by Penny Jordan
She would have to make sure that things were timed so that Nick didn’t formally take over from Jennifer Bowers until after she had had the baby.
It would be a boy, of course. She wasn’t going to have daughters who would one day grow up to compete with her!
Yes, everything was working out exactly the way she had planned.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
‘SHALL we head for Passport Control?’
‘Yes,’ Marcus agreed tersely, pulling away slightly as Sondra leaned closer to him. He could feel the warmth of her body through the thickness of his suit, smell her perfume. He paused for a moment, looking back over his shoulder, hesitating, but Sondra was urging him forward, telling him how excited she was about the trip and how much she was looking forward to seeing something of The Hague.
Marcus said nothing. These consultations with his Dutch and fellow European peers were commonplace affairs: hours spent in dark, crowded rooms while some fine point of international law was thrashed out.
The International Court of Justice had no power to enforce its decisions, but its judgments nevertheless carried considerable weight. Once, Marcus acknowledged, he had treated these consultations with as much enthusiasm as Sondra, but these days they were just something else to be crammed into an already overstretched schedule.
He was now approaching that point in his career when he had to decide whether to continue into the higher echelons of taking on only the cream of the work he was offered, or whether to put aside litigation work and opt instead for another role within the judiciary. He had already received tentative approaches to sound out how he would feel if he were invited to become a judge.
There was of course another option; he could always move permanently to Brussels and accept one of the many lucrative offers he regularly received to act as a consultant for one of the huge multinational companies.
Part of the problem was that, at this stage in his life, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to give up the adrenalin-activation of litigation work, and yet at the same time he acknowledged that he could not continue to take on the amount of work he was doing at present.
Couldn’t Nell see how impossible it would be for him to work as he was doing at the moment and to commute from Wiltshire?
‘You will be able to work at home sometimes,’ she had burbled happily.
Couldn’t she see—didn’t she realise…? He moved uncomfortably in his seat as the jet prepared to take off.
Beneath the anger he still felt, the belief that Eleanor wasn’t listening to him, wasn’t aware of the problems he was facing, was more concerned with other issues, other people than she was with him, lurked other emotions… Emotions he was too cowardly to confront?
He wished Eleanor could find a way to make peace with Vanessa, despite the girl’s bad behaviour, which seemed to be designed to shock Eleanor.
He had been shocked too, but what was he supposed to do? Vanessa was almost an adult, old enough to know right from wrong; far too strong-willed to be disciplined by anything he could say or do.
After the break-up of his first marriage, everyone had said how sensible he was being in allowing Vanessa to remain almost permanently with her mother. Much better, especially for a girl, all his friends had said. How could he, a single man, working the hours he did, have taken charge of a young child?
It would have been impossible. Financially he had made sure that she never lacked for anything, and yet recently, listening to Eleanor, he had felt almost as though she were somehow accusing him… blaming him…
He remembered the first time he had discussed Vanessa with Nell and the surprise she had quickly hidden when he had admitted that he didn’t see very much of his daughter.
Was it his fault that he simply wasn’t a particularly paternal man? Was Eleanor blaming him… rejecting him because she considered that he had somehow failed Vanessa?
Just how important was he to his wife? he wondered tiredly as he opened his briefcase and removed some papers. How far down the list did he come? Well beneath her sons? Beneath his own daughter? And certainly well below that damned house.
If Nell hadn’t been so wrapped up in that, he might have had a chance to talk to her about his own problems, to explain to her that, while he realised they needed more space, he simply did not have the time at the moment to get involved in the kind of domestic disruption she was planning.
As he checked through his diary, his frown deepened. He had a meeting which would take up most of tomorrow morning. There were some facts he wanted to check up on in the library, and then at six there was a reception at the British Embassy he would have to attend.
Beside him Sondra moved slightly, so that the soft, full weight of her breast pressed against his arm.
It has been a surprise to discover that she was accompanying him on this trip. She had thought it would be a wonderful opportunity to see the European Court system in action, she had told him. He had known two days ago that she would be going with him, but he had said nothing to Nell.
But then, why should he? It wasn’t as though he was doing anything wrong… or even contemplating doing anything wrong. All right, so Sondra had made it plain how she felt about him, but that didn’t mean that he was going to respond.
He frowned as he remembered Eleanor’s earlier reaction to Sondra and the argument they had had.
Arguments were all they did seem to have these days, and he was beginning to feel almost as though he hardly knew Nell at all. At times he felt almost as though she was deliberately distancing herself from him, withholding herself… rejecting him. As his mother had done?
Angrily he made a small, sharp sound.
‘Hey, what’s that for?’
Sondra smiled at him as she touched him on the arm. She was a stunningly attractive young woman, Marcus admitted, and one who quite obviously knew how to use that attractiveness.
‘I’ve been doing some reading up,’ she told him. ‘The Hague has some wonderful museums and galleries…’
‘Yes, you’ll enjoy seeing them,’ Marcus agreed.
Immediately she pouted slightly. ‘I was rather hoping that you would come with me, or would that be too boring for you?’
