Rachel Lindsay - Unwanted Wife

by Rachel Lindsay

  "You mustn't say that." Roger was beside her, his expression concerned. "In a little while you'll look back on all this as if it were a bad dream. You've got your life ahead of you, Tanya. You can't let the mistake you made when you were young ruin your entire future."

  "My marriage to Adrian wasn't a mistake," she said. "That's the trouble. He's the one who regrets it—not me."

  "I'll never understand women," Roger muttered as he walked with her to the gate and offered to drive her home, an offer which she refused. "After the way he treated you, I'd have thought you'd despise him."

  "Sometimes I do. But it doesn't stop me loving him."

  "What's going to happen now?''

  "I'll do anything he wants," she said slowly. "At least I owe him that."

  "You owe him nothing. And if he goes on blaming you for what happened, pack your things and come here. You're welcome to stay with us for as long as you like."

  She smiled wanly. "If I did that, I'd really be giving Adrian reason to hate me."

  Bidding Roger goodbye, she returned to Park Gates. Voices were coming from the drawing room and hearing her own name mentioned, she knew the family was discussing the latest turn of events.

  Suddenly Betty's voice rose above the others. "Personally speaking, I think it's about time you recognized her. She's behaved jolly well and—"

  "Which is more than I have, I suppose?" Adrian's voice cut in angrily.

  "You said it, not me," his sister replied. "If your marriage was a mistake, then by all means rectify it. But at least do so with honor."

  "Betty! Adrian!" Mrs. Chesterton expostulated. "You're both not facing facts. Once the election is over Adrian can—"

  "Damn the election!" It was Adrian again. "You can't expect people to put their emotions into cold storage while they sort out their political life."

  "That's exactly what I expect them to do," his mother replied, "and it's what you were doing until this awful story leaked out."

  "The only thing awful about it," Adrian replied quietly, "is the way I behaved. I don't hold Tanya responsible for any of it. It was my fault entirely."

  There was a momentary silence, broken by the sound of chairs being pushed back and then Dick Tufton speaking. "Come on, Betty. Let's go upstairs."

  Unwilling to be caught eavesdropping, Tanya moved quickly across the hall and into the drawing room.

  "So there you are," Mrs. Chesterton said. "We were talking about you."

  "I heard." Tanya glanced at Betty and Dick as they walked out, then went to stand nearer to Adrian. "Diana was right about Roger. He didn't break his word to me. It was his agent."

  "I see." Adrian looked at his mother. "Would you leave us alone, please?" He waited until they were before continuing. "It still doesn't alter the position I'm in."

  "I will do whatever I can to help you."

  "Do you mean that?" His eyes were so intense a blue that they looked like glass of lapis lazuli.

  "Of course I mean it. I heard you say a moment ago that you don't blame me but—I blame myself."

  "Don't let's use the word blame," he said abruptly, and then paused, as if he found it difficult to continue.

  Tanya would have helped him if she could but she was not sure wh&t he wanted to say. Powerless to direct the course he must take, she went on waiting.

  "I'd like you to—to take your place here as er—as my wife," he said jerkily. "We can say we kept your arrival here a secret because we were concerned for the safety of the people who had helped you escape. It's the only story I can think of but it might work."

  "It might."

  "You don't sound enthused."

  "Do you expect me to care about the success of your career? I'm only helping you because I want to be able to leave here with a clear conscience."

  "That's all right then," he said curtly. "At least we both know where we stand. The only other thing I'd like to make clear is that my behavior to you when you arrived had nothing to do with the fact that I was fighting a by-election. My engagement to Diana would still have been a barrier between us. I'm only grateful you didn't turn up after I'd already married her!"

  All Tanya's anger evaporated, leaving her desolately acknowledging the truth of what Adrian had said. Their estrangement had nothing to do with his career. It was his engagement to another woman which had come between them.

  "Forgive me, Tanya." Adrian was speaking again, his expression one of remorse. "I keep vowing I won't lose my temper with you but then you say something that makes me so angry that—"

  " It's your bad conscience again," she cut in. "Yes," he said curtly. "I don't like the way things have turned out but—"

  "Don't apologize. In life, nothing stands still. That was something I learned a long time ago."

  "It sounds like a Rovnian proverb."

  "It is." With the faintest of smiles she slipped from the room, and Adrian stood by the mantelpiece and stared into the empty grate.

  Tanya was right. Nothing remained the same. He thought of their marriage and, inexplicably, of her parents, whose love for each other had never faded. It seemed that if one were lucky enough, some things didn't change. Pushing aside such thoughts, for they led him along a path he did not want to travel, he strode into the library where a pile of work awaited him. That's what mattered to him in future. His work and the estate. And Diana, of course. He must not forget Diana.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Although no longer engaged to Adrian, Diana still came to the house and went canvassing for him each day. Occasionally she took Tanya with her and though at first Tanya was embarrassed by it, Diana met all curious glances with equanimity.

  It was behavior Tanya could not understand. Either Diana was so determined Adrian should win the election that she was able to subjugate her own feelings for him, or else she had no feelings for him whatever. The more Tanya considered this, the more convinced she was it was the latter reason.

