Biting her lip, she admitted, ‘Yes. But not because I hated you. I’ve never hated you. I left you the first time because I couldn’t bear to stay with a man who thought so ill of me. ‘If I’d been the sort of woman you imagined, it wouldn’t have mattered what you thought of me, so long as you could provide the desired lifestyle. But it did matter.’
His eyes had become guarded, his expression shuttered, and it was impossible to judge whether or not she’d succeeded in getting through to him
After a moment, he asked, ‘And this time?’
‘Nothing had changed. You continued to regard me as a heartless gold-digger.’ Half hoping for a rebuttal, she added, ‘No doubt you still do.’
But, nothing if not honest, he merely asked, ‘So where does that leave us?’
‘I don’t know,’ she answered.
He stared into the fire for what seemed an age, before saying slowly, ‘It isn’t easy to rid oneself of preconceived notions, and everything pointed to it being the truth.
‘All the same I was starting to have second thoughts about some aspects of your relationship with Henry. Unless you’re a consummate liar, things weren’t adding up…’
She felt a little flicker of hope.
‘But until I can find some proof of how you two felt about each other there’ll always be room for doubt…’
The little flicker of hope died.
‘And would he have left half his fortune to just any pretty girl who’d been his secretary for so short a time? I doubt it. He wasn’t a fool. Unless you subscribe to the “there’s no fool like an old fool” school of thought. So he must have had some reason…
‘You say your relationship was platonic; that you went to his room to play chess; that he wasn’t angry when you told him you were running off to marry me—’
‘And all of that’s true.’ She fought back. ‘Don’t forget it was after I’d gone that he made his will.’
‘Perhaps he was hoping to lure you back. If he was besotted with you, he might have thought that if you were through with me he could have you for himself…’
‘That’s obscene,’ she burst out. ‘I was married to his son.’
‘Perhaps he didn’t see that as an insurmountable obstacle. Maybe he knew the marriage hadn’t been consummated and could be annulled…
‘But if I hadn’t been forced to fly back to the States at a moment’s notice it no doubt would have been consummated. So how could he have known it hadn’t been? Unless you were lying all along…’
As she opened her mouth to protest, he went on, ‘Suppose you hadn’t told him we were getting married…suppose, when it was too late, he got wind of it some other way, and, in a last desperate bid to get you back, came up to London, and out of jealousy gave you his version of why I’d married you?’
‘He didn’t.’
‘Tell me the truth, Jo.’
‘That is the truth.’
‘Though I was unable to get any details, I know someone called at the flat that night after I’d gone.’
‘It wasn’t Henry.’
‘Then who was it? If you want me to believe you it’s time you started answering some questions.’
Perhaps her defences were down for, without really intending to, she found herself admitting, ‘It was Piery.’
‘Piery!’
Just for an instant Quinn looked like a man who had received a knockout blow. Then a mask was firmly in place, hiding thoughts and emotions alike.
After a moment or two, his voice cool and controlled, he said, ‘So it was Piery who called on you that night. I ought to have realized earlier. It’s the one explanation that makes sense… Why did you refuse to tell me before?’
‘I—I didn’t want you to know. I was afraid it would cause even more discord in the family.’
There was a pause while he seemed to weigh up and evaluate her reasoning. Then, carefully, he said, ‘There’s something I find strange. If you were as innocent of blame as you’re trying to make out, why were you so ready to believe everything Piery told you? It doesn’t—’
‘I didn’t want to believe any of it,’ she broke in desperately, ‘but I had to. He showed me a letter you’d written to him after your first visit to Saltmarsh. There was no doubt it was your writing…’
When Quinn would have interrupted, she rushed on, ‘Let me tell you what it said…’
Even after more than five years those damning words were branded on her brain in letters of fire.
‘It said, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back again in a week or so. Now I’ve seen for myself just what she’s up to, and how besotted Henry is, I’ll put a stop to her little games, even if it means marrying her myself. Someone should teach her a lesson…” Do you deny writing that?’
‘No, I don’t deny it,’ he said flatly. ‘That was how I felt at the time.’
With magnificent understatement, she admitted, ‘It came as something of a shock.’ She had felt pierced to the heart, as if every last drop of blood was draining from her body. ‘I didn’t know what to do.’
‘It didn’t take you long to decide. I understand you left the flat shortly afterwards.’
‘Piery helped me. He took me to the nearest hotel and booked me a room.’
‘And you saw the family lawyers next morning?’
‘Yes. Piery suggested that the marriage should be annulled and gave me their address.’
‘He seems to have been invaluable.’
Stiffly, she said, ‘Piery was very good. He even offered to stay with me until I’d got myself together, and was able to think straight.’
‘And did he?’
‘I refused to let him. For one thing I needed to be alone.’
‘Go on,’ Quinn said grimly. ‘And don’t leave anything out.’
Too weary to dissemble, she spoke the exact truth. ‘He asked how long you’d be away, and when I told him a couple of days he suggested that to save a lot of hassle I should disappear before you got back. He said he would help me find a bedsit and a job of some kind—’
A white line appeared around Quinn’s mouth. ‘Are you saying he knew where you were?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I didn’t want to involve him. I thought it better to make a clean break. Though I felt bad about disappearing without a word when he’d gone to so much trouble—’
His face grim, Quinn asked, ‘Did he ever tell you why he’d gone to so much trouble?’
