Marriage on Trial

by Lee Wilkinson

  ‘Ready when you are.’ She made an effort to sound cheerful.

  ‘I’ve decided not to stay for lunch. I’d rather get on my way.’

  A strange hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, she stammered, ‘B-but won’t you be hungry?’

  ‘I had a late breakfast.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To London.’

  ‘Without me?’

  ‘There’s some business I want to attend to. I thought you might prefer to stay here and rest.’

  ‘When will you be back?’ Then she said, with alarm, ‘You will be back?’

  ‘Yes. Tomorrow some time. I still have things to do at the house…

  ‘By the way, the bill for this place has been taken care of, including tonight. And just in case you need any money before yours had dried out…’ He placed a wad of notes beside her case.

  So he hadn’t believed she intended to stay with him, and he was offering her a chance to go.

  No, more than a chance—he was almost encouraging her.

  Why?

  Was he just testing her? Or had he decided he no longer wanted her to stay with him?

  The traumatic events of the previous day had altered her thinking. Had they also altered his?

  But afterwards, when she’d asked him if he wanted her to stay, he’d said he did. And in the night, when she’d wakened with the nightmare, he’d called her ‘my love’.

  He hadn’t meant it, of course, but just recalling the endearment warmed her and stiffened her resolve.

  Picking up the money, she handed it back to him, and said crisply, ‘Thank you, but I won’t be needing this. I’ve every intention of coming to London with you.’

  The veiled eyes studied her. ‘Sure?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ she answered serenely.

  ‘Would you like lunch before we go?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ll ask for some sandwiches to take with me.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE first part of the journey was accomplished in silence. Determined not to let it get on her nerves, Elizabeth ate the first of her sandwiches, and when Quinn refused a share demolished the second.

  Having tidied away the crumbs and the cling film, she pulled the ring on a can of pop. It fizzed and foamed and ran down her fingers. The packet of tissues she usually carried in her handbag, reduced to a soggy mass by their immersion, had been thrown away.

  ‘Can I borrow your hankie?’ she asked.

  ‘Presumably you know which pocket it’s in,’ he said wryly, ‘so help yourself.’

  Flushing a little, she felt in his nearest pocket and fished it out. Somehow the intimate little action made her—for the first time—feel like a wife.

  Having wiped her sticky fingers, she offered him the can. ‘Would you like some?’

  He grimaced. ‘I don’t know how you can drink that stuff.’

  ‘I’d sooner have had lager,’ she admitted. ‘But I didn’t want to face Richard smelling of beer.’

  ‘Were you thinking of seeing him this afternoon?’

  ‘Yes— Though I’m dreading it,’ she admitted.

  ‘You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I’m quite prepared to tell him how things stand.’

  ‘No.’ She couldn’t be so cowardly. ‘I have to tell him myself.’

  ‘Then I’ll go with you.’

  ‘It might be better if I went alone.’

  ‘If I’m any judge of character, Beaumont isn’t a good loser—’

  His assessment was more accurate than he knew, Elizabeth thought uneasily.

  ‘In the circumstances no one could blame him for being angry, but I wouldn’t like him to vent his anger on you.’

  ‘Oh, but I—’

  Quinn shook his head decidedly. ‘You’re my wife, and I intend to be there… Had you any particular time in mind for calling on him?’

  ‘I’d prefer to get it over with as soon as possible.’

  Taking her at her word, when they reached town, Quinn drove straight to Lombard Square. The square was quiet and pleasant, with elegant architecture and a central tree-lined garden, surrounded by black wrought-iron railings. Though it was only mid-afternoon, several of the big white houses had lighted chandeliers.

  The imposing Georgian mansion which belonged to the Beaumonts stood on one corner. After parking in an area that stated ‘Residents Only’, Quinn helped Elizabeth out and escorted her to the door.

  She went with mixed feelings. In one way, she would have preferred to see Richard alone. In another, she was only too pleased that Quinn had decided to put his foot down.

