Rachel Lindsay - Forgotten Marriage

by Rachel Lindsay

  "It was my fault, you know," he hurst out.

  "The fire?"

  "Yes. After you left me the other morning I was so fed up I hardly knew what I was doing. I stabled the horses but later that night I couldn't remember if I'd bolted the stalls properly. I went back to check—I had shut the doors after all—and then hung around there while I chewed over some of the problems that have been bugging me lately. I was smoking at the time and I guess I dropped the butt and didn't grind it out properly. Adam will fire me when he finds out—which is exactly what I'd do if I were him. "Simon's face was twisted with anguish. "I could have killed you, Sharon! Do you realise that?"

  "But you didn't. I'm perfectly all right and so are the horses."

  "That doesn't lessen my guilt." He banged one hand upon the other. He made no sound yet the very quietness of the gesture emphasised the fierce emotion inside him. "I don't blame you for sending me away the other morning. In your place I'd have done the same. I behaved like a swine! And then to cause the fire and nearly burn you alive! God, when I think of it…"

  "Don't think of it. It's over and no one's been hurt."

  "You really mean that, don't you? You've no malice in you at all."

  "Why should I have? You didn't set fire to the stables deliberately; it was an accident. And you didn't kiss me in order to harm me, so—"

  "I harmed myself," he interjected. "Because now you won't see me."

  "We're having coffee together," she pointed out. "I could have said no."

  "You mean you… you mean you've changed your mind? You'll still be friends with me?" He went to catch her hand and stopped himself in time. "I won't touch you again. I swear it. Just as long as we're friends…"

  Dismayed by his over-reaction she longed to escape, but was reluctant to do so while he was in such a state of agitation.

  "Of course we're friends, Simon. But even friends must part… when it comes to being late for lunch!"

  "I'll run you home in the car.''

  Hiding her reluctance to go with him, she accepted the offer. But once they were alone on the open road her embarrassment died, for he was as good as his word and talked only of impersonal things. It was like the first few occasions they had gone out and she had regarded him as a friend. Now he was behaving like one again, though she couldn't bank on his remaining that way. He loved her and was bound to try his luck with her again.

  "I'll be seeing you," he said as he dropped her outside her front door. "You know where I am if you need me."

  Nodding, she left him, and was crossing the hall when Beryl came out of the dining room.

  "Lunch is ready, Mrs. Peters. Will you be long?"

  "Just give me time to wash my hands."

  She ran up to her room, hurriedly tidied herself and reached the dining-room door as Beryl wheeled in the trolley.

  "Cheese souffle!" she exclaimed. "Oh, good! I adore…" she stopped, discomfited to see Adam seated at the table. "I thought you were in London."

  "I don't go every day." He rose and held a chair for her. "How are you today?"-

  "Back to normal, thanks. The fire seems like a dream."

  "A nightmare," he said shortly.

  She looked at him and it was then she noticed that his right hand was bandaged. Words trembled on her lips but she held them back until Beryl had gone out.

  "I… I didn't know you'd hurt your hand," she said jerkily. "Was it in the fire?"

  "It's nothing. A slight burn."

  "It wouldn't be so heavily bandaged for a slight burn."

  He shrugged and, picking up his fork in his left hand, began to eat. His gesture was ungainly and tears filled her eyes.

  "I'd no—no idea," she stammered. "You must be in dreadful pain."

  "Forget it."

  His voice was as cold as his expression, and after watching him surreptitiously for a few minutes, she, too, began to eat. How controlled he was! How much the master of the situation. Yet he had disregarded his own safety when he thought she was in danger, had recklessly entered a blazing building to save a woman he despised. She swallowed convulsively and put down her fork, restraining a mad impulse to run over and cradle his head in her arms.

  "Where were you this morning?" he asked abruptly.

  "I went to Milwood to change your mother's library books."

  "With Simon?"

  "Why no." She raised her eyebrows. "I met him there by accident."

  "How fortuitous."

