Vows Made in Secret

by Louise Fuller

  She swallowed, lowering her gaze.

  ‘I always knew when she was going to go out. And I’d try and stop her. Stall her by asking questions.’ She bit her lip; her questions to Laszlo seven years ago had stemmed from the same fear. Letting out a long breath, she shrugged. ‘She nearly always went out, though. Then one day my dad never came back. Just cleared out their bank account and disappeared. It turned out that he was married already—to two other women. So really they weren’t even married,’ she said flatly.

  ‘And you thought I’d do that to you?’ Laszlo’s voice was neutral but his mouth was set in a grim line.

  Prudence couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘I suppose, deep down, I did. I assumed the worst.’

  And that was why she’d walked away. Because she’d been scared. Scared that the worst was already happening, and that if she stayed her life would settle, like her mother’s, into a pattern of rows and pleading and disappearances and lies.

  Looking up, she met his gaze and they stood staring at one another, the silence between them broken only by the humming of the bees and the faint sound of a tractor on the breeze.

  ‘I didn’t give you much reason to hope for the best, did I?’ Laszlo said softly.

  He scanned her face, seeing what he’d failed to see before: a young woman seeking reassurance. Not once had he stopped and thought to ask himself why she had been so anxious. Instead he’d convinced himself that her constant need for reassurance had demonstrated a feebleness of character unbecoming in his wife.

  Reaching out, he pushed an unsteady hand through her hair and pulled her gently towards him. For a moment he imagined burying his face against the doe-soft smoothness of her neck, but then he frowned.

  ‘You were my wife. I should have known these things about you. And the fact that I didn’t is my fault,’ he said slowly. ‘But you’re right. You did assume the worst. Only I’m not your dad.’ She stiffened at his words and he grimaced. ‘And you’re not your mum, Prudence! From what you’ve just told me, she doesn’t sound like the sort of maddeningly stubborn woman who’d climb over a massive wall to demand her job back.’

  Blushing at that image of herself, she looked up at him. He smiled at her slowly, his eyes glittering with an emotion she didn’t recognise.

  ‘I wasn’t that stubborn until I met you,’ she said carefully, her grey eyes issuing him with a challenge.

  Watching the colour return to her cheeks, Laszlo felt a flicker of admiration rise inside him. She was brave. Braver than he’d thought. Braver than himself. He knew just how hard it was to reveal the truth about yourself to anyone.

  Loosening a strand of her hair, Laszlo curled it round his finger. If only they could go back to bed, so she could curl her body around his as she’d done at the cottage.

  As though she could read his mind, she looked up and sighed.

  ‘So what are we going to do? You said you’d been thinking about us a lot?’

  They were back where they’d started. He frowned. ‘Not us. It. About it. The sex.’

  Her shoulders felt leaden and she was suddenly more tired than she had ever been in her life.

  ‘Of course. My mistake!’ she said wearily. ‘I seem to be making a lot of those. Look, Laszlo. What happened between us isn’t going to happen again. I don’t want to sleep with you—’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ Laszlo interrupted her, his voice sharp and sure like a scalpel. ‘You want me as much as I want you. And until you stop torturing yourself about that it won’t stop, whether you’re in London or in Hungary, married to me or not. You told me you wanted a divorce so you could move on. But you didn’t even know we were married. Now that’s crazy, Prudence.’

  A muscle tightened in his cheek.

  ‘I agree. We need to move on but what’s holding us back is not some vows we made. It’s this thing we have. This incredible need for one another. I’ll “divorce” you, if that’s what you want. But you need to accept that no piece of paper, or whatever it is you’re hoping to get, is going to bring you physical closure.’

  Prudence felt herself frown. What he was saying made sense. Being unaware of her marital status hadn’t stopped the memory of him casting a shadow over her sexual relations with other men. A light blush spread over her skin. Their touches, their kisses, had seemed like insipid, inferior copies of the fierce, primal passion she had shared with Laszlo. But how was she ever to move on if she couldn’t stop this burning want she had inside her for him?

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand. Are you saying you do want a divorce?’

