Evie curled herself more closely into the back of the armchair, pulling the cushion from behind her and wrapping her arms around it as if for protection against sisterly wrath.
‘It was the only thing we could think of,’ she defended. ‘You’re both obviously still crazy about each other, but refused to get together and thrash things out. Too much pride,’ she tacked on scornfully. ‘So Kitty and I worked out the scam last October—to force you to meet and stay together for at least a couple of days. We thought it was time enough for you to get your act together, anyway.’
Bella, pacing the room, swivelled round and glared. ‘My only consolation is that the “scam”, as you call it, will have cost you both a mini fortune!’
‘I guess you’re telling me it didn’t work,’ Evie said mournfully. ‘We only did it for the best. Cos we love you, even if you are both stupid! Think about the mess our parents made of their marriage and compare it with what you and Jake had.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘What you had was beautiful. It used to be a joy to see you together.’
Bella stopped mid-pace, her justifiable annoyance over Evie’s meddling washed away by a flood of tears that brimmed her eyes and clogged her throat. The two younger sisters had been desperate to help. But all the beauty had gone out of the marriage that had started so perfectly. Nothing could make it come back.
She swallowed hard and made herself go and perch on the arm of Evie’s chair. ‘You’re going to have to accept that it’s over,’ she said quietly. ‘I have. And no amount of good-intentioned meddling will alter that.’
Evie lifted a troubled face. ‘Did you explain about that Maclaine chap? Tell Jake it wasn’t what he thought it was?’
‘Yes. I told him Guy had never been my lover.’
‘And?’
Bella shrugged expressively. She’d told him the truth, but she didn’t know now whether he’d believed her. How could trust be so easily shattered?
‘After he’d got over his anger at the way we’d been tricked he behaved reasonably and considerately.’ She wouldn’t confess to the way they’d made love. She couldn’t. It had happened because she still loved him and he still lusted after her. The sexual chemistry between them was still as explosive as ever. But it wasn’t enough for either of them.
‘Then, when he dropped me off here on Boxing Day, he would have driven away with nothing more than a polite goodbye. But I mentioned divorce, to remind him we were still married. But he doesn’t want one. Too costly, I would imagine.’
Her voice hardened. ‘He wouldn’t want a dent in his precious fortune.’ She pushed herself on, knowing she had to forestall any questions before she could draw a line beneath the traumatic episode. ‘He then decided he’d better give me dinner some time—fit it in when he had a convenient space in his work schedule—to persuade me that this separation should continue as it is, in his own best interests.’
‘Oh, Bel, don’t be so cynical! It’s not like you.’
‘Just looking at life through untinted specs.’ Bella pushed herself to her feet. She couldn’t talk about it any more, relive the pain in words that skimmed the surface of the truth and left out the emotions that wouldn’t go away. ‘I’ll forget what you did on the condition it’s never mentioned again. And now I think it’s time we both turned in.’
Bella had dug deep in the back of her wardrobe and found the perfect dress for the party. Shimmering gold tissue, scoop-necked and clingy—displaying too much leg maybe, but why the heck not? If you’ve got it, flaunt it, as her model friends would have said!
Anyway, it was New Year’s Eve, and she was going to have fun. Yes, she was, she told the annoyingly sad eyes that stared back at her from her bedroom mirror.
Ruth, Guy’s wife, had said, ‘Oh, yes, do come, Bella. The more the merrier, truly! Most of the agency staff are going to be putting in an appearance at some stage, not to mention a load of mine and Guy’s friends. I just hope the noise won’t disturb the twins. But Mother-in-law came up from Sussex for Christmas, and she’s still here. So she’ll be on hand if they do wake. She’s an old battleaxe, but she’s really good with the babies.’
So she would socialise for a change. Besides, Jake hadn’t contacted her. She hadn’t really expected him to, had she? Giving her dinner, talking over the arrangements for their separate future would come very low down on his list of priorities.
