For Better for Worse

by Penny Jordan

  ‘Nick isn’t here, I’m afraid,’ Fern told her quietly, adding wryly, ‘and I’m sure you have a much better idea of how to get in touch with him than I do, Venice. Oh, it’s all right,’ she added when Venice was silent. ‘I know about your affair—that tie you brought back gave it all away, but then you must have known it would.’

  For a moment Fern thought Venice would simply hang up without saying anything, but then she heard her take a quick breath and say fiercely, ‘He doesn’t love you, Fern. It’s me he wants, not you! He didn’t even come to look for you when you left, did he? Shall I tell you what he was doing while you were away?’ Her voice had softened to a silky, sensual purr now, a softness that barely concealed the razor-sharp claws of her malice.

  ‘He was with me… he was in my bed, Fern, making love to me… wanting me… He never even gave you a thought. To tell the truth, I don’t think he’d have given a damn if you’d never come back. Why did you come back, Fern? To try to patch up your marriage? You don’t have a marriage any more… haven’t you realised that yet? I want Nick and I intend to have him. If you’ve got any sense you’ll go back to that friend of yours, but this time you’ll stay there…

  ‘Oh, and by the way, there’s no need to tell Nick I rang. I’ll be seeing him this evening anyway…’

  She had hung up before Fern could speak.

  It seemed she was not the only one to want to end their marriage, Fern acknowledged shakily as she reflected on Venice’s comments. But if Nick had already decided to end their marriage himself, why had he simply not said so?

  Because he wants to put the blame on you, an inner voice told her. Because Cressy was right in everything that she said about him. Because he enjoys hurting and humiliating you. Because… She tensed as she glanced out of the window and saw Nick’s car pulling up outside.

  As she watched, he climbed out and walked towards the house.

  Even without being able to see his face she could tell that he was still angry. His movements betrayed both his anger and his aggression.

  ‘Come to your senses yet, have you?’ he demanded as he came in. ‘You’re a fool, Fern, you always have been and you always will be. My God, you’re damn lucky that I’m prepared to let you come back. How many other men would take back a woman who’d slept with another man… and not just any other man but—?’

  ‘You’ve slept with other women,’ Fern interrupted him coolly. ‘You still are doing.’

  ‘And who the hell’s fault is that?’ Nick demanded savagely. ‘I’m a man, Fern, not a bloody monk. What man wouldn’t be tempted to turn to someone else married to a frigid bitch like you? Adam was right when he warned me not to get involved with you, not to let my pity for you blind me to reality. Even Adam, cold fish that he is, didn’t want you in his bed, did he? Did he?’

  ‘Unlike Venice, who does apparently want you in hers,’ Fern cut across him.

  As she saw the look that crossed his face she was both amazed and appalled at her own recklessness.

  ‘She wants you to get in touch with her, by the way,’ she added, refusing to be quelled by the look he was giving her. ‘You might have told me that you intended leaving me for her, by the way, Nick,’ she added quietly. ‘It would have saved us both having to go through this pointless charade.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Nick demanded furiously. ‘I didn’t say anything about leaving you.’

  ‘No, you didn’t, did you?’ Fern agreed levelly. ‘You let Venice say it for you… I’m going out now,’ she added, heading for the door and pausing when she reached it to turn round and tell him pleasantly, ‘Oh, and it’s all right. Venice has already told me that you won’t be in for dinner.’

  She was shaking as she walked out of the house, but she was determined not to let Nick guess how vulnerable she felt.

  * * *

  Venice saw Nick arriving through her bedroom window. She had been standing there watching… waiting for the last half-hour, but she didn’t hurry downstairs to let him in.

  Instead she walked into the dressing-room attached to her bedroom—there was no way she was going to allow the carefully copied French empire style of the latter to be spoiled by the banks of wardrobes and cupboards, the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, the harshness of the lighting which came as near to natural daylight as was possible and which was essential for the careful and professional application of her make-up.

  For Venice the outward appearance with which she faced the world was extremely important; she planned her public appearances with all the dedication and concentration of a master strategist… just as she had planned this meeting with Nick.

  She smiled secretly to herself. He of course would never know exactly how much work had gone into this summons here to her house, her presence; how much energy and intensity she had poured into her relationship with him… All the carefully timed strategies, the subtle shepherding and coaxing of him… the deliberate manipulation of his moods and needs.

  Now, as she checked her appearance in the mirrors, she permitted herself a small, satisfied smile.

  Her make-up gave her skin a soft luminescent glow which in the careful lighting of her drawing-room and bedroom would easily pass for ‘naturalness’. She had left her hair soft and loose, its style almost demure. She was wearing a navy printed chiffon dress with loose panels that floated enticingly around her body and she had even changed her perfume, forgoing her preference for Schiaparelli’s Shocking for something softer, lighter…

  It was time to go down and let Nick in and bring to a close the campaign she had embarked on. A successful close, of course. How could there be any other?

  She paused for a moment, reflecting pityingly on Nick’s wife.

  She had been no opponent at all, really. Some women had no idea how to hold on to their men. She gave a small shrug. She would get over it. She would have to.