In spite of himself, Marcus laughed.
‘You should have chosen politics, not law,’ he told her drily.
‘What makes you think I won’t?’ she riposted back. ‘In the US the law can often be a stepping stone to Capitol Hill. What are your ambitions, Marcus?’
His eyebrows lifted. ‘At my age one is supposed to have achieved them,’ he pointed out, ignoring the small warning voice that told him of the danger he was courting. She was more than intelligent enough to recognise such a subtle counter-flirtation, and he was not really surprised when she pounced with delicate, catlike dexterity and relish on the small morsel of encouragement he had given her, demanding softly,
‘What age…? No real man even starts to become interesting until he’s approaching forty, and I know for a fact that the decade between forty and fifty can be not just one of the most professionally fufilling but also one of the most sexually fulfilling of a man’s life. There’s something very, very attractive to a woman about an adult man who knows what he wants from life and how to get it… something so potently sexually attractive that very few women can resist it…’
How long was it since Nell had flirted with him like this… made him feel like this… boosted both his ego and his libido… ?
He was comparing two very different women, he reminded himself, and not very fairly. Nell had never had the kind of sexual self-confidence and aggression that would allow her to come on to a man the way that Sondra was doing.
In bed… in private, she had told him, shown him how much she desired and wanted him.
Had shown him? Guiltily he remembered the way they had made love in Provence; the eagerness with which she had come to him.
Long ago, in old-fashioned, traditional marriages, women had bartered sex for possessions and security
. Nell was not that kind of woman, she never could be, but in her way, if one looked beneath the surface, Sondra was exactly that kind of woman, using her sexuality, her youth as a lure, a bribe… relishing the power they gave her. He knew that, Marcus acknowledged, so why did he still find her sexually exciting?
What was it he really wanted? To lose himself and forget his anxieties and problems in the lush sexuality of her body? Or to punish Nell for not recognising and meeting all his needs by betraying her, betraying their marriage? Was he really that selfish—that weak? That male?
That was the trouble with being a lawyer, he recognised as the captain announced they would soon be landing; one always felt bound to assess both sides of the story.
Since both of them had brought only carry-on hand luggage with them, Marcus noticed wryly as they left the plane—Sondra’s bearing the unmistakable Gucci signature, unlike his own—there was nothing to delay their departure from the airport.
In the taxi taking them to their hotel, Sondra sat close to him, slipping her arm familiarly through his as she told him, ‘Well, at least we’ll have this evening free. What shall we do? I know… you can show me The Hague by night. The canals may not be as romantic as those in Venice, but the smell will probably be a lot better.’ She laughed as she wrinkled her nose.
As he listened to her, Marcus immediately registered his danger and his own foolhardiness. Those key words ‘we’ and ‘romantic’ had made her intentions plain enough. If he agreed to what she was suggesting, he had no doubts where the evening would end. And he wasn’t sure yet if that was really what he wanted. Nor really whether he actually liked being treated as the more passive partner.
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t,’ he told her. ‘I’ve already arranged to spend the evening with an old friend…’
It wasn’t true, of course. What he had intended to spend the evening doing was getting up to date with some of his paperwork.
As soon as they had checked into their rooms, he picked up the phone, mentally keeping his fingers crossed.
Half an hour later he left the hotel, summoning a taxi and giving the driver his instructions. He had rung though to Sondra’s room and told her that he was going out. He could tell from her voice that she wasn’t pleased, and, remembering the soft, warm weight of her breast pressed against his body, he wasn’t sure if he really was doing the right thing himself.
The Hague was not a flamboyant city like Amsterdam; on the contrary, its buildings spoke of solid, respectable, middle-class wealth and lack of showiness, sedately prosperous, its streets immaculately clean, its very mien extraordinarily consistent with its role as the home of international justice; it had a sober, responsible, almost Scottish dour air about it which somehow made it somewhere totally unsuited for adulterous sex—or was that simply his own conscience prodding him? he wondered, as the taxi set him down outside one of a street of classically restrained canal houses.
The door opened almost immediately to his knock, the solid-fleshed, broad-shouldered man welcoming him giving off the same air of solid respectability as his home.
‘Marcus, it is good to see you,’ he greeted the Englishman, clapping him warmly on the shoulder. ‘Come in…’
‘It’s good to see you too, Piet. Sorry to land myself on you at such short notice.’
‘Not at all… I am only too glad to have your company. Elise is away with the children visiting her parents in Friesland and the house feels very empty without them. Have you eaten yet, or… ?’
‘We were offered something on the plane, but I’m certainly more than ready to eat again,’ Marcus told him, pausing as he saw the question in his friend’s face.
‘We? You are not alone, then?’ Piet peered round the door as though looking for someone else.
‘No… a colleague. An American lawyer who is spending some time with us studying the European judiciary system. She thought this trip would be of benefit to her.’
‘She?’ The thick, reddish-brown eyebrows rose a second time, and Marcus grimaced slightly to himself.
The legal community in The Hague, like that in London, was close-knit, sometimes almost incestuously so. He doubted it would be very long before Piet knew all about Sondra Cabot.
