For Better for Worse

by Penny Jordan

  Governed by an impulse that was more protective than sexual, she bent her head, gently touching her lips to him in a kiss, a caress aroused by love and not by passion.

  Tears filmed her eyes as she lifted her head and started to move away from him, reluctantly releasing him from her touch.

  He was right. They could not… must not. He did not love her as she now knew she loved him. He never had done; to be here with him like this was not just a betrayal of her marriage and Nick but in a way a betrayal of Adam as well. She had seen in his eyes the conflict between his sexual arousal and his desire to behave honourably, and yet as she lifted her head and looked at him, intending to tell him that she understood, something seemed to break apart inside her, releasing a need, a yearning so intense that before she could stop herself she was crying out to him to please not refuse her, to please, please ease the ache within her as only he had the power to do, to fill her with the silky heat and power of his flesh, to let her feel the movement of him within her and to know it echoed the movement of every vital force within the universe.

  Which of them then moved first she wasn’t sure, never being able to remember whether it was her hand that guided him into her body or his that touched her, soothed her as he made that first achingly slow and careful thrust into her body.

  Oddly, the physical release of her desire, the actual moment of orgasm, climactic and consuming though it was, did not touch her as powerfully or intensely as the emotional completeness she had—the sense of being held, protected, wanted… loved, she had felt.

  It had been then, afterwards, lying blissful and replete in his arms, her face still damp from the exalted tears of sexual release she had cried and which he had tenderly licked away, that she came abruptly to earth and realised what she had done, recognised the heaviness and unfairness of the burden she had placed on Adam’s shoulders in overwhelming his scruples.

  He didn’t love her, he felt sorry for her. He was a compassionate, caring man who would feel endlessly guilty and responsible if he realised the truth and discovered that she loved him.

  She could not face that happening, could not bear to watch Adam carefully and courteously distancing himself from her, hating having to hurt her and yet too honest to lie and pretend to feelings he did not have.

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ she heard him asking her as though he had felt the tension sharply invading her body.

  It had to be now. She had to do it now while she had the strength…

  She pushed herself away from him, turning her head so that he could not see her face as she told him dully, ‘You were right. We shouldn’t… I shouldn’t… I’m Nick’s wife and…’

  ‘And you love him,’ she heard Adam saying quietly behind her. ‘I know that, Fern…’

  Did he really think she loved Nick or was he simply trying to be tactful, trying not to hurt or humiliate her by letting her see that he knew how she felt about him?

  She felt his hand touch her shoulder, brushing her hair off her skin. As he had made love he had whispered to her that he loved her hair; that he wanted to wrap it around his body, to…

  ‘You mustn’t blame yourself for what happened. It didn’t mean anything, we both know that… it was simply a… a means of expressing your pain… a reaction against the way Nick hurt you.’

  No, she had wanted to deny, no, you’re wrong… This had nothing to do with Nick. Nothing at all.

  ‘You mustn’t worry about it. Or feel guilty,’ Adam was still saying to her.

  ‘How can I not feel guilty?’ Fern had protested, shivering now, her face still averted from him, shock and despair taking the place of her earlier euphoric emotions.

  ‘You have nothing to feel guilty for,’ Adam insisted, adding quietly but firmly, ‘Nothing happened, Fern, nothing at all…’

  She did look at him then, her eyes registering her pain. What was he trying to tell her? That he wished it had not happened? That he preferred to pretend that it had not happened?

  There was no need to remind herself that she had been the one to urge, to insist… to plead and beg… that he had been the one to call a halt, to try to stop.

  ‘You’re Nick’s wife. You love him.’

  ‘Yes,’ she had agreed dully, her eyes hot and dry with the pressure of the tears she could not allow herself to cry.

  She had started to dress then, her fingers trembling as, like Eve pushed out of the Garden of Eden, she suddenly became aware of her nakedness and ashamed of it.

  Adam stopped her, gently pushing away her clumsy fingers and then dressing her with patient care and the kind of gentleness that brought fresh tears to her eyes.

