Levelling the Score

by Penny Jordan

  Jenna could feel herself blushing and hated herself for it. She was supposed to be convincing them all that she and Simon were quite definitely not suited, not acting the part of the blushing, eager fiancée.

  After lunch Simon and his father went for a walk, while the three women stayed in the garden.

  Simon's mother was full of eager questions about the wedding—questions Jenna had no idea how to answer, and which Simon should have been there with her to field, Jenna fumed inwardly. Somehow or other, and she wasn't quite sure how it had happened, by the time the two men returned, she seemed to have agreed to a September wedding, with Simon's cousin's two little girls as bridesmaids, as well as Susie, a marquee on the lawn and a three-tier cake, complete with a top tier that could be kept for the birth of their first child.

  And the worst thing of all was that she felt a ridiculous temptation to just sit back and let herself be swept away by the entire fantasy… It would serve Simon right if she did, she thought irefully. After all, he was the one who had got them into this mess.

  She got up pointedly when Simon and his father came back, and gave him a sweetly solicitous smile, saying to him, 'Come and sit down here, darling… Your mother and I were just discussing plans for the wedding. I'm afraid you're going to have to exercise that legal brain of yours and give us a decision worthy of Solomon. Who shall we have as our page boy? Your cousin Francine's son, or your godmother's daughter's?'

  With another acid smile, she stalked past him, leaving him to it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  « ^ »

  Things were not going as they had planned. They had been in France for a week now and, far from perceiving how ill-matched she and Simon were, his parents and to a lesser extent her own grandmother, seemed to think that they were the perfect couple.

  Jenna found it unnerving. Not so much because she knew how wrong they were, but because she herself was actually slipping into the same trap. There were times when she actually forgot that she and Simon were not engaged. And he was as much to blame for this as their families.

  Far from promoting the quarrels between them that were supposed to lead to their eventual breakup, Jenna was discovering that they had far more in common than she had ever supposed.

  They seemed to feel the same way on so many major issues, and yet how could that be? She was liberal-minded and compassionate. Simon was altogether tougher and surely far more conservative, and yet when she had voiced her fears that in becoming the new owner of Bridge House he might do away with the beech hedges that surrounded the property, in which many birds nested, he had reassured her that he had no such intentions, betraying a sentimentality she had never suspected existed beneath his cynical exterior.

  Of course, both their families were delighted that they would be living so close at hand. As yet, Jenna had not figured out why Simon should buy himself such a large, family-style house, unless of course he looked upon it in the nature of an investment, or possibly a home for himself and his wife when he did eventually marry.

  During the languid, sunny afternoons, if they were not out exploring the countryside, they sat by the river, watching the fish, talking in the desultory fashion warm weather brings. Sometimes Simon would discuss some of his cases with her, and unwillingly Jenna found herself becoming fascinated by the complexities of the law—complexities she had never known existed.

  The matter of her own job, or rather her lack of it, was something she had pushed to the back of her mind. She would just have to keep her fingers crossed and hope that she would be able to find something.

  'What will you do about your London house, Simon?' his mother asked him over tea one afternoon. 'Will you keep it or…?'

  'Keep it, I think. It will make a handy pied-à-terre for those occasions when a court case keeps me in London overnight, and then later, no doubt, Jenna will want to come up to town shopping.'

  'I do hope Susie's all right.' A faint frown marred Mrs Townsend's forehead. 'I've no idea where she's disappeared to this time… She rang me up and said something about going away on holiday with a friend.'

  She didn't see the look Simon and Jenna exchanged.

  'Anyway, she has a key to the house, and I've left her a note telling her how long we'll be here. Who'd have thought all those years ago when you and Susie became friends, that you and Simon would end up getting married.' She gave a romantic sigh. 'The two of you used to quarrel so much.'

  'Ah, but Jenna loved me even then, didn't you, darling?'

