by Penny Jordan
Eleanor raised her eyebrows. ‘I didn’t dare… I’d probably have chosen something completely un-"in”.’
Jade ignored her small gibe and assured her blandly, ‘Impossible. They don’t serve anything like that here.’
And then she started to laugh and Eleanor joined in, catching her breath as Jade hugged her.
‘Oh, God, Nell, I do miss you,’ Jade told her fiercely. ‘How are you? How’s Marcus? And how are my godsons?’
‘No, you tell me how you are first,’ Eleanor demanded. ‘I know you, J,’ she added, using the college nickname. ‘Something’s bothering you.’
‘Mmm… Clever, aren’t we?’ Jade pulled a face. ‘You’re right, of course. I’ve been offered a new job. Quite a prize plum, really. Editorship of American Fashion; a huge increase in salary; all the perks anyone could want, including the most fabulous Manhattan apartment you’ve ever seen in your life, plus a month’s let on a duplex in Aspen for the winter, and a house on Fire Island for the summer.
‘Career-wise, it’s what I’ve always wanted. There’s no denying that as jobs go this one is the top of the tree, and not just because of the financial advantages. American designers in particular pay far more attention to the kind of reviews a magazine like Fashion gives them than their European counterparts. They need it for their ready-to-wear collections, of course, and…’ She gave a small shrug. ‘All in all I’d be a fool not to snap their hand off.’
‘So what’s stopping you?’ Eleanor asked her.
The arched eyebrows rose, the intelligent dark eyes wryly self-contemptuous. ‘Need you ask?’
‘A man?’ Eleanor questioned her.
‘The man,’ Jade corrected her. ‘And there happens to be a problem.’
‘He’s married,’ Eleanor guessed.
Jade shook her head.
‘Nope. That wouldn’t be a problem. No, the problem is that he doesn’t know that he’s the man, and I’m not sure he will want to know it. And he’s ten years younger than I am.’
Eleanor looked at her.
‘So? You’ve dated younger men before.’
‘Dated them, yes, but this one I want for keeps, Nell. And I’m not sure if that’s what he wants. I’ve reached an age when my dignity has become very important to me. I could throw caution to the winds, tell him how I feel, ask him to go to New York with me. He’s a photographer, a very talented one in fact and it certainly wouldn’t do his career any harm to make that kind of move; far from it.’ She made a small face. ‘That’s how we met, of course. Very predictable. Someone recommended him to me, so I took him on for a shoot, as a stand-in for someone else as a matter of fact. He’s no fool. Up-and-coming photographers fight to the death for the kind of commissions I could put his way.
‘I’m already getting as jealous as hell every time he does a modelling assignment, Nell. You know what I’m like… possessive as anything and paranoid with it. I’m not sure if I can take the kind of pressure I’ll be putting myself under if I get any further involved with him. If I take on this job it’s going to need all my time… all my attention… all my energy, and yet the thought of ending it, leaving him behind…’
Eleanor saw the sharp sparkle of tears in her eyes and reached out across the table to cover her hand with her own.
‘Why don’t you tell him all this and not me?’ she suggested gently. ‘Let him make up his own mind, Jade.’
‘And if he rejects me?’ Her mouth twisted. ‘I don’t think I can take that. Oh, God, Nell, why are we like this… screwing up our lives over men… sex… cursed by our own hormones almost from the first second of our birth? Do you know, I was reading this book the other day which claims that women are programmed for failure right from the moment of conception, that only those with an unusual amount of testosterone actually have what it takes to succeed.’
‘Doesn’t that depend on how you measure success?’ Eleanor challenged her. ‘If you measure it by men’s standards, then yes, I suppose we are, but why should it be? Why don’t we judge men by our standards instead?’
‘Take control of the power? Mmm… Men don’t like it, though, do they? Look what happened to Margaret Thatcher and Boadicea.’
‘Boadicea… what?’
Eleanor broke off as their meal was served and before she could pick up the thread of their earlier conversation, Jade had changed the subject, reverting to the question she had asked her earlier.
