He shrugged. ‘I brought in a decorating firm and gave them a free hand.
The only thing I asked was that they find a place for my paintings.’
Josey had already noticed the paintings. They were placed at strategic points on the walls,, a collection of early artwork by American artists, mostly from the nineteenth century.
‘My father began it and after he died, I added to it,’ Thorne told her.
Josey, in the time-honoured fashion of knowing what she liked, not what was art, thought some of it hideous while others appealed. She knew the collection must be valuable, for she recognised several of the names. When she thought of her cheap little seascape, she wondered how Thorne had felt when he saw he might be expected to hang it.
‘Come on.’ He pulled her forward, a hand loosely clasping her wrist. ‘I want you to meet Wragge and then you can help me with something.’
Sam Wragge was a very dignified elderly man who reminded her of Theodore. He bowed his head gravely in response to Thorne’s introduction t but she felt that he was withholding judgment on her until he knew her better.
‘If you have a problem, go to Wragge,’ Thorne told her. ‘He hires the cook, buys the food, and supervises the cleaning. And sees to it that no one touches the papers on my desk. Is there anything else you do, Wragge?’
‘I hope I do what needs to be done to the best of my ability, Mr Thorne,’
Wragge replied with immense dignity.
‘Oh, yes, I forgot. He’s known me all my life and doesn’t think I’m a bit funny,’ Thorne added with a grin.
Making a mental note never to touch Thorne’s papers, Josey gave Wragge a straight look. ‘I hope we can be good friends.’
Wragge merely bowed his head and Josey was left with the distinct feeling that he wasn’t really sure.
Back in their bedroom, Thorne brought out the painting which she had given him for Christmas. It had been packed away in the bottom of his suitcase. ‘Now, where shall I hang it? I thought it might do in here …’
She flushed, looking around the room desperately. Dominated by Thorne’s king-size bed which was covered by a sweep of chocolate velvet, the luxurious white carpet and white walls provided a natural background for a Harrison painting—a scene of rural Georgia. On another wall was a pair of portraits, apparently of Thorne’s great-grandparents, going by the style of clothes. The woman had Thorne’s eyes. From here, the artist appeared to be Sargeant. Josey was distressed. A fortune in paintings on his walls, and he was going to hang the one she had given him!
‘Thorne, please don’t,’ she blurted impulsively. I won’t be offended, I promise you, if you don’t hang it.’
He stared. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You can’t hang it in your apartment, among these others!’ she protested. ‘Give it away, throw it in the garbage, but don’t hang it here.
It’s— cheap!’
‘What does that matter? You gave it to me.’
She smiled at him gratefully. ‘That’s very sweet of you, but why don’t you let me get rid of that thing for you?’
‘Damn it, Josey, you’re obsessed with money, aren’t you? So what if it cost a fraction of what the other paintings are worth? Do you think that’s all that matters to me? Do you have so little trust in me you think I’d discard your gift that— that callously?’ he added angrily. ‘You don’t give me much credit, do you?’
Josey flew at him. ‘Darling, put it where you like! I was wrong!’ She pulled his head down and kissed him frantically. ‘Please hang it! Here! Or over there!’ She babbled until he laughed and pulled her into his arms.
So they made it up but it was their first quarrel and signalled the beginning of others. Their little spats—for that was what they were—seemed to flare up over nothing and so far as Josey was concerned, all seemed to originate with Thorne. They centred on two themes: money and trust. His belief that she married him for his money and that it was all she needed to make her happy. It was so far from the truth that Josey did not know how to fight it, except to hope that he would eventually realise it for himself. Her own guilty conscience made her sometimes wonder if she read more into his occasional sardonic references to her lack of trust than was there. She could, of course, have proved her trust by confessing to her past and the impulse that made her marry him for revenge, but she knew she couldn’t do it without losing him, and she wasn’t ready yet to face that possibility.
He knew, of course, that she hadn’t loved him when she married him, so he was free to assume it was because of his money. She hadn’t been frank about her past, although he had given her plenty of opportunities, so he knew she was withholding her trust. She couldn’t even tell him she loved him, for once she opened that Pandora’s box, all of her secrets would come out, including the most terrible secret of them all.
