by Sandra Field
In the baggage area, Devon checked which carousel was for her flight. A man was waiting underneath the sign, a tall, black-haired man who stood out from the crowd. Her heart turned over in her breast, then beat a staccato against her ribs. He was wearing a trench coat over his business suit; his eyes had flown to her face. Which felt as stiff as a board.
She hadn’t seen Jared for well over three weeks. She said sharply, “Alicia and Benson—there’s nothing wrong, is there?”
He shook his head. “Let’s get your bags.”
“Why are you here?”
“I heard about your flight delays. I was on my way to New York, so I made a detour.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” she said tautly.
“I’ve booked us into a hotel. We’ll talk there.”
You’re damn right we will, she thought militantly, and sneaked a glance at his unyielding profile. It wasn’t fair that he was so big, so overpoweringly masculine, so undeniably sexy. She didn’t feel one bit sexy. She felt like a woman who was four and a half months pregnant and needed to put her feet up.
Three-quarters of an hour later, Jared ushered her into a suite in Montreal’s most expensive hotel. It reminded her so strongly of the house in Vancouver, perfectly decorated and soulless, that she was suddenly desperately homesick for her condo, for her life before she met Jared.
He said brusquely, “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.”
“Devon, you look wiped. You’ve got to take better care of yourself…I know you’re past the miscarriage stage, but you shouldn’t be overextending yourself like this.”
“Go to hell, Jared,” she said with the calm of extreme rage.
“What kind of an answer’s that? Look at you—circles under your eyes, and if you don’t sit down soon, you’re going to pass out.”
She glared at him. “All you care about is the baby!”
“Don’t you?” he grated.
It was the cruelest thing he could have said. She said tightly, “I’ve been in these clothes for the last two days— I’m going to have a bath. Order something light for supper, will you?” Then she marched into the bathroom and slammed the door.
He hadn’t denied that the baby was all he cared about.
Wearily Devon turned on the bath, washing her hair first, then soaking in the hot water. She shouldn’t have lost her temper, she thought, making little ripples with her fingers. It hadn’t helped matters at all. She wouldn’t lose it again. She’d be rational and calm and detached. As unemotional as Jared.
She got out, wrapped herself in a huge bath towel, and turned on the drier for her hair. A few minutes later Jared knocked on the door. “Devon? May I come in?”
For a moment she hesitated. Then she called in a clear voice, “Of course.”
Jared walked in. She was sitting in front of the mirror, the towel around her hips, brushing her hair. It shone like silk. Her breasts were fuller, he thought, dry-mouthed, her skin had the ivory sheen that he found so heart-stoppingly beautiful. Then he saw the slightly rounded swell of her belly where the child—his child, their child—was growing. He walked over to her, dropped to his haunches, and laid his hand on her smooth skin. He said huskily, “You’re starting to show, Devon.”
“It’s over four months. Halfway now.”
He said in a taut voice, “I’m not just worrying about the baby—I was worried about you, too. Stuck up there miles from medical help in the middle of a blizzard—I was nearly out of my mind.”
“I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”
He gave her a faint smile. “You wouldn’t be you if you hadn’t.” Then, in a gesture that melted her heart, Jared laid his cheek against her belly.
She stroked his hair, closing her eyes, and felt him reach up to caress her breasts. “Let’s go to bed,” he whispered. “It’s the only place I can show you what you mean to me.”
“Yes,” she murmured, “take me to bed, Jared.” And did her best to ignore the fleeting thought that she and Jared couldn’t spend their entire married life in bed.
What if that was the only place she meant anything to him?
The next morning, eating strawberries that had come with their breakfast, Devon said, “Let me come to New York with you, Jared. I can stay at your place, do some Christmas shopping.”
A trickle of juice had gathered at the corner of her mouth. Jared reached over with his serviette and wiped it away. “I’ll only be there one night,” he said. “Then I’m off to Texas for a board meeting.”
“I could stay in the penthouse until you come back.”
