Long-Distance Marriage

by Kendrick, Sharon

  ‘Just what are you so afraid of?’ he asked quietly.

  She didn’t dare tell him what she hardly dared admit to herself: that she was afraid that, at heart, she was more like her mother than she imagined. That she might have a baby and her cool persona would be out of the window, along with her wonderful career. She was afraid that once she got a baby latched to her breast she would become the laid-back, blowsy kind of woman she’d always despised—and that wasn’t the woman Cameron had wanted; not the woman he’d married, either.

  ‘What I am afraid of is someone trying to control my destiny,’ she said falteringly.

  ‘And aren’t our destinies supposed to be linked now? Now that we’re married, I mean,’ he finished sarcastically.

  Alessandra swallowed the hot lump of anger in her throat. ‘Put it this way...’ The words seemed to be coming out of her mouth of their own volition, and she knew, with a sinking heart, that they were the type of words which could never be taken back. But that still didn’t stop her. ‘I realise you’d like to see more of me, and, of course, I’d like to see more of you.’

  ‘Well, well, well,’ he murmured. ‘A startling admission indeed.’

  She decided to ignore that ‘But I don’t want to be manipulated into that situation by an unplanned pregnancy.’ The words she spoke were true, but she’d put it in such a brutal way that it sounded stark and cruel and uncaring, and she saw a muscle flicker ominously in his cheek as he listened.

  There was a moment’s stunned, shocked silence, and Alessandra almost threw herself against him, pleading with him to ignore her, when she saw the look of contempt which had hardened the blue-grey eyes into slate.

  ‘Is that so?’ he quizzed softly. ‘Well, I’d hate to be put in the position of manipulator, my dear.’ He gave her a steady stare, icy disdain written all over his face as he moved towards her.

  He picked her frozen hand up and let it travel slowly to his mouth, in a parody of a romantic gesture. His eyes held hers as he kissed the stiff fingers and it wrenched at her heart to see just how gorgeous he looked at that moment.

  ‘Better to discover these things now, before it’s too late,’ he murmured, and let the hand fall soundlessly to her side. ‘Before anyone is compromised in any way. Or manipulated,’ he finished on a mocking note. He gave a faint smile, and a brief inclination of his dark head towards the sound of the music laced with the whoops and yells of merriment which was coming from inside.

  ‘And now,’ he said formally, ‘you really must excuse me—I have guests waiting.’

  Foolishly she watched him begin to walk away. He was just going? Just leaving her? ‘B-but what about me?’ The question was out before she could stop it, and she would have stopped it if she could, because the last thing she wanted was to sound as though she was begging him to stay.

  He halted in his tracks and turned. ‘You?’ he echoed, in surprise, as though she’d just mentioned a complete stranger.

  ‘Yes, me!’ she asserted, a desperate hope still flaring inside her that her words had not provoked what looked awfully like a farewell.

  He shrugged. ‘That’s entirely up to you. You must do as you see fit, Alessandra.’

  She shook her head distractedly. ‘I—don’t think I can face seeing anyone. Not now. I’d rather that you made my apologies.’

  His face remained enigmatic in the half-light thrown down by the moon. ‘As you wish.’

  He made to turn away, but Alessandra stopped him with a shake of her head, her chin held up proudly, determined to know how they stood. They couldn’t just leave things like this. ‘Then this is it, is it, Cameron? The end of us?’

  His mouth hardened into an ironic smile as he gave the question some thought. “‘Us”?’ he queried sardonically. ‘That rather supposes that there was an “us” to begin with, doesn’t it? And I’m not sure there ever was.’

  And he turned on his heel without another word, and, leaving Alessandra alone, walked back towards the lights and the music.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IN STUNNED silence Alessandra watched Cameron disappear through the French windows of the house, and then her knees threatened to give way so that she had to clutch onto the iron balustrade which surrounded the large terrace.