  She opened the door to Nick just as his irritation was mounting to the point where he was about to walk away.

  Originally, when he had first met Venice, Nick had been wary of her. Wary of her and extremely excited by her. He knew all about her reputation; he had heard the story of her marriage to a much older and very wealthy man, her openly uninhibited enjoyment of the wealth he had left her and of her own sexuality… He had known then how dangerous it would be for him to get involved with her, but ultimately he had been unable to withstand his craving for the heady, drugging mixture of excitement, danger and jealousy she aroused within him.

  It was a new experience for Nick to be involved in a sexual relationship where he was not in control, where he was not in a position of mastery and manipulation. But, although his sense of self-preservation had warned him to pull back, he had become too deeply infatuated, too drunk on the ego-boosting drug of sex and sympathy which Venice was feeding him to allow himself to be weaned of his addiction.

  Venice was clever enough to know just when to pull back to allow him to think he had the edge over her, to bow to his ‘male superiority’, thus soothing his pride and allaying, silencing that warning voice of inner caution and self-protection.

  Fern’s unexpected rebellion had come at a bad time for him. His accountant had warned him that he would suffer heavy business losses if he wasn’t careful. Venice was not proving very easy to pin down to the various proposals he had put to her, on which he had hoped to earn fat commissions. In bed she was all compliance, all agreement with his carefully rehearsed post-coital advice on what she ought to do with her inherited millions, but then, later, when he tried to pin her down to making an actual commitment, she became irritatingly vague.

  He scowled now as she opened the door to him, ready to demand an explanation from her.

  What had got into her? Pulling that idiotic trick of returning his tie like that. Now the postscript at the bottom of Fern’s note was beginning to make sense. She must have known that even someone as dim as Fern would put two and two together, and then telling Fern that she wanted to see him… He could feel
the irritation bubbling up inside him. He couldn’t afford to antagonise Venice now, not when he was so desperately in need of her business, nor was he ready yet to give up his place in her bed. She was an exciting lover, a little too demanding perhaps at times… a little too unfemininely aggressive in the insistence that he complete her pleasure. His ego did not take happily to the suggestion that what he had already given her might not be enough, that he had not totally satisfied her, but whenever he tried to correct this annoying habit, by subtly trying to shift the responsibility for her failure to reach her own preferred peak of orgasmic satisfaction on to her, she somehow or other always managed to turn the tables on him, refusing to accept, as Fern would have done, as other women had, his careful redirection of the ‘blame’ on to her shoulders, by implying that she was not perhaps sexual enough… not perhaps quite woman enough… She simply laughed at him, mocking him almost as she told him graphically and with an almost shocking bluntness just what it was about his own performance she had found lacking and just what it was she wanted him to do to correct this shortfall.

  And in truth there was a part of him, an alien and previously unknown part, that was almost squirmingly and secretly excited by this kind of humiliation. In truth, on those occasions when Venice did complain about his performance, he always invariably found himself being driven, compelled, obsessed almost by the need to prove her wrong… to show her… to reinforce upon her his mastery, his control… his supremacy.

  It was only afterwards, lying exhausted, drained, soaked with sweat, his muscles still trembling with effort, in her bed, the fog of almost manic intensity gone, that it struck him that he was far from being in control, from being her master, and that, in contrast, she was the one who was supreme, the one who manipulated and used him. But these thoughts seldom lasted very long.

  Venice was a woman, and, like all women, she was weak and vulnerable, easily dominated by his sex.

  He needed Venice in his life right now, he reminded himself as she let him in. He needed to keep her sweet, to give way a little to her…

  But she had to realise that when it came to his marriage…

  He was frowning as she led him into her drawing-room. He couldn’t tell her, of course, why his marriage was so important to him; why it was so essential that Fern not be allowed to leave him for Adam… Adam, whom he had always loathed from the moment their parents had married and he had seen the way his mother had turned away from him, giving to Adam’s father and to Adam the time and attention which had previously belonged exclusively to him… gently upholding Adam to him as a role-model.

  ‘Darling, what kept you so long?’ Venice was pouting teasingly at him, her manner all little-girl-lost, all soft and coaxing.

  For a moment he was briefly soothed, and then he remembered his irritation.

  ‘Do you realise what you’ve done?’ he demanded, pulling away from her, turning his back on her as he walked over to the window. ‘Fern recognised that tie and now she’s starting to make a fuss about me seeing you.’

  No need to tell her what Fern had actually said; and perhaps by threatening and hinting that he might have to curtail their meeting he could both subtly punish her for breaking one of the unwritten rules of their affair—rules which he had laid down in his head even if he had never discussed them with her—and experience the discreet pleasure of reminding her of who it was who actually controlled their relationship… and her.

  He turned round, keeping his face impassive, waiting for the protests, the apologies, the tears which he knew would follow.

  He would make her squirm for a while… draw out the punishment just a little before magnanimously forgiving her.

  He could feel the pressure and tension aroused by Fern’s unexpected rebellion and the row they had had starting to ease, the uplifting mental and emotional narcotic of knowing he was the one in control running swiftly through his veins.

