by Susan Lewis
All this demand and heady prosperity was thanks, in the main, to a chance meeting some seven years ago with a fluffy-haired nymphet from Leeds University by the name of Claudia Barnes,
who'd written an hilarious and brilliantly crafted story about two aliens - Paul from Pluto and Suzie from Saturn - who met whilst attempting to blend in with the community of a North Yorkshire town. Almost immediately it had struck the right chords with Josh, who'd managed to whip up an impressive publisher's auction, both sides of the Atlantic. This had resulted in a staggeringly high figure for a first novel, that had since turned into a series of books, three movies and worldwide publication. And all due to Josh Thayne's eagle eye for a winner (or a blonde) and tenaciously adroit negotiating skills. Now, every author with breath in their body, and publisher with dollars on his mind, wanted to be in Josh's magic sphere, which Julia could hardly blame them for, as it was a wonderful place to be - except when he was chalking up his attributes with his appalling mother.
'The trouble with you,' he told her, as they finally roared out of the estate and down through the highly desirable village of Chalfont St Giles, with its quaint village green, designer shops and olde worlde pub, 'is you have a phobia about mothers.'
Julia rolled her eyes. 'Since I am one, that doesn't really add up,' she responded.
'Yes it does. You can't stand your own, you can't stand mine, and you can't stand yourself either.'
Her head came round.
He glanced at her, shifted down and came to a straining pause at a roundabout.
'Two out of three,' she told him.
He circled to the right, and sped along an empty Amersham Road. 'Is that you claiming to like yourself?' he asked.
'I'm not in the mood for this conversation,' she replied crisply.
Silence prevailed until, without warning, he swerved into a pub car park and turned off the engine. 'Come on, I'll buy you a drink,' he said, starting to get out of the car.
'Josh! For heaven's sake, look at me. It was bad enough having to face your mother like this, I don't want to go into a pub.'
'What's wrong with you, for God's sake?'
'How can you say that? My hair's not washed, I've got no make-up on, these trousers are practically as old as Shannon .. .'
'White wine or vodka tonic?' he cut in.
'Did you hear what I said?'
'I'll bring the drink out,' he urged.
'Good answer. That way you get your drink, and don't have to be seen with me.'
Sighing, he let his head fall back against the seat. 'I don't think I'm going to win this,' he muttered.
'Is it a contest?'
His eyes came round to hers. 'No. It's just me wanting to buy you a drink. Is that too much to handle?'
She pushed open the door. 'White wine,' she said. 'I'll go and sit at the table over there, by the cartwheels.'
As she waited she sent texts to the children, then tried very hard to keep her mind in neutral, because she didn't want to think, she only wanted the wine when it came, and then Josh to tell her what she most longed to hear - that the book she'd submitted six weeks ago was going to be published. It wasn't going to happen though, she
knew that already, because if it was, he wouldn't be trying to distract her with a Porsche, he'd have been plying her with fizzing magnums of expensive champagne.
Her insides churned with so much disappointment that for a moment she felt almost panicked by the depth of it. It was as though a lifeline had been dangled and was now rapidly being drawn in, leaving her to flounder in a darkness impossible to escape. She took a gasp of air, then closed her eyes tightly. She knew this reaction was out of proportion, that if she'd let him Josh would provide all the safety she needed, so she must get herself under control. It wouldn't be the end of the world if the news was bad, they'd all survive, and her terror that she might not was due to her over-vivid imagination rather than anything real.
Feeling the sun on her skin she turned to look around, trying to distract herself by watching cattle grazing in the next field, tails flicking, muzzles chomping. A soft breeze moved through her hair. She listened to the birds, the traffic and music inside the pub. The air was scented by jasmine growing nearby, dung from the field, and fumes from the cars. Then she looked up as Josh approached and loved him so much it hurt.
After putting their drinks down he sat facing her across the wooden table, watching her sip the wine, while he drank a beer. When her eyes finally came to his, he covered her free hand with his own, and felt her fingers lacing into his.
'They've turned it down, haven't they?' she said softly
As he nodded her heart contracted so painfully that childish tears filled her eyes.
She looked off into the distance, and felt him watching her, his regret and love trying to reach her.
'I'm sorry,' he said, his fingers tightening around hers.
She made no response. What was there to say? Her first book hadn't been a success, and now clearly her second wouldn't be either.
She used a large sip of wine to help swallow the lump in her throat. All those years as an editor, all that knowing what made a book work and what set it apart from the rest, yet she couldn't do it for herself. She was a failure, worthless, a woman who contributed nothing to her own life, was totally dependent on her husband who might, at any time, decide to leave her.
She guessed now that McKenzies had only published her first book as a favour to Josh. A seventy-thousand-pound advance had made it a very big favour, for she knew the business, and seventy grand was huge in comparison to most first-book deals. It had made no difference to the critics though, for they'd been vicious. As a result the public shunned it, so the bookshops ended up returning it by the truckload. She'd been devastated. Inconsolable. How could she have got it so wrong? Everyone in the business knew who she was, so how was she ever going to find the courage to face them all again? Her grief was so profound it was as though she'd lost a child to some hideous disease. Shannon and Daniel tried to comfort her, and in turn she tried to reassure them, but the rejection had all but annihilated her.
