A Trial Marriage

by Anne Mather

  ‘Where did you find those old things?’ he called, and Rachel sighed.

  ‘From this cupboard beside the bed. Your mother evidently doesn’t like throwing things away.’

  She heard his attractive laugh, and was tempted to go to the door of the dressing room and see what he would say. But common sense kept her in her seat. She had learned from experience how ruthless he could be in pursuit of his own ideals, and while physically she could arouse him, mentally he was always in control.

  He emerged a few seconds later, fastening the buttons of his waistcoat, pulling on his jacket. ‘That’s better,’ he commented, and then catching her eyes upon him, he walked determinedly towards the door. ‘Come on,’ he said, and his voice had thickened slightly. ‘We don’t have a lot of time for the mystery tour.’

  Jake did not linger long over showing her the bedrooms but concentrated instead on the huge dining room, which could accommodate a score of guests in comfort along the polished refectory table. Velvet-seated dining chairs backed on to long carved serving tables and sideboards where silver candelabra indicated intimate dinners by candlelight.

  ‘We shan’t be lunching in here,’ Jake added, noting Rachel’s awed expression, and she looked relieved. ‘There’s a small parlour which we use for family occasions.’

  ‘Thank goodness!’ Rachel smiled at him in mutual understanding, and then wondered if he was aware what his direct appraisal could do to her. She decided that he probably was. After all, as he had said, he was no boy, and he must have long appreciated his sexual attraction for women.

  As well as the dining room there was Mr Courtenay’s study, an impressive book-lined room, where Jake confessed he had suffered many a dressing down, and a smaller, less imposing sitting room, with a rack of paperbacks and a colour television.

  ‘Television!’ Jake muttered, grimacing. ‘I’ve watched more television in the last three months than I’ve ever watched before.’

  Rachel regarded him sympathetically. ‘Will you tell me what it was like—the breakdown, I mean? I’d like to know.’

  ‘Why?’ His dark eyebrows quirked. ‘So you’ll recognise the symptoms if it happens again?’

  ‘No!’ Rachel was indignant until she saw him smile and realised he was only teasing her. ‘I just want to share everything with you, that’s all.’

  ‘We’ll talk about it,’ he promised softly, and then it was time to join his parents for lunch.

  A young woman was waiting with the Courtenays in the drawing room. Tall, and quite slim, with curly dark hair and conventionally attractive features, she was apparently quite at home here, and although Rachel had a moment’s uncertainty, Jake’s friendly exclamation of ‘Sheila!’ confirmed that this was his father’s secretary, Dora Pendlebury’s daughter.

  Jake and Sheila shook hands, and she inquired warmly after his health, while Rachel accepted the glass of sherry Mr Courtenay offered her. Sheila was in her early thirties, Rachel guessed, and instinctively she concluded that she was the reason for the housekeeper’s animosity. Maybe Dora had hoped that Jake’s second excursion into marriage would take place closer to home, and certainly the way Sheila was looking at him seemed to confirm her supposition.

  Then Jake was introducing her to the newcomer, and in spite of a fleeting glimpse of something which might have been dislike in Sheila’s eyes, she treated Rachel charmingly, showing none of her mother’s dour antagonism.

  Although Rachel had expected Sheila was joining them for the meal, she disappeared after toasting them with a glass of sherry, but as Mrs Courtenay led the way into the cosy parlour adjoining, she said, anxiously: ‘Your father gave Sheila the day off purposely, and Dora told me she’d gone into Glastonbury. But obviously she decided to come back.’

  There was evident regret in her voice at this turn of events, and her husband cast her a reproving look. ‘It doesn’t matter, Sarah,’ he exclaimed, forestalling his son and holding Rachel’s chair for her. ‘Now, this looks good, doesn’t it?’

  Rachel was about to agree that the slices of honeydew melon, spiked with glacé cherries, did indeed look delicious, but Mrs Courtenay insisted on having her say.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jake,’ she said, turning to her son, who had seated himself opposite Rachel at the circular table and was presently shaking his napkin on to his lap. ‘But perhaps it was as well to get it over with.’

