by Penny Jordan
‘Come on, let’s go out and eat,’ Piet suggested.
Half an hour later, seated in a small, comfortable restaurant, Marcus glanced round at his fellow diners. Men in the main; sober-faced and equally sober-suited; an echo of the town itself; the décor, the food, the people, all of them were respectable and conservative, outwardly at least. Who knew what emotions, what turmoil, what trauma they might feel inwardly? ‘And now,’ Piet announced when their meal had been served, ‘I think you should tell me all about this young American who brings you scurrying to my door for sanctuary.’ He added slyly, grinning at Marcus, ‘It is a very sad thing to be a middle-aged man, my friend. One is never more aware of one’s vulnerability and the passage of time. Is she very beautiful?’
‘She is very attractive, and very determined,’ Marcus told him wryly. ‘But not beautiful; Eleanor is beautiful.’
As he said it he realised that it was the truth, and suddenly he felt as though a weight had started to lift from his shoulders.
* * *
It was late when he eventually returned to his hotel room. He was just getting undressed when the phone started to ring. He stared at it, quickly envisaging Sondra in her own room, lying on the bed, her body naked, sensually relaxed and her skin burnished with that glow of health a certain class of American woman seemed to exude so effortlessly.
His mouth had gone dry, his body tensing; and not just with apprehension, he recognised as he reached automatically for his robe to conceal his growing erection.
The fierce sound of the shower drowned out the ring of the telephone. It was better this way… saner… safer… and besides, he had things to think about.
Remembering listening to Piet telling him about his case made him frown; but he was not a murderer—he would never hurt anyone… would he? Hadn’t he hurt Nell… destroyed their love? Hurt Vanessa too perhaps, by the way he had distanced himself from her, unable to admit even to himself the conflicting emotions she caused in him? He had an illuminating mental memory of Vanessa as a small child, clinging nervously to Julia while she tried to coax her to go to him. Vanessa had been almost two at the time; he had been away for a month in Brussels and at that age it was hardly surprising that she had been a little afraid of him. Given the hours he had been working, he had after all virtually been a stranger to her.
He closed his eyes, standing motionless under the hammer of the shower, remembering another incident. Vanessa… six years old… three years after the divorce…
It had been her school sports day, something he had reluctantly attended, chivvied into it by the woman he had been seeing at the time. She had mistakenly thought that by encouraging his paternal sense of duty she would bring him a step closer to marriage. As far as Marcus was concerned, however, their relationship had already run its course; but he had given in to her demands that they attend Vanessa’s sports day.
They had arrived late… just in time to see Vanessa win her race. She had seen him, her face lighting up as she came over to him, flinging herself into his arms… only he had stepped back from her, fending her off.
Why had he done that to her? Beneath his closed eyelids he could see two different images, two different children… himself and Vanessa… both of them young, helpless, wanting… aching to be acknowledged and loved… both of them rejected by the person whose love they needed the most.
‘Oh, my God…’
In the close confines of the shower the words seemed to echo as loudly as though he had shouted them.
His client had been jealous, Piet had said… Jealous of the love his wife had shown their daughter and their grandchildren… Just as he had been jealous of the love Nell had for Vanessa—not her sons; no, he hadn’t been jealous of them, they were boys… male—but Vanessa! He had even been jealous of the house, resenting it not just because of the time it consumed, the attention it took away from him, but because Nell had wanted it for Vanessa… Every time Nell had exhorted him to spend more time with his daughter, every time she had worried about her or shown concern for her, the jealousy he had refused to acknowledge had been driven a little deeper… festered a little more poisonously. But, unable to accept or understand this, he had blamed not himself for what he was feeling, but Nell.
In London Eleanor sat up in bed, her stomach ice-cold with fear and despair. She stared at the receiver she had just replaced. Marcus wasn’t in his room… Where was he? Did she really need to ask?
She remembered the way she had seen Sondra leaning into him; the intimacy of their bodies, their total lack of awareness of her presence.
‘That damned house is more important to you than me,’ Marcus had accused her. ‘If the house means so much to you then go ahead and buy it… but I…’
‘But I won’t be living there with you.’ Was that what he had been going to say?
What had happened to them? Where had it all started to go wrong? She had tried so hard… Too hard. ‘You’re trying too hard,’ he had told her when she had expressed her concern over Vanessa’s attitude towards her, and she had sensed then the criticism and irritation in his voice, had felt then the beginnings of her sense of somehow having failed him or fallen short of certain standards by not being able to get on with Vanessa.
How little it took to erode one’s self-confidence: an antagonistic teenager, the betrayal of a business partner, the feeling of a life going slowly out of control, the awareness of personal needs that were not being met, the need to reach out for something to hold on to, the almost childish need for some kind of comforter… For some women it was food, for others it might be sex; for her it had been a house. No, not a house but a home, the home she had never had as a child; the home which as a child she had believed would magically make her world safe and secure and would bring her her parents’ love and attention.
