A Whirlwind Marriage

by Helen Brooks

  Christmas Eve. She looked up above the frosted rooftops and then shut her eyes against the brilliance of the early-morning sky. Last year Zeke had worked until nearly five, despite giving his employees the afternoon off, and she had spent most of the day wrapping presents for him, which she’d placed under the little tree she had bought, and getting a sumptuous festive meal for the two of them and a couple of friends he’d invited round. They had eaten in the intimidating dining room and she had hated every minute of it, mainly because just before the friends had arrived she’d discovered that her late monthly cycle had been another false alarm and her hopes had been crushed again.

  Since her mother’s death her father had taken to spending Christmas with his small army of brothers and sisters, most of whom lived in Scotland, and for the first two Christmases—until she’d met Zeke—she had joined him. However, Zeke had been reluctant to take any more than two or three days away from his empire—or that was the excuse he had given for not leaving London and their apartment—and so their Christmases had been short affairs, filled with his friends and acquaintances.

  He would receive masses of invitations for Christmas Eve parties and Christmas lunch; he always did, she thought soberly. Along with drinks here and there, and Boxing Day soirées and so on. And if word had got out that they were living apart and he was ‘available’, there would be more than one eagle-eyed female willing to provide a shoulder to cry on. In fact they’d be queueing for miles.

  Her mouth tightened at the thought and she brushed back a wisp of fine, silky silver-blonde hair from her cheek. His silence over the last two weeks might be indicative of the fact that he had decided to avail himself of female comfort, and she could use up all her fingers without even trying in counting certain women in their social circle who would be aching to provide it.

  Marianne sighed heavily and rose to her feet, her face as pale as alabaster from her musings. She missed him so badly. Missed waking up beside him and seeing him, relaxed in sleep, more like the serious-faced little boy with black curly hair he had spoken of at their last meeting. Sleep ironed out the cynical lines of his hard face, mellowing his features and bringing emphasis to his thick dark lashes and firm, beautifully moulded mouth. And his body… She shut her eyes tight for a moment and then opened them, walking across the room with what amounted to a grim expression on her face now. She wasn’t going to think about him right now; she wasn’t. She could do all her moping later.

  She had a long, leisurely bath and washed her hair before getting dressed for work, some perverse determination making her pull on the bright red jumper the faithful old charity shop had provided a few days before, after which she tied her hair high on the top of her head in a jaunty ponytail, securing it with a red velvet ribbon.

  She had decided to spend Christmas at the bedsit, despite numerous invitations from her father and his relatives, Pat and her family and Mrs Polinkski, so she wasn’t going to belly-ache about it now. Her husband had obviously decided to call it quits, she didn’t have two pennies to rub together and Christmas dinner was going to be a turkey sandwich, but what the hell! She had two arms, two legs and she was in her right mind—there were others who were much less fortunate.

  The little pep talk helped—a bit—but her eyes were still gritty with unshed tears as she ran down the stairs half an hour later and opened the door into the street.

  ‘Zeke!’ He was standing there, right in front of her, and for a moment she felt herself go weak at the knees at the sight of him. She stared at him as if her eyes were deceiving her, and she noticed the lines etched round his eyes and mouth appeared deeper and he looked thinner overall.

  ‘Hallo, Marianne.’ It was cool and contained, but she had seen the hot glitter in the grey eyes in the moment she had opened the door and taken him by surprise. ‘I wanted to talk to you.’

  ‘I’m just on my way to work,’ she said breathlessly, and then, in case he thought that was a refusal, she added quickly, ‘But they won’t mind if I’m a few minutes late.’

  His eyes had been moving over her flushed face and wavy, silky hair, and now he touched the red ribbon with one finger as he said thickly, ‘I like that. You look like a Christmas sprite this morning, bright and glowing.’

  ‘Do I?’ Zeke was the last person in the world given to fanciful compliments and it threw her even more.

  ‘Yes, you do,’ he said softly. ‘And very beautiful.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She gestured backwards with a trembling hand. ‘Do you want to come up for a minute?’

