The Magnate's Tempestuous Marriage

by Miranda Lee

  ‘How do you know that?’ Sarah threw at her, both inspired and anguished by her advice. For how could she tell Scott everything? Some things were too private, too...shameful, in a way.

  Cleo’s smile was soft. ‘One only has to see you two together to know. It’s in the way you look at each other. It’s all in your eyes.’

  Sarah wasn’t so sure about that. She’d learnt last weekend that what she’d seen in Scott’s eyes was good old lust, not love. The same with herself. Maybe that was all it had ever been. That, combined with companionship, plus the added bonus of not having to worry about money. Lots of marriages faltered on the matter of money. She wondered what Cleo’s husband had done before he got cancer. Whether money had been a problem for them. Not that she would ever ask. But she suspected their marriage might not have been the utopia Scott had always implied it had been.

  ‘Promise me that you will at least call him,’ Cleo urged. ‘Tonight. Don’t wait. You don’t have to rush back to him, if that’s not what you want. But at least talk to him, Sarah. Please.’

  Sarah still didn’t really want to talk to Scott. Not yet. But after what Cleo had told her about Scott’s distraught state of mind, to not do so would brand her a coward, and very cruel. Hopefully, she was neither. But she would not be going back to him. Not yet. Not till she knew if there was to be a baby.

  And maybe not even then...

  ‘All right,’ she said, though her reluctance was obvious.

  ‘Promise me,’ Cleo repeated firmly.

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Yes. Tonight.’

  Cleo heaved a huge sigh of relief as she stood up. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  Sarah levered herself up also. ‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything?’

  ‘No. I’ve done what I came for. I’ll be going now. Oh, but before I go, could you promise me something else?’

  ‘What?’ Sarah asked with a hint of impatience.

  ‘Don’t tell Scott I came to see you. He wouldn’t be at all happy with me.’

  ‘All right, then,’ Sarah said, privately agreeing with Cleo’s request. It made sense. Scott would not like to think that his PA was meddling in his private life. ‘I won’t mention your visit.’

  When Cleo smiled, Sarah saw how very attractive the woman could be with the right clothes, plus the right hairstyle and make-up. Quite stunning really. Not that she wanted her to be stunning, Sarah conceded as she saw Cleo out. Not with the amount of time she spent with Scott. Far better that she looked her usual bland and rather boring self.

  By the time Sarah closed the front door behind Cleo she was frowning, troubled by the realisation that she still felt jealous of the woman, despite it being obvious that there was nothing for her to be jealous about. Her mother had been a very jealous woman, she recalled. Obsessively so. Sarah wondered if the tendency to jealousy was an inherited factor. She didn’t want to be jealous. She hated how it twisted a person’s mind and made them miserable.

  Of course, her mother had had every reason to be jealous, with her husband being a philanderer of the worst kind. Her mother used to excuse her frequent temper tantrums by saying it was because she loved Sarah’s father so much. Sarah’s frown deepened as she trudged slowly up the steep stairs. Was obsessive jealousy linked with obsessive love? She didn’t like that concept. Didn’t like it at all.

  Sarah straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, steadfastly ignoring the deep well of insecurity that had plagued her ever since her parents’ divorce, not to mention her mother’s suicide. The doctor had called her mother’s overdose an accident, a combination of prescription pills and alcohol. But Sarah knew differently. Her mother had killed herself, all because her chronically unfaithful husband hadn’t loved her. Had never loved her. According to her mother he’d only married her because she fell pregnant. Not with Sarah herself, with her older brother, Victor. Then, when her husband had started to seriously stray, her mother had tried to keep him by having another baby. Her.

  Babies didn’t strengthen a bad marriage, Sarah knew. Which reminded her of her own possible pregnancy. Her heart fluttered at the thought that she might be going to become a mother, her hands lifting to press gently on her flat stomach.

  ‘Are you already in there?’ she whispered.

