by Anne Mather
‘Us,’ he said flatly. ‘You and me. The material differences between us notwithstanding.’
‘I see.’ Rachel wondered if she had ever felt so wretched. She couldn’t imagine so, not even when her parents died. ‘So—you want to call it off?’
Jake swore softly under his breath, and then began to walk slowly along the parade. Although her legs felt decidedly unsteady, she fell into step beside him, reminded of the first time they had walked together, and his anger on that occasion.
‘Jake,’ she probed despairingly. ‘Jake, please! Don’t do this.’
He stopped again to confront her, and her pulses raced at the look in his eyes. ‘Rachel, you know as well as I do that what you’re really looking for is a father figure——’
‘No!’
‘—someone to take the place of your parents.’
‘No!’ she cried again. ‘That’s not true. I loved my parents, of course I did, but when they died I didn’t feel as I do now.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Jake, if you leave me now, I——’ She broke off, shaking back the tears. ‘I love you! The man you are—exactly as you are! I don’t want anyone else.’
‘But——’ Jake’s hands balled into fists in his pockets.
‘You saw what I was like yesterday. I’m still a wreck! You shouldn’t waste your youth on someone like me.’
‘For heaven’s sake!’ Rachel pressed her lips tightly together. ‘What youth am I going to have if you walk out on me?’
Jake closed his eyes, and for an awful moment she thought he was ill until he opened them again to stare at her searchingly ‘I’m not worth it, you know,’ he muttered roughly, and her heart palpitated madly.
‘Just tell me if you want me,’ she breathed, and for an answer he put his arm across her shoulders and pulled her close against him.
‘You know I want you,’ he groaned, pressing her head into the hollow of his neck. ‘All right, on your head be it. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
‘Oh, stop it!’ Rachel looked up at him impatiently, trembling with reaction, and hardly capable of maintaining the controlled behaviour he expected of her. ‘Come on.’ She grasped his hand. ‘Let’s go down on the beach. I’m shaking so much people will think I’ve got pneumonia!’
‘Then we’ll go and buy a ring,’ he said firmly, ignoring her instinctive recoil. ‘Because I want to put my mark of possession upon you, that’s all.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
RACHEL sipped her champagne and endeavoured to behave as if she was used to gatherings of this kind. Certainly she fitted into her surroundings, and her white lace dress could hold its own with the best that any Paris couturier could provide. Her wide-brimmed hat had been discarded a little while before, but the tumbled mass of auburn-gold curls that framed her somewhat bemused features needed no further adornment.
She could see Jake right at the other end of the room, his dark head visible among a mass of lighter ones, cool and immaculate, mingling as she was supposed to be doing. In his charcoal grey morning suit, he looked very much the sophisticated individual he was, and there was a certain arrogance in the way he took his guest’s good wishes for granted.
For her part, Rachel knew the high spot of the day had been their wedding at the tiny village church of St Agnes. It had seemed as if everyone who lived in Hardy Lonsdale had turned out for the celebration, and the church was crammed before the service.
Jake had invited few guests to the actual ceremony, but afterwards, here at his parents’ home, their number had been swelled by succeeding carloads of well-wishers, all of whom seemed to have known Jake for a number of years. And had known Denise too, Rachel had decided tensely, although they were unerringly charming to her.
Nevertheless, they were not her friends, not yet, at least, and her eyes searched desperately for the faces of Della, and Carl, and one or two of the other guests from the hotel, her only contribution to this noisy gathering. Never had Della’s plump features looked so dearly familiar, and Rachel pushed her way between a group of Mr Courtenay’s horse-racing friends to where her erstwhile employer was holding court with Jake’s mother, his aunt, and two of his cousins. They were people Rachel had been introduced to before the ceremony, but she couldn’t remember any of their names now.
‘Rachel!’ Mrs Courtenay turned at her approach, and smiled warmly. Since the marriage had become a definite possibility, she had done her utmost to make amends for her earlier behaviour, and although Rachel still regarded her with a certain amount of caution, she had to admit that Jake’s mother had been very kind to her. It was because of her that Rachel was now wearing this model gown, purchased by Mrs Courtenay through her connections with the London fashion houses, and in spite of Rachel’s protest that she had enough clothes, one or two other items had found their way into her wardrobe.
