Wild Oats
Page 33
Christopher was aware that his mouth was hanging open. Zoe was burrowing about in a large carrier bag she’d brought with her from the car.
‘I went and bought this. Just to show you I mean business.’
She proudly held up a wax jacket. A designer wax jacket, of course – with a nubuck collar and cuffs and lined with bright pink quilted silk. Christopher caught sight of the price tag dangling off it and didn’t like to mention she could have bought herself a decent horse for the same price.
He smiled weakly. It was typical Zoe. Worse, it was why he loved her. She was so guileless, so deliciously and shamelessly superficial. On the surface.
‘Very good.’
He listened, numb with shock, as Zoe prattled on with her plans. And when she finally nipped inside for a wee, he collapsed with a groan, leaning his head on the warm wood of the picnic table.
What the hell was he supposed to do now? This wasn’t the plan: a sudden reconciliation, a contented wife, happy families all round. He could hardly turn round and tell Zoe it was too late and he was shagging the arse off Tiona. He no longer had any justification for an affair. Last night it had been all too easy for him to convince himself that any man would have done the same in his position. But now the goalposts had moved.
Common sense told Christopher he should take Tiona to one side, tell her last night was a silly mistake and insist that they put their relationship back on a professional footing for the sake of the company.
He thought she would understand that. She was ambitious for Drace’s, after all. He could use the lure of managing another office as a sweetener. He thought she would probably see sense.
But Tiona seeing sense wasn’t the real problem.
Could he see sense?
He felt like some young Regency buck who’d been lured into an opium den against his better judgement, then become hooked on the all-consuming sweetness, powerless to resist its charms. He was defiled, corrupted. He couldn’t just walk away. She was under his skin, in his very blood and bones.
Did he love her? he wondered. God knows.
All he knew was that the woman he once loved – still did, probably – the woman he was married to, the mother of his beloved children, had just offered him an enormous olive branch by way of immense self-sacrifice on her part. What sort of a bastard would he be to throw it back in her face? Not that he’d be capable of it, even if he wanted to. Christopher didn’t do heartless bastard. At least, he never had up until now.
‘Buggery bollocks,’ muttered Christopher to himself in despair.
Eventually, the psychiatric nurse emerged from the ward, and took Rod and Pauline into a small, windowless room to talk to them.
‘I’ve asked Bella’s permission to tell you what she’s told me,’ he said gravely. ‘I think it’s important that you have the full picture straight away, so you can decide on the best thing to do.’
There was no hint of reproach in his voice as he spoke. He didn’t point the finger of blame at anyone. Which somehow made it worse. Both Rod and Pauline felt sick with guilt and shame that it should have come to this. And that it could have been too late.
‘We’ll probably never know if this was a genuine attempt at suicide or just a cry for help,’ concluded Dave. ‘But Bella is going to need a lot of support from both of you if she’s going to get better. She needs to have some sort of counselling, or therapy, so she can sort things out in her own mind and understand her condition. And she needs a lot of care and patience and love and understanding to help her through that. It’s going to be a treacherous journey. She’s lived with her disorder and her low self-esteem for most of her adult life. She’s got a lot to unlearn, and the only way she’s going to do that is if she knows she can depend on you both.’
Rod stared impassively at the wall behind Dave’s head. It was sprinkled with posters for support groups and NHS helplines. Beside him, Pauline was weeping quietly. Automatically, he reached out for her hand and patted it.
‘It’s going to be all right. She’s going to be OK.’
‘Don’t leave her, Rod. Promise me you’ll look after her. I know she did a terrible thing…’
Dave looked at Rod sympathetically.
‘What you’ve got to appreciate is her fear of losing control is totally irrational.’
‘I know. I realize that.’
Dave touched him on the shoulder in a gesture of male solidarity, as if to say he understood.
But he didn’t understand. He didn’t have a bloody clue. How was he to know that Rod had just fallen back into the arms of the woman he’d been waiting for all his life?