  ‘That’s not necessary, I don’t want to make you late for work.’

  She stared at him uncertainly. This big, powerful and very sexy man was her husband, and yet she didn’t have a clue what was going on in his mind.

  ‘The reason I came…’ He paused, and she realised with a little shock of surprise that he was nervous. It hit her like a bombshell. ‘It’s just that your father said you weren’t spending Christmas with him when I spoke to him last night.’

  ‘Did you expect me to?’ she asked evenly.

  ‘I suppose so. Yes, I did,’ he added suddenly. ‘Or with Pat or other friends. But Josh said you intend to have Christmas on your own here.’

  ‘He shouldn’t have phoned you,’ she said tightly. Zeke’s pity she could do without!

  ‘He didn’t. I phoned him,’ Zeke said shortly. ‘I—I wanted to make sure you were all right.’ And then, before she could say anything, he raked back his hair irritably in a gesture she recognised only too well, and said angrily, as though she had forced it out of him, ‘In actual fact I wanted to see if there was a possibility we might meet some time over Christmas, but I didn’t know if you would be around or if you’d feel like it.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have asked me that?’ she asked steadily through the mad beating of her heart.

  ‘I wasn’t sure if you would want to speak to me,’ he said with brutal honesty, ‘not with the way things are. The separation means you are free and I didn’t want to complicate things or embarrass you.’

  She didn’t know whether she wanted to kiss him or hit him! ‘You haven’t embarrassed me, Zeke,’ she said carefully, trying to ignore the shaft of pain that had pierced her heart at the ‘free’ statement. ‘What had you in mind?’

  He shrugged warily, his eyes roaming over her face again, and she suddenly found herself longing to reach out and touch him, to feel his arms about her. She curled her fingers into fists and buried them deep in the pockets of her coat to restrain herself.

  ‘I haven’t made any plans either,’ he said, even more carefully than her, ‘so perhaps dinner tonight?’

  ‘Everywhere will be packed Christmas Eve.’ She took a deep breath, praying for courage, as she continued, ‘Why don’t you come here and I’ll cook us something?’ Mrs Polinkski would sub her for the food out of her next wage packet.

  And then he took care of that detail when he smiled at her with his eyes and said, ‘As long as I provide the food and the wine?’

  ‘It’s a deal.’ How could everything that had been so wrong be so right in a few moments of time? she asked herself silently. Suddenly the day was transformed, beautiful, and all because she was going to see him tonight. It was hard to contain the wild beating of her heart; even though she knew how dangerous it was to hope she couldn’t help herself. And he had agreed to come here, to her little bedsit. A few weeks ago she couldn’t have imagined him doing that, not when he had been so furious at her leaving the apartment.

  And then something of the glow left the morning as he said, quietly and very matter-of-factly, ‘And I know this is no strings attached, so don’t worry.’

  No strings attached? She wouldn’t object to all the strings in the world! Or perhaps she would? Oh, she didn’t know—she didn’t know anything when Zeke was around. He had the power to turn her upside down and inside out with just a glance of those devastating grey eyes.

  ‘I’ll walk you to the supermarket,’ he offered coolly, and then,
as she fell into step beside him, he said politely, ‘How are you enjoying working there?’

  If she had answered truthfully she would have told him it was boring and allowed her far too much time on quiet days to daydream about him, but instead she said brightly, ‘Oh, the Polinkskis—who own it—are very nice. I think Mrs Polinkski looks on me as one of the family now; she’s even hinting at my continuing there when her daughter comes back from Poland in a couple of weeks’ time.’

  He nodded, his profile aloof and distant, and she found herself wondering if he was regretting agreeing that she cook for them that night. And perhaps it was too twee and cosy at that? she thought worriedly. And how on earth was she going to cook anything worth eating in the archaic oven that had a mind of its own? And the tiny table would just about carry two place settings and nothing else; it certainly wasn’t going to be a dignified affair, with candles and bowls of this and that.

