A Secure Marriage

by Diana Hamilton

  But today she had opted to stay at Slade House, seeking John's approval for her plans for careful expansion in some areas now that her cutbacks had gone through. She couldn't trust Luke's judgement, and she was damned if she'd ask Jude for his opinion. This was something she had to steer along herself.

  Gratifyingly, although she'd had no doubts herself, her uncle had approved her projections. 'I don't think you'll ever really know how pleased I am to have you pulling for the old firm,' he said, closing the last file. 'It made no sense for you to join Mescal Slade.'

  Since Cleo could hardly tell her uncle that the prospect of working with his son had given her the mental shudders, she said nothing. She was steering Slade Securities on a steadier track and that was something she was proud of. And, as it was all she had, she clung on to it tightly.

  There would have to be a board meeting, of course, before some of her schemes got off the ground, and Jude would naturally be invited along in his capacity of a major shareholder, and maybe he would be offered a seat on the board... She didn't know yet.

  And there was another thing he would have to be consulted about... Two days ago she had learned she was pregnant. She didn't know how or when she would break the news...

  'Shall we indulge in a glass of Manzanilla? 1 think we deserve a celebration!'

  John Slade was on his feet and his old eyes were actually twinkling, and Cleo dragged her mind back to him.

  'I'd like that.'

  'And how much longer can I look forward to having you here?' he asked as he put the heavy, fluted Georgian glass in her hands.

  'I'm not sure.' Cleo sipped the pale golden liquid, not knowing what to say.

  She had been here ten days already and would have to move on soon. But where? Back to Jude?

  She felt safe here, protected. Her uncle had made no secret of his delight when she'd arrived, making the excuse that in her early days as Luke's working partner it would be more sensible for her to base herself here, driving into town each day with Luke and, if necessary, working on with him until the small hours.

  But already there was a look in Grace's eyes that hinted at an astonishment that a relatively new bride would willingly separate herself from her devoted husband for this length of time. And only this morning, coming across Luke as he'd finished his solitary breakfast, he had sneered, 'Moved in for the duration, have you? So what happened? Did Jude find out about your involvement with Fenton and throw you out? I wouldn't blame him—I wouldn't want a wife who'd learned all there was to learn from a creep like Robert Fenton.'

  Yes, she'd been marking time, but soon, very soon, she would have to decide what to do, where to go. The thought of resuming her marriage, as it had been, made her go cold, but the thought of ending the marriage made her feel worse.

  And yet, on the positive side, when Jude learned she was expecting his child—and a child had been his main reason for marrying at all, with the shares thrown in as a welcome bonus—then surely he would be at last willing to listen to her side of the story, if only for the sake of the child to come? And, having listened, he would have to admit he'd been wrong...

  'Selfishly, I hope you'll stay another few days,' John Slade was saying. 'But I'll understand if you're impatient to get back to Jude. So why don't you ask him to join you here, just for the weekend?'

  Blinking, dragged from her reverie, Cleo managed a non-committal smile.

  She had come here to gain a brief respite from Jude and the problems of their marriage, so she wasn't about to ask him to join her! She needed time to think, and she couldn't think straight when he was around. But so far the thinking hadn't been done, the very idea of him had her emotions churning, too confused to be sorted out.

  'I'll see if lunch is ready,' she told her uncle. The conversation was following paths she didn't want to tread. 'You just relax and finish your drink.' .

  Leaning against the smooth, cool wood of the study door, she forced herself to take deep, calming breaths. Jude would have to put aside his pride and listen to what she had to say—especially after she'd told him about the baby.

  It would take time for him to come to terms with the news that he was about to become a parent; she was only just beginning to come to terms with it herself. But then, perhaps, they could start again, try to rebuild the relationship his distrust had shattered.

  Maybe she would phone him this evening, suggest they meet somewhere, on neutral ground to discuss their future...

