Jared's Love-Child

by Sandra Field

  He came back holding a jeweler’s box and held it out to her. He looked, she thought, uncharacteristically uncertain of himself. “I hope you like it,” he said. “I know I’m doing this the wrong way round.”

  Slowly she opened the box. The ring was a star sapphire, gloriously blue, in an intricate antique setting. “Jared, it’s beautiful,” she breathed.

  “You like it?”

  She said shakily, “You could have bought me the biggest diamonds in the store. And you didn’t. You bought me a ring you knew I’d love.” Tears filled her eyes again, clinging to her lashes.

  “Don’t cry, Devon.”

  “I’m crying because I’m happy,” she said. “But Jared, I didn’t get you anything. I was scared to. Scared of the whole wedding scene.”

  He turned his wedding band on his finger. “The inscription about the third gift…what does that mean?”

  She flushed. “The first one was me, I guess. When we made love at ‘The Oaks.’ The baby is the second gift.”

  Gifts without price, Jared thought, his mouth suddenly dry. Gifts that can’t be bought, no matter how much money you have.

  He didn’t know how to say this in words. He’d said more than enough already. Instead he took her in his arms, inhaling the scent of her skin, so well known to him, so utterly familiar that he wondered how he’d ever lived without it. “Tomorrow,” he said, “let’s walk along the beach and make love under the stars.”

  “It’s a plan,” said Devon, and kissed him with such trust that there was a lump in Jared’s chest.

  He didn’t know if the lump was emotion. It was a new sensation, one he’d never felt before with any other woman. A lump in his chest wasn’t exactly the height of romance, either, he thought drily. But he knew he was exactly where he wanted to be, in bed with Devon curled up against him, her body relaxed, her breathing slowing to the rhythms of sleep.

  Truly a priceless gift, was his last stray thought before he, too, fell asleep.

  There was a crescent moon the following night, and a sky studded with stars that looked close enough for Devon to pluck them. Jared had wanted to go for a swim, but as she was feeling lazy she’d let him go alone, and half an hour later walked down to meet him at the beach. Going through the gate that had seemed so symbolic on her wedding day, she marveled at how different she felt from the woman who had wept in her white silk dress.

  She didn’t want to weep tonight. She wanted to sing and dance. Maybe, she thought, her cheeks flushing in the darkness, she’d dance naked for Jared on the beach. The sand was soft underfoot, and the low shoosh of the waves hypnotic. The water shone, starlight glinting on the foam.

  She couldn’t see Jared. She knew he was a strong swimmer who liked to exert himself, so at first she just wandered closer to the waves, the air warm on her skin. She could hear calypso music playing from the resort. Jared had said they might go there for dinner tomorrow. Her preference was to stay in the bungalow, eating the delicious meals that Marisha, the housekeeper, left for them every day. She wasn’t ready to be with other people yet.

  She gazed out to sea, looking for Jared’s dark head. The water was smooth and unbroken as far as she could see, the coral reef lying like a shadow pale as bone beneath the surface. With a twinge of unease, she looked closer, scanning the sea from left to right, then back again. His towel was still on the sand; she’d passed it on her way here.

  Jared wouldn’t have gone back to the bungalow without his towel; anyway, she’d have seen him.

  He’d been stung by a ray. He’d had a cramp and drowned. He’d been a victim of a shark attack. All the dangers of the sea rushed through her mind, and with a moan of terror she raked the sea again with her eyes, straining to see him in the darkness.

  Nothing. Devon shouted his name, running along the edge of the sea, the waves splashing her ankles. She knew there was no point in swimming around trying to find him. She’d be better to get help.

  Frantically she looked around. Among the tall palms a light shone. Marisha’s house. Marisha would know what to do. Devon started to run, and as she ran the truth seared its way through her brain. Of course she loved Jared. Loved him with all her heart, and always would. She couldn’t lose him; such a loss would be unbearable.

