Rachel Lindsay - Forgotten Marriage

by Rachel Lindsay

  With a feeling of hopelessness Sharon returned to Green Spinney. She could not get Tim out of her mind, convinced that here lay a vital link to her past. But no matter how she searched her memory no clue came to the surface.

  It was too late for lunch by the time she reached the house. A quick peep into Mrs. Peters's room told her the woman was resting, and she retired to her own room to do the same.

  Lying on her bed, she forced herself to relax, hoping her subconscious would come into play and reveal some spark that would serve to light up the darkness of her memory. But all that happened was that she fell asleep and did not awaken till five-thirty.

  Having missed lunch as well as tea, she was decidedly peckish, and after a quick shower and change into a voile dress of misty lilac that enhanced her slender frame, she went down to the kitchen for a cup of tea, gratefully accepting a large slice of freshly baked cake from the cook, a middle-aged woman who had been with the family for years. Her unease at being waited on had long since told Sharon she was not used to a life of luxury common to so many white South African women, and her agreeing to come here for a thousand pounds proved it.

  After wiping crumbs from her fingers, she wandered into the drawing room, stopping at the sight of the frail figure on the sofa.

  "Mrs. Peters! I'd no idea you were up."

  "I thought I'd give you a surprise." The old lady smiled. "You don't know how tired I was of staying in my room. She patted the sofa. "Come and tell me what you did in London."

  "Nothing much."

  "You didn't go to the hairdresser, did you?"

  "No. I went to see a friend."

  "I didn't know you had any friends in London. Was it someone you knew in South Africa?"

  Sharon's heart began to thump. What on earth had made her say she had gone to meet a friend? Yet she had given herself a golden opportunity to confess the truth. If she could phrase it carefully, if she disclosed only part of the story… She moistened her lips.

  "There's something I want to tell you," she began. "I'm-"

  "Sharon!"

  Her name rang out like a shot and she gasped as Adam suddenly materialised beside her, his face grim.

  "Darling," his mother protested, "you gave us quite a fright coming in like that."

  "Sorry," he said abruptly. "But, er, Sharon's wanted on the phone."

  At once Sharon went into the hall. The receiver was on its hook and when she picked it up she heard the dial tone. Puzzled, she replaced it, and only then realised Adam was standing right behind her.

  "I just wanted to get you out of the room" he explained. "You were going to tell my mother you were leaving, weren't you?"

  She hesitated, wondering what he would say if she told him she had been going to disclose much more than that.

  "How dare you break your promise?" he went on, keeping his voice low but not disguising its fury. "You gave me your word you'd stay here till she was better."

  "She's as well as she'll ever be," Sharon said desperately. "I can't stay on any longer."

  "You'll stay till I give you permission to leave."

  She opened her mouth to answer him and then closed it again. Whatever she said would be pointless in the face of the letter she intended to write to him.

  She backed away from his imposing presence. At last she had the complete solution. Writing the truth was a coward's way out but it would be less of an ordeal for her; and by the time he had the letter in his hand, she would be away.

  "Well?" he grated. "Have I made myself clear?"

  "Abundantly."

  Sidestepping him, she ran across the hall and opened the drawing-room door, knowing that as long as she remained at his mother's side he would not quarrel with her.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Alone in her room that night Sharon tried to compose her letter to Adam. It was difficult to write, and after two attempts she gave it up and decided to wait till the following morning. Then she would be fresh and better able to think.

  But in the morning another letter from the unknown Tim revived her hopes of being able to discover more about herself and her reasons for agreeing to do an impersonation that filled her with self-disgust.

  The letter read:

  How come we haven't heard from you? I thought you would be home long before this or would at least have dropped me a note telling me how things were going. Carol and I are worried, so pick up a pen or phone us. I hope you aren't going on with the act, for now there's no need. As I said in my last letter, you're free, Sharon. So come back home where you belong.

