The Faithful Wife

by Diana Hamilton

  Even though Kitty was now twenty-six years old he still thought of her as the wild and troubled twelve-year-old he had held in his arms and tried to comfort when their father had taken his own life. Eight years her senior, he’d felt his responsibility keenly—especially when their mother, worn out with grief and worry, had succumbed to pneumonia six months after the shock of the death of her adored husband.

  He’d never thought of himself as having a protective streak, he thought wryly. But perhaps he did, to have agreed to cancel flights, hotel rooms and drop everything when she’d put that call through to Geneva, catching him at his hotel before he left for one of his most important meetings.

  ‘I need you, Jake. Spend Christmas with me? I’ve got to have someone to talk to; there’s no one else I can turn to! And, yes, before you ask, it’s Harry.’

  The panic in her voice caught his attention. He said heavily, ‘I thought you and he were settled.’ Of all the men Kitty had dated—and to his knowledge they came and went like the flowers in springtime—Harry had become a permanent fixture.

  Jake liked Harry, and had guardedly learned to trust him. Steady, good-humoured, also a member of the teaching profession, his influence on Jake’s volatile sister had been gratifying. They’d set up home together two months ago. Kitty’s letters and phone calls had been full of joy, and he’d planned to pay off the mortgage on their roomy Victorian house as soon as the banns were called.

  ‘What went wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘I can’t talk about it over the phone. But it’s trouble with a capital T.’ Her normally bubbly tones were absent; she sounded at the end of her tether. ‘Look, a couple I know offered me the use of their holiday home in Wales. I need to get away and think, and talk everything over with you. Please say you’ll come, Jake, just for a day or two? Please?’

  He mentally jettisoned his plans for a quiet working holiday in the sun. The thought of a cottage in the Principality, in the dead of winter, wasn’t going to make him expire from over-excitement, but it was far enough away from London. He rarely made more than flying visits to head office now. Since he had sold the Docklands apartment.

  So Wales it would be, and at least he could do his best to sort out Kitty’s problems—something he seemed to remember having to do all through her teens and early twenties.

  And she was saying, taking his silence for tacit consent, ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down, bruv. Look, I’ll post directions through to your London office. Drive up on the twenty-third. I’ll try and make sure I’m there ahead of you, but, in case I’m not, there’s a spare key in the woodshed at the back.’

  And now, the final details of her written instructions committed to memory, he restarted the engine and drove on.

  The whole package must have cost Evie a small fortune, Bella decided at the end of her tour of inspection. Two bedrooms were tucked under the eaves, small but cosy, with flowery wallpaper and high brass beds spread with top-of-the-range down duvets and patchwork covers. There was a sparklingly clean bathroom and farmhouse kitchen—pine and copper, with colourful rag rugs—complete with a real Christmas tree in a tub and a box of baubles waiting to be hung. The large living room was furnished with antique pine plus squashy chairs and a huge inglenook fireplace that promised long, cosy, relaxing evenings...

  And, thinking of fires, it was time she got moving. It was the least she could do to have the place warm by the time Evie got back. And the best she could do was to forget her own unhappiness and put on a festive face, she told herself toughly as she wrapped the full-length, softly padded coat around her too-slender five feet nine inches and ran across the yard to the shed to look for fuel.

  Ten minutes later she was squatting back on her heels, holding out her long-fingered hands to the dancing flames curling around the tinder-dry logs in the hearth, her ears straining for the sound of an engine that would let her know Evie was back.

  She’d been gone over an hour now. A good half an hour longer than she’d predicted. Standing up, Bella switched off one of the table lamps and walked to the small-paned window, peering out into the near darkness. No need to worry. She forced her tight shoulder muscles to relax. Knowing Evie, she’d probably got into conversation with the farmer’s wife, accepted a welcome cup of tea and then another, oblivious to the passing of time. But it was snowing heavily now...