For once in his life Josh had been lost for words. In the end he'd taken them all to the tropics where they'd swum, dived, snorkelled, waterskied, sailed and relaxed with magazines, never books. Gradually, mainly thanks to him, she'd managed to pull herself together, and as they'd rebounded and rebonded as a family, she'd promised herself that when she got back she'd write to every author she'd ever treated to a harsh review and apologise for the hurt she'd caused.
Of course she hadn't. What good would it do them now to know she was suffering from a belated fit of guilt? And if they'd read what had been said about her book, they'd feel the sweet dessert of justice had been royally served. Which it had. And now here it was again, a bitter second helping, for having forced herself back to the computer, she'd written another, even better book than the first - at least in her and Josh's opinion - but clearly no-one else out there thought so.
'So what's wrong with our judgement?' she said bleakly. 'Why doesn't anyone agree with us?'
Josh shook his head sadly. 'I wish to God I knew,' he murmured.
Looking searchingly into his eyes she saw the pain of her rejection reflected in their depths, and realising how hard it must have been for him to break this news, she squeezed his hand and lifted it to her lips. 'It doesn't matter,' she said, making herself smile. 'I've got so much to be grateful for, you, Shannon, Dan, a beautiful home, plenty of money. What more could I ask for?'
He regarded her uncertainly.
She continued to smile. 'Anything else is icing,'
she insisted, and since I've never had a sweet tooth I'm happy with just plain cake.'
Irony arched his brows. 'You try to give your wife the world,' he said drolly, 'and she calls it plain cake. What I want to know is, when will she call it enough?'
Her eyes went down. 'You are enough,' she told him in a whisper.
'Are you sure about that?'
Knowing he was referring to their lack of intimacy, she felt the ghastliness of it starting to engulf her. It wasn't that she didn't want him, there had never been a time when she didn't, she simply needed to try and make him understand the terrible fear that overcame her at the very peak of their lovemaking, but how could she, when she barely understood it herself?
In the end she lifted her head to look at him. His eyes were steeped in concern, and as her heart filled with gratitude for these few precious moments with no bickering or biting, she leaned across the table to kiss him. 'Tell me everything'll be all right,' she said. 'Tell me there isn't anyone else.'
A fleeting look of exasperation crossed his face. 'Darling, you're the one who put a stop to our sex life,' he reminded her gently. 'You know it's not what I want.'
She nodded and lowered her eyes again, horribly aware that he hadn't denied it, and knowing that even if he had it wouldn't be enough to dispel the fear and make her feel safe. She wasn't sure what could do that. If she were to achieve success, maybe that would at least mean she'd
never have to depend on anyone again, not even him.
Much later that night, after the usual round of snatched dinners, fights for the phone, homework, flute and violin practice, and the protracted journey to bed, Julia was standing in her and Josh's bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her short dark hair was framing her face in curled feathery wisps, her almond-shaped eyes seemed almost feverish. Her mouth was naturally red and moist, her skin was smooth and barely lined - and still tanned from a long, hot summer in France. She recalled how she and Josh had strolled through the surf, arms around each other, her wearing nothing but a brief bikini bottom, because he loved other men to see her breasts while knowing they were exclusively his to touch. Usually it turned her on to exhibit herself like that, and to know what it was doing to him, but this year it hadn't worked at all. In the end, angry and frustrated, Josh had almost seemed to welcome a crisis call from an author in Scotland, for it had allowed him to fly off for a few days, leaving her with the children, and the horrible suspicions of why he'd really gone.
Now, as she looked at herself in the mirror, she was aware of the rise and fall of her breasts, and the way her heart was thudding beneath them as it filled with unease over what was to come. But she had to try, even though she already knew she couldn't do it.
Relinquishing her gaze she put her toothbrush back in the cabinet and closed the mirrored door,
wishing she could shut away her dread so easily. She'd already let him know that she wouldn't push him away tonight, and had even allowed him to kiss her deeply before she'd come into the bathroom, but then kissing never had been a problem. They still kissed often and lovingly, even through these difficult times. It was only when it seemed likely to lead on to other things that the trouble began.
Not tonight though, she told herself firmly. Somehow she'd wrest back control of her body and let him do with it as he would, the way she always had. She thought of his hands moving over her, his mouth on hers, and the sounds he made as he loved her. She reminded herself of the heights he could transport her to - it was nothing for him to take her to three, four or five orgasms in quick succession. Now she was profoundly terrified of even going close to one. It made no sense and she knew it, for she'd always felt so safe in his arms, willing to let go and give herself completely - and there was no reason for her not to now, so somehow she must make herself do it.
Wishing there was a magical way to drop the extra weight she'd gained around her middle, while knowing it would make little difference to him just as long as they could go back to the way they were, she took one last look at herself in the mirror before turning out the light and going into the bedroom.