  Sarah wasn’t sure if she was still horrified at the thought, or secretly thrilled to pieces. She wanted to have a family, but only if she had the right man as the father; a man who loved her and trusted her. She’d thought that man would be Scott, and that any children they had would be conceived out of love, not some wild burst of black rage and jealousy.

  One thing Sarah was sure of. When she rang Scott tonight—as she’d promised Cleo—there would be no mention of a possible pregnancy. Neither was she going to agree to go home to him. Hell, no. Sarah was also determined not to be alone with Scott till she knew for sure that he was the same man she’d first thought he was. Decent and strong and civilised, not the primitive caveman he’d become since getting those photos. She found that man way too intimidating, too dangerous, too perversely sexy. Not that she hadn’t always found him sexy. Now, however, Sarah found herself quivering at the thought of having sex with him, her mind filling with erotic images that were primitive and wanton and way too disturbing.

  ‘Oh, God,’ she cried softly, and stumbled up the rest of the stairs.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SCOTT WAS SPRAWLED out on the chesterfield in his study, downing his third whisky, when his phone rang. Sighing—he despised talking on the phone—he extracted it from his trouser pocket, his rather sluggish heartbeat stopping altogether when he saw the identity of his caller. Sarah!

  For a brief moment he contemplated not answering—what was good for the goose was good for the gander!—but he couldn’t resist finding out what had made her change her mind and contact him before the stated fortnight was up. The thought that she might have finally realised how bloody-minded she was being did not ease his frustration as he lifted the phone to his ear.

  ‘To what do I owe this honour?’ he drawled caustically.

  * * *

  Sarah gritted her teeth. She’d known underneath this wasn’t a good idea. She herself wasn’t ready to talk to Scott, especially when he’d obviously been drinking. But a promise was a promise.

  ‘I thought,’ she said with much more politeness than she was feeling, ‘that we might talk.’

  ‘Really? So you finally believe me about that bastard, Leighton?’

  ‘I haven’t even spoken to Phil,’ Sarah admitted.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I, um, didn’t go to work this week.’

  ‘Why not?’ Definite surprise in his voice.

  No way was she going to tell him the truth. ‘I’ve had a sinus infection,’ she said, choosing a problem she was susceptible to. Though usually not in the colder months. ‘I should be ready to go back next Monday. But I doubt I’ll be able to put my mind on the job till we sort things out between us. Which is why I think we should have a long talk this weekend.’

  ‘I’m not much good at long talks,’ he pointed out.

  ‘True,’ she agreed. Scott had always been a man of few words, the strong, silent type who didn’t open his mouth except to give directions and make decisions. He wasn’t interested in just talking for the sake of talking. Sarah herself wasn’t a natural gossip or a chatterbox. Neither was she given to telling her life story at the drop of a hat as some females did. Cory had been the exception, perhaps because he had a highly empathetic nature. Even so, Cory didn’t know absolutely everything. And Scott...well, he knew next to nothing, really. He was entirely ignorant of all the sordid little details of her ghastly home life.

  It came to Sarah that she didn’t know all that much about his upbringing, either. Which wasn’t right. Even before Cleo had said so to her, she’d known that a married couple—especially ones who might be about to become parents—shouldn’t have any secrets from each other. They sho
uld know each other like the backs of their hands. Sarah was forced to concede that if she’d told Scott the full truth about her father—not to mention her bastard of a brother—then he would have known instinctively that she’d never be unfaithful to him.

  It was definitely high time to remedy that situation; time to do something constructive to save their marriage. Running away never solved anything. She’d done that after her mother had died and it hadn’t achieved a single damned thing. Yes, she’d seen the world, but she hadn’t really seen it for a long time, grief and depression dogging her footsteps. She probably should have stayed at home and had some counselling first. But then she would have missed her amazing experiences in Asia where she’d kept out of the large cities, staying in lots of small villages and living the simple life. Witnessing first-hand the love those families had for each other had been better than any counselling. What she wouldn’t give to be back there now.

  Sarah sighed. No point in thinking like that. Their world was not her world. Her world was Sydney and Scott and a marriage that was floundering.

  Perhaps this time counselling might be some kind of answer.