She sometimes wondered why he had married her. Oh, he had wanted her, she knew that, but now that she was more knowledgeable about sex, she wryly admitted he could have broken down her resistance and made her his slave, just as she was now. She was responsible, passionate, and they were sexually compatible. Would she have held out against an all-out attack? She didn’t think so. And he must have known all along what strong weapons he had—a man with his expertise would always know it.
So why did he? She was merely another girl, another face in the crowd. A beautiful face, yes-but then, so were the others. What made her so special that she had caught the gold ring on the merry-go-round? If she could only find out why, she could keep on doing it, or keep on being it and hopefully, keep him.
After racking her brain, she finally came to the conclusion that it was because he knew another woman—Eve, for instance—would have expected more, demanded more, of his time and attention. And, she was left alone a lot. He worked long, hard hours, and when he came home, he did not need a demanding wife. What he needed was what he got—an acquiescent wife who studied his moods and adapted herself to them, a willing slave, a lover …
Oh, he was kind, but sometimes she thought his kindness was the impersonal sort of a busy parent who lavished money instead of attention on a child. He bought her a car, a little Skylark that she adored. He opened charge accounts for her in all the major stores, and a current account for small, personal expenses that he kept topped when it fell below the original mark. She was able to shop where once she had merely wistfully looked.
Like any woman, she found it fun, of course. The first day she was informed her accounts had cleared, she went on a binge. Since most of her clothes were resort things, she bought lavishly. The doorman had to help her clear out the car and into the elevator, and she piled the packages high on the bed to surprise Thorne.
‘Show me,’ he drawled, lounging on the bed and watching her excited face as she tossed the beautiful garments about. A slight smile touched his lips as he settled himself against the pillows.
‘I’ll model them for you,’ she said eagerly, and retired to the bathroom.
He watched with lazy amusement as she came in each outfit, twirling and posturing like a model. She kept the best for the last, a sneer nightgown she had bought with exactly this moment in mind.
“Like it?’ she asked archly, twirling before him.
He sat up, a gleam of anticipation in the pale eyes as he pulled her into his arms.
‘Smart girl,’ he murmured later, as they lay entwined in each other’s arms on the bed. The nightgown was draped across the bed post, and he glanced at it with a trace of sardonic appreciation. ‘To wear it last, I mean. It paid for ill the rest. Sure you weren’t afraid to let me see the bill until you had sugar-coated the pill?’
She laughed uncertainly, sensing the underlying cynicism in his words.
Is this what his other girls had done? Had she acted like a mistress instead of a wife? ‘Didn’t you like my floor show?’ she asked hesitantly.
:Umm.’ His face was lying on her breast, his tongue lazily teasing the nipple until it tautened in his mouth. ‘J
ust keep on the way you’re going and I’ll have no complaints.’
She could take that two ways, but she felt the sting of his cynicism whenever he gave her anything. He was always bringing home something for her—a piece of jewellery, an item of lingerie, a fine leather purse—sometimes a book. She didn’t know if he sent his secretary to shop for him, or if he did it himself, but she always took his gifts as a sign that he thought of her during the day.
When she tried to thank him, he would look at her with that familiar glint in his eyes.
‘You know how to thank me,’ he would drawl, and the taut hunger in his face would send shivers of anticipation down her spine.
She knew he had been conditioned since boyhood to believe that this sort of cold-blooded barter system was a marriage, and she did not know how to break through his shell of cynicism. He had erected it to avoid being hurt and it had hardened over the years. And always, there was the painful possibility that this was the way he really wanted it.
Wragge was still wary of her, although he did not seem to resent the idea of having to account to a woman rather than Thorne. He showed her over the flat, how the burglar alarm system worked, where the linens were kept, the sets of china, Waterford crystal and heavy antique silver cutlery with the Macallan initial engraved on its handles. He gave her a rundown on the servants’ working hours. The cook, who was excellent, came in every day, of course; the cleaning woman, three times a week; and a cleaning service took care of the heavier duties, such as carpets and curtains.
