'The thing is, Verity, will you want to put the house up for sale?' asked Jenny.
Verity disliked the idea intensely. The thought of her retreat completely cut off gave her a defenceless feeling that accentuated the depression she was feeling at Ben's cold departure.
'No,' she said with decision. 'I won't. Though I don't quite see what I'm going to do with it.'
'Well that's just it,' said Henrietta eagerly, 'I'm pretty sure I have the chance to come back again next season, and I know one or two girls in the company who'd jump at the chance of Jenny's room.'
'You mean leave the ground floor empty?'
'No,' said Jenny, her eyes shining. 'Richard and I haven't found anywhere we like that we can afford, so I thought perhaps you'd let the ground floor to us. Our wedding's only a week before yours, so—'
'Great! Wonderful!' Verity smiled in relief. 'I can't think why I didn't suggest it myself.'
'Perhaps our sensible landlady has had her head just slightly in the clouds lately,' suggested Henrietta slyly. 'And who could blame you!'
'Yes, things have been a bit hectic,' agreed Verity and stretched wearily. 'Never mind, there's plenty of time yet before the wedding.'
She went to bed early for once, with a long glass of lemonade spiked with Cinzano beside her as she tried to concentrate on a very complicated John Le Carre novel, when the phone rang beside her bed.
'I'm sorry,' said Ben's voice without preliminary. There was a pause. 'Verity?'
'Yes.' She felt tongue-tied, gauche, with nothing to say.
'Are you still angry with me?'
'No. Anyway, I thought you were the one in a temper,' she pointed out.
'I was. But I'm not now. Where are you?'
'In bed.'
'I'd rather you didn't mention bed.' His voice roughened.
'You asked.'
'I know. But it conjures up immediate visions of the last time I saw you lying on a bed, this bed, where I am right now.'
Verity took a deep breath. 'You're in bed early.' 'There was nothing else to do. I was bored. I miss you. So I came down here with some Scotch and the Sunday papers.' The roughness was gone, replaced by a caressing note that lifted the hairs on Verity's neck. She gave a breathless laugh. 'I've got Cinzano and a John Le Carre.' 'Why did we set the wedding so far away!' it was the date that suited everyone.'
'It damn' well doesn't suit me,' he growled, 'I want you here with me tonight, right this minute…' and for some time he made verbal love to her down the line, leaving her flushed and restless for the entire night.
The wait might have seemed long in some ways, but Verity hardly found it long enough in others. Furnishings at the cottage had been left to a minimum, both of them in agreement that a period actually living there would give them more idea of what they wanted, and in the meantime only the kitchen and the bedroom were actually 'complete in every detail—getting the priorities right, as Ben termed it. Hannah and Ian were contributing a beautiful Shiraz carpet for the drawing-room as their gift, the Dysarts some exquisite silver and china. In addition to this Isabel Dysart pressed Verity to choose anything from Temple Priors she wanted in the way of furniture as a stop-gap, and with gratitude Verity accepted a matching chair and sofa, both a little shabby, but still elegant, also a cabinet and a small inlaid table. Ben's stereo equipment would fill up some space, and he bought a television for both drawing-room and bedroom.
'Not that I intend to watch too much television in bed,' he informed Verity with a grin, 'but if we want to spend an entire cold Sunday up there now and then it might come in handy.'
'Sounds a bit sinful,' said Verity absently, absorbed in samples of curtain materials to blend with one of the lovely muted shades in the carpet.
'I have great hopes it will be!' He was leaning in the doorway, arms folded as usual, watching her on her knees among snippets of silk and velvet, her hair swinging forward across her face. She stayed still for a moment, then looked up at him with a frown of disapproval at odds with the smile in her eyes.
'I thought we agreed not to think about things like that while we're here.'
'I know.' With a lithe movement he came down on his knees in front of her. 'But it's bloody difficult. Kiss me. Now!'
Verity obeyed, only to find herself on her back with Ben above her kissing her all over her face and rapidly moving his mouth down her throat, at which point she pushed him away with a superhuman heave, panting as she sat up to smooth back her hair.
'Go away,' she said crossly. 'Find something to do somewhere else.'
Ben jumped up and held out his hand. 'Let's have some coffee in our new kitchen.'
