For Better for Worse

by Penny Jordan

  Nor would she want to make any kind of financial claim on Nick. So why didn’t she just go? Why didn’t she simply go upstairs now, pack her things and leave before he came back?

  Because she couldn’t, she admitted… because she simply could not walk out on him without at least trying to understand why their marriage had gone wrong… without at least trying to explain to him how hurt and confused she was by his infidelity.

  But you know what will happen, a small inner voice taunted her. Nick will simply say that it’s your fault because of Adam.

  But loving Adam had made no difference to her marriage… no difference to her determination to work as hard as she could to preserve it…

  Loving Adam was an aberration, a mistake… a secret agony she could never, would never admit to anyone else. It was her private torment and punishment, the burden she must carry in silence and alone.

  Just thinking about him caused the familiar pain to start unravelling slowly inside her.

  Adam… Why had she not known… realised… recognised… but, even if she had done all of those things, what good would it have done her? Adam did not love her, had never loved her.

  Oh, he had been kind to her, concerned for her, anxious to help her—but then, that was Adam. Kind, compassionate, caring for everyone. Look at the work he did for local charities, and not just officially… All over the town there were people who could attest to his small acts of personal kindness and generosity.

  It had been Adam she had met first, known him in fact before she had known Nick. Actually, had it not been for her friendship with Adam, she would never have met Nick at all.

  She gave a small shudder. She didn’t want to think back, to remember the innocence of those early days.

  It had been a chance remark of a fellow student on the same university course about the town of Avondale which had brought her here in the first place. History had always fascinated her; her father was a keen amateur archaeologist and as a child she had spent many contented and happy hours exploring a variety of historical sites.

  The town, with its examples of so many different types of urban architecture, gathered together within such a small area and so fortuitously unaltered from their original state, had naturally interested her. It was near enough to Bristol for her to visit, driving herself there in the small car her parents had bought her as an eighteenth birthday present.

  She had fallen in love with the town almost at first sight.

  And with Adam?

  If so, she herself had certainly not recognised it. She remembered how she had been slightly in awe of him the first time they met, and how embarrassed she had been.

  She had been standing in the town square, studying the church. She had stepped back without turning round and had walked right into Adam, whom she had not seen crossing the square.

  Crimson-faced, she had apologised, awkwardly aware of the contrast between them. She had been wearing her students’ garb of black woolly tights, an equally dark-hued skirt and an old baggy sweater she had bought in a second-hand shop.

  Secretly she still felt slightly uncomfortable in these clothes, so very different from the ones she had worn while still living at home, and yet without them, in the university environment that was now her home, she had stuck out like a sore thumb, the neatly pressed pleated skirts, the crisp blouses, the good quality woollens that followed the example set by her mother marking her out as a curiosity, an object of amusement and friendly derision.

  She had learned to find anonymity and safety in the uniform of dark-coloured baggy clothes so beloved of her peers.

  Today, though, she was not with any of her fellow students, she was on her own, and Adam was wearing an immaculate dark wool suit, the jacket unfastened to reveal a crisply laundered white shirt on which she could almost smell the clean scent of starch, and an equally formal striped tie.

  Looking at him, she had assumed automatically that he was some kind of successful businessman, although when he had put his hand out to steady her she had been subconsciously aware of a certain powerful muscularity about his body that belied the image cast by the formality of his clothes.

  His hair too had confused her, sending out a different signal from that given by his clothes. Thick, with a natural inclination to curl slightly, it had had something endearingly untidy and informal about it, a tousled, windblown unkemptness which had matched the lean ruggedness of his face, and the fan of small lines that rayed out from his grey eyes.

  His face and hair were those of a man used to spending a good deal of his time out of doors, she had recognised, but his clothes… that suit… they belonged to a man who spent his days sitting at some impressive boardroom desk, sternly overseeing the lives of other less powerful mortals. Initially it had been the effect of that suit which she had reacted to, mumbling her apology, turning to hurry away from him, feeling both awkward and uncomfortable as she stared down at the floor and saw the small dusty imprint her shoe had left on the shiny glossiness of his.

  However, instead of chastising her for her clumsiness as she had anticipated, he had asked her totally unexpectedly instead, ‘Are you interested in the church?’

  The warmth in his voice had caused her to look up at him, and when she saw the way he was smiling at her, the genuine friendliness of his demeanour, her self-consciousness had miraculously vanished.

  After she had explained her interest in the town’s architectural history, he had introduced himself to her and had offered to act as her guide to its buildings.

  Shyly she had accepted, sensing with an instinct she hadn’t known she possessed that she would be safe with him.

  In the event he had proved so informative, and so interesting, that she had soon forgotten her initial embarrassment and had found herself talking with him as easily as though she had known him for years.

  When the afternoon had ended and it was time for her to return to Bristol, she had felt oddly bereft, although it hadn’t occurred to her to connect this feeling with the same emotions she had heard other girls describing in connection with their sexual and emotional feelings for the men in their lives.

