Afterwards, when Seton's hammering heart allowed him to speak, he took her in his arms and said, 'Well! I certainly didn't expect anything like that tonight. If this is what you've like when you have a headache... Wow!' She gave a perfunctory smite but didn't speak. Stroking her face, he said, 'Was there any reason for it?'
Lucie gave a small shrug. 'I don't know.' She turned her head to look at him, her eyes large and vulnerable in her pale face. 'If I were to lose you I couldn't bear it. I'd want to die.'
He frowned and, because he was so secure in their love, completely mistook her meaning. 'Hey, what's this?
Nothing is going to happen to me. Or to you. We're going to grow old and crabby together. We both agreed on that. Now, what's happened to make you afraid?'
She had to give him some excuse, Lucie realised, so she said, 'On the television...' She didn't have to go on; there was always some item on the television about people dying or being killed. Tightening his hold, Seton drew her against him. 'You must be feeling tired to let it get to you. Come on, let me finish drying you, then get some sleep.'
But she was already dry so he helped her put on her nightdress and get into bed. 'Would you like a hot drink?'
'No, thanks.' Lucie shook her head and lay back, dosing her eyes.
He soon joined her and turned off the lamp, holding her in the way they always slept. Presently, Lucie felt him relax and his breathing become even with sleep. But she didn't sleep herself. With a sick feeling in her heart she was realising how selfish she was being in having another child when all these threats were hanging over her. It was neither right nor fair. The child would be just another victim of her past. The daughter that Seton so wanted might have her whole life blighted by the scandal. For a moment Lucie even wished that she wasn't pregnant. Then, completely appalled by such a terrible thought, she lay and cried silent tears while Seton slept beside her. The dinner party the following evening wasn't a failure but it wasn't as perfect as Lucie had hoped it would be. She was terribly tired, having hardly slept the night before, and was on tenterhooks all day in case another fax came through.
Whenever the phone rang she rushed into Seton's study, but it was always the ordinary phone not the fax. By the evening she felt a nervous wreck, and of course, today of all days, Sam must have sensed her nervousness and played up when it was time to put him to bed. For the first time in his life, Lucie shouted at him to go to sleep. Seton came rushing into the nursery, his shirt half on. 'What's happening?' Taking in the situation, he picked up a weeping Sam from his bed and said to Lucie, 'Calm down. It's only a few people to dinner. Look, I'll see to Sam while you go and get ready. Is there anything to do downstairs?'
She shook her head, hating herself. 'Sorry, Sam.' Lucie kissed her son, then ran to the bedroom and began to change hurriedly into the clothes she'd decided to wear. When Seton joined her ten minutes later she was almost ready, wearing a simple black dress, her hair drawn back from her head, and the pearl necklace that Seton had given her when Sam was born round her neck. She looked cool, sophisticated and lovely, the perfect wife for a budding MP. Certainly no one looking at her could possibly imagine that only a short time ago she had almost lost control with Sam, or that last night she had taken and given love that was almost savage in its intensity.
'You look fantastic,' Seton reassured her. 'Just relax. They're just ordinary people. If you fed intimidated by them just think of them with no clothes on; that's what my mother used to do when she was first married and had to meet the bosses of Dad's firm.'
Despite herself Lucie laughed. 'How shocking! She never told me that.'
'Hardly surprising. But she assures me it works.'
That incredible idea helped Lucie a great deal during the first part of the evening, when they were all sitting round the dining table, but afterwards the women seemed to go to one side of the room, and the men to the other where they talked politics. All their guests were quite a lot older than her and presumably the women thought that a good enough excuse to ask her questions that Lucie herself would never have asked of anyone, let alone a virtual stranger. After exclaiming over a photograph of Sam, one woman said, 'And do you intend to have many more children, Lucie, my dear? An only child gets so lonely, I always think.'
'Both Seton and I are only children,' Lucie pointed out stiffly.
'Are you? Usually people who have no brothers or sisters tend to go to the other extreme and have large families, I always find. How many do you intend to have?' she probed.
'We haven't discussed it,' Lucie answered coldly.