This part of the house was complete, even to some basic provisions in the cupboards, and some everyday pottery. They sat on the new rush-seated chairs at the table near the rear window of the kitchen, overlooking the slope of the back lawn and the screen of willows bending in a graceful frieze along the river bank in the mellow sunset light.
'Oh Ben, it's so beautiful.' Verity gave a sigh of pleasure as she sipped her coffee. 'I can hardly believe it's all true.'
Ben leaned back in his chair, his eyes absent on the garden, an ironic twist to his wide mouth.
'Life's an odd game,' he said meditatively. 'When you consider that my career involved me in various situations of danger, including an actual war, it was far more on the cards that I should have been killed, not poor Nick, who bought it in such an unnecessary, stupid accident at home.'
Verity sat very still, hardly daring to breathe for fear of checking Ben's rare instinct to confide.
'He should have been the soldier,' he went on. 'As a youngster he loved roughing it, climbing, camping and so on—there's quite a bit of his stuff in the outhouse here. I brought it down from the house out of Dad's way; less painful. He still blames himself just for not being here when the accident happened. Illogical, but understandable. Oddly enough I was the one who'd have been quite happy to help with the estate, but when Nick's asthma grew worse in his teens it became obvious the army was no life for him, so we switched roles. Only I broke with tradition by making it the Royal Marines. As part of a commando brigade I felt I would at least be involved in arctic training and skiing, and be more likely to be sent where the action was.'
Verity watched his swarthy, sombre face with sympathy, her chin propped in her hands as she waited for him to continue. Ben's head turned and he met the compassion in her eyes, the hard, set expression of his own softening as he put out a hand to touch her cheek.
'I don't know what started me on all this,' he said with apology.
'Please go on—no one talks about your brother,' said Verity gently.
'Mother would, at length if we'd let her, but Dad and I find it difficult. Silly really. One can't pretend the entire thing never happened—but God, it was such a bloody awful way to go!' Ben's hand caught hers in a painful grip as he turned away to the window. 'That's what I find so damned hard to forget. If only the stable-lad hadn't nipped down to the village—if only Martha had woken up sooner—and most of all if only some idiot hadn't thrown a cigarette end down in the vicinity. The gates to the main road are close by. It could have been anybody.'
Verity returned the painful grip with helpless sympathy, her throat thickening with unshed tears.
'He wasn't burnt to death,' said Ben harshly. 'That's been some sort of consolation. Help arrived before that stage. But by then the smoke had been too much for him.' His voice cracked on the last words and he got to his feet jerkily, his back turned as he stood staring through the window. She let him be for a while then moved round the table and stood behind him, laying her face silently against his broad back as she slid her arms round his waist and held him close. They stayed like that for a minute or two before he twisted in her grasp and took her in his arms.
'I'm sorry, Verity.' Ben had himself in hand again. 'I had no intention of harrowing you like that.'
'I'm glad,' she said swiftly. 'I hope you'll always talk to me about everythin
g, good and bad. If a marriage is to be a partnership we should try to share everything.'
'A partnership.' There was an odd whimsical look in the eyes that stared down into her candid face. 'Anything you say, wife-to-be. I'm not much given to baring my soul as a rule—you must be a good listener.'
'One of my best features,' smiled Verity.
'I don't think I agree.' His sudden white grin gave her the usual jolt. 'I can think of several others, any one of which I'd be happy to dwell on at length.'
Verity detached herself from his grasp with speed.
'If you're back on that tack let's go! We'll be late for your mother's dinner if we don't hurry up.'
'Heigh-ho!' He strolled after her as she collected up the curtain samples for consultation with Lady Dysart. 'I shall console myself with the thought that soon you'll be cooking dinner for me here with your own fair hands.'
Verity laughed. 'You may not find much consolation in my cooking, I warn you now. Basic is a fair assessment, I'd say.'
'Then you'll have to make it up to me in other ways!' Ben said promptly, chuckling as she hurried ahead of him in exasperation.
The wedding was to be fairly small, Lady Dysart's description rather than Verity's, with only close relatives and friends.
'Though why Ben should feel it necessary to invite Gussie Middleton and her husband I really don't know,' said Lady Dysart in private to Verity.
