Lady With A Past

by Lilian Cheatham

  ‘All right, Tony, so you’ve found out that my husband doesn’t know,’

  Josey said wearily. ‘Do you feel better?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I do. I’d love to be the one to knock some of that arrogance out of his hide, the pompous bastard! He’s been riding for a fall for a long time! But I’ll forego the pleasure— unless you force me to,’ he added significantly. Smug self-satisfaction was oozing from every pore.

  ‘Well, well, this is interesting! Now that we’ve established who knows and who doesn’t, we can begin to talk business.’

  ‘You conniving little sneak!’ Josey said contemptuously. ‘We are not talking anything! You’ve been threatening me—now, it’s my turn! 1

  How would you like it if I told your boss that you were a thief?’

  Tony leaned back and laughed. ‘Sorry, Jocelyn, he already knows all about me. Oh, didn’t I tell you?’ he added mockingly.

  ‘Stephen Vinelli is my godfather. He’s an old friend of my parents, and he’s the one who got T. J. Macallan to take my case. He wouldn’t have bothered, otherwise. There’s not any way you can hurt me with Steve Vinelli, except perhaps get me fired. And I’m nothing but a glorified messenger boy, anyway, so what’s the difference?’ He smiled broadly at the look on her face. ‘Now, shall we talk?’

  ‘What do you want, Tony,’ she said tiredly. ‘Money?’

  He hesitated. Then, he shook his head. ‘Sorry, darling, but I have an ego to massage first.’ When she looked puzzled, he added, ‘I want your body, honey. You have grown into a very foxy-looking lady. You’re no longer a frigid little virgin, and if I know T.J., he’s taught you a few tricks that’ll make up for all those times when I had to go home and take a cold shower.’ He licked his lips reminiscently.

  She had turned white and was staring at him in horror. ‘I’ll see you in hell first,’ she whispered shakily.

  His lips thinned into a cruel smile. ‘Hell it will be, then, my sweet, for just as sure as God made little green apples, I intend to get some mileage out of this. If you don’t put out for me, I’ll go straight to one of those scandal sheets that specialise in muckraking and when I’ve finished telling everything I know—and a little more, -your old man won’t be able to hold up his face in this city again. And don’t think they won’t be interested, either, or you don’t know what an important man your husband’s getting to be. He’s the leading force in that law firm of his, and the present political party is after him to run for office with an eye to eventually becoming governor.’

  ‘How do I know you won’t go to the papers, anyway?’ she asked with desperate calm.

  Her words seemed to indicate an acceptance of his terms, and his face brightened.

  ‘Don’t worry, I will keep my part of the bargain,’ he said easily. ‘But we’ll discuss all that at our next meeting. Dinner, tomorrow night, at eight sharp. And this time, Jocelyn, wear something sexy. I like to be proud of my date.’ His fingers brushed her cheeks lingeringly.

  She shuddered and jerked away. ‘I won’t have dinner with you! What would I tell Thorne?’

  ‘Nothing. You and I both know he’s in New York until Saturday,’ he said mockingly. ‘After tomorrow night, we’ll arrange our next meeting at a more convenient time.’ The waitress arrived with his order just then and Josey used the diversion to rise, pushing her chair back with a loud scrape. ‘I’ll call and give you the place to meet me!’ Tony called hastily after her retreating back.

  Josey paid for her coffee at the cash register and walked out, her eyes dazed, her face white and anguished. The streets were dark, but she wandered aimlessly, too sunk in despair to notice where she was.

  Just then, a taxi pulled up with a swish of wet tyres, and she realised it had been raining—she was soaking wet.

  The taxi let her out before the entrance to the apartment hotel and the doorman gave her a big, beaming smile as he punched the elevator button to the penthouse. Fortunately, she was able to slip in without Wragge seeing her, and once in her room, she got quickly out of her wet clothes. In her robe, she paced the floor, desperately trying to think.

