A Trial Marriage

by Anne Mather

  She was drying herself with a fluffy green bathsheet when there was a knock at her door. Her senses quickening, she called: ‘Come in!’ and smothered a grimace when Mrs Madigan appeared.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Courtenay,’ she greeted the girl politely, and Rachel couldn’t altogether stifle the automatic response she felt towards the name. ‘I’m going to the shops now. Is there anything I can get you?’

  Rachel pulled the shower cap from her head, and draped the towel sarong-wise under her arms. ‘I don’t think so, Mrs Madigan, thank you.’ She paused. ‘Has—did Mr Courtenay leave for the office as usual?’

  ‘He was late,’ replied the older woman conversationally. ‘Did you enjoy the party, madam?’

  ‘The party?’ Rachel looked bewildered for a moment, and then gathered her wits. Of course, Mrs Madigan no doubt thought they had been late back from their visit to the Forrests. ‘Oh, well—it was a change,’ she concluded at last. Then: ‘I’m afraid I’m not much used to parties.’

  Mrs Madigan gave a polite smile. ‘Nor is Mr Courtenay, madam.’ It was unusual for the housekeeper to speak so frankly, but she apparently decided she had said enough for, much to Rachel’s disappointment, she went on: ‘I’ve left some coffee percolating on the oven, Mrs Courtenay. I know you don’t much care for breakfast, so if there’s nothing you need, I’ll get along.’

  ‘Y-e-s.’ Rachel hesitated. ‘Er—Mrs Madigan?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Did—did Mr Courtenay say anything to you? I mean …’ She hastened on: ‘Did he leave any messages?’

  ‘No, madam. Should he have done?’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘Oh, no. No. Not really. I—just wondered, that’s all.’

  ‘Will that be all, madam?’

  ‘Yes. Yes. Thank you, Mrs Madigan.’

  Rachel dressed in jeans and a matching denim shirt, and took her coffee in the kitchen, seated at the polished breakfast bar. Just for a moment Mrs Madigan had revealed she was human after all, but she was too strictly immured in being respectfully impersonal to succumb to a natural desire to gossip. Rachel couldn’t help wondering how long the Madigans had worked for Jake, and whether they had known Denise. She had the feeling that there might be some connection between that and Mrs Madigan’s attitude.

  She was still sitting there, brooding over the past, when the telephone rang. Realising Mrs Madigan wasn’t about to answer it, Rachel answered it herself, and gave a gasp of delight when she recognised Jake’s voice: ‘Rachel? Is that you?’

  ‘Yes, oh, yes!’ Rachel cradled the receiver close against her ear. ‘Oh, darling, I was just thinking about you …’

  There was a moment’s silence, and when he spoke again his voice was slightly huskier: ‘I want you to have lunch with me. Will you?’

  ‘Will I?’ she echoed eagerly. ‘Of course I will. Where? And when?’

  She guessed he glanced at his watch, and then he said: ‘In about an hour, hmm? Twelve o’clock. At Pasticcio’s—it’s an Italian restaurant off Regent Street. Get a taxi. The driver will know it.’

  ‘All right.’ She was breathless. ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘Good.’

  She knew he was about to ring off, and said foolishly: ‘Jake?’

  She heard his sigh. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Jake—thank you.’

  ‘For what?’ He sounded half impatient.

  She paused, unable to put into words over a telephone what she really meant. ‘Why—for asking me to lunch, of course,’ she answered softly, and he uttered a mild oath before ringing off.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE next hour was spent preparing for the lunch date. For the first time Rachel wished she had taken the trouble to buy herself some clothes with the generous allowance Jake was paying her. Eventually she was obliged to decide on the green corded pants suit which she had worn several times before, but which assumed an extra dimension when teamed with the sable coat.

  Mrs Madigan returned before she left the apartment, and concealed any surprise she might have felt when Rachel told her she was having lunch with her husband.

  ‘Will you both be in to dinner this evening, madam?’ she inquired, as the girl was making for the door, and Rachel turned thoughtfully, a finger to her lips.

  ‘I think so,’ she said slowly, adding with more assurance as pictures of herself and Jake sharing an intimate dinner for two took root in her mind: ‘Yes, definitely, Mrs Madigan. But make it something simple, will you? Something we can serve ourselves.’