Neither did Verity, who promptly added Niall Gordon to her own list in a fit of rather immature pique.
'Do you object to Gussie as a wedding guest?' asked Ben as he took her home.
Verity shrugged carelessly. 'Not really. I was invited to her wedding.'
'I thought it best, one way and another. Put paid to any gossip there might be,' he said expressionlessly.
'Fine.' Verity smiled up at him sweetly. 'And we've both known her a long time—have you seen her lately?'
'Not since they moved into the Wentworth place. Middleton took her off to Puerto Banus while he had the house decorated for her.'
This was news to Verity, who'd been expecting some kind of visitation from a wrathful Gussie ever since the wedding announcement. Her silence was now explained. When Verity finally did see Gussie a few days later the lady in question was so absorbed in conversation with her companion in a restaurant she failed to spot Verity passing along the pavement outside. So did her companion. He was partly hidden by a curtain, but there was no mistaking the breadth of shoulder in the familiar tweed jacket, nor the tightly curling black hair. It was Ben.
It had been an odd sort of day from the start. Verity should have been in the depths of the Cotswolds, evaluating a sizeable Jacobean house standing in half-an-acre of ground, but the vendor had postponed the appointment to the following week, giving Verity a day in the office with more time for lunch than usual. She had intended to do some shopping; but after seeing Ben with Gussie she changed her mind and bought a sandwich to eat in the park, wandering along the riverbank, and eventually feeding the sandwich to the swans. It was degrading to feel jealous; something new for her in the way of emotions. Verity had never suffered an overpowering desire to claw at someone before in her entire life. She leaned against a tree, indifferent to the cold breeze that blew at her hair and whipped the pleats of her tweed skirt against her legs. Autumn had arrived, the accompanying decrease in temperature in keeping with the chill Verity felt within her.
She wondered bleakly if Ben was making a practice of seeing Gussie. Perhaps they had a regular little arrangement of some kind. Just the previous weekend Verity had met her mother in London to help choose her wedding outfit, staying overnight at a hotel with her, both of them thoroughly enjoying the rare opportunity. Ben had made no mention of his own movements while she was away—perhaps he and Gussie had met at the cottage. Her suspicions were unjust, possibly, but the sight of them together was like acid on her soul, eating away at her all afternoon while she doggedly disposed of as much work as humanly possible as antidote.
Verity went home early and had a leisurely hot bath, complete with book and a glass of wine in an effort to compose herself for Ben's arrival. Nothing would induce her to ask about Gussie, of course, but she felt sure Ben would mention his meeting with her casually, and that would be that.
Ben said nothing at all on the subject. He came round after dinner, accepted a cup of coffee, and launched into an account of his father's plans for enlarging the dairy herd at the home farm, and the probable purchase of a bull. Verity found it hard to concentrate. Every time he paused she waited expectantly, sure that he was about to change the subject to tell her about Gussie.
'What's the matter, Verity?' he asked, when it became fairly obvious his listener's attention was wandering. 'Hard day? It's time you delegated these longer trips to someone else—you won't be there to do them much longer anyway.'
'Haven't been anywhere,' said Verity flatly. 'I was in town all day. The vendor postponed.'
'Then you must have been hard at it at that desk of yours.' Ben patted the sofa beside him invitingly. 'Come here. Even super-efficient ladies like you need cuddling sometimes.' Verity looked at him steadily. 'I don't think I will, thank you.'
His eyes narrowed. 'I'm not offering a drink or a cup of coffee. I want you to come and relax over here— come on.'
The note of command flicked Verity on the raw. She got up and put the coffee-cups on the tray.
'No. Thanks just the same.' She straightened and looked at him levelly. 'I'm tired, Ben. It might be as well if you went home.'
Ben rose at once, his face set. 'It was hardly worth my coming really, was it?'
'A complete waste of time,' she agreed, 'if all you had in mind was a quick spot of slap and tickle.'
A spark of distaste lit Ben's eyes before they hardened and he made for the door.
'Perhaps you'll ring me tomorrow if you're more in the mood for—my company.'
Verity stayed where she was. 'Fine. I'll do that.'
He stood looking at her for a moment, then turned to go. 'Goodnight then, Verity.'
'Goodnight.'
