The Faithful Wife (8 page)
He could remember it now, too vividly for comfortâcocooned together in the secret love-cave of the four-poster bed in that quaint old Cotswolds inn where they'd spent the first Christmas of their honeymoon. Her eyes dreamy, romantic, her voice soft and sweet with talk of country cottages, roses round the door, childrenâtheir childrenâfantasy children she'd created for him.
His fingers stroking her hair, her face, the trembling starting up inside him again, his hand sliding down to the sensual swell of her breasts, his mouth covering hers, silencing her. His love for her, his need to drown himself yet again in the perfection of her overwhelming him...
The groan that was torn from him was driven. Oh, God, if only he could wipe his mind clean of all memories! He gritted his teeth, making himself backtrack to what she had actually said, recalling the defiance, the tension in the way she'd said it.
True, in the first couple of years of their marriage she had sometimes mentioned the possibility of moving to the country and starting a family. But she hadn't made a song and dance about it, and had quietly accepted it when he had decided they should stay where they were.
He'd assumed she meant some place tamed and tidy, chocolate-box rural. And he'd had damn good reasons for not wanting to alter his
modus operandi
at that time. He'd explained that a move, putting down roots and starting a family, was out of the question. For the time being anyway. He hadn't known how muchâand whyâshe'd wanted what she called a proper home.
modus operandi
at that time. He'd explained that a move, putting down roots and starting a family, was out of the question. For the time being anyway. He hadn't known how muchâand whyâshe'd wanted what she called a proper home.
Why hadn't she told him? In view of her deprived childhoodâand that was something else she hadn't told him aboutâhe would have understood. And, understanding, he would have set about doing something about it.
He had loved her more than life, and would have done anything to make her happy.
Were there other things he didn't know about her? Things she'd kept back, kept bidden? His jaw tightened. Damn it, he'd been her husband; he'd had a right to know!
And yet he hadn't made his motives clear, had he? At least, not the underlying motives. The sudden thought washed his mind with icy clarity. Had he been too arrogant, too driven by his own needs, too intent on doing things his way to share the essence of himself with her?
He didn't feel comfortable with himself about that. His face darkened, tightened, and self-disgust turned into a hard, sharp lump inside him. He had watched her become more withdrawn, more closed in on herself, and had done nothing about it, preferring to assume that it was nothing important. After all, so he had told himself, he'd given her every material advantage any woman could possibly want, and their lovemaking had still been as explosively rapturous as ever.
But that hadn't been enough. She'd been seeing Maclaine when he was away and had agreed to work with him again. She had been sleeping with him again. All the signs had pointed to it.
He could hear her moving about in the next room. He'd go in there and fetch her. Tell her he'd been wrong about forgetting the past while they were trapped here together. It wouldn't let itself be forgot ten!
So they'd talk, go into this thing, thrash it all out until there was nothing left to know. And maybe along the way, he'd discover whether he'd been responsible for driving her back into Maclaine's arms.
He was on his way to do just that when he heard the sound of a tractor. He turned quickly on the balls of his feet and strode to the window.
The machine had already crested the brow of the hill, the snow-plough attachment steadily but surely clearing the track towards the cottage.
This was his way out. Out of here, back to civilisation, where he could arrange for transport out for Bella. And then he could get on with his life, let her get on with hers. They would go their separate ways again.
His way out. If he wanted to take it.
He grabbed his sheepskin from the hook on the back of the kitchen door and walked out into the cold winter afternoon.
CHAPTER EIGHT
B
ELLA remembered noticing storage heaters upstairs, and went up and switched them on. At least the bedrooms would be less arctic tonight.
ELLA remembered noticing storage heaters upstairs, and went up and switched them on. At least the bedrooms would be less arctic tonight.
Tonight. Her heart filled with a painful mixture of learning and bleak despair. Another endless, restless night, knowing Jake was in the next room, a few yards away, yet so distant from her he might as well be on the far side of the moon.
There had been moments when she'd really thought he still cared, but that had been nothing more than self-delusion, wishful thinking. She put it down to his determination to get through the next few days with as little friction as possible. He wouldn't want a rerun of this morning's crazy escape attempt, or hysterics or sulks.
Steeling herself, she started down the stairs to join him again, deeply envying his ability to cut his losses, write the three years of their marriage off as an unfortunate mistake and get on with his life. She wished she cared so little about him that she could do the same.
Part of the way down she heard the laboured sound of a tractor. She froze, unable to believe it at first, then ran back up to the tiny window at the head of the staircase and peered out.
Jake, still shrugging into his coat, was pushing through the snow towards the tractor. It had already cleared most of the track. Numb, clutching onto the window-sill, Bella watched as Jake reached the vehicle.
She could imagine the conversation going on between him and the driver. He would be asking for a lift out of here, explaining that his car wasn't functioning. And as Jake reached into an inside pocket she turned away, trudging down the stairs on leaden legs.
