A Secure Marriage

by Diana Hamilton

  Despite everything, her love for him survived. He couldn't murder that.

  Now, her legs shook weakly as she went to intercept him in the hall, and a hand went up to push tiredly at her hair as she told him, 'I must talk to you.'

  'Now?' The hall was dimly lit at this hour, but she could see the lines of strain around his eyes, his mouth, the shadow of stubble that darkened his tautly fleshed jaw.

  'I'm afraid so. It won't wait.' She turned back into the drawing-room, her heart beating heavily.' She half expected him to ignore her request, to carry on upstairs. He looked exhausted enough to fall into bed and sleep for twenty-four hours.

  But he wasn't far behind her and she turned, watching him as he hooked a thumb under his tie, loosening it. And as he slopped brandy into a glass she wondered, for the first time, how he spent the evenings he stayed away from home, where he spent them, and with whom.

  She wished she hadn't. Her mind conjured images she didn't want to begin to consider. And the surge of jealousy was painful, frightening.

  'Well?' The question was put without any real interest, and that hurt. It was as if she were of no importance at all, something not to be considered, unless absolutely necessary.

  She saw him empty his glass in one long swallow and snapped shrewishly,

  'Do you need to drink like a fish?'

  One dark eyebrow came up at that, but only slightly, as if her presence had registered, just a little, but was of no consequence. He turned to refill his glass, his voice cool. 'Need? Do you begin to know what I need?'

  'No!' The response was pushed out of her on a gasp. 'I don't know. Not any more! But I do know this--'

  She dragged in a deep, ragged breath, getting hold of herself again. She couldn't get through to him on any emotional level, not any more. And, having accepted that, the only sane thing to do was to keep cool, not allow him to know how her heart was beginning the painful process of breaking up again. If she could keep her dignity, and her pride, it would at least be something. JI know we can't go on like this,' she went on, her voice flat. 'The sort of marriage we have doesn't make any sense. The house is full of silence; you rarely speak. You're rarely at home—and your absences are unexplained. It's no atmosphere to bring up a child in.'

  She sat down, too weary to stand now, her eyes pools of fatigue in the pale oval of her face, and Jude said slowly, 'Of course. The child.' His eyes drifted over her as if to find evidence of the new life. 'We mustn't forget the child.' He went to stand in front of the empty fireplace and the dry bitterness in his voice made her throat tighten. 'I am willing to accept the child, give it my name—regardless of whether it is mine or Fenton's. But' in exchange, I would prefer it if you didn't instigate divorce proceedings in the near future.

  We can review the situation in a few years' time.'

  Cleo became very still, If she moved now, or tried to speak, she knew she would go to pieces. That he wanted her to remain, legally, as his wife for a few more years meant only that he would prefer to keep up appearances.

  How she felt, trapped in this bitter travesty of a marriage, was neither here nor there. Then he said, as if he had previously given the matter a great deal of thought, 'However, for the sake of sanity, it would be best if we lived largely apart. The absence of the inevitable tension would obviously be better for the child, too. There would be speculation, naturally,' he continued in the same judicial tone. 'But it would seem feasible that we might have decided it to be in the child's best interests to be brought up in the country. If you'll leave it in my hands I'll arrange everything. As it happens,' his eyes flickered to her stony face, 'Fiona mentioned a property for sale a mile or so away from her weekend cottage. I'll look into the possibilities.'

  'Do that,' she choked, shocked by the way she was feeling—as if she had just received a death sentence! And she knew that, although she couldn't live with him, she couldn't live without him.

  In a moment she might cry. But she wouldn't shed tears in front of him—in front of the remote, cold-eyed stranger he had become. And she pushed herself to her feet, her legs distinctly unsteady as they carried her to the door.

  The expanse of carpeting had never seemed so wide, the privacy of her room so far away. But he was at the door before her, holding it open, telling her,

  'I'll get something settled as quickly as possible. I'll keep you informed, of course, and you can vet any property 1 find that's suitable.'