  It had come as quite a shock ten days later to receive a telephone call from Adam saying that he had some business in Bristol later in the week and asking if she would like to have lunch with him.

  She had agreed to meet him—a shock perhaps, but not an unpleasant one. There was nothing to fear in having lunch with him, none of the anxiety and uncertainty that so frequently made her refuse the invitations of her male peers in case, in accepting them, she inadvertently found herself the recipient of sexual advances she did not want.

  Fern knew that she was regarded, if not as something of a prude, then certainly as slightly sexually out of step with everyone else; but her gentleness and kindness made her popular not only with the male students but the female ones as well, who good-naturedly accepted her shyness and good-heartedly did their best to protect her from the sexual machinations of the more sexually aggressive male undergraduates.

  Only the previous weekend she had gone with a group of friends to the Union Bar, where she had been left scarlet-faced with embarrassment by one man coming up to her and announcing with a leer, ‘The campus virgin. I like virgins… I eat them up… I love the way they taste. Would you like me to eat you up, little virgin?’

  The other males with him had laughed and cheered and despite her embarrassment Fern had managed to stand her ground and ignore the comments he was making to her. She knew there was no real malice in them and that he was more playing to the crowd than trying to intimidate her, but nevertheless she had been left feeling vulnerable and slightly bruised, aware of the gulf that lay between the world her parents had brought her up to inhabit and the one which actually existed.

  Her school days attending a small village school and then an equally small and protective all-girls’ private school had not really equipped her for the sexually energetic lifestyle of her fellow students, but underneath her shyness F
ern had a strong enough personality to allow her to take things at her own pace.

  The male students she responded best to and felt most at ease with were the ones who treated her more as a sister than a potential bed partner, the ones who brought her not only their dirty washing, but their problems as well, and she would quite happily spend an evening listening to them complaining about the unfairness of a particular tutor or the cruelty of another girl while she ironed and cooked for them. Knowing that they wanted… that they needed her to perform these tasks for them soothed and comforted her, confirming the role her parents had brought her up to play, even if this was a subconscious and hidden awareness rather than a conscious one.

  Adam took her to an Italian restaurant for lunch. She had mentioned to him the previous week how much she loved Italian food.

  The family atmosphere of the place, the joviality and warmth of the waiters made her feel instantly relaxed and at home.

  Adam was good company, quickly putting her at her ease and banishing her initial uncertainty that she had done the right thing, so that very quickly she felt so comfortable with him that she found herself answering his questions, telling him things about herself with an openness and ease that was completely contrary to her normal reticence.

  Long before the lunch was over, Adam knew about her family background, as well as her interests and her hobbies.

  She had not decided exactly what she wanted to do once she had her degree, she told him.

  His quiet, ‘Perhaps some kind of counselling work, something where you would be able to help others,’ surprised her with its astuteness, and she flushed slightly as he smiled at her and told her that he suspected she would be particularly well suited to that kind of work.

  At no time during their lunch had Adam said or done anything to suggest that he had any kind of personal or sexual interest in her, and then she had been relieved that this should be the case.

  Then?

  When was it that she had started, instead of being grateful and relieved that Adam did not show any sexual interest in her, feeling hurt, slighted… humiliated almost by this lack of awareness of her as a woman?

  After she had met Nick?

  Because of the contrast with Nick’s attitude towards her, flirting with her, complimenting her, standing unfamiliarly and unnervingly close to her in a way which Adam never did, his whole demeanour somehow underlining not only his sexual interest in her, but Adam’s slight withdrawal from her.

  That had hurt and confused her, making her draw back instinctively from her relationship with Adam, too immature to question his behaviour or to ask for an explanation, taking comfort instead in the contrasting warmth of Nick’s attention and interest in her.

  She could remember how surprised she had been when Adam first introduced Nick to her as his brother.

  Adam had told her that he had business in Bristol which brought him to the city fairly regularly. He had telephoned and arranged to meet Fern earlier in the week, but for the first time since she had met him he had been late.

  It was his fault, Nick had apologised winsomely after Adam had introduced them. He had friends in the city and had decided to take advantage of Adam’s journey there to visit them, his own car being out of action. ‘Adam’s done the brotherly thing by helping me out today although I can’t say it’s easy being dependent on someone else’s set of wheels.’

  He had made an expressive gesture with his hands and out of the corner of her eye Fern had noticed the way Adam was frowning.

  Immediately she had felt that she must have done something wrong, a feeling which was reinforced later when they were alone and Adam seemed withdrawn and quieter than usual.

  Was he perhaps growing bored with her, regretting arranging to see her?

  Nervously she had tried to fill the silences between them, asking him about Nick, not because she was curious about his brother, but because she could think of nothing else to say.

  He had responded to her questions with unfamiliar terseness.

  Nick was his stepbrother, he had told her.

  For the rest of the afternoon he had seemed preoccupied and distant. Fern had been stupidly close to tears when he left.