Only the lamps were on, casting a warm, mellow glow over the bed which was covered in crisp white linens and draped with copious folds of voile. The rest of the large room, with its plush
oriental carpets and chic Italian furniture, was cast in shadow, and both sash windows were masked by raw silk blinds, josh was standing in front of one of them, laying his watch on the surface of a black laminated chest, and as he heard her come in, he turned to look at her.
She looked back and attempted to smile. He was so tall and dark, seeming so powerfully male and confident, but even so, she could tell he was nervous. She guessed he was naked beneath his robe, possibly already semi-aroused. That he could still want her after all she'd put him through made her detest herself completely and love him even more.
His eyes were sweeping the near-transparency of her nightie, pausing at the hard swell of her nipples. Then he came towards her, and stood looking into her eyes, and as he lowered her straps to let the nightie slip to the floor, she struggled with the urge to cover her nudity and push him away She wanted him, she reminded herself, she loved him, and as he took her in his arms, she lifted her mouth to his. His hands moved gently over her back and buttocks. He didn't pull her closer, but she could already feel his erection, and as she forced herself to press against him she heard him groan with desire.
'Are you OK?' he murmured, cupping her face in one hand.
She nodded and made herself untie his robe.
Feeling him naked against her, she slipped her arms round his neck and pressed her belly to his. He was hard and ready, and as his tongue moved deeply into her mouth she fought back the need
to break free. The reluctance was false, she was deceiving herself, because her body was responding, she could feel it in her nipples, between her legs and in the sheer pleasure of his skin on hers. She didn't want this to stop, so she wouldn't make it.
Taking her to the bed he lay down with her, and for a long time he merely toyed with her, using his fingers and mouth. The more exquisite the sensations became, the more tightly she could feel herself tensing. She knew he could sense it, but he didn't stop. His fingers were between her legs and though she was moist and inviting, she was already turning rigid inside. She wanted to cry and scream, run away and hold onto him. Why couldn't it be the way it always had? Why was she so afraid to let go?
Lifting his mouth from her breasts, he lowered it to hers and used his hand to part her legs. Her head was starting to spin, sweat was breaking out on her skin.
'Ssh, it's OK,' he soothed, as he lay over her.
She tried to relax. She put her arms and legs around him, and closed her eyes tightly. Her heart was thudding a powerful beat. She tried to think only of that, as he started to enter her. Somewhere, at a distance, she could feel the craving for him to go all the way in, but already her hands were pushing against him because the panic was coming. She tried distracting herself with thoughts of Shannon and Dan, the silly things they said, what they needed for school, what their schedules were for tomorrow. He was moving in and out of her now, not fast, but not gently either. She gripped
the sheet either side of her and kept her eyes closed as he raised himself up to look down at their bodies. A horrible and devastating thought suddenly flashed in her mind. When was the last time he'd been inside a woman? Had it been her, or was it someone else? She started to choke, fighting for air.
He was moving faster now. Her hands flew to his shoulders. He didn't stop. She pushed, but still he didn't stop. And then the terrible blackness was there, swooping around her, trying to obliterate her, sucking her down and down. She couldn't breathe. She was so afraid she wanted to scream, but no sound came.
'No,' she finally gasped. 'Please, I can't.'
'Julia, for God's sake.'
'No!'
'I'm almost there ...'
'Josh stop!'
But he didn't, and as he continued to pound she started to fight, so desperate to make it stop that she didn't care if she hurt him.
'Julia, anyone would think I was raping you,' he protested.
'Just stop. Please,' she begged.
Biting down on his frustration he rolled off her and onto his back. 'Jesus Christ,' he growled, as she shot up from the bed. 'Just what kind of a
marriage is this?'
'I'm sorry,' she gulped, scrabbling for her nightie. 'I'm so sorry. I wanted it to be .. .'
'Don't say any more,' he seethed. 'I've heard it all before ...'
'But I tried, I swear ...'
'Well obviously not hard enough. Christ, I'm sick of it. Damned well fucking sick of it.'
'Well, it's no fun for me either,' she cried. 'You surely can't think I want it to be like this.'
'Frankly I don't know what you want, but I'm sure as hell not going to lie here discussing it. There's no point pretending we've got a marriage here, because it's just a farce, a total fucking charade. So why don't you just go off to the spare room, where you usually hide ...'
'I go there to prevent this kind of scene,' she shouted, 'not because I'm hiding, or because I want to. And don't you dare try ordering me out of my own bedroom ...'
'Then get into bed, for Christ's sake, and stop shouting or you'll wake the children.'
Still smouldering with anger and shame, she waited for him to move over to his own side, then slipped in under the sheet next to him. Neither of them spoke again, but she could sense his fury as though it were an actual presence in the bed with them. With a horrible burn of fear she recalled the last time they'd had a scene like this, and how he'd accused her then of wanting to push him into someone else's arms. But that was crazy, because she'd almost rather die than think of him with anyone but her. She'd wondered at the time if he'd been setting himself up with an excuse, blaming her for an affair he was either already having, or was about to have, and she was asking herself the same questions now. Had he found someone who welcomed his passion and even matched his skill as a lover? Was he starting to fall in love with her, whoever she was? The very idea of it tore at her