  I will not give in to it, she told herself, her nails digging painfully into the cold metal. I will not break down here, where any of his guests could appear at any moment. No one will see my tears, not even Cameron. Especially not Cameron.

  She needed to get to their room. And quickly.

  In the pale light of the moon she stole like a thief through the scented garden until she had gained access to the house by a side door and was able to slip quietly up the back stairs to Cameron’s bedroom.

  With a thundering heart she closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a second to compose herself before glancing at her wristwatch.

  It was too late to go back to London tonight. Already it was long past ten, and the last flight out of Manchester for Heathrow had been hours ago. And she certainly didn’t intend hiring a car to drive all the way down south. Which meant that she was forced to stay in Manchester tonight and would hopefully be able to get a seat on the first flight out tomorrow morning.

  She picked up the phone, dialled information, and managed to get a reservation at the first hotel she rang. She breathed a sigh of relief, then rang a local taxi firm and arranged for a car to meet her at the end of the drive in fifteen minutes’ time.

  Which left her very little time for packing. Peeling the white satin gown from her body, she tossed it contemptuously onto the carpet and pulled on a pair of jeans and a warm cotton sweater. Then she began hurling her clothes into her suitcase, flinching from the sight of all the fancy and extravagant underwear she’d brought with her for her ‘siren’ weekend. She should never have come.

  Of course you should, her common sense told her. Wasn’t it better that they should have faced up to the bitter truth now? That their discontentment with the marriage was now out in the open? Far better to end it now, as Cameron had said, before anyone was compromised. Or manipulated.

  So why did she feel like falling to the floor and dissolving in a heap of inconsolable tears?

  She thought she heard a noise outside the door and glanced up at it with fearful longing, but no one came. Cameron was certainly not hovering around, trying to persuade her to stay. And no one was there to see her when she crept downstairs again and out into the garden.

  With her suitcase in her hand, she crunched her way disconsolately along the drive, shivering like mad although the night had only the normal September crispness to it. She should have brought a thick, warm anorak with her, but then sensible clothing had not been a priority in her wardrobe, and she had not anticipated such an unhappy little exit.

  Her spirits lifted slightly when she saw that the taxi was already there, so that at least she was spared the indignity of a cold, lonely wait. After the driver had stored her suitcase in the boot she jumped inside the vehicle, giving one last, reluctant look at the house—at its blazing lights which made it look so warm and bright and welcoming.

  And then her heart pounded and her mouth dried as she leant forward in her seat to peer more closely through the windscreen.

  Was it just a product of her fevered imagination, she wondered, or did she see Cameron’s distinctively tall, lean figure standing watching as the car moved away, as still and as menacing as some dark, malevolent statue?

  So he wanted to watch her drive away, did he? Alessandra drew her shoulders back proudly and lifted her chin, her dark eyes glittering. Then let him watch!

  It was frightening how easy she found it to move, lock, stock and barrel, out of Cameron’s life.

  And frightening, too, how it now seemed as though their marriage had never really existed at all.

  On the morning she arrived back from Manchester she went directly to his apartment and packed her things. It was mostly clothes, she quickly realised. There was very l
ittle of her in evidence, no knickknacks or paintings. Just a couple of magazines and a few books. And once she’d packed her clothes and her toiletries the flat looked just as though she had never even lived there.

  It took two taxi journeys, but by lunchtime she was ensconced back in her own flat. She tried to be pleased to be home, but suddenly it didn’t feel like home any more. The flat wasn’t exactly what you’d call down-market, but it was certainly nothing like Cameron’s place and she found herself making comparisons between the two, though she tried very hard not to.

  And the following weeks went from bad to worse, especially when the realisation that her marriage was over hit her like a dull and constant blow to the head.

  She said nothing of their split to her boss, just tried to carry on as normal, and Andrew was so self-absorbed that he didn’t notice how abnormally quiet and pale she was, or that food had suddenly taken on all the attraction of sawdust for her. In her wilder moments of fear, she began wondering whether her aversion to food had another cause than just missing her husband... She felt so ill and so washed out that she was sorely tempted to hand in her notice. But she couldn’t do that.