  It was also taken for granted that Tanya would accompany him to many of his meetings, and she found it strange to sit on the platform and listen to him speak. He had none of Roger's grandiloquence; and his speeches lacked the same fire, but there was a sincerity in them which she found moving and a boyish good humor which did as much to discredit his hecklers as all Roger's witty answers.

  "I'll be glad when it's over," she said one afternoon to Diana as they squatted together on the floor in the library among a cloud of pamphlets. "I still cannot decide whether I agree with Roger or Adrian. To me, they both say many good things."

  "Because they're both good speakers," Diana said lightly.

  Tanya sat back on her heels. "Do you think Adrian will win?"

  "I'm not sure."

  "Did he have a better chance before I came here?"

  "Yes," Diana said awkwardly. "But don't blame yourself for it. It's just one of those things."

  Tanya marveled that the girl could be so controlled but before she could probe it further, Emma and Timmy rushed in.

  "Why don't you play with us?" the little girl cried. "We never see you any more."

  "I'm sorry, darling." Tanya hugged Emma close. "But I'm busy helping Uncle Adrian."

  "You never used to help him."

  "I promise I'll play with you on Saturday afternoon. If it's a nice day, I’ll take you out somewhere."

  "I've got a present for you," Tim piped up and, catching hold of her hand, deposited a goldfish on it, more dead than alive.

  "Timmy!" Tanya cried in horror. "Where did you get it? The poor thing's nearly dead! We must put it in some water."

  Rushing over to the desk, she took the flowers out from a vase and dropped the fish in their place. At once it started to swim around.

  "He got it from the lily pond," Emma explained. "I told him he was naughty but he wouldn't listen."

  "It's not naughty," said Timmy, and opened his mouth to howl.

  With the speed of remembered usage, Tanya scooped him up in her arms, picked up the vase and marched out of the hous
e to the lily pond. With the goldfish safely restored to its element, she sat by the edge of the pool and watched the children play ball. It was not long before they pleaded with her to join them and, laughing, she began to do so. Full of high spirits, the children became more boisterous and one of Emma's shots sent the ball shooting up into the air, where it was caught on its descent by the tall slim figure of a man who had suddenly appeared from behind a clump of bushes. It was Adrian and, still holding the ball, he advanced toward them and dropped it into Emma's hand.

  "A few more throws like that," he said, "and you'll be playing for England!"

  The two children clamored around him begging him to join their game and, after a momentary hesitation, he did so.

  Tanya played awkwardly, aware of Adrian beside her. But he seemed in no way put out by her presence and swooped and darted about the lawn, looking years younger than the forbidding, stern man to whom she had grown accustomed. How much more he was like the young man of the past.

  A call from the house caused them to stop playing and they saw Betty waving from the nursery. "I think Mummy wants you to go in to tea," Tanya told the children and with lagging steps they reluctantly obeyed.

  Adrian sank down by the side of the pond and mopped his brow. "I'm out of condition," he remarked. "Another year like this and I'll go to seed."

  She frowned. "Is that not something to do with flowers?"

  He laughed, the first spontaneous one he had given in her presence. "It's a colloquialism and means I'm getting flabby."

  "You are not the type," she replied and, aware of his proximity, turned away and pretended by to be absorbed by the water. He was still warm from his exercise and she felt the heat he emanated almost as if it were tangible.

  For his part, Adrian was equally conscious of Tanya. Mow she had altered since arriving here! It was impossible to believe she was the same shabbily dressed waif who had faced him a few months ago. This Tanya was the same girl he had married: with the same charm, the same delicate golden brown body. She was still keeping her head averted and he looked at the straight line of her nose, the smooth forehead, the full curve of her mouth with its short, endearingly childish upper lip; yet when those lips had moved beneath his, they had responded with the passion of a woman.

  As if aware of his gaze, she moved restlessly and her lull skirts fanned out around her. They were the same violet as her eyes, and he remembered that on their honeymoon she had worn a violet dress too. It had been on the first day of their marriage and they had gone walking in the mountains and lain together on the grass. Even without closing his eyes, he could still smell that sweet, fresh scent.

  "I'll love you all my life," he had said and buried his l ace in her lap.

  Looking at her now, he knew an irresistible urge to do the same; to gather her close against him and take succor from her lips. He blinked rapidly and sat up straighter. What was the matter with him? He must be losing his control to let himself think like this. How could he want one woman when he was engaged to another? Of course he could put the question another way and ask how he could be engaged to the other woman when he still wanted the first one. He shook his head. He must watch himself or he would do something he would regret. He was working hard and he was tired; one often had fanciful thoughts on occasions like these.

  Abruptly he said: "Do you know this is almost the first time we've been alone together without quarreling?"

  "I am learning the art of pretense," she said composedly.

  "Don't ever pretend, Tanya. I always associate you with honesty."

  She looked at him over her shoulder, unconsciously provocative as the sun found her gold-tipped lashes.

  "Tell me about your parents," he said jerkily. "You never heard from your father, did you—after they took him away?"

