Rachel Lindsay - Forgotten Marriage

by Rachel Lindsay

  "I won't be long," Sharon promised. "I'll just go down to the spinney and back."

  She raced over the grass, the dog bounding at her side. Once among the trees they both slowed their pace; Sandy snuffling interestedly around the tree roots and Sharon enjoying the patterns of light made by the green canopy of leaves above her head.

  After a while she settled on an overturned trunk and idly threw Sandy's ball for him until finally, pink tongue lolling, he sank down by her side. Almost at once the hair on his neck bristled and he growled as a woman in a mauve dress came through the trees. With dismay, Sharon recognised Helen.

  "Hello there," Helen said pleasantly. "Exercising the dog?"

  "Yes."

  "Then we can walk back to the house together. This is a shortcut I use it when I don't have the car."

  "Is your home far from here?"

  "Less than a mile. You must come to dinner before you leave."

  "I'm not thinking of leaving yet,"Sharon lied.

  "Adam said you were. But then he's so anxious for you to go he's probably making himself believe you will. Speaking personally, I think you'll hang on here as long as you can. *'

  "You like speaking personally, don't you?" Sharon said coldly.

  Helen shrugged and said, "Please don't think I blame you. If I were in your shoes, I'd probably do the same. After all, you have a wonderful home here with all the luxuries a woman like you thinks necessary."

  "Don't you?"

  "Naturally. But I'd give something in return."

  Sharon quickened her pace. "It's no concern of yours when I go. I suggest you mind your own business."

  "It is my business! Your being here reminds Adam that I used to be engaged to Rufus, which is something he'd rather forget. If it weren't for you, we'd have announced our engagement by now."

  "What a pity," Sharon snapped, angered by the thought that it was only her presence here that prevented him from asking this hard-faced young woman to marry him.

  "But it will happen sooner or later," Helen continued, "so don't bother trying to get him for yourself."

  "He's the last man I want!"

  "You don't give that impression. I've noticed the big-eyed way you look at him."

  "If I never saw him again I'd be delighted," Sharon retorted.

  "Then why don't you pack your bags and go? You don't need to worm your way any deeper into Mrs. Peters's affections. You know very well she'll remember you in her will."

  "I couldn't care less about her will!"

  "Then get out. Don't you know you're not wanted here?" Whirling on her heel, Helen strode toward the house.

  Watching the tall figure with its straight shoulders and narrow hips, the sensibly clad feet marching so resolutely over the grass, Sharon could understand why a weak man like Rufus had been attracted to Helen. But she failed to see what Adam admired in her. She was not the right wife for him. Married to her, he would become more autocratic and domineering in order to maintain his independence. He needed a woman who would tease him and make him laugh, give him affection as well as passion, someone who was gentle and kind and impulsive.

  Aghast, she stopped. What had made her use those three adjectives? The reason was painfully clear and she could no longer avoid admitting it. She loved Adam. She loved him and could not bear to think of him marrying anyone except herself.

  A deep sigh escaped her. Fat chance she had, when he made no secret of the fact that he despised her, that he blamed her for encouraging Rufus to ruin his life.

  Intent on reaching the privacy of her room, she hurried across the terrace. But as she reached the French windows, Beryl rushed forward.

  "Thank goodness you're back. The mistress is ill!"

  Sharon's throat contracted. "Where is she?"

  "Cook and I carried her to her room and Miss Helen phoned for Mr. Adam. He was at Mr. Lennox's house."

  "Have you called the doctor?"

  "Mr. Adam said he'd bring him along."

  Steps in the hall confirmed Beryl's answer and, through the half-open door, Sharon saw Adam and an elderly man moving toward the stairs.

  "It was probably a heart attack," Helen said matter-of-factly. "She's had them before."

  Beryl gasped and Sharon gave the maid's arm a reassuring squeeze. The girl was from the village and had known Mrs. Peters all her life. It was understandable for her to be upset.

