Long-Distance Marriage

by Kendrick, Sharon

  ‘No, thanks,’ she told him adamantly, and then offered an explanation as she saw him frown because the last thing she wanted to sound was shrew-like, particularly as he was just about to leave. ‘It’s too much bother, sending the plane down and having it go all the way back up again. I’ll catch a scheduled flight.’

  ‘Then let me know what time you arrive, and I’ll come and meet you. Okay?’

  ‘Okay. I’ll ring you,’ she whispered.

  She saw him give his watch a reluctant sideways glance. ‘Darling, I really have to go...’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘About Babette—’

  She shook her head. ‘You were right, and I was wrong. It was unreasonable to ask you to do something which I was not prepared to do myself.’

  He lifted her hand to his mouth, and kissed it very softly. ‘I’ll miss you.’

  ‘I’ll miss you too,’ she said, and then joked, in a voice which was threatening to crack, ‘I guess I’m getting used to it!’

  He gave her a questioning look. ‘But it doesn’t get any easier, does it?’

  She shook her head dumbly.

  ‘Until Saturday, then,’ he murmured, capturing her for one last time in the blue-grey blaze of his eyes, and she wished that the rest of the world would just disappear, leaving the two of them alone together.

  ‘Until Saturday,’ she echoed, watching as he picked up his case and carried it out of the flat.

  The door closed behind him with a loud click, and Alessandra reflected that she had never known such an unsatisfactory or frustrating farewell.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THAT week dragged on and on and on.

  Alessandra missed Cameron more than she’d ever missed him before, even in those heady early days, and the fact that they’d rowed almost all the time he’d been at home made her feel even more miserable.

  And guilty.

  Oh, he rang her late at night, and told her how much he loved her, but, for once, this failed to be enough. She was sick of the phone calls and the faxes. Sick of all the substitutes. She wanted the real man!

  Even during sleep she couldn’t escape him, for the moment her eyes were closed all she could see was his dark, enigmatic face and those intelligent blue-grey eyes taunting her with what she was missing.

  She couldn’t get rid of the image of him sitting in his new plane either, with Babette in her clinging uniform at the controls. And wasn’t there something rather sexy about such a feminine-looking blonde at the controls of a big, masculine plane?

  She felt uneasy about him, that was the problem.

  So was she admitting that they actually had a problem?

  There was no doubt that his most recent visit had been highly unsatisfactory. They’d argued, and now they were separated yet again with nothing having been resolved between them.

  So what are you going to do about it? she asked her reflection in the mirror on Friday morning as she checked her appearance before leaving for work.

  Was she happy?

  No.

  Was Cameron?

  She doubted it; he certainly hadn’t seemed that happy. They both had busy and demanding lives, and he was right—it was all a matter of trust. He was crazy to be jealous of Andrew and she was crazy to be jealous of Babette. She had never questioned his fidelity before, and neither had he questioned hers.

  So what had changed to make them both so insecure?

  It was simple. You certainly didn’t need a degree in psychology to work it out.

  They were missing one another. They didn’t see enough of each other. And she recognised, too, that both of them were too stubborn to give way.

  She stared back at her reflection—at the thick, glossy hair, the huge dark eyes and the neat collar of her dark blue linen jacket. She knew she looked a million dollars that morning, that she had a husband to die for and a satisfying job she adored. In other words, she had it all.

  But what was the point of having it all, if she didn’t see the man she loved?

  She frowned as she mentally worked her way through her day’s diary. No clients booked. Nothing urgent on the books. Nothing that needed doing that couldn’t wait until Monday.

  Decisively, she picked the phone up and punched out Andrew’s number.

  He answered immediately, his voice almost drowned by the sound of car engines revving up.

  ‘Hi, honey!’ he shouted.

  ‘I’ve told you to stop calling me that!’

  ‘What? Speak up, will you, Alessandra? I’m stuck in a traffic jam.’

  ‘Don’t—Oh, it doesn’t matter! Andrew—I’m taking the day off!’ she shrieked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard!’