  Home… where she belonged. Exasperation engulfed her. If only Tim had thought to put his address or telephone number on the letter, she might have stood a chance of finding out exactly where that home was.

  Puzzling over the implications of the letter, she was still there when Simon telephoned and asked to see her.

  "It won't do any good," she said.

  "I'd still like to talk to you. I promise I won't keep you for long. I'll be waiting for you in the rose garden, half an hour from now."

  Wondering what he had to say, she wandered out to the garden. Simon and his problems seemed unimportant compared with her own, and she was vaguely irritated that he could not accept her refusal of him.

  A few minutes earlier than he had said, he crossed the lawn to meet her. He looked blond and ruddy as ever, his clear eyes giving no evidence of lack of sleep. Her conscience ceased to trouble her; if he was pining for her, it certainly didn't show.

  "I couldn't leave without saying goodbye to you," he began abruptly.

  "Where are you going?"

  "I've found another job. I told you I couldn't stay on here."

  "Does Adam know?"

  "Not yet." He looked deep into her face as if trying to commit it to memory. "Isn't there any hope for me?"

  She shook her head." It wouldn't work. Besides, I'm going back to Africa."

  "I didn't think Adam would let you go."

  "He can't wait until I do."

  Simon shook his head. "It doesn't make sense. I've seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching him. He…"

  "Stop it, Simon. I don't want to talk about Adam."

  "Neither do I." Simon held out his hand. "Do I merit a goodbye kiss?"

  She longed to refuse but knew he would be hurt if she did. Acquiescing, she lifted her face, half turning her cheek to him.

  But that was not the sort of kiss he had in mind. With a grunt he grasped her by the forearms and pulled her against his chest. His lips fastened on hers. She gasped and tried to draw back but his hold was a band of steel.

  "Sharon," he said thickly, running his hands up and down her back. They were hot against her skin but no hotter than the mouth that was trying to force her lips apart.

  Afraid to open her mouth to yell, she struggled silently, trying to kick him, beating upon his shoulders.

  "Let her go, damn you!"

  It was a hoarse command, holding so much venom that Simon's arms immediately dropped to his sides. Sharon stumbled away and sank onto the bench. She didn't need to look around to know it was Adam.

  "I was just saying goodbye," Simon said. "I'm leaving. But before you blow off steam, let me say that

  I've made arrangements for another bailiff to take over from me."

  "I don't need you to start employing people for me!"

  "It's Ted Wilcox." Simon was stoic. "You said yourself you'd like to get hold of him if ever I left."

  "I see." Some of Adam's anger lessened. "I don't intend saying goodbye to you here. Come to the house before you go."

  "Fine. I'll be over later today." Simon bent toward the bench. "Goodbye, Sharon, and good luck."

  "Goodbye," she whispered and waited till he was out of sight before rising.

  "You can leave, too," Adam said abruptly. "The sooner the better."

  "Yesterday you—"

  "That was yesterday. Today I've changed my mind. I don't want you in my home any longer.''
>
  "Very well. I'll pack right away."

  She rose and, hoping her legs would carry her, started to walk across the lawn.

  "Before you leave the house, I've a few other things to say to you," he called.

  Wearily she rubbed her hand over her forehead, surprised to find it damp.

  "Can't we do it now?"

  "No. I have a business appointment. But there are some questions that need answering and you're the only person who can do it. I'll be back within an hour, if that's all right with you."

  "I'm yours to command," she said bitterly and turned away.

  But once in her room she could not face the prospect of another battle with him. For that's what it would become. He had never believed her amnesia was real and would try to force her to tell the truth.

  Well, he didn't need to use force. She would tell him the whole truth as far as she knew it. In fact, hindsight made her think she had been crazy not to have done so as soon as she had returned from seeing his real sister- in-law. She should have let Adam deal with the woman instead of trying to play for time until Mrs. Peters had recovered. Sitting at the bureau she began to write hurriedly. "Dear Adam…"

  How cold the words looked when what she really meant was "Darling Adam… my very own darling Adam…"

  She shook her head and fixed her mind on what she wanted to say.

