A Trial Marriage

by Anne Mather

  Back at the apartment, it was worse, with Jake’s personality imprinted on every article she touched. It made her wish she had a mother, someone she could go home to and share her misery with. She even thought of Della without bitterness and the others at the hotel, and she felt a curious longing to go back there among people who knew and possibly cared about her.

  She could always go to the Priory, of course, but Sheila Pendlebury was there, and while the older girl had neither said nor done anything to warrant Rachel’s dislike of her, hostility was there between them like an unseen presence.

  She spent a lonely evening watching television, punctuated by a call from Jake’s mother. Mrs Courtenay wanted to assure herself that Rachel was not distressed over Jake’s departure, and suggested the very thing her daughter-in-law had most hoped to avoid—that she should come down to Somerset and spend the weekend with them.

  ‘Oh, really—Jake’s going to ring me every evening,’ she protested, searching desperately for a reason to refuse, but Mrs Courtenay was not easily put off.

  ‘Well, he can ring you here just as easily,’ she declared at once, overriding that excuse without effort, ‘and I know for a fact that he would feel happier if you were with us.’

  ‘But why?’

  Rachel could see no reason why Jake’s mother should say that, but Mrs Courtenay was ready for her: ‘My dear, I hate to tell you this, but we always felt that one of the main causes for the breakdown of Jake’s first marriage was what—went on while he was away.’

  Rachel’s fingers tightened round the receiver. She was still not used to Mrs Courtenay’s habit of confiding unsolicited scraps of information.

  ‘Mrs Courtenay,’ she began, only to be interrupted by an urgent injunction not to be so formal: ‘Er—well, Mother, I——’ Rachel stifled a sound of frustration, ‘I really don’t think what happened between Jake and—and Denise has any bearing on this situation——’

  ‘Oh, but it has!’ Jake’s mother emphasised strongly. ‘We all know what it’s like for a young woman alone in a big city. Temptation is always in the way …’

  ‘Not in my way,’ declared Rachel firmly, but she was fighting a losing battle.

  ‘I know Charles and I live a very quiet life here,’ Mrs Courtenay was going on, ‘but we would so love to see you, and no matter what you say, I know Jake would be relieved to hear you’re safe with us.’

  Rachel sighed. ‘Well …’

  ‘You’ll come?’ Mrs Courtenay seized on her weakening immediately. ‘Oh. good! Shall we say Thursday—or Friday?’

  ‘I was thinking perhaps—Saturday morning,’ conceded Rachel defeatedly, thinking with some relief that it was only a matter of forty-eight hours after all. But Jake’s mother’s terms were rather different.

  ‘Very well,’ she agreed without argument, ‘and perhaps Charles and I could run you back on Monday and spend a couple of days at the apartment,’ making Rachel’s return to London merely an extension of her visit.

  ‘Well, actually,’ she began recklessly, without stopping to consider the possible consequences of what she was about to say, ‘if I do come down to Hardy Lonsdale, I might go on to Torquay afterwards and spend a couple of days at the hotel, with Della.’

  ‘With Della?’ Mrs Courtenay sounded disapproving. ‘But I thought—that is, Jake told us that you and she—well, were not exactly soulmates!’

  ‘We’re not,’ replied Rachel levelly. ‘But she was a friend of my mother’s, and I think she’d like to know that I’m well and happy.’

  In actual fact, she didn’t know any such thing, but the idea of having Mrs Courtenay at the apartment until Jake came home didn’t bear thinking about. She didn’t think she could stand any more unsubtle innuendoes about Denise at this time, and nor did she want Sheila coming to their home on the pretext of seeing Mr Courtenay, leaving traces of her personality in the atmosphere.

  ‘Well, you must do what you want, of course,’ Jake’s mother was saying now, ‘but I shouldn’t make any hasty decisions about going to the Tor Court. You may find you’d prefer to stay at the Priory, after all. So …’ She paused. ‘When is Jake due back?’

  ‘A week tomorrow,’ responded Rachel tautly. ‘Or sooner if he can manage it.’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t expect him any sooner, my dear,’ Mrs Courtenay declared firmly, with the air of one who knows. ‘It’s much better to expect the worst, then one can only be pleasantly surprised.’

