by Penny Jordan
The unfairness of his allegations silenced her.
‘Do you really think I’m going to stand by and let you sell off our son’s heritage? If you wanted money, Nell, you should have asked me.’
It was too much … much too much. Her nerves, strained already beyond endurance, suddenly snapped, and with them her frail hold on her temper.
It blazed up inside her wildly, gloriously, bursting past her self-control, ignoring the eagle glare of Joss’s eyes.
‘How dare you dictate to me what I do with my own possessions, Joss? And besides——’ she added scornfully, hating him for his autocratic disdain, hating him for not loving her when she loved him, hating him for his assumed right to dictate to her what she did, and hating him most of all for betraying her to Fiona. She wanted to hurt him … she needed to hurt him, and in the intensity of that momentary need, fuelled by temper and exhaustion, she chose the most powerful weapon she had, and said scornfully, ‘Besides, anyone with the slightest pretensions to knowledge could have told you that that particular dinner-service is of no historic value at all. In fact it’s just a vulgar, overgilded Victorian dinner service, of a type that no one other than a too wealthy social climber would want to own. As you would have known if …’
‘If what?’ he demanded dangerously, and too late she realised just where her temper and pain had led her.
‘If what, Nell?’ he pressed, and the very quietness of his voice added to her alarm, but she couldn’t back down now. Not entirely.
‘If you knew anything at all about china,’ she finished bravely, ignoring the fact that, until the dealer had told her, she herself had had no idea of the dinner-service’s potential value.
Seeing his silence, feeling the rage emanating from him, she added huskily, ‘Joss, it was hideous. If I’d been selling the Sèvres, or the Worcester, then I could understand your feelings …’
He hadn’t moved, his body so tense it was almost rigid, his bones standing out sharply in the harshness of his face.
‘Could you? But then a man like me could never be expected to know the difference, could he? Just as well you told me it was hideous, Nell, otherwise I might have embarrassed us both by admiring it. After all, it was old, and to people like me—common, ordinary people, without the benefit of your kind of background—anything old must be valuable, mustn’t it?’
She hated the cynical scorn in his voice. Hated the way he was looking at her, as though she were beneath contempt, but he had hurt her bitterly by discussing her with Fiona, and there could be no excuses for that kind of betrayal, none at all.
‘I suppose that’s why you got rid of my interior designer, was it? You felt you couldn’t trust her taste. After all, I’d chosen her. She might have recommended all those naff little touches so beloved by the nouveaux riches.’
He saw her wince and eyed her savagely.
‘Is that why you refused to speak to me on the telephone this morning, Nell? I thought at the time it was just maidenly confusion … a little probably very natural embarrassment … but I was wrong, wasn’t I? Your refusal was probably far more likely to have been made out of sheer self-disgust at the thought of having actually enjoyed making love with a man like me,’ he added acidly.
‘Joss! No!’ she cried out. ‘You’re wrong. I …’
He stopped half-way across the room and looked at her. There was no mercy in the coldness of his eyes, no compassion or relenting.
‘Am I? I don’t think so. You were quite right, Nell. You and I don’t know enough about one another, but it’s too late to cancel things now. You could be and probably are carrying my child …’
‘And if I’m not?’ Nell asked him, through lips stiff with pain.
His face darkened, the golden eyes glittering dangerously.
‘If you’re not, then it will by my duty to remedy that omission just as quickly as I can. After all, that is the whole purpose of this marriage, isn’t it, Nell? That between us we produce an heir for this house and my wealth?’
He said it bitterly, cuttingly, as thought he was the one with the grievance, as though it was she who was the betrayer and not him, and it was only long after he had gone, and she was sitting wearily in the coldness of the small sitting-room, reflecting on the savagery of his reaction to the sale of a mere dinner-service, that she remembered that that hadn’t been the sole reason for his rage. He had mentioned a telephone call. A telephone call she was supposed to have refused, but which in fact she had never received. A lie on his part … or a deliberate omission on someone else’s. His secretary’s for instance.
Her whole body went cold. She looked at the telephone on the sofa table, and was actually reaching for it, before she acknowledged the pointlessness of such an exercise. What did it matter whether he had telephoned her or not? He had still discussed her with Fiona; had still revealed to the other woman that they had spent the night together … Had still allowed her to believe that he had found no pleasure in making love to her, even if he had not told her so directly.
This afternoon she had seen with disastrous clarity what their life together was going to be, and it had appalled her. Joss had seen it too, but he was refusing to let her go, and if there was a child …
Perhaps the wedding could be delayed until they could be sure … but, even as the thought formed, she knew that Joss would never agree. He was determined to marry her, and he wasn’t going to allow anything to stop him now.
On her way to bed, she changed direction and, instead of going to her own room, went into the master suite instead.
Now it was almost finished: the carpet had been cleaned and relaid; the new bed-hangings were in place, the sitting-room furnished.