  The teasing note in Simon's voice made them all laugh—all of them but Jenna. She glared at him and moved her chair slightly away from him.

  'I had an idiotic teenage crush on you, yes,' she agreed quellingly.

  Diplomatically her grandmother changed the direction of the conversation by asking Simon's father how his delphiniums were doing.

  George Townsend grew prize delphiniums of which he was extremely proud, and which he cosseted and worried over almost all year round.

  As he launched into an explanation of the arrangements he had made for their care in his absence, Jenna excused herself and went inside.

  Her room was right up in the eaves, and even when the windows were open it was still hot and airless. She sat down on her bed and put her head in her hands.

  Nothing was going as it should. Every day she and Simon were sucked deeper into their own web of deceit. And it wasn't just for their families' sakes that she dreaded telling them the truth, she admitted honestly. There was a part of her that didn't want to return to reality—a foolish, idiotically romantic part of her that wished it was all real, that she and Simon…

  She got up abruptly and clumsily, trying to evade the thought, but it wouldn't go away.

  She loved Simon. It hit her like a blow, making her wrap her arms round her body as she sought to control the pain flowering inside her. She wanted to deny her feelings, to dismiss them and pretend they did not exist, but it was too late.

  The danger had always been there, and she recognised it now. Otherwise why had she worked so hard over the years to maintain her resentment and dislike of him? Wasn't it just because she had known how vulnerable she was? And now, because of the vulnerability…

  'Jenna? Jenna, what's wrong? Are you in pain?'

  Simon had followed her upstairs—no doubt still playing the role of the worried fiancé. She backed away from him instinctively, her eyes unknowingly shadowed and wild with anguish.

  'What is it?'

  She felt his warm breath against her temple as he reached for her shoulders, and she automatically ducked her head down so that he couldn't look at her.

  'What's wrong?'

  He gave her a little shake, much as he might have done when they were teenagers.

  Anger spurted up inside her. 'What's wrong? How can you ask me that? Everything's wrong, Simon. Everything! We're down here to convince our families that it would be idiotic for us to get married, and all we seem to be doing is having exactly the opposite effect… '

  'Maybe they know something we don't,' he suggested humorously. 'Perhaps we should forget our plans and go along with theirs.'

  She went stiff beneath his hands. She knew he was only joking, but God, the pain of it!

  'Jenna?' She heard the concern in his voice. 'Come on, I know it's a strain for you.'

  Somehow her head was resting against his shoulder, his body taking the weight of hers. She felt as though she had come home after a long and wearisome journey. It would be bliss to simply relax and let Simon shoulder all her burdens, to turn to him and confess how she felt… Alarm signals prickled along her skin and she tensed again, frightened by how close she had come to a very dangerous dependence on him. She was letting herself be seduced by the myth of their engagement, because she wanted to believe it, she told herself miserably.

  'Come on, things aren't really that bad, surely?'

  She felt tears sting her eyes at his teasing sympathy.

  'I hate lying to them like this.' It was only pa
rt of the truth—the only part she could tell him. 'We've got to tell them the truth.'

  It wasn't what she had intended to say at all. If he agreed it would mean the end of her dreams. She felt him tense, as though he too shared her own despair, and then he said lightly, 'Let's leave things as they are for a little while longer, shall we? It will all work out in the end—you'll see.'

  She thought she felt him brush a light kiss against her head, and she looked up at him, startled, her mouth slightly open. His grip on her arms tightened, his voice changing subtly as he whispered, 'You realise, don't you, that they all think we're up here making up? And I suspect if we stay here much longer, Ma will be here to chivvy us down. Jenna… '

  She looked directly at him, her senses quivering under the rough note in his voice. She opened her mouth to speak and was silenced by the warm pressure of his lips against her own.

  She struggled briefly to resist the desire rising inside her, and then gave up the battle, making a soft, inarticulate sound of pleasure in her throat as his mouth moved on her own.

