By Marriage Divided

by Lindsay Armstrong

  ‘That should get you home, but I’d have the spare checked too. Goodnight—’

  ‘Angus,’ she broke in desperately, ‘it’s not what you thought!’

  He lifted an eyebrow at her and directed a peculiarly meaningful look at her pashmina that brought back all sorts of memories to her and made her blush.

  ‘A-about social standing or anything like that. It…it…’ She stopped and swallowed. ‘There was—’

  ‘I don’t really think this is the time or place for convoluted explanations, Domenica,’ he broke in and looked around impatiently. ‘If you’re sure you want to explain anything, then come home with me so it can be done in some comfort, at least.’

  ‘No…’ But the sheer contempt in his eyes did two things: put some spirit back into her, although it also pricked her conscience. ‘But if you’d like to come up to my apartment and have a cup of coffee with me, I would at least like to…explain.’

  ‘Domenica, do you remember having dinner with me only, so you said, because you wanted to make amends for your mother’s indiscreet tongue?’ he taunted.

  She set her mouth severely as they stared into each other’s eyes. Then she flicked his torch off and handed it back to him. ‘The offer is still open, Angus Keir,’ she said flatly, ‘but come, or not, it’s up to you.’ She shrugged, got into her car and drove off, leaving him standing on the roadside.

  He came about ten minutes after she’d got in.

  She’d made the coffee and it was on a tray in the lounge with a plate of biscuits.

  ‘Come in,’ she said as she opened the front door to him. ‘By the way, I forgot to thank you for changing my tyre. It’s something I’ve never done and would be quite incapable of anyway, as you so rightly surmised.’ She gestured expressively.

  ‘If you’re ever in that situation again at that time of night, you should lock yourself into your car and you should carry a mobile phone with you.’

  ‘I do have one—that’s what I would have done eventually, I guess. Come through,’ she invited. ‘Coffee’s ready.’

  He followed her into the lounge, but stood for a moment looking around as if familiarizing himself with it again. Nothing had changed. Then he sat down opposite her in an armchair, and was silent again as she poured the coffee until finally, when she’d given him his and he’d declined a biscuit, she sank onto the settee and looked at him.

  ‘How have you been?’

  He moved his shoulders. ‘Fine, thank you. And you?’

  ‘The same. Busy, as usual. How…how are your horses and…Lidcombe Peace?’

  He didn’t answer. And although he was sitting apparently at ease, in his khaki trousers, blue shirt and tweed sports jacket, there was a cutting little glint in his eyes and the line of his mouth was hard. There was also, in the way he was watching her right through to her soul, she felt, the implied cynical disbelief that she could make small talk as if they’d never been as devastatingly and breathtakingly intimate as two people could get.

  In fact, as his gaze swept over her she might as well have been in his arms with him pleasing her physically as only he could…

  ‘All right,’ she said barely audibly and desperate to break this hold he had over her, ‘no more silly platitudes. I left because…’

  She paused and glanced at him, then put her cup down on the coffee-table with suddenly shaking hands, and knew it was impossible to tell him the real reason—it hadn’t been possible in the first place and it was no different now. How did you tell a man you wanted marriage and children from him and not a purely physical relationship—without baring your soul and laying it open to more pain? Why would he not instinctively know it when he knew everything else there was to know about her, anyway?

  ‘Because…’ she swallowed ‘…nice as it was, Angus, it was…it was time for me to move on. Business is booming for me but it’s also a critical time, I really need to concentrate and give it my all and…but it had nothing to do with…who you were or who you weren’t.’

  ‘And not at all difficult to go from my bed to Emilio Strozzi’s?’ His expression was now shockingly mocking. ‘Perhaps you were able to combine business and pleasure in his?’

  ‘I…’ She stood up and, to her relief, anger came to her aid. Anger and pride and she didn’t care if she was looking arrogant, down her nose or stuck-up as she said coolly, ‘That has nothing to do with you, Angus.’ She looked at her watch and added, ‘I’m sorry, but it’s getting late. If you don’t mind, there are some preparations I’d like to make for tomorrow.’