  Not if she had a baby to support...

  She knew that Cameron wouldn’t ring her at work, not after all the blazing rows about their respective careers, but, like a fool, she found herself rushing into her flat in the evening to see if he’d left a message on the answering machine.

  But he hadn’t, and as much as she tried to convince herself that that was for the best too she found it impossible.

  Because she didn’t know what was best any more. She felt as though she was an innocent abroad, like a child let loose in a frighteningly alien world.

  Quite apart from anything else she didn’t feel as safe and secure as she was used to feeling. In the flat below hers lived a young guy in his late twenties named Brian. Subtle he was not.

  He kept coming up to knock on her door on the smallest of pretexts, such as to borrow sugar—she couldn’t believe that anyone could be that corny, but Brian was—or, once, to ask her if she’d like to go to the cinema with him. She said no. He was pleasant and charming, even fairly good-looking, and he certainly posed no threat, other than being very keen, but Alessandra felt uneasy about being asked. She didn’t want to be asked, and he wouldn’t have dreamt of asking if her husband had been around. It didn’t seem right, somehow, another man asking her for a date. Not when she was a married woman.

  Except that she was married in name only. Cameron had made that very clear.

  She despised herself for the way she longed for him to ring. And for the times she picked the phone up to tap out his number, forcing herself to replace the receiver with an angry sigh.

  It was over. She’d made her decision, and so, quite clearly, had he. No doubt he would contact her when the time was right, probably through a divorce lawyer.

  And, on the night she finally admitted this to herself, she took her wedding and engagement rings off, hid them at the back of a drawer, and sobbed herself to sleep, only to wake up shaking in the middle of the night, forced to face up to a fear which was fast becoming a reality...

  It was Saturday morning, a bright and perfect autumn day with the sunlight highlighting the gold tinge on the leaves and a crisp, smoky bite to the air. Alessandra had just been violently sick and sat by the window, gazing gloomily at the forget-me-not blue of the sky, when there was a sharp ring on the doorbell which had her heart racing with excitement.

  It could be Brian, she told herself as she rose and walked stiffly to the door. But Brian didn’t press the doorbell in such an authoritative and peremptory way which was so like...

  ‘Cameron!’ She gulped, just drinking in the sight of him as she pulled the door open, completely forgetting that she had planned to slam the door hard on him if ever he had the cheek to show his low-down face around here!

  He stood framed in the doorway for a moment, just staring back at her, and his expression did not bode well. His face did not have reconciliation written all over it. Not that she wanted a reconciliation, of course. She wouldn’t have Cameron Calder back if he were the last man in the world!

  She carried on staring, quite unable to tear her eyes away. He was dressed entirely in black—jeans and a sweater, with a black leather bomber jacket over the top. He needed a shave, too, and the overall impression it gave was to make him look strong and powerful and more than a little bit dangerous. Alessandra shivered.

  Someone else might have said, ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’ but Cameron did not.

  ‘Do you always answer the door like that?’ The terse question shot out like a bullet.

  For a moment, she crinkled her brow in confusion as she wondered exactly what he meant. Did he mean that the mere sight of her would give a member of the male sex the wrong idea? Render him unable to keep his hands off her? She looked down at herself doubtfully. Hardly.

  What with the early cold spell they’d been experiencing, she’d gone out and bought herself some winceyette pyjamas because the flat was so cold at night She was wearing them now, with a big loose sweater over the top, and her feet were stuffed into deliciously warm but extremely unflattering carpet slippers.

  ‘I thought you had a chain on the door?’ he said caustically.

  ‘I have,’ she answered defensively.

  ‘Then why don’t you damned well use it?’ he demanded.

  ‘What’s it to you?’ She saw his mouth tighten, but she gave him a rebellious look. Okay, so that had sounded childish, she conceded, but she was past caring what she sounded like any more. ‘It’s none of your business what I do, is it?’