  She had to come up with a solution before tomorrow night. Tony had given himself away several times—in his arrogance, he had forgotten that other people were not as stupid as he was. He had made it plain what his real plans were. He intended to make her his mistress—one payment would not be enough for him. She shuddered, thinking of those fat white hands crawling all over her body. Then, after he’d vented his bitterness and spite on her unwilling body, and drained her dry of all the money she could beg, borrow or steal from Thorne, he would go to one of the scandal sheets and sell his story. His ego demanded that he ruin her for past imagined slights and snubs. She did not think he would try to blackmail Thorne— there had been a healthy fear in his voice when he spoken of him, in spite of his jeering attitude.

  But, in the end, he would enjoy destroying them both.

  She considered briefly telling Thorne the truth, but discarded the idea. That was no longer the issue, for he was going to learn the truth sooner or later. But she was the only one who could prevent Tony from selling his story to the papers. There was a slim chance that if she walked out and got a divorce, she could defuse the story by making it unimportant. An ex-wife was not nearly as newsworthy as a woman who aspired to be the governor’s wife. If she let Tony know, he might not even bother trying to contact the papers, particularly if she was on her way out of town.

  As a matter of fact, her accidental meeting with Tony had merely brought matters to a head a little sooner than she expected, for sooner or later, Thorne was going to find her out. And that meant a divorce. The signs were already there. He might even come back from this trip wanting a divorce. She caught her quivering lips between her teeth. She didn’t want to have to see him again, so why not get out tomorrow and let him handle the whole thing?

  Wragge tapped at the door.

  ‘Miss Josey, are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Wragge.’

  ‘Dinner is ready.’

  Dinner? Dear God, she couldn’t have swallowed a bite! She dragged herself to the door and opened it. His keen eyes swept her bleak face and disordered hair, still damp from the rain.

  ‘I had—dinner out, Wragge.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had plans to dine out, Miss Josey,’ he said gently, taking in her jeans and sweater, still damp, that had been flung on the floor.

  ‘Oh.’ She gulped. ‘It was just an impulse. I went to a movie then stopped off at a pizza place on my way home.’

  ‘Oh.’ Wragge frowned worriedly. ‘Mr Thorne called. He was disappointed to miss you.’

  Josey’s heart sank. Why couldn’t she have, talked to him just one more time, it asked despairingly. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Nothing much. I told him I thought you got a phone call, then went out.’

  ‘Yes, a friend called and asked me to meet her at the movies.’

  Wragge went away reluctantly. He knew something was wrong but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He was going to be a complication tomorrow if he saw she was leaving. He couldn’t prevent her, of course, but he would try. And there was no way she could sneak past him, unless she chose her time carefully. Her thoughts whirled. About money—she was going to need some and she was determined not to use that put by Thorne into her bank account. She had a little of her own, left from her savings, in travellers’

  cheques.

  She packed quickly, putting the resort clothes in one suitcase, her winter things in another. Most of her winter clothes had been bought by Thorne, but it would be stupid not to take them.

  She would need them for a job. But she left her fur coat hanging in the closet and her jewellery in her dressing table, still in its velvet lined boxes.

  All but her wedding ring. She rubbed it against her cheek. She would keep it forever.

  Suddenly, she was struck by a thought that almost felled her. This was going to mean the end of her friends
hip with Maud. Josey faced the thought, dry-eyed, filled with despair. For six years, Maud had been her best friend. Another hurt—could she weather it, too? She hoped Maud wouldn’t blame her, but remember her with love, as she would do her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE next morning, she lifted the picture she had given Thorne down off the wall and took it to a gallery on Peachtree Street. To her surprise, they gave her more than she had paid for it. Together with her savings, it would give her enough to live on for a few months until she could find a job or otherwise decide what she wanted to do with her life.

  It was the best solution to her problem of money. Although the painting was nominally Thorne’s, she knew he wouldn’t want it after she was gone, and she could use the money it would I bring. Besides, it didn’t look—right—hanging where it was, among his priceless collection. Everytime she looked at it, she was sure Thorne was secretly thinking the same thing.

  The idea of selling the painting had occurred to her last night, after talking to Thorne. He had called back again after midnight, and after apologising for waking her, asked curtly, ‘Where were you tonight?’ ‘At the movies.’ ‘Alone?’