‘Everything’s fine,’ Eleanor assured her and then pulled a face. ‘Well, sort of. Louise and I have come to the parting of the ways. She and Paul are moving to France and—’
‘Are they? That’s a bit unexpected, isn’t it?’
‘Paul’s decision. He thinks it will be a better environment for the boys; that they’ll be better integrated into the European Community and so on. He considers that Britain is destined to become an economic backwater. I must admit that it did come as a bit of a shock, though. However, I’m rather pleased in a way. It means that I’ll have to work at home, so I’ll be able to spend more time with my two. We’ll have to move, of course. Not that I mind that. I’ve always wanted to live somewhere more rural.’
‘Rural?’ The dark eyebrows lifted again as Jade stared at her, her expression clearing as she exclaimed, ‘Oh, you mean somewhere like Hampstead.’
Eleanor laughed. ‘No. I mean the country, proper country, Jade. You know, as in green fields and—’
‘Yes, I know,’ Jade agreed, shuddering as she interrupted her. ‘Rain, mud, boredom, more rain, more mud. I grew up there, I know. You can’t be serious.’
‘I am,’ Eleanor assured her quietly. ‘We need more space. We… I need to be able to breathe. The Chelsea house is beautiful, but there certainly isn’t the space for me to work there; there isn’t even really room for us all to live there. The boys and Marcus’s daughter, especially Vanessa, just don’t get on. In fact Vanessa…’
‘Ah, Vanessa. Stepdaughters are hell, aren’t they? Especially teenage stepdaughters. I know, I was one. I can understand your feeling you need more space, but moving to the country… Don’t tell me you’ve fallen into this ridiculous “let’s get back to nature” trap? Viewed through rose-tinted glasses from the safety of a city apartment, the country is fine, but living there… And what about Marcus? Somehow I just can’t see him as the country type… or wearing green wellies.’
‘You haven’t seen the house,’ Eleanor told her stubbornly. ‘It’s everything I’ve always wanted. Solid, permanent… a proper home, J…’
‘A proper home for a proper family, presided over by a proper mother. Is that really what you want to be, Nell? Don’t tell me you’re falling for that media myth.’
‘I feel I owe it to the boys. I don’t want them to look back on their childhood with the same unhappiness I had in mine,’ Eleanor told her defensively, ignoring her derisive comment.
‘It’s people, not places that make us happy, Nell,’ Jade told her quietly.
‘We’ve got to do something,’ Eleanor told her unhappily. ‘I haven’t said anything to Marcus yet—he’s so busy at the moment on this new case—but this constant moving in and out of his room to make way for Vanessa is upsetting Tom. Julia has announced that she’ll be working in America throughout the summer and that we’ll have to have Vanessa.
‘It isn’t easy just coping for a weekend, never mind the whole summer holidays. Vanessa is at a very difficult age.’
‘So let Marcus deal with her. She’s his daughter.’
‘And my stepdaughter. I can’t go running to Marcus every time there’s a squabble and I can’t refuse to have her. Marcus is her father.’
‘You know your trouble, Nell—you try too hard. You’re too accommodating… too willing to please others at your own expense. Let me give you a small warning. Don’t. Especially not with Vanessa. It won’t do you or her any good. She won’t respect you for it. Once you let her think she’s gained the upper hand, she’ll use it on you.’
‘She’s at a vulnerab
le age. She needs to know that Marcus loves her… that there’s a place for her with us.’
‘She also needs to know that you’re Marcus’s wife,’ Jade told her drily. ‘Don’t be too idealistic, Nell. It doesn’t work. Let her know there’s a place for her by all means, but make sure she knows what that place is, what its limitations are… and make sure that she doesn’t make a takeover bid for your place.’
She saw Eleanor’s face and raised her eyebrows.
‘I’ll bet you anything you like that Vanessa could have gone to America with her mother, if she’d wanted. Now ask yourself why she doesn’t want to…’
‘But she’s never lived permanently with Marcus… not since the divorce. I haven’t tried to come between her and her father at all.’
Jade shook her head pityingly. ‘You don’t know anything really, do you, you poor naïve thing? Vanessa means trouble, Nell.’