‘Such a beautiful dress,’ sighed Mrs King admiringly, as she joined them. ‘You’re a lucky girl, Rachel.’
‘Yes.’
Rachel’s husky affirmative was less than enthusiastic, and Della gave her a curious look. ‘Are you planning to stay here until after Christmas?’ she inquired. ‘Aren’t you having a honeymoon?’
Rachel sighed. ‘Jake still hasn’t to overdo things,’ she explained, and his mother hastened to add that she and Mr Courtenay were leaving that evening to spend a few days with her sister in Dorchester.
‘Naturally, we don’t want to intrude,’ she added archly, ‘although the west wing is quite apart from our rooms at the other side of the house. Still, I always think a newly married couple need a little time alone together, don’t you?’
‘Stop embarrassing the girl, Sarah,’ exclaimed her sister, earning her new niece’s undying gratitude for her intervention. ‘Jake and Rachel have all their lives ahead of them. There’s time enough to be alone.’
‘You’re just like Charles. Lydia,’ exclaimed Mrs Courtenay impatiently. ‘You both behave as if you’ve never been young yourselves.’
Jake’s Aunt Lydia merely gave a wry smile and turned to Rachel: ‘Are you happy, my dear?’ she asked. ‘That’s the important thing.’
Rachel managed a faint smile in return. ‘Very happy,’ she said, and the older women nodded.
Carl moved round to her as conversation became more general. ‘I haven’t been able to tell you before, but you look beautiful,’ he murmured softly, his lips brushing her hair as he bent to speak into her ear. ‘Courtenay’s a lucky swine!’
Rachel expelled a trembling breath. ‘You didn’t always think so.’
Carl pulled a knowing face. ‘I did, you know. Don’t you recognise jealousy when you see it?’
‘I shall miss you, Carl—all of you!’ she added, in case he misunderstood. ‘You’re my last ties with the past. It’s odd, but I never realised that until now.’
‘You’re not regretting it?’ he exclaimed sharply, but she quickly shook her head.
‘Oh, no. It was—inevitable, somehow. I knew that as soon, as—well, as soon as I saw Jake.’
‘Love at first sight,’ remarked Carl rather sceptically, but she shook her head.
‘Not that, exactly. Just—a feeling. An awareness. I can’t explain what it’s like. I just know it’s there.’
Carl expelled his breath heavily. ‘Well, I hope he never disappoints you, that’s all. His marriage to Denise was a disaster.’
‘I know that.’ Strangely the thought of Jake’s first wife didn’t trouble her so much now. ‘But I’m going to make him happy.’
Carl compressed his lips, sensing the barrier she was deliberately erecting between them. He moved away as one of Jake’s cousins came to offer her good wishes, and Rachel felt curiously sorry for him.
A hand at her elbow banished these thoughts, however, as Jake’s quiet tones invaded her reverie: ‘Do you want some more champagne?’
She glanced round at him at once, her heart quickening at the realisation that he was her husband now. ‘I—no.’ She gestured towa
rds her still half-full glass. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘You tell me.’ he answered gravely. ‘I saw you with Yates. What was he saying to you?’
She gave a breathy little laugh. ‘Are you jealous?’
‘Yes.’
His reply was as unexpected as it was off-hand, spoken in a throw-away tone that in no way drew attention to the importance of its meaning. Rachel gazed up at him wide-eyed, and her lips parted in confusion.
‘Carl was just—admiring my dress,’ she got out jerkily. ‘Jake, you have no need to be jealous of him!’
His eyes moved meaningfully over the vee-necked bodice of her gown, lingering on the shadowy cleft between her breasts, just visible above the fine lace. ‘Was that all he said?’ he demanded, not acknowledging her protest, and she sighed.
‘Yes. At least—well, he said you were a lucky swine, but that’s a matter of opinion, isn’t it?’ she joked, and then getting no obvious response: ‘How—much longer will this affair be going on?’
Jake’s hand slid down her arm to her wrist, his fingers stroking her palm before interlacing themselves with hers. ‘I thought I heard Denise’s name mentioned,’ he drawled quietly, his lips brushing close to her ear, as Carl’s had done, but with infinitely more effect on Rachel. ‘I hope you’re not going to start lying to me this early in our relationship.’