  She put her cup on the tray and reached for his only to find her wrist clamped in his grasp as he stood up himself. But she refused to make a sound as she straightened and their gazes clashed, although her eyes were blazing.

  ‘You may like to think you can dismiss me like a prospective countess, Domenica,’ he said through his teeth, ‘but there’s one little matter we need to resolve. I wonder if he ever made you feel—as if you were falling…falling through space, as you once told me right here in this room I made you feel?’

  Her lips parted.

  ‘I wonder if he knows exactly where you like to be touched, and where, sometimes, the pleasure is so great, you had to tell me to stop. Did you ever dance with him half naked?’ His eyes pinned her into immobility and his hand was still hard around her wrist. ‘Did he discover that you only ever thought yourself capable of being fulfilled once a night until we proved otherwise?’

  ‘That’s despicable,’ she breathed, going from pale to flushed.

  ‘It’s also true,’ he said roughly. ‘Or was it a learning curve you took with me and now intend to practise with other men? You were not particularly—practised when you came to my bed, Domenica, but you did learn fast, I’ll give you that.’

  A superhuman effort allowed her to wrench her wrist free and slap him. As the blow stung her hand and she realized what she’d done, she paled, though. But as much on account of the act itself as the provocation for it and the stark, awful reality that things could have come to this between her and Angus. And hot, helpless tears welled and started to roll down her cheeks as she put her hand to her mouth in a gesture of anguish.

  He stared down at her with a nerve throbbing in his jaw and his teeth clenched, then he closed his eyes and pulled her into his arms.

  ‘Will you marry me, Domenica?’

  She stirred and brushed her hair back. She was lying beneath the sheet against her floral pillows and, not only was her bed in disarray, but also her bedroom. There were clothes lying around haphazardly, his and hers—her skirt was still lying on the carpet where she’d stepped out of it.

  And if they’d ever ignited each other before it had paled beneath the heights of passion they’d scaled even in misunderstanding and discord. Because the fact was that, although they’d been furiously antagonistic, or, as in her case, desperately sad as well, they had also generated the kind of desire for each other neither had been able to resist.

  Where he’d led, she’d followed beneath the sensual onslaught he’d inflicted on her, the devastatingly slow, at times light-as-silk way he’d kissed and touched her, that had drawn from her an aching need, not only for him, but to draw out the same response in him. To need to be released from her clothes so she could slide her slender, curved body against his, to arouse him with her lips and hands and pay tribute to his strength, and their differences that were so glorious, at the same time.

  She could never say she’d been taken against her will on this occasion despite their antagonism, because it had faded beneath one clear and stark reality; that what they did to each other was unique for them, and it bound them together—whether they liked it or not.

  But it was this last thought that made her answer his question with a question of her own. ‘Why?’

  He was sitting up; she was lying with her head next to his waist. They were not looking at each other as he started to stroke her hair. ‘Isn’t that what this is all about?’

  She released a
careful breath. ‘The Strozzis were friends of my father’s. Emilio was never invited into my bed, Angus, nor did he get there by other means, although it was what he wanted. I had no idea just being seen in his company would create the storm of publicity it did, nor was there any thought of trying to make you jealous in my mind.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that,’ he replied quietly, ‘although it’s a little hard to describe my state of mind when I saw those pictures.’ He continued to stroke her hair. ‘I meant, isn’t that why you went away?’

  She still refused to look at him. ‘If you could work that out, Angus, I can only conclude it wasn’t what you wanted. And I can’t think of anything that’s changed since then.’

  ‘Yes, it has. If we ever wanted each other, Domenica, we did so only a few hours ago in a way that was…but perhaps I don’t have to tell you? Or, to put it another way, can you walk away from us now?’

