by Liz Fielding
‘Oh, God.’ She covered her mouth with her hand.
‘Quite. The words nearly stuck in my throat.’
‘What... what did he say?’
‘He appeared somewhat stunned—’
‘Are you surprised?’ she demanded. ‘I hardly know you.’
He shrugged. ‘Fathers are notoriously one-eyed about their daughter’s...desires. However, he gathered his wits sufficiently to tell me at length how fortunate I am. You are apparently blessed with every quality a man could wish for in a wife.’ He shrugged. ‘He and Olivia are going to bless us with their presence at the wedding, by the way, so it will be fourteen for dinner on Thursday. Or perhaps you would like to invite a few more of your own friends?’
‘No, thank you. And after dinner? When the guests have gone—what then?’
He regarded her steadily. ‘I shan’t trouble you—’
She made an impatient gesture. He had made his distaste for her more than plain. She was no classic beauty, no competition for the kind of women he was usually seen with, she knew, although why he found her quite so repulsive... It would be a victory of sorts to make him desire her.
She caught herself as Noah’s eyes narrowed, wondering if her thoughts had somehow been betrayed in her expression. It all was academic anyway. She had no intention of going through with this marriage, but he would expect her to show some interest, would become suspicious if she didn’t.
‘I didn’t mean that,’ she said. What had she meant? She took a sip of her drink; she needed a little time... ‘It will be two years before we can get a quiet, tidy divorce with no questions asked,’ she said, with a sudden flash of inspiration. ‘I’m sure you don’t intend to live like a monk in all that time.’
‘Are you offering your services, Elizabeth?’ He was pouring himself another drink, and when she didn’t answer he turned around.
‘No,’ she said quickly.
‘How pleasant to have found something about which we are in complete agreement.’ He stretched out in a wing-chair in front of the fireplace, his legs crossed carelessly, his head thrown back against the old blue brocade. ‘However, your estimate is a little short of the mark.’
‘Estimate?’
‘Two years. It will take a little longer than that, I’m afraid. It would raise a few eyebrows if we parted a few days after the wedding.’
So. She had guessed right. ‘How much longer?’ she asked, with every appearance of interest.
‘Six months.’
‘Do you think we could stand one another that long?’
‘If I can put up with you, I don’t see why you should find it so very difficult. You won’t lack any comfort, and I have no doubt you’ll make the most of it.’
It was impossible to miss the little barb buried in his words, and the beautiful sapphire seemed suddenly to weigh a ton upon her finger. ‘And then what?’
He sipped his drink, deep in thought. ‘I’ll think of something. Perhaps you’ll arrive at a party one evening to find I’m already there with another woman. We’ll have a very public row and that will be the end of one more marriage.’ He raised his glass in mock salute. ‘Nothing very remarkable. I’ve seen it happen half a dozen times.’
‘Then you keep extremely bad company.’ Lizzie stood up. ‘I’m going to bed.’
‘Before you go...’
She turned in the doorway. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s rather a long time since lunch. I thought you might care to demonstrate your wifely virtues and make some supper.’ He was goading her quite deliberately.
‘I was given a cup of tea and a sandwich at the police station.’ Not that she had eaten it. ‘And, since I’m not your wife yet, Noah Jordan—’ nor ever would be ‘—you can make your own damned supper.’
Lizzie lay in the unaccustomed luxury of the lace-draped double bed of Noah’s guest suite and tried to work out her best plan of escape. Her first—to leave as soon as she was sure that Noah was asleep—had to be abandoned because of the extensive burglar-alarm system. Once it was switched on any movement downstairs would set it off. She wouldn’t be able to leave unnoticed until Mrs Harper came in, probably around seven o’clock.
Then what? She wouldn’t have a credit card until the bank replaced the one that had been ‘stolen’ and cancelled. She had a little over twenty pounds in her purse. She could get another fifty from the cash-card machine. Or had Noah cancelled that card too? Well, Sarah would be back in the morning—she had work to go to—and she would be able to cash a cheque for her. Lizzie let out a slightly shaky sigh of relief and went to sleep.
