“Or eat more.”
“It’s good of you to be concerned.”
Magnus said, “Should you be standing around, Mother? Where’s Ginette?”
“I told her to take some time off. I didn’t want a stranger around when you brought Jade back.”
Jade wondered who she had been trying to save from possible embarrassment.
“Ginny’s hardly a stranger,” Magnus protested mildly. “She’s part of the household.”
His mother’s head lifted. “She’s not family.”
“Yes, well, why don’t you sit down,” Magnus suggested. “And I’ll take Jade and her luggage upstairs.”
“I told Mrs. Gaines you’d both have a cup of tea with me. She’ll have heard the car.”
“We won’t be long,” Magnus promised. “Come on, Jade.”
He had already started up the stairs, and she followed as Mrs. Riordan returned to her sitting-room.
He glanced back and, reaching the top of the stairs, led Jade along the passageway to the room he had brought her to as his new wife. The door was open, and Jade walked in and straight over to the window, to the view she’d always loved. From here she could see the breakers lift and curve and gallop towards the shore, then unfold along the sand with lazy precision.
She heard Magnus put down the heavy case, and hoped that he would come and slide his arms about her as he often had when they’d shared the room before, nuzzling her hair or her neck, sometimes inviting her to return to the wide, white-covered bed that faced the window and the sea.
Instead, he said, “We’d better go down pretty soon or she’ll start to fret.”
Jade dragged her gaze away from the smooth dun of the beach, the circling gulls, the shiver of sunlight on the sea. She turned and pushed back her hair.
“Do you need to freshen up?” Magnus asked. His eyes looked remote and didn’t quite meet hers. “I’ll wait for you.”
There was a bathroom shared with a spare bedroom next door. She said, “Would you mind putting my case on the bed for me? I’ll unpack properly later, but it’s got my toilet bag in it.”
He did as she asked, and she opened up the suitcase, rummaging for the flowered bag. The room looked strangely empty and unlived in, the dressing table holding only a small bowl of pansies, the polished bedside tables bare. Magnus had always been a tidy person.
In the bathroom there was one toothbrush on the rack over the basin. Jade opened the mirrored cupboard above and saw a safety razor, a comb, some masculine deodorant and a bottle of aftershave lotion, finding them oddly reassuring. After rinsing her face she combed her hair and used a pink lipstick, not too bright. Mrs. Riordan didn’t approve of obvious make-up.
Her cheekbones were more noticeable than when she’d last looked into this mirror, and her sea-green eyes looked larger, the lids shadowed under finely curved brows. Oddly, she didn’t think she looked any older. But maybe that was something that happened so slowly you didn’t notice it yourself. Certainly she felt older inside, indelibly marked by bitter experience.
Mrs. Riordan’s hair had been more grey, her body rather more stooped than before, her eyes more hollowed under strong brows. And Magnus? He was the same, yet different. She couldn’t read Magnus any more. Didn’t know what he was thinking, feeling.
She swallowed on a sudden upwelling of grief. Magnus had suffered, too.
She would make it up to him, somehow. Starting tonight, she would make it all worthwhile for him.
Opening the door, she smiled at him, and his muscles moved in answer as though he’d forgotten what a smile was. With a sudden surge of compassion and love, she walked over to him and put her hand against his cheek and kissed him on the lips. “It’s so nice to be here, with you,” she said softly.
He didn’t move. His eyes seemed to grow hot, then cold. His voice harsh, he said, “We’re keeping my mother waiting.”
“I’m ready.” Confused, she stood back from him.
“Right.” He clamped a hand on her arm and marched her to the door. It was the first time he’d voluntarily touched her today, except for a perfunctory brush of his lips on her cheek when he’d come to fetch her.
All the way down the stairs he didn’t look at her once. When they reached the bottom she made an uneasy movement, and he looked down at his hand on her arm and dropped it as though he hadn’t realised he was holding her at all.
A solidly built middle-aged woman wearing an apron was bearing a laden tray across the hallway. Seeing them, she asked, “Did you have a good trip, Mr. Riordan?” Her gaze, discreetly curious, skimmed over Jade.