Rachel turned to him aghast, but what she had been about to say was swallowed up by Mr Courtenay’s booming voice, exclaiming loudly: ‘Give someone else a chance, Jake! Can’t you wait until you get her alone before you start monopolising the girl?’
Jake’s father had obviously been imbibing too freely in the vintage champagne, and his face was unnaturally flushed and blotchy. Beads of perspiration stood out on his brow, and he occasionally mopped them away with a white handkerchief.
Mrs Courtenay, who had heard her husband’s outburst, interposed herself between him and Rachel. ‘You’ve had nothing to eat yet, Charles,’ she said severely. ‘Come along. I had Dora prepare some smoked salmon rolls especially for you.’
‘I’m not hungry, Sarah!’ protested Mr Courtenay irritably, and Jake released Rachel to take his father’s arm.
‘Come on,’ he said tolerantly. ‘You don’t want to appear on the front page of the Glastonbury Herald do you?’
His father blustered. ‘The Herald? I thought you said there were to be no reporters here!’
‘There aren’t,’ remarked Jake dryly, leading him away. ‘But you wouldn’t know that for sure, would you?’
After they had gone, Mrs Courtenay shook her head in annoyance at her sister. ‘Really!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’d think he would have more sense, at his age.’
‘Oh, Sarah!’ Lydia just laughed. ‘He’s enjoying himself. Leave him alone!’
Rachel tried to join in the general amusement, but her nerves were jumping after what Jake had said. She searched desperately for the sight of her husband coming back again, but it was Della who drew her to one side and said: ‘What’s the matter? You look—pale.’
‘I’m all right.’ The last thing Rachel needed right now was advice from Della. ‘It’s warm in here, isn’t it?’
Della gave her a narrow look. ‘You do know what you’re letting yourself in for, don’t you?’ she murmured, in an undertone. ‘Oh, yes, I suppose you must do. Young people these days—they don’t bother waiting for the wedding to give them licence to go to bed together.’
Rachel was stung by her words. ‘If you’re implying that Jake and I have already been to bed together, then you couldn’t be more wrong!’ she declared hotly.
‘No?’ Della was obviously surprised. ‘I’d never have taken Jake for an ascetic!’
Rachel bent her head. ‘Please don’t spoil things, Della.’
‘I’m not trying to.’ For once Della seemed sincere. ‘But—well, whether you like it or not, I am the nearest thing to a mother you’re likely to find today, and perhaps we should—talk about things.’
‘I know the facts of life, Della.’
‘I’m sure you do.’ Della glanced round casually to make sure their conversation was not being overheard, and then went on: ‘But between theories and their practical counterparts there’s an enormous gulf.’
‘Della, please——’
‘No. Listen to me: I know what I’m talking about. I’ve been married, remember. I know what it’s like.’
Rachel sighed, and looked round hopefully for Jake; but he and his father were standing by the buffet tables, apparently deep in conversation, and short of walking off and leaving her, she was obliged to listen to what the older woman had to say.
‘Of course,’ Della mused, ‘marrying an older man makes it a little better for you. I mean, Jake has had experience, hasn’t he? But—be warned. It’s not the romantic event you imagine it to be.’
‘Has that been your experience, Mrs Faulkner-Stewart?’
Unobserved, Jake had returned, and was now standing behind Rachel, listening to their conversation with a distinct lack of self-consciousness. But Della’s plump face turned crimson.
‘Why, Mr Courtenay,’ she exclaimed, pressing a hand to her breast. ‘I didn’t see you there.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I—er—I was just trying to explain to Rachel that—that women don’t necessarily feel about these things as a man does.’
‘What things?’ Jake was evidently enjoying himself, and the hand he slid around Rachel’s waist, drawing her back against him, was definitely possessive.
Della could not have looked more embarrassed. ‘I know you’re only teasing me, Mr Courtenay,’ she exclaimed, striving to sound coquettish. ‘Tell me, what does it feel like being married again?’
‘Infinitely better than before,’ responded Jake lightly, dropping a casual caress on the side of his wife’s neck. ‘But now, if you’ll excuse us, there’s someone I want Rachel to meet.’