But the woman wasn't to be put off. 'Haven't you?' she said in surprise. 'I've always told my children that they should decide on what family they want right from the start. So much easier and more convenient nowadays, when you can plan these things. I'd definitely advise you to do the same. It's always best, you know.'
'Really?' Lucie was rapidly becoming tired of what the interfering busybody of a woman always thought, always said and always did. She stood up abruptly. 'Excuse me; I'll refill the coffee-pot.'
In the kitchen, she slammed the kettle down and turned the tap on viciously, getting water on herself in the process.
'Oh, hell!' She switched the kettle on and stood with her head in her hands, trying to calm down, to control herself, to think rationally. OK, the woman was as insensitive and thick-skinned as a rhinoceros, but it wasn't her fault that Lucie wanted to scream against fate, that her life was a mess all over again. Lucie made the coffee and, grimly making herself smile and be charming, telling herself it would soon be over, she took the jug back into the sittingroom. Their guests must have enjoyed themselves; it was gone one before they finally left, by which time Lucie felt as if the smile was fixed on her face and if they didn't go now— now!— she would start throwing things. She dutifully stood at the door to wave while Seton saw them into their cars, then, immediately the last car door slammed, Lucie ran upstairs and into the bathroom where she started tearing off her clothes, throwing them onto the floor anyhow. Then, the anger suddenly draining away, she leaned against the wall and let the tears silently flow.
'Lucie?' She didn't know how long it was before Seton rapped on the door. Hastily, trying to make her voice sound normal, she called out, 'I won't be a minute.' She washed her face, taking off the tear-smudged make-up and hopefully hiding the signs that she'd been crying; then she brushed out her hair before gathering up her discarded clothes and going into the bedroom.
Seton had turned on only the bedside lamps and was starting to undress. She paused for a moment in the doorway of the bathroom, the light behind her outlining her body in the silk slip. Seton glanced at her and his gaze held, as always enraptured by her beauty. But then Lucie flicked off the light, dumped her clothes on a chair and opened a drawer to take out jeans and a sweater.
'What do you want those for?'
'To wear white I clear up downstairs.'
Coming over to her, he took them from her. 'It's all done.'
She gazed up at him in distress. 'You've cleared up? Oh, Seton, you didn't have to do that!'
'Nonsense. It took no time at all. Go to bed, sweetheart.'
When they were lying beside each other Seton took her into his arms and began to kiss her. At first Lucie responded, but when he began to pull up her nightdress she turned her head away. 'No, I don't want to.'
'Lucie?' Never before had she denied him love.
She was suddenly and irrationally angry with him, with the surprise in his voice. Why couldn't he see that she was going through hell? Why did he want to go into politics so that she couldn't tell him the truth? And why did he have to put her on this stupid pedestal so that she was terrified of what would happen when the pedestal crumbled and she came tumbling down?
Putting a hand on her breast, he said, 'What is it, darling?'
Still consumed by anger, Lucie pushed his hand away. 'Don't touch me! Leave me alone. I told you. I don't want to.'
And she swung away from him, lying
as far away as she could get.
The startled silence that followed was appalling. Her rage leaving her as quickly as it had come, Lucie realised with heart-sickening dismay what she'd done. Reaching out in the darkness, she found Seton's hand and grasped it. 'I'm sorry. Oh, God, I'm sorry.' And she began to cry again.
Immediately Seton took her into his arms to comfort her. 'What is it, my darling?'
'It—' She was on the verge of telling him everything but then lost her nerve. 'It's just that I'm so tired,' she told him, which was true enough.
'My poor girl. I'd never have suggested the dinner party if I'd known it would affect you like this. I'm sorry.'
'It's not that. It's not your fault.' She spoke the words between sobs as he held and tried to comfort her. But Lucie knew with utter despair that Rick Ravena had already sown the first seed of discord into the most precious thing in her life.
CHAPTER FOUR
ON MONDAY morning Anna came back to the house for a coffee after they'd dropped the children off at school. 'Ate you all right?' she asked. 'You look quite washed out.'
'Gee, thanks,' Lucie retorted tartly.
In no way put out, Anna said, 'You know I'm on the committee of the tennis club; well, someone's leaving and they need a replacement. I suggested you.'