  ‘Yes.’ Rachel longed to put the phone down. ‘Well, if that’s all …’ she added pointedly, and at last her mother-in-law took the hint.

  ‘Of course. I must be going. Charles is waiting for his supper, and it’s Dora’s night off. Ring me tomorrow and let me know what time you’ll be arriving on—Saturday, was it?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Rachel took a deep breath. ‘I’ll probably wait and ring Friday, if that’s all right with you.’

  ‘Very well. We’ll look forward to seeing you. ‘Bye, dear.’

  ‘G’bye.’

  Rachel replaced the receiver with a definite click, and then stood for a moment with her arms wrapped about herself. Why was it that Jake’s mother always chose the most inappropriate moments to confide in her? Did she do it deliberately? Or was she unaware of her lack of tact? Whatever it was, she wished Mrs Courtenay would keep her opinions to herself!

  Rachel went to bed about eleven, but she couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned for hours, wondering where Jake was and who he was with, and almost jumped out of her skin in the early morning hours when the phone began to ring. For a horrible moment she imagined it might be the airport authorities ringing to tell her that Jake’s plane had crashed, and then she remembered that although it was early morning in London, it was still the evening of the previous day in Los Angeles—and Jake had promised to ring her from his hotel.

  She leapt across the bed and seized the phone, speaking with unaccustomed breathlessness: ‘Yes? Rachel Courtenay speaking.’

  ‘Rachel!’

  ‘Jake!’ She sank down weakly on to the side of the bed, ridiculous tears pricking at her eyes. ‘Oh, Jake! Where are you?’

  ‘I’m at the airport hotel in Los Angeles,’ he told her, his voice sounding far too clear to really be coming all those thousands of miles. ‘The time here is around seven-thirty, and everyone’s just about to have dinner.’

  ‘Dinner!’ Rachel was incredulous. ‘But you must be exhausted! How was the flight?’

  ‘Boring,’ he responded laconically. ‘Hours and hours of unadulterated boredom. I managed to sleep for a while, but like you say, I am pretty tired now.’

  ‘Oh, Jake!’ It was stupid, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say, and the precious seconds were ticking away. ‘I’m so glad you phoned.’

  ‘Are you?’ he paused. ‘What have you been doing?’

  She felt an hysterical sob rising in her throat. ‘Nothing,’ she declared chokily. ‘Nothing—but watch television. Oh, and your mother phoned. She wants me to go down there for the weekend.’

  There was a moment’s silence before he asked: ‘Will you go?’

  Rachel sighed. ‘Probably.’

  ‘You don’t have to, you know.’

  ‘I know. But——’ she moved her shoulders defeatedly, realising how impossible it was not to understand how he must feel, ‘I think they’d like me to go.’

  ‘I’m sure they would.’ Jake sounded convinced of that.

  Another silence, then: ‘Did I wake you?’

  ‘No.’ The sob escaped in a nervous laugh. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘Take a drink,’ he advised softly, and her lips trembled helplessly.

  ‘J-Jake!’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hurry home!’

  ‘I don’t need you to tell me that,’ he answered roughly. ‘Right now, I feel like getting on the next plane back to England.’

  ‘When—when do you go to San Francisco?’

  ‘I fly up tomorrow morning. I have a meeting w
ith the Pearman board at two o’clock. I’ll try and ring you lunchtime, after I’ve checked in to my hotel. That way I won’t get you out of bed.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ she protested, and heard his lazy laugh.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘That’s it, then. I’d better go and get something to eat, otherwise I’m going to be mighty hungry by tomorrow morning.’

  Rachel couldn’t bear to let him go. ‘What’s the weather like?’ she asked hurriedly, and he told her patiently that the temperature was still bordering on the eighties.

  ‘I can hardly believe it,’ she exclaimed, and he allowed her a moment’s credulity before making his farewells. ‘You will ring tomorrow, won’t you?’ she asked at last, and he assured her he would, ringing off abruptly as if he, too, could have said more.

  Rachel sat for a few minutes regarding the cream receiver after she had replaced it in its cradle. So near, and yet so far, she thought wretchedly. Why were clichés considered trite when they were so true!

