by Jane Corrie
Precisely one week later Jenny found herself standing in front of the registrar at the Brighton register office.
Mark had certainly lived up to his reputation of not letting the grass grow under his feet, she thought bewilderedly, as she received the tearful congratulations of Dodie who, with Tony, had acted as witnesses at the ceremony, and then having her hand shaken by an exuberant Silas, their best man.
Her feelings were very mixed at their reception, which was held at Peacock's Walk, and she was grateful that it was kept a small private affair, with only the three witnesses present.
Although it was such a small gathering, Jenny was given no chance of a private chat with either Dodie or Tony; Mark had seen to that by keeping her close to his side throughout the reception. To her amazement, however, neither of them appeared to be at all put out by this state of affairs, and took Mark's possessive attitude towards her as perfectly normal—which it would have been if things had been normal—but they were not. They had not had much notice of the wedding—as indeed, Jenny herself had not, until two days before the event, and she wondered if they were suffering from the effects of shock, since there had been no intimation that such an event would take place.
Her bemused glance rested on Tony for a brief second as she half-listened to the conversation between the men, and watched Dodie, dressed in a smart navy blue two-piece and matching beret that perched on her head, bustling round the cold buffet that had been prepared by a catering firm, in order to satisfy herself that everything was as it should be. It was then that Jenny remembered that Silas
had got her address from Tony, and Tony would not have given him her address unless he was convinced he was doing the right thing. Dodie then looked up from her examination of the loaded table and met Jenny's eyes and gave her a smile that made Jenny want to rush over to her and be comforted, as she had done when she was young, particularly when she had needed assurance.
The thought made her hastily concentrate on the conversation the men were engaged in, and she looked at Mark, who was now her husband, although she found this fact hard to assimilate. His pearl-grey suit and contrasting dark grey tie fitted his tall sinewy body to perfection, and she knew a spurt of pride that this was her man. It was no wonder that she had never looked at anyone else, she thought as she saw him smile at something Silas had said, and noticed how different it made him look—so very different from the cold hard exterior he had shown her on their first meeting after the break-up of their engagement.
When his long lean fingers touched hers as he handed her a glass of champagne, she knew a thrill of anticipation as his eyes met her shy ones, then the moment was gone as he turned to say something to Tony about the date he hoped the hotel would be re-opening.
Jenny hastily sipped her champagne, and tried to look as if she was enjoying herself, but the look Mark had given her had reawakened the memory of the way he had kissed her that day, and the way he left, her in no doubt that he wanted her. She swallowed
quickly. Wanted her, but did not love her. Her eyes rested on the lace-edged sleeve of her dress. She had not had much time to get herself a suitable dress for her wedding, but the coffee lace dress had been the nearest thing to suit the occasion, and it had suited her fair colouring. So had the wide-brimmed chocolate brown hat, and she had been well satisfied with her appearance—yet Mark had made no mention of the fact.
As she recalled the look in his eyes a moment ago, she knew a spurt of fear. It had contained more in the nature of a threat than a promise, and was as if he had said: 'I have you now.' Dilys's words came through to her with startling clarity: 'I believe he hates you for what you did to him.' Jenny's hand that held her glass of champagne shook and she quickly put it down on the table beside her. Did he hate her—and did he hate himself for his weakness where she was concerned? What chance of happiness would there be for either of them if this was so?
CHAPTER TEN
THE time Jenny was dreading, when they would be alone together, came all too soon for her, as she stood by the door of the dining room where the reception had been held, and received a quick hug from Dodie, and firm handshakes from Silas and Tony, as they took their leave of them.
Tony and Dodie had been transferred to the Brighton hotel, Tony taking over the duties of the chef who had gone down with 'flu, and Dodie had been put in charge of training a few new members of staff, which on the face of things was an admirable arrangement, except for the fact that it left Jenny entirely on her own, and with a nasty suspicion that the arrangement had been well thought out before. hand, with just such an object in mind.
As far as she was aware no arrangements had been made for them to spend their honeymoon away from Peacock's Walk, and as Mark intended to watch over the work being carried out, it was obvious that they would stay there.
On her return, Jenny had taken over her old apartment, as so far that part of the hotel had not come under attention from the team of decorators
working on the first floor, and gradually working their way through the whole premises. Mark had taken up his quarters in the room vacated by Dilys, and a few yards down the corridor from Jenny's rooms. At the thought of the size of Mark's room, as against her suite, it was obvious that he would move in with her, and the thought made her quake inwardly as she stood at the window of the dining room and waved farewell to their wedding guests as Silas drove them back to Brighton.
Even Silas, she thought miserably, had deserted her in her hour of need, for he had made arrangements to fly back to the States the following day, and had booked in at the Brighton hotel for the night.
