by Penny Jordan
‘Oh, dear heaven,’ she said huskily. ‘That’s why. You’re marrying me because of Angelica… because Angelica wants a mother. Well, I won’t do it, Luke—’ she told him frantically, so deeply engrossed in the truth she had just perceived that she wasn’t aware of the expression shadowing his face, turning it into a grimly resolute mask until he said curtly,
‘You will, you know. You have no choice. Think, Jenneth,’ he cautioned her. ‘We’ve gone too far to turn back now. The whole village knows that I’m living here with you, and has probably drawn all manner of conclusions about the true nature of the relationship between us. In fact, when I was in the post office yesterday, buying a paper, I heard someone in the queue behind me whispering to her friend that I’d moved in with you. How long do you think it will be before the twins’ friends start making pointed remarks about our relationship? They won’t like that, will they? By your own example you’ve given them a moral code that may well be out of step with the time, but you know as well as I do that neither of them would react kindly to any outside suggestions that you and I are merely casual lovers.
‘And then there’s Angelica to think of. Already she’s attached herself to you emotionally…’ He looked at her and then said quietly, ‘She needs you in her life, Jenneth.’
She looked back at him, hating him for what he was doing to her, aching to cry out to him, What about my needs? Don’t I have the right to expect to marry a man who loves me…who wants me…not just as a mother for his daughter, but for myself?
She made one last desperate bid for freedom, saying frantically, ‘I don’t want to marry you, Luke. There’s someone else…several someone elses, as a matter of fact—’
But he cut her off derisively, saying, ‘Don’t lie to me, Jenneth. You and I know that the reason any gossip about my being your lover might hurt the twins is because there haven’t been any lovers…’
He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in, while Jenneth went sheet-white and swayed with shock. He reached out to help her but she fended him off, her eyes wild with shock and pain.
‘I’d prefer not to imagine how much of the responsibility for that lies at my door, but my conscience won’t let me,’ he added quietly. ‘Jenneth…’
Please don’t let him touch me, her brain screamed, while her body froze into a pose of cringing terror. If he touches me now I’ll die, she thought frantically, but even as he reached for her the door opened and Kit came in, grinning when he saw them.
‘There you are. Louise has just been on the phone. I’ve told her the good news about you and Luke. She says you’ve got to come and speak to her immediately…’
It couldn’t be happening, Jenneth thought sickly. It was all going to turn out to be a hideous but thankfully unreal nightmare. It had to be. The thought of having to marry Luke…of actually becoming his wife…
He touched her arm lightly and she flinched.
‘Tell Louise that Jenneth will ring her back,’ he told Kit quietly, and then, when Kit had gone, he said softly to her, ‘It won’t be so bad, Jenneth, I promise you.’
Before she could stop him, he took her in his arms, and held her as gently as though she was Angelica’s age, rocking her soothingly in his arms as she shivered nauseously under the combined impact of shock and fear, telling her over and over again that she wasn’t to worry and that everything would be all right.
* * *
After that, a numbing, weary acceptance seemed to engulf her, to the point where she accepted people’s good wishes and questions about the wedding with a vague smile instead of the words of denial she ought to have been able to utter.
She couldn’t even raise the energy to be frightened by the speed with which Luke wanted them to be married, balking only when he announced that they were to be married in church.
‘Yes,’ he had insisted fiercely, when she had tried to argue, overriding her protests with an intensity of emotion that surprised her; all the more so because she knew his first marriage had been conducted in a register office.
It was as though everyone close to her was involved in a conspiracy against her which made it impossible for them to see the truth; even Eleanor, who had thrown herself into preparations for the wedding with enthusiasm and élan was deaf to her protests that she couldn’t marry Luke.
‘You love him,’ she had told her firmly, as though that in itself was enough, when Jenneth knew that it wasn’t; and she was left with the feeling that the whole world was out of step with her and that nothing she might say or do would make any difference.
She tried to reason with Luke, but she hardly ever saw him. He had taken up his new position at the hospital and seemed to be working twenty hours out of every twenty-four.