  Rachel, embarrassed by the obvious meaning behind Mrs Courtenay’s remarks, looked down uncomfortably at her plate, and Jake’s mouth turned down sardonically at the corners.

  ‘What my mother’s trying very heavy-handedly to say,’ he said, ‘is that Sheila Pendlebury and I have known one another since we were children and when my marriage to Denise broke up, there was a concerted movement among the women here to find someone to console me.’ His eyes narrowed as they lingered on Rachel’s bent head. ‘Unfortunately, Sheila didn’t fit the bill.’

  ‘Right,’ said his father, with some relief. ‘Now we’ve got that out of the way, perhaps we can get on with our lunch.’

  Rachel picked up her fork as Mrs Courtenay said defensively: ‘It’s as well to make these things open!’ and chancing a look at Jake was warmed by the intimate smile he gave her. It had been quite a visit, but she was learning.

  After lunch they all adjourned to the drawing room again, and seated on the couch beside Jake, with his arm along the cushions behind her, discussing in general terms their plans for the future, Rachel thought she had never felt more content. It was only as the shadows began invading the corners of the room, and Jake suggested it was time they started back, that a little of her earlier uncertainty returned to torment her.

  Jake was leaving the hotel at the end of the week. That was one of the things which had been decided, and he would make all the arrangements for their wedding at Hardy Lonsdale parish church in two weeks’ time. After the wedding, they would spend Christmas with his parents; as Jake had said, and return to London in the New Year. There was no talk of a honeymoon, but Rachel knew that marrying Jake was the important thing, and where they spent their life afterwards didn’t matter, so long as they were together. Even so, she dreaded seeing Della again, and telling her their plans. There were times when she was torn by the terrifying certainty that she was dreaming all this, and only Della’s cruel insinuations were real.

  It was dark by the time they got back to the hotel, and Jake was looking distinctly strained. It had been his most strenuous day since the start of his illness, and he asked Rachel if she would mind if he went straight to bed.

  Standing with him in the gloomy interior of the underground garage, Rachel was concerned by the greyness of his features. ‘Would you like me to come with you?’ she asked, and then realised at once what she had said when Jake gave her an old-fashioned look.

  ‘I know what you mean,’ he assured her softly, ‘but no. I don’t think that’s a good idea on either counts. You’re too distracting, and I am tired.’

  ‘All right.’ They walked across to the lift together, and Rachel tucked her arm possessively through his. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, hmm?’

  ‘Without a doubt,’ Jake agreed, bending his head to press a lingering kiss on her parted lips.

  Rachel wished she could go straight to her own room when the lift reached her floor, but of course she had to let Della know she was back, and that necessitated going into her suite instead. Della was dressing for dinner, but she came out of her bedroom when she heard Rachel come in, and regarded the girl maliciously.

  ‘Well?’ she challenged. ‘Have you had a good day?’

  ‘Lovely, thank you.’ Rachel looked about her. ‘Where’s Minstrel?’

  ‘A lot you care,’ jeered Della. ‘As a matter of fact, Mr Yates has taken him for a walk.’

  ‘Mr Yates?’ Rachel was visibly surprised. ‘But——’

  ‘He was most interested to hear about your engagement!’ continued Della coldly. ‘But naturally, as he knows your Mr Allan’s real identity, he wasn’
t altogether surprised.’

  Rachel allowed the barb to go unacknowledged, and turned back to the door. ‘If you don’t need me any more this evening, Della, I’ll——’

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ inserted Della sharply. ‘I want to know what’s going on. When are you leaving? Or is that classified information?’

  ‘No.’ Rachel held up her head. ‘I’m getting married in two weeks. If you want me to, I’ll work for you until then.’

  ‘I’m honoured.’ Della was derisive. ‘Are you sure your—fiancé will permit it?’

  ‘Jake’s leaving at the end of this week,’ Rachel told her quietly. ‘He’ll stay with his parents until we’re married.’

  ‘How nice!’ Della had picked up a jar of foundation cream from her dressing table, but now she slammed it down on to the glass surface again with unnecessary force, her lips moving angrily. ‘Well, hear this, Rachel! Don’t you come running to me when things start going wrong and expect me to take you back again, because I won’t!’