  His eyes darkened. ‘The divorce is irrelevant. You have to face the truth. We want each other. And that want is holding us back from living freely.’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’ she asked slowly.

  He studied her face. The air was suddenly thick between them.

  ‘I think we should keep on sleeping together,’ he said softly. ‘The truth is we both want to. And maybe that’s what we need to do to get each other out of our systems for good.’

  She stared at him, stunned into silence not just by his words but by her body’s instantaneous response to them.

  Finally, she shook her head again. It wasn’t worth the risk. ‘So your solution to this mess is to make our lives more complicated? What happened at the cottage was understandable—’

  ‘It was incredible,’ he corrected.

  Ignoring his comment, and the traitorous heat rising up inside her, she forced herself to concentrate. ‘Understandable,’ she repeated firmly. ‘But it was spontaneous. A one-off. What you’re suggesting would be deliberate and repeated. We can’t do that.’

  ‘It’s nothing we haven’t done before.’ He spoke quietly but his eyes were fierce.

  She blinked. ‘No. Laszlo. I haven’t done this before. Had an affair with my estranged husband, who doesn’t even like me and also happens to be my boss! It’s just wrong on so many levels.’

  His gaze flickered over her face and he smiled a smile that lit up his eyes like the sun, spreading radiance and warmth over her.

  He shook his head, his eyes glittering. ‘No. What we share could never be wrong, Prudence,’ he said softly. ‘I agree, it’s not a conventional arrangement, but what we have is so extraordinary, so overwhelming. Look, I don’t know if it’ll work, but when I’m holding you in my arms it feels like we know everything about each other. It’s like our own perfect private communion.’

  Gazing up into his face, Prudence felt herself wavering. She knew she should turn him down but the pull of his words was so powerful. She could no more resist him than the tide could resist the tug of the moon.

  Laszlo let out a breath. His heart was pounding. Looking down, he saw with surprise that his hands were shaking and he wondered why. He gritted his teeth. It was frustration, he told himself. Two days spent thinking about Prudence’s delectable body and his own body was hovering on the edge of meltdown. Particularly with her standing so close, looking so desirable.

  And she was so very beautiful. Her eyes were shimmering like beaten silver and he could smell the sweet honeyed fragrance that clung to her skin and hair. But truthfully it wasn’t just about her beauty. It wasn’t even about the sex. Her bright enthusiasm for art, her doggedness in getting back her job, her sweetness with his grandfather—all charmed him, delighted him.

  ‘It’s not just the physical,’ he said finally. ‘I like spending time with you.’

  Prudence swallowed. Her grey eyes flashed with reproach. ‘Only when it suits you.’

  Seeing the indecision in her eyes, he was on the verge of simplifying everything by pulling her into his arms and melting her resistance with the heat of his kisses. But something held him back—some confused idea that this was not the moment for passion.

  Besides, he had something better in mind.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘COME WITH ME. I have something I want to show you.’

  He held out his hand and after a moment Prudence took it. They walked slowl
y together over the rough, springy grass until finally they reached a copse of stunted, low-branched trees and he stopped and gently disengaged his hand.

  ‘What are we doing?’ she asked.

  ‘We’re meeting him here,’ he said, turning to face her.

  ‘Meeting who? Where? We’re in the middle of a field.’

  Grinning, he shook his head. ‘We’re meeting my cousin. And this is not a field. It’s an apple orchard. My apple orchard,’ he said softly, taking her hand in his again. ‘A long time ago the estate used to make all its own cider.’

  Biting her lip, she looked at him nervously. ‘Your cousin? Won’t that be a little awkward? I mean, he knows we’re married...’

  Her voice sounded shrill and shaky and, frowning, Laszlo pulled her towards him.

  ‘Take it easy. I have about thirty cousins. This is a different one.’ Gently, he pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘This is my cousin Mihaly.’ He paused and studied her face speculatively. ‘He doesn’t know we’re married. Only my great-uncle and my cousin Matyas know.’

  He grimaced.

  ‘And they’re not here. Not that they’d say anything to anybody anyway,’ he said slowly. ‘I promise. You’d have more luck having a conversation with Besnik than you would at getting a word out of either of them.’