  A smart, white-aproned maid answered their ring. At the sight of Elizabeth, the girl exclaimed, ‘Why, Miss Cavendish, I’m afraid Lady Beaumont isn’t home! I don’t think she was…’

  ‘Miss Cavendish is with me,’ Quinn broke in coolly. ‘My name’s Durville.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Mr Durville, you’re expected. Please come this way.’

  She led them across a handsomely furnished hall, tapped on the study door, and ushered them inside. ‘Miss Cavendish and Mr Durville.’

  As the door closed behind the maid, Richard looked up from some papers he was studying. ‘Durville.’ He nodded coolly to Quinn. Then, rising from behind the leather-topped desk, he came over to kiss Elizabeth’s cheek. ‘Darling! This is a delightful surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow.

  ‘I’m afraid Mother’s out. I haven’t broken the good news yet. I thought we could—’

  On edge, she burst out, ‘Richard, before you say anything, there’s something I must tell you—’

  Aware of his rival listening, he gave her a warning glance, and suggested, ‘Can’t it wait until we’re alone?’

  Running her tongue over dry lips, she said, ‘It concerns Quinn.’

  She saw Richard’s almost imperceptible blink at the use of the other man’s first name.

  ‘Then perhaps you had better tell me.’

  ‘Wh-when I said I didn’t know him, it wasn’t the truth. We first met over five years ago.’

  Frowning, Richard demanded, ‘Why lie about it?’

  ‘I’m sorry, but seeing him again after all that time was a shock and I—’

  ‘Do you mean you hadn’t seen him for five years?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Presumably, as seeing him affected you so strongly, your relationship had been somewhat more than platonic?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That explains a great deal.’ Then he asked sharply, ‘Who ended it?’

  ‘I did, but—’

  Clearly relishing the idea of having the woman who had left his bête noire, Richard said magnanimously, ‘My dear Elizabeth, I hardly expected an attractive woman of twenty-six to have had no previous relationships. And as the affair was over five years ago—’

  ‘It was more than an affair,’ she broke in desperately. ‘We were married.’

  ‘Married!’ He looked thunderstruck. ‘But when I proposed to you you never said a word.’

  ‘I know I should have told you then,’ she admitted miserably, ‘but I wanted to leave the past behind, and I thought the marriage had been annulled.’

  ‘Annulled?’ He picked it up immediately. ‘Then it wasn’t a—’

  ‘It was legal,’ she said quickly, ‘but it had never been… It wasn’t a real marriage.’

  ‘You said you thought it had been annulled?’

  ‘I’d signed the papers, but Quinn hadn’t.’

  ‘So you’re still legally married?’

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to deceive you.’

  ‘I’ll contact my lawyers first thing in the morning. As the marriage hadn’t been consummated, getting a speedy annulment shouldn’t be a problem.’

  Quinn, who had been standing silently by, spoke for the first time. ‘I’m afraid that from your point of view there’s one major problem.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Richard demanded curtly.

  ‘The
marriage hadn’t been consummated, but now…’ He had no need to complete the sentence. His meaning was only too clear.

  Richard, his fair face going brick-red, turned on Elizabeth. ‘So after pretending not to know each other you two jumped into bed the instant my back was turned! Of all the lying, deceitful little bitches! You’ve made a complete fool of me…’

  ‘I’m sorry; truly I am. I never meant to hurt you—’

  As if she hadn’t spoken, he stormed on, ‘If you’re expecting me to forgive you and go on with—’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Quinn broke in firmly. ‘Now Jo has said her piece and apologized, as I am the one who’s largely responsible for all this, you can address the rest of your remarks to me.’

  Dropping the ignition key into Elizabeth’s hand, he opened the door and pushed her through. ‘I won’t be long. Wait for me in the car.’

  The study door closed behind her with a decisive click. As she crossed the hall, she heard Richard’s voice raised in fury. ‘Damn you, Durville, if you think for one minute…’

  When she reached the front door, as if by magic, the maid appeared to open it for her.