  I can't face another meeting with you. Anyway, it isn't necessary. I don't know what you want to ask me, but I'm sure that what I have to tell you will answer most of your questions.

  My name is Sharon Moore and I'm not Rufus's widow. I agreed to come here and pretend I was, for a thousand pounds. Your sister-in-law knew she wouldn't make a good impression on your mother, which is why she engaged me. I was supposed to worm my way into her affections and make sure she made me a beneficiary in her will. I was also supposed to make you give me a bigger allowance.

  Despite what you believe, I really don't remember anything about myself and it was a great shock to discover I wasn't Sharon Peters. I still don't know my background, only my name—the little bit your sister-in-law has told me.

  She was the person who telephoned me at dinner the other night, and the one I went to see in London; so I wasn't meeting a boyfriend, as you thought. When she told me why I was at Green Spinney, I planned to leave at once, but your mother had a heart attack and I was forced to stay. But in any event I'd made up my mind to go this Friday and leave you a letter telling you the whole story.

  Your asking me to go this morning has only precipitated matters by a few days. You see, I'd realised I couldn't carry out your sister-in-law's plans. I know I agreed to them but I can't think why. I'd never do such a thing no matter how much money I was offered. But I don't expect you to believe me.

  Sharon paused here, her eyes too blinded by tears to see the page. She wiped them away with the back of her hand and then continued.

  You're the only one who can deal with the situation now. You're a strong-minded person and maybe you can frighten your sister-in-law off. She's everything you believe her to be… and worse. So you were right to hate what I stood for!

  The one thing I want you to believe is that I became very fond of your mother and wouldn't do anything to hurt her. But even if you had let me stay on here—for her sake—I think it would have ended in disaster. Sharon Peters is a greedy woman and will go on making more and more demands.

  There were other things she could have said, but they would have given away too much of her personal feelings, so she signed the letter and placed it in an envelope.

  Then she started to pack, bundling her clothes uncaringly into her cases. She longed to say goodbye to Mrs. Peters but knew it was out of the question.

  One by one she carried her cases down to the hall and then telephoned for a taxi, stressing that it was wanted urgently. She had to be away from the house before Adam returned, and that left her with a bare fifteen-minute margin.

  Nervously she paced the floor, breathing a sigh of relief as a dilapidated car chugged to a stop outside the front door. She was in the act of climbing into it when Beryl appeared at the top of the steps, her face mirroring her astonishment.

  "Mrs. Rufus! Where are you going?"

  "I'm leaving. But don't say anything to my… to Mrs. Peters."

  "But why are you going?" The girl looked extremely upset. "Does Mr. Adam know? I'm sure he wouldn't want—"

  "Please, Beryl! "Sharon cut her short "I don't want to miss my train. I've left a note for Mr. Adam in the library. And I've left you a little present in my bedroom. I hope you'll think of me when you wear it."

  "I don't need a present to remember you by," Beryl said tearfully, running down the steps. "Are you sure you should be going? You look ever so pale."

  Extracting herself from the girl's grasp, Sharon eased herself into the car and firmly ordered the driver to set off for the train station; she waved with resolute cheeriness until they'd rounded a bend in the drive and were out of sight of the house. Only then did she let her mask drop, and she huddled in her seat, trying not to picture how Adam's face would look when he read her letter.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  During the journey to London Sharon tried to make plans for her future. The first thing was to go to South Africa House and talk to one of the officials. It might be possible for him to initiate enquiries about her in Cape Town and see if she had any relatives. The airline company was also a source she could tap. Her amnesia was a result of the plane crash and they were surely responsible for her welfare.

  If Adam had not come to the hospital and taken over her life, she would have thought of doing these two things immediately. But living at Green Spinney had somehow made her incapable of thinking clearly. Or perhaps it was her love for Adam that had held her in chains, for fear she would learn things about herself that would have made him despise her even more than he already did.