  Thus decided, she began to walk along the corridor towards the main hall at the front of the house; the luxurious silence was broken by the sound of her aunt's voice, pitched higher than was normal. 'Jude—what a lovely surprise!

  You're just in time for lunch. We'll go and find Cleo, shall we? She'll be delighted!'

  So he had come to fetch her back! There could be no other explanation for his unexpected arrival, and Cleo's insides felt like jelly and her heart was beating too fast. He had her metaphorically cornered, there was no place to hide. Rather than have them come across her skulking in the shadows, she walked rapidly forward and tried to look pleased and surprised when she turned into the wide main hall, because her aunt's eyes would be on her and that lady was no fool—she would be quick to pick up bad vibes.

  'Jude! I didn't expect you—how nice!'

  Her pasted smile wobbled at that last lie, and disappeared totally when he answered suavely, 'Yes, isn't it? Nice for both of us.' His smile was warm enough but the azure eyes, set between thickly fringing black lashes, were quite cold. He turned to Grace, his poise, his, outward charm, masking a taut purposefulness that only Cleo could detect, and she shuddered uncontrollably as he apologised, 'Lunch would have been delightful, Grace.

  But I promised myself I'd take Cleo for a break- she's been working much too hard lately. So I've planned a second mini-honeymoon.' A smooth movement gathered Cleo into the crook of his arm and she stood rigidly still, knowing this was a deadly game. She was sickeningly afraid of the outcome.

  'I would have come for you sooner,' he was telling her silkily, 'but I got bogged down in endless meetings.' He made it sound like an apology, but the pressure of his hard fingers as they bit into the soft flesh just below her ribs told a different story. 'So, if you'll forgive the rush, Grace, I suggest Cleo throws her things together. We've quite a drive ahead of us.'

  'But of course!' Grace's eyes, as they flickered between the two of them, were alight with approval. She had really taken to her new nephew-in-law, Cleo thought dully. Grace thought he was the best thing to happen to the Slade family in a long time.

  Although she knew she was being manipulated, that a second honeymoon, a break for his hard-working, adored wife, was the last thing Jude had in mind, she tried to smile, to look happy. Her fight with her husband was a private thing, dark, demanding and devious. She would do anything to prevent it becoming public knowledge.

  She had little choice but to obey Jude's smoothly worded yet heavily loaded instructions, she thought as a few minutes later she was bundling the things she'd brought with her into her suitcase. To have put up any objection, no matter how slight, would have been useless in the face of his sugar-coated determination. Besides, it would have alerted her uncle and aunt to the dark nuances of their private life. And that she did not want.

  Sitting beside him in the Jaguar XJS he used when he drove himself, Cleo was lost for words. She picked a few openers over in her mind and abandoned them with a bleak compression of her lips. Whatever she said would only result in a row. He had fetched her from Slade House because she was his property, a fact he had been known to point out to her before!

  Before too long she was going to have to tell him about the baby, and she didn't want to impart such wonderful information on the heels of yet another row. And she would have to choose her moment carefully because she hoped—oh, how she hoped!—that together they could talk things over and try to make the future come right.

  He didn't have to love her, she confessed to herself with a deep-
seated disgust at her own humility, but if he could only revert to feeling about her the way he had, with respect and liking, then it would be something she could work on.

  She closed her eyes, the bright sunlight of late spring mocking her depression. But she willed herself to relax, to find some of the strength she would need when Jude at last thought fit to break his scathing silence. And eventually she sank into an uncomfortable dozing state, the tension that stretched edgily between them unabated as mind images, rather than dreams, tormented her jumpy brain. They were all of Jude—of the way he had been and the way he was—and she snapped back into full consciousness" and became immediately aware that they were passing through deep countryside, unfamiliar to her.

  'Been enjoying the sleep of the just?' His words were edged with sarcasm, telling her that he had known precisely when she had opened her eyes. 'Have 1 ever told you that you look innocent, like a child, when you sleep?'