  Pausing, the words he was saying sounding more like verbal torture than a reasoned solution to a shared and bitter problem, she looked up into the hard, handsome planes of his unforgiving face and suddenly her eyes narrowed as hatred, quick and burning, filled the smoky eyes that had been huge pools of misery.

  'After you're settled somewhere I will try to drop by from time to time,' he was remarking levelly as she pulled her shoulders straight, her voice like a spitting cat as she retorted,

  'You won't have to waste your time. I wouldn't let you over the doorstep!'

  And he could make what he liked of that, she thought as she swept past him, her head high, two spots of hectic colour blazing along her cheekbones.

  As far as she was concerned there was no way their separation would resemble anything like a civilised arrangement!

  She had finished with him; no more pining, no more regrets. Nothing! And she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that her violent reaction to a fairly reasonable suggestion had been sparked by the lingering fragrance of the light but definitely exotic perfume she had detected on his clothes!

  He would never know that she was blindingly jealous of the woman, whoever, who wore such a distinctive perfume for him, the woman whose arms he had left before coming home to tell his wife he was in the process of finding some suitable hole to bury her in! And no one could tell her—no one!—that he hadn't been scheming and plotting to discover the best way of being rid of her long before she had told him things couldn't go on the way they were. And no wonder he didn't want a divorce just yet—a wife in the background would be the perfect let-out for a man whose mistress became too , demanding!

  Her fury carried her up the stairs at a pace that might have astounded her had she been capable of thinking of it. She was not going to be put where she didn't want to go! She would not be discreetly hidden away, an unwanted wife, allowing her highly sexed, highly attractive, non-committed husband to conduct amorous affairs with the beautiful, available women who would be only too delighted to bring a little warmth and comfort to his lonely life!

  'So there you are! Meg said she thought you were sunning yourself.'

  Cleo opened her heavy eyelids to see Fiona walking over the immaculately tended lawn at the back of the house. The small garden was Thornwood's pride, every plant treated as though it were a precious child, and it provided a corner of peace and beauty, unexpected in the heart of the sprawling, mighty city.

  'No, don't move,' Fiona commanded softly, settling herself on the sun-warmed grass as Cleo swung her long legs from the sun lounger. 'You look so comfy! And congratulations on your super news! How are you, anyway?' Long, deep blue eyes—so like Jude's—narrowed as they swept Cleo's drawn features. 'Junior giving you a bad time?'

  'Ah.' The wrinkle of perplexity cleared from Cleo's brow as the penny dropped. Jude must have told his sister about the baby. She wondered drily if he'd also said he believed it to be Fenton's. Cursing the colour that flooded her face at that horrible thought she lay back, trying to look relaxed. 'A little.'

  It was nothing like the truth. Jude's baby wasn't giving her a bad time, and if it ever did she wouldn't complain. Her baby was the only thing she had and already she loved it with a fierce maternalism that amazed her. The coming child meant more to her than her high-powered job, her private fortune, more than Jude. Much more. Unconsciously, her mouth formed a grim, straight line. She had cut Jude out of her life. He was devious, cruel and she was well rid of him.

  'How was the Paris trip?' Cleo carefully turned the subject, but Fio
na was having none of that.

  'Fine,' she dismissed with a throwaway gesture of long- fingered hands. 'But I didn't break into my lazy holiday to talk about that.' She wriggled out of the short-sleeved jacket of her silvery-grey cotton skirt suit and the hot sun caressed the skin of her bare arms, turning it gold. 'Jude tells me you're working too hard. I'm glad to see you taking it easy today.'

  That surprised her; she didn't think he noticed what she did, or cared. But she wasn't going to be the one to explain that the marriage was over. 'I didn't feel like going in today. Maybe I'll get something done at home this afternoon.'

  And that was the truth. Another day cooped up with Luke had been more than she could face this morning. Jealous fury had kept her awake most of the night and she'd surfaced at dawn, determined to do as Jude had obviously done, and cut her losses, decide for herself what to do with her life.

  'He also told me you were on the look-out for a country home—somewhere to bring the baby up in,' Fiona said slowly, and Cleo asked, her mouth dry,

  'When did you see him?

