun her off her feet to land with a thud in a large privet hedge bordering the drive.
“Valerie!”
Chapter 11
Etienne’s brother. Millions of Frenchmen in the world, and Barres sends me Etienne’s brother. Oh, Lord.
What will I do if she dies?
Dammit, why did I listen to Lynn? Jonas could almost hear her voice purring cattily—was it only yesterday? He could still see her wide blue innocent eyes.
“Jonas, really,” Lynn had sighed. “If you don’t care for yourself, will you consider your daughter?”
“Lynn, I haven’t the vaguest idea what you’re talking about,” he’d snapped, asking himself why he’d let her into his office in the first place. “I don’t have time for your innuendos. Either explain or get out of here.”
“You know, there are times I wonder what any woman would want with you,” Lynn retorted. “You are…”
“Out,” he’d cut in impatiently.
“All right,” Lynn purred, as if satisfied with herself for making him angry. “I’m talking about your lovely young wife and the fact that she’s been seen, by mutual friends, not only with Jean-Paul, but coming out of his apartment as well.” Her purr became silky. “The apartment, I might add, that you pay for.”
Why had he listened?
Face it, Thorne, you no more listened to Lynn than you would any other idiot who might presume to advise you. The questions, the suspicions were there long before Lynn injected her dose of poison. In point of fact, the feeling of unease he’d been living with for weeks had begun when Etienne’s brother walked into the house and Valerie called him darling.
Lord God, what will I do if she dies?
Had Valerie ever had the courage to ask him, Jonas could
have—but probably would not have—told her he did not only swear when he was mad, but when he was upset, as well. And now, at 6:03 on a rainswept June morning, Jonas was not only upset; he was terrified.
The baby was lost. Jonas had faced that at once. He winced as he recalled her last faint words:
“Jonas, please, tell them to save my baby.”
What he had told them was:
“You had damned well better save my wife.”
He knew he couldn’t back up his threats. Yet he’d made them, thereby straining the long friendship between himself and Valerie’s obstetrician, Milton Abramowitz.
Jonas’s clenched fist came down lightly against the windowsill, the very lightness of the blow betraying the self-control he was exerting over himself.
Had he really threatened Milt with a malpractice suit? Jonas shook his head in disbelief. For a few minutes there, right after they’d arrived at the hospital, he’d gone slightly mad.
A soft, steady stream of expletives rolled off his tongue, each more colorful than the last, before Jonas pulled himself up short. Hell, he was still slightly crazy. But it was the waiting that did it. The waiting, and the wondering, and the pure, stark fear.
God, how long have I been in love with her?
In an effort to escape the fear clutching at his guts, Jonas played a game in his mind, trying to pinpoint the day.
Was it the evening Etienne’s brother came to the house that first time? Without even considering it, Jonas shook his head. No, it must have been before that—he’d reacted too strongly when she’d called Jean-Paul darling.
What would I give to hear her call me darling? And really mean it? All my money? Without question. My immortal soul? In a second.
What has that got to do with it anyway, you arrogant fool? Jonas derided himself. She hasn’t asked you to give up anything. She doesn’t want your money, or your soul, or your love either. His sigh sounded loud and harsh in the small, quiet room.
