by Anita Waller
‘If I’d known you were planning on having a massive hangover, I’d have worn something a little more subdued.’
‘Like funeral black?’ John moved across to the window and stared across the expanse of lawn. ‘I suppose I’d better go and explain,’ he sighed.
‘Mrs Thornton’s in the lounge with Lauren.’
‘I know. I saw her as I came in. None of this is going to get any easier so I’d better make my peace.’
‘The red mark’s gone off her cheek…’
‘Oh?’
‘The mark that happened when she walked into the bathroom door.’
John looked at his assistant.
‘She told you?’
‘She didn’t have to – both of you were pretty fired up. I…er…made a point of playing with Lauren for a bit, she was a tad upset.’
‘Thanks, Mark.’ John touched his shoulder. ‘I think I regret Lauren being there more than I regret hitting Amy. I'll make it up to them.’
With a heavy heart he left the study and walked into the lounge. He stood in the doorway and look at his wife.
She raised her head from the book she had been studying and waited, unsure whether to speak or not. His absence had frightened her almost as much as the lack of communication.
The sun streamed through the window creating a golden halo around Amy’s blonde hair. God, she was beautiful but… he knew nothing could kill the love he had for her since they were children.
‘Amy.’ He felt his vocal chords tighten. She stood and moved across to him. He wrapped his arms around her and felt her shudder with sobs.
‘God, Amy, I’m so sorry.’ He kissed the top of her head and she clung tightly to him.
‘Don’t do it again, John, please.’ Her voice was muffled as she pressed her face into his shirt.
‘I’ll never lift a finger to you, Amy, I promise,’ he whispered, his lips still pressed into her hair.
‘I didn’t mean that. I meant don’t ever leave me, not even for just one night. I don’t think I could stand it again.’
‘I won’t leave you, Amy. You and Lauren are my life.’ The pause was only noticeable to him.
‘I hate falling out with you. Kiss me.’ He bent his head. ‘And then you can tell me where you spent the night,’ she said in the split second before their lips met.
She didn’t know whether to believe him or not. He said he had driven for miles and eventually pulled up at a bed and breakfast. He hadn’t a clue what it was called but it was just outside Bude. No, he didn’t keep the receipt and yes he did pay in cash.
She brought him a cup of coffee and two painkillers, outwardly calm, inwardly seething. Where had he been? Not at David and Pat’s home and definitely not at Stonebrook.
‘Why don’t you go to bed for an hour? Your B and B was definitely serving alcohol. You look dreadful.’
‘Too much brandy, I think.’ He couldn’t understand why she was being so considerate, why she hadn’t asked more searching questions. Had she really been so afraid that he wouldn’t come home at all?
He walked towards the hallway.
‘Perhaps an hour in bed will make me feel a bit more like John Thornton and less like Methuselah.’
She waited ten minutes before going to see Mark. His face remained expressionless as she perched herself on the edge of his desk, revealing a lot of thigh in the mini skirt she wore.
‘Mrs Thornton? Where’s John? Is he okay? I thought he looked a bit under the weather…’ His tug on his tie revealed more about him than any words could have done. He was nervous and it showed, wishing desperately that she would stick to routine and not bother with him.
She smiled.
‘John’s gone to bed for an hour and Lauren’s having her afternoon nap. Have you got five minutes to spare?’
‘Sure. Something you wanted doing?’
‘No.’ She waved a hand in the air, the movement emphasising the curve of her breasts against the silk blouse. He swallowed audibly and looked down at his typewriter. ‘No, I just thought it would be nice to get to know each other a bit better.’
Know in the biblical sense? The thought flashed across his mind and he touched his tie again.
‘You’ve worked here for ages now and I know very little about you other than the things John tells me.’
He laughed, his nervousness still showing. What the hell did she want? ‘I hope it’s all good.’
‘Oh, it is. He thinks very highly of you… and so do I.’
What was she getting at? Mark’s eyes kept straying to her legs, to the deep pink painted fingernails lying along the thigh. Just for a moment he imagined the long slender fingers running along the length of his spine and his penis responded traitorously. What was worse was that he knew she was fully cognisant of everything going through his mind.
She leaned over the desk slightly, her nipples now outlined by the tightness of the fabric, only inches away from his hands, his mouth. Her lips were slightly open and he could almost taste the sweetness of her breath.
He pushed his chair away from the desk and, turning his back to her, walked towards the filing cabinet.
‘So was there something you want me to do for you?’
She laughed throatily.
‘Don’t make me answer that, Mark.’
Motionless he stood with his hand half way to the drawer. The air felt heavy around him, he couldn’t move. There was no denying the sexuality she was imparting and he hadn’t a clue how to handle it. His penis throbbed and he couldn’t think with any clarity. He didn’t hear the rustle of her blouse as she moved from the desk towards him.
Her perfume told him just how close she was. Her fingers said it more explicitly.
The fingernails that had held his attention a short time earlier now travelled the length of his spine and he slumped forward on to the filing cabinet. Dear God, he didn’t stand a cat in hell’s chance of saying no. She moved to face him and linked her arms around the back of his neck.