  ‘Thank you, Mary… When Lady Beaumont gets back, will you please tell her I’m sorry to have to leave without giving proper notice?’

  Though she looked surprised, the girl answered sedately, ‘Certainly, Miss Cavendish.’

  All of a tremble, Elizabeth crossed the pavement to where the Mercedes was parked and got in. But after a minute or so, feeling too restless to just sit and wait, she left the key in the ignition and went to walk in Lombard Square’s tree-lined garden.

  It was deserted except for an elderly man, muffled in a tweed overcoat and a scarf, who sat on a bench reading The Times, while almost at his feet a squirrel foraged amongst the fallen leaves.

  Elizabeth followed the perimeter path, her thoughts agitated. She couldn’t blame Richard for being furious; she’d let him down badly.

  The only thing to be remotely thankful for was that he hadn’t told his mother about their ‘engagement’. If Lady Beaumont and his friends had known it would have made matters a great deal worse…

  Completing the circuit, she was about to go around for a second time when she noticed Quinn was by the car. Something about his attitude riveted her attention. He was standing absolutely still, his dark head bent, staring into space.

  As she approached, he glanced up. His face held such desolation that she caught her breath. An instant later it was gone, making her wonder if she’d only imagined that look of bleak unhappiness.

  But she knew she hadn’t. So what had caused it?

  Opening the car door for her, he said, ‘I was just wondering where you’d got to.’ His voice wasn’t quite even.

  That was it. When he’d come back to find the Mercedes empty and the key in the ignition, he must have presumed she’d gone.

  Climbing in, she explained, ‘I’ve just been taking a walk round the garden. I felt too restless to sit still.’

  When he slid in beside her and started the engine, she asked, ‘How…how did it go? I mean, was Richard very hurt…?’

  ‘He was more angry than hurt,’ Quinn said flatly. ‘And it soon became obvious that a lot of his anger was caused by the fact that I’d deprived him of the Van Hamel, a diamond he particularly wanted.

  ‘When I said I was quite prepared to let him have it, he pointed out that if I hadn’t forced up the price in the first place it would have been his for four hundred thousand pounds.

  ‘I argued for a while—for the look of the thing—before agreeing to let him have it for what he would have paid if I hadn’t been there. He seemed to regard that as some kind of victory, so honour was satisfied…’

  They drove for a while without speaking, then she asked, ‘Where are we heading for now? Earlier you said you had some business to attend to.’

  ‘I have. It’s my intention to drop you at the cottage first.’ He sounded distracted, as though his thoughts were elsewhere, and she relapsed into silence.

  By the time they reached Hawks Lane a blue-grey dusk was turning into early evening. Several of the cottage windows were lit, and the old-fashioned street lamps were casting pools of light.

  With his usual courtesy, Quinn helped her out, lifted her case from the boot, and waited while she opened the door.

  When he showed no sign of coming in, she said, ‘Won’t you have a sandwich and some coffee first? You didn’t have any lunch.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’ll get straight off.’

  ‘What time will you be back? I’ll have dinner ready.’

  ‘I really can’t say. But there’s no need to bother with a meal for me.’

  ‘It’s no bother,’ she said quickly.

  He shook his head again. ‘I can get something out. If I look like being very late I’ll probably stay over at a hotel rather than disturb you.’

  Suddenly fearful, she asked, ‘Quinn, what’s wrong?’

  His expression sardonic, he asked, ‘What could be wrong?’

  He was stonewalling, and she knew it.

  Was he still expecting her to run? He was certainly giving her every chance to. But, remembering that look of bleak unhappiness on his face when he’d thought she had gone, she took heart.

  Handing him the key, she said, ‘If you’re very late you can let yourself in, so there’ll be no need to disturb me. Though I shall probably wait up for you anyway.’

  His smile was a shade wry, he dropped the key into his pocket and turned to go.

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

  He glanced at her, one dark brow raised enquiringly.

  Pursing her lips, she raised her face for his kiss. His expression softened and, a smile tugging at the corners of his long mouth, he kissed her lightly.