But the cook and the cleaning service continued to report to Wragge; the house ran like a well-oiled machine, and there wasn’t much for Josey to do. If she had had a home instead of an apartment, she could have found pleasure in gardening. Once, Thorne had mentioned his old home, ‘a barn of a place’, but he hadn’t offered to show it to her. She didn’t think he had any intention of moving from this conveniently located apartment—unless there were children.
Josey shivered at that thought. Thorne wanted children, of course—he had said so—but her own feelings on that subject were mixed. Perhaps she had shown him in some subtle way how she felt, for he hadn’t mentioned it again. She loved children, longed for one with all her heart, but she wondered what would happen if he ever found out about her past. Would he take the child—if there was one—away from her? She could be shown to be an unfit mother. She would never give up her child. Josey hugged her stomach protectively. Not that she was pregnant—she had only been married a month!—but if it happened, what would she do? She stood at the window, and looked down on the skyline of Atlanta, and it seemed as though all the weight of the world was on her shoulders. She should be happy—she had everything a woman could want—but so long as she lied to Thorne, she would find it difficult to live with herself. And what a mean, sordid motive it was, marrying for revenge! She could never explain it without earning his contempt.
Wragge, walking in just then, was struck by the desolate droop of her shoulders. He cleared his throat tentatively, and when she looked around, the offer of coffee he was about to make was dropped, and instead, he asked if she would like to help him wash the crystal.
She smiled, and he decided he liked that look. It wasn’t pushy, and she was obviously pleased to be asked. He liked that, too. ‘Sarie,’ he said, meaning the cleaning woman, ‘is heavy-handed, so I always do the fine dishes and crystal myself.’
Later, his hands in soapy water, he struggled to make his position clear.
‘Ordinarily, I wouldn’t need help
‘
‘I love to help you.’
‘It’s this dinner party,’ he lumbered on.
‘What dinner party?’
He looked surprised. ‘The one you and Mr Thorne are giving tomorrow night.’
‘Oh, that dinner party.’ She dropped her eyes to the goblet she was polishing.
‘Do you have any special instructions about it?’
‘I’m sure you know more about that sort of thing than I do, Wragge,’
she said evenly, unwilling to let him know it was the first she had heard of it. ‘Just carry on as you usually do.’
That night, Thorne mentioned it. ‘It came up unexpectedly, when my cousin called. She and her husband will be in town overnight and they want to meet you.’
‘I didn’t know you had any relatives except Maud.’
He shrugged. ‘Elaine is my father’s cousin,’ he said brusquely. ‘She’ll probably bring a wedding gift—she’s the sentimental type,’ he added drily, with a contempt that seemed to indicate dislike.
‘I’ve asked two of my law partners and their wives, too, so we won’t have to endure Elaine and Ralph’s company on our own,’ he added, reinforcing that impression. ‘Do you have anyone you’d like to ask?’
Josey hesitated. Dr and Mrs Abernathy had been John’s friends. He was a retired professor of mathematics, and she was a motherly sort who had always been kind to her. She gave their names reluctantly.
‘I’ll have Miss Pettigru send them a note. And perhaps—the Vineliis,’ he added suddenly, in a speculative voice. ‘Stephen and Zoe Vinelli might—er—provide a distraction.’
Once again, Josey wondered about his cousins whom he was obviously being forced to entertain. Or was it her whom he was uncertain of? She was uncomfortably aware of that possibility the night of the dinner party, while she was dressing. She chose a dress that was elegant, but understated.
Suddenly, Thorne loomed up behind her in the mirror, and softly nuzzled her nape as he draped a slender gold chain strung with gold and jade beads around her neck. It nestled in the discreet cleavage of the dress.
‘You look beautiful—and very hostess-y,’ he added drily.
‘I’m nervous.’
‘Why? Your appearance and that hint of shyness will strike exactly the right note with Elaine,’ he said impersonally. ‘As a matter of fact, you’re the most self-possessed woman I’ve ever known.’