  ‘Yes, madam.’ The housekeeper inclined her head politely, but Rachel guessed she was not as incurious as she pretended to be.

  It was one of the busiest times of the day, and she had great difficulty in finding a cab. The commissionaire who vetted the comings and goings in the apartments was busy when she reached street level, and rather than wait for his assistance, she emerged into the cold January air and endeavoured to summon her own transport. But cab after cab went by, all of them busy, and it was after twelve before she was actually on her way. Buses and taxis were lined up nose to tail along Oxford Street, and Rachel’s nerves were jumping by the time they turned into Regent Street. It was after half past twelve! Why hadn’t she had the sense to leave the apartment in plenty of time?

  Pasticcio’s opened into a narrow walkway, and the taxi set her down in Regent Street, only a few yards from its entrance. She paid the driver too much in her haste to get inside, and good-humouredly he handed her a pound back.

  ‘It wasn’t worth it, miss,’ he told her with a grin. ‘But thanks anyway.’

  Rachel’s lips twitched, and stuffing the extra pound note back into her bag, she hurried towards the restaurant. What if Jake wasn’t there? she thought anxiously. What would she do? Go to his office? She knew where the skyscraper block was where his companies occupied several floors, but she had never been invited there.

  A black-coated waiter opened the door at her approach and smiled benignly. ‘Good morning, madame,’ he greeted her politely, and she managed a faint smile before searching the discreetly-lit room beyond for a familiar face.

  ‘I—er—I’m looking for Mr Courtenay …’ she was beginning nervously, when a tall figure emerged from the shadows. ‘Oh, Jake!’ she breathed in relief, and he made brief introductions to Antonio, the head waiter, before escorting her to the alcove where a table for two was laid.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ she exclaimed, in a subdued voice, after the waiter had taken her coat, but Jake just indicated that she should sit down on the low banquette and after she had done so joined her, his thigh firm and masculine against hers.

  ‘A drink, sir?’

  The waiter was hovering, and Jake glanced sideways at Rachel before deciding. ‘Two gin and tonics,’ he ordered after a moment, and the waiter bowed and went politely away.

  ‘I … I couldn’t get a taxi …’ Rachel started to continue her explanations as soon as they were alone, but Jake’s mouth silenced her, reminding her of the passionate intimacy they had shared.

  ‘You’re here now,’ he said when he lifted his head, apparently oblivious of anyone but her, and her limbs melted beneath the warmth of his gaze.

  ‘I … I …’ She tried to gather her composure and failed dismally. ‘Oh, Jake … I love you …’

  ‘I know you do,’ he agreed dryly, humour lifting the corners of his firm mouth. ‘And I’ve just shown you how I feel. But somehow I don’t think this conversation is going to be good for our digestion.’

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ she exclaimed unsteadily, and he pulled a wry face at her.

  ‘Don’t let Antonio hear you say that.’ Then: ‘Did you sleep late?’

  ‘Till after ten.’ She flushed. ‘Did you?’

  Jake half smiled. ‘Well, not that late anyway. But I’ll admit I wasn’t at my desk much before then.’

  Rachel sighed. ‘I wish you didn’t have to go to your office every day,’ she declared ruefully.

  ‘No, well …’ Jake was about to sa
y something more when the waiter interrupted him with their drinks, and thanking the man he said they would order later. ‘As a matter of fact, I wanted to talk to you about that.’

  ‘About what?’ Rachel sipped her gin and tonic absently. It was not an unpleasant taste, but she couldn’t honestly say she enjoyed alcohol in any form. Still, as Jake’s wife, she supposed she would have to get used to taking an occasional drink, and perhaps familiarity would breed a certain amount of tolerance. Now she put her glass down and smiled encouragingly at him. ‘Go on. What do you want to talk about?’

  Jake surveyed her with brooding gravity. ‘I have to go away, Rachel,’ he told her flatly. ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Away?’ Rachel stared at him in dismay. ‘Where?’

  ‘California, as it happens,’ he replied, lifting his glass and swallowing half its contents at a gulp. ‘San Francisco, to be precise.’

