A Trial Marriage

by Anne Mather

  ‘And you think we will? Treating one another like strangers?’ she protested.

  Jake made a frustrated gesture. ‘I explained—I married you to get you away from Della Faulkner-Stewart. There was no other way. She would never have allowed you to leave her and come with me without creating the kind of scandal I most wanted to avoid, but that doesn’t mean the situation is any easier.’

  She felt a sense of coldness invading her stomach. ‘What are you trying to say?’

  ‘What I’ve said all along, Rachel. We’re married—but that need only be a formality.’

  ‘A formality!’ Her agitation was visible. ‘Jake, I love you!’

  ‘So you say.’ His tone was dry.

  ‘I mean it.’ She spread her hands. ‘Jake, let me show you——’

  ‘No.’ Automatically, he stepped back from her. ‘Rachel, can’t you accept that for the next few months things have got to remain as they are? Surely that’s not so impossible? Give our relationship time to develop—in all directions. I must be sure that what you—think you feel for me is more than just infatuation.’

  Rachel tugged painful fingers through her hair. She could hardly take this in. She hardly wanted to take it in. Wanting to hurt him as he was hurting her, she exclaimed: ‘And what if it is? Infatuation, I mean. What then?’

  ‘The marriage can be annulled, as I’ve said.’

  ‘You’re so cold-blooded,’ she cried unable to sustain an air of detachment. ‘I thought you loved me!’

  ‘I do care about you, Rachel,’ he declared stiffly, and then meeting her tormented gaze, he turned away to kick savagely at the logs in the grate. ‘I do,’ he repeated harshly. ‘But there is no middle way, Rachel. That’s why we have to try and make one. If I were to go on as before, there would be no turning back. Knowing you were my wife, do you think I could let you go?’

  ‘I don’t want you to let me go,’ she breathed, welcoming the glimmer of emotion that overran his words, but when he turned to her again, he had himself in control once more.

  ‘A few weeks,’ he said firmly. ‘If we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together, a few weeks won’t make that much difference.’

  Rachel’s shoulders sagged. ‘So you really were trying to get me drunk last night.’

  Jake sighed. ‘You were overwrought, Rachel. I had to do something. Could you think of a better way?’

  Rachel shook her head helplessly. ‘A deliberate plan,’ she said bitterly. ‘And I thought I’d let you down.’

  Jake stifled an oath. ‘We have so much to learn about one another——’

  ‘I’m beginning to believe it.’

  ‘—but if there’s to be no trust between us …’

  Rachel drew a deep breath. ‘So what you’re really saying is that we should live as—individuals—for the next few weeks.’

  ‘Friends, I hope.’

  ‘Friends?’ She turned away, feeling completely shattered. ‘And—and when your parents come back? What then? Won’t they think it strange that you—that we don’t share the same bedroom?’

  ‘Not necessarily. I’ve been ill, as my mother is so fond of pointing out. If it becomes general knowledge, I shall tell her that as I don’t rest very easily, I sleep alone to avoid disturbing you.’

  ‘You have it all worked out, don’t you?’ she exclaimed tremulously, sick with the realisation that he was adamant in what he said. It was humiliating to know he could dismiss the intimacies of their marriage so carelessly, while she ached with longings which until recently she had not known she possessed. Was there nothing she could say to change his mind?

  Expelling an unsteady breath, she began: ‘Jake—yesterday; when—when Carl was talking to me, you asked whether—whether we had discussed Denise …’

  ‘Well?’

  Rachel hesitated. His eyes were so cold. She shivered. ‘I—well, all he said was that—that your marriage to her was unhappy. You said you were jealous. That—that’s not why——’

  ‘No!’ He spoke vehemently, and her voice tailed away. He looked at her silently for a few moments, and then he added: ‘I have to repeat, you knew my feelings about this marriage before the wedding, but just because I’m prepared to give you time to adapt before taking that irretrievable step it does not mean I don’t have all the normal feelings of any husband confronted by his wife’s attraction for another man.’