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  RACHEL drove herself down to Hardy Lonsdale on Saturday morning. Jake had said she might use the Lamborghini, but with Madigan’s permission she was driving the Daimler, which seemed a more conventional kind of vehicle. It was three days since Jake’s departure, and he had contacted her every evening, reducing the miles between them through the medium of the telephone. She had still not got over the thrill of hearing his voice, and half resented the realisation that this evening she might not be alone to receive his call. He had promised to ring her at the Priory for the next two evenings, but she had not yet mentioned that she might go on to Torquay on Monday, refusing to admit to a certain reluctance in doing so. Carl Yates would be at the hotel, and she didn’t want Jake to jump to the wrong conclusions. All the same, unless she changed her mind about Jake’s parents accompanying her back to London, she was bound to stay at least one night at the Tor Court.

  It was lunch time when she arrived at the Priory, and Mrs Courtenay must have been looking for the car, because both Jake’s parents came out to greet her as she parked on the forecourt.

  ‘Darling Rachel!’ Mrs Courtenay embraced her warmly, and then Mr Courtenay was shaking her hand, leaning forward to bestow a light kiss on her cheek.

  ‘Did you have a good journey?’ he asked, taking her case, and Rachel nodded, telling them that the roads had been quiet, as they walked indoors.

  ‘And how are you?’ her mother-in-law wanted to know, as they climbed the stairs to the first floor. ‘Have you been very lonely?’

  Rachel sighed. ‘A little,’ she conceded reluctantly. ‘But yesterday I went to the Francises’ house, and met Max’s wife, Jean, and I enjoyed that.’

  In truth, she had not wanted to accept the consultant’s invitation when it was offered, but she was glad now that she had. He had rung in the morning after learning from a mutual acquaintance the previous evening that Jake was away, and suggested that Rachel might enjoy a day in the country. Max himself had collected her before noon, and driven her to his house in Surrey, and she had had a delightful time helping Jean with the new baby, and fighting off the rapturous affection of a huge Old English sheepdog.

  ‘Really?’ Mrs Courtenay sounded surprised. ‘I didn’t know you knew them.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t really. Oh, I met Max at the wedding, of course, but I’d never met Jean or the children. They have four children, you know. Three girls and a boy. Paul, he’s the eldest, is eight, but the girls are all younger.’

  ‘I see.’ Mrs Courtenay sounded disapproving and her husband chuckled.

  ‘Sarah thinks you shouldn’t enjoy yourself while Jake’s away,’ he remarked. ‘Thinks you should spend all your time sitting by the telephone, waiting for him to call!’

  ‘That’s not true!’ Mrs Courtenay was indignant. ‘Rachel knows I only want her to be happy. And spending a day with the Francises might be very—suitable.’

  ‘No loose men, you mean,’ mocked her husband, leading the way into the drawing room, and Rachel hid her smile.

  Deciding it was time for a change of topic, she said: ‘I think Jake will need a rest when this trip is over. He sounded awfully tired on the phone last night.’

  ‘Yes, didn’t he?’

  Mrs Courtenay nodded in agreement, and Rachel raised her eyebrows: ‘You’ve heard from him?’

  ‘Yesterday evening,’ supplied Mr Courtenay. ‘After he’d rung you.’

  ‘He just wanted to talk about you, actually,’ added Mrs Courtenay. ‘To ask us to make sure you had a happy weekend.’

  Rachel’s cheeks were scarlet. ‘I see.’

  ‘You’re embarrassing the girl, Sarah,’ Jake’s father reproved. ‘Seriously, love, he is concerned about you, and he just wanted to let us know that he hopes to be home by Wednesday.’

  Rachel put down her handbag, and sank down on to one of the couches. ‘That was—thoughtful of him,’ she murmured, but she couldn’t help wishing he had rung his parents first.

  Sheila joined them as they were having a drink before the meal. She came into the room with her usual assurance, and gave Rachel a confident smile. ‘Hello again,’ she greeted the younger girl cheerfully. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ Rachel forced a smile. ‘Are you?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m very well.’ Sheila’s embracing manner was almost patronising. ‘How is Jake?’

  ‘Finding the trip a strain, I think,’ Rachel told her quietly. ‘It’s so soon after …’

  Her voice trailed away, and Sheila’s lips curled. ‘After getting married, do you mean?’