  ‘Don’t. Don’t cry, Fern,’ he had told her as he brushed her tears away. ‘Go back to Nick and forget this ever happened.’

  Forget? How could she? And then the phone had rung and with a sob she had run as fast as she could from his house.

  * * *

  Tiredly she lifted her head. Beyond the window of Cressy’s house the sky was lightening. Her body felt stiff and sore, her muscles tense and aching. She felt suddenly very old and drained. Wearily she focused on the greyness beyond the window.

  What was there after all to look forward to? What purpose left in life? She had tried to make a go of her marriage, to fulfil her parents’ expectations of her. She had tried to love Nick and up until last night she had believed that he had been genuine in his claim that he needed her; that he needed and wanted their marriage to succeed.

  She closed her eyes briefly and was once again back in Adam’s arms, feeling herself come to life, her senses, her body, her emotions suddenly so sensitive, so heightened that she had scarcely been able to endure their intensity. If she kept her eyes tightly closed and concentrated very hard she could almost feel the sensation of his mouth moving over hers, his hands touching her face, his tongue stroking her lips, his body…

  Abruptly she opened her eyes, staring down at her clenched fists as though they were alien to her. Slowly she uncurled her fingers, watching the way they trembled, feeling the slow, inexorable tide of pain sweep through her.

  This was reality. This was life. This was love… And somehow she would have to learn to live with it. One thing was sure: she could no longer go on pretending, hiding behind the barrier of her marriage, diverting all her energies and emotions into propping up its empty façade.

  Everything Cressy had said to her had only underlined what she had already known in her heart. She had to leave Nick. Not because she loved Adam, but because she needed to regain her self-respect, to take charge of her own life and to be in control of it.

  She needed to rediscover herself and she needed to learn to live with the person she discovered.

  * * *

  ‘So what will you do? You can’t go back to him—not now.’

  Fern smiled calmly at Cressy. They were walking along the beach that marked the boundary between Cressy’s land and the sea, a long, curling ribbon of wet sand backed by marsh grass and the raised outline of the path along the dyke.

  Once this land would all have been water; in its way it was a testament to what man could achieve, his determination, and his obduracy… his stubborn determination to conquer and control.

  From locking out the sea and building the dykes, man had progressed to refusing to share his captured territory with its original owner, wanting it for his own use alone, jealously guarding his stolen prize. The skyline here had a haunting melancholy about it, the cries of the seabirds mingling with the soft soughing sound of the wind.

  ‘No, I can’t go back,’ Fern agreed quietly. ‘Our marriage is over.’

  ‘So what will you do? You know you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want…’

  Fern laughed, amusement crinkling the corners of her eyes and curling her mouth. As she watched her, Cressy thought that she had never seen her looking more attractive, more mature… more of a woman.

  ‘That’s generous of you, but no, I shan’t do that, Cressy,’ she respo
nded, touching her hand. ‘Nick and I have to talk for one thing, and for another…’ She turned to look out across the sea.

  ‘What you need is a completely fresh start; somewhere new where you…’

  Fern shook her head. ‘No,’ she told her friend quietly, adding, ‘I have a few friends at home, a life… I’ve been a coward for long enough, Cressy. If I run away now… Nick won’t like it, of course.’

  ‘Will you be able to manage… financially?’

  ‘It won’t be easy,’ Fern admitted. ‘I shall have to find some sort of job, and of course I don’t have any proper training, much less any real experience, but I am willing to learn.’ She pulled a rueful face. ‘There must be something I can do. Finding somewhere to live won’t be quite as easy, but…’

  ‘But surely Adam will be able to help you there? He must have contacts… know people…’

  Automatically Fern stiffened, turning away so that Cressy couldn’t see her expression.

  ‘Adam is Nick’s stepbrother. I don’t want to involve him in this.’

  ‘You might not be able to stop him from involving himself,’ Cressy told her drily. ‘Adam is that kind of person.’