  Of course she could fetch the bamboo screen back in from where she’d placed it in the bathroom—she’d dispensed with its services as soon as she’d moved in, finding it just got in the way—and hide behind that while she dished the food up, but it wasn’t going to be easy. Oh, why hadn’t she thought of all the consequences before she’d thrown caution to the wind?

  ‘What time do you finish work?’

  They had reached the shop and he turned her briefly to face him, his hand dropping from her elbow almost immediately.

  ‘Four. I’m working through my lunch hour because Mrs Polinkski says the world goes crazy from about eleven to three and then we’re shutting shop at four.’

  They were talking as courteously as two strangers. He was regretting this evening, she thought miserably. She stared up into his dark face, searching for the right words to tell him he didn’t have to come, and that she perfectly understood how he felt about things—the comments relating to her freedom and no strings being attached had been crystal-clear—when he bent quickly and kissed her.

  It was a hard kiss, and passionate, and certainly couldn’t have been mistaken for a friendly goodbye. One hand was clasping the back of her head and the other arm was wrapped round her back, and she could smell the intoxicating fragrance of him as he held her close to his hard male frame. The scent released a thousand erotic memories, and as the desire to moan against his lips rose overwhelmingly she jerked away, horrified at his power over her.

  ‘They…the Polinkskis might be watching,’ she stammered jerkily. ‘They know I’m separated and they might…might think—’

  ‘And they might think you’re a scarlet woman with a secret lover?’ he teased drily, but with a gentleness that made her sigh with relief that she hadn’t offended him.

  ‘You never know,’ she said with unintentional primness.

  ‘No, you never do,’ he responded with a quiet smile that made her want to leap on him. ‘I’ll be waiting at four, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  And then he was gone, striding back down the street to where the BMW sat waiting, and she turned into the shop, her heart perfectly in tune with the joyous carols that met her ears from the supermarket’s speakers.

  Zeke was back before four—just gone one, to be precise—and as she glanced up from serving another of the steady stream of customers that had filled the shop all day, Marianne felt her heart stop and then race on at express speed.

  He looked cool and indifferent to the Christmas throng, the original ice-man, and she was so sure he was going to cancel their date that her mouth fell open in a little gape when he bent down and said, very quietly, in her ear, ‘Can I borrow your front door keys?’

  ‘What?’ She was aware of Mrs Polinkski and Kadia, who were manning the other two tills the small shop boasted, watching them interestedly, and she knew she was blushing a bright scarlet.

  ‘Your keys,’ Zeke repeated patiently. ‘I’ve bought a few things and I’d like to leave them in the bedsit if that’s all right?’

  ‘Oh, yes—yes, of course. I’ll just…’ She gazed round somewhat desperately. ‘My bag’s in the back.’

  ‘I can wait a while.’

  She found it excruciatingly hard to concentrate on what she was doing, with every tiny sensor in her body aware of Zeke as he leant lazily against the far wall, his dark gaze trained on her hot face, but eventually she finished serving her customer, asked the next in the long queue to wait for a moment, and flew out to the back of the shop.

  He levered himself upright as she reappeared, taking the keys with an enigmatic smile as his eyes lingered on her mouth long enough for her to feel hot all over.

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ she whispered feverishly, aware of their audience as Mrs Polinkski’s and Kadia’s eyes burnt a hole in her back.

  He nodded. ‘Till four.’

  It was typical of Zeke that he didn’t waste any words. When he spoke it was brief, concise and succinct, she thought ruefully as she watched the big dark figure walk out of the shop without a glance at anyone, regal and autocratic to the last. And then she caught at the wayward feeling of tenderness the thought evoked, forcing it under lock and key before it could run riot.

  She loved him, but nothing had changed, not really, she told herself firmly. They might be sharing a Christmas meal tonight but they were separated still, and it didn’t look as though Zeke was any nearer to dealing with his personal demons.

  But he had come to see her, the reckless, more abandoned Marianne breathed radiantly. He could have spent Christmas with any one of a number of besotted females, but he had sought her out. That meant something, didn’t it?