Jamie slumped in the hammock with a plate of baklava. She needed fat and sugar to restore her energy. As she licked the last flakes of syrupy pastry from her lips, she fell back on to the pillows and allowed herself a little daydream, a delicious fantasy to float away on. A wedding of Hollywood proportions, a mélange of white silk and blossom and rosebuds and ringlets and pealing bells and triumphant fanfares. Jack drove her to church in the Bugatti, then escorted her proudly up the aisle. All the little charges she’d ever looked after were there, rosy-cheeked moppets clutching her lace train in their pudgy little hands. And at the end of the aisle Lee Deacon stood proudly by his brother’s side, forgiven for his perfidy all those years ago, because this was a tale that was going to end happily ever after…
Jamie wasn’t used to such ridiculous self-indulgence. But she was determined to revel in this utter bliss for as long as possible. She realized she’d been starved of true romance, and that it had been of her own making. She’d had flings, of course she had. But she’d always backed away from any real commitment. She’d met people she admired, she’d met people she fancied, she’d met people who shared her values, but no one who had encapsulated everything. No one had ever been able to live up to Rod and because of that she’d pushed them away if things ever looked like getting serious. Her job had provided a built-in excuse; she’d always been able to move on, choose a far-flung destination for her next assignment in order to run away. She’d broken a couple of hearts, she felt sure she had. But she never felt guilty. Why should she have resigned herself to second best?
And she’d been right to hold out. Otherwise she wouldn’t be lying here now, unable to wipe the smile off her face. It was bliss. She and Rod were wallowing in the unbridled passion of new love, but without the hideous agonies of insecurity and doubt that a new affair often brought, for they already knew they were right for each other. They’d done the hard bit.
And the icing on the cake was that they were going to be able to stay at Bucklebury. Not that this was a prime motivation – Jamie was sure she’d be happy with Rod in a mud hut. But there was a pleasing symmetry to the tale, as if things had gone full circle. She and Rod would be able to pick up the reins from Jack and Louisa, keep the legend alive. Of course there would have to be changes, but if Jamie had learned anything over the past few weeks it was that change was necessary and good.
Jamie finally let sleep wash over her, exhausted by the emotional roller coaster of the past twenty-four hours, but completely and utterly contented.
Sick with self-reproach from what the nurse had told him, as well as the realization of what it meant to his future, Rod walked into the ward and over to Bella’s bed like a condemned man walking to the gallows. He pulled back the thin pink and blue floral curtain and his heart turned over.
She was lying under a sheet that was drawn right up to her chin, her bluish-white skin threaded with veins of a darker blue that matched the bruised shadows under her eyes, like marbles under the paper-thin lids. She looked like a corpse being revealed for identification, as if the sheet had been drawn back by the pathologist for his inspection. He couldn’t believe it was possible for someone to disintegrate in the space of just one week. She looked so tiny, so young, so pale. She exuded weakness and fragility. It was like seeing an injured kitten, victim of a hit and run, lying in the road. Only a monster could walk away.
As her husband, it was he who was honour-bound to protect her and heal her. She needed him more than anyone – his support, his approval, his protection – if she was going to survive. If he turned his back on her now, he would be responsible for her actions.
He stared at her closely, trying to find a vestige of the woman he’d married, the vibrant, glowing creature who had walked up the aisle to stand at his side. She’d been dressed in a sheath of white satin, as tall and slender as one of the lilies in the bouquet she was carrying. There were sighs of admiration and thinly disguised envy from the congregation, both the men and the women. And he’d felt proud that she was his. Little did he realize the torture she had been through to achieve her supposed perfection.
With the benefit of hindsight, Rod could now see that her avoidance of food was bordering on the obsessive. But he’d got used to it; assumed that most women were card-carrying calorie-dodgers who spent their lives snipping fat off their meat and left their potatoes, who recoiled in horror at the sight of the dessert trolley and could only be talked into a portion of fruit salad in order to be sociable. Common sense should have told him that she ate barely enough to survive.