  ‘Adam is Nick’s stepbrother,’ she repeated. ‘I don’t want or need his help.’

  As she turned round Fern saw the perplexed frown furrowing Cressy’s forehead and knew she was overreacting, but it was impossible for her to stop the panic and desperation from entering her voice.

  ‘But Nick resents and envies Adam, Fern,’ Cressy told her. ‘He always has done. How on earth Adam has managed to tolerate him so patiently I’ll never know. Look at the way Nick pushed Adam out of your life. What’s wrong? Are you cold?’ she asked in concern as Fern suddenly shivered.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I am a little bit,’ Fern fibbed as she hugged her arms around her body. She didn’t want to talk about Adam like this… didn’t want to risk making herself feel even more vulnerable than she already was.

  Although she could not admit it to Cressy, it was her feelings—her love—for Adam that was likely to cause her to move away to a different area, rather than her separation from Nick.

  * * *

  ‘Are you sure you won’t stay a little bit longer?’ Cressy pressed her three days later when Fern announced that it was time for her to leave.

  ‘I can’t,’ Fern told her, adding wryly, ‘Besides, I have to face Nick some time.’

  ‘Don’t let him change your mind, will you, Fern?’ Cressy cautioned her. ‘Don’t let him make you think you owe him anything. You don’t.’

  ‘You’ve made me see him in a completely different light,’ Fern told her. ‘Made me realise… I thought it was all my fault, that it was my responsibility… my duty to make our marriage work.’

  ‘He manipulated you… used you,’ Cressy told her grimly. ‘You are the injured party, Fern, not him. He’s the one who has been unfaithful. With a good divorce lawyer…’

  Immediately Fern shook her head. ‘No, I don’t want that,’ she told Cressy with uncharacteristic firmness. ‘I don’t want anything from our marriage, Cress. Somehow I feel as though it would be tainted, as though I would be tainted.’

  ‘But you’re entitled…’

  Again Fern shook her head. ‘No… Not really. I haven’t contributed anything financial to our marriage.’ She smiled gently as Cressy made an angry explosive sound. ‘It’s true. We don’t have any children. There’s no need for Nick to make any financial provision for me. I don’t want him to.’

  ‘But he should… You have worked, Fern. You’ve worked damned hard for him, far harder than anyone else would have. Far harder than he’s ever worked for you. Don’t be a fool… I know how you feel, but even if you’re lucky it’s going to take time for you to retrain. Jobs, even for qualified people, aren’t that easy to come by.’

  ‘I don’t care. I want to do it alone. I want to do something for myself,’ Fern told her. ‘I can manage, Cress. I’ll find work, cleaning, childminding… any thing. I don’t care how hard it is, I’ll do it. I want to do it,’ she added with fierce energy. ‘I need to do it.’

  Cressy looked at her. ‘Yes,’ she agreed softly. ‘Perhaps you do, but remember, I’m always here, and remember as well that I want you as my wedding attendant—and you still haven’t met Graham. Are you sure you can’t stay?’

  ‘Positive,’ Fern told her, hugging her, adding as they embraced, ‘Thanks, Cress.’

  ‘For what? Telling you the truth about Nick? It was my pleasure,’ Cressy told her forcefully.

  Fern laughed.

  ‘Don’t you dare change your mind,’ Cressy warned her as she got into her car.

  ‘I shan’t,’ Fern promised her. ‘I shan’t.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  SOMEHOW, like hospitals, airports, wherever they were, all smelled the same, Eleanor reflected tiredly as she stepped out of the terminal at Marseille and came to an abrupt halt, dizzied not so much by the strong Provençal sunshine but by the unexpected intensity of the light, pure, brilliant, sharply clear, its intoxicating effect somehow heightened by the scent of the air, hot, dusty and yet underlain with a giddily hedonistic warmth and earthiness.