'No, thanks.'
'But why not? You'd be great. You could take the minutes and things.' Anna waved an airy hand.
'Sorry, Anna, but I don't want to.'
Anna raised her eyebrows at her tone, but said, 'How did the dinner party go? Was it scintillating fun?'
'You're joking! It was gruesome. All the men wanted to do was talk politics the whole time.'
'I can't see Seton allowing that to happen.'
'He tried to steer clear of it, and I tried to get the women to join in some kind of a conversation, but they seemed to be so used to it that they just talked to each other and let the men get on with it.'
Anna wrinkled her nose. 'As you said, gruesome. Have you got to give many dinner parties like that?'
'Lord, I hope not,' Lucie said in heartfelt tones.
'If Seton gets elected you probably will.'
That seemed so far in the future, so distant from her present troubles that Lucie couldn't even envisage it. "Then I'll deal with it when the time comes—if it ever does.'
'Lucie! It's totally unlike you to be so pessimistic. Have you changed your mind about Seton being an MP already?'
'No. No, of course not.' Lucie managed a smile. 'It was such a terrible evening, that's all.' Suddenly guilty, she added, 'For God's sake don't tell anyone I said that. If it got back to the committee...'
Anna laughed. 'Don't worry. You know you can trust me.' She gave Lucie a contemplative look. 'It might help Seton's chances if you were on the committee of the tennis club, you know.'
Lucie laughed. 'Moral blackmail won't work,' She went into the kitchen to make the coffee and was just pouring it out when the doorbell rang. Immediately Lucie froze, fear filling her heart, then hastily put down the kettle as Anna sang out, 'It's OK, I'll go.'
Lucie ran to stop her but it was too late, Anna had already opened the door. Then Lucie gave a gasp of relief as she saw that the caller held a bouquet of flowers in his hands and she glimpsed the van from the local florist's behind him in the driveway. Going down the hall, she joined Anna hi the doorway and took the flowers. They were red roses.
"There's eleven,' the delivery man was careful to point out. 'You're not one short of a dozen; the man who bought them for you specified that there should be eleven. Is it your lucky number, or something?'
'Why, no.' Lucfe took them, frowning in puzzlement. She shut the door and took the flowers into the kitchen, Anna following.
'Were you expecting some flowers?' Anna asked, and when Lucre shook her head added, 'How strange to send only eleven. Who are they from?'
Taking out the card Lucie read,
Roses are red,
"Violets are blue.
Guess what I'm going to do to you.
There was no name or initial. There didn't need to be. Lucie felt every trace of colour drain from her face. Anna, reading over her shoulder, gave a surprised laugh. 'Why, that wicked husband of yours! And just what do you think he's going to do—?' She broke off as she saw Lucie’s face. 'Lucie?' Her brows drew into a frown. 'They are from Seton, aren't they?'
'What?' Lucie tried to pull herself together. 'Yes, of course.' She gave a laugh that sounded completely false even to her own ears. 'As you say, if s rather naughty of him.'
Anna reached for the card. 'Are you sure? Was there a name?'
But Lucie kept hold of the card and pushed it in the pocket of her jeans. 'He didn't need to sign it. He—er—' She sought desperately for some excuse for the flowers, could only come up with one she was very reluctant to give. She flushed, the colour unnaturally bright in her pale cheeks. 'You see, it's rather a special time for us. I'm—I'm going to have another baby.'
'Lucie, that's wonderful news!' Anna exclaimed, and kissed her on the cheek. 'No wonder you look washed out. I was totally exhausted for the whole nine months when I was expecting Adam. You should have told me; then I wouldn't have pushed you about the tennis club. When is it due?'
'Early next year, I suppose. But I haven't had it confirmed yet, and we haven't told Seton's parents, so please promise you won't say anything for a while.'
'Of course not. But congratulations. And why eleven roses?'
'Eleven?' Lucie flushed again. "That's—that's rather private.'
Anna laughed delightedly. 'I suppose I can guess. Look, why don't I finish the coffee white you put these gorgeous flowers in water?'