  ‘Look, I know you definitely don’t like talking for long over the phone,’ she said, ‘so how about we meet somewhere for lunch tomorrow?’ Sarah hoped that meeting with him in a public place would stop her from being distracted by the disturbing desires that being in his presence kept producing.

  ‘Sorry. No can do. I’ll be at Randwick races at lunchtime tomorrow. Have to present the trophy for the first race. It’s the McAllister Mines Stakes. Why don’t you come with me?’

  Sarah was seriously tempted. She’d always loved going to the races with Scott, loved the vibrant atmosphere, loved looking at the horses, plus the way he always seemed to back the right horse to win. He was lucky like that. But whilst a racecourse offered her the safety of a public place, she wouldn’t have the opportunity to have any kind of deep and meaningful conversation with Scott. He’d be constantly surrounded by officials and other owners and trainers, all trying to talk him into buying a horse, something he’d always vowed never to do, claiming that owning a racehorse was an even riskier investment than owning a mine.

  As much as she still wanted to say yes, in the end Sarah decided against it.

  ‘I’d rather not,’ she said with some regret. ‘How about dinner tomorrow night instead?’

  ‘How about I come over to see you right now?’ he counter-suggested.

  Sarah sucked in sharply, hating the way her traitorous body leapt at this proposal.

  ‘I don’t think so, Scott,’ she said stiffly. ‘Could we just stick to dinner tomorrow night, please?’

  His sigh was heavy. ‘All right. Where?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter where. You choose. Preferably a place with plenty of room where we won’t be squashed in like sardines.’

  ‘I’ll get us a table at that seafood restaurant you like down on the quay. I can never remember the name.’

  ‘The Seafood Palace?’

  ‘Yes. That’s the one.’

  ‘You’ll be lucky to get a table there on a Saturday night.’

  ‘I’ll get a table, don’t you worry. What time?’

  ‘Eight?’ she suggested. By then she’d be starving. Though for what? came the corrupting thought. Oh, hell...

  ‘That’s miles too late,’ Scott said. ‘Make it seven.’

  Sarah resigned herself to a long and frustrating evening. ‘All right. Seven.’

  ‘I’ll pick you up at a quarter to.’

  Sarah winced. She didn’t want to be alone in a car with him; didn’t want him driving her home afterwards. But she knew she was being silly. This was about them trying to smooth things out—pouncing on her in the car was not Scott’s style. ‘Very well. Pick me up, then.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘It’s good to see you letting go of some of that stubbornness, Sarah. See you tomorrow,’ he said and then hung up on her.

  His rudeness startled her at first, and Sarah sniffed haughtily as she whirled and stalked into the guest bedroom where her eyes lit on the pregnancy testing kit sitting on the bedside table.

  ‘I am not stubborn,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘I am, however, possibly pregnant.’

  She picked up the kit and carried it into the bathroom where she opened it and read through the full instructions, tempted beyond bearing to take the test. Common sense kept telling her that it was still too soon for the test to be reliable, and that nothing was to be gained by getting a false negative. Nothing but false comfort. In the end, common sense won, Sarah shoving everything back in the box, unused, and marching out of the bathroom, leaving the damned thing behind.

  But the thought of her possible pregnancy haunted her for hours that night. What would Scott say if she was pregnant? Would he be pleased, seeing it as the means to mend their marriage? Or would he be suspicious and accuse her of infidelity again?

  Of course, suspicion over the identity of the father didn’t cut it these days, Sarah conceded, a simple DNA test always putting the matter to rest. But she would hate to see initial scepticism in Scott’s eyes. She was right when she said that this ultimate form of distrust would be the kiss of death where their marriage was concerned. But perhaps she was putting the cart before the horse. Maybe there wouldn’t be any baby.

  But feminine instinct whispered to her that there was. Sarah didn’t fall asleep till the early hours of the morning.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SARAH SIGHED AS she looked at the pile of clothes scattered over the bed. Truly, she was acting like some teenager going on her first date, trying on and discarding practically everything in her wardrobe.