Everyone else would be taking a break over the festive season, but he would be jetting to wherever the next killing could be made, poring over balance sheets and financial projections.
She caught her thoughts and slapped them down brutally. She’d made an early New Year resolution never to think of him again. She was going to stick to it!
Starting the fiddly business of piling her hair on top of her head, she thought about Guy and Ruth instead. They had moved to a big family house in Hampstead before the birth of the twins. She was truly happy for them, and wasn’t going to fall into the trap of envy.
They’d had a rough ride. A year into the La Donna campaign Guy—her dear friend by then, and professional support—had confided that he and Ruth were having a trial separation. They were finding it difficult to be around each other, he had told her.
‘Ruth’s desperate to have kids, but nothing happens. We’ve had every test known to medical science and we’re both OK. So she blames me for not caring either way, and herself for caring too much. She can’t leave it alone. She’s getting paranoid and I’m getting irritable. Next thing, she’ll be blaming the government, or the weather! We thought we’d be better apart for a while, before we start throwing things at each other.’
But things had worked out for them in the end. When Guy had phoned on Christmas Eve, over a year ago—
No. No. No! She must not, would not think of any of that!
‘Your taxi’s here.’ Evie poked her dark curly head round the bedroom door. ‘Are you ready, or shall I ask him to wait?’
‘Ready.’ Bella pushed the final pin into her hair and stood up, reaching for her wrap and the gold kid evening purse that went with the dress. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind being on your own? You could come with me. One more won’t make any difference.’
Evie shook her head decisively. ‘After Lizanne’s thrash I’m off parties.’ Her blue eyes went dreamy. ‘I thought I’d check through my wardrobe to find something suitable but less stuffy to wear for work. Maybe try out a new hairstyle.’
The new boss, Bella thought, turning away quickly and descending the stairs as rapidly as she could in high, spindly heels.
She could hardly bear to see the glow in the younger girl’s eyes.
She could remember exactly what it felt like to fall in love.
CHAPTER TWELVE
HE WOULD be gatecrashing, but Jake didn’t give a damn!
When he’d phoned from his hotel near Regent’s Park he’d got Evie. He’d missed Bella by about half an hour.
Evie had started to apologise for tricking him, and putting his hired car out of commission, but he’d cut her short. After that getting information on Bella’s whereabouts had been like pulling hen’s teeth.
The information had come reluctantly. She didn’t know when her sister would be back. Late, probably. It was New Year’s Eve.
She had gone to a party.
A party in Hampstead.
And—this came most reluctantly of all—a party at the home of Guy and Ruth Maclaine.
The address had had to be forced out of her, and then she’d gone on to say something else, something rushed and breathless which he had cut short, telling her thanks and goodbye.
When he’d put down the receiver his heart had been pounding, the hatefully familiar shaft of jealousy which he’d believed he had conquered twisting his gut.
But he wouldn’t let all that concentrated hard work go to waste. Not without a bloody hard fight.
He’d spent the last five days on the phone, setting up meetings and dragging people from family celebrations, pulling rank and generally mak
ing himself unpopular, fitting in a flight to Brussels, where he’d worked into the small hours consolidating deals, and then back to London to appoint key personnel.
He hadn’t borrowed precious time from other people’s family Christmases and worked himself to the point where exhaustion felt like a distinct possibility to get stymied at this last moment—particularly not by his own possessive streak where Bella alone was concerned.
He pushed any unwelcome doubts roughly aside and strode through the foyer, past the elaborately uniformed doorman, into the flurries of sleet that came on the back of a biting wind.
He didn’t notice the cold or the damp flakes of wet snow that settled on the shoulders of his dark-grey suit jacket and drifted amongst the soft strands of his black hair, or the glittering Christmas decorations strung overhead as he flagged down a cruising taxi and gave the Hampstead address in a hard, tight voice.