‘You’re a very desirable man, Mark,’ she whispered softly.
‘Mrs Thornton…’ he began shakily. ‘I…’
‘It’s Amy. Say it Mark, say it.’
‘Amy…’
‘That’s good. It’s the sexiest sound in the world hearing your name spoken by the man you want.’ She pulled his head down to meet hers.
His initial reaction was that he was drowning. He clung to her, tasted her as she slipped her tongue into his mouth, allowed his tongue to respond. His hands touched the breasts he had dreamed of, pulling at the buttons that held the flimsy blouse together.
Slowly they sank to the floor still lost in the kiss; Amy feverishly tugged the zip on his trousers and took his penis in her hands. He pulled off her blouse and unhooked her bra.
He broke away from her lips to look at her as she slowly opened her legs.
‘Do you want me?’ she asked.
‘Dear God…do I want you? I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you…’
‘I know.’ She stroked the long fingernails along her inner thigh and he groaned. His eyes roamed back to her breasts. He couldn’t believe his luck. She was his for the taking, this beautiful woman… his. He bent to kiss her but she put up a hand.
‘Where was John last night, Mark?’ she said softly.
‘John?’ he was puzzled. ‘Last night? I haven’t a clue; we haven’t talked much today. I doubt he’ll tell me.’
He bent his head once more and she rolled away from him. Standing, she looked down at him, her breasts unfettered. She picked up the bra and blouse and slung them over her shoulder.
‘When you find out where he was,’ she said coldly, ‘come and see me and maybe we’ll carry on. Until then, pull up your trousers, you look ridiculous.’
For long moments after the study door closed he lay there, unable to believe recent events. How could he have been so stupid? He’d jeopardised his job, admitted how he felt about his employer’s wife and almost betrayed his employer. The intent
ion had been there. He had betrayed John, whether they made love or not.
He straightened his clothes and sank down at his desk, his head in his hands. He couldn’t face John, not today.
He scribbled a note to say he’d developed a raging toothache and had managed to get a dental appointment. Then he left the house as quickly as he could.
Amy watched him drive away, a small smile on her face. That little episode had brightened the afternoon – he was a well-built young man and although the object of the exercise had been to find out John’s whereabouts the previous night, she had enjoyed herself. She touched her breasts, remembering the feel of his hands on her; it felt good, exciting. In some ways it had been a shame to stop…
Mark drove home feeling increasingly angry with himself. In spite of the degradation he had almost seen Amy naked. No matter what he still wanted her.
One day he would… he stopped a smile that threatened to cross his face and instead hit his hand hard on the steering wheel. Damn that woman, damn her to hell and back for making him feel like this.
He rubbed his hand against the front of his trousers in a vague attempt at easing the ache – but he knew the ache would always be there. He wanted her, no matter what.
39
Linda found the work much more complex after Dawn’s departure. It had been quite a shock when the woman had turned up after an ante-natal appointment and calmly announced that she was leaving early.
High blood pressure, nausea and extreme tiredness meant the consultant was unequivocal in his decision – finish work or risk losing the baby.
‘Farmer’s Publishers. Linda Chambers speaking. How may I help you?’ She had adopted her own version of an American greeting, smiling as she spoke
‘Linda Chambers?’ There was a moment of silence and Linda knew she was speaking to Amy. ‘I see. My husband is on his way to see Mr. Farmer. Tell him to ring me.’
The receiver was replaced and Linda held it away from her. What had she done to upset the woman now? She looked up to see John framed in the doorway, his hand raised in salute.
‘Hi. Everything ok?’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Your wife was on the phone – briefly.’
‘Oh… did she know it was you?’
Linda nodded.
‘She was a bit short with me.’
‘You haven’t done anything,’ he interrupted.
‘I’ll ring David and let him know you’re here. Do you want to ring Mrs Thornton first?’ She pushed the telephone across to him.
He shook his head.
‘No, I’ll ring her from David’s office. Just buzz him, will you?’
David acknowledged him with a smile. He had put his plans for semi-retirement on hold but refused to work anymore than forty hours a week. He was into the third hour of his day and already looking forward to going home.
John placed his briefcase on the desk and opened it. He took out a hefty pile of paper and laid it in front of David.
‘Is this…?’ David’s surprise showed.
‘Blood Red.’
‘But I’d no idea it was so near completion.’
‘There’ll be another one next month.’
David stared at him.
‘Do you want to tell me something?’
‘Blood Red is to be published in my name. It has to be that way because Amy knows the title. The one I will be delivering in a month is written by someone called Callum Brennan. It’s called In Praise.’
‘Callum Brennan? Am I missing something?’
‘Callum was my great grandfather’s name and Brennan was his wife’s maiden name. Simple really.’
‘Oh, dead simple. I suppose there’s a good reason for using a pseudonym? You do realise that your books sell in advance because they know they’re getting quality from John Thornton? How do I sell this if I can’t use your name?’
‘The readers are still getting the quality,’ John said mildly. ‘That hasn’t changed. You’ll have to launch this as the first book by a new writer – and I promise you I will deliver others. I’ve been working on two books at the same time. As far as Amy is concerned there is no gap in my publication schedule. All royalties from this and subsequent Callum Brennan books are to go directly to Dawn. I have to provide for her, our future and our child. Will you do it?’