She walked up to the bed, touching it, finding it almost impossibe to believe that it was here, on this bed last night that Joss had made love to her … had made her believe that he might actually come to care for her … that he did desire her …
And yet now she could barely believe that any of it had happened. It was as though it had happened to someone else, and not to herself … All the pleasure and happiness she had experienced in his arms was gone.
She felt empty and alone … drained of the ability to do anything other than merely exist.
CHAPTER NINE
‘IT STILL isn’t too late to change your mind, Nell.’
The quietly serious voice of her friend made Nell turn away from her contemplation of the gardens to smile wryly at her.
‘It’s always been too late,’ she told her. In less than three hours she and Joss would be standing in front of the vicar, sharing the solemnity of the marriage service, making promises and vows that they both knew could not be kept.
‘Nell, you look dreadful. You’re so thin and pale, and Joss doesn’t look much better. What’s happened between you?’
Liz and Robert had arrived the previous day. Joss had joined them for dinner in the evening and Nell knew that the strain between Joss and herself must have been immediately and painfully obvious to her friends.
Since the night they had made love they had barely spoken. When he came to the house, she offered him the coolness of her cheek to kiss and not her mouth; when he touched her, however lightly, she instinctively withdrew behind a brittle shell of politeness. Where another woman might have wept and stormed and finally demanded to know how he dared to discuss their most intimate moments together with someone else, Nell took refuge in hauteur and silence. It was the ony way she knew of defending herself, and, and after the first couple of occasions when she had coolly rebuffed him, Joss had become as remote towards her as she was to him.
And last night … not even for the sake of maintaining some sort of pretence in front of her oldest friend had she been able to stop herself from shivering when Joss had greeted her with a kiss that had punished her mouth for its rejection of him, while his hand against her throat and jaw stopped her from turning away.
This morning, her wedding morning, she had been up and dressed long before the r
est of the household, inspecting the ballroom where she and the rest of the staff had spent the best of the last two days preparing for the reception.
The sprung floor gleamed; thin, sharp autumn sunlight shone through the windows; the tables and chairs hired for the occasion were all in place; the team of florists had worked long into the late afternoon decorating the room with swags of fresh flowers and silk ribbons, garlanding the top table with them and putting soft posies of them on each table.
The church had been decorated in the same style: pretty, softly pastel flowers in seemingly casually arranged bunches that had taken skilled hands many hours to fashion.
Nell was determined that, above everything else, Joss would have no cause to complain that her organisation of their wedding was less efficient than his secretary’s.
And besides, working hard had kept her mind an all too necessary heartbeat away from snapping under the burden of the knowledge she carried.
Was Joss already steeling himself for tonight? Knowing that he must make love to her and also knowing that the only way he could do so would be by pretending she was someone else?
The thought made her want to be violently ill.
‘Nell … it’s time to go and get ready,’ Liz warned her, touching her arm lightly.
Her dress was hanging in her room, her suitcase was packed beside the bed for the honeymoon destination Liz had told her excitedly that Joss wanted to keep a secret. Liz had packed her clothes, not allowing her to see what she had chosen. No doubt the venue would be some expensive holiday resort where they would be safely surrounded by other people so that Joss would not have to endure her company any more than was strictly necessary.
Liz had driven her into town straight after breakfast—a meal that Nell hadn’t been able to touch, despite everyone’s complaints that she was getting too thin—to have her hair done, and now it floated around her shoulders in a soft, pale cloud.
There were to be no bridesmaids, a fact which had made Joss frown until Nell pointed out to him that, with her own stepsister refusing the role, she could hardly choose someone else.
Liz helped her dress. Nell knew that downstairs the staff and everyone who had helped in the preparations for the wedding were waiting excitedly to see her, she also knew that she owed it to them to go downstairs so that they could, but an odd inertia had enveloped her and, as she stood docilely in front of the mirror while Liz fiddled with her head-dress, she felt as though her life had suddenly come to a full stop and that she would be more than happy if she never moved a foot outside this room.
Like some sort of latter-day Miss Havisham, she reflected wryly, remembering her Dickens … only she of course had never married. She had been deserted before the wedding. What if Joss chose to desert her? What if …?
‘Nell, it’s time to leave.’
She focused on Liz with difficulty, seeing the concern and worry in her friend’s eyes.
‘The car’s here.’
She was travelling to the church in Joss’s Rolls. Her godmother’s husband, the Lord Lieutenant of the county, was giving her away.
Liz had tentatively offered Robert to perform this service for her, and although Nell would have preferred him she had gently refused. When Joss had asked her why, she had told him coolly that she had thought he would prefer her to be given away by the Lord Lieutenant.
He had given her an odd look, she remembered, something that was not quite a frown, but rather a mingling of derision and pain.
But why? He was the one who had wanted this lavish show … this large wedding. She would have much preferred a quieter ceremony.