  Squeezing her hand, he squinted into the horizon. ‘There he is.’

  He lifted his arm and waved at the outline of a man riding on horseback.

  ‘That’s Mihaly.’

  Feeling somewhat calmer, Prudence let out a breath as he raised his hand to greet his cousin.

  ‘Mihaly! How are you?’

  Smiling shyly, Prudence turned to where Laszlo was waving and then gasped softly. Not at the dark-haired man sliding off the bare back of a sleepy-eyed white cob, but at the caravan behind the horse.

  ‘Oh. That is so beautiful,’ she whispered. ‘Is that a vardo?’ Blushing, she glanced at Laszlo and he nodded slowly.

  He dropped her hand and walked swiftly towards his cousin. The men hugged one another and then Laszlo turned. Reaching towards Prudence, he tugged her forward by the hand.

  ‘Mihaly, this is Prudence. She’s working for my grandfather. Prudence—my cousin Mihaly. He’s like a brother to me and he’s a good friend. Just don’t let him sing to you.’

  Mihaly grinned and inclined his head. ‘And don’t let him play a guitar.’ He winced. ‘I’m still having trouble in this ear. And now, cousin, where do you want me to put this—because I need to be getting back.’ He turned towards Prudence and grinned sheepishly. ‘My wife is having our fifth child any time now, so I need to get home as soon as possible.’

  After much manoeuvring, Laszlo and Mihaly finally managed to guide the vardo between the apple trees and across the fields to the cottage. Having detached the shafts from the pulling harness, Mihaly waved cheerfully and rode away.

  Prudence stared at the vardo in wonder. ‘When I was a little girl I had a storybook with a picture of a vardo in it. But I’ve never been this close to one before,’ she murmured.

  ‘Take a look inside.’ Laszlo gestured towards the vardo. ‘There’s a bed and a dresser and a stove.’

  Prudence climbed up the steps and then trod lightly inside the vardo. It was just perfect, with intricately painted roses and castles and bright embroidered cushions. She swallowed and climbed back down.

  There was a moment’s silence and then Laszlo said quietly, ‘So, what do you think?’

  His voice sounded hesitant and, glancing across, Prudence saw that his expression was strained—anxious, almost. Guiltily she remembered how he’d accused her of shunning his family. Clearly he wanted to know what she thought of his cousin.

  She smiled. ‘He seemed nice.’

  Laszlo laughed. ‘Not Mihaly! The vardo. Do you really like it or are you just being polite?’ He stared at her, his gaze intent, a line of doubt on his forehead.

  ‘N-no, of course I’m not just being polite,’ she stammered. ‘It’s beautiful. Really. You’re very lucky,’ she said teasingly. ‘A castle and a vardo! That’s just plain greedy.’

  He grinned, and then his expression shifted, grew serious. He looked at her levelly. ‘Actually, the vardo isn’t mine. I’ve just been holding on to it for someone.’

  She held her breath, sensing a tightness in him—a sort of eagerness. ‘Whose is it?’ she whispered. But even before he could reply she already knew the answer to her question. ‘Is it mine?’ she asked hesitantly.

  He nodded, watching as her look of shock and confusion turned to happiness. ‘It was supposed to be my wedding gift to you.’

  He hadn’t planned on telling her that the vardo was hers. He’d simply wanted to show it to her, for he’d known that it would soften her. A woman would have to have a heart of stone not to be ensnared by the romanticism of a real gypsy caravan.

  She turned to smile at him and he smiled back. But his smile was hollow, for seeing her genuine pleasure made him feel shabby and manipulative and he felt a stab of jealousy. With shock, he realised that he wanted to share in her happiness. That he actually liked making her happy.

  A muscle flickered in his jaw. ‘It’s more of a curio than anything. We wouldn’t have lived in it, obviously—’

  ‘Why not?’ She frowned, instantly defensive. ‘It’s beautiful and romantic and it’s got everything you need—’

  ‘Everything but a toilet and a shower and hot running water.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Give me a Willerby Westmorland any day!’ His eyes gleamed. He watched her with mild amusement. ‘And there’s nothing romantic about not being able to wash,’ he added drily.