  ‘But——’ Rachel’s newfound happiness splintered. ‘But that’s thousands of miles away!’ She paused. ‘Can I come with you?’

  Jake sighed, and turning, gave her a strained moody look. ‘I thought of that,’ he said. ‘As soon as Petrie explained the situation, I thought of that. But it’s no good. It wouldn’t work. I need all my concentration to get through this deal, and it’ll be bloody hard as it is, fighting the jet lag, without the distraction of knowing that you’re waiting in the hotel for me.’

  Rachel’s momentary thrill of possession disappeared beneath a wave of depression. ‘But how long will you be away?’ she protested.

  Jake lifted his shoulders wearily. ‘A week—ten days at most. It’s the Pearman deal that I was handling before I became ill.’

  Rachel pressed her lips together. ‘But isn’t there anyone else who could go?’ she cried. ‘Surely after—after what happened, you ought to be delegating some of your work.’

  Jake rubbed the side of his nose. ‘Yes. Well, that thought had occurred to me, too. and once this deal is through, I’m considering shifting some of the burden on to Petrie’s shoulders.’

  ‘Petrie?’ Rachel frowned.

  ‘Yes. Gordon Petrie. You haven’t met him yet, have you? He’s a good man. He’s practically kept the place going while I’ve been away. He and my father both.’

  ‘Your father?’

  ‘Oh, yes. It was his company in the beginning, you know.’

  ‘And he reported to you?’

  Rachel sounded disapproving, remembering the occasion she had seen the elder Mr Courtenay at the hotel, and Jake smiled. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘You should know better than that. But I’m not denying that once I went to stay at the Priory, he was keen enough to hand over the responsibility again.’

  Rachel looked at him anxiously. ‘But you know what Mr Francis said!’

  ‘Max? He’s an old woman. And you’re beginning to sound like my mother!’

  Rachel drew back, hurt by his apparent insensitivity, and with an exclamation, he grasped both her hands in his, and said urgently: ‘Try to see it my way. I have to go to San Francisco. I have to wrap this deal up myself. This is exactly the kind of situation I’ve tried to warn you about. I only wish——’

  He broke off abruptly, releasing her and flinging himself back in his seat, his mouth set in a straight line, and Rachel pressed her palms tightly together. ‘You—you wish last night had—had never happened, don’t you?’ she demanded unsteadily, and he turned to look at her again.

  ‘Yes,’ he said violently. ‘But not for the reasons you think.’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘Then tell me …’

  Jake raked back his hair with an impatient hand. ‘I intended you should know exactly what you were getting into,’ he explained roughly. ‘These trips—the time I spend at the office: they’re my way of life. And I wanted you to appreciate that it’s no sinecure before …’ He took a deep breath. ‘As it is, I’ve thrust you in at the deep end without even waiting to find out if you can swim!’

  ‘Oh, Jake!’ Rachel put a tentative hand on his knee. ‘I can swim.’ She paused. ‘But can you?’

  His lips twisted mockingly. ‘I shall have to, shan’t I?’ His hand pressed down over hers. ‘At least, for the present. And last night has made it harder for me, too.’

  ‘It has?’ Her cheeks flamed.

  ‘Yes.’ He lifted her hand to his lips, bestowing a kiss in the hollow of her palm. ‘Because now I know what it is I’m giving up.’

  ‘You’re really—not sorry?’ she whispered, and his mouth drew down at the corners.

  ‘What do you want me to say,’ he asked, half humorously. ‘How can I tell you I’m sorry for what happened when I know full well it will happen again tonight?’

  Rachel caught her breath. ‘Oh, Jake …’

  ‘And now I suggest we apply ourselves to the menu,’ he remarked, making a determined effort to speak casually. ‘What do you want to eat? They serve a particularly good pasta here, and the paté is actually made from an old Italian recipe that dates back quite a number of years.’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘You choose. Like I told you, I’m not very hungry.’

  Jake regarded her with warm concern. ‘Stop thinking about tomorrow and think about today,’ he urged. ‘A week will soon pass. Then I promise you, it will be some time before I agree to go away again.’

  Rachel sighed. ‘All right,’ she yielded. ‘I know I have to get used to this, but …’

  ‘I know. It’s too soon after——’ He broke off. ‘It might interest you to know that this life I lead wasn’t my choice at all.’