  "We only heard that he had died. Through a friend's influence we were able to get back his belongings: a gold tie pin and a cigarette case." Her voice was calm yet sad. "To me they are more precious than anything else I possess. I would starve rather than part with them."

  "I'm sure you'll never have to part with them."

  She shrugged. "They would bring me money if I were to sell them."

  "You won't be in need of money. I've told you I'll take care of you."

  "I want nothing from you after I leave here," she said firmly. "I intend to take a job and look after myself."

  "You won't need to work."

  "I must. When I leave here, I never want to think of you again."

  His face paled. "I didn't realize you still hated me. In the last few weeks I had hoped we were friends."

  "We can never be friends," she said passionately and, at that moment, came closer to hating him than at any time in her life, How could he believe they could ever be friends? Did he think her love for him was as fickle as his had proved to be for her?

  "When I leave here, I want to put you out of my mind," she reiterated. "If it were possible to catch amnesia, I would go to a doctor and ask him to inject me with a virus for it! I want to be free of you—to make myself believe I never met you!"

  With a flurry of skirts she ran across the lawn. Adrian waited until she had disappeared from sight, then he began to walk in the opposite direction, his thoughts so far away that he did not notice where he was going.

  The Tanya of old would never have stormed at him as the new one had. She was no longer the golden girl he had married but a spitfire. With determination he tried to remember her as she had been, but today's Tanya kept intruding on the image and the more he tried to separate them, the more indivisible they became, until he suddenly realized that the Tanya of the past and the present had converged one with the other.

  And with this discovery came the knowledge that he loved her. That the emotion he had felt for her eight years ago was the same one he felt today.

  His thoughts were so chaotic he was forced to stand still; almost as if his mental state had affected his physical one. Which of course it had. He could see it clearly now. Bitterly hurt when he had learned Tanya had divorced him, he had used all his strength of mind to cut her out of his life; succeeding in doing so, had numbed his physical senses. Because of that, he had believed he had stopped loving her; had been able to look at her as though she were a stranger.

  But once she had come back into his life, his numbness had begun to recede and the wall he had built around himself started to crumble. Without realizing it he had once more started to respond to her presence; to the beauty that had first aroused him; to the gentleness that had first touched him and, more important still, had found her new maturity and spirit an even greater lure. But he had so indoctrinated himself that he had not realized exactly what was happening to him until it was almost too late.

  Almost but not quite. He kicked a stone out of his path and started to walk again. Before he could say anything to Tanya he must first talk to Diana. He did not pretend she would be heartbroken if they did not marry, but the fact remained that he was morally obligated to clear things with her first. Only then could he tell Tanya he loved her.

  But though this knowledge warmed him, it did not give him the pleasure he had expected and he realized that the joy he should have felt was being swamped by guilt. By guilt at having been so cruel to her and by the fear that his cruelty had killed her love for him.

  Yet she had loved him when she had first come here, so would it be too hopeful to assume she still felt the same? He tried to assess her actions of the last few weeks but there was nothing in them to give him the reassurance he was seeking; rather the contrary, for there had been a detachment in her manner toward him that had put up a barrier between them. He wondered what was the best way of breaking it down. If he told her he loved her now she might think he was saying it out of expediency. She was astute enough to know he did not love Diana deeply and might believe he would prefer to continue with his present marriage rather than have the publicity of a divorce.

  Grimly he accepted that it would take time and patience
to prove his love, and as he walked across the fields he vowed that no matter the effort, he would go on trying until he had won her back.

  With an unusual sense of lightheartedness he returned to the house, though once in the privacy of his room, he sank wearily on to the bed. If only he could go to Tanya this minute and tell her how he felt. But the fear that she would turn him away kept him where he was. No, his earlier decision was the correct one. He must make haste slowly.

  He was late down to dinner and entered the drawing room to find his mother and Tanya already there.

  "You're late," Mrs. Chesterton said.

  "Does it matter?"

  "What an extraordinary answer. You are the one who likes everything to be on time."

  "Then I must stop being so rigid."

  "After the election you'll have to be even more punctual—otherwise you'll never get things done."

  "I may not win," he said abruptly.

  "Of course you'll win. It's a pity you can't find some scandal about Poulton. It's the sort of thing that would help to-"

  "I'm sure there's no scandal attached to him," Adrian interrupted, "and even if there were, I wouldn't use it."

  "I don't see why not. His agent didn't have any scruples about smearing your name!"

  "It had nothing to do with Roger. As far as I'm concerned he's never fought dirty, and I don't intend to be the one to start."

  Tanya listened with pleased surprise. She caught Adrian's eye and smiled at him with more warmth than she had recently displayed. He smiled back at her but there was a sadness in his expression that puzzled her: it was as if he knew the cause of her sudden friendliness and was unhappy about it.

  During dinner Tanya listened to the buzz of conversation around her. Betty was a lively conversationalist and she and her mother argued amicably about the cost of children's clothes and whether or not Emma should go to boarding school. It was a subject on which Tanya felt too strongly not to make any comment.

  "If children are sent away from home it breaks up family life."