They'd be out of here before nightfallâor he would, at least. Jake would fix that. He always managed to get his own way.
She wanted to put back her head and howl, and the urge to weep her heart out was almost irresistible. But she wouldn't do either of those things. She wouldn't let herself be such a fool.
âThe cavalry's arrived!' Five minutes later he walked back in, bringing a wave of crisp frosty air with him.
That was why she was shivering all over, Bella decided, and forced herself to sound interested. âSo I saw. We can't be as isolated as we thought we were.'
The snow plough was back in operation again. The noise was growing louder as the driver approached the cottage.
âHow on earth did he know we were snowed-up here?' She felt too dead inside to really care, but it was something to say, a way of masking her foolish inner dread at the coming parting.
But perhaps the ending of their enforced stay was a blessing, she decided dully, doing her best to convince herself. Being with him only brought back all the pain of wanting him, the mental and physical agony of knowing he could hardly bear to be anywhere around her.
The only real question was, would Jake go back in the cab with the driver alone, or would he take her with him? He was looking mightily pleased with himself, and was making no effort to remove his coat.
Which meant he was intending to leave any time now. She thought about the clothes still in the drier, the packing she'd have to do, the brightly burning fire which would have to burn down to ashes before it was safe to be left, and knew Jake wouldn't hang around until everything was sorted. Neither, in all probability, would the tractor driver.
Jake was going to leave her behind, and was looking insultingly happy about it. Grinning!
âThe owners of the cottage got in touch with him. He farms in the locality and the council uses him to clear some of the lanes. Theyâthe ownersâdidn't want their holiday tenants to feel snowed in and abandoned.'
She watched him walk to the fire, hold his hands to the flames. Even though his back was firmly turned to her she knew he was still looking pleased with himself. He couldn't wait to wash his hands of her!
As the tractor reached the cottage, did an ungainly three-point turn then stopped, Jake swung round and walked to the door, obviously leaving without even saying goodbye, and Bella said rawly, âI take it you're going back with the driver. Would you ask him to wait while I get ready to leave, too?'
She simply couldn't bear the thought of being here alone, with these new and hurtful memories to add to all the rest. It was too much heavy baggage to have to carry through the long, lonely years that stretched ahead.
Jake turned, scanning her features with narrowed eyes. If the arrival of the snow plough had surprised him, it had obviously shocked her. Ruined all her carefully laid plans. He could read the dredging disappointment in her beautiful eyes.
Well, he was going to let her get her own way. He hadn't known why he'd done it, not at first. But now he did. They were going to talk the whole thing through, and for that they needed time and space.
He needed to learn her secretsâif she had any more to divulgeâdiscover exactly how and why their marriage had failed.
Because then, and only then, would he be able to put it all behind him and attain the freedom he needed to get on with the rest of his life, unfettered by memories and regrets.
Knowing that the prospect of freedom from the spell she'd cast on him the very first time he'd seen her had to be responsible for his present adrenalin-high, he made no attempt to keep the underlying hint of laughter from his voice as he told her, âWe're not going anywhere for a couple of days. Put the kettle on; we have a guest.'
The driver of the tractor was a wiry little man, swamped by a thick waxed jacket and a big red knitted hat. His name was Evan Evans, and he insisted on removing his boots.
His knitted socks were red, too, Bella noted, hurrying to make the hot drink Jake had offered, her heart winging with a great surge of happiness she desperately tried to suppress.
Jake could have left; there'd been nothing to stop him. Except the desire to stay?
But she mustn't think like a naive teenager, she chided herself as she moved round the kitchen, the murmur of masculine voices coming from the other room a backdrop to her thoughts.
He had no desire to be with herâhadn't he made that crystal-clear? For the past twelve months their marriage hadn't been either one thing or another. He probably wanted to get everything sorted out, discuss divorce, tidy everything up.
The cold almost certainty of that left her feeling physically and mentally drained. Yet hope lingered, a feeble but stubbornly burning flame at the back of her mind. She didn't want hope, not when it would surely turn out to be false.
Telling herself to keep her chaotic emotions in check, she made hot chocolate for the men and found a tin of biscuits. She opened it and put it beside the mugs on the kitchen table, then called them through.
âThere's lovely, isn't it?' Evan picked up his mug and cradled it in mittened hands. âJust what I needed.' He refused to sit, blowing on his drink to cool it, and Bella handed Jake his mug, careful not to look at his face. He might see those futile hopes warring with the bleak certainties in her eyes.
âSo I'll phone the recovery service and give them your details, and ask them to bring the part out on Boxing Day. Is it set on spending Christmas you are? Snow or no snow?' Evan finished his drink. âIt's a tidy enough place.' He glanced around him, his eyes twinkling with open appreciation as they rested on Bella. âDon't blame you, mind. Do the same in your shoes! Though who'd go vandalising your car is beyond me.'
He scratched the side of his head and the knitted cap rose higher, looking, Bella decided half-hysterically, like a melting church steeple.