Was that what she had been looking for with Broughton House—not, as she had believed, as somewhere for their children to experience the kind of childhood she had wanted, but for herself, a consolation for not achieving the ‘perfection’ she was supposed to achieve… perfection not just as a wife, but as an independent career woman, a devoted, caring mother, an understanding, wise stepmother, a good friend, someone to whom others turned and leaned on, someone secure in herself?
But she was none of those things. So what was she, then? Just another tired, stressed woman who was fed up with trying to match impossible standards, who was afraid of admitting she couldn’t achieve the goals others seemed to reach so easily, who was so afraid of not reaching those goals that she would rather crawl into the sanctuary she had found for herself and hide away than confront the reality of her life.
What was it she really wanted? Not the perfection she had once believed she must attain; just thinking about the effort it would require, the ceaseless battle to be so many things she was not, exhausted and drained her.
No, what she wanted was simple acceptance of what and who she really was. What she wanted was to be allowed to fail sometimes; to be allowed to be human and vulnerable, to be allowed to forget that her sons needed new football boots and to be allowed to feel angry and helpless when she was confronted by her stepdaughter’s antagonism.
And to be allowed to be jealous and to show it when another woman made a play for her husband.
To be allowed to be hurt and afraid at the thought of him having an affair with her.
* * *
Irritably Marcus glanced at his watch. The reception was dragging on longer than he had expected. He had been hoping to catch an early flight home. There were things he needed to do, to say.
As he looked up he was aware of Sondra trying to catch his eye, smiling at him under her lashes as she flirted with the bemused young aide she was talking to.
He smiled back. How could he ever have imagined he was attracted to her? She was attractive, yes—sexually aware of herself, intelligent too… but she was not Eleanor.
As soon as he could, he walked over to her.
‘Look, I want to get back
to London as quickly as I can,’ he told her, adding before she could say anything, ‘There’s no need for you to cut short your visit, though. You’ve still got all those art galleries and museums to see, and by the looks of it you seem to have found someone far better equipped than me to show them to you,’ he added with a brief glance in the direction of the jealously watching aide.
She tried to dissuade him, pouting a little, protesting that he surely could stay on a little longer, but Marcus shook his head firmly, disengaging her hand from his arm as he stepped back from her.
‘Well, if you have to go…’
‘It isn’t a matter of having to,’ he told her softly.
He left her and went to find the ambassador, explaining that he had to leave to catch an early flight. They had met before on several occasions and Marcus chatted with him for a few minutes before finally taking his leave. He was asked if he intended to become a permanent feature in Brussels or The Hague and Marcus replied, ‘I doubt it. It would mean spending too much time away from my family and that’s a sacrifice I’m not prepared to make.’
‘Can’t say I blame you,’ the diplomat agreed.
There was still a long way to go, Marcus reminded himself as he boarded his plane; a hell of a long way and most of it over some very tricky ground indeed, but at least he had made a start; at least he could now acknowledge that the journey needed to be made, and in which direction.
And Nell? Would she be prepared to make it with him, to help him over the rough patches, guide him when necessary? He winced as he remembered the things he had said to her. If the house really meant that much to her, surely they could find some way of reaching a compromise… a small flat in London for him during the week perhaps, until such time as he could make the transition from Q.C. to the Bench.
As a circuit judge he would still have to spend time away from home, and it would be dishonest of him not to admit that he would miss the cut and thrust of pleading a case, but there were other things he needed to do now… other people he had to consider. Was it already too late to stop Vanessa from repeating his own mistakes, to show her the love, give her the security he now acknowledged he had subconsciously withheld, help her perhaps to become the parent he himself had not possessed the strength to be?
Nell would show him the way… help him, support him…
Nell…
* * *
‘So what are you going to do?’
Eleanor shook her head as she looked across at Jade. ‘I don’t know. If he is having an affair…’
‘You don’t know that for sure,’ Jade reminded her.
‘No,’ Eleanor agreed tiredly. ‘I do know one thing, though, and that is that it’s pointless going ahead with the house now. I’ll have to tell the agents.’
Her eyes filled with tears, which she shook away. ‘I feel so stupid, Jade. How could I not have known what he was feeling? Why didn’t he say something to me? Why did he just let me go on believing that…? Why couldn’t I see…?’
‘You’re not God,’ Jade told her drily. ‘You can’t be expected to second-guess everything, although sometimes you’d think that’s exactly what is expected of us. You’ll never guess what Sam said to me the other night. He claimed that I was using this job in New York as a means of getting out of making a commitment to him! There I am bending over backwards not to make him feel pressured or trapped, not to let him know how important he is to me, dammit, and he accuses me of not caring, when the truth is that I care far too damn much. Perhaps that’s why Marcus said nothing, Nell… perhaps he was afraid that, if he did, he might find out that the house was more important to you than him…’
‘What?’ Eleanor stared at her. ‘That’s ridiculous… Marcus knows how important to me he is… how much I love him. I only wanted the house because… No, you’re wrong, Jade. To tell the truth, I don’t think Marcus cares what I feel for him any longer. These days, when he looks at me, I get the impression that all he sees is a woman who’s a failure… in her career, with her children… with his daughter and with him… Look, I’ve taken up enough of your time. I know how busy you are,’ she added as she stood up. ‘Thanks for listening…’
‘You know what your main trouble is, don’t you?’ Jade told her, as she too got to her feet and they made their way through the crowded restaurant. ‘You put yourself down too much. OK, so I listened… once. What’s that compared with all the times you’ve listened to me? Talk to Marcus, Nell,’ she urged her. ‘Tell him how you feel… what you think.…’
Eleanor gave her a tired smile. ‘I’ll try, but what’s the point if he doesn’t want to listen?’ And she went outside.