  Standing in the doorway, she watched him drive fifty yards or so, and turn the car. When he drew level once more, she blew him a kiss. In return he sketched an ironic salute.

  With a sigh she went inside and closed the door behind her. Though she had finally decided that being with him was what really mattered, it seemed there was still a long way to go before their relationship stood any kind of chance.

  All they had achieved so far was a kind of precarious balance. She had no idea what went on in his head. He didn’t trust her an inch.

  With time to kill, and unable to settle, she made up her mind to clean the cottage thoroughly. That way, if he decided to stick to the plan he’d outlined the previous day, she would be ready to leave for the States when he was.

  By seven-thirty she had the whole place in order. The table, complete with fancy napkins and gold candles, was set, a bottle of white wine was cooling in the fridge, the starter was waiting to be served, and a chicken and vegetable casserole was bubbling away in the oven.

  After checking that there was nothing left to do, she took a shower, then, dried and perfumed, brushed her long hair until it gleamed like black silk.

  Having donned a red satin housecoat that had been a Christmas gift from Mrs Henderson—and deemed too glamorous for ordinary use—she dimmed the lights and settled down in front of the fire to wait.

  At eight-thirty, her heart like lead, she turned the oven off. It might be hours before Quinn was back. If he returned at all. He’d said business… But what kind of business would take so long, and possibly necessitate staying overnight?

  Too dispirited to eat a full-scale meal alone, she was about to make herself a sandwich when she heard a car draw up outside and a door slam.

  As she held her breath, a key turned in the lock and Quinn came in, carrying a bunch of hothouse roses and his grip.

  She went to meet him eagerly, gladly. This time when she lifted her face and he kissed her she put her arms round his neck and returned his kiss, her lips parting invitingly.

  Just for an instant she felt him hesitate, and with an instinct as old as Eve deliberately leaned against him, her slender body pressed to his.

  He dropped the t
hings he was carrying, and with a sound almost like a groan took her in his arms and kissed her with a thoroughness that left her breathless and tingling.

  ‘Mmm…’ she murmured, revelling in a closeness that seemed to exceed the merely physical. ‘That’s more like it.’

  Running his hand over her satin-covered curves, his voice shaken between passion and laughter, he said, ‘You witch.’

  ‘I hope you haven’t eaten?’ She made an effort to be practical. ‘Dinner’s all ready.’

  His lips travelling down the side of her neck and finding the warm, silky skin of a shoulder, he muttered, ‘Who cares about food?’

  ‘I do,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve gone to a lot of trouble over this meal.’

  Releasing her reluctantly, he handed her the flowers, and picked up his grip. ‘Give me a few minutes to shower and change.’

  He returned quite quickly, freshly shaved, his dark hair still damp from the shower, and wearing a silk open-necked shirt and casual trousers.

  Glancing at the candles, the centrepiece of red roses, and the long-stemmed wine glasses, he remarked ironically, ‘Very honeymoonish.’

  Elizabeth produced and served the smoked salmon and prawn starter, while Quinn opened and poured the Chablis.

  Raising her glass, she said, ‘Here’s to us.’

  Looking at her over the rim of his own glass, his green eyes brilliant in the candlelight, he echoed, ‘To us.’ But his face was impassive, and she could sense a kind of wariness, a holding back.

  Sighing inwardly, she faced the fact that though he’d only been upstairs a short time the previous closeness was gone, and a feeling of constraint had taken its place.

  While they ate, she tried to think of something interesting to talk about, but her mind remained stubbornly blank.

  After she had carried in and dished up the colourful casserole, determined to break the silence, she remarked, ‘When it turned eight o’clock I began to wonder where you’d got to.’

  ‘I had warned you I might be late,’ he said evenly.

  Aware, even as she spoke, that she sounded resentful, accusing, she said, ‘You’d warned me you might not be back at all. But I couldn’t see what kind of business would keep you out all night when—’ She broke off.