  Had Jude confided in his sister, told her his marriage was over? They were very close..,

  'Last night.' Fiona plucked at the silky fabric of her scarlet sleeveless top, the heat in the sun-trap of the garden getting to her. 'He came to the cottage where I'm, supposed to be treating myself to a spot of relaxation after the madhouse of the Paris fashion world. And the upshot was, I've never felt less relaxed in my life.' The blue eyes were shrewd. 'Look—I've got a lot to say to you, but I'm parched. Why don't I ask Meg if she can find us a long, cool drink?'

  'I'm sorry—let me go--'

  Cleo was on her feet, annoyed with herself for her lack of hospitality, but Fiona had a mind of her own and was on her feet, too, standing close as she instructed, 'I'll do it. Stay here and rest. And that's an order!'

  Cleo frowned, her eyes finding her sister-in-law's, puzzled. 'The perfume you're wearing?' she asked slowly. 'Were you wearing it last night?'

  'Sure.' Fiona looked as though she thought Cleo had gone slightly mad. Then she smiled disarmingly, 'I've been drenching myself in the stuff ever since I had it made up for me in Paris. Like it? There's this little place—they blend fragrances for individual customers. Cost the earth—but worth it!'

  She swung away, up the short flight of stone steps that led to the terrace, disappearing into the house through the open french windows of Jude's study, and Cleo sank down on the grass, her head resting on her jean-clad knees. The relief was overwhelming, stupidly, gloriously overwhelming.

  Jude hadn't been womanising last night. He had been visiting his sister, and it was her perfume that had clung to his clothes! The knowledge shouldn't have made anydifference—nothing could alter the fact that their marriage was over—but it did. But it made her feel vulnerable again, consumed with pain, because the reason for her fury was gone, undermining her grim determination to cut him completely out of her life, to make her future empty of even the memory of him.

  'Our luck's in!' Fiona appeared with two tall glasses, ice-cubes clinking.

  'Freshly made lemon juice--' She handed Cleo a glass and sank down beside her, sipping her drink thirstily. And when the last drop was gone she put the glass aside and said seriously, 'I'm about to interfere—with no apologies whatsoever. There's something badly wrong between you and Jude, and don't explode--' this as Cleo spluttered on her drink '—because it won't do any good. I intend to get at the truth.'

  Cleo put her glass aside and stared Fiona straight in the eyes. 'Just what did Jude tell you?' Her stomach was tying itself in knots. Fiona meant well, but she was probing an open wound. No amount of interference on her part could alter a single damn thing!

  'Nothing,' Fiona disclaimed. 'But he didn't need to. He arrived at the cottage around nine, looking like death, and he hung around until almost one—despite the heavy hints 1 dropped about needing my beauty sleep. And towards the end of our rather draggy conversation he let drop that he was looking for a country property for you to retire to—like immediately—in order to give the baby, when it comes, the space and freedom to run around in. And when I mentioned that Dene Place, not far from my cottage, was on the market he said it could well be the answer, if it was remotely suitable, as I'd be on hand most weekends to give you some company. Now I'm not a fool, Cleo,' Fiona stated the obvious, examining her fingernails with absorbed interest. 'Firstly, when he told me about the baby there was nothing coming over from him—no pride, excitement, nothing. He might as well have been telling me you'd ordered a new set of pans for the kitchen. And as for a country house, for you and baby to immure yourselves in—well, that makes no kind of sense. Even I, who scarcely know one end of a baby from the other, know it would be some time after it was born before it could go romping merrily through meadows and climbing trees and fishing in the brook.'

  She spread her hands, still regarding them intently, and Cleo felt sick as Fiona went on slowly, deliberately, 'A country place would be fine for weekends and so forth—but as a permanent thing, for a pregnant lady and, later, a mum with a small round bundle under one arm, no way. So I decided that as I was unlikely to get any sense out of that dumb brother of mine I'd come and harass you. And what I see doesn't offer much comfort. So what goes on, Cleo?'