  She ignored that opening gambit. It was an invitation to yet another attack and she wasn't going to oblige him. Instead, finding a level tone, she asked,

  'Are you making a detour for some reason? We should be back in town by now, surely?'

  'When you chose to run away you left me with no option but to bring you back,' he replied obliquely, his profile ungiving.

  'I did not run away!' she snapped, unable to prevent the hot words coming.

  Their future was precariously balanced, not to mention their child's, and this infighting wouldn't achieve anything useful, she was well aware of that. But she didn't see why she should always be put in the wrong. 'You knew where I was, and why,' she qualified stonily.

  'I knew you'd run out on me. You could have worked with Luke just as easily from home,' he stated unequivocally. And, morosely, she supposed he was right. She had been running away from a situation that was intolerable.

  And as if he'd read her thoughts, he told her levelly, 'Things can't go on as they are,' and she wondered, with a wrench of pain, if he'd decided to go for a divorce, after all. He could be extracting no pleasure from the bitter thing their marriage had become. Even his revenge, his need to humiliate her, had to lose its savour eventually.

  'So what are you going to do about it?' She heard herself sounding surly, though that hadn't been her intention, and averted her head to stare out of the window, appalled by the ready sting of tears in her eyes, determined he shouldn't see them, because that would be the final humiliation.

  'Start talking it out,' he informed her coldly. 'It's more than time.' He changed gear smoothly and gentled the softly growling vehicle through tight bends which had clusters of stone cottages on either side, and the tiny flicker of hope his words had brought to life was doused by the acid of past experience.

  'Do you mean you'll actually let me get a word in among those accusations you're so good at?'

  She bit the words out snappily then, for some reason, began to tremble as he told her, 'That's why I decided to borrow Fiona's cottage for a day or two.

  We can have complete privacy—and I've a feeling we're going to need it.

  I've a few things to say to you, and no doubt you'll have more than a few to say back,' he added drily, halting at a leafy intersection and peering at an ancient finger post.

  'It's quite a time since I visited,' he imparted with the coolness of a stranger, and she stared at him, hardly able to believe that he had actually gone to such lengths in order to talk things out. And he was saying, 'Fiona's in Paris at the moment. Part business, part pleasure, so we shall have the place entirely to ourselves.'

  A few hours ago that thought would have appalled her. She had gone to Slade House to escape the torment of living with him. But now, he had said he wanted to talk things out, would allow her to have her say, and that was progress. A tingle of real hope rippled through her, and she was looking through rose-tinted glasses when they drew up in front of a squat stone cottage bordering the narrow lane, and Jude introduced, 'Fiona's hideaway.

  Small but secluded.'

  'It's perfect!' It was tiny, like a child's drawing, a straight, peony-bordered path leading from the wicket to the centrally set front door. The rest of the garden was given over to vegetables in tidy rows.

  Cleo couldn't imagine Jude's elegant sister barrowing manure, forking and hoeing, and Jude, following her thoughts in the almost uncanny way he had, said, 'An old boy from the village has the use of the garden in return for keeping an eye on the place. It works well. He gets all the fresh fruit and vegetables he needs, and she feels the place is safer from the attention of vandals if it looks as if someone with a spade is about to come out of the garden shed.'

  Smiling, he handed her a key. It was the first real smile she'd had from him since he'd walked in and found her with Fenton. It was a smile she could have lost herself in and her heart picked up speed, pattering rapidly, making her feel like a love-sick fool.

  'Let yourself in,' he said. 'Look around while I pull the car up into the orchard. It's the only gateway wide enough.'

  She walked slowly along the path, enjoying the warmth of the late afternoon sun, the fresh country smells. Life was beginning to wear a happier face.

  And as for their marriage, well, maybe the symptoms were grim, but the prognosis was good. It would have to be. She would make it so!

