Marrying William

by Trisha David

  'Maybe, but—'

  'Maybe nothing. Maybe definitely.' Beth abandoned her tea towel. She hauled herself up backwards to sit on the kitchen table, her schoolgirl legs dangling. 'So we need to vaporise Julia. How do we do that?'

  'Beth...'

  'Think of a way,' she said urgently. 'William, Jenni needs you. I'm blind, but I can see that sticking out a mile. She needs you.'

  'She doesn't.'

  'Then I need you,' Beth snapped. 'I need you as a brother-in-law. Doesn't that count as anything?'

  'Beth, it's flattering, but—'

  'But you don't want to be needed,' Beth said crossly. 'Well, you are. So stick that in your pipe and suck it, Mr William Brand. This family wants you and needs you and we need you for more than a year. So shove your selfish dreams of the lovely Julia and get on with living. Give a bit. Jenni gives and gives and gives. It wouldn't hurt you to do the same.

  'And now...if you'll excuse me, I have homework to do,' she said. 'The way I'm feeling...well, you can finish the washing up all by yourself. All of it. Goodnight.'

  And she slid herself off the table, stalked to the door and whistled to her dog to follow.

  'It's coming to something when the only male you can love is a dog,' she said bitterly. 'Get over it, William Brand. Quit pining for what's lost. Get a life.'

  She waited for Sam to pass through the door, and then she slammed it behind her.

  'What's Beth been saying to you?'

  'Sorry?' William had been a million miles away. He was standing on the verandah staring over the ocean, and Jenni's voice made him start.

  'I've just been in to say goodnight to Beth,' Jenni said softly. 'She said she gave you a piece of her mind.'

  'She did at that.' William didn't turn. He stayed where he was, watching the moonlight on the sea.

  If he turned...

  He was so close... So close to doing what Beth suggested. So close to letting himself fall for another dream.

  When he'd thought of this plan he hadn't counted on Jenni being so...so damnably desirable. The last three weeks had been wonderful. Holding her... Making love to her...

  So why couldn't he take it further? Encourage the love and trust he saw in her eyes? Take away the end point of a year and say they had a marriage—let it end when it would.

  Impossible. It was impossible to let go of the armour he'd built up in the years since he'd married Julia. His life was his work and his friends. He was independent and he liked it that way. Hell, what happened when you committed to someone?

  He'd loved his mother but she'd died.

  He'd loved his father but Martha had elbowed in and turned him out. Left him heartsick and lost.

  And then Julia... He'd thought he loved her. He'd let himself need her. And the same thing had happened.

  And now...

  If he took this further.. .if he let Jenni's sweetness envelop him...?

  Maybe she wouldn't hurt him, but then... Could he promise not to hurt her?

  His life wasn't here. It was in New York. It was international. He couldn't give up his financial empire. So he'd spend most of the year travelling, come back to Jenni every now and then and give her a part of him.

  He'd hurt her. He wasn't capable of giving the sort of loving she deserved.

  'William, when you offered to marry me...' Jenni said carefully behind him, and heaven only knew the effort it cost him not to turn '...you made a bargain. The pressure Beth and I are putting on you now is unfair. You're playing your part of the deal. So whatever Beth said... Ignore it, William. We got on very well without you and we'll get on without you again. You'll be able to walk away from us at the end of the year, and I promise I won't let Beth blackmail you emotionally again. We'll leave you be, William. I'm sorry.'

  And she turned and walked back into the house, leaving William to his thoughts.

  Fine!

  Only why were those thoughts just so bleak?

  A year was starting to seem a very, very long time.

  The next day was Saturday. Beth was off school. The tension between the three of them was palpable over breakfast, but they were determined to make an effort to be businesslike.

  At least, Jenni and William were determined to be businesslike. Beth was just plain cross.

  'You're a pair of dopes,' she told them. 'I told you to sort it out, and you still slept apart.'