There was one thing she had to do before she saw the agent… before Marcus came back from The Hague.
This time she was firmly direct with Mrs Garvey when she told her that she wanted her to stay when the boys returned from school.
‘Well, I suppose I could stay on… just this once,’ the older woman agreed grudgingly.
Eleanor picked up her keys, and the letter she had written to Louise telling her not just how upset she had been by the fact that her partner had not informed her that Monsieur Colbert had been trying to get in touch with her, but pointing out as well that, since they had been equal partners in the business, it was only fair that Louise take on equal responsibility for ending it.
What she was doing, what she should have done weeks ago, she acknowledged, was taking charge of her life again, trying to master her own inner fears of inadequacy and failure. After all, if she and Marcus were to separate, to divorce, she would need to be strong, to…
Tears blinded her as she got into her car and started the engine.
It was a still, hazily hot day, the temperature just on the right side of mugginess even though it was now September, the stillness of the air enhancing the silence of the garden.
In the borders, daisylike asters looked to the tumble of clambering roses for support; poppies, run to seed, grew everywhere, pushing their way up through huge clumps of catmint and geraniums.
Eleanor took her time; after all there was no reason to hurry. Not now she had the whole afternoon ahead of her.
In the iris dell, the flowers were over, all that remained the dying, untidy stalks and browned flower heads.
Overhead, the late summer leaves provided a cool canopy, the path shadowed and sheltered.
She didn’t allow herself to cry until she reached the pool. Now for the first time she allowed herself to acknowledge what she had really known for some time. Even if Marcus had wanted the house, the problems they would have faced in turning it into the home of her dreams would have been virtually insurmountable. Her accountant had tried to tell her this, and so had the architect, but she had been too afraid to let go of her dream, too afraid of facing up to what letting go of it actually meant, too afraid of relinquishing its displacement value, using it as a shield to protect her from reality and her very real problems.
‘Marcus loves you,’ Jade had said, adding drily, ‘Come on, Nell, be realistic. How many men aren’t tempted to stray occasionally, and how many women have to learn to live with that fact, to accept and ignore it… ?’
Eleanor had shaken her head. ‘I know what you’re trying to say, Jade, but I can’t. It’s not so much the physical act of infidelity, it’s the slow destructiveness of never knowing if it’s me he really wants, or if he simply stays with me because it’s so much easier than going through another divorce. I can’t live like that, no matter how much I love him. I need his respect as well as his love,’ she had told her friend simply, ‘and I need my own self-respect as well. Loving him on its own isn’t enough…’
* * *
She was standing staring out across the pool when Marcus found her. He didn’t walk right up to her, stopping several yards away instead and saying her name quietly.
He watched as her face lost its colour and her body tensed warily.
‘Marcus! You’re back… I…’
‘I got an earli
er flight,’ he told her brusquely.
She was frowning now, withdrawing from him physically as well as emotionally, as she stepped back into the shadows.
‘How did you know I would be all the way down here? I didn’t tell anyone I was coming…’
‘When you weren’t at home I knew where I would find you.’
‘Yes, I suppose I am predictable.’
‘I hope so,’ Marcus agreed.
There was no emotion either in his voice or on his face, but something, some sixth sense alerted her to his tension.
‘We need to talk, Nell,’ he told her quietly. ‘But first… just one question. Do you still love me?’
Eleanor looked at him for a long time. Why was he asking? Out of guilt, perhaps. What was he hoping she would say? What was his reason for asking? She hesitated, anxious and fearful, before acknowledging that there was only one answer she could give; that honesty, no matter how painful, was the only course open to her.
She took a deep breath and then told him shakily, ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’
She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it certainly wasn’t that he would cover the space between them so quickly, nor that he would take her in his arms, holding her as though she were the most precious, fragile thing he had ever held, slowly running his hands over her, tracing the shape of her face with his fingertips, his own face unfamiliarly flushed, his fingertips trembling slightly as he touched her with an absorbed, almost blind concentration on what he was doing.
As she watched him, registering his intensity, Eleanor had the feeling that somehow he was showing himself to her, revealing a part of himself she had not previously known even existed, and yet instead of feeling hurt or angered by this knowledge she felt a quick springing up of joy and recognition, an awareness that went far beyond the physical and emotional. It was as though he was somehow showing to her the most private and spiritual part of himself, the pure undiluted essence of all that he was.