  ‘But you can’t do that!’

  ‘I just did. I’ll see you Monday.’

  ‘B-but—’ he spluttered.

  ‘Bye, Andrew,’ she said calmly. ‘Have a good weekend!’

  Because I sure as hell plan to! she thought.

  She rang and booked herself on the first available flight, leaving Heathrow at eleven, and almost jigged her way into the bedroom. She felt positively lighthearted as she pulled off her working clothes and flung them on the bed while she set about choosing what to wear.

  Anything neat or sensible was right out of the window! Anything which smacked of the office, in fact. This weekend she was going to play the siren!

  She fished around in her underwear drawer for some of the more daring lingerie which Cameron had bought for her, her cheeks actually growing pink as she pulled out a cloud of finest Belgian lace which left very, very little to the imagination!

  She gave a little shiver of excitement as she slithered into a black silk teddy, and clipped on some lacerimmed sheer black stockings. That was the great thing about wicked underwear—it made you feel wicked!

  By the time she’d finished packing she saw that she’d left barely enough time to get to the airport. She’d been going to call Cameron and tell him that she was on her way. Too bad! Now she would surprise him instead! She ended up rushing out of the apartment block and hurling both herself and her one suitcase into the back of the first vacant black cab she saw.

  She made the flight with only minutes to spare, and they were airborne, with Alessandra gratefully sipping on a glass of iced mineral water, when she almost choked.

  ‘Oh, no!’ she groaned aloud, and the stewardess turned to her with a concerned look.

  ‘Is something the matter, Miss Walker?’

  With a forced smile, Alessandra shook her head. She could hardly tell the stewardess that she’d been planning to have a wild weekend with her husband—only she’d forgotten to bring her birth control pills with her!

  Never mind, she told herself. It wasn’t the end of the world. Cameron would probably have something they could use. It would be just like when they’d fist become lovers. And if he didn’t...well, then he would have to take a trip to the chemist No, she amended, leaning back in her seat with a blissful smile—many, many trips to the chemist!

  The flight was too short to concentrate on the book she’d brought with her, so Alessandra spent the time listening with some amusement to the people in the row in front of her. It was a young mother travelling with three small children—one only a baby—and she was obviously having difficulty controlling them. The older two were twins, and spent the entire time squabbling.

  Alessandra felt extremely sorry for her when she heard a little voice begin piping up urgently, ‘Me want toilet, Mummy!’

  ‘An’ me, Mummy!’ piped up another voice, and Alessandra was wondering how on earth she was going to cope with this request, when the woman turned round.

  ‘I wonder whether you’d mind,’ she said, in a kind of apologetic rush, ‘holding the baby while I take these two out? I’d ask the stewardess, only she’s—’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ said Alessandra, smiling, thinking that it was years since she’d held her brothers and sisters as babies, particularly one as young as this. About five
months, she hazarded as the baby wriggled onto her lap. ‘What’s the baby’s name?’ she asked the mother, since it was impossible to tell from the scarlet and green playsuit which sex the child was.

  ‘Georgina,’ said the mother, looking around distractedly, then began to chase one of the twins down the aisle. ‘Harry! Come back here!’

  ‘Hello, Georgina.’ Alessandra smiled at the baldheaded infant

  The baby immediately lunged forward and grabbed hold of her necklace and tugged it hard—so hard that Alessandra felt as though she was being strangled! ‘Ouch,’ she murmured gingerly as she prised the chubby fingers away.

  During the five short minutes the mother was away, Alessandra had her hair pulled, her nose tickled and her shoulder spewed on, and was highly relieved when the mother returned. She’d forgotten all about this aspect of babies!

  The woman’s careworn face crumpled when she saw Alessandra scrubbing ineffectually at the damp patch on her shoulder. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she said woefully as the kicking Georgina was handed over. ‘She’s a terribly sicky baby.’

  Alessandra shook her head. ‘It’s okay. Honestly.’ It wouldn’t be—but there was no point in upsetting the mother.