She turned slowly from the window to find Mark standing watching her, and her heart turned over at the bleak expression in his eyes, and she wanted to cry out to him, 'Don't look like that. You didn't have to marry me. If only you could forget the past, we could be happy. I'll make it up to you, if you'll let me.' But no such words came, and all she could do was stand there and wait for him to make the first move. She so badly wanted a lead from him, to know what kind of future he had in store for her, and to be given a chance of adjusting herself to the swift turn of events that had catapulted her out of her uneventful existence and into a complex of strong emotions—emotions she was entirely unprepared to cope with.
'You needn't look like a martyr about to be thrown to the lions,' Mark commented dryly, although Jenny sensed a bitterness behind the words.
see no reason why we shouldn't carry on as we are. It's pretty obvious you need time to get used to the fact that you are now my wife. I can wait. I've got what I wanted.'
The words were bit out, and made Jenny wince inwardly. He did hate her, and pride alone kept her from breaking down and throwing herself into his arms. The fact that he wanted her would have made him make love to her, he wouldn't have been able to push her from him—and afterwards? Her breath caught in her throat. It was the aftermath that she most dreaded. For him, a physical need would be satisfied, but for her, a feeling of shame that she had given herself to a man who hated her, even though she loved him, the shame would still be there and would haunt her solitude for the rest of time.
'Thank you,' she murmured in a low voice, completely unable to look at him, terrified that he would see the desolation she felt mirrored in her eyes. He did not miss much where she was concerned, and she hoped he would put her inability to look at him down to embarrassment.
'I'm afraid I'll not be able to have dinner with you, either,' he said stiffly. 'I've a business commitment that I must keep. You'll appreciate that I haven't had much time to rearrange my affairs.'
Jenny nodded quickly, not trusting herself to answer, and after a second or so she managed to excuse herself politely from his presence, and went to her rooms.
The familiar decor acted as a tranquillizer on her shattered nerves, and she settled herself in her chair
by the fireside, staring with fixed intensity around the room, savouring the solace it appeared to be offering her. She did not want this room alter
ed, and wanted it to stay just as it was. It was her home, and haven, and she wanted no other.
Thoughts such as these took her mind off her unhappiness, but not for long. Soon she was back to her problems, and wishing with all her heart that Silas had let her be. Her marriage to Mark might have let him off Dilys's hook, but now she was snared in the net, and there was no going back, as Mark had so pointedly remarked.
It was odd, she thought satirically, that Mark was now treating her in the way that she thought he would treat Dilys should they ever marry. The dinner appointment he said he could not break—her soft lips twisted wryly; he could have put it off if he'd really wanted to. It was his wedding day, wasn't it? What other groom would be expected to keep such an appointment, no matter how long-standing?
That there was a purpose behind his action Jenny had little doubt, and she suspected that the reason was not so much to punish her as to keep a tight rein on himself. A cosy dinner for two would present quite a strain on both of them, and it was obvious that he intended to keep his distance until—she frowned as she recalled something he had said to her the day she returned to Peacock's Walk, 'This is not the way I wanted it,' or words to that effect, and that she had to go to him.
Her frown deepened. But she had gone to him. She had actually asked him to marry her—what
more could she do? What was he waiting for? She knew she hadn't actually said the words 'I love you', but she would never have returned on such a quest if she had not loved him, he must surely have known that.
Whatever the answer was, it simply would not present itself, and she shook her head wearily. Until she did know, there was nothing she could do about it. Even if you hated someone, there was always one saving grace, one opinion you could both share, and as hate was akin to love, love was the stronger emotion and the key that would eventually open the door to happiness.
Jenny's eyes filled with tears, but she resolutely blinked them back. It would not do for Mark to find her crying should he decide to look in on her before he left for his dinner engagement.
In order to stem her thoughts, she got up swiftly and made her way to her bedroom to change out of her wedding dress, and selected an old favourite of hers, a sleeveless cotton dress, to wear. It might be old, but it was homely, and it didn't matter what she wore, in spite of the ring on her third finger, she told herself fiercely.
Jenny did not bother to get herself anything to eat that evening. For one thing she was not hungry, and for a second, she could not be bothered to make the journey down to the kitchen.
Shortly after ten, she decided to go to bed. She was mentally tired if not physically so, and had spent most of the evening clearing out a large old bureau in the lounge, that was full of odd knick-
nacks, collected during the years, and something she had so far neglected to do. Her wish that the rooms would remain as they were was a non-starter. Mark was not likely to agree to such a request. He wanted the whole premises redecorated, and as she had once heard him say, sentimentality and business did not mix.
As she settled herself in bed, she ruefully conceded that she might as well have had her cry, for Mark had not looked in on her before leaving for his dinner date, and she wondered if he was enjoying himself, and whether he had given her one thought in the whole evening.
The book she had brought to bed with her lay beside her ready for her perusal, but she did not attempt to open it. She was more tired than she had realised, and she had no need to read herself to sleep. The book was of bulky proportions, and as she tried to manoeuvre it back on the bedside cabinet it slipped from her grasp and landed with a dull thud on to the floor beside her bed, and Jenny left it there, too weary to do anything about it. She then switched off the light, and drew the bedclothes up to her thin, for the nights were still chilly in spite of the date on the calendar. Tomorrow, she told herself drowsily, she would persuade Mark to let her take up her secretarial duties again. If she had work to do she would soon settle down again—the rest was up to fate.