Verity listened to the car as it roared away, then took the tray to the kitchen, washed and dried the cups and glasses and put them away with meticulous care. She creamed her face and hung up the clothes she took off, then got into bed and began to cry; deep, tearing sobs that sickened and exhausted her, but failed to send her to sleep.
In the cold light of day she viewed the problem dispassionately over a more leisurely breakfast than usual. Verity's appetite, never missing for long, reasserted itself after the privations of the previous day and demanded attention at a fairly early hour, and with her blood sugars restored to normal her usual commonsense took over. Gussie was married to Peter Middleton, and Benedict Dysart was to be joined in marriage with Verity Hannah Marsh at St Augustine's Church, Priorsford, in precisely three weeks' time. These were the facts, and Verity resolved not to give in to petty jealousy again, preparing herself to apologise to Ben for her behaviour the evening before.
Jenny's wedding took place a week before Verity's, both Verity and Henrietta present to wish her well, waving the couple off after the reception in a hail of confetti and old shoes en route for a honeymoon in Marbella.
'Does it feel funny, Verity?' asked Henrietta afterwards. 'Knowing that this time next week you'll also be a married lady?'
'Yes. It does.' They were both drinking coffee in Verity's kitchen in the anti-climactic mood guests usually experience after a wedding. 'Frankly it hasn't sunk in yet. I can't believe that I'm leaving Lockhart and Welch on Wednesday and getting married on Saturday.' She looked around her. 'I'd better do some spring cleaning tomorrow—leave everything spick and span for the happy pair.'
Henrietta looked at her curiously.
'You sound a bit flat, Vee. Pre-wedding nerves and all that?'
'Probably.' Verity stretched and yawned. 'There's been too much to do lately, and now, somehow, there isn't, except wait for the great day, so a few chore
s won't come amiss.'
'Not seeing Ben tonight?'
'No. He's gone away for the weekend to some sort of reunion. Says he's having his stag night a week early.' Verity spoke lightly but she felt somewhat bereft at the thought of two days without Ben. 'So Saturday night really is the loneliest night of the week!'
'Never mind.' Henrietta gave her a saucy grin as she slid off the kitchen table. 'Concentrate on thoughts of next Saturday night instead! Must fly, love, time for the performance.'
Thoughts of the following Saturday occupied Verity's mind the entire evening, despite all the scrubbing and polishing. She was glad when the telephone interrupted her, first her mother, who chatted at some length, then one of her old college friends who was coming to the wedding. Each time Verity flew to the phone eagerly, hoping it was Ben, but she was in Bed, reading, long after Henrietta had returned from the theatre, before the sudden shrill of the telephone beside her made her jump out of her skin. She picked up the receiver gingerly and said 'Hello' with caution.
'I've caught you at last,' said a familiar voice. Ben's normally crisp tones were slightly blurred and thickened, against a background of convivial uproar that made it difficult to hear him.
'Sounds like a good party,' she remarked.
'Better if you were here. What are you doing?'
'Reading.'
'Where?'
Verity sighed impatiently. 'I'm in bed, Ben, and it's long after midnight. You frightened me out of my wits, you idiot.'
'That's no way to address your betrothed!'
'Very sorry. Go back to your party.'
'Just wanted to wish you goodnight, Verity.'
'Goodnight, Ben.'
She lay back on her pillows, a wry smile on her face. Never any endearments from Ben, not even a casual 'my dear'—not that her own attitude lately had been, much encouragement. Since her glimpse of Ben and Gussie together Verity had found it hard to respond to the most restrained of Ben's lovemaking, and lately he had given up trying, treating her with an impersonal friendliness she resented hotly, even though her own behaviour had wrought the change. Sometimes she felt the enchanted moonlit interlude in the cottage had never happened, a mere figment of her imagination. Verity felt bleak as she thought of a marriage where she and Ben remained polite strangers linked together in little more than a business arrangement. There was time to back out even yet, she knew, but Verity quailed at the prospect of cancellation, imagining the feelings of the Dysarts, not to mention her own mother if she should calmly announce a change of mind. For that was what it would be, not a change of heart. Ben's feelings in the matter seemed to have less sympathy from Verity—she was convinced he would just substitute someone else in due course if she called the wedding off.
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