He realized she was stirring. With a huge effort she lifted her lids. Her eyes stared straight at him. He heard her take in a sharp, ragged breath of panic, and put out a hand to reassure her.
‘It’s OK. You’re going to be all right.’
Her eyes closed again, but this time it was to hold back her tears. He put a tentative hand out to touch her forehead. She felt surprisingly cold and clammy, as if there was no life-blood beneath the skin. He forced himself to stroke her, as you would a sick child, a tender gesture of comfort. Eventually, she opened her eyes again and looked at him dully.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
‘There’s nothing to be sorry for,’ he reassured her, and saw the faintest trace of a smile on her lips, as if she knew better but was happy to go along with him.
‘What do you want to do?’ he asked gently.
He had to bend his head to catch her reply. Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
‘I want to come home.’
She looked at him pleadingly, and in that moment he knew she meant that home was Owl’s Nest. Which meant undoubtedly that it was he who held the key to her recovery, that he wasn’t going to be able to offload the responsibility. Obviously their marriage meant more to her than he had chosen to believe.
He could see her tense under the sheets, bracing herself for the steel-toe-capped boot of rejection. Rod knew that the decision he was about to make was the most important of his life, with momentous results for not just himself. He alone could make the choice…
Five minutes later, he walked back out of the ward to the corridor where Pauline was waiting.
‘The sister says she can go, once the doctor’s checked her over,’ she told him. ‘In about an hour, she reckons.’
Rod looked at his watch.
‘There’s just something I’ve got to do,’ he said carefully. ‘Then I’ll come back and fetch her.’
Jamie heard the Audi coming down the drive in her sleep. Reluctantly, she wrenched herself out of her dreams and sat up. She smiled as she rubbed her eyes and jumped out of the hammock eagerly. They’d agreed not to see each other till the next day, but obviously Rod hadn’t been able to wait, and she was glad. The prospect of an evening without him had been torture.
But as she walked towards the yard, somehow she could tell by the car’s funereal speed that Rod was not the bearer of glad tidings. She could feel his dread from a hundred yards, and its cold tentacles insinuated their way into her heart.
She reached the car just as he was climbing out. His expression was grim; his features set hard.
‘What is it?’
In a dull, lifeless monotone, he told her. And as he finished describing the events of the last couple of hours, he delivered the final blow.
‘I’ve got to stand by her, Jamie. She’s my wife. I’ve got to share the blame for what’s happened; for what she did.’
Jamie nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
‘If I leave her, God knows what she might do. I can’t risk that.’
He grabbed her and held her tightly.
‘I love you,’ he said fiercely. ‘But there’s nothing I can do. Please say you understand.’
Jamie swallowed a huge lump that had risen in her throat.
‘Of course I do,’ she managed.
For a few moments they clung to each other. Silent tears poured down Jamie’s cheeks. She wanted to scream at him to forget Bella, that she didn’t deserve his loyalty. But she knew Rod was honourable. And that was, of course, why she loved him so much. So she didn’t protest, didn’t make it harder for him than it already was, but told him he was doing the right thing and that she understood. Because Jamie too was honourable. The very quality they both shared, the reason they should have been together, was what drove them apart.
She held on to him tightly, wanting to prolong the moment, the last time she would ever hold him, because they both knew that it had to be a clean break. There was no point in trying to compromise.
Eventually Rod disentangled himself from her.
‘I’ve got to go…’
He went to give her a final kiss, but Jamie jerked herself away, knowing that to feel his lips on hers would be the ultimate torture. Choking back her sobs she ran inside, wishing that she could have been calm and dignified if only to make it easier for him.
Rod watched her go in despair. For one wild second he was tempted to run after her. But then he imagined Bella, waiting for him in her hospital bed. Fragile, damaged, tortured Bella. He walked back to his car with a leaden heart.