  After what seemed an endless wait but could not have been more than a quarter of an hour, Adam and the doctor entered the drawing room, with Helen close behind them.

  "A mild heart attack," the doctor said to the room at large. "She must stay in bed for a couple of weeks and have no excitement." He looked at Adam. "I can rely on you for that?"

  "Naturally."

  "May I go and see her?" Helen asked.

  Adam shook his head. "She's asking for Sharon."

  Ignoring Helen's look of dislike, Sharon hurried into the hall. As she reached the stairs Adam came out of the drawing room and called her. Then he closed the door behind him and walked forward.

  "Mother said just now that you'd been talking of leaving. I know I asked you to go but, well, for the moment it would be better if you remained."

  "If you wish. I don't want to do anything that would upset her."

  Sharon looked at him and then lowered her eyes. Intensely conscious of his nearness, she saw his hands, narrow and strong, clenching and unclenching at his sides. How he hated asking her to stay!

  "If I remain here until your mother has recovered," she said carefully, "I will expect you to behave politely to me."

  "I'll do my best."

  "Is there nothing I can do to change your opinion of me?" she cried. "What if I said I didn't want any money from you or your mother?"

  "I wouldn't believe it." His glance took in her plain but expensive silk dress, worn with a gold necklet his mother had given her as a surprise the previous day.

  "What if I gave you my word?" she persisted.

  "I'd assume you'd have some other plan in mind!" His eyes were slivers of grey ice. "If only I knew…" With a weary gesture he motioned her to go upstairs. "Mother's waiting for you."

  "What were you going to say?" Sharon asked. "I've a right to know."

  "A right!" With an effort he controlled himself. "Perhaps you have, at that. But not until my mother's recovered. In the meantime, though, you can tell me something."

  "Whatever you like," she said bitterly. "You know as much about me as I know about myself."

  "Then tell me what you hope to gain by seeing so much of Simon."

  Colour rushed into her cheeks. "He's the only person here, apart from your mother, who's shown me any kindness."

  "You'd do well to keep away from him."

  "Why?"

  "Let's say it's for your own good."

  "Don't tell me you care about that?" she mocked and saw a flame of anger flash in his pupils before he spun on his heels and returned to the drawing room.

  Mrs. Peters was propped up by pillows when Sharon saw her, but otherwise looked no different from when they had last been together.

  "A lot of fuss over nothing," she complained as Sharon perched on the bed. "It was only a mild attack."

  "Enough to warrant your taking better care of yourself."

  "I loathe staying in bed."

  "I'll be here to keep you company."

  "You mean you won't be leaving?"

  "Not until you're completely well." Sharon smiled as she saw Mrs. Peters's expression. "But I'll know if you start pretending, so don't put on an act."

  "What a thing to suggest!"

  Happily the old lady closed her eyes, opening them from time to time to see if Sharon was still there.

  The afternoon passed slowly and it was only when Beryl came in with a nurse that Sharon felt free to leave the room.

  "I'll be in to see you before you go to sleep for the night," she promised her mother-in-law. "But if you want to see me before, let the nurse know."

&nbs
p; Downstairs, she was relieved to find the drawing room empty except for Sandy who was stretched full- length on the rug in front of the fireplace. Absent-mindedly she stooped to pat him, then wandered restlessly from one piece of furniture to another, looking at each with all her attention but seeing only Adam's face. It was ironic that she should have fallen in love with a man she hardly knew, a man who had shown her nothing but contempt. Even his ideas and beliefs were a closed book to her… as she was a closed book to herself.

  But no, that wasn't true about herself or him. Though much of him remained an enigma, she knew him to be honest, kind to those he loved and an excellent employer. As for her own character, she might not know how she had felt or what she had done in the past, but she was quite aware of her reactions in the here and now. As for her emotions, there was no doubt that a man like Adam, who even had the dark looks she so admired, had always been her ideal.

  Always? Then how could she have fallen in love with a fairhaired, morally weak man like Rufus?