“Yes,” he answered perfunctorily. “Mrs. Gaines, this is my wife. Jade, Mrs. Gaines is our housekeeper, and a great asset to us.”
The woman smiled politely. “How do you do, Mrs. Riordan? I can’t shake hands, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll take that for you,” Magnus offered, relieving the housekeeper of the tray.
“Oh, thank you. If there’s anything else you need—”
“This looks fine,” Magnus said. “I’ll bring it along to the kitchen when we’ve finished.”
He carried the tray into the room and set it down on a round table near his mother, who had her feet up and cushions piled behind her on an antique chaise.
She said, “Thank you, Magnus. Sit down, Jade. Do you still take sugar?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I’ll fix it,” Magnus said. He’d never had much patience with his mother’s ritualistic afternoon teas. Jade hid a smile as she saw the resigned look on the older woman’s face.
She sat in the chair Mrs. Riordan had waved her to, and took the cup of tea that Magnus handed to her. She’d have preferred coffee, but tea was what Mrs. Riordan always had at this time of day, and it was easier to conform.
After serving his mother, Magnus proffered a plate of sandwiches to Jade. She shook her head, too tense to be hungry.
“How are you feeling now, Jade?” Mrs. Riordan asked her.
“I’m perfectly well, thank you. And you?”
Mrs. Riordan sipped her tea. “I don’t get any better.”
“Aren’t the new pills helping?” Magnus asked her.
“They ease the pain a little. You should eat something, Jade.”
Jade reached over to the table and took a small chocolate-iced square from a glass dish and nibbled at it. It was sickly sweet and she wished she’d taken a sandwich when it was offered, but at least the chocolate square gave her an excuse not to talk. She took a mouthful of tea to wash it down.
Mrs. Riordan said to Magnus, “Danella phoned while you were away. She and Glen are coming for the weekend, with the baby.”
Magnus frowned. “This weekend?”
His mother looked frosty. “Is it a problem?”
“Jade needs some time to settle—”
“It’s all right.” Jade swallowed disappointment and a flutter of trepidation. “I’ll look forward to seeing the baby.”
Magnus cast her a swift glance, and his mother said, “It’s only right that Danella should come and introduce her family to Jade, now that she’s back. A courtesy.”
A new departure for Danella, then. Jade quickly stifled the thought.
“They might have waited a bit longer,” Magnus said. “Are you sure you don’t mind, Jade?”
“I’m not an invalid,” she reminded him, keeping her voice low and even. “There’s nothing to worry about.” Turning to his mother, she said, “Magnus told me Danella and the baby are both doing well. I’ll be interested to meet Glen, too.”
“He’s her choice. She wouldn’t listen to anyone. I hope she won’t live to regret throwing herself away.”
Jade said carefully, “I suppose no one ever seems good enough for your daughter—or your son.”
Magnus asked his mother, “Have you told Mrs. Gaines there’ll be extra people for the weekend?”
“Yes. She’s going to ask the farm manager to bring over some meat.”
“Mrs. Gaines se
ems to be a nice woman,” Jade commented.
Mrs. Riordan gave her a look of surprise. “She’s very capable, and able to take direction.”
Unable to think of any reply, Jade sipped at her tea in silence. Magnus said, “We were lucky to find her. Not too many women are keen on living and working out here.” He glanced at Jade.
His mother said, “It’s not in the wilds, Magnus. Mrs. Gaines has a very comfortable position here. And she’s well paid.”
Jade thought the housekeeper probably earned every cent, but refrained from giving an opinion. She allowed her mind to wander as Mrs. Riordan returned to the subject of her granddaughter. It had been an exciting, tiring day, and the room was rather stuffy. She found herself almost dozing. Blinking herself awake, she drained her cup and lowered it to her lap, and Magnus immediately stood up and said, “Finished?”
She put the cup into his outstretched hand and he replaced it on the tray. Adding his mother’s cup and his own, he said, “I’ll take these to Mrs. Gaines. I have some work to finish in my study, and Jade hasn’t unpacked yet. Is there anything else you want before Ginette gets back?”