  As she reached the palms and the shrubs of sea grape, stones dug into her soles. She kept running, the light closer now, her eyes trained on the path. Then, as she rounded a corner, a dark figure detached itself from the shrubs, looming over her. Devon screamed and stopped dead.

  “Devon?” Jared said. His voice sharpened. “Are you hurt?”

  Jared. Jared standing in the middle of the path. Not drowned. Not devoured by sharks. Devon swayed, her head whirling, and felt him take her by the waist and lower her to the path, pushing her head between her legs. “Take a couple of slow breaths,” he ordered.

  Gradually the world righted itself. “When I went down to the beach, your towel was there, but not you.” Her breath caught on a sob. “I thought you’d drowned. Or sharks had got you.”

  “I met up with David—Marisha’s husband—and he wanted to show me the conch he got today. I didn’t realize you were coming down to meet me.”

  She grabbed him by the arm, holding on as hard as she could. “I was s-so frightened. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

  “Devon…” he said in an odd voice.

  Finally she looked up. His expression was unreadable; in her bones she knew he’d retreated to a place where she couldn’t reach him, and her impulse to tell him she loved him died stillborn. He thought she was being over-emotional. Hysterical. “I—I’m sorry,” she faltered. “I guess I overreacted.”

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said flatly. “I’m not used to people fussing over me.”

  “I wasn’t fussing! I was worried sick.”

  “Okay, okay…I’m not used to that, either.”

  “Are you angry?” she asked in a small voice.

  “No.” He moved his shoulders restlessly. “Let’s go home.”

  Home was the bungalow where she’d known such happiness. Home was where Jared was. “All right…I was going to dance for you, naked, on the beach. But now you’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

  “You were?” Pulling her to her feet, he suddenly grinned at her in the darkness, his teeth very white. “You know what? I like you, Devon—I like the way I never know what you’re going to do next. I’m beginning to think my life was entirely too predictable before I met you.”

  It wasn’t exactly a declaration of passionate love. But coming from Jared, who so rarely spoke of his feelings, it meant a lot. As they walked back to the bungalow hand in hand, Devon was aware of how happy she was. A honeymoon, she thought, was a marvellous invention. Especially when it was spent with Jared.

  Over the next three days Jared and Devon made love on the beach under the crescent moon after Devon danced naked for him; they made love against the kitchen door and in the Jacuzzi and in the pool; they even made love in bed. Devon sang in the shower, and filled the bungalow with flowers. Not even the fact that Jared spent a couple of hours every morning closeted with his computer and fax machine bothered her. During those times she went for walks along the beach, watching the frigate birds dive, and picking up shells from the white sand. She was happy. So happy, so deeply in love with her husband, that she was filled with optimism.

  Jared had shown her such tenderness and depths of passion the last few days that she couldn’t believe he wouldn’t fall in love with her. Perhaps, she thought, admiring the blazing orange flowers of the tulip tree by their bungalow, he already had.

  Liking was a big step toward love, wasn’t it?

  In her short yellow sundress, magenta bougainvillea woven into her hair, she went back into the bungalow. Jared was still on the phone. She went into the kitchen to make some papaya juice. She adored papayas.

  Tomorrow they were to fly to Vancouver. While she hated to leave the island where she’d been so ha
ppy, Jared was going to Vancouver with her and staying for a few days. An extended honeymoon, she thought with a quiver of anticipation, and found herself smiling idiotically at the refrigerator door.

  She’d never realized how wonderful it was to be in love.

  Still smiling, she took a glass of juice to the little study that was off the living room and tapped on the door. Jared was on the phone. Opening the door, she put the juice on the table beside him. He was barking instructions into the mouthpiece, jabbing at his notepad with a pencil, and didn’t even glance at her.

  It was the other side to Jared: the businessman, efficient and ruthless. Quickly she went out again, and started making a salad for lunch. Half an hour later Jared joined her. He said abruptly, “Devon, I’ll take you to the house tomorrow. But I won’t be able to stay. I’ll have to go to Singapore right away, and I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone.”