Her work, once her solace, seemed to have turned traitor on her, and the day she discovered she was absent-mindedly painting Luke’s features on to a mural commissioned by one of her clients, she had put down her brush and despairingly acknowledged that there was no way out and that she was trapped. Not so much by Luke, but by her own inability to hurt others, especially someone as young and vulnerable as Angelica.
Angelica, who was thrilled with the idea of Jenneth becoming her mother…Angelica, who talked non-stop about the wedding with such stars in her eyes that Jenneth couldn’t bring herself to say the words that would destroy them… Angelica, who followed her as faithfully as her own shadow.
What stunned her the most was that no one, not even Louise, seemed surprised that she and Luke should be marrying. Louise’s mother had rung her to tell her how thrilled they all were. They were all coming to the wedding, and Jenneth, who had not thought beyond wishing she could simply close her eyes and then open them to discover the whole thing was a nightmare, panicked until Eleanor told her calmly that she had everything under control and that all Jenneth had to do was to buy herself a wedding dress.
A wedding dress! Once she had dreamed of the dress she would wear to marry Luke. Now the mere thought turned her cold with distaste. Her rebellious heart demanded to know why it was necessary to go through this travesty…destroying something sacred and special, simply because Luke in his arrogance had decided she would make a good substitute mother for Angelica. Her equally rebellious tongue wanted to make the same demand of Luke himself, but she never seemed to get any time alone with him, much less enough to tell him all the reasons why it was impossible for them to marry.
Her thoughts turned to those humiliating moments when he had casually announced that he knew she hadn’t any lovers. Too late now to resent that omission. She wondered uneasily just what sort of marriage Luke intended theirs to be, and then dismissed her apprehensions as idiotic. He felt no desire for her as a woman, that was obvious…and a relief.
If she had to marry him, she needed at least to retain some vestige of self-respect, and she knew there would be none if Luke chose to make love to her.
She had learned already that her self-control was no match for the feelings that bedevilled her when he touched her. She shuddered a little and tried to ignore the tide of panic rising inside her.
Only two more days. She hadn’t bought a wedding dress. Eleanor had wheedled and cajoled, but she had stood firm. No wedding dress, no bridal finery, nothing.
‘Then what will you get married in?’ Eleanor had asked her, and she had shrugged uncaringly, and said bitterly, ‘Sackcloth and ashes seem the most appropriate…’
Eleanor had ignored her… Just as everyone seemed to be ignoring her attempts to make them realise how little she wanted this marriage.
She and Luke were going to continue to live here in the house that had been her home since her parents’ death. Luke was buying out the twins’ share, and the money was being invested for them. At the same time he had told them both that they were always to consider the house their home, and had said it in such a way that Jenneth had felt tears sting her eyes in an acid pain that briefly penetrated the shocked miasma of misery she had wrapped round herself.
How, when he
was so sensitive to the feelings of others, so concerned for them, could he possibly be so oblivious to hers? So deliberately and cruelly determined to ignore the need crying out in her to be set free from this hideous parody of all that a marriage should be?
How? Because her feelings didn’t matter to him. He needed her to fill the empty space in Angelica’s life. Jenneth had already witnessed his deep love for his daughter, witnessed it and envied it with a sharp bitterness that reflected the pain she had felt at losing him to Angelica’s mother.
Angelica never mentioned her mother, and had no real memories of her, and Jenneth was surprised to discover that Luke rarely discussed her with his daughter. In some ways it was almost as though he didn’t want Angelica to remember her… Because he didn’t want to share his precious store of memories? That didn’t seem to accord with the tender sensitivity she had seen him display.
To everyone apart from herself, she reminded herself bitterly.
Somewhere in the distance the telephone rang. She ignored its insistent call, wandering deeper into the garden, hiding herself from the world as she longed to be able to hide herself from Luke.
Escape…that was that she ached for…but there could be no escape other than in her dreams.