She was already dressed when a tap on the door announced Mrs Harper.
‘Miss Lizzie? Goodness, you are up early.’
‘I’m always up by seven, Mrs Harper. What can I do for you?’
‘Oh, it’s this.’ She held out an envelope. ‘I found it in the letterbox this morning. Someone must have delivered it personally some time during the night.’
Lizzie took the envelope, immediately recognising Peter’s handwriting. ‘Did Mr Jordan see this?’ she asked.
‘No, dear. I was just on my way to take him his tea.’
‘Don’t mention it, will you? It’s a surprise I’m arranging for him...’ Oh, how glibly the lie rolled from her tongue. It was hateful.
But Mrs Harper was smiling. ‘Mr Jordan told me your good news last night. I popped across when I saw the light on in the kitchen... We live in the mews at the back there.’ She beamed. ‘I hope you’ll be very happy.’
Lizzie’s embarrassment was acute. ‘Thank you, Mrs Harper.’
‘And I won’t say a word about the letter,’ she reassured her as she turned to leave.
Lizzie gripped the envelope for a moment, her first instinct to destroy it unopened. He must have been crazy, she thought, creeping about in the night to deliver letters. It could just as easily have been Noah who had taken it from the letterbox. She stared at the envelope. Just how crazy had he been? In a sudden panic she tore it open.
Lizzie,
I’ve been lying awake half the night trying to make sense of everything and I think I understand. You’re just trying to make me think you don’t care and you’ve persuaded Jordan to play along with you. You had me fooled for a moment, but I know you too well. It’s all a sham. Just like my marriage. I owe her nothing, Lizzie. I love you, I always have. You know that. I’ll be waiting for you at Sloane Square station. Come as soon as you can. I’m never going back. Peter.
Lizzie looked at her overnight bag and abandoned it without a second thought. Convincing Peter that he was wrong was more important than escape. She had three days to get away. All the time in the world.
As she passed Noah’s bedroom Lizzie heard him moving about. The sounds lent wings to her heels and she flew swiftly and silently down the long staircase and let herself out of the house.
The road was almost deserted; there was not even a cruising taxi to lend her speed. She almost ran to the corner, but once out of sight slowed a little, desperately trying to think what she could say to a man who was clearly coming apart at the seams. How she could convince him that he must stay with his wife and forget all about her.
He didn’t believe that she was Noah’s lover. She pulled a face. If Noah had assumed a little less about her relationship with Peter, he might have anticipated that, she thought. It didn’t suit Peter’s vanity to believe that she would leap into bed with a man she barely knew. Not when she had held him at bay for so long. She stopped. Why had she? She shook her head. It no longer mattered.
Sloane Square loomed up all too quickly. Peter was standing by the entrance to the underground station, looking anxiously at his watch, when she saw him. He glanced up, saw her, hurried forward to clasp her hands. ‘Lizzie. I knew you’d come.’
‘I had to, Peter.’
‘I know. I know you love me. How can I have ever been so stupid? Lizzie, darling, can you ever forgive me?’
The boyish grin was like a knife goin
g through her. Two days ago—only two—those words would have made her the happiest girl alive. Now they made her feel quite sick. She withdrew her hands from his grasp. ‘Is there somewhere we can sit down, Peter? We have to talk.’
‘There’s a little place around the corner,’ he said, missing her lack of enthusiasm in his own eagerness.
He fetched two coffees from the counter and sat opposite her. ‘Oh, Lizzie. My little—’
‘Peter, there’s something I have to tell you,’ she said quickly, to stop him. It was odd how she had once thought the way he called her ‘little’ Lizzie endearing. Now she found it simply patronising. What kind of fool did he take her for? Did he really think that she would ignore the fact that he was married to someone else?
Why on earth had she never seen him this clearly before? Never seen the underlying weakness in his character? Because like everyone else she had never looked too closely beneath the surface. Good-looking, clever, he had always been able to get his own way. He had always been spoilt—by his family, his teachers. They had enjoyed indulging him.