  Her disappointment was crushing. Trying hard not to let it show, she said, “Could I go with you? I don’t have to be in London for the conferences until the following week.”

  “I never mix business and pleasure—I told you that.”

  He sounded so detached he could have been talking about interest rates or the composite index. “I’m your wife,” she said steadily. “Surely that’s a little different?”

  He said impatiently, “Look, I can be with you in Vancouver tomorrow afternoon and see you settled in. But I’ll have to get the overnight flight out.”

  Devon fought to sound reasonable and mature, even though she felt neither one. “What’s going on in Singapore?”

  “It’s too complicated to explain,” he said with some of the same impatience.

  “Try me.”

  She watched him gulp down the juice, the muscles in his throat moving as he swallowed. Last night she’d lain her cheek against his throat, her breasts warm to his ribcage… “I’ve got a couple more hours on the phone yet,” he said. “Call me when lunch is ready.”

  “Jared, I’m a smart woman—I’m sure I’m capable of understanding a crisis in Singapore. Or anywhere else for that matter.”

  “I don’t have the time!”

  Again she strove for patience. “Then give me a kiss before you go.”

  He said curtly, “If I do that, you know where we’ll end up.”

  “Kissing isn’t just about sex,” Devon blurted, and knew she’d stumbled on an important truth.

  “With you and me it is.”

  He probably meant the words as a compliment. Feeling cold inside, Devon faltered, “What about affection…and caring?”

  With an irritated shrug, he said, “Why do women always have to drag in emotion, no matter what the issue?”

  “I’m not some sort of generic woman—I’m your wife. And emotions are all-important.”

  “For Pete’s sake, Devon, there’s a time and place for everything… If there’s any of that conch salad left, I’d like it for lunch.”

  Then he was gone. Devon sat down hard on the nearest stool. Barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, ladling out salad. Or sexy in bed. Was that really how Jared saw her? Two different stereotypes, and neither one a real woman, with feelings.

  He wasn’t in love with her; she’d been deceiving herself to even consider the possibility. She turned him on, no doubt of that. But he wasn’t going to let her invade the rest of his life. To truly become his wife and share all the things that were important to him: the world of business and sudden crises and board meetings. No, that wasn’t part of his plan.

  She was a fringe benefit, she thought numbly. Beautiful, passionate, nice to have around for the honeymoon. But after that relegated to her proper place.

  Turned off like a switch. The way he’d kissed her hand, at Benson and Alicia’s wedding.

  Covering her ears, Devon tried to blot out the sound of Jared’s voice on the phone. She’d been a fool to fall in love with him. A silly fool. Because once he tired of her sexually, what would they have left? Absolutely nothing.

  At three o’clock the next afternoon Devon was crossing another threshold, that of an imposing mansion that overlooked a golf course, the gray waters of the bay, and the sharp peaks of the Rocky Mountains, silhouetted against roiling, dark-edged clouds. The staff had seen to it that the house was warm and immaculately clean, but it would take a lot more than a good housekeeper to infuse it with welcome, Devon thought, looking around her as she trailed from room to room.

  Architecturally, the house made the most of its panoramic view; but the furniture was austere, the colors neutral, and the overall effect was of a perfect setting for entertaining important people. It wasn’t a home. To be lived in. By a husband, his wife, and their baby.

  Jared was on the phone again, checking his reservations. The magic of their honeymoon had been flawed for Devon ever since that brief conversation in the kitchen of the bungalow; while she’d been quite unable to resist the passion of his caresses last night, the soul had gone from it. It was lovemaking only as far as she was concerned. Not for him.

  Then Jared spoke from behind her. “You’ll be fine here, Devon. The housekeeper and groundsman live in the cottage by the road, their names are Sally and Thomas, and the security system’s top of the line. There’s a car for your use in the garage, Thomas has all the keys and can show you around.”

  “It feels empty,” she said.

  “Well, it has been. For nearly two years.” He gave her a preoccupied smile. “Let’s go out for dinner. Then I’ll have to head to the airport.”

