Lady With A Past

by Lilian Cheatham

  She had taken off her jewellery and she handed it to him.

  ‘Put this on the dressing table for me, will you?’

  He held it cupped in his palm for a moment, before putting it away, then crawled into bed beside her. ‘You really don’t care that much about the jewellery, do you?’ he asked casually, watching her closely.

  ‘I told you I didn’t. Oh, I love wearing it—but things don’t matter that much.’ She shrugged. ‘I guess it’s the result of early training. My parents were poor, but we were happy.’

  ‘Yes, I see,’ he said slowly. -I haven’t been very nice about that, have I? I suppose I wanted to think that was the reason.’

  ‘Wanted to think it? She frowned un-comprehendingly, hiding a flash of pain, then said politely, ‘If it makes you happier, you may continue to think it.’

  He looked at her oddly. ‘I’m just beginning to understand that quirky sense of humour of yours, Josey. Forgive me, please?’ He took her hand and turned it over, kissing the blue veins that threaded her wrist.

  Instantly, her pulse took off at a galloping rate, and he smiled slowly into her eyes. ‘This is something that never lies, isn’t it?’

  ‘It can be very misleading,’ she said gravely.

  ‘Umm. Perhaps.’ He picked up a spring onion and held it out to her, his grey eyes warm with laughter. ‘Onions and pickles,’ he said solemnly. ‘So long as we both eat them, it doesn’t count— so how about it?’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  AFTER that, things went better until Josey came home one afternoon to find Thorne packing. She walked into the bedroom and saw that he was lifting shirts from the drawer to a suitcase that lay open on the bed. While she stared, dumbfounded, Wragge marched in with two suits in cleaners’ bags.

  He took one look at her face, hung them quickly and left.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she demanded.

  He looked up, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘New York. On business.

  I’ll be back in a few days—perhaps a week.’ He grabbed up a handful of ties, looked at them appraisingly and chose three.

  ‘You knew about this?’ she muttered, dry mouthed. ‘You must have known—you had Wragge send out your suits.’

  ‘Don’t make a fuss, Josey,’ he said impatiently. ‘I haven’t time.’

  ‘I’ll take you to the airport,’ she said quickly.

  ‘Sorry, I prefer Wragge to take me. The car needs a lube job and he can drop it off on the way home.’

  ‘Let me go to New York with you,’ she said desperately.

  ‘Are you crazy?’ he asked incredulously. ‘I’m running late as it is.’

  ‘I can come on a later plane. What is the name of your hotel?’

  ‘Sorry, Josey, but this is a business trip. I haven’t time for you. That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you—I didn’t want a scene.’

  ‘I won’t be a bother,’ she promised humbly. ‘Josey, much as I enjoy our sex life, I haven’t the energy to supply your insatiable demands when I’m on a business trip like this one, working at the top level of my concentration.’ Ignoring her stunned look, he added crisply. ‘We’ve been retained by Stephen Vinelli to try to stave a takeover bid on his firm, and I’ll need every bit of the staying power I have to fight the big business sharks.’

  Josey felt as though she had been slapped. A rich tide of colour crept over her cheeks. ‘I—I didn’t mean … that wasn’t the reason …’ she stammered.

  ‘Oh, come on, Josey,’ he said ironically. ‘You don’t want me because you love me, but you want me.’ He lifted his suitcase off the bed and hefted it in his hand. ‘Don’t you think I know that? You can barely wait until I come to bed at night before that sexy little body of yours heats up automatically.

  I know you were a virgin when I married you, but by God, obviously, no one had tried very hard to turn you on before that!’

  Ignoring her stunned gasp, he gave her a swift, hard kiss and walked deliberately out the door, leaving a shocked and humiliated Josey behind to try to pick up the pieces.

  She lay on the bed, her eyes burning with unshed tears. Obviously, Thorne’s desire for her was beginning to wane, and unreasonable as it seemed, her own desire was the reason. She buried her flushed face in the pillow, hot with shame. She was thankful now that he had gone. She was too vulnerable. She must never let him know how his cynical words had affected her. Somehow, before he got back, she was going to have to relearn how to love him by a whole new set of rules.

  The trouble was that sex was meaningless when the man didn’t love you. Oh, she’d be a fool to deny the physical pleasure—that was obvious—but the fact of the matter was that she loved Thorne, and he didn’t love her, and the knowledge was eating into her soul like a canker.