  'And we're sleeping apart from now on,' Jenni told her sternly. 'Beth, keep your oar out of what's not your concern. Now... Rachel's due home for the summer on Wednesday. I want to be out of her room by then. That means we need to clean out the master bedroom to set it up as William's office and bedroom.'

  'It's ridiculous.' Beth sniffed. 'If you ask me, it's a waste of a perfectly good love affair.'

  'Well, no one's asking you.' Jenni flushed and refused point-blank to look at William. 'Beth, will you help us clean?'

  'No.'

  'Fine. Suit yourself.'

  But in the end she did. They all did.

  The farmhouse master bedroom had hardly been touched in years.

  'Dad hadn't been remarried for more than four weeks before Martha declared she wasn't living here,' William told them, looking around the room with bleak, remembering eyes. 'They rented in town until they bought the new house. Martha wanted this place let, but my father wouldn't. He always said he'd leave the place for me and he didn't want strangers in it. It was my bolt-hole until I left home.'

  'So why didn't he leave it to you?' Beth asked curiously, fingering the ancient bedspread. Jenni had kept this room clean, but she'd left it as she'd found it. Nothing had been moved.

  'He did—in his old will,' William said. 'But his remarriage invalidated that, so Martha got the lot.'

  'It must have hurt—that your father didn't remake his will,' Jenni suggested softly, watching his face. There was so much about this man that she didn't know—that she wanted to understand.

  'As you say.' His face was closed now. But Jenni knew just how hurt that eighteen-year-old had been. To have been left with nothing...

  How much of this man's cool independence was the product of that hurt? And the hurt the unknown Julia had inflicted...?

  Her fingers were curling into claws. Jenni took a deep breath and got a hold on herself. He wasn't asking for pity. William wasn't asking for anything at all from her. He'd made that perfectly clear.

  'Okay. I've done superficial cleaning but that's all,' she said, keeping her voice brisk and efficient. 'Let's strip the lot. Get everything outside. I think the soft furnishings will disintegrate when we touch them but that's a risk we have to run. Beth, can you and Sam haul the bedclothes and the curtains and the rugs outside? Hang them over the line and beat the daylights out of them, and I'd cover your mouth while you do or you'll be sneezing for a month. William, you and I get to cart the big stuff out.'

  'Yes, ma'am.' William gave a smart salute but there was no smile behind his eyes. This was hard, Jenni knew.

  The whole situation was hard. Impossible.

  It became even trickier fifteen minutes later. Jenni found William's father's will.

  The document was taped to the underside of the bedside chest of drawers.

  Jenni was sitting in the sunshine where they'd dumped the furniture so the room could be thoroughly scrubbed. She was progressively removing each drawer, holding each upside down and emptying out the detritus of long years of disuse. The drawers had been emptied eighteen years ago and hadn't been touched since.

  Beth was sneezing in the background while she pounded the rugs with a broom.

  William had started scrubbing down walls. The smoke had got in there, and had to be removed if they were to paint.

  Jenni turned over the drawer, saw what was underneath and frowned. It was a long white envelope, taped to the underside. It wasn't labelled.

  Curiously she lifted it from the wood, the paper crumbling at the sides from long contact with the tape. It wasn't sealed, and what was inside was almost as fre
sh as the day it had been placed there. She flicked it open and stared.

  'I, John Raymond Brand, being of...'

  Good grief.

  Jenni stared down at it, bemused. What had William said about his father's will? He'd made one once, but his marriage to Martha had invalidated it.

  So when was this made?

  She stared at the date, and then started doing fast calculations. She wasn't sure of dates, but this had to be close to the time Martha and William's father were married. Very close. So...

  She shouldn't look further. It was none of her business. There was no way in the wide world she could stop herself looking now. The will was simple. Two pages of handwritten instructions. Witnessed... Who had witnessed it?

  Jenni stared at the names but they meant nothing to her. They weren't locals. But what did it say?

  Her eyes were skimming fast, and she was hardly daring to breathe. What...?

  To my new wife, Martha, I leave my share of the jointly owned home in Betangera Bay, my personal possessions and all my personal fortune.