  "Not particularly." Sensing the anger in him, she made an effort to control her own. "I went into a cafe for some coffee and he saw me and followed me in."

  "And drove you home?"

  "Is there any reason he shouldn't?"

  Adam swallowed hard and she was reminded of the quarrel she had overheard between the two men, when he had practically ordered Simon to tell her the truth about himself. But what truth? To ask Adam would be tantamount to a confession of eavesdropping.

  "Simon is a friend of mine," she said stonily. "Unless you can give me a good reason I shouldn't see him…"

  "He has a job to do. It's a strenuous one and should occupy all his time. Making sheep's eyes at you isn't part of it! Anyway you'll be gone from here in a few weeks. Playing him along will only hurt him unnecessarily."

  "Oh, I see now." The truth hit her with a sting that made her wince. "You're not concerned about my hurting Simon; you're worried about your own peace of mind. You're afraid I might decide to accept his proposal and stay on here as his wife. That would really put paid to your attempt to be rid of me." Her voice rose. "I'm surprised you didn't leave me in the stables the other night. If I'd burned to death you'd have been rid of me for good!"

  "Shut up!" Fury brought his fork crashing to the table. "I might wish you'd never been born, but I could never wish you dead!"

  "You surprise me."

  "I surprise myself," he said flatly and picked up his fork. "Get on with your lunch, Sharon. If you rush from the room in a temper the servants will talk.''

  "Let them! I don't care."

  "But I do. My mother would hear of it and would want to know why." Grey eyes raked her like knife blades. "And since you're here in order to keep her happy, I suggest you bear it in mind."

  "I'm leaving the minute she's better," Sharon stated.

  "By then you will have done what you intended, so there'll be no need for you to stay. And don't stare at me with wounded eyes," he said savagely. "You came here to wheedle your way into her affections and you've succeeded beyond your wildest dreams. You'll be one of her beneficiaries when she dies and—"

  "Oh no! "Sharon cried.

  "Oh yes," he mocked, "Don't try to look shocked. It's what you've been angling for since you arrived."

  She saw the contempt in his face, and the anger she had been trying to control was no longer manageable. She longed to hurt him as he was hurting her, to make him lose his pride and writhe with self-disgust.

  "I haven't only wheedled myself into your mother's heart," she said with calculated precision. "I've got into your heart, too. You may make Helen your wife but it won't stop you from wanting me!"

  Adam's face became a mask. All expression was washed from it. He closed his eyes momentarily, as if unable to bear the sight of her, and when the lids rose again he was in charge of himself.

  "A few more comments like that," he said softly, "and I'll call you Lucy."

  "Lucy?"

  "The feminine of Lucifer. You are indeed a fitting wife for the devil!"

  CHAPTER NINE

  A warm May gave way to a blazing June, and Mrs. Peters, slow to regain her strength, was more dependent than ever upon a daughter-in-law she was fast regarding as a daughter.

  Sharon found the woman's affection both heartwarming and disturbing, for it made her eventual departure seem somehow traitorous. But she could not remain. Even if she wanted to do so, Adam would not countenance it.

  Since their bitter quarrel, when she had taunted him with wanting her, they had barely spoken to
one another. They met a few evenings a week at dinner, when their conversation was monosyllabic, and he was careful never to be present when she was with his mother, for this would have meant both of them making a pretence at friendship that would have been far too trying.

  It was during one of their uneasy silences at dinner that Beryl came in to say there was a telephone call for her.

  "Are you sure it's for me and not my mother-in-law?" Sharon asked.

  "It's for Mrs. Rufus Peters," Beryl replied, and Sharon hurried out to take the call.

  "And about time, too," a sharp feminine voice said.

  "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," Sharon apologised. "I wasn't sure if the call was for me."

  "Don't tell me you've forgotten your name?" the answer came back. "Are you able to come up and see me?"

  "Who are you?" Sharon asked.

  "Don't give me that! I want to talk to you, and fast."