There was a long silence before David spoke.
‘You’re not only my top selling author, you’re my closest friend. You will lose money on the Brennan book; you know that, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do. But the next one will be an earner.’
‘And you can keep producing two books every two years? With the amount of research you undertake? And what happens when someone recognises that Callum Brennan is John Thornton?’
‘How can anyone possibly do that? Even my dedication is To my love and her child… nobody could glean anything from that.’
‘Let me tell you something, pal. Two or three years ago Paul McCartney said something about the Beatles going out on the road as a band called something like Randy and the Rockets. The idea was to wear masks and things to disguise themselves so they could have a rave up like in the old days. The chap interviewing them pointed out that the exercise would be a bit pointless, their voices would be recognised. What I’m trying to say is that your voice, your writing voice, is unique, John. Anybody who really knows your books and who reads Callum Brennan will recognise that the writing resembles yours.' He paused for a moment and reached for his coffee. Sipping it slowly he added ‘and a second book would confirm it.’
‘I can lie.’
‘For how long? Get real, John. We’re talking literary critics here, not John Doe from down the road. These chaps can read a paragraph and make a bloody accurate guess as to the author. But, if you’re prepared to try, I’ll do what you want. I’ll promote Callum whatsisname in exactly the same way that I launched you with your first book. After that it’s in the lap of the gods as to who believes you! And just where does Mark stand in all of this? He typed it so won’t he wonder what’s happened to it?’
‘Mark’s been told the minimum. He knows I’m using a pseudonym and he’s to forget I wrote the book. He’s probably adding two and two together but he won’t say anything, especially not to Amy. I don’t think they get on. Thanks for agreeing to do this. Dawn and I have discussed it and we feel it’s the safest way of keeping things from Amy. If I started paying out regular amounts from my bank account I think Amy might notice.’
‘You do make life difficult, John. Why couldn’t you have believed what you promised in church and stuck to one woman –‘
John stood and banged his fist down on the desk.
‘You bloody well know why, David. I married a cold-hearted, cold-blooded woman who doesn’t care two hoots about anything or anybody. She’s devious, conniving, manipulative…’
‘Then why the hell don’t you divorce her?’
‘Because,’ John closed his eyes, ‘because… I still love her.’
At first Dawn tried to ignore the back-ache. She had been told that the baby was a good size. The lack of a view of her feet confirmed that. She had carried the baby to the front and presumed the aching pain in her back was a result of that. She sat down, rubbing the lump gently.
‘Come on, baby,’ she said softly. ‘Settle down. We’ve three more weeks to go and I don’t want three weeks of back ache.’
She shuffled in the chair to make herself more comfortable but two minutes later stood again, unable to bear the ache in a sitting position.
She wandered over to the window wishing John was with her. She knew he would massage her back. She smiled at the thought of what his back massages usually led to and then gripped tightly on to the window sill as a wave of pain washed over her.
‘Dear sweet Jesus,’ she gasped. She reached behind her for the telephone and dialled her doctor, hoping against hope that the surgery was open.
It wasn’t but a doctor was there and she spoke about the back ac
he and pain, which was met with laughter.
‘Listen, Dawn,’ Dr. Carrian said. ‘Have you ever heard of labour?’
‘Labour? But…’
‘But you thought it started with waters breaking, contractions and general discomfort? Forget it. It starts in a different way with everybody. I suspect your labour is beginning. If it’s any consolation it’s the worst way to start, the most uncomfortable, but by this time tomorrow you should have a baby. Now, take a couple of painkillers, they might just take the edge off. Do you need an ambulance or do you have transport?’
‘I need an ambulance.’ She laughed nervously. ‘Best not drive myself.’
‘How long has the back ache been going on?’
‘Since last night. I’ve hardly slept with it. I’m still three weeks away from my due date you know.’
‘Doesn’t mean a thing,’ the doctor cheerily replied. ‘Not a damn thing. They come when they decide and there’s not a great deal you can do about it. I’ll ring the hospital and tell them you’re on the way and I’ll order the ambulance. If you’ve had back ache that long I don’t think we should delay!’
She replaced the receiver and stared at the telephone. How could she contact John? They had decided that in two weeks he would start laying the idea of a possible trip to promote his book – one that could happen at a moment’s notice. They hadn’t counted on the baby coming early.
She knew he wanted to be there for the baby’s birth and now she couldn’t reach him. She daren’t ring him at home…
David. She’d ring David and zap him with the problem.
‘Hi, it’s Dawn.’
‘Hey, supermum, how’s it going?’
‘It’s going,’ she paused. ‘I’m in labour and I’m early. I don’t know how to get in touch with John. I know it’s an awful cheek considering you’ve never approved but can you ring him and tell him I’m going straight to the hospital? There’s an ambulance coming any minute to get me. Please, David…’
David hesitated, but only briefly.
‘I’ll do what I can, Dawn. Now take things as easy as you can and good luck. When it’s all over, get John to ring me, will you?’