by Sara Craven
That was why she tried so hard not to think about him. To relegate him to the back of her mind where he belonged. But tonight, it seemed, he was not to be so easily dismissed.
She’d been twenty-three when they met, heart-whole, with a string of casual relationships behind her, none of which she’d been prompted to translate into any real intimacy.
She had not long joined Marchant Southern, and her career was still at the fledgling stage when, fatefully, she had been invited to a drinks party in the boardroom of her father’s company. Gordon Fairclough, one of the other directors, had been celebrating his birthday.
She’d noticed Jack instantly. He’d been with a group of other men, all twenty-somethings, but he’d stood out, tall, dark-haired and swarthy. He’d been talking and laughing, his eyes constantly raking the room, and as he’d seen Tara his gaze had narrowed appraisingly, appreciatively, until she’d turned away in slight confusion.
She’d said to Anna Fairclough, who’d been at school with her, trying to sound casual, ‘Who’s that? Tall, blue pinstripe, dark red tie.’
Anna peered obligingly through the crowd. ‘Oh, some new whizz-kid accountant type, I think.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Jack—Jack—something. Dad says he’s—’ She broke off to greet another acquaintance with extravagant delight, and Mr Fairclough’s opinion was lost. Tara drifted off to find her parents, and refill her wine glass at the buffet
She felt a light touch on her arm. ‘Actually, it’s Jack Halston.’ He was smiling down at her. ‘Anna’s a shocker for names.’
She smiled back, aware she had flushed a little. ‘She always was.’
‘Do you work for Grainger Associates? I’m still a new boy, but I’m sure I haven’t seen you around.’
She said lightly, ‘It’s a big company. A lot of people work here.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘But I’d have noticed you.’ He wasn’t smiling any more, and the dark gaze was intense, burning into hers. He said quietly, ‘You know that, don’t you?’
From some far distance she heard herself say, ‘Yes.’
In retrospect—and she’d gone over the scene in her mind, time after agonising time—she couldn’t have made it more easy for him if she’d tried.
Within a week they were dating. Within the month they were lovers, and she was lost, carried away on a tide of newly discovered passion, gladly surrendering her virginity to him. Consumed by unfamiliar but intoxicating greed.
Jack was experienced and sophisticated, but he seemed delighted by her comparative naivety, and almost amused by her physical innocence.
‘You’re my own private anachronism, sweet,’ he teased her as he coaxed her out of her inhibitions.
She was sharing a flat with two other girls, but when Jack asked her she moved in with him. And for the first time became aware that her parents had reservations.
‘But it’s so unfair,’ she argued heatedly. ‘Becky and Harry lived together before they were married. What’s so different?’
‘Darling, you’ve only known him a comparatively short time.’ Her mother looked worried. ‘Are you certain you want to make this kind of commitment quite so soon?’
‘I love Jack,’ she said. She looked at them both, willing them to understand. To give her their blessing. ‘When it’s right and good, you just know.’
‘What happened to that other boy you were seeing—Mark Roberts?’
‘Mark?’ Tara echoed in astonishment ‘That was all over months ago. And you weren’t keen on him either,’ she added accusingly, rounding on her father. ‘You said he had no ambition, remember? Well, you can’t say that about Jack.’
‘I shouldn’t dream of it.’ Jim Lyndon’s tone was mildly ironic. And the look he sent his wife was halfwarning, half-resigned.
For the first few months, Tara was in paradise. Marchant Southern only occupied a fraction of her attention. The rest of her creative mind was devoted to making Jack happy. To ensuring the flat was always spotless and tidy, cooking the pasta dishes he loved, keeping his clothes in pristine condition. She was on a learning curve, and her goal was becoming the ideal wife—whenever Jack asked her.
Not that he seemed in any hurry to do so, and this was the only cloud on her horizon. She wanted to wear his ring—to have his baby. It was the next logical step towards the perfect happiness she saw as her right.
I’m so lucky, she would tell herself each day, listening to girlfriends and colleagues telling unhappy stories about tiffs, rifts, and the unending search for Mr Right. Jack and I were made for each other.