CHAPTER NINE
‘WAKE up, Jenneth…it’s a beautifully sunshiney day…and Aunt Eleanor has made you a special breakfast …’
Wearily Jenneth opened her eyes, even now, on what she knew was going to be the worst day of her life, unable to deny Angelica’s pleasure.
It was indeed a beautiful morning, the sky outside her window a perfect, unclouded blue, turning milky with heat haze in the distance.
Eleanor, who had stayed overnight, having spent the last few days performing feats of organisation that left Jenneth breathless, arrived with a breakfast tray boasting freshly squeezed orange juice, then slices of homemade brown toast, Angelica’s favourite cereal, a bottle of champagne and a bowl of roses fresh from the garden, still damp with dew, their perfume rich and musky.
‘The roses are from Daddy,’ Angelica told her excitedly. ‘We picked them together this morning ‘cos he won’t be able to see you until you’re in church, and these are to remind you that he’s thinking about you…’
Jenneth looked at them with fierce concentration, willing the stupid tears filling her eyes to go away.
Once before Luke had picked dew-fresh roses for her…the morning after he had proposed to her. They too had arrived with a breakfast tray, brought up by her mother as a special treat. How different that day was…
‘This is also from Luke.’ Eleanor told her calmly, indicating the champagne and then chuckling. ‘But you’re only allowed one glass… I had the feeling that he was more than half inclined to bring it here himself,’ she added wryly.
The look on her face said she suspected that, had he done so, it would have been because it was more than drinking champagne that he had in mind. What was it about weddings that made normally sensible people lose all their ability to reason? Jenneth wondered tiredly.
Eleanor knew that Luke didn’t love her, and yet here she was looking all dewy-eyed and insinuating that Luke was an ardent, impatient lover, who had to be restrained from breaking into her bedroom and making passionate love to her.
A noise from outside caught her attention.
‘What’s that?’ she demanded suspiciously.
‘Oh, it’s only the people erecting the marquee,’ Eleanor told her blandly, for all the world as though the existence of the marquee was totally unworthy of comment, when Jenneth had told her that she did not want the kind of lavish reception Eleanor seemed to think necessary, and that she could see little point in celebrating an event that was in reality a desecration of all that it was meant to be.
‘What marquee?’ she exploded, leaping out of bed to rush to the window.
Outside on the lawn, the prettily striped marquee was already almost in place… She glared accusingly at Eleanor.
‘People have to be fed,’ Eleanor told her reasonably. ‘Especially those who are travelling here.’ Louise and George and her parents were coming, plus a couple of aged aunts who were Luke’s as well as Louise’s.
‘Jenneth, what’s wrong?’ Angelica asked anxiously. ‘You do like the marquee, don’t you? I chose the colour…it’s to match…’ A tiny warning shake of the head from Eleanor caused her to flush and bite her lip as she fell silent, but Jenneth, overwhelmed with guilt, barely noticed.
‘Of course I like it,’ she lied with false heartiness. ‘It’s a wonderful surprise…’
Eleanor hid her amusement and her compassion by bustling about the bedroom, bullying Jenneth into drinking her juice and nibbling at a piece of toast.
The ceremony was taking place at three o’clock. Luke had spent the night at Eleanor’s, in deference to the custom decreed that bride and groom should not spend the pre-wedding night under the same roof.
Downstairs, the doorbell rang.
‘Oh, that will be the caterers,’ announced Eleanor easily.
‘Caterers?’ Jenneth demanded suspiciously. ‘What caterers?’ But already it was too late. Eleanor was opening the door and hurrying downstairs.
Jenneth felt as though she had suddenly been caught up in the momentum of a fast-flowing river, carried with its currents whether she wanted to be or not.
The morning raced past with amazing speed. Virtually incarcerated in her room and kept there by Angelica, Jenneth fumed and fretted as downstairs the doorbell rang almost continuously and people came and went. When Eleanor had offered to organise things she had listlessly concurred, never dreaming that this would be the outcome.
Every time Jenneth had announced that she was getting up, Eleanor appeared as though by miracle to insist that she was to stay where she was. At twelve o’clock she appeared to announce that she would soon be sending someone up with a tray of lunch.