And thereby guessed what had brought him here to his door tonight?
A man couldn’t be convicted for being tempted, Marcus told himself wryly, as Piet led the way to his study.
He had first met Piet when they had both been studying law, and he had attended a course in The Hague. It had been this which had first given him a taste for international law and he and Piet had remained friends over the years.
Piet and Elise had been guests at his marriage to Eleanor. Piet was also Vanessa’s godfather, although he and Julia had never liked one another. In contrast, Eleanor and Elise had got on very well together, although on the surface they did not have much in common, since Elise did not work, devoting herself full-time to then-four children and the various charity committees on which she worked.
In Piet’s study, the desk was littered with papers, a large bulky file open.
‘A very complex and tragic case,’ Piet announced as he saw Marcus glance at his desk. ‘I am to defend a man accused of murdering his twin granddaughters. Yes, it’s very shocking,’ Piet agreed when Marcus made a small sound of distaste. ‘Elise did not want me to take the case.’
‘He’ll be convicted?’
‘Oh, yes, without doubt. Naturally we had initially intended to plead diminished responsibility, but the psychiatrist’s reports and the man’s own statements…’ He shrugged.
‘They have him under heavy guard. He has already tried twice to take his own life, and I am not sure whether it would simply be kinder to allow him… However, that is a very dangerous line of thought for men such as us. We are here simply to plead the fact of the case as best we can, and to thank God that this primitive male jealousy which can so often be the curse of our sex does not affect us.
‘The true tragedy of the case is that he actually loved his granddaughters, loved them but believed that his wife loved them more than she did him. A familiar story…’ He glanced at Marcus. ‘We have all heard it before.’
‘Yes,’ Marcus agreed heavily, frowning to himself. Piet was right; male jealousy could be a destructive, dangerous thing. How many men had he heard say that they had killed their wives, their lovers rather than lose them? How many men had he heard speak enviously and resentfully of women’s relationships, friendships, closeness to their friends and family, feeling that that closeness excluded them and threatened their relationship?
As he himself had felt about his mother’s relationship with his grandmother? And Eleanor’s desire to draw Vanessa closer to her?
‘And you,’ Piet was saying. ‘What brings you to The Hague?’
‘Oh, the usual thing,’ Marcus told him absently. ‘One of my clients has a case before the International Court-just a preliminary hearing this time—a formality really.’
‘And Vanessa, my goddaughter. How is she?’
Marcus gave him a wry look.
‘Ah, like that, is it?’ Piet commiserated. ‘These teenagers; they suffer so, poor things, and us with them. Our eldest is fourteen now; his voice has not yet quite broken but he insists that he is a man; an adult. One minute he is telling me I have no right to interfere in his life, the next he is running to his mother, hiding behind her skirts.
‘She is too soft with him.’ He shook his head and then paused. ‘There, you see, it is just as I was telling you before. Elise accuses me of being jealous of him and, although I do not admit it to her, sometimes I think there is perhaps a grain of truth in what she says, although it is not so much him I resent but all that he represents. And he seems to sense it and play on it. I tell you, Marcus, sometimes he would try the patience of a saint, but then, when I swear I could quite easily murder him, I look at him and remember that he is my son, my child, and I feel myself melt with love for him.
‘It will be hard
er for you, of course, and for Eleanor; to be the mother of a teenage stepdaughter is not an enviable task.’
‘I’ve tried to tell Eleanor that, but she takes it all so personally… blames me, I think sometimes… believes that I’m encouraging Vanessa in her antagonism towards her. Nell has this idiotic idea that by moving to a huge barn of a house in the middle of the country she will somehow be able to weld us all into one big, happy family…’
‘And you don’t agree?’
‘Not really. The house is isolated, in need of a complete renovation and redecoration. None of the children is used to living in the country. Eleanor herself… She thinks I’m deliberately being awkward. She can’t see that all I want to do is to protect her from being hurt…’
He saw the look Piet was giving him and grimaced. ‘All right, so I’m not particularly keen on the move myself, but I honestly don’t think it would be right for any of us, including Nell; but she can’t see that. She thinks…’
He broke off and gave a small, exasperated sigh. ‘I’m sorry, Piet. I shouldn’t be burdening you with my problems.’
Piet spread his hands in a gesture of acceptance.
‘What else are friends for? I think, my friend, that there is far more here than just a move of house. You say that Vanessa and Eleanor do not get on. Could that not make Eleanor feel vulnerable, and Vanessa as well…? They are, after all, two women loving one man, hmm…?’
‘Vanessa, vulnerable!’ Marcus shook his head. ‘If you could see her… hear her. Sometimes I wish…’ He paused, not wanting to admit even to one of his oldest and closest of friends how resentful he sometimes felt about the strain Vanessa’s presence placed on his marriage.
Resentful of whom? Vanessa for being there? Or Eleanor for not being able to find a way of dealing with her? Or was his resentment fuelled by both of them; by their femaleness… their difference… and his inability to find a logical male answer to the emotional trauma of their relationship?