  ‘No,’ she said coolly, having expected the question. ‘Mrs Abernathy called and asked me to go with her. Her husband was tied up in a meeting and she was feeling restless. Afterwards, we had a pizza.’

  ‘A meeting? I thought he was retired,’ he said smoothly.

  ‘Oh, he is, but he belongs to some of those environmental groups. This one was “Save the Whales” or something.’ The lie tripped smoothly off her tongue.

  He was silent, testing her words, her voice, before continuing slowly, ‘I’m glad you could go. You’re probably lonesome there by yourself.’

  She didn’t make the obvious reply. If she was leaving him tomorrow, he would understand it better if she was cool tonight.

  They talked on idly, and she realised he was puzzled about her lack of enthusiasm, then as he was about to hang up, he said abruptly, ‘What was the name of the movie?’

  Her mind went blank. ‘I’m sorry—I can’t remember!’ she gasped.

  ‘I can always ask Mrs Abernathy,’ he said silkily.

  She drew in her breath sharply. ‘Yes, why don’t you do that?’ she snapped and slammed down the phone.

  She lay in bed, fuming. Damn him! What had she ever done to make him think she would take a lover behind his back—for that was what he had been implying! This whole hellish week had been a living nightmare and it was all his fault! He had started off by accusing her of being virtually a nymphomaniac, then she had been insulted by his old buddy, Jake, who apparently kept up a running game of girl-swapping, and then, she had to cope with his frightful ex-client who had some sort of grudge against him! Now, he was intimating that she was sleeping around—or on the verge of it! Her eyes fell on the seascape and she decided, then and there, to sell it.

  Leaving the art gallery, she stopped off at the nearest bus station to enquire about schedules to Medlar’s Mill, then drove her little Skylark home and parked it in the garage for the last time. She let herself in with her key, again for the last time, reminding herself that she must remember to leave it behind. She stopped, brought up short by the sight of Thorne’s suitcase standing in the middle of the hallway, as though he had dropped it as soon as he walked in the door.

  Before she could take in the implications of Thorne’s early return and what it would mean to her plans, he erupted from the library with all the force of a hurricane, in a white hot rage.

  He glared at her ferociously. ‘I wondered when you’d get home!’ he snarled, and added violently, . ‘Get in here! I want to talk to you.’

  When she hesitated, he grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her towards the library door, then slammed it behind them as soon as he had her inside.

  Josey rubbed her maltreated wrist and stared at him warily. He was in the grip of a murderous rage. His face was thunderous; there was an ugly expression in his eyes, and his mouth had a hard, taut, compressed look, as though he was holding back words with an effort.

  ‘Who in the hell was the man who you were with at dinner last night?’

  She paled. ‘How did you know?’ she half-whispered.

  A savage flare lit his eyes. ‘You little slut, you didn’t expect me to ever find out, did you?’ His lips were barely parting to let the grating words out.

  ‘You thought you’d covered your tracks only you forgot—there’s always somebody who sees and tells. Have you slept with him yet?’ When she didn’t speak, he gripped her by the shoulders and shook her hard. ‘I want you to answer me, so I’ll know whether to kill both of you or merely beat the hell out of you! Answer me, damn you! Has he been taking care of your sexy little body this week, while I’ve been away?’ She shook her head dazedly. ‘Is he as good as I am?’ he went on, oblivious to her dazed negative. His lip curled in a sneer. ‘You couldn’t go without it for a week, even, could you?’

  ‘Let me go, Thorne.’

  When he didn’t, she repeated the words and kept repeating them until he dropped his hands. She was angry, but she was afraid to strike him for fear he would knock her down. Finally, he stepped back as though even to be near her, repelled him.

  ‘Yes, I was with a man last night, Thorne,’ she went on icily, ‘and you’re never going to know why or who, because I won’t tell you. You may think whatever you like about it, because I won’t care.’ She added defiantly, ‘Incidentally, this is as good a time as any to ask you for a divorce. I want one on any grounds you like, as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Like hell! You’re not walking out on me like that! You’re going to stay and face the music, you cheating little bitch! I’m not letting you go until you pay me for every moment of hell you’ve put me through. You might even enjoy it.’ He laughed harshly.