‘But you’ve only met her a couple of times.’
‘Yes, and recognised the type instantly. I should do. I was once a Vanessa myself. I almost drove my stepmother to the brink of a breakdown before she and my father divorced. It’s a problem some teenage girls have. She’ll grow out of it, but your marriage to Marcus might not,’ Jade warned.
‘Jade, you’re wrong! Vanessa might not like me but she would never be deliberately vindictive.’
‘No? Honestly, Nell, you…’
She stopped speaking abruptly, her body tensing, a barely discernible tinge of colour creeping up under her skin.
Fascinated, Eleanor followed the direction of her concentrated stare. A man had just entered the restaurant and was making his way towards their table. He was, Eleanor reflected in awe, possibly the most physically perfect male she had ever seen: closer to six feet six than six feet, he had the body to match his height, and yet for all its power he also had a physical grace reminiscent of that of a dancer.
Every woman in the place was watching him and no wonder, Eleanor acknowledged.
She had seen good-looking black men before, but never one like this. His features could have been sculpted, so perfect that you actually wanted to reach out and touch his skin just to see if it was real rather than hewn from polished marble.
Unlike most very tall and powerfully built men, he wore his clothes easily and comfortably, a softly structured suit that looked casually thrown on, but which Eleanor suspected was every bit as expensive as Jade’s own.
He had reached them now and Jade was starting to introduce him.
No wonder she had said that this was the one, Eleanor reflected as she read the intelligence in his eyes. This was no fawning puppy; this was one full-grown, wholly adult male, and while it might be possible to guess from Jade’s demeanour that they were lovers, there was nothing to be gauged from his manner as to what his feelings for her might be.
Whatever they were, Sam was a whole world away from Jade’s previous lovers, Eleanor estimated as they all exchanged pleasantries and she thanked Jade for her lunch and prepared to take her leave.
‘I’ll ring you,’ Jade promised as Eleanor got up.
They hugged one another briefly and then Eleanor turned to leave.
It was only when she was back in her office that Eleanor remembered that she hadn’t shown Jade the details of the house.
Jade would surely have changed her mind had she seen them.
Almost like a child seeking comfort and reassurance in a favourite fairy-story, Eleanor reached into her briefcase, withdrew the brochure, and placed it on the desk in front of her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘BUT where are we going?’ Gavin persisted, leaning forward between the front seats of the Daimler.
‘I’ve told you, it’s a surprise,’ Eleanor responded, adding firmly, ‘Put your seatbelt back on, please, Gavin.’
‘Yes, otherwise Marcus will have to go to prison,’ Tom cut in with such a mixture of virtue and relish that Eleanor couldn’t quite stop herself from laughing.
‘Thanks very much,’ Marcus murmured drily. ‘I’m delighted to see that the prospect of my potential detention at Her Majesty’s pleasure fills your offspring with so much despair.’
‘Oh, it would never happen,’ Eleanor assured him softly. ‘You see, I know this wonderful Q.C.’
‘Mmm… But can we afford him?’
Eleanor laughed, her fingertips resting briefly on his thigh as she whispered provocatively, ‘Oh, I think I can come up with an appropriate way of rewarding him.’
It had been a long time since they had indulged in this kind of trivial, almost adolescent sexual banter, she recognised when Marcus made what was quite obviously an unnecessary change of gear, the muscles beneath her fingertips flexing slightly as he did so.
Last night they had made love with a passion and vigour which had been missing from their sex life for some months. She suspected that it was her excitement over the house which had helped to throw off the tension-induced restraint which had been inhibiting her lately.
Certainly Marcus had noticed the difference, murmuring appreciatively in her ear, ‘Mmm… We really should do this more often, you know.’
It seemed he had meant it, too, because he had made love to her again this morning, not in the comfortable warmth of their bed, but in the shower, surprising her not just with the unexpectedness of his desire for her, but with its intensity as well.
How long was it since they had made love like that… quickly and impetuously, so eager and hungry for one another that she had been crying out to him to enter her almost within seconds of his touching her, and then still wanting him enough to go on to caress him slowly and deliberately into a second erection?