  He gave her a long, steady look. ‘I don’t know,’ he said slowly. ‘That rather depends.’

  Her stupid, stupid heart leapt with excitement again. Now, that did sound like reconciliation! But let him be the one to grovel, she thought stubbornly as he strode past her without being asked. I’m not going to beg for forgiveness! ‘On what?’ she queried, as casually as she could.

  He turned to face her. ‘On whether or not you’re pregnant.’

  She was too stunned to speak for a moment and when she did she was too upset to worry that she might give herself away. ‘Is that all you care about?’

  He took his time answering. ‘I bear a responsibility towards you,’ he answered tightly, his blue-grey eyes narrowed into chips of hard, unforgiving slate. ‘If you’re carrying my child.’

  ‘Well, you took your time finding out, didn’t you?’ she accused, the nagging words bubbling out before she could stop them. Hell, what was happening to her? ‘I’ve been here for some weeks and you haven’t even bothered to get in touch!’

  ‘I had to go to the States.’

  ‘Where the telephone hasn’t been invented, I suppose?’

  He gave her a steady look. ‘I didn’t ring you,’ he said, ‘because I was angry—angrier than I’ve ever been in my life. I wanted to give myself time to cool down, and I didn’t want to use the telephone. I thought it would be better to come and see you in person. When...’

  But Alessandra didn’t even notice that his words had tailed off, or why; she was far too busy working herself up into a state. ‘And how did you get to the States?’ she demanded, her mouth twisting jealously at the thought of him jetting over the Atlantic in his brand-new plane, with his brand-new pilot. ‘With darling Babette?’ she queried nastily. ‘I bet she’s absolutely over the moon that we’ve split up, isn’t she?’

  ‘She doesn’t know, actually,’ he answered coolly.

  ‘Well, I can just imagine her drooling all over you when she does find out!’

  ‘Shut up, Alessandra,’ he said kindly. ‘And sit down.’

  She had to sit down before she fell down. She slid onto the one and only sofa and stared up at him, at the dark, dominating, angry face.

  ‘You do know she dyes her hair?’ she queried sweetly.

  ‘Never!’ he mocked, then saw something in her eyes. ‘As a m
atter of fact she’s no longer with me.’

  ‘Really?’ She affected a total lack of interest.

  ‘She’s back in the States with her ex-fiancé. Except that he’s no longer an “ex”. It seems that taking a job in England with me was all part of an elaborate trap to convince him that he couldn’t live without her. It worked. They’re getting married next month.’

  ‘And I suppose you’re heartbroken?’ she put in viciously. ‘Which just goes to show that even you can be blinded by a beautiful pair of blue eyes.’

  ‘Shut up, Alessandra,’ he said again, only not so kindly this time. ‘I did not come here to talk about Babette!’

  She gave him a fixed, mutinous look, her mouth clamped firmly and stubbornly shut.

  ‘Well?’ he said roughly. ‘Are you?’

  Still she said nothing as she tried to decide how to respond.

  ‘Have you had your period?’ he demanded.

  ‘No.’

  He expelled a long sigh, and sat down in the chair opposite, his expression impossible to read because his gaze was fixed on the long, tanned fingers which were interlocked in his lap. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said eventually, and looked up at her with sombre eyes.

  She had considered several versions of his reaction to the news that she was having his baby and she’d played them all out in her mind, over and over again. But this was one scenario she definitely hadn’t imagined—that hard, unsmiling expression, that distinct air of unease as he learned that he was going to be a father.

  And, perversely, the nameless dread that she had been feeling since she’d found out for sure fled completely once she’d heard the restraint and the reserve in his voice. The news, which had seemed like a heavy burden she was carrying alone, now became truly miraculous. This was their baby, she thought fiercely as she hugged her arms protectively around her stomach. Hers and his. Cameron might be out of her life, but he could never, ever take that away from her!