The following morning Jenny was up by seven-thirty, and had showered and dressed. In the early morning light it was hard for her to believe that she
was now Mrs Mark Chanter—be it in name only; it was still an awesome thought. Another not very welcome thought then presented itself to her. What, for goodness' sake, was she to do with herself all day? Mark, it appeared, still had a certain amount of work on his hands, which of course, he would have, he had his empire to run. At this point Jenny remembered the thought she had had before going to sleep, that she should ask him if she could carry on as his secretary.
He must, she thought cheerfully, need some help, and would probably welcome her offer. It would show him that she was in full agreement with his decision that things should go on as normal.
The outlook already seemed much brighter to Jenny as she started to make her bed, and as she straightened the counterpane her elbow nudged against a book on her bedside table and she turned to straighten that as well. It was the same book that she had taken to bed with her the previous night, but she could not remember picking it up after it had fallen by her bed. She shrugged lightly. She must have done, otherwise how did it get back on the table?
While she gave her hair a final brush before leaving the bedroom, she went over her movements from the moment she awoke. She had got out of bed and had a shower, dressed, and started to make the bed. At no time had she picked that book up. Her eyes widened in disbelief as the answer hit her—. Mark! It couldn't have been anyone else! He must
have called in on her when he returned from his dinner date.
No longer calm and cheerful, but flushed and indignant, Jenny visualised the scene of him standing by her bed and staring down at her while she slept. How dared he? After all that he had said about things going on as normal. If it hadn't been for the book, she wouldn't have known of his visit, she thought furiously. Her eyes narrowed in speculation. Why did he pick the book up, then? He must have known she would remember where she had left it.
Her eyes sparkled with wetness as the truth hit her. He had wanted her to know that he had looked in on her, as a jailor looks in on his charge—making sure that the prisoner was still safe in his keeping!
The fury that had possessed her quickly subsided, leaving her feeling desolated. Mark had every right to visit her in her bedroom, the ring on her third finger gave him the right, she thought bleakly. It was no use dwelling on the incident either, and certainly no use to complain; better to forget it. He was hardly likely to mention it, it was enough for him to know that she was aware of his visit.
Her slim shoulders squared as she left her rooms. As Mark appeared to want to take his duties seriously, she might as well start playing her part in their paper marriage by cooking his breakfast. Not, she told herself bleakly, that she had any idea of what his taste in the breakfast line was, but as Tony and Dodie were away, there was no one else to do it.
The smell of sizzling bacon greeted her as she entered the kitchen, and her surprised eyes stared at the woman standing by the oven attending to the cooking.
The woman was a stranger to her, and as she advanced into the kitchen Jenny saw that a tray had been prepared ready to carry into the dining room for the serving of the breakfast.
On seeing Jenny, the woman gave an uncertain smile as if not quite sure of her identity, and sounding a little flustered said, 'Mr Chanter asked for breakfast at eight,' and glanced up at the clock on 'he wall that gave the time as ten to eight.
Jenny felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. So Mark had arranged for someone to do the cooking for them. He might have asked her first about it; she might not have Tony's qualifications, but she could manage reasonably plain fare.
'Oh, good,' she replied, not being able to think of anything else to say. 'I just wondered if you wanted any help,' she ended lamely, but at the swift shake of the head from the woman, went on quickly with, 'I'm Jenny Gran ... er ... Chanter,' she corrected herself hastily. 'I don't believe we've met,
have we?'
Mrs Cherry, as she introduced herself, appeared to be a little surprised that Jenny had not known about her. However, she soon supplied jenny with the relevant details. It appeared she had once worked for Mark at one of his London hotels, and had since retired to Brighton, not so much on account of her age as her husband's failing health.
'Pleased as punch, I was,' she went on confidingly, 'when Mr Chanter took over the Royal last year. I knew he wouldn't forget me if he wanted extra help. I can't do full time of course, not with my Sam wanting so much doing for him, but I could help out during the staff hols, and I do. The extra cash comes in mighty handy, I can tell you.'
When Jenny was eventually able to tear herself away from the confiding Mrs Cherry, she went into the dining room and waited the arrival of Mark. Everything, it seemed, had been taken care of, and she wondered miserably whether he had fixed himself up with a secretary as well.
To her unconcealed delight, she learned a few minutes later, when Mark joined her for breakfast, that he was entirely in favour of her continuing her secretarial duties. 'I would have suggested it, if you hadn't,' he commented dryly. 'I'm getting slowly bogged down.'
With that hurdle over, Jenny was able to enjoy her breakfast—the very first with her new husband, but this thought was quickly banished as she noted the fact that although he was charming and polite to her, there were no loving looks or loverlike gestures made towards her. Just as it would have been between secretary and boss, she thought, and her throat constricted at the thought. She had wanted a lead from him, hadn't she? Well, it appeared she had got it, and it was up to her to take it from there.