Somehow, the double-edged compliment steeled her enough so that she had the courage to go and greet their first guests, Thorne’s cousin, Elaine Jessup, and her husband, Ralph. She disliked them on sight.
Elaine’s face wore the petulant droop of a self-imposed martyr, and Ralph was bluff, hearty and smelled strongly of a mixture of alcohol and a floral after-shave lotion.
Elaine gave her a limp hand but Ralph, after one appreciative look, pulled her into his arms and gave her an enthusiastic kiss.
‘So this is my new little cousin!’ he boomed. ‘Thorne, you’re a lucky dog!
I wish I’d seen her first, cousin!’
Josey recognised the type—an ageing ladies’ man who automatically made a pass at anything in skirts. And when the female was young and personable, he could be counted on to make a second pass, and a third …
‘You didn’t tell me your wife was so beautiful, Thorne, although knowing you, I should have guessed it.’ He squeezed Josey’s waist, his taunt holding a hint of a sneer.
‘Unless you need a prop, I suggest you let her go so she can greet the other guests,’ Thorne said sardonically, giving Josey a hard look.
Ralph laughed again. ‘Reluctantly, my dear boy! But don’t go too far away, sweetheart. I want us to get better acquainted.’
Thorne gripped her by the hand and literally dragged her away from Ralph and out into the hallway.
‘Do you suppose you could avoid encouraging him?’ he asked coldly.
Josey was stunned. ‘I—I was merely being friendly,’ she faltered.
‘Friendly I can do without. I don’t want the evening ending with Elaine in a flood of tears,’ he snapped unfairly.
The doorbell rang again and they had to answer it before Josey could make a reply. It was his partners, arriving together, with their wives. They were older men, and had been junior partners when his father headed the law firm. They were followed by the Abernathys.
Their arrival gave Josey the time she needed to pull herself together although she was already res
igned to a disastrous evening. She left them to slip into the dining room and change the cards, putting Ralph beside the unknown Zoe Vinelli. It was a calculated risk, without knowing Mrs Vinelli, but she had no intention of warding off Ralph’s roving hands throughout dinner.
She re-entered the hallway in time to see Thorne at the door, greeting the Vinellis, so she joined them. Stephen Vinelli was a short, stocky man with grizzled hair and a big, friendly face. He beamed at her with a kindly smile as he congratulated Thorne on marrying such a lovely young woman. His wife was at least thirty years younger than her husband, a hard-faced redhead dressed in a couturier gown. As she greeted Josey, her eyes restlessly appraised her face, figure and clothes.
When she spoke, her speech was shockingly common.
‘Where’ve you been hiding her out, Thorne?’ she demanded in a nasal drawl that assaulted the ears. ‘Everyone’s been wondering if you intended to keep her hidden, pregnant and barefoot. After all, one month and no one’s had so much as a glimpse of her.’
‘They’ve been on their honeymoon, Zoe,’ her husband reminded her with a hint of reproof in his voice.
‘Oh, sure, and I bet Thorne hasn’t been exactly wasting his time. But Mrs Macallan knows what I mean. I mean—a woman likes to be taken out and shown off occasionally, unless she’s a dog.’
‘Mrs Macallan, indeed!’ Stephen laughed heartily. ‘I intend to call her Josey and if she doesn’t call me Stephen, I shall spank her!’
Josey smiled warmly. ‘Stephen then.’
‘And I’m Zoe,’ his wife drawled, tucking her arm under Thorne’s elbow. ‘And now that that’s all taken care of, let’s go in to the bar. I’m dying for a drink, Thorne, and you know what I like.’
Zoe did not waste any time on the older women in the room. She gave a comprehensive glance at the men, and her eyes settled on Ralph like a bee approaching honey. He, too, seemed to recognise a kindred spirit. In a matter of minutes, they were laughing and talking together. She was a perfect recipient for his broad type of sexual conversation. It did not seem to bother Stephen, who was deep in conversation with Thorne, but it reacted immediately on Elaine.
Lady With A Past Page 10