  ‘But it’s silk!’

  ‘It washes.’

  ‘Oh, good!’ The mother gave Alessandra a huge smile, and sat down.

  Drat! She’d been planning to go straight to Cameron’s factory, but now she’d have to change first.

  She changed in the Ladies’ at the airport, hiding herself in one of the cubicles since she felt slightly self-conscious about her X-rated undies! She pulled on a scarlet silk shirt with a matching short skirt and some dark red suede shoes. She loved silk, loved the deliciously cool and sensual feel of it against her skin which always made her feel ultra-luxurious. And, what was more, Cameron loved it too!

  She glanced at her wristwatch as the cab drove into Oldham and drew up directly outside Cameron’s factory. Twelve forty-five. Perfect! She would have lunch with him.

  She’d only visited the factory a couple of times before, and that had been before they were married. Her hair had grown since then, and the clothes she now wore were far more ritzy and up-market than those she’d been able to afford in her single days. Not that Cameron gave her an allowance, but he paid all their living expenses, leaving Alessandra with far more cash to spend these days.

  Lugging her suitcase with her, she walked into the big reception foyer. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised that the scrumptious-looking blonde sitting behind a vast desk didn’t recognise her—another blonde... Did Cameron always surround himself with blondes at work? she wondered fleetingly. Nevertheless she had to admit that it did rather irritate her that the girl gave her little more than a polite half-smile.

  ‘Yes?’ the receptionist asked Alessandra, looking askance at the suitcase she was carrying. ‘May I help you?’

  ‘I’d like to see Cameron Calder, please,’ replied Alessandra pleasantly.

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  ‘I’m Mrs Calder!’ For once in her life, she didn’t use her maiden name; she couldn’t be bothered explaining it to this po-faced woman.

  The receptionist didn’t blink, although her manner softened perceptibly. ‘And is he expecting you. Mrs Calder?’

  Alessandra sighed. ‘No,’ she answered reluctantly. ‘He isn’t.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll get one of the guards to accompany you to his offices. Security is very tight at the moment.’

  ‘You don’t think I’m trying to poach the recipe for his orange and tomato soup, do you?’ joked Alessandra. ‘I’m not an industrial spy, you know!’

  The receptionist smiled politely. ‘Mr Calder is quite emphatic,’ she said, as though she were reciting from a manual, ‘that no exceptions are to be made.’

  So Alessandra found herself being escorted up to Cameron’s suite of offices on the top floor of the building by a uniformed security guard, feeling rather as though she was a prisoner. So much for her spontaneous surprise!

  It didn’t help, either, that Cameron’s usual secretary wasn’t there. Instead of Doris, the motherly woman who’d been with him since his father had died, there was now a replacement aged about thirty, who was, if the speed at which her fingers were moving rapidly over the keyboard was anything to go by, frighteningly efficient.

  She stopped typing as soon as Alessandra walked into the office, and rose to her feet. The receptionist downstairs had obviously phoned through to her, for she knew Alessandra’s identity. ‘How do you do, Mrs Calder?’ she said smoothly, and Alessandra took the extended hand and shook it.

  ‘You’re new?’ she smiled. ‘I didn’t realise that Doris had left.’

  ‘She hasn’t. I’m just standing in for her. Cameron’s put her on extended leave. Her daughter has just had a baby.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Alessandra uncertainly. ‘I didn’t know.’ Come to think of it, she hadn’t even known that Doris had a daughter. Cameron never really talked about the factory. Never had the time to. ‘I’d like to see my husband, please.’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s in a meeting in the boardroom.’

  Alessandra silently counted to ten. ‘Look. I’ve just flown up from London, and I’d like to see him.’

  ‘He particularly asked not to be disturbed.’

  Alessandra had taken just as much as she could stand. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake—’ And she strode across the cream carpet to the door which led to the inner sanctum, scarcely noticing the small cry of protest which the replacement secretary gave as she did so.