  It was snowing heavily now, the wipers squeaking as they cleared the windscreen. Jake gritted his teeth in a humourless grin. Kitty had said she wanted peace and quiet, time to think. Well, she’d sure as hell get it, stuck out here. And if the snow fell at this rate for a couple of hours there’d be no getting away; she’d have more time than she’d bargained for.

  If it didn’t stop in the next thirty minutes, he’d insist on driving her out. They could get to Abergavenny, find a hotel. He made his mind up quickly, with typical decisiveness, the deed as good as done. Then thanked his own foresight in hiring the sturdy four-wheel drive.

  As the vehicle crested the brow of the hill the powerful headlights illuminated the isolated cottage. He breathed a sigh of relief. There was light shining from one of the downstairs windows. There was no sign of her car so she must have parked it at the rear. At least she’d arrived. The sense of relief told him how much he’d been worrying, wondering how she’d manage if she’d been late setting out, determined to make the rendezvous no matter what the conditions were like.

  Bella saw the headlights and relaxed, smiling now. Evie.

  Turning back to the fire, she fed it a couple more logs, dusted down her hands and went through to the kitchen, turning on lights and hanging up her coat on the peg behind the door.

  She filled the electric kettle in readiness, taking two mugs down from the dresser. They would put the food away and discuss what to have for supper over a cup of tea. And later they’d open one of the bottles of wine that were lined up on one of the work surfaces. Really get in the festive mood—dress the tree. She owed it to Evie to do her damnedest to enjoy herself because her sister had obviously gone to a lot of trouble and expense to get this set-up organised.

  She heard the clunk of the car door closing and hurried through. Evie would probably need a hand unloading. There was a smile on Bella’s sultry lips as she tugged at the heavy front door. She wouldn’t say ‘what kept you?’ or grumble about the length of time she’d been. She’d...

  She froze, only her hands moving, going to cover her mouth as if to stern the cry of anguished outrage.

  Jake. His tall, lithe body filled the doorframe, his broad shoulders made even hunkier by the sheepskin jacket he wore. Jake. The husband she’d parted from in a welter of anger and pain. The husband she’d never wanted to have to set eyes on ever again!

  What in the name of sweet reason had brought him here? And how could she hope to forget him and all the pain and disillusionment, the shattered expectations of their marriage, when the cruellest reminder of all was standing in front of her, crucifying her with those cynical black eyes?

  CHAPTER TWO

  BELLA couldn’t speak. The shock of seeing Jake again had paralysed her, and for a long, intense moment he too was silent. But the clenching of his hard jaw, the bitter twist of his mouth, said enough. Said it all—that she was the last person he had expected or wanted to see, that she was too contemptible to waste his breath on.

  Her mouth dried and her stomach clenched sickeningly when he broke the dark, silent punishment, looked beyond her into the shadowy little hallway and called out harshly, ‘Kitty!’

  Clenching her hands at the sides of the soft warm leggings she’d chosen to travel in, Bella’s eyes went wide. She didn’t understand what was happening here, asked herself if the whole world had gone crazy, or if it was only her—or him. Then she met his accusing black stare as he switched his attention back to her.

  The black glitter of his eyes was dangerous. Bella tried and signally failed to suppress a shudder. ‘Where is she?’ he demanded. ‘If you and my sister have set this up—’ He left
the threat hanging on the air—heavy, implicit.

  ‘I haven’t seen your sister. Why should I?’ She could answer him now, now the shock was receding, her heartbeat gradually approaching normal. ‘I can’t imagine why you should think Kitty might be here.’

  Her water-clear grey eyes glinted coolly, but the small satisfaction of showing an aloofness she was far from feeling, evaporated like a raindrop in the heat of the sun when he remarked icily, ‘Don’t play games with me. I endured them when we lived together. When you walked out on our marriage I no longer had to. I don’t intend to lose that freedom now.’

  He strode in out of the dark, snowy evening, closing the door behind him while she flinched with pain.