He drove back down the drive at full speed, changing gear angrily, churning up the dust. As he reached the gateway he was tempted not to stop, to drive straight out on to the road regardless of whatever was coming. But he knew that was a stupid, childish gesture. He was more likely to hurt someone else than himself. Besides, the chances of anything coming were fairly remote and he’d just end up in the ditch on the other side of the road. So he slammed on the brakes at the last second. Futile attempts at suicide weren’t going to help anyone.
Jamie would survive, he told himself. She was stronger than Bella. And she’d survived before.
And he? Would he survive? Rod supposed that didn’t really come into it. He was trapped by his wedding vows whether he liked it or not.
27
In later years, Jamie would say that the week following the party was quite possibly the worst of her life, with the exception of the week her mother had died. To begin with, the phone had rung incessantly with people thanking her and Jack profusely for a wonderful party, and saying how sorry they were Bucklebury was to be sold: it marked the end of an era. Jamie forced herself to remain bright and cheerful throughout all these conversations, despite the fact that underneath her heart was breaking. If not, in fact, already broken.
To add insult to Jamie’s injuries, Jack mooted the idea of his moving to Cape Town with Lettice. The more he thought about the idea, the more he liked it, but it played on his conscience. He didn’t want to keep the proposition a secret from Jamie – after all, the last time he’d kept something from her, she’d disappeared for months. He wanted to be honest and open with her, no matter how difficult it was.
‘I wouldn’t be there all year round. Three months here, three months there, probably. And back here for Christmas, of course. Unless you wanted to come out for some sunshine.’
How could she protest, when she herself was going to be away with work most of the time? Anyway, she had no fight le
ft in her.
‘Whatever makes you happy,’ she said wearily.
‘I want you to be happy about it,’ protested Jack.
‘I am. Honestly. I think it’s a very good idea.’ Jamie did her best to reassure him, feeling it would be churlish to spoil his excitement.
On Friday, Tiona came to value the farm. She hadn’t been there five minutes before Jamie wanted to throttle her with her tape measure.
‘Beautiful proportions. Beautiful,’ Tiona pronounced. ‘This could make a lovely family home. But there’s a lot of work to be done if you want to get your best price.’
Jamie frowned. ‘What sort of work?’
‘Some of the decor is a little… shall we say eccentric? Pig wallpaper in the downstairs cloak isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.’
Jamie felt very defensive. She loved the pig wallpaper – it was quirky. And it had been there ever since she could remember.
‘And you could really do with a good spring clean,’ Tiona carried on, looking meaningfully at a thick cobweb lurking in the hallway. ‘And perhaps a lick of magnolia paint everywhere, just to neutralize.’
Jamie glared at her.
‘Personally, I love the aubergine in the drawing room,’ Tiona went on smoothly. ‘But despite all these make-over programmes, most people remain resolutely conservative when it comes to interior decor. Anything slightly out of the ordinary frightens them. And they haven’t got the imagination to visualize what it could be like.’
‘I see,’ said Jamie icily. ‘So what you’re saying is fumigate the place and redecorate it from top to bottom?’
Tiona was used to having to soothe ruffled feathers after she’d given it to people straight. They never liked their taste being brought into question. But it was her job to make sure they got the best market price, so she had to be honest.
‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘You just need a little bit of time and effort. Light and airy are the keywords,’ she informed her helpfully. ‘If I were you, I’d pop along to one of those cheap linen shops – buy a load of white bedding and towels for the bedrooms and bathrooms. Get a window cleaner. And de-clutter. People hate other people’s clutter. They love their own, but when they look at a house with a view to purchase, they want a blank canvas. Just keep the odd carefully chosen ornament on show, so the whole thing doesn’t feel too sterile. Otherwise, everything in cardboard boxes in the garage. You’ve got plenty of storage space, after all.’