  She flung the door open, but the sight which greeted her was not what she had been expecting. Or, rather, Cameron’s reaction was not what she had imagined. For there wasn’t the look of delight, the springing to his feet.

  He was seated around the large mahogany boardroom table surrounded by seven or eight men. Cameron had been speaking as she burst in, in those decisive, clipped tones he used when doing business, but he stopped as soon as the door opened—and there was no smile of delight. Instead he frowned, as if his eyes were playing tricks on him. For once he looked rather rumpled. He’d rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows and his dark hair was slightly ruffled—as though someone had been running their fingers through it, thought Alessandra before she could stop herself.

  ‘Surprise!’ said Alessandra, but, as she met the wary look in his eyes, her voice sounded as flat as old lemonade.

  He remained seated. ‘Alessandra...’

  She thought that he sounded cautious. ‘I’ve come to take you out to lunch!’ she told him brightly, aware of the definite air of disapproval which was emanating from the silent men who surrounded him.

  He shook his head. ‘Darling, I can’t.’

  She had an awful feeling that she had made the most colossal fool of herself, but she decided it would be better to brazen it out. And who did these men think they were, anyway, glowering at her as though she were some sort of floozy who’d wandered in off the streets?

  ‘I’m not taking no for an answer, Cameron,’ she told him firmly. ‘I want you to take me to Vito’s for lunch, and I’m not leaving here without you!’

  She heard the collective shocked intake of breath as she mentioned one of Manchester’s most exclusive Italian restaurants. True, it cost an arm and a leg to eat there, but the food was internationally renowned. She’d eaten there once, with Cameron, and had become an immediate fan of the place.

  He frowned, only this time he didn’t look slightly irritated; he looked very irritated. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Alessandra. As you can see, I’m in a meeting.’

  The abrupt and dismissive way in which he was speaking to her was humiliating, especially in front of all these strange men. And it made her say something she normally would never have dreamt of saying.

  ‘So what?’ she asked airily. ‘Finish it. You are the boss, aren’t you?’

  She saw the raw anger which momentarily tightened his features befor
e the bland, urbane mask replaced it. He rose fluidly to his feet, said, ‘Excuse me,’ to the assembled men, then came over to Alessandra and put one hand beneath her elbow. To anyone watching, the movement would have looked friendly enough, but he was definitely propelling her towards the door! He was kicking her out of his office, she realised in horror—as though she were some unwanted and pushy sales rep!

  ‘Darling,’ he said, but his voice was deathly cold and the word had about as much affection in it as a divorce petition. ‘I really can’t. I’m going to be tied up in here for most of the afternoon. Why don’t you go on to the house? Mrs Marshall will give you some lunch and I’ll join you there as soon as I can.’ He opened the door, and Alessandra could hear the disapproval in his voice as he spoke to his secretary.

  ‘Veronica—could you have the car brought round to the front of the building? Tell Babette I’d like Miss Walker taken to the house.’

  ‘Miss Walker?’ queried the secretary, her eyes wide. ‘But she said—’

  ‘She?’ queried Alessandra, her eyebrows raised.

  ‘My wife prefers to use her own name,’ said Cameron, no warmth in his eyes as he looked down at her. ‘The car will be here in a moment.’

  ‘Forget it!’ snapped Alessandra. ‘I’d rather walk!’

  But her progress was impeded by the steely grip of Cameron’s hand as it clamped firmly around one of her wrists. He drew her up close to him. ‘Oh, no,’ he told her, with soft menace in his voice. ‘You will not storm out of here on a whim. You have a car and a driver at your disposal. Use them. I’ll see you tonight.’ And he turned round and strode back into the boardroom without another word.

  The most humiliating thing was that his temporary secretary had witnessed everything, although her head was bent diplomatically over her word processor, and there was an almost audible sigh of relief from her when the phone on her desk rang.

  She picked up the receiver and listened. ‘Thanks,’ she said, then looked up at Alessandra. ‘The car is waiting downstairs, Miss Walker.’