  ‘I’m not attracted to Carl!’ Rachel denied hotly, and Jake raised one dark eyebrow.

  ‘We shall see, shan’t we?’ he remarked wryly, and she wrapped her arms protectively about herself.

  ‘You really mean to go through with this, don’t you?’ she challenged him painfully, but the question was a perfunctory one. She already knew the answer.

  That was all four weeks ago now, and in those four weeks Rachel had learned one thing at least—the art of hiding her feelings. With the return of Jake’s parents, and Sheila Pendlebury’s constant presence about the Priory, she had soon cultivated a defensive shell within which she could nurse her vulnerable emotions without fear of observation.

  To the Courtenays, she endeavoured to appear happy and relaxed, although it was often an effort, particularly at mealtimes. Food no longer had any real appeal for her, and she ate for the sole purpose of avoiding painful comment. Jake noticed, of course, and remarked upon her fining features in private, but with him she was scarcely civil anyway, and in his father’s house there was little he could do.

  Jake spent a lot of his time at the stables, but although Rachel was attracted to the horses, she maintained an indifference in an effort to gain some reaction from him. She didn’t have a lot of experience with men, however, and her unsophisticated attempts to arouse his antagonism and through it his emotions bore little fruit.

  On one occasion, bored by her own company and having refused Mrs Courtenay’s invitation to join her on a shopping expedition and knowing Jake was working with the horses, she had put on her coat and left the house. It was a cold, frosty afternoon, only a few days before Christmas, and her intention was to ask Jake if he would drive her into Glastonbury. She had some foolish idea of buying him a present with a slice of the unused allowance he was paying her, and maybe reaching him in that way. But before she had even reached the stables, she had heard Sheila’s husky laughter and guessed that her husband was not alone. The temptation to turn back there and then was strong, but anger had driven her forward and in through the open stable door.

  As she had expected, Sheila was there, her tall slim figure attractively clad in matching pants and jacket of lovat tweed, a red scarf slotted at the open neck complementing the darkness of her hair. She was leaning over the stall where Jake was grooming one of the horses, helping him up from a squatting position, and he, too, looked easy and relaxed. That they were both surprised to see Rachel was obvious, and Rachel did not stop to think before rushing into reckless accusation.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she exclaimed with heavy sarcasm, ‘am I intruding? I thought you were busy, Jake, but obviously that only applies so far as I’m concerned!’

  ‘Rachel!’

  Jake straightened, his dark face flushed with anger, but she went on as if she had not heard him: ‘Perhaps I should have knocked before entering, or used the intercom system to let you know I was coming! I was going to ask you to take me into Glastonbury, but of course what you’re doing here is far more important!’

  And with these childish words, born out of the desire to show him she was not afraid to speak her mind, she turned and marched out of the stables again, ignoring his furious utterance of her name.

  But her new-found courage would not permit her to walk back to the house. Her steps gradually quickened until she was practically running, and she had turned the corner of the priory before Jake emerged and was therefore unaware that he was following her.

  She let herself into the hall with a feeling of dismay unsettling the uncertain nerves in the pit of her stomach. Common sense was asserting itself again, and
the realisation of what she had said brought a wave of hot colour to her cheeks. Jake would be so angry, and as for Sheila … She caught her lower lip between her teeth. So far she and the older girl had maintained a kind of cautious neutrality, but she had destroyed that now.

  She had reached the stairs when the heavy door opened behind her, and glancing round anxiously she saw her husband’s grim figure. He had pulled on a leather jerkin over the heavy sweater and jeans he had been wearing to work in, and the dark colours accentuated his brooding countenance.

  Unable to withstand his denigrating appraisal, she turned swiftly and ran up the stairs, the hammering of her heart in her ears drowning any sounds of his pursuit. She reached her door only seconds before he did, and she was trembling violently when he thrust her ahead of him into the room. The door slammed heavily behind them, and it was only by a great effort of will-power that she stopped herself from making an undignified dash for the safety of the bathroom and its securing bolt.