  "Are you sure you have the right Mrs. Peters?"

  "The right one and the wrong one." The voice was even more waspish. "But I'm not saying any more over the telephone. I'm at the Palace Park Hotel in London. Room 304. I'll expect you tomorrow morning."

  "I'm not going to London tomorrow."

  "Yes you are. As early as you can make it. I don't want to wait about all day."

  The connection was severed with a sharp click and Sharon stared at the receiver with agitation. Who was the caller and why had she sounded so venomous? Even more important, what right did she have to issue orders and expect them to be obeyed?

  Trembling with anxiety she returned to the dining room and made a pretence of resuming her meal. She knew Adam was watching her and sensed his curiosity, but for some reason was determined not to satisfy it.

  "Is anything wrong?" he asked at last. "You look very pale."

  "I… I…" She bit her lip. "I'm fine, thank you."

  "Who was it?"

  "I don't know."

  His already dark skin took on a darker hue. "You don't need to lie to me, Sharon. If you don't wish me to know, you have merely to say so."

  "I didn't think you'd be interested in anyone who knew me,"she replied.

  "Only if it affects my mother."

  "I'll let you know if it does. Until then, don't concern yourself with my affairs."

  "Affairs?" he echoed sardonically. "I'm sure that word has special significance for you."

  Silently she went on eating, forcing herself to swallow food that now tasted like straw to her.

  It was not until she was in her bedroom that she dared to let herself wonder again about her mysterious caller. Why was the woman so hostile? And who was she? No matter how painful the answers to these questions might be, any truth would be better than living in a vacuum.

  Anxiously she wondered what excuse she could find for going to London tomorrow. If only there was someone in whom she could confide. Her thoughts flew to Adam and for a moment she remembered the tenderness in his voice the night of the fire. Then she recalled his harshness to her ever since and knew he was the last person she would dare enlist for help.

  Simon perhaps? He would be a sympathetic listener. But no, it would be better to wait until she had discovered the identity of her caller and found out what she wanted.

  It was while she was chatting to her mother-in-law before the nurse settled her for the night that she was given an excuse to go to London.

  "Your hair has grown so long," Mrs. Peters exclaimed, "that the style Gerald gave you is completely lost."

  "Perhaps I'll go and see him tomorrow."

  "That's a good idea. And buy yourself some pretty dresses at the same time."

  "I don't need any more clothes," Sharon protested. "The hairdresser will be quite enough expense."

  The following morning she awoke at seven, snatched a hurried cup of coffee in the kitchen and was ringing for a taxi when Adam came down the stairs.

  "Where are you going at this hour?" he asked.

  "To London. Your mother wants me to have my hair done."

  "Indeed? Are you sure your trip isn't connected with your telephone call last night?"

  She did not answer and he took the receiver from her hand and replaced it on the cradle. "You don't need the train. You can come up with me in the car."

  "I'd prefer to go by train."

  "I'd prefer it if you did, too. But since everyone here knows I go to London on Fridays, it will look strange if you don't come with me."

  Knowing it was useless to argue, she followed him to the car. The chauffeur was driving them, she saw gratefully, so she would at least be spared Adam's insults, if not his company.

  Adam buried himself in a newspaper and Sharon unbuttoned the jacket of her silk two-piece suit and moved nearer to the window. Tentatively she lowered it, waiting for a reprimand from the man beside her. But none came and she lowered the window a fraction more and allowed a cooling breeze to lift the silky strands of her hair. Carelessly she pushed them behind her ears, all at once conscious of Adam dropping his paper and looking at her.

  "In profile you don't look more than seventeen," he commented. "What do you intend to do with your life when you leave here?"

  "I don't know. What do you suggest?''

  "Find something worthwhile to do."

  "Good works instead of naughty play!" It was impossible for her not to laugh. "Honestly, you don't wear blinkers as far as I'm concerned; you're just plain blind!"

  Her laughter stopped abruptly and she turned away to hide her tears. How could Adam think her as wicked as he did? Didn't men have any intuition, or did facts, once presented, become sacrosanct?