‘He said he felt to blame, and he was angry that he hadn’t shown me the letter earlier, before we were married. But he knew nothing about the wedding until it was too late. He came up to London as soon as he found out.’
Frowning, Quinn observed, ‘There’s one thing that puzzles me. How did Piery know I’d gone to the States and you’d be on your own?’
She had started to droop visibly, and it took an effort of will to lift her head and answer, ‘He overheard a telephone conversation between your uncle and Henry…
‘When William discovered how his business rivals were planning to stab him in the back he tried to get in touch with you at Saltmarsh.
‘Henry told him you were being married that very afternoon, and staying the night at your flat before going on honeymoon.
‘Finding it was your wedding day, William balked at disturbing you. But when Henry realized your casting vote was urgently needed to save the bank he said he was sure that as soon as you knew how things stood you’d move heaven and earth to get on a flight immediately…’
And it had been a close thing. As soon as William had phoned and briefly explained the situation, Quinn had rung the airport and managed to get a single seat on a plane leaving in less than an hour.
‘It’s a toss-up whether I’ll get there in time,’ he’d told her, ‘but I have to try. You do understand?’
Well aware that it was a matter of loyalty, she’d said immediately, ‘Of course I understand.’
‘If you don’t hear from me, you’ll know I’m on the flight.’ He’d kissed her hard. ‘I’ll
be back tomorrow or the day after.’
He had been gone less than two hours when Piery had arrived, and all her happiness and hopes for the future had been so brutally torn apart…
‘You look absolutely weary.’ Quinn’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘It’s time you were in bed for the night.’
Giving up all pretence, she was only too pleased to clean her teeth and crawl beneath the duvet.
Quinn turned out the lamps, leaving only the firelight, and took her place in the bathroom. She heard the taps running, but when he emerged instead of getting into bed, he went back to sit by the fire.
The room was comfortably dim and cosy. But, tired as she was, her brain stubbornly refused to switch off, and she found herself unable to sleep.
When the grandfather clock on the landing whirred self-importantly and struck ten, she was still wide awake, lying staring up at the painted mermaids on the ceiling. Waiting.
Remembering how last time she’d watched them from the haven of Quinn’s arms, she felt an aching sadness.
Though he was only yards away, she knew he was deliberately shutting her out, and once more she felt terribly alone.
Earlier, he’d asked, ‘Where does that leave us?’ And she’d been unable to answer him. So where did it leave them? Now she needed an answer.
Nothing had changed… Even as she reminded herself, she knew that that was no longer true. The situation might not have changed, but she had.
For the sake of her pride she had run away from Quinn not once but twice…
But pride was a cold bedfellow. And what was pride compared to happiness, however brief?
Being with him—as things were—was unlikely to mean complete, unsullied happiness. Any happiness they found together might not only be short-lived, but might well end in sadness.
Yet it had to be better than the living death of being without him…
Life was a precious gift. Only now, when she’d so nearly lost it, did she realize just how precious. A gift to be enjoyed, and shared, and, if possible, lived to the full.
She turned her head to look at him. In the dying glow of the fire, his face looked cold and unapproachable, the jaw firm, the chiselled mouth set.
But when he was lying next to her, and she told him of her change of heart, surely those icy barriers would melt?
She sighed. If only he’d come to bed…
As though she had spoken the thought aloud, he rose to his feet and, tossing aside the robe, got in beside her, careful not to touch her.
Wondering what to say, how best to broach the subject, she waited, hoping against hope that he would make the first move, or at least give her an opening of some kind.
But though he must have known she was wide awake he never even glanced in her direction. His breathing light and even, he lay staring up at the ceiling, much as she herself had been doing.
She was still hesitating when he turned on his side, his back to her.
Too late she found her voice. ‘Quinn…?’
When he gave no sign of hearing her, remembering the old adage that actions speak louder than words, she plucked up courage and snuggled against his broad back, one smooth leg rubbing against the roughness of his.
She felt his whole body tense, but he neither moved nor spoke.
Determined to get some response, she put an arm around his waist and let her hand stroke down over his flat stomach.
With a sudden movement she was unprepared for he seized her hand and, thrusting it away, turned on her savagely. ‘Damn you, are you trying to provoke me?’
Shrinking away from his anger, she said, ‘I’m trying to get you to talk to me.’
Propped on one elbow, he threatened, ‘If you’re not very careful, the last thing I’ll want to do is talk.’
Well, at least he still wanted her. Cheered by that knowledge, she said boldly, ‘Well, I’ll be happy to settle for a spot of non-verbal communication.’
‘A final fling before you leave me again?’
Suddenly needing reassurance, she braced herself and asked, ‘After all that’s happened, do you want me to stay?’
‘Yes, I want you to stay. God help me.’
‘Then I will.’
‘When did you make up your mind?’ He sounded unconvinced. ‘Earlier when I asked, Where does that leave us you said you didn’t know.’