Once, she tried to tell Anna how she felt, but her friend’s response was muted, and the subject rapidly changed.
Poor Anna, Tara thought. Judging by her remarks about being too trusting, she’s going through a rocky patch with Gavin. It was tactless of me to advertise my own happiness like that.
It was at a housewarming party thrown by some newly married friends when she first realised that Jack might have other ideas about the future of their relationship.
The house was only half furnished. They sat on packing cases, drank supermarket plonk out of paper cups, ate vegetable curry from plates that didn’t match, and laughed a lot.
Later, lying in bed, watching him undress with the usual slow curl of anticipation deep within her, she said, ‘That was fun, wasn’t it?’
Jack shrugged. ‘I thought it was a shambles. I can’t believe they’d actually invite people round with the place in that state.’
Tara propped herself on an elbow. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I’m perfectly serious.’ He looked at her in the mirror, his eyes steady and rather hard. ‘The house may be all right one day—if Fiona doesn’t start dropping babies and they can afford to do it up properly. But they’ve got married on a shoestring, and that’s ridiculous.’
‘But they love each other,’ she protested, feeling a sudden chill.
‘Naturally, my sweet dope, or they wouldn’t be married at all. But Colin still has a way to go in his job, and they’d have done better to postpone.’
Is that how you feel? She wanted to ask him, but the words somehow wouldn’t come. Because, she realised, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his answer.
Then he came to bed, and her doubts were swept aside in their lovemaking.
And when, some six weeks later, he told her he was taking her out for a special dinner because he had something to ask her, she decided, fizzing with suppressed excitement, that he’d clearly had a change of heart.
It was a wonderful meal, but Jack seemed edgy. Or perhaps he was just nervous, she thought tenderly. But why? Surely he knew what her answer would be?
When they reached the coffee stage, and he’d still said nothing, Tara nerved herself.
‘You...you said you had something to ask me,’ she prompted him, smiling.
He nodded rather jerkily. ‘As a matter of fact, yes. You see, darling, there’s a whisper that Cadham, our head of department, is taking early retirement.’ He laughed. ‘Frankly he’ll be no great loss. His ideas are rooted in the Dark Ages. Everyone’s saying our whole section needs someone young and vigorous to pick it up and shake it into the Millennium.’
There was no need to stir her coffee but she did so, watching it swirl round the spoon. Aware of a sudden odd tension within her.
She said quietly, ‘And do you have someone in mind for the job?’
Jack laughed again. ‘Of course, my sweet. I’m hoping they’ll offer it to me.’
‘To you?’ She couldn’t keep the note of incredulity out of her voice, and he looked annoyed.
‘OK, I know I’m not tops in order of seniority, but what does that matter? I can do the job. And I seriously want it.’
She shrugged, avoiding his gaze. ‘Then if Peter Cadham does retire, you’d better apply for it. I hope you won’t be too disappointed if things don’t go your way.’
‘Ah, but I intend they shall,’ Jack said softly. He stretched a hand across the table and took hers. ‘And y
ou, my love, can help.’
‘You think they’ll come to Marchant Southern for candidates?’ She was bewildered. ‘They never have in the past. And if they did I wouldn’t be dealing with it. I’m too junior myself.’
She saw his mouth tighten, and realised he hadn’t relished the word ‘junior’.
‘To hell with Marchant Southern,’ he said impatiently. ‘I’m talking about your father. You know as well as I do that he’ll have a big say in the appointment.’ His tone softened, became appealing. ‘I thought you could use your powers to persuade him to speak up for me.’
So that was what the intimate dinner had been leading up to. She felt sick with disappointment, and suddenly afraid.
She said, stammering a little, ‘But I couldn’t. And why should he listen to me anyway?’
‘Because you’re supposed to have some expertise in recruitment, for one thing,’ he said. ‘And you’re Daddy’s little girl, for another. And he’ll want you to be happy.’
His fingers tightened round hers, almost hurting her.