  Jake stared at her angrily for several seconds, and then he said savagely: ‘Don’t you ever do that to me again!’

  Rachel separated her chattering teeth with her tongue. ‘And—and if I choose to do so?’ she returned jerkily. ‘How will you stop me? I don’t understand why—why you didn’t marry her! At least with her you wouldn’t need time to get to know one another. You seem—you seem to know one another very well as—as it is!’

  Jake regarded her grimly for a few more terrifying moments, and then with a violent ejaculation he reached for her, jerking her into his arms with a roughness that made her lose her balance and fall helplessly against him. His lips imprisoned her startled mouth, his teeth grinding against hers until her lips parted wilfully, allowing him full possession of the moist sweetness within. One hand was beneath her hair at her nape, while the other slid the length of her spine, moulding her body against his with increasing intimacy.

  ‘All right,’ he muttered, releasing her lips to turn his mouth against the soft curve of her throat, ‘if you persist in baiting me …’

  His mouth covered hers again, but this time his hand went behind her legs, swinging her feet off the ground so that he could carry her into the bedroom and put her down on the silken bedspread. Uncaring of his boots, or that he had come straight from the stables, he flung himself beside her, and the weight of his body was an intoxicating accompaniment to the stirring urgency of her senses.

  Whether he would have gone the whole way and taken her in anger, she was never to know. No sooner had his fingers unfastened the buttons of her shirt exposing the rose-tipped fullness of her breasts to his caressing touch, than someone started knocking at the outer door of the suite and Dora’s voice could be heard calling that Jake was wanted on the telephone.

  There was a moment when she thought he was going to ignore the housekeeper’s summons, when his tongue stroked the hardening nipples, and her heart leapt with a mixture of fear and excited anticipation. But then, with a groan, he dragged himself away from her to stand beside the bed looking down at her with impassioned eyes.

  ‘Jake …’ she breathed, raising herself on her elbows, deliberately leaving the buttons of her shirt unloosened, knowing that he was not indifferent to the sensuous softness of her flesh. But he turned abruptly away and when next he spoke his voice was harsh:

  ‘Consider yourself reprieved,’ he said. ‘Or perhaps the reprieve is mine, hmm? I’m not usually so susceptible to provocation!’

  And he had gone, leaving her to pull herself together, both physically and mentally, unable to deny the surge of resentment she felt towards Dora, although the housekeeper was in no way responsible for the ill-timed significance of the phone call. Or was she? In her distraught state, Rachel was prepared to believe that Sheila might well have had something to do with that inappropriate interruption.

  Christmas had not been an easy festival. Rachel had had cards from several of the people at the hotel, including Della, but it was Carl’s greeting which increased the antipathy between herself and Jake. It was a simple enough message, written on a bright, if overly large, card, but the situation between herself and her husband was such that any small disagreement could escalate out of all proportion. The position was aggravated by Sheila commenting upon the size of the card and making coy insinuations about Rachel having an admirer. Of course, Rachel understood Sheila’s motivations; she was less certain of Jake’s.

  The outcome was that the card disappeared altogether on Christmas Eve, and although that event in itself was not important, Rachel was convinced that Jake had destroyed it, and made a big thing of it at the dinner table. Half way through an embarrassing altercation with Jake, Dora interrupted them to say that she had accidentally knocked the card off the mantelpiece and into the fire, and had hoped that no one would notice one among so many.

  It was exactly the kind of humiliation needed to crack Rachel’s failing efforts at composure, and she had left the table at once, her handkerchief pressed tightly to her lips. She had half expected Jake to follow her—half expected his parents might suggest he should do so—but she had been mistaken. She had spent a lonely evening in her room and an even lonelier night …

  Christmas Day had proved to be slightly less fraught. Dora had been given the day off, Mrs Courtenay assuring her that she and Rachel could handle the already-prepared turkey, and when gifts were exchanged at the breakfast table. Rachel had been warmed by Jake’s parents’ presentation of a silver cross and chain. They told her it had been given to Jake when he was christened by his grandmother, Mr Courtenay’s mother, and had been in the Courtenay family for generations. Her own gifts to them were much less valuable—a lace shawl for Mrs Courtenay, and a new pipe for Jake’s father, but they seemed delighted.