‘Well, I—’
‘You also said nothing had changed. Tell me, Jo, how long will it be before you decide to run again? Just as soon as you’re able? As soon as you have the wherewithal?’
He shook his head. ‘Much as I want you I can’t face the strain of living with a woman who’s likely to take off the first chance she gets.’
‘I won’t be taking off, as you put it.’
‘Why not?’ he asked bluntly. ‘After all, you were quite right. Nothing has changed.’
‘I’ve changed. Being so close to death made me realize how precious life is. It also made me realize that, no matter how difficult our relationship may be, I’d sooner live with you than without you.’
In the half-light she saw his face tighten in what seemed to be a spasm of pain. ‘For how long?’
‘This morning you suggested that we stayed together until the fever died.’
‘And you’re prepared to do that?’
‘Yes.’
Though her answer was firm and decided, she knew he was far from convinced.
She lifted her face for his kiss, and after a brief, but telling, hesitation he kissed her lightly on the lips.
When she would have kissed him back, he said wryly, ‘You really don’t have to prove anything. Go to sleep. You look absolutely all in.’
Sighing inwardly, she faced the fact that though she’d gone some way to breaking down the barriers she hadn’t achieved the closeness she’d sought. She had been hoping to sleep in his arms.
Feeling restless, dissatisfied, she moved back to her own side of the bed, and for what seemed an age lay without moving, listening to Quinn’s quiet, even breathing, knowing that he too was wide awake.
She heard the clock strike one before she finally fell into an exhausted sleep.
The sound of a half-stifled scream brought her struggling and thrashing to the surface.
‘It’s all right, my love… Everything’s all right. It was just a bad dream…’
Quinn’s voice. Quinn’s arms holding her securely. Sobbing for breath, her heart pounding, she lay against him, while he murmured soothingly, and the awful panic gradually subsided.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I hope I haven’t disturbed anyone else.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure you haven’t.’
‘I was sinking in the quicksands…’ She shuddered.
‘Don’t think about it.’ Settling her head on his shoulder, he kissed her forehead. ‘Go back to sleep. You’re safe with me.’
‘You won’t let me go?’
‘I won’t let you go.’
Reassured, she closed her eyes, and this time her sleep was deep and peaceful.
Elizabeth stirred and woke to find herself alone in the big bed. She was absurdly disappointed.
Sitting up, she glanced round the bedroom. Both that and the bathroom, whose door stood ajar, were empty. There was no sign of Quinn.
Through the square panes of the bow-window she could see the fog had gone. A stiff breeze was moving the bare branches of some skeletal trees, and a watery sun was making a brave attempt to shine.
Despite the bright morning, the now familiar room had a somewhat forlorn look. White ashes filled the grate, and the remains of last night’s coffee still stood on the hearth.
On a chest by the bed, in a neat pile, were her clothes and shoes. Her shoes had been dried and polished.
She was wondering what time it was when she heard the grandfather clock begin to strike. Like a child, she began to count…Ten, eleven, twelve… Twelve o’clock!
Where on earth was Quinn?
In all probabili
ty downstairs talking to the landlady. The voice of common sense overrode her sudden irrational alarm.
Getting out of bed, she pulled on the towelling robe, picked up her clothes, and headed for the bathroom.
Some ten minutes later, showered and dressed, a lack of hairpins forcing her to leave her hair loose around her shoulders, she was ready to go looking for him.
She was heading for the bedroom door when it opened and there he was, wearing his olive-green jacket, his dark hair a little rumpled by the wind. He was carrying her overnight case and a parcel wrapped in black plastic.
He came across to her and, hoping for a kiss, she smiled up at him.
‘Good morning. How are you feeling?’ His cool greeting was like a smack in the face.
Hiding her feeling of hurt as best she could, she said, ‘As good as new… I—I don’t know how I’ve managed to sleep so late.’
Putting her case on the chest, he remarked, ‘Our landlady wanted to bring up some breakfast, but I thought it best not to disturb you.’
‘You look as if you’ve been out and about.’ Elizabeth’s tone was falsely bright.
‘As soon as the causeway was passable I walked over to fetch the car. On the way I kept an eye open and spotted this.’
Unwrapping the plastic, he produced her handbag. ‘As you might expect, it’s saturated and sandy. But with the compartments being zipped everything should be there. All it will need is careful drying out.’
‘Thank you.’ Taking it for him, she opened it, and breathed a glad sigh to find that both Henry’s locket and the key to Cantle Cottage were safe. Her paper money was a soggy wodge, but her bank and credit cards, tucked snugly into the plastic compartments of a wallet, had fared remarkably well.
‘Usable?’ he queried.
‘I think so.’
An odd note in his voice, he remarked, ‘No doubt you’ll be relieved to have them back.’
‘Of course,’ she agreed. ‘But one of the things I’m most pleased to have back is the key to the cottage. It would have been awkward if I’d lost that. There is another one but it’s—’ Realizing that nervousness was making her babble, she broke off.
Glancing at his watch, he remarked, ‘Lunch is waiting downstairs. You hardly ate a thing last night, so you must be ready for it?’
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