  Revenge! That old theory had been knocked for a loop long ago. Had she really thought she was marrying him for that? She knew now that it had never had anything to do with it. All along, there had been that deep, underlying attraction, that had begun in the courtroom when she was only nineteen, waiting to burst into full flower.

  When she thought about a woman like Eve Sanders in his arms, jealousy tore at her like little claws. When she thought of his body, the smooth supple muscles beneath the layer of polished skin, the power and strength of his body, she wanted to die of longing. The nails bit into her palms as her body tensed spasmodically, already aching for his touch. Could she really deny her desire, the way he made her feel? Could she play games with Thorne to keep his interest? It was getting increasingly hard to hide her feelings. There were times when she had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from giving them away. So what was she going to do when he returned?

  Josey began to cry at that, stuffing a fist in her mouth as each fresh spasm of tears racked her body. She cried for herself, for the pain she was feeling and the pain she was going to feel when he didn’t want her anymore. In vain, she tried to stop, telling herself that this was getting her nowhere, but these tears had been waiting too long to be dammed now.

  Finally, after a long while, she fell into an exhausted sleep not awakening until Wragge startled her with a knock. The room was dark and cold. She lifted a sodden face from the pillow.

  ‘What is it?’ she called, in a voice that didn’t sound like her own.

  ‘It’s Wragge, Mrs Macallan. Dinner is ready.’

  She choked, then coughed. ‘I—I’m sorry, Wragge, but I’m not hungry tonight.’

  ‘Cook has prepared a special meal,’ he said temptingly.

  ‘Tell Cook I’m sorry. I really don’t feel like eating.’

  ‘Not even a cup of tea? Coffee?’ ‘Nothing.’

  He went away then. Josey rose, moving stiffly like an old woman, and got into her warmest nightgown, then went back to bed. Without Thorne, the bed felt cold and comfortless, and she turned the electric blanket up, and hugged his pillow. The next morning, she crept downstairs at dawn, wearing her old warm bathrobe, a relic of her teen years. She hadn’t slept much and her body ached as if she had ‘flu. She needed a cup of coffee badly, and she sat, huddled in a kitchen chair, while she waited for the coffee to brew.

  Wragge walked into the room, alerted by the smell of coffee. He looked slightly rumpled, but was dressed in his usual white jacket and tie. He stared at her slumped figure.

  ‘I’m sorry to be messing up your kitchen,’ she apologised. ‘I didn’t feel I could wait until you got up for some coffee.’

  ‘It’s your kitchen, Mrs Macallan, he said evenly, pouring her coffee.

  ‘May I cook your breakfast for you?’

  ‘Can you cook?’ she asked, a ghost of a grin crossing her pale face.

  ‘Well enough if I have to. I once did the cooking for Mr Thorne’s father but then, he was a gentleman who liked plain dishes, not the complicated variety that Mr Thorne does.’

  ‘You’ve known Mr Thorne a long time, haven’t you?’ Josey watched as he lifted a copper-bottomed pan from the hook and set bacon to grill.

  ‘Sinc
e he was a little boy. He was always a quiet little boy, never dirty, never playing outside like most little boys. Hungry for a mother, I’d say.

  It filled a void in his life when he met his aunt.’

  ‘Oh, do you know Maud?’ Josey asked eagerly.

  ‘You know her, too, then?’ His eyes were intent.

  ‘Of course. I’ve known her for years. I was working for her when Thorne and I met.’

  ‘He didn’t tell me that.’ There was a curious look on Wragge’s face. ‘I thought you were one of his—er—ladies. You know—one he’d known before—er—before. Then, it follows you know Theodore?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘He’s my brother.’ Wragge smiled. ‘He got the job with Miss Maud through Mrs Macallan—Mr Thorne’s mother, that is. It was through us—my brother and me—that Mr Thorne first met Miss Maud. He was about fourteen at the time.’

  Josey remembered Maud’s words—that she had been united with Thorne through ‘friends’, but she had never expected it to be Wragge, or that he would presume to defy his employer.

  ‘Was Mr Macallan angry with you?’ He. smiled slightly. ‘Yes, very much.