  Arriving in London, she hailed a taxi and asked to be taken to an inexpensive hotel, where she deposited her luggage before going to South Africa House.

  The official she dealt with there could not have been more helpful. To begin with, he questioned her delay in not coming to them earlier and she carefully sketched in some of her reasons, explaining she had been living with an English family who had believed that she was a relative.

  "But now I know I'm not," she concluded and showed him the letter from the mysterious Tim.

  "You've no idea what his surname is?" the official asked.

  "Not a clue."

  "He could be your family. He doesn't sound like a boyfriend—not when he mentions another woman called Carol!" Seeing Sharon's abashed expression the man smiled. "I suppose you're wondering why you never thought of that yourself? If you hang on, I'll have a look in a Cape Town directory."

  Excitement kept Sharon pacing the small room until he returned bearing a sheet of paper with some addresses and phone numbers on it.

  "There are several T. Moores listed," he said, and "lots of Thomases but only one Timothy."

  Sharon tried to speak but couldn't, and the man gently pushed her onto a chair.

  "I suggest you call up Timothy Moore first," he went on. "If he isn't the one who wrote the letters, you could try a few of the others."

  "Won't that be expensive?"

  "The airline will meet all your costs. Didn't the family you were staying with tell you that?"

  She shook her head. "Adam—Mr. Peters—said nothing about it. I took it for granted I was his sister-in-law and that the airline had no reason to deal with me."

  "Well now you know you're not Mrs. Peters, I'm sure they'll make themselves responsible for you. But let's telephone Timothy Moore in Cape Town first."

  Realising she was too overwrought to make the call, the official did it for her. There was no answer from the other end and the man explained that many firms had closed for summer vacation and that the unknown Timothy could have gone away on holiday.

  "You could call again later," he added, "and in
the meantime I 'll make an appointment for you to see one of the airline representatives. I may not be able to arrange it for today though."

  "Here's where I'm staying." She gave him her address, which he noted down and, with his promise to call her as soon as he had any news, she headed back to her hotel. She stopped at a little cafe next door to the hotel for a cup of coffee and a roll.

  She tried not to think ahead, afraid this might increase her despondency. What would happen if Tim could not be traced, if her memory failed to return and she was faced with having to build a new life for herself without ever recollecting the past?

  As always, such thoughts set her trembling, and she shakily left the coffee shop and entered the foyer of the hotel. She walked toward the reception clerk to collect her key.

  She was almost at the desk when a tall, wide- shouldered man rose from a chair. Fear held her motionless, though she still had control of her voice.

  "H-how did you find me? What do you want?"

  "To talk to you. I called South Africa House and they gave me this address." Adam had a firm hold of her arm, making flight impossible.

  "Have you seen your sister-in-law yet?" she asked.

  "No. My first concern was to find you."

  "Why?"

  "To settle some more important matters."

  "I've told you everything I know."

  Sharon sat on the edge of the chair into which Adam had pushed her, wondering if escape was possible.

  "I can't answer any questions," she said, "because I don't remember anything about myself. All I know is that my name is Sharon Moore."

  "You've no idea how you became mixed up with my sister-in-law?"

  "For the money. I told you in my letter."

  "It doesn't make sense."

  "I'd have thought it made perfect sense to you. Don't I strike you as the sort of person who'd lie and cheat for a thousand pounds?"

  Anger brought her to her feet and before he could prevent her, she raced across the foyer.

  "Sharon! "he called.

  She refused to listen and pushed open the glass door to the outside.

  "Sharon!" Adam called her again and she sped into the road, desperate to escape him. An empty taxi was cruising past and she was so intent to get into it before Adam reached her that she didn't see the cyclist coming in the opposite direction. The front wheel hit her in the side, sending her staggering backward. She flung her arms out to protect herself from falling but it was too late. Her shoulder struck the pavement taking the brunt of the blow before her head. But the impact of the curb on her temple was still enough to shatter her consciousness.