  ‘I shall send someone to meet you,’ Pierre Colbert had told her when she had telephoned to accept his invitation, and now, as her eyes adjusted to the brilliant clarity of the light, she looked hesitantly around her, searching for someone carrying a placard with her name.

  There wasn’t anyone. Momentarily her attention was diverted by the sight of the man getting out of an expensive open-top convertible car. Tall and dark, his looks were typically French, his clothes expensively casual. He was about her own age, perhaps slightly younger, and very good-looking… almost too much so.

  She flushed slightly as he turned his head and caught her watching him. Before she could look away he smiled at her, and then started to walk towards her.

  Cursing herself under her breath, Eleanor was just about to move away when he reached her, holding out a hand as he said her name and introduced himself.

  ‘I’m André; my uncle asked me to come and meet you. He described you well,’ he added, smiling at her. ‘He told me,’ he added, giving her a small sideways look, ‘that you were extremely beautiful and extremely clever. And I, I’m afraid, am extremely susceptible to beautiful, clever women.’

  He laughed as he said it, his expression winsomely rueful, inviting her to share his amusement and his carelessly insouciant flirtation.

  To her own surprise Eleanor found herself laughing, and as she heard the sound of her own laughter she recognised how unfamiliar with it she was.

  How long was it since she had last laughed like this, since she had felt so light-hearted… so light-headed almost?

  It was a question which kept repeating itself to her over the next two days, forcing itself upon her whenever she was on her own, which was not very often, or for very long.

  When she was not involved in discussions with his uncle, André insisted on filling her time with sightseeing trips into the countryside surrounding Arles.

  Normally he would not have been her type; he was too egotistical, too flirtatious, too dangerous—and it made her all the more aware of the rift which seemed to have developed between herself and Marcus to recognise how surprisingly vulnerable she was allowing herself to be to André’s outrageous compliments and flirtatiousness.

  It was not that she was in any danger of taking him seriously, she recognised after he left her at her hotel late one afternoon, having failed to persuade her to spend the evening with him.

  It was just that it felt so good to be paid that kind of attention; to feel desired and wanted; to feel feminine and valued. She could almost feel the pressure lifting from her, her self-confidence, her self-esteem flowing energetically back into her as she soaked up the heady combination of André’s outrageous sexual flattery and Pierre Colbert’s assertion that he wanted her to take on a large part of his translation work.

  Boosted both profes
sionally and personally, warmed by the sun, freed from the draining pressure of her problems at home, she not only felt but looked a different person, Eleanor recognised as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

  This evening she was having dinner with Monsieur Colbert while they haggled over final terms for their contract. In the morning she would fly home.

  She paused as she recognised the feeling that knowledge brought, the reluctance and tension.

  She had spoken to Marcus twice since her arrival and on both occasions he had sounded curt and distant.

  Of course she wanted to be back home with him… with her sons. With Vanessa?

  She looked in the mirror again. It was amazing to see how much just thinking about home and the problems waiting for her there changed her. She could see the tension tightening her face, drawing it into sharper, ageing lines… causing her mouth to turn down instead of up, her body to stiffen defensively, her posture to change.

  By rights she ought to be looking forward to going home to Marcus, not… Not what? Not almost dreading it?

  Guiltily, she turned away from the mirror and hurried into the bathroom to get ready for her meeting with Pierre Colbert.

  * * *

  In London Marcus stared at the file open on his desk. The air in his study smelled stale and claustrophobic. As he stood up to open the window he heard the front door open and a warm, laughing voice call out, ‘Hi, Marcus, we’re back.’

  And then the three of them were crowding into his study, Vanessa, Sasha and Sondra.

  The long, usually neatly groomed hair was flowing casually down over her shoulders, almost inviting a man to reach out and touch it, the scent of her skin, the upward laughing curl of her mouth and above all the invitation, the knowledge glowing so warmly in her eyes, encouraging him… urging him…

  He turned away, and focused abruptly on the photograph of Eleanor standing on his desk. Eleanor… She had been right to doubt that he would be able to cope with Vanessa and Sasha.