  She clung to him, everything else forgotten as she gave in to the need that had stalked her for so long. The tenor of their kiss changed, deepening swiftly into passion.

  'Simon, Jenna…'

  The sound of Simon's mother's voice outside her door brought Jenna back to reality. She couldn't look at Simon as he released her. She felt too aware of what she might have betrayed to him.

  'It's OK, Ma. We're on our way down,' Simon called out easily. He opened the door without looking at her, allowing Jenna to precede him through it.

  All of them had been invited out to dinner by the same French friends that Simon's parents and her grandmother had dined with the first evening of their arrival.

  The Le Bruns were apparently a sociable couple. Madame Le Brun had lived and worked in Paris prior to their marriage, and believed in working hard to prevent herself from becoming 'le cabbage' as she had described it to Jenna's grandmother.

  They had two children, both of whom had now left home and who were studying in Paris, but, despite all that she had been told about the Le Bruns, Jenna was not looking forward to the evening, mainly because it involved taking their deception yet another stage forward.

  She dressed for it reluctantly, and was still undecided about which of the two semi-formal dresses she had brought with her she should wear when her bedroom door opened and her grandmother came in.

  As always Jenna was struck, not just by her grandmother's femininity and elegance, but also by the energy which seemed to radiate from her. Although she had been devastated by the loss of her parents, her grandmother had more than filled the gap in her young life; she had been a shoulder to lean on, a wise counsellor, and an example of all that a woman could be. Harriet Soames was very much the authoress of her own destiny, the living proof that a woman could not just survive, but also lead an extremely full and happy life without a man.

  As a teenager she had asked her grandmother once why she had not married again, and had been told that it was simply because she doubted that she would ever find someone who matched up to her rose-hued memories of her young husband.

  'At least that's what I tell myself, Jenna. The truth is probably that I've grown too independent, too fond of my own way of life to want to change it.'

  'I can't decide which dress to wear,' Jenna told her, indicating the two hanging side by side on the rail.

  'This one looks cool and pretty.' Her grandmother fingered the cotton fabric of the blue dress with the white spots. It had a sailor collar and buttons all the way down the back. It was very demure.

  'Jenna, is something wrong?'

  Immediately Jenna tensed, turning away defensively so that her grandmother couldn't see her face.

  'No, of course not.' She felt much as she had as a little girl when she had been caught out sneaking a jam tart.

  'My dear, I'm not trying to pry, or to interfere in your life in any way… '

  'But? I thought you were pleased about my engagement…'

  'I like Simon, you know that, and I should have gone on liking him whatever his relationship to you, but it is not my likes and dislikes that are important here, but yours. Forgive me if I'm trespassing, but…' She broke off and asked quietly, 'Jenna, do you love him?'

  Here at least was a question she could answer honestly.

  'Yes. Yes, I do…'

  'Well, you know that I'm not an advocate of love being the answer to all the world's ills. Simon is a good man, a strong man too, and you're a very strong woman, although I don't think you realise it yet.'

  'Everything has happened rather quickly.'

  That was true as well.

  'Well, there's plenty of time… or is that the problem?' Harriet asked her shrewdly. 'Too much time together, and yet apart. I suspect Simon is a man with a very strong sexual drive. This holiday can't be easy for him… for either of you…'

  Her grandmother had never minced words when it came to sex, and Jenna had never felt any embarrassment in discussing it with her. Over forty years separated their views on life, but her grandmother had always believed in speaking frankly and openly about her views on morality. To Jenna she had passed on her own maxim that it was more important to retain one's own self-respect than the sometimes dubious admiration of one's peers, and over the years Jenna had come to see the wisdom and truth of this statement.

  'In fact, I'm surprised that Simon elected to spend so long down here with us. I suspect he's finding it… rather frustrating… '

  Her eyebrows lifted slightly, inviting Jenna to confide in her if she wished, without pushing the issue.