  ‘Darling, I’m sorry, but I had to do it.’

  He could hear the remorse in Venice’s voice. He turned round, starting to relax slightly.

  She had been jealous, of course. Women were like that: jealous, possessive, vulnerable… Any minute now Venice would start telling him that it was her love for him that had driven her to it. He would have to point out to her of course that Fern was his wife… that…

  ‘She had to know. And it seemed kinder, more tactful to do it that way than to wait until…’

  Nick frowned. Something had gone wrong. That was not what Venice should have been saying. Where was the remorse and self-abasement now? All he could hear in her voice was smooth determination, and a certain dangerous coolness.

  She was smiling at him now, but it wasn’t an apologetic or pleading smile. His muscles tensed as he recognised the catlike quality of Venice’s smile, the knowingness… the superiority of it.

  Something was wrong…

  ‘Darling, I’ve got the most wonderful news. I’m pregnant.’

  Nick stared at her.

  Watching him, registering his shock, Venice continued to smile beatifically and vacuously at him. It was a smile she had been practising in front of the mirror for weeks now. Long before she had actually conceived… It was a copy of a smile she had seen on one of the vacuous, innocently virginal faces of a stone madonna statue she had seen on the last holiday she had had with her late husband before his death. They had gone to Italy… it had been a kind of a pilgrimage. He had been stationed there during the Second World War. If he had returned seeking a miracle, he had not found one, because he had died shortly after their return.

  She had spent her time shopping and planning. She had seen his will by having finally managed to coax the young junior partner at this legal firm to provide her with a copy. The boy, if not precisely a virgin, had been young and inexperienced enough to have a brief novelty value as a lover, and it had given her an extra frisson of excitement to know that she had outwitted Bill and had seen his will.

  It had been a relief to discover that he was still besotted enough with her to leave her everything unconditionally, but she was always conscious of the resentment her inheritance had caused his family. There was always the threat that with a clever lawyer and enough stamina they might just be able, if not to get the will totally overset, then potentially to overturn her total control of Bill’s estate.

  Unless she did something about it… made her position so secure, her reputation so inviolate that she could not be touched. She had worked far too hard for Bill’s wealth to let it go.

  She had been pondering the problem when she had first met Nick. Then he had simply been another attractive and vain man who had intrigued and amused her, and who had excited her sexually, but then, as time had gone on, she had begun to perceive that he might just possibly be able to play a different role in her life.

  As a mother, she had reasoned, she would surely be more secure, invite more sympathy during any potential court case than as a young widow with no dependants. A mother needed to be able to support her child… her children, and if she could be seen to be not just a mother, but also something of a modern madonna as well…

  As she watched Nick and saw the panic, the fury, the powerlessness overwhelming him, she smiled secretly to herself.

  ‘Pregnant?’ Nick stared at her in disbelief. Had she gone mad? Didn’t she realise what this meant? It would ruin him… and she was standing there with that stupid expression on her face, looking at him as though he should be pleased.

  Babies… He had never particularly liked children, and certainly never wanted to father any of his own. To have done so, outside his marriage and with a woman like Venice who lived such a high-profile local lifestyle…

  He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to fight down his panic.

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ he heard her saying. ‘Darling, I’m so thrilled.’

  Thrilled? He finally found his voice, making no attempt to disguise his shock. ‘Are you mad?’ he demanded jerkily. ‘For God’s sake, Venice, I’m a ma
rried man… You’ll have to get rid of it.’

  He was sweating now, his shirt clinging clammily to his skin, his heart racing. All the irritation he had felt earlier had returned, only this time it was hardened and intensified by resentment as well.

  How could Venice do this to him? She would have to be made to see that the pregnancy could not be allowed to continue.

  She would see it, of course… he would make sure that she did. He would make sure that she understood just what was at risk. Their relationship, for a start… He felt the pressure easing slightly as he remembered that he was the one in control, that, like all women, she would be manipulated into doing what he wanted, but for some reason this knowledge failed to have its normal restorative effect on him; instead the feeling of panic remained.

  Venice was pouting now, her eyes filling with the tears he had expected to see earlier. Was it his imagination or behind those tears did her eyes really look as cold and hard as sharply cut glass?

  It must be his imagination, surely, because Venice was coming towards him, her eyes widening with distress, her body trembling in that feminine, vulnerable way which so excited him in bed, underscoring as it did his male power over her.

  ‘But, Nick, I thought you’d be so pleased…’

  ‘Pleased? For God’s sake, Venice, I’m married!’

  She stared at him. ‘But, darling, don’t you see? My having this baby makes everything so much easier. After all, no matter how sympathetic people might feel towards Fern, they’re bound to acknowledge that in divorcing her to marry me in order to protect your child, and of course his or her inheritance, you’d be doing the only honourable thing.’

  She paused delicately, her eyes wide and innocent.

  ‘Nick, I’m so afraid. Bill’s family have never really accepted that he left everything to me. I’m afraid that once they know I’m having a child they’ll try to get some kind of control over Bill’s fortune through my baby…’