  But Cleo couldn't answer; the words simply couldn't get past the painful lump in her chest. She would have given anything at that moment to be hard enough to achieve a brittle smile, to say not to worry because there was nothing to worry about. That she and Jude had decided, quite amicably, to call it a day—no hard feelings on either side. But that was something she could never do. Despite everything, her love for Jude ran too deep for that. It was still real, alive, and hurting. She had received very little affection in her life since her parents had died, and love, when she had finally experienced it, was too precious, even now, to sully with lies.

  'Jude means a lot to me,' Fiona said softly, her blue eyes compassionate as they held the grey, dark-ringed ones. 'And when I first saw you two together I knew you were right for each other. I'd always known it would take a special kind of lady to snare the hard man's heart. And I was glad to know he'd found her at last.'

  Those words, the very real affection in Fiona's voice, were Cleo's undoing.

  She had never snared Jude's heart—she'd merely captured his interest with the offer of those shares, the statement of fact when she'd told him he could always be sure she hadn't married him for his money. She'd alerted the logical brain to her possibilities as a wife at a time when he'd been considering marriage for the sake of an heir.

  Unstoppable sobs shook her slender frame and Fiona's arm, coming swiftly around her shoulders, opened the floodgates. Between deep, painful sobs, the tears she thought she had cried all out, the whole dreadful, tragic story of their brief stormy marriage was told.

  'You mean that louse was trying to blackmail you and that pig-headed, obstinate brother of mine refused to listen to a word you said?' Fiona pushed a slippery strand of pale hair back from Cleo's flushed face. 'You poor baby.'

  There was a crusading note in Fiona's voice and Cleo's eyes clouded with panic.

  'Please,' she said, her voice thick, 'promise me you won't say anything to Jude?'

  'It's time someone made him listen to the truth.' Fiona's mouth firmed. 'You are both fine, beautiful, brainy people, but as far as the emotions are concerned you haven't enough gumption between you to figure your way from A to B!'

  'Please!' Even to her own ears, Cleo sounded demented. But Fiona simply didn't understand! How could she, when she hadn't lived through the searing agony of it all? Somehow, though, she had to try to make her understand a little of the way it was. Desperately, she clutched at the other woman's hands.

  'Don't you see--' she appealed, her eyes intense. 'Telling Jude the truth now wouldn't mean a thing. We got along fine to begin with, I grant you that, and I had begun to hope he'd learn to love me.' Her voice wobbled at that, at the hurting memory of hopes long dea
d, but she forced herself to go on because it was important. 'He never did love me, it was a marriage of convenience, simply that. And things started to go wrong before he could begin to develop any deep feelings for me. He began to despise me for what he thought I was.

  It's understandable, if you stop to think about it. He didn't love me, so he had no real reason to question the evidence of his eyes, and I suppose I had too much pride to stand there and bellow and force him to listen to what I had to say. In a peculiar kind of way I felt he had to ask me for the truth, or at least to show a willingness to listen whenever I tried to bring it up.' She shrugged wearily. 'I thought that if I was beginning to mean anything to him at all he surely must want to hear my side of things. But he didn't, of course, because all the time his dislike of me was hardening. He'd made a bad mistake in marrying me and he wanted me out of his life. And if you think about it you'll realise for him there can be no going back to the days when he thought I was a reasonable proposition as a wife, the mother of his children. So promise me, Fiona,' her grip tightened, 'promise you won't say a word. The truth might make him feel uncomfortable—bad, even—but what's the point of that? There's been too much mistrust, contempt, to make our marriage even begin to look like working again. If there'd been love on his side, too, then it might have stood a chance. But there never was. It's better for both of us to make a clean break. So please promise you'll say nothing?'

  Fiona stood up, disentangling her hands, her face strained.

  'If it's what you want to hear and it will put your mind at rest, then all right, my dear. I promise.'

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  'THE estate agents' particulars are in here.' He passed her a large envelope then fastened his seat-belt. 'You might like to glance at them on the journey.'

  'Thank you,' she said stiffly, her words almost inaudible, and as the Jag turned out of the quiet, early morning London square her fingers tightened on the envelope. She knew she would make little sense of the contents, even if the particulars of the house they were going to view had been written for an idiot's consumption.