‘Just as long as it isn’t Luke,’ said Jenneth bitterly, which for some reason seemed to convulse Angelica in gales of laughter.
At half-past twelve her bedroom opened and a familiar feminine voice called out gaily, ‘What, still in bed? You’re worse than I was.’ And Jenneth’s mouth fell open as Louise walked in, carrying not her lunch tray but an enormous cardboard box.
‘Bet you were having kittens, thinking I might not make it,’ she chuckled as she put the box down. ‘But here we are, safe and sound.’ She turned to Angelica, who was watching round-eyed, and said with a grin, ‘Yours is in your room, sweetheart. Off you go, and Eleanor will help you with it, while Jenneth and I talk big girl secrets…’
Jenneth looked warily at her friend and then at the box, a sudden unwanted premonition gripping her.
‘What’s in it?’ she demanded feebly.
Louise’s eyebrows rose. ‘Your dress, of course. I must say I was a bit startled when Luke rang up and told me what you wanted, but he explained how busy you were. Did you get the mural finished, by the way?’
Mural…what mural?
Louise had her back to her as she knelt down to remove the lid from the box.
‘It should be a perfect fit. I know you’re going to love it. It’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen in my life…’
Jenneth stared at her best friend’s back, while the tears formed in her eyes and ran silently down her face.
Alerted by some sixth sense, Louise turned round and saw her. ‘Hey, come on,’ she said softly, going over to her bed and putting her arms round her. ‘I know how you feel…all choked up and on the kind of emotional see-saw you thought belonged only to teenagers…’
Jenneth shook her head and managed to whisper huskily, ‘I don’t want to marry Luke. I can’t marry him…’
To her dismay, Louise only laughed. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she chided her. ‘Of course you want to marry him. You love him…and he loves you…’
The words ‘No, he doesn’t’ were on the tip of her tongue when they both heard someone knock briefly on her bedroom door.
>
‘That will be our lunch,’ Louise told her, getting up and giving her a reassuring grin.
* * *
Two hours later, totally unable to believe what was happening to her, Jenneth was walking down the aisle with Nick on one side of her and Kit on the other. She was wearing the impossibly beautiful confection of silk and lace that Luke had apparently chosen for her—although she suspected that only she knew that—and every pew in the small village church was crammed with well-wishers.
Behind her walked Angelica, her face incandescent with joy as she preened in her role as sole bridesmaid, the soft apricot colour of her dress perfect for her dark colouring.
There were flowers everywhere, huge bunches of artlessly natural colour and form, their scent filling the air.
The service was simple and achingly awesome. There was a moment, when Luke slipped the ring on to her finger, when Jenneth thought he might almost be shaking as much as she was herself, but it was gone so quickly that she had barely time to grasp at it, before it eluded her and was forgotten in the triumphal flood of organ music and the clear-tongued peal of the bells.
Events became a blur, the reception patterned with familiar faces and snatches of conversation.
She was a puppet, with no will of her own, her movements dictated by others. There were speeches, congratulations and laughter, hugs and kisses and, inevitably, tears, and then Eleanor was touching her arm and saying something about it being time for her to get changed.
Changed…she was already changed. Changed from herself into a stranger…Luke’s wife. Odd how, when once she had ached for that mantle, it now chafed her tender skin and hurt her.
She allowed herself to be drawn upstairs. Someone had tidied up her bedroom. There was an unfamiliar suitcase on the bed, clothes neatly folded inside it. Eleanor went over to it and snapped down the lid.
‘I don’t think we’ve forgotten anything,’ she told Jenneth, adding, ‘Luke didn’t say where he was taking you, but he told us what to pack…’
Louise was there, and Angelica. Louise told her to turn round while she unzipped her dress. Another one, a pretty slip of black and white silk, hung on the wardrobe door. Ignoring her protests, Louise unfastened the lace underwear she had worn beneath her dress and passed her instead a silk teddy of such a provocative cut and style that she said instinctively, ‘I can’t wear that…’