Not since the early days of their marriage. Not even last year, on holiday in Greece.
The villa they had hired had been beautifully situated, immaculately clean and more than large enough for all of them, but by some trick of Greek architecture it had also had an accoustic receptiveness more suited to an auditorium than a private home.
The holiday had been ruined for her on the second morning when over breakfast Vanessa had insisted on monotonously kicking her foot against the base of the table around which they were all seated eating their breakfast.
It had been Marcus who had suggested mildly that he would like her to stop, since the noise she was making was both intrusive and unnecessary, to which she had replied triumphantly, throwing a malicious look at Eleanor, ‘Well, now you know what it was like for me last night listening to the two of you…’
Marcus’s curt, ‘Vanessa,’ had stopped her before she could go any further, but her comment had ensured that the holiday was ruined for Eleanor, and if she was honest she would have to admit that ever since then, even if Vanessa was not in the house, she had felt slightly tense and on edge whenever they did make love.
But not last night and certainly not this morning, which was surely a good omen and proof that she was right to feel so confident and enthusiastic about the house. A small smile curled her mouth as she remembered the small betraying bruises she had found on her body this morning, the faint but very real and slightly provocative ache she could still feel within her body.
She remembered how with Allan she had always known when he had started a new affair because of the intensity with which he had made love to her. He had admitted to her after the divorce that it had been a volatile mixture of guilt and physical desire for his new lover which had been responsible for these bursts of passion.
Marcus, thank God, was not like Allan. He loved her. She and Allan had thought they were in love, but in reality they had married too quickly and too young, without really knowing enough about one another. She bore Allan no malice or resentment, and was just relieved that they had been able to develop an amicable enough post-divorce relationship to allow the boys to know that both of them loved them.
When the boys had first been born, Allan had been too immature to be a father, and she had transferred the love she had thought she felt for him to his sons. She had no
personal regrets over the ending of their marriage. From a personal point of view at least she had felt guilty about depriving the boys of their father, even though they had been so young when they divorced that they had scarcely any memories of them actually living as a family.
Marcus was very good with them, and after an initial period of natural suspicion and resentment at his role in her life both of them were beginning to develop strong bonds with him, or so she had believed.
In the back of the Daimler the boys were squabbling amicably over which tape they wanted to listen to. The weather forecast had predicted rain, but nothing could obscure the glow of pleasure and elation which Eleanor could almost feel encapsulating her.
She turned her head and smiled at Marcus. ‘I’m so excited,’ she told him huskily.
‘I know,’ he agreed wryly. ‘Eleanor, don’t—’
‘Mum, it’s my turn to choose. Tom chose last time.’
‘No, I didn’t… you did.’
‘Stop arguing, both of you,’ Eleanor told them firmly. ‘I’ll choose.’
By the time she had sorted them out, it had started to rain quite heavily, and Marcus was frowning slightly as he concentrated on his driving.
The journey was taking them rather longer than the agent had indicated, Eleanor acknowledged as she glanced at the dashboard clock.
They had, the agents had told her, had several interested prospective purchasers who wanted to view Broughton House. It was after all very reasonably priced, and in a particularly attractive part of the country. Eleanor hoped that they were not going to be late for their appointment. She wanted to savour their tour of the house and its grounds and not have to rush it.
‘We’ve got to be there for one,’ she reminded Marcus as she tried to calculate how much further they had to travel.
‘I’ll do my best,’ he told her, ‘but it all depends on the traffic.’
‘It won’t take as long as this by train,’ Eleanor assured him.
And of course Marcus wouldn’t necessarily have to travel to London every day. Like her, he could work from the house as he already did sometimes from Chelsea. She closed her eyes, mentally picturing the future: a warm sunny afternoon, Marcus working in his study, its windows open to the garden while she took advantage of a break from her own work to join him. There was just time for the two of them to enjoy a short but leisurely stroll through the grounds before she set off to collect the boys from their local school, a duty she shared with a group of other mothers.