  She didn’t ask to go to airport with him. What was the use? Feeling the first kindlings of anger that Jared could dump her in a house with as much soul as a magazine showplace, then take off without her for an unspecified length of time, Devon said coldly, “I’m not very hungry.”

  “You’ve got to eat.”

  “For the sake of the baby.” He nodded. “Jared,” Devon said, “do you love me?”

  His face froze to stillness. “Why do you ask?”

  Wishing she hadn’t asked, she said steadily, “Because I want to know the answer.”

  “I told you once before that I’m not capable of falling in love.”

  Now that she’d started, Devon couldn’t stop. “So what do you feel toward me?”

  “I care about you,” he said tersely, looking about as uncaring as a man could look. “What’s the matter—didn’t you enjoy our honeymoon, Devon?”

  “I loved it. But now it’s over. Where do we go from here? That’s what I want to know.”

  “I have no idea.”

  His voice was as unfeeling as a recording, and the man himself as impervious as granite. She should never have started this, Devon thought with a chill of despair. It was useless to fight him: she should have remembered that. “Why don’t you grab something to eat at the airport?” she said evenly. “I’m tired and jet-lagged. I think I’ll lie down for a while.”

  Lie down with me. That was what she wanted him to do. His arms around her, holding her in this cold, imposing house, somehow making it, even minimally, their own. But she was too proud to beg him to take her in his arms, and too stubborn to cry in front of him. She’d done that once. She wasn’t going to do it again.

  “Maybe that’s what I’ll do. I’m all packed, and I could get Gregson to meet me at the airport so we could go over some figures.”

  Devon had no idea who Gregson was. She didn’t ask. “I hope everything will go well,” she said, as politely as if he were a distant cousin, and not the man whose body had brought her such fulfillment and felicity. Such joy.

  Jared was frowning. “Take care of yourself, Devon…you do look tired. Thomas will drive me to the airport, and I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  He kissed her quickly on the cheek, and walked out of the room. Devon wandered into the library, whose windows overlooked the driveway with its formal arrangements of shrubbery. She loathed topiary. A car pulled up, a gray-haired man got out and helped Jared with his luggage, and then the two of them drove away
. The car was a black Mercedes. Nothing but the best, Devon thought, and stared out over the windswept waters of the bay.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  DEVON tried very hard to like the house. On Jared’s first phone call—he was punctilious about keeping in touch—he gave her carte blanche to spend whatever she liked on it. She redecorated the sunroom; only after she’d finished did she realize that unwittingly she’d done her best to fill the room with the atmosphere of the bungalow on the little tropical island where she’d been so happy. After that, there didn’t seem to be much sense in changing anything else. This wasn’t the bungalow. And she wasn’t happy.

  She almost wished Jared didn’t phone so promptly every day. He sounded miles away, both in terms of actual distance as well as emotionally. Slowly and painfully she was coming to the conclusion she’d been fooling herself that his emotions were buried and that she’d be able to unearth them. They weren’t buried. He didn’t have any feelings. Not for her, anyway.

  He was delayed in the Far East. He’d been gone two weeks when Patrick phoned her; Patrick had a four-hour stopover in Vancouver, on his way north. Devon drove out to meet him, and they had a very enjoyable lunch together. Patrick was fun. They talked the same language, Devon thought; Patrick didn’t shut her out, like Jared. And while she was tempted to tell Patrick how unhappy she was, she didn’t do so. Her primary loyalty, she knew, lay with Jared.

  The next day Devon flew to London for the last two conferences on her contract, and after that to Baffin Island, her final commitment before she was officially on leave. Her flight from Iqaluit back to Montreal was delayed three successive times due to blizzards; when she did get off the plane, she was dazed with tiredness.

  She walked in the direction of the baggage signs; she had an overnight stay in the city before heading back to Vancouver. She should go and see Benson and Alicia, now that she was this close. But she didn’t want to. How could she act like a happy newly-wed when she wasn’t? She wouldn’t be able to deceive either one of them. No, she was better off staying away from “The Oaks.”