  She shivered involuntarily, and he slid down to be level with her and took her chin gently in his hands as he looked into her eyes. ‘I think we have no choice now but to get married or—spend the rest of our lives wanting each other. If you were unable to let an Italian count tread where I had left off, the same thing happened to me. No woman has been worth a second look since you left.’

  There was a sort of inescapable logic to this that was, all the same, almost a denial of what she longed to hear. And her eyelids sank beneath the disappointment of it, but he started to kiss them, butterfly kisses that then trailed down her neck and across her bare shoulders until she trembled. Then he lifted his head abruptly and said, ‘Hell! It’s not as if we only have this in common!’

  Her lashes lifted.

  And he began to detail, item by item, all the things they’d done together, all the books they’d read, all the music they’d enjoyed, their ongoing, unresolved chess championship, their love of dancing, et cetera, until she couldn’t help herself from starting to smile at all the odd little things they’d done that he dug up, including her need of a man in her life who understood waste-disposal units, dryers, et cetera.

  It was true, too, she thought, but would marriage change the bigger things he hadn’t mentioned? The fact that they’d never made any forward plans for their lives, had never discussed marriage until now, or having children, or even where he’d be at any given time? Perhaps this had been her own fault, perhaps she should have insisted on some of those things instead of living her life and letting him live his unimpeded, as it were.

  But what about the biggest one of all? she thought. The knowing, as had happened on Dunk Island, that something was troubling him but not being allowed to share it with him? Would marriage change that? Would there be enough love and trust between them to make having any secrets from the other impossible?

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

  He stilled with his lips on the curve of her cheek, then lifted his head to look intently into her eyes.

  ‘But,’ she went on, and touched a fingertip to the scar at the end of his eyebrow, ‘if you really want to marry me, Angus Keir, I…can’t think of what else to do.’

  They were married two weeks later.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HER gown was simple and white and she wore a sari-style tulle veil bound with narrow ribbon over her hair to her wedding.

  It was hard to gauge her own state of mind as she became Mrs Angus Keir, although she knew they were both tense—she could feel it in his tall frame beside her—but when it was done the joy her mother, sister, Natalie White and her friends expressed for her was reassuring. They, at least, seemed quite sure she was doing the right thing.

  And, despite the tension in them, there had been one blinding instant when he’d turned his head to see her on her way up the aisle, when their gazes had clashed and she’d read something absolutely stunned in his eyes.

  Despite the short notice, Barbara Harris contrived a marvellous wedding breakfast for them at a restaurant overlooking the harbour and had the time of her life organizing it. She took her daughter aside just before she and Angus were due to leave and told her to be happy because anyone could see that she and Angus were made for each other.

  He took her, at her request, to Lidcombe Peace for two weeks’ honeymoon. They didn’t say much on the drive down, but as soon as they were inside the house he took her in his arms and held her achingly close. Then he said simply, ‘I’m honoured, Domenica, and I’ve never seen you look so beautiful.’

  It’s going to be all right, she thought, for the second time in relation to Angus Keir as she hugged him back. It’s really going to be all right this time.

  Nor had she realized how much she’d missed Lidcombe Peace—she hadn’t seen it for over three months. And how the tranquillity of it had always soothed her soul without her realizing it before. But not only that—now it was as if Angus was going out of his way to do the same, and their two weeks were like a blessing, she felt, an oasis in their lives during which she could really come to terms with being a married woman, and come to terms with Angus too. It was as if he was concentrating on the small things in their life, as well as the grand and the passionate.

  He bought her a puppy, for example, a gorgeous little Blue Heeler she called Buddy that from day one, however, made it plain his chief devotion lay with her husband.

  ‘I get the feeling I’m tolerated, I’m even quite acceptable when you’re not around, but otherwise I’m not in the race!’ she laughingly told Angus.

  ‘I had one just like him as kid,’ he commented. ‘We were inseparable.’