  ‘Oh, Della——’

  ‘Don’t “oh, Della” me! I’ve been good to you, and this is how you repay me!’

  Rachel let her go on, wishing there was some way she could have avoided this. If only Della had tried to understand, instead of pretending a martyred outrage over a relationship she had tried to establish for herself.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  As Rachel reached for the door handle, the older woman’s shrill tones made her turn back. ‘I’m going to my room, Della,’ she replied carefully. ‘There’s no point in continuing this. We both know that you don’t really feel anything but contempt for me, and last night you were quite prepared to dismiss me out of hand.’

  ‘I should never have gone through with that,’ exclaimed Della indignantly. ‘Everyone says things they don’t mean in moments of stress. I was upset and angry. How else did you expect me to react?’

  Rachel heaved a sigh, and determinedly opened the door. ‘I’m tired, Della,’ she said, tension causing a tight band around her temples. ‘I don’t want any dinner, but I’ll take Minstrel out later on, don’t worry.’

  Della sniffed, dabbing at her nose with the back of her hand. ‘I wonder what your mother would think about you marrying a man more than twenty years your senior,’ she demanded.

  ‘I imagine that so long as I was happy, she would be happy, too,’ retorted Rachel shortly, and slammed the door behind her.

  In her own room, she flung herself on the bed with a feeling of intense restlessness. If only there was someone she could talk to, she thought dejectedly. Some woman who, unlike Della, would understand her feelings for Jake—and her anxieties, too.

  In the morning, everything looked different. Two weeks would soon pass, and she couldn’t wait to belong to Jake, to be able to call herself his wife and be with him every minute of the day—and night.

  Jake did not appear at breakfast time however, and she had to hold herself in check until Della had finished her meal before escaping from the dining room. Even then, she only made it as far as the lobby before Carl Yates caught up with her, and his expression did nothing for her morale.

  ‘I understand you’re to be congratulated,’ he remarked, an underlying core of bitterness sharpening his tone. ‘I believe one usually congratulates the man on these occasions, but I have to hand it to you. You’ve really pulled off the catch of the season!’

  Rachel was in no mood to tolerate anyone’s criticism. ‘I don’t have to stay and listen to your insolence, Mr Yates,’ she told him scathingly, hot flags of colour burning in her cheeks. ‘What I choose to do is my own affair, and just because I allowed you to date me on one far from memorable occasion, it does not give you the right to offer opinions in matters about which you are—happily—ignorant!’

  Carl’s fair complexion revealed his embarrassment. His previous experiences with Rachel had not prepared him for this articulate virago, and the fact that she was delivering her comments within sight and sound of anybody passing through the lobby of the hotel caused him to glance about him in mortification.

  ‘Rachel!’ he groaned weakly. ‘For goodness’ sake, lower your voice! All right, perhaps I have been a bit hasty, but at least try to understand how I feel. I thought you liked me! That night we went out together, you didn’t tell me I was only standing in for Big Daddy!’

  A reluctant trace of amusement lifted the corners of Rachel’s mouth. Then she shook her head. ‘It wasn’t like that. And I do like you, Carl. At least, when you’re not playing the heavy. We had a good time together, but Jake and I …’ She made a helpless gesture. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Carl was encouraged by her changing attitude. ‘I only wanted you to know that I shall miss you,’ he explained, making a concerted effort to win her approval. ‘I mean …’ He possessed himself of one of her hands. ‘We were just getting to know one another.’

  She was still looking at him abstractedly when the lift doors opened and Jake emerged, and immediately Rachel was conscious of her hand held within Carl’s and of how their appearance must seem to an onlooker.

  She pulled her hand away from Carl’s as Jake strolled across to join them, his expression revealing none of the jealous anger she had nervously expected to see. Carl visibly came to attention as his employer approached, and his polite: ‘Good morning!’ was at once a greeting and, to Rachel’s ears, an unspoken plea for understanding.

  ‘Good morning.’ Jake returned the salutation easily, smiling at Rachel and bringing a becoming sparkle to her eyes. He looked much better this morning, she thought with relief, the lines of strain carved the day before ironed out after a night’s rest. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t join you for breakfast,’ he added. ‘I overslept.’