Back at the cottage, when she’d told him Maclaine had never been her lover, he hadn’t believed her. He had believed what his old friend Alex had said all those years ago because he had no reason not to. But, more importantly, he had believed the evidence of his own eyes.
Mercifully, he’d come to terms with it. He’d made too many wrong assumptions in the past—about Bella’s resumption of her modelling career, the set-up back at the holiday cottage. Had he been wrong to assume she’d been unfaithful? Could what he had seen that dreadful night have a perfectly innocent explanation?
He didn’t know, not for sure. How could he?
He pushed that thought roughly aside. He had to build on the future and not brood negatively on the past.
When she’d talked to him of trust, and his lack of it within their marriage, sincerity had been exhaled with every breath, had shone steadfastly in those fantastic eyes.
Against all the evidence he had instinctively accepted her innocence. What he had seen could be explained away. He had to believe that. He only had to ask.
He remembered his decision not to ask her there and then to resume their marriage, not to plead with her. And wondered for the first time if it had been the right one to make. Self-doubt was a stranger to him, though, and he knew what he wanted. Knew that what he wanted would be the right thing to do.
When he gave her the gift of the rest of his life, his entire future, his complete and infinitely loving attention, he wanted it to be whole, accomplished, not vague promises which—and with hindsight he couldn’t blame her—she very probably wouldn’t take seriously.
That was what he had now—the gift of his total commitment. He prayed to God it wasn’t too late.
When she’d mentioned divorce, spoken so tonelessly of that mutual eruption of need—the wild desire, the fulfilment they’d both ached for twelve long months—the temptation to take her in his arms, kiss her until she was unable to think of anything but him, had been almost unbearable.
But he’d stuck to his original decision, and all he had been able to do was promise to contact her as soon as he was able, ask her to give him what he’d been unable to give her. Trust.
But what if he’d been wrong? Had she decided that an affair with Maclaine was the better option?
If rumour was correct, the Maclaine marriage had been on the rocks. But they were obviously together now. Was that a so-called civilised arrangement? Was Maclaine presenting a façade of a contented marriage but unable to let go of his creation—the exquisitely beautiful face and body of La Donna?
And was Bella clinging to him because he was a constant in her life? Her father sure as hell hadn’t been, and he, although he hadn’t realised it at the time, hadn’t been much better.
He closed his eyes, his teeth clamped together. He would not let himself think like that. He would not doubt her. Not again. He would not!
The taxi pulled up outside the large Edwardian house. Lights blazed from the lower-floor windows, and security spotlights illuminated a sweeping driveway packed with parked cars.
Asking the driver to wait, Jake strode towards the house, unaware that the sleet had turned to heavy rain, soaking him, plastering his hair to his skull.
Bella wished she hadn’t come, and tried to hide it. Her first attempt at socialising wasn’t bringing her any pleasure—far from it.
Maybe it was simply down to the time of year. The Christmas season was for sharing with loved ones. Everyone here was part of a couple, and the crunch had come when she’d overheard one woman saying to another, ‘Getting babysitters at this time of year is almost impossible. And New Year’s Eve—we had to pay an absolute fortune!’
And her companion had confided, rubbing her slightly bulging tummy, ‘My dear, John and I will be in the same boat this time next year. Oh, lovely thought! We’re both ecstatic at the prospect of starting a family.’
Bella had wished herself a million miles away, because everything reminded her of what she wanted and couldn’t have.
Jake. Jake’s love. Jake’s babies.
Bella’s fingers tightened round her wineglass. She’d drunk half of it, but it hadn’t helped get her in the party mood, and Ruth said concernedly, ‘Are you all right? You went quite pale just then.’
‘I’m fine.’ Bella managed a creditable smile. ‘A bit tired, that’s all.’
‘Hectic Christmas?’
‘You could say!’ Traumatic, devastating, ecstatic and truly, truly painful. Did that add up to ‘hectic’? She wondered how she could still be smiling. The smile was stuck to her face, she supposed.