  ‘Was this a present for you or me?’ she asked severely.

  He grinned at her and tickled the pup’s fat tummy. ‘For both of us. By the way, we are to become proud parents in the near future.’

  ‘I hesitate to contradict you, Angus, but we are not.’

  ‘Well, parents by extension. Josephine is due to be confined shortly and Nap is getting very edgy.’

  In fact, the very next day Josephine was confined and they called her baby Elba.

  They rode, Angus often with Buddy perched on the saddle in front of him, during those two weeks, they roamed the property from boundary to boundary, they swam in the creek and a glorious burst of weather made every day superb. They also fished in the creek and Angus demonstrated his bush skills by cooking the fish they caught in the hot coals of a fire he’d made.

  Domenica dispensed with the couple who looked after the place for the duration of their honeymoon and for the first time gave rein to her Lidcombe genes. Her grandmother had been a great gardener, and she discovered herself to be itching to do some gardening rather than simply giving the orders for what should be done. With Angus’s help she dug and planted a herb garden—to satisfy another passion of hers. And she cooked wonderful meals for them and relished having the time to take the trouble.

  She also sat down at the piano, often in the evenings, and, after being a little rusty, found all her years of piano lessons plus her mother’s music gene coming back to her. Angus seemed to be more than happy to lie back and listen to her playing.

  He said to her quite abruptly one night as they sat in front of the fire with Buddy asleep in his basket beside them, ‘This wasn’t such a bad idea after all, was it?’

  She pretended to consider. ‘No.’

  ‘You don’t sound too sure, Mrs Keir.’

  ‘It’s just that it’s a little early to be able to judge. But so far so…in fact exceedingly…good.’

  ‘I’m glad you said that otherwise I might have thought you were being a little lukewarm about things.’

  She raised an innocent eyebrow at him. ‘I wouldn’t have thought this was…being lukewarm about anything.’

  He had his hands beneath her jumper, under which she wore no bra, and he was warming them on her breasts.

  He grinned at her and removed his hands. ‘I meant that it wasn’t such a bad idea in a more general sense. I don’t know about you but I feel very much…married and loving it.’

  ‘So d
o I. In fact—’ she stretched luxuriously ‘—I feel wonderful!’

  He studied her critically. ‘You certainly look it.’

  So what were the other small things in their life? she found herself wondering once. Actually discussing the future and coming to a joint decision that they would sell his penthouse and her apartment, and buy something new for the time they spent in the city, was one of them. Discussing what kind of electronic equipment she would need to be able to work from Lidcombe Peace when she wanted to was another—neither of them mentioned scaling down their business lives for the immediate future, though.

  And they discussed things like putting a tennis court in, taking a trip out west to Tibooburra so she could see where he grew up and, laughingly, how they would cope when they had to be apart.

  Then their two weeks were up, they went back to town, consigning Buddy to Luke’s care, and a few days later Angus took off on a business trip to the Middle East for ten days. He’d asked her to go with him and she would have loved to, as she assured him, but Natalie was going on holiday. After all the times she’d filled in, often at a moment’s notice, Domenica explained that she just couldn’t ask her to postpone it—Natalie had made all her bookings for a trip to Vanuatu anyway—and both of them couldn’t be away at the same time.

  He’d watched her thoughtfully while she’d explained all this, with something she couldn’t quite read in his eyes. But it had made her wind down in her explanation rather like a clock that needed a new battery, then stare at him wordlessly.

  Before she said abruptly, ‘Are you wondering why I wanted to marry you if I can’t go on business trips with you?’

  He shrugged. ‘No. I understand, this all came up out of the blue…’ a faint smile touched his mouth ‘…and can’t be helped. But I was wondering whether you always intend to be a career girl?’

  She rubbed her brow. ‘I haven’t really had much time to think about it. No, I guess not, certainly not a full-time career once…once any kids come. But I suppose Primrose, and now Aquarius, are a bit like kids to me.’