  ‘No. Your father told me. You would have preferred to work with animals, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Mmm,’ Jake nodded. ‘If I thought——’ He broke off again, but this time Rachel urged him to go on: ‘Well …’ He hesitated. ‘If I thought Petrie could handle it, I’d be tempted to buy a place out in the country, like Max for example, and keep a few animals of our own.’ He smiled. ‘And only come into the city two—maybe three days in the week.’

  Rachel clasped her hands together. ‘That would be marvellous!’

  He looked surprised. ‘You’d like that?’

  ‘I’d love it.’

  He frowned. ‘But wouldn’t you rather live in London? I mean …’ He shook his head, ‘I know some women would.’

  ‘You mean—Denise,’ she ventured daringly. ‘I’m not like Denise, Jake.’

  He gave a wry grimace. ‘You don’t have to tell me that.’

  ‘Besides,’ Rachel caught her lower lip between her teeth, ‘if—if we have children, the country is a so much nicer place for them to play.’

  Jake turned towards her, his smile definitely provocative, but then the waiter arrived to take their order and by the time he had gone, the moment’s intimacy had passed.

  All the same, Rachel wished she had taken the opportunity to tell him what she had overheard at the Forrests’ party. It wasn’t in her nature to have secrets, and she wanted to tell him herself so that she could see what his reactions were. But blurting out that his first wife was now a widow sounded so obvious somehow, and did she really want him to know she still wasn’t sure of him even after last night? If only he had told her he loved her! But that word didn’t seem to figure in Jake’s vocabulary.

  The following morning, Rachel awakened with the ominous awareness of impending doom. It didn’t even help to find Jake still sleeping beside her, although her lips twitched when she remembered how little sleep he had had. In a matter of hours, he would be boarding an aircraft which would take him thousands of miles away from her, and on top of everything else there was the awful thought that accidents still happened for no apparent reason.

  Looking down on him, Rachel wondered what she would do if anything happened to him now. The idea of losing him was terrifying, and she thought she would rather lose him to another woman than have to go on living knowing he was no longer in the world. Bending her head, she lowered her lips to his, and that fleeting caress was enough to bring his arms around her, pulling
her down to him with satisfying urgency.

  But, later in the afternoon, sitting with him in the airport lounge, Rachel found it incredibly difficult to maintain a cheerful disposition. The minutes were ticking away with agonising speed, and with people about them she could not tell him how she was feeling.

  The final call for his flight brought him to his feet and she schooled herself not to break down. Other wives or girlfriends were saying goodbye to their husbands or lovers, and she had to behave as he would want her to.

  ‘I’ll ring you—from the hotel,’ he promised, and she heard in the timbre of his voice a reflection of her own feelings. It helped somehow, and she turned her face up to his determinedly.

  ‘Look after yourself,’ she murmured, and he squeezed her hand tightly.

  ‘I will. You do the same. And phone Mother if you have any problems.’

  ‘She knows you’re going away?’

  ‘Yes. I spoke to Father yesterday morning, as soon as I knew.’

  Rachel nodded. ‘What did he say?’

  Jake grinned. ‘Told me I was a fool for leaving you behind.’

  ‘You are!’ she declared, just for a moment allowing her real feelings to show.

  Jake bent towards her. ‘You’ll be all right, won’t you?’

  ‘Who? Me?’ Rachel controlled herself again, and feigned a nonchalance she was far from knowing. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Of course.’

  A look of bitterness distorted his expression for a moment, and cold fingers touched her heart. ‘Don’t say it like that!’ she cried, and the look disappeared as swiftly as it had come.

  ‘I was just thinking what a fool I was, too,’ he told her swiftly, but she had the distinct feeling he had not been thinking that at all.

  His mouth sought hers, and their lips clung together for a moment in time. Then, without another word, he set her free, turning away and striding towards passport control without a backward glance.

  Rachel didn’t wait to see the huge jet take off. Unable to withstand the surging emotions inside her, she hurried down the stairs and out to where Madigan was waiting for her, climbing into the back of the chauffeur-driven Daimler Jake used on these occasions without saying a word.