Ruth said, raising her voice because the noise level was continually increasing, ‘I’m going to slip away and check on the twins and Ma-in-law. Would you like to see them?’
‘I—’ Bella didn’t see a way to get out of this. But gazing at four-month-old baby boys didn’t seem a good idea right now, not when she was feeling so vulnerable.
Then Guy came to her rescue, catching the tail-end of the conversation, throwing an affectionate arm around Ruth’s shoulders.
‘Bella can gaze in wonder at my handsome twin heirs later. Right now I’ve a business proposition to put to the lady.’
‘Oh—You!’ Ruth twisted in his arms and reached up to brush her knuckles playfully over his rock-solid chin. ‘Business, business! Give the girl a break—she’s come to a party, not a strategy meeting, or whatever!’ Nevertheless, she went, wagging her fingers at Bella. ‘See you later. If you want to party, tell him to get lost!’
But Bella heaved a sigh of relief at the timely interruption. She had never felt less like partying in her life, and, though normally she would have loved to slope away and peek at the little boys, she knew it would be her undoing. Tears and abject misery for all she had lost and could never now have would have made her the party-pooper from hell!
‘Listen...’ Guy took her arm and drew her to a marginally quieter corner of the big room, away from the lavish buffet. ‘I’ve been thinking of you. We had a big—and I mean big—commission confirmed just before Christmas. In New Accounts you’ll know all about it—the new top-of-the-range sports car, aimed primarily at top-of-the-range females?’
Bella nodded; she knew all about the prestigious account. Her immediate superior had worked his socks off to clinch it. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as Guy’s bushy eyebrows met over the bridge of his crooked nose—broken on the rugby field, so Ruth had told her—his head tipped to one side as he peered down into her face.
He was her boss, and if he wanted to talk shop she was more than game. Her job was all she had now.
‘I want you on it—not on the account; I can replace you in that department without too much trouble. But on film. As you know, the company want a series of six commercials running through spring and summer. I can’t think of anyone who’d be as perfect as you. Will you do it? For me?’
His smile took her acceptance for granted, and it lit up his near-ugly face, making it wickedly attractive. Bella couldn’t help responding in kind, but she knew she’d never go back to her former career. She had grown to hate all
those greedy eyes, the endless speculation, the cruel, gossiping tongues.
She shook her head, reminding him, ‘I’ve been out of it for too long. Four years, remember.’
‘Nonsense.’ He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, eyes intently assessing every detail of her face. ‘You’re as beautiful as when you started out. More. You’ve acquired the gloss, the sophistication our clients want. You’re one classy lady, Bella, and there’s not a sag, wrinkle or line in sight!’
Her chin still captured in his hand, she gave him a wistful smile. She would do a lot for Guy, but not this. Right through her earlier career he had been her rock, her very good friend. He had always been there for her when it had mattered, and, although only around fifteen years her senior, she had come to look on him as a father-figure.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered regretfully. ‘But I’m happy as a pen-pusher. I couldn’t go back to all that hype and frenzy—flashbulbs exploding wherever I go, spiteful gossip in the press, endless speculation.’ She gave him an impish grin. ‘I only did it because we were flat broke, and the money meant Mum could take it easy and Evie could realise her full potential and not end up as another unemployment statistic. You know that!’
She saw the light go out of his eyes, and knew he’d had the campaign sorted in his head, with her in the starring role. She felt a tug of compassion. Lifting a hand, she laid it softly on the side of his craggy face. ‘With your talent for picking winners, you’ll find the perfect girl, I promise. There are literally hundreds of young and beautiful models out there, waiting for the opportunity you can offer. Go out and find that special one, Guy, and leave me pushing my pen.’
Standing in the open doorway, Jake felt his eyes home in on her immediately. He didn’t see the crowd, the groups of chattering, laughing people. Only Bella and Maclaine.
The Faithful Wife Page 13