  Idly her hand roamed over the keyboard of the piano she had come to rest against, and without conscious thought she sat on the piano stool and began to play. First a Chopin prelude, then a sparkling Vivaldi.

  Only as the last notes died away was she aware of Adam watching her, his face set in such hard lines that it resembled a mask. But the eyes were alive, glittering like the eyes of a bird of prey.

  "So you play the piano," he said harshly. "May I ask what other accomplishments you have?"

  "I only discovered I had this one a moment ago."

  "You're no amateur."

  "No," she agreed. "I'm rather pleased with the way I play."

  "Have you no shame at all?" He slammed the lid shut with such force that he almost caught her fingers. "If it weren't for my mother, I'd throw you out of the house tonight!"

  Astonished, she looked at him. "Because I play the piano?"

  "Because you're playing me for a fool!" He drew back a step, as if being close to her might goad him into physical violence. "At the moment, you're in a stronger position than I am. But don't try me too far. If you do, even my mother won't stop me from exposing you."

  Before she could ask him what he meant, he strode out, banging the door so violently that the chandelier tinkled.

  "Expose me?" Sharon whispered, wondering if she would make more sense out of his comment if she said it aloud. Expose that she was here to get money? That she had come to wheedle herself into her mother-in-law's grace?

  Somehow she didn't think so. Adam had meant more than this. Much more. But what it was and when she would find out were two things she didn't know.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Sharon's dreams that night were tortuous; not quite nightmares yet with an undercurrent of horror that made her wake up several times, trembling. But once consciousness returned she could not bring them to mind. All she could recall was the fear; the people and situations behind it remained a blur.

  At six o'clock she switched on her lamp, having made up her mind it was better to be awake than to sleep in torment She tried to keep her mind blank but an image of Adam, his face suffused with rage, shimmered in front of her. Why had playing the piano roused him to such anger that he had threatened to throw her out of the house? But no matter how deeply she searched for an answer, it eluded her.

  At eight-thirty she tapped at the door of her mother-in-law's room, relieved when the nurse opened it with a smile and beckoned her in.

  "We've had a very good night," she announced briskly, "and we're feeling much better, aren't we, dear?"

  "Yes, we are," Mrs. Peters assented, smiling wryly at Sharon as the nurse turned away.

  "I wasn't sure if it was too early for me to come in," Sharon murmured, bending to kiss the lined cheek.

  "From the look of you, you could have come in hours ago! Didn't you sleep?"

  "Not too well."

  "Were you reliving the plane crash?"

  "I don't remember anything about it… which is just as well."

  "I'm not so sure. I think it's necessary to remember painful things in order to forget them. Running from something we're afraid to face can turn it into more of a horror."

  Sharon wondered if there was a hidden meaning behind this remark. Was Mrs. Peters hinting that she knew some of the things Rufus had done? But it was not her business to find out. That was up to Adam.

  Sipping her coffee, Sharon studied her mother-in- law. If it were not for the telltale bluish line around her lips, one would never know she had a heart condition.

  "Has Adam been up to see you yet?" she asked.

  "He looked in for a moment just before you came. He's going to London on business and won't be back until this evening."

  Involuntarily Sharon heaved a sigh of relief, then glanced quickly toward the bed to see if it had been noticed. But Mrs. Peters was folding her napkin and replacing it in its ring.

  "Are you going riding today?"

  "No. Simon said he'd be busy."

  "Why don't you go for a walk?" The old woman's gaze wandered to the window. "It's such a lovely day."

  "Sounds like a good idea. I'll come in and see you when I get back."

  She was halfway down the stairs before she noticed, through the open front door, the Bentley parked at the foot of the steps. So Adam had not left yet! She hesitated, reluctant to meet him again but more reluctant to admit her fear of him by running away. He must never know how he affected her, never guess that her bones seemed to melt at the sight of him.

  She became aware of raised voices in the library and recognised Adam's deep one and the slightly higher-pitched tone of Simon.