  ‘I—er—I understand you and Miss Lesley are going to get married, sir,’ Carl faltered awkwardly. ‘Congratulations!’

  There was a moment’s silence after his words while Jake toyed with the buttons of his leather overcoat and the other sounds of the hotel went on, effectively creating a barrier around them. Rachel felt herself tensing, and her eyes darted anxiously to Jake’s.

  At last he said: ‘Thank you. But I’m sure you don’t call my fiancée Miss Lesley any more than I do.’

  Carl was taken aback. ‘Well, I——’

  ‘Relax.’ Jake’s tone was laconic. ‘I don’t expect you to stand on ceremony, Carl. Besides, you’ve been out with her yourself, haven’t you?’

  ‘Just to a disco,’ Carl protested, and Jake nodded.

  ‘I know.’ He transferred his attention to Rachel. ‘Go and get your coat. We’ll take a walk.’

  ‘Oh, but …’ Rachel glanced meaningfully towards the dining room, and Jake sighed.

  ‘I’ll take care of Mrs Faulkner-Stewart,’ he assured her, and after another awkward pause Rachel hurried into the lift.

  When she came down again, Jake was lounging on one of the maroon leather settees that were set about the reception area, reading a newspaper. He put it down at her approach, however, and rose to his feet.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘Yes.’ Rachel looked up at him anxiously. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Well, I’ve left my cane behind this morning,’ he told her gravely, but when she broke into a relieved grin, he remained unsmiling. Rachel’s amusement quickly disappeared, and she accompanied him outside feeling chillier than the weather warranted.

  ‘Did—did you speak to Della?’ she asked, as he strode along beside her, hands thrust into his coat pockets, defying any attempt on Rachel’s part to take hold of his arm.

  ‘Yes, I spoke to her,’ he acknowledged levelly. ‘She was quite amenable when I explained that I wanted to buy you an engagement ring.’

  ‘Oh, Jake!’ Rachel’s lips parted to admit an icy blast of air into her mouth, and she gasped with the cold. ‘You don’t have to do that.’

  ‘Why not?’ He halted abruptly, and she went a couple of steps further on before she could control the momentum and come back to him. ‘I thought dia
monds were a girl’s best friend.’

  Rachel sighed. ‘What I mean is—it’s not necessary to buy me another ring. I—I’ll be wearing your wedding ring in two weeks.’

  Jake tilted his head on one side. ‘Have you any idea how diamonds appreciate in value? A ring bought today might be worth two hundred pounds more in a couple of years’ time.’

  ‘So what?’ Rachel frowned. ‘Why are you telling me this? Why should I want to know about the resale value of a diamond ring?’

  Jake shrugged. ‘I just thought you might be interested. Denise sold all her jewellery when she inherited the Perrucci emeralds. I believe she made somewhere in the region of twenty-five thousand pounds!’

  Rachel understood now. ‘You mean you’re only buying me this ring so that I’ll have something of value to sell when we split up, is that it?’ she demanded.

  ‘You’ve got the picture,’ he agreed tonelessly, and her heart thumped sickeningly in her ears.

  ‘Well, if that’s all you’re buying it for, forget it!’ she declared, controlling the treacherous tremor in her voice. ‘Whatever you care to believe, I don’t want your money, and you can keep your diamond rings for someone who’ll appreciate them!’

  Jake stared down at her broodingly. ‘Brave words,’ he drawled. ‘What it is to be young and have ideals!’

  Rachel heaved a deep breath. ‘We’re quarrelling, and there’s no need for it,’ she exclaimed. ‘Just because you came downstairs and found Carl holding my hand——’

  ‘Not just because of that!’ he corrected her grimly. ‘I’ve done a lot of thinking since yesterday, and I’m becoming more and more convinced this was a crazy idea!’

  ‘What!’ Rachel’s knees went weak.

  ‘You heard what I said, Rachel. I have one disastrous marriage behind me. Why should I assume ours would be in any way different, particularly as there are other complications.’

  ‘What other complications?’ she cried, turning up her coat collar against the chill wind blowing off the sea, and he regarded her half impatiently.