  The key turned easily in the lock and Cleo stepped straight into a parlour that might have been modelled on an illustration in a Beatrix Potter book. Red and white checked curtains decked the tiny windows, rag rugs were scattered about the floor and squashy, slightly shabby flower-patterned armchairs surrounded an open fireplace, while four ladder-backed chairs were placed around a pine table which sported a vase of dried teasles.A dresser and a rocking chair completed the decor, and Cleo gave Fiona full marks for not turning the interior of her country cottage into something artfully twee.

  The whole cottage, she discovered, was basic, functional, and just right.

  True, there was only one bedroom, the second having been converted to a bathroom at some time. But if everything went as she prayed it would, she need have no reservations about sharing that big brass bed with Jude.

  Going swiftly back down the twisting stairs, she told herself to take it easy.

  Pointless to hope for too much. Every time she'd tried to talk to him in the past, to put her point of view, they'd ended up further apart than before. But despite her warnings to herself she couldn't help hoping...

  She found him in the kitchen; her suitcase was on the floor with a battered canvas tote bag beside it, and there was a carton of groceries on the table.

  'I'll get out of this stifling gear.' He indicated his formal grey business suit and picked up her suitcase, the tote bag which must contain his things. 'Like the place?' he asked, turning in the low doorway, and there was a softness in his eyes that warmed her heart. She couldn't help smiling, her pleasure showing through the cool facade.

  'I love it!' She would have said the same if he had brought, her to stay in a hen house, because she just knew everything was going to be fine.

  'Good.' He made a movement as if to go on his way, but something seemed to hold him and she saw, just for a second, a look of puzzlement deep in his eyes. And then it was gone, and it might never have been because the azure depths were as they so often were—slightly on the cold side of bland—before he finally turned away.

  As she heard his feet on the stairs she turned to the box he'd left on the table.

  Unpacking it would give her something to do, calm her. She felt slightly sick, every sense highly tuned because, one way or another, the next day or so would set the pattern for the rest of her life.

  The box was crammed with enough food to last them for days and she moved about the kitchen quickly, stowing a fresh chicken, butter and bacon in the fridge, leaving the steak out because they could have that tonight. She was crouching, pushing the cartons of milk into the already full fridge, when he said, from behind her, 'I'm going to split logs. I'll light a fire, the evenings get
chilly.'

  She turned, looking up at him over her shoulder, and her heart flopped over.

  He had changed and he looked, as ever, superb. Faded denim jeans clipped long legs and lean hips, and his dark checked shirt had long sleeves, pulled up to the elbows, revealing hard, sinewy forearms liberally sprinkled with dark hair. And she only had to look at him to know she would always love him, no matter what happened.

  'Perhaps you could make a start on a meal,' he suggested. 'We both missed lunch.' He was leaning against the table, half sitting, seemingly relaxed, and she was about to tell him, fine, she'd do just that because suddenly she was hungry, too, when the words died in her throat as he said softly, 'You look washed out, despite the sleep you had coming down here. Been pining over the news?'

  'What news?' She was reluctant to tell him that her sleepless nights had been caused by her misery over him, and she stood up slowly, closing the fridge door with a nudge of her knee, repeating, 'What news? What are you talking about?'

  'Fenton's engagement to Livia Haine, the millionaire brewer's daughter.' His mouth dented derisively. 'You can take it from me, they deserve each other.

  She's a first-class bitch.'

  'I didn't know.' Her heart began to thump, sounding thunderous in her own ears. Fenton engaged? It was the best news she'd heard in years! If he was set to marry money, which had always been his ambition, then he would keep his act clean until he'd secured the lady with a plain gold ring. He must have been working on it, and that would be why she'd heard no more from him.

  Unsavoury details, involving his debts, wouldn't be what he'd want to see splashed around in some sordid gossip column. She was safe from Robert Fenton at last!

  Carefully keeping her face straight, she pushed a strand of silvery hair back from her face with the back of her hand. 'I hadn't heard.'