  "I don't care what you think!" the bailiff was saying. "I'll tell her in my own good time."

  "If you had any guts you'd tell her now!" Adam was angrier than Sharon had ever heard him.

  "I want to give her a chance to know me better," Simon retorted. "When I think she cares for me, I'll tell her the truth. I love her and I'm not going to run the risk of losing her."

  "You hardly know her."

  "I've been riding with her nearly every morning since she's been here."

  "You'd have done better to fall for the mare!"

  Simon's chuckle showed he had not taken the comment seriously, though when next he spoke there was no humour in his voice.

  "I can't stop you from telling her, Adam, and if you—"

  "I'm no informer!" Adam barked.

  "I didn't think you were." There was no mistaking Simon's relief. "But I'll understand if you want my resignation."

  "Don't be a fool! You're the best bailiff I've had and no woman is going to make me lose you. The only time I'll ask you to move on is if Sharon returns your love and agrees to marry you."

  There was a shout of laughter. "You've the darndest way of thinking! I'll remember that when I ask you to be best man!"

  There were sounds of footsteps and Sharon shrank against the banister as the two men crossed the hall and went outside.

  "Can I give you a lift back to the cottage?" she heard Adam ask.

  "You can drop me off in the village. I want to buy some stamps."

  The car door slammed and the Bentley purred down the drive. Only then did Sharon go down the stairs and into the garden.

  What had Adam urged Simon to tell her? Undoubtedly it was something to do with his past, something so detrimental he was afraid she would despise him if she found out. As if she had the right to despise anyone when she herself—according to Adam—was so despicable!

  As she wended her way to the village she decided she was glad to have overheard the conversation. But she mustn't let Simon know. Instead she would start to make excuses not to see him and, on the few occasions when she did, would make it clear she regarded him only as a friend.

  How complicated everything was! If Mrs. Peters was well, Sharon could have left Green Spinney that very day and have started looking for a job. Then, as soon as she saved up the fare, she could return to South Africa and try to find out
something of her past and the life she had lived with Rufus.

  When she reached the village she looked around for Simon. He was not in the post office-cum-general store and she glanced across at the painted sign of a ferocious black bull that hung over the door of the Tudor-style inn. This was the place Helen had accused him of visiting too often.

  No sooner had she thought this than she saw him coming out of it with a young woman. She was too far away to hear what they were saying but it was obvious they were arguing. The woman was gesticulating wildly and Simon caught hold of her and pulled her along the road to where a small blue car was parked. He bundled her in, then climbed in himself and drove out of sight.

  Was that Simon's sister? She had the same blond hair, though it appeared that nature had been given some assistance, and her clothes were more suited to town than country. One might almost have called them flashy: the black suit a shade too tight, the gold jewellery at throat and wrist a shade too heavy.

  Sharon continued her walk, wondering why Simon had not mentioned that his sister was here. Could that be the reason he and Adam had quarrelled?

  But the rest of the day passed without Simon putting in an appearance, and Sharon spent the time with her mother-in-law.

  As twilight fell a car could be heard coming up the drive. Mrs. Peters smiled happily.

  "Adam's back. I hope he brought me the—" She stopped abruptly but her hands played restlessly with the edge of the blanket.

  "I'll go and change," Sharon said. "I'll come back later."

  "Don't go yet. I want you to wait till Adam comes up."

  This was exactly what Sharon had wanted to avoid and she bit back a sigh. Soon they heard firm steps approaching along the corridor and the door opened. As always when she saw Adam after an absence, Sharon was struck by the strength he exuded and wished with all her heart it was not directed against her.

  "How are you, mother?" He drew her hand to his lips.

  "Much better, darling. Did you bring it back with you?"

  "Yes." He took a flat leather box from his pocket and placed it on the bed.

  "Come here, Sharon," Mrs. Peters urged. "I want to show you something."

  Sharon did as she was told and found herself staring at a triple row of exquisitely matched pink pearls. "They're beautiful," she breathed.