âDon't worry about it,' Jake said smoothly. âWe're very grateful for your help.'
Bella tried to analyse his tone. Satisfaction, or amusement? She couldn't decide which. And Evan was getting ready to leave.
âMissus'll be wondering where I've got to. We've got all the family back with us for Christmas, as usual. Five grandchildren in all. Little imps! Mind youâ' bright brown eyes twinkled beneath the scarlet of the rearing hat ââChristmas wouldn't be the same without their racket, would it?
And
â' he stressed the word heavily, smiling broadly ââI'm doing Santa duty again. Each year I tell myself it's the last time I'm dressing up in all that stuff. Seems I never learn!'
And
â' he stressed the word heavily, smiling broadly ââI'm doing Santa duty again. Each year I tell myself it's the last time I'm dressing up in all that stuff. Seems I never learn!'
Bella watched him go, accompanied by Jake, to find his boots, and envied him. She closed her eyes and desperately envied all the families happily getting ready to celebrate this special season. And when Jake joined her there were tears in her eyes.
âWhy didn't you go with him?' she demanded thickly. Attack was the best form of defenceâdefence against the reckless need to hurl herself into his arms and beg him to fall in love with her again, to want her with the almost obsessive need that had driven them both ever since the very first time they'd met.
To beg him to take the hurt away.
âBecause I've finally reached the conclusion that we need to talk. We've spent a whole year avoiding each other and it doesn't make any kind of sense. We've got to find a way to put the past behind us. We both need to be free to get on with our lives.'
âYes, I see.' She turned away, trying to conceal the hurt. She'd guessed his motives for staying on here, but that didn't make it any easier to bear. He was going to suggest divorce.
âBut not right now. There's plenty of time. A couple of days,' he said, his voice softening. There were tough questions to be asked, tough decisions to be made. It wouldn't be easy on either of them. And right now she looked so vulnerable, almost utterly defeated, and that wasn't like the Bella he knew.
The range and depth of the sweeping wave of compassion he felt for her came as a shock. For a moment it took his breath away.
Suddenly restless he suggested, âSo why don't we try to relax, get a breath of air before it gets dark?' He watched the graceful tilt of her head as she turned huge, questioning eyes to him. âI don't mean a repeat of this morning's marathon!' he assured her, reliving the long minutes of frantic concern when he'd been afraid he'd never find her, wondering what that reckless journey of hers out into the blizzard had been meant to prove.
He pushed a log further onto the glowing embers with a booted foot, needing action of some kind, no matter how small, and then added more harshly than he'd intended, âIt was a suggestion, that's all. You don't have to come. But I need air.'
âI'll be two minutes.' Relief washed through her, washed away the tension, making her body feel light as air as she went to the kitchen. The terrible conversation that would lead to the legal ending of their marriage was to be postponed. Maybe, later, she'd find the strength from somewhere to handle it with dignity.
She fished the clothes from the drier and sped up the stairs, casting aside all that out-of-place elegance. She dressed hurriedly in the leggings and sweater, clean and still warm from the dryer, and pulled his bulky Aran jumper on over the top because her own coat was still damp.
Her hair had come adrift. She gave it an impatient look in the mirror, and sped out of the room and down the stairs. She didn't have time to fiddle.
âJust ten minutes. Right?' Jake asked as she joined him.
âRight.' The smile she gave him was unpremeditated. But the look of approval in his eyes as he swept them over her altered, casual appearance had warmed away all her cool defences.
And his suggestion had been a good one. The air was stingingly cold, but it made her feel suddenly alive. Vitally, joyously aliveâsomething she hadn't experienced since they'd separated. The misty orange sun was low in the washed-out blue of the sky, casting long, dark shadows on the glittering snow.
Bella quickened her pace, revelling in the way her blood seemed to positively bounce through her veins, until Jake gently hauled her back, the strength of his hand tight and protective on her arm.
âHey! Cool it. The track's slippery as hell now. A broken leg we can do without!'
Eyes wary, her heart beating skittishly, she fell in step beside him, expecting him to release her arm as soon as he'd successfully reined her in. He didn't. He held her more tightly, gathering her towards him, tucking her closely to the side of his body.
Every nerve-end stood to attention, and her stomach lurched. Didn't he know what his touch did to her? Had he forgotten that she only had to be near him to go up in flames? Were his memories of all they had been to each other so easily, so callously erased?
Her eyes fixed on the now-glassy surface of the compacted snow on the track ahead, she battled to find something to say, something to defuse the sharply coiling sexual tension that seemed to be eating her alive.
She came up with, âSo you didn't tell Mr Evans who had vandalised your car.' Her voice was shaky. She tried to turn the wobble into a laugh. âThe poor guy will spend months wondering if he's going to wake up in the morning and find no wheels on his tractor. He'll be looking at perfectly innocent local ladsâwondering which of them has developed the urge to sneak around putting other people's vehicles out of commission!'
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