  ‘You can’t prevent me from getting a divorce,’ she said steadily.

  ‘I can go a long way towards it. I know every legal twist and turn in the book. Whatever way you turn, I’ll have been there before you and slammed the door. Oh, not indefinitely, but long enough to put a crimp in your future plans. No, my dear, you’re going to have to work for that divorce, and I don’t think I have to tell you how.’ He looked at his watch.

  ‘I’m leaving you now— for a little while. Think over what I’ve said, and when I get back, I want to find you upstairs, on that bed, waiting for me.’

  The handsome face wore an ironical smile. ‘Understand?’

  ‘Oh, I understand, all right,’ she said contemptuously. ‘Go to hell.’

  Something painful gleamed for a moment in the depths of his grey eyes, then he smiled mockingly, ‘Gladly, my dear, so long as you accompany me.’

  He slammed the door on his way out.

  Now that reaction had set in, she felt ill and very cold. Wragge, coming down the hallway wiping his hands on a tea towel, looked at her anxiously.

  ‘Are you feeling all right, Miss Josey?’ he asked, then went on tentatively. ‘I saw Mr Thorne was angry about something, so I thought I’d let you soothe him down first. But he—you— is everything going to be all right?’

  ‘Yes, Wragge, everything’s going to get back to normal again,’ she said steadily. She forced herself to smile. ‘Will you call me a cab, please?’ ‘A cab? B-but what about your car? Surely you’re not leaving now…? Let me get you a brandy, Miss Josey …’

  She ignored him by simply walking away. In her bedroom, her suitcases were where she had left them, in her closet. She picked them up and gave one final look around the room. She was leaving everything neat and tidy in the house, but her life was in a shambles. She had intended leaving Thorne a dignified note, explaining it all in detail, but she couldn’t write it now. She would have to do it later, after she’d recovered from that brutal confrontation.

  She was turning away when the phone rang and she picked it up. It was Tony. She had intended calling Tony from the bus station, but this was as good a time as any to
tell him her decision.

  ‘Jocelyn.’ His voice was breezy and self-assured. Tony’s confidence was obviously soaring. ‘Glad I caught you. It’s the Green Barn. You’ve heard of it, I’m sure. Anyway, it’s on Peachtree—and I have reservations for eight o’clock. Be on time. And Jocelyn,’ he added, ‘you’d better make me proud of you.’

  ‘No, Tony,’ she said calmly. ‘Go back and unmake your reservations and tell the buddies you’ve been boasting to that you’re not taking Thorne Macallan’s wife out tonight. I’m leaving town. I’m not letting you blackmail me.’

  He drew an angry breath. ‘Listen, bitch,’ he snarled. ‘If you don’t show up tonight, I’ll.. .’

  ‘Don’t threaten me!’ she snapped. ‘Go to the papers, if you like. Tell your story about Mrs Thorne Macallan. It won’t be so important when it’s known it’s about his ex-wife! You see, I’m divorcing him immediately. You can’t hurt him and you really can’t hurt me, for I’ll be far away, living under another name, when all that muck comes out.’

  There was an uncertain pause, then Tony blustered, ‘Now, wa-a-ait a minute, Jocelyn, baby! You’re being too hasty! Maybe I was a little rough on you. A few thousand will keep me sweet. You can dig that much up, surely? Now, don’t be a fool, baby. All that loot—I—we can work things out to both our advantages.’

  ‘Shut up, Tony,’ she said contemptuously. ‘You make me sick. You’re a snivelling, spiteful little coward and I don’t want to have to listen to you ever again in this lifetime—is that clear? Do your worst to me but let me warn you—if that story does come out in the papers, I’ll see to it that Stephen Vinelli hears exactly how it happened. Not only him, but your parents, too. I shall also tell him that you and his wife are having an affair.’