  She remembered looking up at him, vulnerably aware of her own emotions and his apparent lack of them. She remembered the way she had accidentally looked at his mouth, looked at it and suddenly, startlingly, shockingly ached to press herself up against him and feel it moving against her own.

  She could remember too the hot, scarlet waves of guilt which had swept up over her whole body.

  Adam had frowned, stepping towards her. Immediately she had stepped backwards, appalled by what she was thinking, turning and almost running away from him, barely managing to stammer a goodbye.

  After that things had changed between them. Adam had grown increasingly remote.

  On one visit he had had a message for her from Nick.

  Fern hadn’t been able to make much sense of it. It seemed to refer to a date she had had with Nick which had not in fact existed, but insecurity, shyness and hesitancy had stopped her from saying anything.

  And one of her worst memories of all was being told by Nick, with what she now suspected had been a spurious and totally false concern, that, while Adam might not be sexually interested in her, he was both aware of and very sexually interested in other women.

  She remembered even now the cold, jarring shock of the moment Nick had told her that Adam had a girlfriend… a woman friend, with whom he had sex… made love…

  She could remember quite distinctly how angry she had felt… how hurt… how betrayed almost, and yet Adam had given her no reason to feel any of those things. At no time had he indicated that he felt anything for her other than friendship. Yes, he had always been kind to her, always made her feel special, protected, wanted when she was with him, but he had made no physical overtures to her, other than to occasionally brush her hair out of her eyes, or to touch her arm lightly… things that any man might have done.

  ‘I hope you aren’t falling in love with him,’ Nick had said lightly. ‘Because if you are, I ought to warn you that you’d be wasting your time.’

  Wasting her time…

  * * *

  Just as she had wasted her life… in marrying Nick. Had wasted his as well.

  She gave a deep, wrenching shudder. Why on earth hadn’t she had the courage to face up to the truth then, to recognise her real feelings for what they were, to recognise that she was falling in love with Adam, instead of denying those feelings, burying them deep inside her and clinging stubbornly instead to the belief that because Nick said he needed and wanted her she must somehow automatically be able to return his feelings, to respond to them… to reward him by loving him?

  ‘I want you, Fern,’ he had told her. ‘I want you to love me. You are going to love me. Do you understand…?’ he had told her fiercely and she had nodded, solemnly accepting what he was saying, believing what he was saying, just as she had believed the lies she had told herself when she had denied that she loved Adam.

  It was all her fault, she told herself. She was the one who was to blame… the one who carried the guilt.

  Perhaps Nick was right when he said that she had driven him to being unfaithful to her, although in those early days of their marriage she had still been clinging with desperate sincerity to the belief that she loved him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘BUT why have we got to sleep in the attic? I hate sleeping up there. It’s too hot and Gavin keeps waking me up.’

  Guiltily Eleanor stifled the small urge of irritation caused by the half-whining tone of Tom’s voice. He had started doing that lately. Was it a mannerism he had unwittingly picked up from someone else at school, like the term when all the children in his class had started to subconsciously copy the child who lisped slightly, or, more dangerously, was it perhaps a warning of some deeper dissatisfaction and unhappiness?

  ‘Tom, please don’t be difficult. You know why. Vane
ssa is coming this weekend.’

  Tom wasn’t looking at her, his face averted as he scuffed the toe of his trainer along the floor. She had an appointment with the agent from whom they had rented the offices in half an hour; she had had to ask her if she could come round to the house and had sensed from the cool disdain in the other woman’s voice as she’d explained that she had her sons at home for a ‘Founder’s Day’ holiday that the agent was not herself a mother.

  ‘Get yourself an au pair or a nanny,’ Jade had suggested when Eleanor had mentioned to her how increasingly difficult she was finding it to juggle her home life and her work. She couldn’t always rely on Karen’s kindness in taking her two sons in. ‘Or are you worried that she might discover it’s more rewarding looking after Marcus than looking after the kids?’ Jade had teased her.

  ‘No, of course I’m not,’ Eleanor had denied. ‘It’s just that we don’t have room for someone to live in.’

  It would all be different once they had moved to the new house, Eleanor promised herself. Then she wouldn’t feel so irritated, so pressured and overwhelmed somehow by all the things she had to do.

  It wasn’t, after all, Tom’s fault that she had forgotten about Founder’s Day, and really Louise was the one who ought to have been seeing the agent, but Louise was in France, having left Eleanor a hastily typed note in the office announcing that she would be gone for two weeks and conveniently forgetting to leave any number or address where Eleanor could get in touch with her.

  ‘Tell the agent that you can’t see her until Louise gets back,’ Marcus had suggested mildly, when Eleanor had expressed to him her anger at being left to cope with the winding up of the partnership on her own. ‘Louise is, after all, jointly responsible for the business,’ he had added.

  ‘But the agents are pressing us to finalise everything now and then the accountant wants to go through the final partnership figures, and I’ve got to arrange to have the office emptied and the services…’