  But Mr Thorne stood up for me and finally talked him around. He soon saw Miss Maud was no threat to him. He was a jealous, possessive man, was Mr Macallan, and how he loved his son! What was his, was his, and he would have killed the first person who came between them. Mr Thorne is a lot like him,’ he added, glancing at her.

  Jealous? Possessive? Oh, yes, but not because of love, Josey thought painfully. Perhaps, the elder Mr Macallan’s possessiveness did not stem from love, either.

  ‘Was he kind to Thorne?’ she asked. ‘Oh, yes, spoiled him rotten. But Mr Thorne was good to his father—the only time he made him really angry was when he wouldn’t go into his firm, after he graduated. After a while, the old man was proud of him. And the girls—they called here day and night.’ Wragge deftly flipped an egg on to a plate of bacon and toast and slid it before her. ‘Still do, so far as that goes, but he told me to answer the phone and tell them he was married. There have been a few who haven’t let that stop them,’ he mused, ‘but he told me to tell ‘em he lost all his money in the stock market.’ He grinned faintly. ‘That doesn’t always stop them. Like that Mrs Sanders. She sure wants that man.’ ‘I know,’ Josey said steadily. He looked at her shrewdly, his eyes lingering on her pale face. ‘She’s no threat to you, Miss Josey, if you don’t mind me saying so,’ he said;, kindly. ‘Mr Thorne’s a one-woman man—like his father before him. He never married again, in spite of the way Miss Maud’s sister behaved to him. A smart lady like you won’t be put off by Mr Thorne’s hard manner. A smart lady will look beneath the surface.’

  ‘Thanks, Wragge.’ Josey smiled wanly. ‘I know what you’re trying to say, but it doesn’t apply in my case. There’s not much use in trying to soften a man who’s simply not interested.’

  ‘Not interested? In you?’ Wragge smiled. ‘I don’t believe that, Miss Josey.’

  Josey shrugged and Wragge wisely changed the subject. But their conversation had broken the ice—Wragge had accepted her. She was now ‘Miss Josey’. They had long conversations through the following days—not just about Thorne, but on a variety of subjects. Wragge was a homespun philosopher, with a good judgment of human nature. And she was lonely, and loved to listen to his stories about Thorne when he was a boy. It filled the hungry void in her life.

  Thorne called every night, at various times, and always asked to speak to her. He wanted to know every detail of her day, and she wondered if he suspected she might be seeing a man. She told him about her conversations with Wragge, and while she talked, a little of her loneliness crept in. Always, he ended by saying he was hurrying to finish, and would get back as soon as possible. But it was taking longer than the few days he had promised—it was going into a week since he had been gone.

  One afternoon, towards the end of the week, Jake Lawton called her.

  In that lazy, amused voice that probably sent thrills of excitement racing down many a girl’s spine, he asked her to have dinner with him. She refused, but he persisted, and finally, she ended by having to hang up the phone on him. Wragge was passing in the hallway just then, and she ended by telling him the whole story.

  He chuckled even while he sympathised. ‘Don’t let Mr Jake get you upset. He’s a rascally bandit. It’s, like a game he and Mr Thorne have been playing since they were young boys—trying to steal each other’s girl. Mr Jake being married didn’t slow him down one bit. His tricks never bothered Mr Thorne—he’d shrug and laugh because he never really cared if Mr Jake got the girl or not. That’s because he never cared that much. But this time, Mr Jake’s in for a shock if he catches him messing around with you.’

  Josey smiled. Jake Lawton was altogether too charming for his own good.

  She wondered how many hearts he had broken. She couldn’t help but like him, and suspected she could be his friend—in a strictly friendly way, of course—if Thorne ever got over this unreasonable jealousy.

  Just then, the doorbell rang.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ she offered, and Wragge returned to the kitchen, where he had been polishing silver.

  She didn’t look particularly neat, and hoped she’d be taken for a housemaid as she reached the door, wearing her old jeans with her hair screwed up in a bundle on top of her head. She flung open the door, a half-smile on her lips that gradually froze as she saw who the unexpected caller was. Tony Leyden’s mouth dropped open. If she was shocked, he was stupefied. Her heart did a flip-flop.

  ‘Jocelyn!’ He gaped at her. ‘Wha-at are you doing here?’ He looked bewildered. ‘Isn’t this Mr Macallan’s house?’

  What awful luck, she was thinking desperately.

  Why now, of all times, did she have to answer the door?