  She had never played games with him. Never. Not in the way he obviously meant. She had never told him lies. And it was he who had first walked out, not she. And although, as he’d stated, his freedom from their relationship was a relief, he was turning the tables, heaping all the blame for what had happened on her head. Did he actually enjoy hurting her? Couldn’t he see that part of the blame was his? That he had driven her to do what she had done?

  For a brief, poignantly remembered time he had given her joy. Now he only gave her pain.

  Her mouth trembled and her eyes brimmed with tears, turning them to shimmering, transparent silver. Barely giving her white features a glance, Jake strode into the living room, and after a moment she reluctantly followed, only to hear his steps pounding up the narrow wooden stairs that led from the kitchen to the floor above.

  She’d told him Kitty wasn’t here and he didn’t believe her. She crossed to the brightly burning fire and wrapped her arms around her body, shivering; the combination of the chill of the hallway and the spiralling nervous tension made her whole body shake.

  She could hear him opening and closing doors. For some obscure reason he thought she and his sister had set this meeting up. But why on earth should they do that? It didn’t make sense. Did he think she was angling for a reconciliation—tired of earning her own living, missing his wealth, the hedonistic, self-centred lifestyle that had been hers for the taking?

  Whatever, his attitude left little room for believing that he would want any part of such an obviously untenable scenario!

  She pressed her fingertips to her suddenly throbbing temples. Where the heck was Evie? What on earth could be keeping her? She should have been back ages ago. With her sister around for moral support she could tell Jake where to go, where to put his nasty suspicions. Evie would back her up. They hadn’t seen Kitty and didn’t expect to.

  Hearing him descending the stairs, she resisted the impulse to blindly run and hide and stood straighter, pulling air deep into her lungs, the midnight-jet of her long silky hair heightening her pallor.

  But he didn’t seem to see her as he walked straight through and out into the night, and she thought, Thank God, he’s leaving! and collapsed onto a chair and clasped her hands around her knees to stop them shaking. She let the fettered tears fall freely now because he was no longer here to see her weakness.

  But he was. Within minutes he was back inside, snowflakes glittering on his thick dark hair. “There’s no sign of her car. Any car. She hasn’t arrived yet.’ His black brows bunched with concern. ‘And how did you get here?’

  ‘On my broomstick!’ His reappearance, his witnessing the hateful feebleness of her tears—the shock of seeing him here at all—made her tongue acid. But the level look he turned on her had her muttering defensively, ‘I came with Evie. She had to go back to the farm for provisions. We’re spending Christmas here.’

  A Christmas break that was meant to take her mind off the traumatic events of a year ago—not bring her face to face with the man who had set those events in train, the husband who now obviously loathed and despised her, considered himself well rid of her!

  Where are you, Evie? she agonised. She felt distraught, her sister’s inexplicable lateness adding to her distress. Her mind was painting pictures of the little car stuck on an icy incline, or toppled over one of the precipitous drops that seemed to cluster around each and every one of the hairpin bends that made the mountain tracks so picturesque.

  She gritted her teeth. Picturesque she could do without. She wished Evie had never had the bright idea of arranging this holiday—and then her insides churned around. What if Evie had invited Kitty along, too? It was possible, given Jake’s conviction she’d be here.

  She, Bella, had always got along well with Jake’s sister, but Kitty and Evie had struck up a firm friendship shortly after the wedding, where they’d met for the first time.

  Jake was convinced his sister was due here—had she told him that much? Had he needed to get in touch with her for some vital reason or other and couldn’t, not without coming in person, because there wasn’t a phone?

  Had he reluctantly driven up, swallowing his dislike of seeing his estranged wife again, because he had to talk to Kitty for some important reason?

  If so, he would be desperately worried over her non-appearance, just as she was worrying over Evie. She took a deep breath and said, ‘Was Kitty supposed to be joining us?’

  She would have thought it highly unlikely, given that her own sister had booked this break in order to take Bella’s mind off her broken marriage at this special and, for her at least, traumatic time of year. But, given his unshakable conviction, his very obvious concern...