“Nothing, thank you, I have my book.” Mrs. Riordan fumbled at her side and produced it. “I’ll see you at dinner, Jade.”
Jade stood up with relief, and Magnus retrieved the tray and stepped back for her to precede him to the door.
In the hallway he said, “If you need help I’m sure Mrs. Gaines won’t mind—”
“I can manage,” Jade assured him. Erasing any hint of complaint from her voice, she added, “Will you be long, working?”
“I may not be finished before dinner. You should probably rest for a while when you’ve unpacked.”
“I slept in the car.”
“Not for long.”
“I might go for a walk on the beach later.”
“Be careful,” he said, but didn’t offer to accompany her, and after a moment she turned to go up the stairs while he carried the tray to the kitchen.
When she was alone, the bedroom seemed larger than she remembered it. She had become accustomed to having a very small space to herself.
The suitcase was on the bed as she had left it. Kicking off her elegant high heels, she fished out a pair of comfortable sandals and put them on.
When she opened one of the matching built-in wardrobes that flanked the door to the bathroom, a scent of roses and lavender met her. Someone had placed a bowl of potpourri on the shelf above the hangers.
Most of them were empty, those clothes still left on them mostly formal or party dresses, and the lower shelf near the floor held several pairs of high-heeled shoes. She went back to the suitcase and emptied out jeans, sweatshirts and blouses, skirts and low-heeled shoes.
With a pile of undies in her hands she crossed to the long dressing table, pulling out the top drawer to put them in. She closed it and knelt to open the second drawer, sinking back on her heels.
The drawer shimmered and frothed and glowed with silk and lace and ribbons, with peach and apricot and emerald and wine-red garments that weighed next to nothing as she lifted them, that were low-cut and narrow-strapped and exceedingly sexy. She remembered the way Magnus would look at her when she waited for him, wearing one of them, her hair shiny with brushing, her skin fresh and warm from the bath and scented at throat, wrists, between her breasts and behind her knees.
She found a pale green wrap, delicately hand-embroidered, that Magnus had bought for her birthday, and laid her cheek against its soft lustre, closing her eyes. When she’d put it on for the first time, after a bath, and re-entered the bedroom, he’d drawn her to the bed and stroked her body through the fabric, then eased the garment away from her until his hand met her bare skin and kept on stroking. “Satin,” he’d murmured. “You’re all satin.”
* * *
A creaking sound made her eyes fly open, her cheeks flushing. She stumbled to her feet, recalling that the house talked quietly in the late afternoon, its joints making small protesting noises as the sun cooled. It had been built in the thirties, replacing a homestead that had stood on the property since the last century. There had been alterations over the years—extra bathrooms and, of course, kitchen renovations, and the old garage had been turned into a bedsitting-room for Mrs. Riordan’s nurse-aide when Magnus had the new four-car garage erected.
Jade put the satin robe on the bed beside the modest, opaque garments she’d removed from the suitcase. The lovely nightgowns she’d worn at home had hardly been suitable for institutional living; they were meant for the intimacy of a bedroom shared with a lover—a husband.
Picking up the small heap of cotton nightwear, she dumped them on the floor of the wardrobe. She’d give them to the Red Cross or the Salvation Army.
She turned to close the empty suitcase. It had probably come from the spare room on the other side of the bathroom, where they had used to store such things. She went through, carrying the case.
The bedspread had been changed. Jade remembered a quilt heavily patterned with dusky pink roses. The new cover featured an abstract design in dark blues and reds with streaks of gold. Interesting and dramatic. She supposed that male guests might have found the overblown roses a bit much for their taste.
She turned to open one of the wardrobes that twinned the pair in the main bedroom, and stepped back in surprise.
The hangers were fully occupied with shirts, trousers, suits and jackets, and several pairs of men’s shoes were on the lower shelf. She made to hastily close the door, a reflex action to the unintentional invasion of someone’s privacy. Then she paused, her heart thudding, and raised a hand to touch a jacket sleeve, her eyes puzzled. She looked down at the shoes, and swung round to survey the room, that she now realised had a distinct air of being lived in.