And girls. Had they enjoyed indulging him too? Whilst there had been no evidence of his infidelities she had been able to pretend that they did not exist. But now she knew. He had never pressed her to sleep with him. If her father had not been so ill, if she had managed to get away, go to Florence or Paris with him when he had asked her, it would have happened, she knew that. But at home, under her father’s eyes, he had been circumspect—too circumspect for a healthy young male.
It was as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes. Maybe he had loved her a little, but she was certain that Peter Hallam hadn’t loved her enough to remain celibate through all those years.
His thoughts seemed to be running along similar lines. ‘I am right, Lizzie. I know I am right. You’re not sleeping with Jordan.’ He laughed. ‘I mean, I should know. You’re so puritanical—’
She had never thought of herself as puritanical. Just sensible. ‘I’m afraid you’re wrong, Peter. That Lizzie doesn’t exist any more. And you are married.’
Peter’s fair skin flushed angrily. ‘She caught me on the rebound, Lizzie. When you let me down—’
‘I didn’t let you down, Peter.’ Lizzie’s eyes glittered like the sapphire tucked deep into her pocket. She stretched her fingers out to touch it. ‘I imagine you’ve been bouncing from bed to bed all your adult life. I’m just unfinished business—the one that got away—’
‘No! You weren’t like all those other girls, Lizzie. You were different—special.’
She was sure that he meant it—maybe he actually believed it—but she couldn’t afford to weaken. ‘No. Just unavailable,’ she said, a little unkindly. She looked him straight in the eye. ‘And you couldn’t wait—’
‘Wait? That’s all you could ever say,’ he said, angry now. ‘No explanation, just “wait”.’
‘I told you, Dad needed me.’
‘If you had left he would have pulled himself together. I needed you, Lizzie...’
‘Not any more. You have Francesca,’ she reminded him.
He pulled a face. ‘She told me she was having my child,’ he said bitterly.
‘She miscarried, Peter.’ She felt enormous pity for them both. ‘It happens sometimes. There’ll be other babies.’ Lizzie understood that he felt somehow betrayed; if he knew that Fran was pregnant again he wouldn’t be pleading with her to go away with him like this.
Tempting as it was to tell him, she knew she couldn’t. She could understand Fran’s reluctance to say anything too soon. She must have all the time she needed. And it was in her, Lizzie’s, power to give her that time. And because in some part this nightmare was her fault, because she had given up Peter for her father and then thought that she could call him back when it suited her, she must make it right.
‘You shouldn’t have come back, Peter.’
‘You invited me. Or was that before you set your stall out for Noah Jordan?’ He gave a hollow laugh. ‘Be realistic, Lizzie. What on earth could you offer a man like that? He’s had affairs with some of the most beautiful women...’
She ignored the implied insult, holding for one moment longer the sapphire engagement ring that she had brought with her—a last resort that she had prayed she wouldn’t have to use. Now she slipped the ring onto her finger. ‘Then it’s very flattering that he chose to marry me.’
‘Marry you?’ His laughter was very cruel.
‘Noah asked me to marry him yesterday.’ He stared at her, the smile wiped from his face as she held out her left hand.
He grasped her fingers, staring at the ring for many seconds. Finally he raised his head. ‘Why?’
Lizzie swallowed. ‘I’m such a perfect home body, of course. Not much use for anything else...’
Peter dropped her hand and sat back. ‘So that’s it. The man wants an untainted virgin to breed from.’ Lizzie was beginning to feel sick. ‘He won’t be faithful to you—you know that, don’t you?’
‘And you would be?’ she demanded. ‘Your track record isn’t very convincing, and you’ve only been married two months.’ Peter had the grace to look discomfited, but it was time to do what she had come for, even if it meant lying through her teeth. She lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug. ‘Noah may not be perfect husband material, Peter, but then who is? And he can give me everything I want.’
‘You’re marrying him because he’s rich?’ Peter went almost grey as the colour deserted his face.