  The car purred along smoothly and it was some time before he spoke again, his voice so reflective that she almost felt he was unaware he was giving utterance to his thoughts.

  "If I were the sort of person who could fool myself, I might be able to find some happiness. Lord knows I've wanted a family of my own for long enough. But I've never been able to settle for second best."

  "Perhaps you're looking for a saint, not a woman. No one is perfect."

  "I realize that. But where does one draw the line?" He rested his head against the seat, ruffling the silky black hair that lay sleek against his neck.

  "I don't think there can be a line, Adam. If you love someone, you do so regardless of their faults."

  "I thought you were going to say because of them!"

  "You might overlook them," she said wryly, "but you couldn't pretend they weren't there!"

  "Could you?"

  "If I loved someone I doubt if I'd see their faults."

  "Spoken like a true woman," he mocked. "Though I refuse to believe you were blind to Rufus's."

  "I can't imagine myself married to a man who drank and gambled," she said abruptly.

  "Can't you?"

  He paused, as if waiting for her to say more, and when she didn't, he sighed heavily, his well-shaped eyebrows meeting above his nose in a frown.

  "I've never met anyone whose looks were so deceptive. Fair of face and… Damn you," he said in anguish. "Why did you have to come into my life? I was almost beginning to think I'd found what I was looking for."

  "In Helen?" she questioned, goaded into self- defence though she was not quite sure what it was she was defending. A good name she appeared not to have? A heart he had already broken in two?

  "In Helen," he agreed. "I know you don't like her but…"

  "That's not true," Sharon said coldly. "I'm indifferent to her. It's she who doesn't like me."

  "Because you married Rufus."

  "Not true," Sharon said again, boldly adding, "It's because I'm beautiful and she's afraid you'll notice it."

  "I'd have to be blind not to," he said, and suddenly he pulled her forward until she was in his arms.

  At once his mouth came down on hers. It was warm and firm and drew a response from her she was powerless to deny. Her lips parted and she pressed closer to him, uncaring of anything except his nearness.

  With
a strangled murmur he pushed her away, his quick glance at the chauffeur's solid back indicating one reason, though his words gave her another.

  "It's no use, Sharon. My oblivion would only be temporary. Passion doesn't last forever."

  "Thanks for your honesty."

  "Would you rather I wasn't?"

  She shook her head and huddled back in the corner, as far away from him as possible. They finished the rest of the drive in silence, and it was only when they reached Marble Arch in London that she spoke. "I'll get out here if you don't mind."

  "We can drop you at the hairdresser's."

  "No thanks."

  Telling the chauffeur to stop, he scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to her. "Here's where I'll be. Give me a call and let me know where I can pick you up. I 'll be ready any time after five."

  Putting the paper in her handbag, she stepped out of the car, waiting until it had disappeared into the stream of traffic before turning into Park Lane and heading for the Palace Park Hotel.

  Taking the elevator to the third floor, she soon found herself standing outside room 304. Her heart was beating an uneven tattoo, but afraid to wait until it steadied—in case she turned tail and fled—she tapped on the door.

  Almost immediately it was opened by a tall, thin woman in her early thirties. She wore a modish linen dress and her face was vividly made up. Her hair was the same colour as Sharon's, but palpably dyed and set in an elaborate style.

  "So you finally came." The woman motioned her to enter and added, "I expected you an hour ago."

  "I live a long way from London," Sharon explained, "and I came up by car."

  "Good for you!" the woman said sarcastically. "You might as well make the most of your good life; it won't last long." She took a cigarette from a box, sat in an armchair and crossed one leg over the other. "Well, what do you have to tell me?"

  Sharon stood by the window.

  "I'm afraid I don't understand. You'll have to explain yourself. You see, I was in an airplane crash and-"

  "I know all about that," the woman interrupted. "But you look fine to me. So quit the stall and answer my question. What's been happening?"