“Devon, we decided to make our home in Vancouver. And I don’t want you doing any more flying than necessary.”
“I’m not ill! I’m pregnant. Anyway, the house in Vancouver doesn’t feel like a home.”
He tried hard to hold onto his patience. “I know I haven’t been there much, but—”
“You haven’t been there at all.”
“With the money markets the way they are, I’ve been busier than usual…once things settle down, I’ll be able to spend more time with you.”
She swallowed her pride. “I’m lonely there, Jared.”
“I’ll phone a couple of contacts I have out there, and see that you get into the social swim.”
Her chin jerked up. “You will not! If you can’t be bothered to introduce me to your friends yourself, I’ll do without.”
He said coldly, “You’re being illogical. You say you’re lonely, but you turn your back on my offer of help.”
Again Devon strove for the exact truth. “It’s you I’m lonely for, Jared. Not your friends.”
“Devon, I work hard—the sooner you learn that, the better. I travel a lot. I have to. And I won’t have you tagging along, not when you’re pregnant.”
“The result of pregnancy is a child,” she said with deadly calm. “You won’t want a child bothering you when your mind’s on business any more than you want me bothering you now.”
Jared tore a piece of toast in half and grabbed the butter knife. There wasn’t a business opponent he’d ever come across who could knock him off balance: he’d always managed to stay two steps ahead of the competition. So how could a blond-haired woman make him feel so beleaguered? So much in the wrong? Guilty, for Pete’s sake? “I’m making sure our child’s inheritance is in good shape,” he said coldly.
“Maybe it’s better for a child to have a father than an inheritance,” she retorted. “Even if you can’t be bothered to be home for the mother.”
“One of the reasons I’ve been so successful is that I’ve never allowed myself to be distracted from business matters—and I’m not going to start now.”
Filled with the same sense of impotence she’d had before she married Jared, the same conviction that it was hopeless to oppose him, Devon said, “Fine. You do as you please. I’ll have dinner with Patrick in Toronto tonight, and then I’m going to ‘The Oaks’ for a visit.”
“Patrick?” he rapped.
“Your cousin,” she said with overdone patience.
“I know who he is. How do you know he’s in Toronto?”
“He faxed me in London.”
“So you’re in regular contact with him?” Jared demanded through gritted teeth and a jealousy bitter as lye.
“Of course not. We had lunch together once at the Vancouver airport while you were in the Far East—that’s the only time I’ve seen him since your father’s birthday. But I like Patrick. He’s fun.”
“The implication being that I’m not?”
“I didn’t say so, Jared!”
He strove to push down the turmoil in his chest. The thought of Devon with another man made him feel physically ill: a sensation he hated. What had happened to his control, his almost superhuman ability to keep his life compartmentalized—business here, pleasure there? Shot to hell, he thought grimly. Ever since he’d taken into his bed a tall woman with blond hair and eyes blue as the sea. A woman whose
beauty made nonsense of his rules.
Dammit, those rules had served him well. He wasn’t going to give them up for anyone. Not even Devon. He said shortly, “Lunch at an airport isn’t the same thing as dinner in Toronto. Where will you stay?”
“If you don’t trust me,” she seethed, “you can always hire another private investigator.”
Didn’t he trust her? Was that what this was all about?
Jared hesitated too long, and saw the anger in her face eclipsed by pain. A pain she hid almost immediately, but which filled him with an obscure rage. “Of course I trust you,” he said.
“It doesn’t sound to me as though you do.” Devon stood up, her face very pale. “I can’t take any more of this—you win again, Jared. I’ll get a direct flight to Vancouver, and you can let me know when you’ll be back… Excuse me, I’m going to call the airline.”
She went into their bedroom and closed the door. Jared ate a mouthful of toast, which could have been a floppy disc for all the taste it had, and tried to make himself concentrate on his strategy for the board meeting in Texas.