  ‘No!’ Rachel was indignant. ‘I mean after his illness, of course.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt it’s a combination of both,’ remarked Mrs Courtenay with her usual lack of tact, and Jake’s father pulled a wry face at her.

  ‘Oh, come on, Sarah! Jake’s no weakling! It’s going into that office every day that’s getting him down. As a matter of fact, he was talking about that last night. Seems he’s had this idea of shifting some of the responsibility for Courtenays on to Petrie’s shoulders, and only going into the office every other day.’

  ‘But could he do that?’ exclaimed his wife, and Rachel too found she was waiting expectantly for Mr Courtenay’s answer.

  ‘I guess he could,’ Jake’s father said at length. ‘It’s only conceit that makes us think we’re indispensable. Besides,’ he looked gently at his daughter-in-law, ‘I believe he wants to buy a place outside of town, where he can raise a family. Isn’t that right, Rachel?’

  Rachel’s mouth tilted upward. ‘I think so,’ she admitted shyly, but not even Mrs Courtenay’s delighted reception of the news could erase a sudden awareness of the malevolence behind Sheila’s smiling countenance.

  Lunch for four was served in the small parlour, with Sheila joining them, much to Rachel’s dismay. Obviously in the absence of anyone else, Sheila was treated with the casual affection of a daughter of the house, and this showed in a dozen different ways. She was very much at home here, and seemed to find nothing strange about the fact that her own mother had cooked and served the meal.

  Afterwards, Mr Courtenay took Rachel down to the stables to show her how the new foal was developing, and for an hour or so, she could relax in the company of someone she really liked. Jake’s father was very like his son, they shared the same sense of humour, and for a while she escaped the uneasy uncertainty of her thoughts. It was only when Sam Gordon came looking for him that Mr Courtenay had to excuse himself, and Rachel made her own way back to the house.

  Mrs Courtenay wasn’t in the drawing room, however, so as she had been told that she was to have the same suite of rooms she had occupied before, Rachel decided to make her way there and unpack. On the way she passed Jake’s old room and, on impulse, she opened the door and looked inside, drawing back aghast when she saw Sheila sitting on the bed, looking through a pile of old magazines. Then, common sense telling her that she had as much right to be there as the other girl, she returned Sheila
’s challenging stare with a degree of confidence she had not known she possessed:

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Sheila glanced down at the magazines in her lap. ‘Looking for something,’ she replied coolly. ‘What are you?’

  Rachel swallowed her indignation. ‘This is my husband’s room,’ she reminded the other girl levelly.

  ‘Yes.’ Sheila sounded unconvinced.

  ‘What are those magazines?’ Rachel refused to be intimidated.

  Sheila held one up so that she could see the cover. It was a weekly periodical explaining methods of breeding and rearing animals. Rachel frowned.

  ‘Are they Jake’s?’

  Sheila nodded, and continued flicking through them. ‘Mr Courtenay wants me to find an article he remembers seeing in one of them.’

  ‘What about?’

  Sheila looked up at her then, her eyes insolently appraising. ‘Does it matter? You don’t know anything about horses, do you?’

  Rachel bit back the retort that sprang to her lips. Instead, she said evenly: ‘I’m sure Jake wouldn’t mind if you took the magazines along to your own room. There’s no need for you to look at them here.’

  Sheila’s gaze didn’t waver. ‘Why should I? I like it here.’ Rachel had no immediate answer to that, and the other girl went on: ‘What’s the matter, Rachel? Surely you’re not jealous of me just sitting here in Jake’s old room while you’re making no objections to the company he keeps.’

  ‘I’m not jealous!’ declared Rachel, but even to her ears it didn’t sound entirely convincing. And then, as the rest of what Sheila had said registered: ‘What are you implying? Why should I object to the company Jake keeps?’

  ‘Why indeed?’

  Sheila shrugged annoyingly, and resumed flicking through the pages. Rachel could feel her nails digging into the palms of her hands and she told herself severely to calm down. The girl was being deliberately provocative, encouraging her to ask questions, the answers to which might well be ambiguous. Obviously Sheila was not immune from jealousy herself, and as Rachel had expected this she should be prepared for it.