Away from Della’s knowing eyes, Rachel turned to him anxiously. ‘Jake! About—about before—about Denise——’
‘Not now, Rachel,’ he told her smoothly. ‘There really is someone I want to introduce you to. My consultant—Maxwell Francis.’
Maxwell Francis was a man in his late forties, Rachel surmised. Tall, heavier built than his patient, with piercing blue eyes and a bristling beard and moustache, he looked more like an artist than a doctor. But his manner was gentle, and she guessed he inspired confidence in the people he treated.
‘I never expected Jake to arrive back from Devon with a wife, Mrs Courtenay,’ he commented smilingly, giving her an unknowing thrill at his casual use of her new designation. ‘But, having met you, I can quite see why he was bowled over.’
‘You don’t think Rachel’s kind of stimulation is a bad thing for me, then?’ suggested Jake ironically, and the older man laughed.
‘My dear fellow, I’ve been telling you for years that you spend far too much time in that office of yours. Perhaps now you’ll feel more inclined to go home nights.’
Jake gave his wife a studied look. ‘You might be right, Max,’ he acknowledged mockingly, and Rachel felt her nails digging into her palms.
It was all right for Jake to torment her, but not, apparently, for her to do the same to him. On impulse, she linked both her arms with one of his, and deliberately pressing herself against him said: ‘You will come home nights, won’t you, darling?’ in decidedly provocative tones.
His reaction was to gently, but firmly, disengage his arm from hers, and with heated cheeks, Rachel turned to the consultant.
‘Are you married, doctor?’ she asked tautly.
‘Indeed I am.’
Rachel glanced round. ‘Is your wife here with you?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ Then, in answer to her unspoken question, he added: ‘My wife is in a nursing home at present, recovering from the birth of our third daughter just a week ago.’
‘Oh!’ Rachel gulped, ‘So you have three daughters.’
‘And a son,’ agreed Maxwell Francis, nodding. ‘He�
�s the eldest, fortunately, or I’ve no doubt his life wouldn’t be worth living with three sisters!’
Rachel relaxed a little. ‘Please—give my best wishes to your wife and tell her I hope to meet her in person one day.’
‘I’ll certainly do that,’ he said, with evident pleasure. ‘You and Jake will have to come and visit us when you get back to London. We live just outside, actually, but Jake knows the way.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘So long as you don’t mind a gang of children and a mad dog crawling all over you, you’ll enjoy it,’ put in Jake humorously, and Maxwell laughed again.
‘Yes, that’s the way of it,’ he admitted.
‘I shan’t mind at all,’ Rachel asserted. ‘I like children.’
‘Good,’ Maxwell grinned. ‘Then the next time I see you, I shall expect to hear there’s a little Courtenay on the way.’
Rachel was taken aback by his frankness, but again Jake came to the rescue. ‘Not quite yet, Max,’ he assured him firmly. ‘I want my wife to myself for a while.’
A couple whom Rachel recognised as being business associates of Jake’s came to join them just then, and conversation became less personal. John Masterson, as the man was called, was able to satisfy some of Jake’s queries about his business affairs and while the two men were talking together, Mrs Masterson asked her how soon they expected to get back to London.
‘Not until the New Year,’ inserted Maxwell Francis, with some definition. ‘Jake knows how I feel about it, and I don’t approve of him talking shop at his own wedding reception.’
Hearing the consultant’s final words, Jake broke off what he was saying to Masterson. ‘All right, Max,’ he said resignedly. ‘I guess you’re right. It isn’t fair to Rachel, is it?’
Rachel caught his eyes upon her, and for once returned his stare without flinching. ‘No, it isn’t,’ she said clearly, and they both knew she was not only referring to his conversation with Masterson.
Rachel’s head was aching by the time the last carload of guests disappeared down the drive, and Mr and Mrs Courtenay prepared to leave. It had been arranged that Dora Pendlebury should spend the night at a friend’s house in the village, and Sheila had already left for a short holiday in London. Rachel had been glad she was not going to have to face the housekeeper’s daughter on her wedding day, although Jake’s mother had expressed some regret that she should not be there. However, that was all in the past now, and Rachel’s features felt stiff and cold as she stood beside Jake waving his parents off. Everything she had been told, all the wild stories she had heard at school and since, crowded into her tired head, and she trembled when she considered that whatever happened now, she was on her own.