  ‘It’s all Cory’s fault,’ she muttered as she started hanging some of them back up again. They’d had a brief text exchange this morning where she’d confessed she was going to dinner with Scott tonight and he’d replied that it was a good idea and she was to wear something extra sexy.

  Stupid advice, given she was trying to resist the temptation to have any further sex with Scott. If she dressed extra sexy it would definitely send out the opposite message to him.

  Still, whilst dressing extra sexy was out, Sarah found herself wanting to at least look sort of sexy.

  The trouble was Sarah didn’t dress even sort of sexy. Not the way some women did. She didn’t wear low-cut tops or too tight, too short skirts. Her choice of wardrobe was very elegant and feminine, flattering but never provocative, her mother having shown her how to choose colours and clothes that complemented her fair hair and willowy figure. Sarah never dressed in anything too dark or too bright. At work, she combined cream or taupe suits with soft silky blouses in pastels or delicate florals. Her skirts, whilst nicely fitted, were kept to knee length, and she always—always—wore stockings, expensive stockings that had a faint sheen and drew the eye to her shapely calves and slender ankles. She also always chose shoes and a bag in a nude colour, which went with everything. For after-work wear she usually wore dressy dresses, several of which would have done for dinner tonight.

  But Sarah wasn’t happy with any of them, finally settling on a pair of champagne-coloured crepe trousers that had a matching jacket, which she’d bought two years ago and which occasionally made an appearance during the cooler months. It was the middle of May, and Sydney’s Indian summer was definitely on the wane. This evening was sure to be quite cool. Of course, the restaurant would be heated so she needed to wear something nice underneath in case she had to take off her jacket. Sarah had an awful feeling that she might be feeling hot around Scott.

  A rather erotic shiver rippled down her spine at this last thought. Oh, Lord!

  Finding the right top proved surprisingly difficult. She discarded her usual choices. Wearing a cami was just too bare. In the end, she chose a gold beaded top, which she’d bought on sale and never worn. Admittedly, it was still sleeveless but it had a scooped neckline that wasn’t too low.

  Sarah finished off the outfit with nude high heels,
a gold clutch purse and gold jewellery. Nothing too much. Just a slim chain around her neck, which had belonged to her mother, and some small gold ear studs she’d bought for herself overseas. None of the jewellery Scott had bought for her. Not that there was all that much. He wasn’t a gift giver in the main. Though he did present her with some lovely cultured pearls on their wedding day and a diamond pendant with matching earrings on her birthday last November. For Christmas he’d bought her the red car.

  By six thirty-five Sarah was dressed and fully made up, but still she dithered. Maybe she shouldn’t wear her hair down. Scott loved her hair down. It had been down on the day they’d first met. Maybe she should put it up. Tightly up. No, she didn’t have the time to do that. She compromised by putting it up at the sides, using two pearl-encrusted combs that were pretty and feminine and which she often wore to work. Not on that fateful day fifteen months ago, however. That day, her hair had been fully out, falling in a sleek creamy curtain over her shoulders and halfway down her back. Since then, she’d had it cut a bit. Now, it stopped just short of her shoulder blades. But it was still her crowning glory. Or so her mother used to say.

  Thinking of her mother did Sarah the world of good. Because it reminded her why she had to resist Scott’s sex appeal tonight and concentrate on fixing their relationship. Or try to. Which meant having some long discussions over dinner, telling him all the things she’d never told him before, then finding out his own deep dark secrets. He was sure to have some. Everyone did, didn’t they?

  Just before a quarter to seven, Sarah picked up her purse and started making her way downstairs. The doorbell rang before she reached the bottom step, her heart jolting to a stop before lurching into an agitated rhythm. Scooping in a huge lungful of air, she let it out slowly then forced herself to keep going, lecturing herself all the while.

  Play it cool, girl. Cool and calm. Tap into some of that natural poise people keep saying you’ve got. Don’t, for pity’s sake, start going ga-ga over the man, no matter how good he looks or how sexy you find him.