  But William...William! Surely he hadn't abandoned William!

  And there it was.

  To my son, William, I leave Betangera Beach Farm. If I die before William comes of age, I wish the farm to be let and the proceeds used to pay for his education and keep. All income from the farm will go to him absolutely. On his twenty-first birthday, the farm is to be William's, to do with it as he pleases.

  Jenni's breath let out on a long, long gasp. She rose to her feet, trying to take in all the ramifications of what lay in her hand. She couldn't.

  All she saw in that first instance was that some of the hurt she saw behind William's fear of commitment might now be eased. His father hadn't abandoned him on his new marriage. His father had remade his will.

  'William,' she yelled, and she yelled so loud it was as if the place were on fire again. 'William!'

  He came running. Jenni saw his fear of what Ronald might still do as he burst out of the door, and his face slackened in relief as he saw her safe. He slowed to a walk, and reached her as Beth and Sam came tearing around the side of the house.

  'What's wrong?' Beth was calling frantically. 'Jenni, what's wrong?'

  Unlike William, Beth couldn't see that Jenni was fine. That there was nothing wrong at all. That she was standing in the sunshine with a sheet of parchment in her hand and a strange expression on her face.

  It was an expression she couldn't figure out herself. There were two emotions warring within her now.

  One... If the farm was William's, where did that leave her? Where did that leave Beth and Rachel?

  The second was different, though, but increasingly it was the overriding one.

  This document in her hand meant that William hadn't been forgotten. His father had put his will somewhere safe and then he'd forgotten it, but he'd made it all the same. After his remarriage, he'd still remembered he had a son.

  'It's okay, Beth,' Jenni said quickly. 'I've just found something... a paper... taped under a bedside drawer. It's... it seems rather important. I think William really needs to see it.'

  And she handed over his father's will and waited for William to read it.

  The silence was deafening.

  Beth didn't have a clue what was going on, but she was an intelligent child. She knew it was something major. So she stood, her hand on Sam's harness holding him still, while Jenni watched William's face. While he read.

  William read it three times. Over and over. And at the end he let his hand fall and he stared sightlessly out to sea.

  'It's dated the third of June,' Jenni said gently. 'When did they marry, William?'

  Nothing.

  'William?'

  He turned to face her then, his face blank with shock.

  'When, William?'

  'The fourth of May,' William told her, his voice devoid of any expression. 'Four weeks before this was written. This was made just after they bought the house in Betangera Bay, but before they moved there. If this is valid...'

  'I'll bet it is.'

  'If it's valid...'

  'Then you own this farm,' Jenni said gently. 'Ronald's never had any claim on it at all. And neither have I.' She caught her breath and fought for courage for what she had to say next. 'It's finally as it should have been all along. So it seems...it seems you've married me for nothing, William. The farm is yours. We'll...we'll rent it from you, if you like...the same as we did from Martha. But... But if you want us to... Then we'll leave.'

  CHAPTER TEN

  'What do you mean—leave?'

  It was Beth. Of course it was Beth. The child was totally bewildered, not understanding a word of what was going on.

  Jenni dragged her eyes from William's face with an almost superhuman effort.

  'You know we've always said it was odd William's father didn't leave William the farm,' Jenni managed. 'I've just found his will. It seems he did. Of course he left the farm to William, so it was never Martha's to leave to anyone at all. Martha had no right to leave it to Ronald and she couldn't leave it to me. It never belonged to Martha, and now it belongs to William.'

  'But...but why didn't we know about it?' Beth's voice rose in bewilderment. 'Don't you have to make a will with a lawyer or something? How can you just...just find it?'

  'You can write a will yourself, without the help of lawyers.' Jenni's eyes had swung involuntarily back to William, watching as the importance of what she'd found sank home. He looked as if he'd been struck. Hard.

  'And there seem to have been two independent witnesses, so the will's probably legal,' she went on, her eyes not leaving William's. She shook her head, thinking it through as she watched the blank incredulity in William's eyes. 'He must have forgotten to lodge it somewhere safe. William...'