Devon had been back in Vancouver for four days when she had a visitor. She’d flown direct from Montreal, telling Benson and Alicia that she wasn’t feeling well and needed to get home. She and Jared had parted with a civility that had covered, at least on her part, a maelstrom of anger, hurt and love. Falling in love, she was concluding, was the stupidest move of her entire life.
Which didn’t make her fall out of love. She didn’t know how to do that.
She wasn’t sure it was possible.
The sunroom was misnamed, because rainy day followed rainy day, the skies as gray as her mood. Nevertheless, Devon spent a lot of her time there, for it was the only place in the house that bore her stamp. Moving her computer to a desk that overlooked the garden, she wrote her reports for the conferences she’d attended and for the Arctic trip, and started making plans to brush up on her German and French after Christmas. She was rather looking forward to less traveling; the stress of her job had been beginning to get to her for the last year or so.
She was in the sunroom watering the plants when Sally appeared at the door. Devon was doing her best to like Sally, although she found her both dour and unapproachable. Sally said, “Someone to see you, Mrs. Holt. Her name is Lise Lamont.”
Water splashed from the can onto the tile floor. Devon bent to wipe it up, her heart thumping uncomfortably fast. Why would Lise come to see her? Wishing she wasn’t wearing sweatpants and a baggy sweater, she said coolly, “Show her in, please, Sally. And perhaps you could bring us some coffee?”
Straightening, she ran her fingers through her hair and did her best to look composed. Sally ushered Lise in and disappeared to get the coffee. Devon said pleasantly, “How nice to see you, Lise…and how well you look.”
Lise was wearing a designer label pantsuit in navy wool, with a vivid scarlet sweater; her makeup was impeccable. “I’m glad I caught you home,” she said with a smile that barely moved her lips. “Jared told me you were here.”
Doing her best to ignore this piece of information, Devon said, “Do sit down…Sally will bring us some coffee. Isn’t the weather awful?”
For the five minutes it took for Sally to reappear, they talked about the rain, Chinatown, and the ski runs at Whistler. Then Devon poured the coffee and offered Lise a plate of almond cookies. Lise took one, saying, “I hear you’re pregnant.”
“Yes. I’m feeling very well…morning sickness was no joke, though.”
“When are you due?”
“Late spring.”
“Clever of you.”
So the gloves were off, thought Devon. “Clever? I’m not sure I follow you.”
“Clever of you to trap Jared into marriage. You weren’t the first to try, of course—but you were the first to succeed.” Delicately Lise sipped her coffee. “I made the mistake of underestimating you at the wedding. Jared always has an eye for a pretty girl…but I didn’t think anything would come of it. It never has in the past.”
“Perhaps, Lise, you should ask Jared whether it was he or I who insisted we get married. The answer might surprise you.”
Lise’s pale blue eyes narrowed, and momentarily she looked far from beautiful. “I already know the answer. You refused to have an abortion. Jared chose not to father a bastard child who’d attract the attention of the gutter press. He’s a proud man. Of course he married you.”
Carefully Devon put her bone china cup back on its saucer, watching the reflections move in the tall glass windows: two women drinking coffee in a room she’d done her best to make homelike. An outsider might have thought the women were friends, but such a picture was false. Lise was an enemy. “He’ll never divorce me,” Devon said.
“When you see what I’ve brought, you might want to divorce him,” Lise said, and reached down for her snake-skin bag.
Devon’s nerves tightened. They’d come to the real reason for Lise’s visit, she thought. All the rest had been the lead-in. Setting the stage. And she herself one of the actresses, the one who didn’t know her lines because she’d never read the play.
Lise pulled an envelope from her handbag. “A couple of these photos were taken in Singapore a short while ago,” she said. “The rest are at Jared’s penthouse—I expect you’ll recognize it.”