  ‘Why did Mihaly have it?’ She glanced up at him tentatively.

  His eyes met hers. ‘He and my uncle restore vardos. They’ve been holding on to it for me.’

  He paused and Prudence felt her face grow warm.

  ‘That’s where I went the other day,’ he said softly. ‘After I ran away. I went to my uncle’s and I remembered it was there. Only I couldn’t bring it back because one of the wheels was damaged. So Mihaly said he’d bring it over to me today.’ His golden eyes moved over her face like the sun. ‘I wanted you to see it before you leave,’ he added calmly.

  His matter-of-fact tone went some way towards taking the bite from his words but Prudence still heard the blood rush inside her head and felt her stomach clench as she came crashing down to earth. But of course she was going to leave. Her contract wasn’t permanent and Laszlo had just agreed to divorce her. So why did she feel so cold? As though she’d suddenly stepped into the shadows?

  Pushing that troublesome question away, she took a step towards the vardo.

  ‘Is it really mine?’ She turned to face him. ‘I mean, could I spend the night here?’

  He took so long to answer that she thought he hadn’t heard her, but then he stared at her, his eyes impossibly gold and translucent, like clear new honey, and nodded. She hesitated, suddenly tongue-tied and blushing.

  ‘I mean, with you.’

  The words caught in her throat and the air felt suddenly charged around them. Their eyes locked and then slowly he walked towards her. Sliding his hands through her hair, he tipped her face to his.

  ‘Me? Stay in your caravan?’ Frowning, he pretended to think. ‘Are you sure? I don’t know. That sounds complicated,’ he whispered.

  She pulled away from him and held out her hand. ‘Then I think we should keep things simple,’ she murmured. ‘Stick with what we do best.’

  And then, taking his fingers in hers, she began to lead him up the steps into the vardo.

  * * *

  Prudence woke to the sound of birdsong. The vardo was warm with sunlight and for a moment she lay sleepily on her back, revelling in the ache of her body. Then, rolling over, she reached out and touched the space beside her in the bed. The sheets were still warm and, closing her eyes, she breathed in Laszlo’s clean, salty, masculine smell.

  In the last few days when they’d been together
every private moment had been spent in bed. And every night Prudence lost count of the number of times they made love. At first, despite lack of sleep, she hadn’t wanted the morning to come, for fear that daylight would break the spell between them. But on waking that first morning, without any apparent effort on their part, everything had fallen quite naturally into place, and now their days and nights had slipped into a pattern.

  Most mornings Laszlo would wake long before she did—often before dawn. Sometimes he would get up and dress and return, waking her with breakfast. Other times he would reach out for her in the darkness, pressing her body against his, the beat of his blood in time to her heart...

  At the memory of the way his mouth sought out hers, of his hands so gentle, yet demanding, she felt a familiar ache deep inside her pelvis that made her press her legs together. Blushing, she gave a squirm of pleasure. The sex was so good, and his desire for her was so intoxicating, so quick, so urgent—like pollen bursting from a flower. He made her feel so alive, utterly unlike herself. Lost in him she became passionate, brave and wanton.

  She bit her lip. But soon it would be over. She would be back in England and back to a life without passion; a life without Laszlo. Slowly she rolled out of bed and sat up straight. A hard knot was forming in her stomach. She had spent the last week living in the moment, trying not to think, and more particularly trying not to think about the future. Easy at first, with the days and nights stretching out ahead of her, to do just that. Easy, too, to accept the rationale for what they were doing and ignore the fact that physical intimacy encouraged the senses to play all kinds of stupid, dangerous tricks on the mind.

  Sighing, she lay back down and rolled onto her side. She had no one to blame but herself, for Laszlo had never offered anything other than sex. In fact, he couldn’t have made it clearer that their affair was simply a finite means to an end—a way for both of them to find sexual closure. But being with Laszlo seemed to be doing little to reduce her hunger for him. Instead the hours she spent in his company seemed only to remind her why she’d fallen in love with him seven years ago.