  ‘Yes, it is,’ she replied crisply. ‘What do you want?’

  She remained in the doorway, and made no sign of giving way to let him in. He was carrying a folder in his hand, and he looked confusedly from it to her, then back again.

  ‘I—I was supposed to bring some papers—my boss said—some papers he wanted Mr Macallan to have when he got back from New York . ..’ He stopped suddenly. ‘Jocelyn, what are you doing here?’

  ‘I live here, if that’s any of your business,’ she snapped.

  ‘Live here?’ He stared at her, open-mouthed, then an unpleasant expression crossed his face. ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘I doubt it!’ she commented Icily. ‘Are those the papers?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Give them to me, then, and get out.’ She slammed the door in his face.

  But she was trembling and limp with relief at how narrowly she had escaped disaster. What if Thorne had been here? Far better that Tony should think her Thorne’s mistress than his wife. He was capable of any sort of malicious mischief. She shivered, remembering the sly look on his face. To think that she had once allowed him to touch her, even kiss her! He no longer looked like an appealing little boy—a big weight gain had given him a self-indulgent, shifty-eyed look. Or had it always been there, and she had never seen it before?

  An hour later, she was still shivering over the memory of the encounter, when the phone rang. It was Tony.

  ‘I think you left out something important while we were talking, Mrs Macallan,’ he said, his voice filled with meaning.

  Josey’s heart began to beat faster and her mouth went dry. ‘So what?’

  she asked contemptuously. ‘I didn’t jump to conclusions. You did.’; ‘I know, I know. But I’ve been wondering .. .? he paused, suspensefully. ‘I went back to my boss and brought the subject around to the gorgeous redheaded chick who was living with Macallan now. He told me all about you.

  He was very enthusiastic about the new Mrs Macallan. Seems as though he and his wife met you the other night. Had dinner at your house.’

  ‘So?’ she asked coolly.

  ‘You remember old Steve Vinelli, don’t you? He has a youn
g wife he needs to keep an eye on.’ He snickered softly.

  ‘And I’m sure you’re happy to do it for him.’ Josey’s voice was loaded with contempt. ‘All right, Tony, now that you’ve had your fun, get out of my life. I don’t ever want to see you again.’

  ‘I bet you don’t, but let’s discuss it over dinner tonight,’ he said smoothly. ‘Remember our old place—Luigi’s?’

  Josey slammed down the phone. She stood waiting, trembling, and less than a minute later, it rang again.

  ‘Don’t hang up until your hear me out.’ This time, Tony was curt and businesslike. ‘I gathered from talking to Vinelli that nothing was known about your stay in prison and I wondered if your husband recognised you? Dear Jocelyn. He only saw you briefly—and you were a blonde then.

  Or—-if he did, perhaps he doesn’t want it to be known around town that his wife is a jailbird? If you don’t care who knows your story, stay home tonight. But if you don’t want me telling everybody about you, starting with Zoe Vinelli, then be at Luigi’s at seven o’clock tonight.’ This time, he hung up.

  He looked smugly satisfied when he saw her walk into Luigi’s Italian restaurant that night. She hadn’t changed—she was still wearing jeans and an old coat—and her face showed the strain of the last four hours.

  ‘Sit down, darling.’ He stood up and pushed out her chair. ‘What shall it be? You used to enjoy Luigi’s lasagna—remember? I see it’s on the menu tonight…’

  ‘Just coffee, please,’ Josey told the hovering waitress. ‘Look here, Tony,’

  she went on curtly as soon as they were alone. ‘I have no intention of eating a meal with you. I am here for only one reason—to find out just what you meant by what you said this afternoon on the phone.’

  ‘I was merely indulging my curiosity,’ he said mockingly. The smooth, smug face wore an oily sneer. ‘You know, you’ve really changed,’ he added musingly. ‘Even in those old jeans, you’re more beautiful than you ever were—if that’s possible. What did Macallan say when he saw you again? As I remember, you threatened to kill him—does he sleep well at night?’ A pained expression crossed her face and Tony pounced triumphantly. ‘He doesn’t know, does he? I didn’t think so—you’ve changed so much. He’s the kind of arrogant bastard who’d have told it to his old buddy, Steve, and what Steve knows, Zoe knows. And she didn’t mention a word of it when I asked her about you.’