  'No, I don't think it's that. I think everything's happened so quickly between us that we're both still suffering slightly from shock. All those years Of mutual dislike… '

  Again the grey eyebrows rose, and this time the still dark blue eyes gleamed slightly. 'Oh, Jenna, come on. I might be your grandmother, but I still have eyes. You might have held on to your resentment, but Simon lost his a long time ago…'

  A knock on the door interrupted their conversation.

  'Time we were leaving,' Simon's father called out.

  'I'll go down and tell them you're on your way…but remember, Jenna, this marriage must be something you're doing for yourself, not for anyone else. If you go through life burdening yourself with the responsibility of the emotions of other people, you'll never be free to be yourself, and one day you'll resent it.'

  Food for thought indeed, Jenna acknowledged as she pulled on her dress, but how could she explain the truth? She couldn't.

  The Le Bruns' house was just outside the village; more of a small château in reality, whose vineyards had been sold off many years before.

  They approached it through a turreted gateway, in the same crumbling sandstone as the village, the drive climbing upwards, so that when Jenna looked back she had an uninterrupted view of the river and the land stretching away from it.

  Trees lined the driveway, growing in almost Teutonic rigidity. When she commented on this fact, Simon laughed. 'As a matter of fact, only last night Dad was saying that the château was owned at one time by a German industrialist. He took possession of it after the defeat of Napoleon, and then had to sell it when he was disastrously unsuccessful with the vines. Perhaps he was responsible for these trees.'

  The gardens to the front of the château were laid out in formal parterres with miniature box hedges and red sandstone gravel paths.

  The Le Bruns came out to welcome them as they stopped the cars. Madeleine Le Brun was small and slightly plump, her nails and make-up immaculate. She was dressed elegantly in black and white, her only jewellery a pair of huge pearl ear-rings, her dark hair pulled back off her face in a smooth chignon.

  Pierre Le Brun was tall and lean, and very distinguished-looking. He looked like a lawyer, Jenna decided, responding to his formal kiss of greeting.

  'So this is the betrothed couple. How excited you must be,' Madeleine said to Simon's mot
her. 'I must confess I am looking forward to the day when our Marie-Claire gets married.'

  She smiled slightly as her husband said something to her in French and explained, 'Pierre reminds me that she is as yet only eighteen, and that since she is studying to become a doctor it will be many years before she is ready to give up her independence. Of course it is different now… In my day one did not pursue a career after marriage—marriage was one's career. One had children and certain duties in connection with one's husband's business affairs.' She gave an entirely Gallic shrug and turned to lead them inside. 'I confess, I do feel a slight amount of envy for Marie-Claire, but then one cannot have everything, and the world of today is a far harsher place than it was when I was a girl. Much as I still love Paris, there are times when it seems alien, and yes, even frightening…'

  Jenna listened half-heartedly as Simon's mother agreed with her, telling her her own doubts about the safety of certain London streets.

  They were standing in a shadowy hall with a black and white lozenge-shaped tiled floor, and an immensely heavy carved stairway.

  Dinner was a protracted and formal, but not entirely unenjoyable affair. They were not the only guests, four other people being present, also close friends of the Le Bruns, and Jenna was amused to witness Simon being treated very much as a 'young man'. He took it with good grace, she thought, watching him. In terms of experience and skill, as a barrister he must certainly rank ahead of Monsieur Le Brun, a country lawyer, but there was no evidence of this in Simon's conversation as he good-naturedly responded to the former's questions.

  After dinner everyone retired to the drawing-room for coffee and delicious home-made chocolates. Simon stood behind Jenna's chair, and she was excruciatingly conscious of him, to the point where, when he leaned over her to pick up his own coffee cup, her skin shivered in awareness and instinctively she moved away from him.

  She saw him frown, just catching the barely perceptible darkening of his eyes as he straightened up. It seemed incongruous that such a very small action on her part should have aroused such an extreme response, but she could see from the hard line of his mouth that she had angered him.