‘Think about it, love. You want to get married, don’t you? Well, look on this as a stepping stone—a short cut. We’d have to wait years on my present salary. If I got Cadham’s job we could have everything we wanted, without scrimping and scraping.’
He smiled at her coaxingly. ‘I want to spoil you—treat you as you deserve. Give you a proper setting. And if I was his son-in-law your father could be sure of my total company loyalty, as well,’ he added insinuatingly.
She said huskily, ‘Jack—I’d be just as happy to start in a small way. We could get married and go on living in the flat You’ll get a promotion eventually—I know it. Maybe something better will come along—with another company.’
‘Sweetheart.’ He was still smiling, but there was an undercurrent of irritation now. ‘I don’t want to move. My sights are set. I don’t know why you’re making all this fuss. I thought you’d be pleased. That you’d be glad to do this little thing for me.’
She looked down at the table. She said quietly, ‘I don’t think I know quite how I feel. But I’ll speak to my father, if that’s really what you want. Although I can’t guarantee a thing,’ she added. ‘You must understand that.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Tara. Your old man’s always given you and your sister anything you’ve ever wanted. Everyone knows that.’
Tara crumpled her napkin into a ball. ‘Then everyone knows more than I do,’ she said stonily. ‘And now I’d like to go home, please.’
The next ten days were a nightmare, with constant pressure from Jack colliding headlong with her own reluctance.
Eventually, wearily, and wanting to avoid their first real quarrel at all costs, Tara agreed to phone her parents and suggest she join them at Silver Creek for the weekend.
Jack, she knew, would not accompany her. He’d been down once, just for the day, in those first ecstatic weeks, but he’d seemed ill at ease in his surroundings.
Afterwards, Tara could see why. He’d expected to find a millionaire’s weekend retreat—a mansion with sculpted lawns sweeping down to the water, probably with its own tennis court and a swimming pool. Instead he’d found a shabby family home with only one bathroom, and an elderly sailing dinghy.
She was on edge all weekend, wondering how to bring the subject up. In the end her father did it for her, mentioning casually over a game of Scrabble that they were drawing up a short-list for Peter Cadham’s job.
‘You’ll miss him,’ Barbara said, frowning over her tiles.
‘God, yes. He’s been like a rock. But young Ritchie has been working closely with him for the past year, and he’s the most likely candidate.’
Later, when her mother had gone up to bed, Tara said, ‘Dad, is it definite about Ian Ritchie? Has he been offered the department?’
Jim Lyndon was fixing the guard in front of the fire. ‘No, not yet. Why do you ask?’ His voice was quizzical. ‘Do you know of a better candidate?’
She swallowed. ‘I thought—Jack.’
‘Did you, my dear—or was the thought really his?’ He waited for a moment, his shrewd gaze fixed on her flushed, unhappy face, then sighed. ‘But I’m afraid I must disappoint you. Jack has yet to convince me and the rest of the board that he has the makings of a top manager. In the short term he hasn’t nearly enough experience, and is inclined to cut corners and take unnecessary risks as a consequence.’
She bit her lip. ‘I know you’ve never liked him...’
‘That’s not quite true. At the moment I’m trying very hard not to dislike him.’ He paused. ‘But I know how much it must have cost you to approach me like this, so I won’t be angry with you.’
He got up, dusting his hands. ‘However, I’ll say this before we drop the subject. Jack is still young, and it’s early days both in the company and your relationship. He has plenty of time to prove himself.’
She said fiercely, ‘And he will.’ She hesitated. ‘Dad—wouldn’t it be possible for him to be shortlisted—given an interview? It would encourage him so much.’
‘Oh, does he need encouragement?’ Mr Lyndon asked mildly. He gave a slight shrug. ‘It seems a pretty pointless exercise to me, but if it will make things easier for you I suppose I’ve no real objection.’
Jack was jubilant when he received the internal memo telling him he’d indeed been short-listed. He brought home a bottle of champagne and an extravagant bunch of red roses, which Tara accepted wanly, feeling like Judas.