  Pity? A feeling of responsibility? Guilt? the sensible little voice in her head said nastily. It could mean any one of those or all of them.

  Or it could mean he hadn’t been able to stay away. But the radiance was dimming as the sensible part of her came to the fore.

  She took a deep, steadying breath and turned back to the next customer, who had been watching events with some interest.

  ‘Your young man, is he, love?’ the little old lady with bright round button eyes and rosy-red apple cheeks asked in a stage whisper. ‘Bit of all right, ain’t he? Reminds me of my ’arry, he does.’

  Marianne glanced at the pitifully meagre items in the basket, which included a roast turkey dinner for one, and as though the little woman guessed what she was thinking, she added quietly, ‘Lost ’im in the War, love. We’d only bin married six months. Over fifty years ago now, but I never married again—although I had offers. Oh, yes, I did an’ all.’ She nodded her head like a bright-eyed robin. ‘But no one measured up to my ’arry, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Yes, I know exactly what you mean,’ Marianne said softly.

  ‘You make the most of each day, love. That way you won’t ’ave nothin’ to reproach yourself for. Me an’ my ’arry, we packed a lifetime of lovin’ into a few short months, an’ I’ve no regrets. There’s not many as can say that, eh?’ the tiny old lady said with a cheeky grin.

  Marianne smiled back, although she felt more like howling, but one thing had clarified in her head. She was right to let Zeke come tonight, however things turned out. Like the little old lady’s beloved Harry, no one could measure up to Zeke. He was a one-off, and if they didn’t get back together again she would have to face living life alone for the rest of her days.

  She’d do it—she gave a grim mental nod to the silent declaration—but she didn’t want to. Oh, how she didn’t want to.

  ‘Mrs Perry?’ Mrs Polinkski had come bustling across to Marianne’s till as her other daughter came to take over the lunch-time stint. ‘You won the raffle, dear. Did you know?’

  ‘Did I?’ The rosy red cheeks expanded further as the little woman beamed at Mrs Polinkski. ‘Well, I never. First time I’ve won a raffle in me life.’

  Mrs Polinkski glanced at the giant hamper on display at the front of the supermarket and then back to the diminutive elfin figure in front of her, and said kindly, ‘I’ll call Wilmer and he can take you home in the van,
Mrs Perry. There’s a nice fresh turkey to go with it, you know.’

  Marianne glanced at Mrs Polinkski—the turkey hadn’t been part of the prize but was typical of the generosity of the other woman; Mrs Perry was a favorite among the Polinkskis—and smiled. People could be so nice.

  ‘A turkey?’ Mrs Perry was clearly enchanted. ‘By, this’ll be a Christmas to remember all right. I’ll call in an’ ask me friend, Ada, to come for Christmas dinner, an’ we can make a party of it.’

  ‘You do that,’ Mrs Polinkski said cheerily, ‘and a very merry Christmas and happy New Year, Mrs Perry.’

  The warm glow Mrs Perry’s good fortune gave Marianne continued for the rest of the afternoon, and when—at just gone three—Mrs Polinkski gave her a very generous Christmas box in the form of a cheque, and told her she could leave early, she didn’t need telling twice.

  She could put the bedsit to rights before Zeke came, she told herself as she hurried along the frosty pavement, although no amount of tidying or titivating could make it other than what it was. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Because she was going to see him tonight!

  She knew she ought to curb the fierce surge of pleasure and excitement that had been mounting all afternoon but she couldn’t, she just couldn’t, and anyway—it was Christmas. Everyone was allowed to hope and dream at Christmas, after all, and even though she knew she might be building her hopes on shifting sand, it couldn’t quell her happiness.

  This would be the first Christmas Eve they had spent with just the two of them, she realised as she neared the house. And it also might be their last. She didn’t like the cold little voice of reason that seemed determined to pop up at the oddest moments that day, and she was frowning as she dived into her handbag for her keys.

  And then she remembered. Zeke had them.