Devon was proud to see that her fingers were steady as she took the envelope and extracted the small pile of photos. The first depicted a crowded street along an inlet packed with sampans, all with colorful awnings. Jared was smiling down at the woman walking by his side: Lise, looking petite and elegant in a sleeveless green dress. In another shot they were posed outside Raffles Hotel. The other photos were all taken in Manhattan: Lise and Jared dancing in a disco, laughing at each other amidst a gathering of people in Jared’s living room, arm in arm on the street near Central Park. In each of the photos the intimacy between the couple hurt Devon deep inside. She said sharply, “These could have been taken any time. You’ve known Jared quite a while.”
“Why do you think he didn’t want you going to Singapore with him?” Lise murmured. As Devon’s face changed, Lise laughed softly. “I would have gone to Texas with him, too, but I thought it more important I come out here instead. Surely it’s better for you to find out the truth now, rather than later.”
“How altruistic of you,” Devon replied, trying to stuff the photos back in the envelope. One of them fell to the floor: Lise in a stunning sequined dress, caught in Jared’s arms as they danced. Devon scrabbled for it clumsily, and without meeting Lise’s eyes put the envelope on the coffee table. Desperately wanting the other woman to be gone so she could be alone, she said, “If you think Jared will divorce me and marry you, you’re quite wrong. First of all, one of the conditions of our marriage was that there be no divorce. Secondly, he had his chance to marry you…and he didn’t take it, did he?”
Lise flushed, her lips narrowing. “Jared made a very foolish mistake in marrying you. He’s already realizing that.”
“He hasn’t said so to me.”
“He certainly has to me. If you have any sense, Devon, any dignity, you’ll disappear from his life. Out of sight is most certainly out of mind as far as Jared’s concerned.”
“In that case, you’d better get back to Manhattan, hadn’t you?” Devon said, getting to her feet as regally as if she also were wearing a designer label suit rather than pale pink sweatpants and a sweater with bunny rabbits embroidered on the collar.
Lise stood up, too. She looked furious, Devon saw with distant satisfaction. “I can see myself out,” Lise snapped. “Don’t try and hang onto Jared, Devon—he doesn’t want you.”
“It was me he took to bed after my mother’s wedding and Benson’s birthday dinner—not you,” Devon said. “Goodbye, Lise.”
Lise’s heels tapped sharply down the oak flooring. She shut the front door with noticeable force. Slowly Devon sat down, and only then noticed that Lise had left the photos on the coffee table. She
looked at them again, one by one, and all she could think was how Jared had refused to take her to Singapore, and how he hadn’t wanted her to go to Manhattan with him, or to Texas.
For business reasons. That was what he’d said.
With a whimper of pain, she hunched forward. He’d taken Lise to Singapore instead. And Lise lived in Manhattan; she was always available there. Especially with Devon four thousand miles away.
Devon’s only stipulation when Jared had urged marriage had been that he be faithful to her. It was just over a month since the wedding, and it seemed already he’d broken his word. Remembering how readily he’d agreed to that stipulation, she now realized he’d never meant to abide by it. He’d lied to her from the start; he couldn’t be trusted.
She’d known that, ever since the night in New York. So why had she taken him at his word and assumed that he and Lise were no longer lovers? And why had she fallen in love with him?
What a fool she’d been!
Devon got up eventually, afraid that Sally would come in and find her weeping into her empty coffee cup. As she wiped her face in the bathroom off the master bedroom, her initial impulse was to book the first flight to New York and confront Jared. But what was the use? If it was Lise he wanted, she, Devon, couldn’t alter that by yelling at him. Or by sobbing her heart out.
Anyway, Jared was in Texas, and the sooner she accepted she’d been a temporary diversion in his life, the better.
Steve. Peter. And now Jared.
She pulled on a jacket and went for a walk along the seafront. When she came back, there was a message from Jared on the answering machine in her bedroom. In the deep baritone so achingly familiar to her, he said he was flying to San Francisco and would arrive in Vancouver by the end of the week; Thomas could meet him at the airport. He could have been talking to Thomas or Sally, Devon thought, for all the emotion in his voice.
She sat down on the edge of the bed. She wasn’t going to cry; there’d be time for that later. What she had to do was come up with a plan of action.