  'He won't have thought of it.' William gave a bitter laugh. 'Hell, he won't have thought of it. My father was the original absent-minded professor. My mother did his organising, then I did and finally Martha took over. He'll have come back from getting married and changed his will and then not thought about it again. Though...why on earth he taped it under the drawer...'

  Then he shrugged, deep in thought. 'Maybe even then he saw how domineering Martha was. That if Martha knew he'd made such a will she'd nag until he changed it. So he hid it. And then he'll have forgotten all about it. It was important until he'd written it, and then it wasn't urgent any more. So lodging it with a lawyer didn't get done.'

  More silence. Even Sam seemed to be thinking this through.

  Then...

  'So if it's your farm now, William,' Beth said, in a scared little voice, 'will you...will you want us to go away?'

  That got to him. Beth's shock and fear reached through his own shock, and snapped him out of it. He looked at Beth and he looked at Jenni, and there was fear on both of their faces.

  Fear!

  What on earth could they fear? His face creased into a grin as finally the enormity of this document hit home. The joy! He'd been so hurt when his father had died. First there had been the shock of losing his father, and then the realisation that his father had left him nothing. The feeling of absolute abandonment had stayed with him ever since.

  And now this!

  He gave a shout of delight, grabbed Beth and whirled her around until Sam barked with excitement. And then he put Beth down and grabbed Jenni. She didn't yield to him as she'd have done only days before, but he didn't release her. He swung her body around and held her.

  He hugged her hard, and heaven only knew the effort it cost Jenni not to hug him back. To hold herself apart.

  She must! Because her whole being was waiting for what would come next.

  Finally he put her down.

  The delight on his face wasn't reflected on Jenni's, he thought, wondering. She looked wooden—as if she was expecting to be struck.

  'Hey, I'm not putting you off the farm, Jenni,' he said quickly. 'No way in the world. But it's mine. If this will's valid, then there's no way R
onald can touch it. My father gave it to me!' He said the words in a triumphant shout. And then he paused.

  He took Jenni's limp hands between his. His voice gentled. The fear was still there on her face, and all of a sudden he couldn't bear it. In the last few moments, his world had become wonderful. A pain which had been with him for so long had been lifted like magic. And this woman had given him this gift.

  He could give it back. He could give it back!

  'The farm's yours, Jenni.'

  'What...what do you mean?' It was as much as Jenni could do to manage a croak. She took a huge breath and fought to collect herself.

  'I mean I'm giving it to you.' He held up the document as if it were more precious than diamonds. 'I'll take this in to Henry Clarins right now and have him check it. Have him track the witnesses. But if it's right... Then it's my wedding gift to you, Jenni. Or my divorce gift. Whatever. It's over. Ronald can't touch it. He can't touch you. It's over.'

  'And then you'll leave?' Jenni said slowly. All she heard were those two words. Like a death knell. It's over.

  'There's no need for me to stay.'

  'No.'

  Of course not. She was being stupid here. Stupid and sick at heart.

  But she knew what she had to do. One thing at least was clear.

  'You're not giving the farm to me, William,' she said, and somehow she made her voice sound almost normal. Conversational. 'I'm not taking your farm.'

  'Jenni...'

  'I'm not taking it.' Jenni crossed to where Beth was standing, and she took Beth's hand. She linked herself to her sister as if she could draw strength from her. 'Beth will agree with me, and so will Rachel when she knows. We don't take charity. Sure, we've accepted help from time to time—we've had to, but we've accepted only small things. Only things we could repay with offers of accommodation or straight friendship. But this is something else, William. This farm is yours. If you'll agree to Martha's terms then we'll stay renting it from you, but that's all. All, William.'

  'Jenni, don't be stupid.'

  'I'm not being stupid,' she said flatly. 'You married me to give me the farm, and I agreed to that. But that was only because otherwise Ronald would have it, and he deserved it even less than I did. This is different. Your father wanted you to have the farm. It's yours.'