Lucie had no choice but to do so, but she could hardly wait until Anna had left before she grabbed the roses from the vase and one by one, hardly able to bear touching them, shredded them down the waste-disposal. She knew with all too sickening clarity why there were only eleven of them; it had been eleven years since Rick had been sent to prison.
Going quickly to the phone, Lucie rang the florist's number. 'Hello? This is Mrs Wallace. You just delivered some flowers to me... Yes, that's right; he pointed it out. Unfortunately there's no name on the card. Could you tell me if the flowers were ordered over the phone?'
'Oh, no, madam,' the female assistant replied. 'I took the order myself. A man came in and ordered them personally. On Saturday morning, it was.'
'Did he give a name?'
'Well, yes, but I'm not supposed to say.'
'Please. It's important,' Lucie pleaded.
'Well, I suppose it's all right. It was Mr Wallace. He said they were for his wife. He must have thought you'd guess.'
'Yes, I see. I suppose so. Th-thank you.' numbly Lucie put down the phone, realising it was the sick kind of joke that Rick would enjoy. But worst of all was the knowledge that he had been to a shop only a few mites away to order them.
Lucie collected Sam from school and went home, wishing that she hadn't been forced to tell Anna, who she knew enjoyed relating gossip, that she was pregnant, but she hadn't been able to think of any other excuse. But then she chided herself for getting paranoid; just because one area of her life was turned upside down it didn't mean that anything else had changed.
She began to prepare dinner because Seton was in London and so would be coming home in the evening. They hadn't made love yesterday, although they usually did on Sunday mornings, unless Sam came into bed with them, which he sometimes liked to do. Seton had taken tender care of her, insisting that they go out to lunch so she didn't have to cook, and just kissing her goodnight so that she could go to steep, which she had done—eventually. Now she thought that she would probably never sleep peacefully again. The thought crossed her mind that she could go to the police, ask them to protect her from Rick's harassment. They might have done so if she had been what she seemed, a respectable married woman, but she wasn't; she was an ex-con trying to hide her past, and for that reason Lucie was sure the police would merely shru
g her off, tell her to sort it out herself. After putting dinner in the oven to cook, Lucie went upstairs to change, found the card still in her pocket and hastily tossed it in her drawer, then put some make-up on to look good for Seton when he came home, as she always did. But when she looked in the mirror she knew that no amount of make-up was going to help tonight; she looked haggard, her face drawn, with dark circles of tiredness round her eyes. Staring at her reflection, Lucie tried to think what she was going to do, whether there was anything positive she could do, or whether she was just going to have to wait to see what Rick would do next. Lifting her hands to rub her temples, to try to ease the terrible headache, Lucie wondered how long she could go on like this, living such a tormented life.
Eventually she went downstairs and immediately smelt burning. The dinner was over-cooked, completely ruined. Lucie had to throw it away and find something out of the freezer, but it wasn't ready when Seton got home. Coming into the kitchen, he said, 'Hello, darling. What's the smell?'
He went to kiss her but she rounded on him. 'I burnt the food; that's what the smell is. And dinner isn't ready yet so you'll just have to wait.'
His eyebrows went up at her tone, but he said soothingly, 'Fine. No problem. How about a drink?'
'No, I don't want one.'
'OK. I'll pop up and see Sam.'
'Don't wake him up if he's asleep,' she snapped.
Seton paused in the doorway. 'I've never done so yet,' he said evenly.
She didn't reply and he went upstairs. Lucie was slicing a melon and stood with the knife hi her hand, gazing unseeingly down, feeling deeply guilty. Why the hell was she taking this out on Seton? She'd got to pull herself together, not let it affect her like this. If she wasn't careful she was going to harm her marriage—the marriage she so wanted to protect.
So Lucie tried hard to be cheerful over dinner and must have succeeded because she saw Seton, who had been watching her closely, gradually begin to relax. That night they made love, but somehow even that didn't seem the same; she had lost her confidence and with it some of her spontaneity, so that for the first time ever she didn't climax and was glad when it was over. She thought that Seton hadn't noticed, that her own lack of excitement had been lost under his groans of pleasure. But he had, of course.
The Guilty Wife Page 7