He was so confident, she thought anxiously. So sure. She wished now that she hadn’t asked...
And afterwards, when Ian Ritchie’s appointment was announced, Jack seemed stunned, stonily incredulous. But when she went to him, tried to put her arms round him to comfort him, he turned from her almost menacingly, his face a harsh stranger’s.
He curtly rejected the meal she’d cooked and went out, for the first time not asking her to go with him.
And it was the small hours when he returned, sliding into bed beside her without noticing, apparently, that she’d been lying awake, waiting for him and worrying.
She told herself it was just disappointment. That he’d feel different—more optimistic—the following day. And then maybe she’d stop feeling that she was standing on the edge of some precipice—where all it would take would be one breath of wind to carry her over the brink and down to destruction.
But I was wrong, Tara thought now, staring into the darkness. Because the precipice was real, and it was there—waiting for me.
CHAPTER FOUR
SHE didn’t want to do this, she thought. She didn’t want to remember. But the images were there, burning in her brain. Everything Jack had said. Everything he’d done.
For three years she’d fought to keep them at bay. Now the cupboard was open, and the skeletons were crowding upon her.
Nothing had ever been the same again after Jack failed to get the job, although she had done her best to persuade herself otherwise.
She’d tried to talk to him about it. ‘Jack—I did try—really.’
The dark eyes were bottomless wells of indifference. ‘Not hard enough, obviously.’
He hardly spent any time in the flat He was out nearly every evening, and when he joined her in bed he reeked of cigarettes and alcohol. Sometimes she even thought she detected the hint of a woman’s scent on his skin. Opium, she thought. Something she never used. And then silently berated herself for being paranoid.
What she could not pretend was that Jack still wanted her sexually. Whereas once he’d been unable to keep his hands off her, now he seemed to be doing his best to avoid all physical contact with her. And when, bewildered and unhappy, she tried to make a few shy overtures of her own, he turned on her almost brutally.
‘For God’s sake, Tara, I’m under enough stress right now without you hassling me for sex. Give it a rest, will you?’
If he’d struck her in the face she could not have been more shocked. She never tried again.
And se
lf-censure wasn’t all she had to bear. Her immediate boss, Leo Southern, called her into his office and gave her a stinging dressing-down over her recent attitude to her work. ‘Sloppy’ was one word he used. And ‘ineffectual’.
‘When you joined us, Tara, you were keen—you were hot.’ He threw himself back in his chair and surveyed her, his mouth compressed. ‘Now half the time you don’t seem to be on the same planet. You’d better pull yourself together, and damned quickly.’
He saw the panicked look in her eyes, and his tone softened marginally. ‘Listen, take the rest of the day off. Do that exercise we sometimes give new clients. List your goals, and the positive and negative factors that affect them. Then work out how to eliminate the negative, however painful. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
She didn’t argue. She knew she was being given one last chance, and that she’d already blotted her copybook by bringing her private life into office hours.
As she travelled back on the underground she knew she had to get things sorted out with Jack. Her job was precious to her. She couldn’t afford to jeopardise it. And she couldn’t lose Jack either. She had to fight for both of them.
She would begin by telling him how much she loved him, she thought. Offer to do anything that would change their life back to the way it had been. After all, there was no place for pride in love.
And Jack’s pride had been hurt too, she realised sombrely. Perhaps he thought she wouldn’t want him any more, now that he’d failed. She needed to show him how wrong he was. How much faith she had in him.
We should get married, she thought. Face the world united. I can talk him round. I must.
As she approached the apartment block she glanced up, and saw with shock that one of their windows was slightly open.
How did that happen? she wondered, quickening her step. Which of us was the last to leave this morning? It must have been me, yet I’m sure I checked the windows. I always do.
She went up the stairs to their floor, two at a time. As she fitted her key into one of the safety locks she tensed, because it wasn’t fastened. In fact the whole door was on the latch, she realised, pushing it open and wondering sickly what scene of devastation she was going to find.