  Jake Fox dragged air deep into his lungs and exhaled it slowly, shudderingly, through gritted teeth.

  She’d lost the small amount of weight she’d gained during their marriage, he noted bitterly—it had to be because of her return to her modelling career, he thought. But she was still the beautiful, sensuous woman who had drifted in and out of his dreams so maddeningly over the past twelve months. He could order his long waking hours with almost military precision, but he had found it impossible to regulate his dreams.

  However, he was working on it.

  He took a step towards where she was sitting, defensively hunched in an armchair that dwarfed her delicate frame, his body moving without direction from his brain.

  Something about the hunted look in those crystal eyes, the tremulous droop of the lush mouth that had been responsible for the birth of many a male fantasy, touched him despite himself.

  That protective streak rearing its head again, he decided cynically.

  ‘We need to get the facts out in the open.’ Purposefully, he took the chair opposite hers. His heart was banging about under his ribcage but he’d sounded cool, in control, thank the Lord. He’d give up significantly more than his eye-teeth rather than let her know how she could still affect him and touch his heart.

  He gave her a narrow-eyed stare. Her unbelievably long and heavy dark lashes had fallen, hiding her expression. The truth had always been there in her eyes if you looked long and hard enough to find it As he’d found it—had had it forcibly thrust upon him—when he’d walked in on her and that creep, Guy Maclaine.

  Abruptly he shifted his mind from that often-replayed scenario, watching her closely.

  ‘You’re here to spend a quiet Christmas with Evie, and you claim you had no idea Kitty was expected,’ he stated levelly.

  That was obviously what she meant him to believe. But he knew differently. Kitty, damn her, had used the ruse of needing to talk her problems over with him to get him here. She had needed peace and quiet, she’d said. Just the two of them. If her troubles had been as dire as she’d intimated she wouldn’t have wanted his estranged wife and her sister around to add to the jollity!

  Kitty wouldn’t be turning up. That had never been her intention.

  He watched Bella closely. Her confusion was very convincing. But to rise to the dizzy heights of top photographic model, internationally sought-after and universally fêted, she would have had to become a reasonably proficient actress. She could have set this whole thing up, drawing his own sister, and hers, into her web of deceit. Deceit had turned out to be her middle name.

 
She said nothing, merely nodded after considering his statement, the silky swathes of her hair falling forward, hiding her face.

  ‘And I’m here because my sister begged me to be. She’s in trouble, or so she said. She needed to talk and a friend had offered her the use of this place.’

  The sardonic explanation of his presence brought her head jerking up, her silver eyes locking with his, clouded with more expertly portrayed confusion, her soft lips pouting with almost child-like perplexity. Over-acting, Jake decided, feeling his heart go hard—a not unusual occurrence these days. Her betrayal and subsequent defection had atrophied that particular organ.

  ‘The three of you set this up.’ A cold statement, spoken with concise deliberation. He could find no other explanation for the way he’d been tricked into coming here. ‘If you’d wanted a meeting you could have made an appointment with my secretary. There was no need to go to such ridiculous lengths.’

  He glanced impatiently at his watch. He had no intention of prolonging this farce. She deserved to be left here to stew, but his conscience wouldn’t let him take that road.

  He’d seen no sign of a phone when he’d investigated this place, so she couldn’t contact anyone for transport out of here, and the way the weather was looking she could be marooned in the mountains for weeks. He’d drop her off at the first hotel they happened across on his way to Kitty’s home in Chester. He’d rout his sister out of her cosy love-nest and give her the tongue-lashing of her lifetime for her part in this time-wasting piece of lunacy.

  Bella pushed the hair off her face with the back of her hand. He was accusing her of conniving with their respective sisters to get him here. There could be only one reason why she would stoop to doing that—couldn’t there just? To ‘persuade’ him to take her back.

  ‘In your dreams!’ She answered his accusation rawly. As if she would! His conceit was beyond belief!