No wonder the other bedroom had seemed larger, barer. The tallboy that had always been there had been moved in here. How stupid, she thought, not to have noticed. A man’s brush and comb sat atop the chest, alongside the small tooled-leather box where Magnus habitually kept his cuff-links and tie-pins. On the bedside table a pair of burnished metal bookends held several paperbacks and two volumes with library numbers on their spines, and lying beside them was a magazine. She walked over to inspect the date and found it was this week’s.
Jade swallowed hard, and went back to the master bedroom, flinging open the doors of the second wardrobe there.
It was empty but for a few forlorn hangers and a couple of bags stowed on the top shelf.
When had Magnus moved out of their room?
And why?
Chapter Two
Jade backed away from the wardrobe and slumped down on the bed, her brain grabbing at snatches of logic, of comfort. He’d been unable to bear sleeping in the bed they’d shared, without her? He’d moved out temporarily to accommodate some guests and just never bothered to bring his things back? But surely there was plenty of room for guests without such an upheaval.
Other possible answers didn’t bear thinking of. She got up, hurrying into the other room again, closing the wardrobe, removing the suitcase, breathing quickly with relief as she reached her own room, before she realised the absurdity of her anxiety to hide her knowledge of where Magnus had obviously been sleeping lately. Nothing had been locked, after all. And certainly Magnus was no Bluebeard.
The thought made her smile, and steadied her. There must be a perfectly ordinary, understandable explanation. She only had to ask him.
She was out of the room and had run down the stairs before she hesitated in sudden doubt, her hand still on the smooth polished rail. He might not welcome the interruption.
Too bad. She needed an answer. Removing her hand from the stair rail, she lifted her head and walked across the hall.
Mrs. Riordan’s voice called, “Is that you, Ginette?”
“No,” Jade answered reluctantly, stopping at the open doorway. “It’s me,” she said. “Did you want something, Mother Riordan? I don’t think Ginette’s around.”
> “Jade.” The book she’d been reading lay open on Mrs. Riordan’s lap. The sun had left the room, and it seemed gloomy. “Come in.”
Jade advanced a few steps. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“It’s getting cool. My knee-rug—it’s on the chair over there.”
A wheelchair stood in one corner, a checked mohair rug folded on the seat. Jade fetched the rug and placed it over Mrs. Riordan’s legs. “Anything else?”
“Not at the moment. Why don’t you sit down?” she suggested.
“I...was going to see Magnus,” Jade said.
“Is it so urgent?”
Jade shook her head and took one of the high-backed chairs. “Did you want to talk to me?”
Mrs. Riordan closed the book on her lap and sat holding it tightly. “I wonder if you realise,” she said, “how fortunate you are in having Magnus as your husband.”
“I assure you I do,” Jade answered her. “I know that Magnus has made great sacrifices for me, that things have been...hard for him.”
“It’s something that you acknowledge that. I should tell you,” the older woman said, looking straight at her, “that I advised him to divorce you.”
Jade paled. “It would have been understandable.”
“Magnus has a very strong sense of loyalty.”
That cuts more than one way, Jade thought grimly.
Mrs. Riordan continued, “He’s never shirked a responsibility. And he feels responsible for you, as his wife.”
Jade met the penetrating gaze and said calmly, “I think he feels a good deal more than that. Magnus and I love each other.”
A look of remote scorn crossed the other woman’s face. “Love! Is that what you call it?”
Her head lifting, Jade said, “I don’t know what else to call it. It’s why we married each other.”
A faint colour came into Mrs. Riordan’s sallow cheeks. “Magnus married you because he needed someone to give him practical help after his father died and I became—as I am now. He knew you were efficient as his secretary and I suppose he’d already discovered that you were equally so in his bed. I thought at one time that you were genuinely in love with him, and even felt a little sorry for you because of it. You were, after all, very young at the time.”
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