  She had not expected a gift from Jake, particularly not in the circumstances, but she had counted without his desire to maintain the illusion of their marriage for his parents’ sake. His gift to her was a matching set of earrings and necklace, delicately cut sapphires and rubies adorning slender gold chains, that swung from her ears when she moved her head, or rested with fragile fire against her warm skin. She didn’t know what to say when she lifted the lid of the jeweller’s box, or how to thank him with his parents watching her every move.

  ‘They’re beautiful!’ she murmured inadequately, meeting his gaze with uncertain eyes, only too aware of the gulf that was stretching between them. ‘Thank you.’

  Jake inclined his head casually, apparently intent on examining the diamond-studded cufflinks his mother had given him, but Mr Courtenay was not to be deprived of a more demonstrative approach.

  ‘Give him a kiss, girl!’ he exclaimed jovially, puffing away at his new pipe, and Rachel felt obliged to get up out of her chair and approach her husband. She half expected him to repulse her, and was therefore shocked when Jake’s hand went behind her head as she bent to him, guiding her mouth to his and sharing with her a kiss that was as sensual as it was unexpected. Rachel’s eyes were puzzled when she reluctantly lifted her head, but she gained no further knowledge from the guarded depths of his.

  During the short wintry afternoon that followed the traditional Christmas dinner, they all relaxed around the fire in the drawing room, toasting chestnuts and sharing the kind of family intimacy Rachel had never really known with her parents. Sitting with Jake on one of the huge sofas, she knew that all she needed to make her world complete was for Jake to want her as much as she wanted him, to tell her he loved her—something he had never done, she realised with a pang …

  But maybe the New Year would bring her the happiness she sought, she thought with an attempt at optimism. Maybe now that they were living at Jake’s London apartment, he would realise that her feelings for him were no fleeting infatuation.

  They had driven up to London ten days after Christmas, and Rachel had made her first acquaintance with her new home. She would have preferred them to have a house, with a garden, but she realised that Jake needed to be central for business purposes, and af
ter a week in London she began to appreciate just how demanding Jake’s work could be. She wasn’t at all sure that Maxwell Francis would approve of the way Jake had immediately taken up the strains of his previous existence, although she had to admit he wasn’t given a lot of choice in the matter. Once the news got around that he was back, the phone never seemed to stop ringing, and although Mrs Madigan invariably answered it, Rachel grew to hate the sound of the telephone bell.

  The changes in her life from that which she had led at the Priory were not so different. Her surroundings were different, of course, but she had grown accustomed to seeing little of Jake during the day, and her main difficulty was in finding ways to fill her time. It wasn’t enough for Jake to say that she had the use of a car or an allowance that might comfortably have fed a family of four. She wanted to be part of his life, not just an onlooker on the sidelines. How else were they to get to know one another?

  Jake usually managed to get home in time to shower and change for dinner at around seven-thirty. This was the high spot of Rachel’s day, although invariably after the meal was over he took himself off to his study for a couple of hours, only emerging when she was thinking of going to bed. She guessed he was trying to show her how difficult it was being the wife of a man like him, but if he was prepared to spend his nights with her, she would suffer the days gladly.

  Now Rachel looked at her watch. It was almost seven, and she had been sitting staring unseeingly at her reflection in her vanity unit for the past half hour. Jake should have been home by now, but she had not heard him come in, and as his bedroom was adjacent to hers, she could usually detect some sounds when he was changing or taking his shower. She herself had showered some time ago, and lying on the bed was another of the dresses Mrs Courtenay had chosen, a primrose-yellow silk jersey, with a high roll collar and hip-flaring skirt. To think, she thought wryly, only a couple of months ago she had seen Della in this position, and now … She had never envied the older woman, but although she would not change her life now, she envied the girl she used to be.