She had finally managed to shock him, get him to listen. Now was the moment. She dwelt for a moment on the memory of the way Noah had kissed her in the theatre. How his lips had teased hers apart, the taste of him. And in the garden, when she had fought him, the scent of his skin, his thighs pressed against hers. She gave a little shiver. ‘Not just because he’s rich, Peter,’ she said, from somewhere deep in her throat.
Peter leapt to his feet. ‘My God, you’re almost trembling just thinking about him.’ She didn’t answer, but it wasn’t, she was shocked to discover, too far from the truth. ‘But you said you loved me.’ Peter’s petulant voice dragged her back to the tiny café.
‘Love?’ She appeared to consider the concept for a moment and then shrugged. ‘I imagine you told Fran you loved her when you took her to bed.’ From somewhere she managed a smile. ‘Love can be a very transient thing, Peter. Marriage is for ever.’
‘Lizzie...?’ He was utterly bewildered. She rose a little shakily to her feet, picked up her bag. ‘No,’ he said, a little desperately, ‘I don’t believe you. None of this is true. You just want to hurt me.’
‘Why should I hurt you, Peter? You seem to be making a pretty good job of that yourself. Go back to your wife and remember why you married her.’ She turned in the doorway. ‘Oh, by the way, the wedding is to take place some time on Thursday. Noah suggested that you and Francesca might like to be witnesses.’
CHAPTER SIX
LIZZIE didn’t wait for Peter’s reaction. ‘Don’t mention it to Fran. I expect Noah will give her a ring later, at your hotel in Stratford.’ She moved swiftly back to him and put her hands on his shoulders, brushing his cheek with her lips. ‘Goodbye, Peter. Give my love to Fran.’ And she left him standing over the two cooling cups of coffee, hurrying away before he could see the brightness of threatened tears in her eyes.
Noah, elegantly dressed for business in a dark grey suit and striped shirt, stood up as she entered the breakfast room twenty minutes later. If he noticed that she was pale... Well, under the circumstances it was hardly surprising. But he said nothing about her pallor. He said nothing at all.
‘Good morning, Noah.’ Her voice, at any rate, was steady enough.
He seemed to remember himself and pulled out a chair for her. ‘Elizabeth. Did you sleep well?’
‘Well enough.’ Her hand barely shook as she poured herself some coffee, she noted absently, which was odd, considering her insides were like jelly. ‘You’d better tell me what we are doing today,’ she continued with eve
ry evidence of outward calm. ‘What time are we going to see the registrar to make the wedding arrangements?’
‘You haven’t changed your mind, then?’
The inflexion in his voice warned her that there was more behind his query than simple curiosity. She turned to meet his measuring gaze. ‘I wasn’t aware that I had the option.’
‘You haven’t. But I looked in on you a little while ago. Your bags are packed and you were...missing.’
She hadn’t anticipated that. ‘It wasn’t another escape attempt, Noah. I’ve learned my lesson. I just went out for some air.’
‘The garden was too stuffy for you?’ he enquired, with the urbane air of someone who might easily be persuaded that this was the case, but she was not fooled. Not for a minute.
‘I wanted to walk, Noah,’ she said a little desperately. ‘I walk every morning.’
Through the woods, down to the lake to feed the ducks—it was a routine, something she had started to get her father out of bed, out of his chair, out of the house. She had invented improbable stories of fox attacks, pondweed invasions, the sighting of some rare bird—anything to spark him into life, even if it was only to irritation at her apparent stupidity. More recently it had become a joke. He had begun to press her to wilder inventions, making a game of it.
She swallowed hard. So much time and effort was about to be destroyed by one selfish woman. Perhaps she should offer the Fates her own small sacrifice to placate them. Back in control, she raised her eyes to meet his. ‘Walking doesn’t need a credit card, Noah. What did you want this morning? Or were you simply checking up on me?’
For a moment his eyes sparked. ‘I was—’ His jaw muscles tightened as he bit down hard on his anger. ‘I was simply checking up on you. With good reason it seems.’ He produced an envelope from his pocket. ‘I found this.’ He handed it to her. ‘That, presumably, is Peter Hallam’s handwriting?’