‘Ashamed of me, Nell?’ he had asked curtly, when she had suggested it, and so she had calmly followed his wishes.
‘Nell.’ She turned her head at the sound of her friend’s voice.
Liz was unclasping something from her neck; a fine, thin gold chain that glinted in the light. A tiny gold heart-shaped locket hung from it, decorated with minute pearls.
‘Something borrowed … something old …’ she said as she fastened it round Nell’s throat.
Nell touched the locket and smiled wanly.
‘Thanks.’
‘Don’t thank me. Joss gave it to me and told me to make sure you wore it. He said it belonged to his great-grandmother.’
Absurdly, tears sprang into her eyes. She would never have imagined Joss to be capable of such an act of sentimentality. She touched the gold again, feeling it warm the coldness of her skin. And she was cold … icily so.
‘You look beautiful,’ she heard Liz whisper, and she sensed from her voice that her friend wasn’t far from tears herself.
‘We’d better go down.’
The staff, and the wives and children of the estate workers, were gathered in the hall, and for the first time since getting up Nell felt reality break through the distancing calm she had wrapped herself in as she heard the soft cries of pleasure and admiration from the women.
Her godmother stood at the back of the hall, smiling warmly at her. ‘Nell, darling, you look wonderful. Such a lovely dress.’
At her side the Lord Lieutenant blustered, ‘Yes, indeed. Be proud to give you away, Nell …’
He was a man of few words, but very kind-hearted, and Nell had known him since she was a child, but even so, that didn’t alter the fact that neither she nor Joss had one single close relative attending the wedding.
There was a large crowd outside the church, the sun mellowing its ancient stone façade. The bells were pealing a clarion call of joy as Nell walked through the ancient lych gate on the Lord Lieutenant’s arms.
Inside the church, it took her several seconds to adjust to the darkness after the bright sunshine outside.
The church was full, the groomsmen, all friends of Joss’s, immaculately formal in their morning-dress.
The organist saw her … heads turned in an indistinguishable blur to Nell as she walked slowly towards the altar and Joss.
He didn’t look round. His head was bent slightly, almost as though he were deep in prayer. The vicar smiled at her and reached out his hand to draw her forward. His flesh felt warm and dry, and she saw him give her a quick look of concern as he touched her icy fingers.
The ceremony began. Quiet words … solemn words; hymns conveying joy … prayers for the future. Promises and vows exchanged … the gold of Joss’s ring on her finger, a heavy weight, chaining her, the cool touch of his mouth against hers; his eyes hard and wintry … bleak and without that fierce golden glow with which she was so familiar.
The vestry where she signed her maiden name for the last time. Neither she nor Joss had wanted any photographs taken in the church, and she was glad when she saw how much her hand trembled.
Her grandmother, Liz and Robert witnessed their signatures along with the Lord Lieutenant, and then back into the main body of the church; organ music swelling triumphantly to a fierce clamour, the cool dimness of the church … Joss’s hand beneath her arm; the brilliance of the sunshine outside; the noise of the bells … people surrounding her, laughing, congratulating her … admiring her dress … strangers … none of whom could touch that cold, bitter place deep in her heart where she knew she had just desecrated the most moving ceremony there could be. For the rest of her life, she would be surrounded by these strangers and others like them, people alien to her as she was to them … people with eyes like cruel, sharp knives that stabbed into her, and then Joss was clearing a way to the waiting Rolls, and she was cocooned inside its warmth, her dress carefully tucked in with her by his chauffeur.
Joss himself sitting next to her, not looking at her, even when he said quietly, ‘You wore it, then.’
For a moment she thought he was talking about her dress, and then she realised he meant the locket.
‘Yes …’
And those were the only words they spoke, not just during the short drive back to the house, but throughout the wedding breakfast that followed.
The meal was everything that Nell h
ad intended it should be, but that knowledge gave her no pleasure, not even when she saw the looks of surprise and in some cases chagrin in the eyes of Joss’s colleagues and their wives.
At the far end of the room wedding presents had been stacked on an empty table. Soon the speeches and toasts would be over and then would come the nightmare of circulating among their guests.
The best man, to whom Nell had only been introduced earlier in the week, as he had been abroad on business, gave a witty speech; at least Nell assumed it must have been, because everyone else laughed, but she didn’t hear a word. She felt as though all her senses were frozen; as though she was somehow cut off from everyone else, and living in a world completely her own.
The best man was reading telegrams, and Nell stiffened suddenly as she heard him saying, ‘ “To Joss and Eleanor with our love and best wishes for their future. From all the family”—and it’s signed with far too many names for me to read out.’
Joss waited until the speeches were over to ask her curtly, ‘How did my family know about this?’
‘I wrote to them,’ Nell responded defiantly. ‘They are your family, Joss. As you said, they didn’t want to come to the wedding, but I’m hoping that they will come and visit us later.’
‘Visit us ̣. here? God, have you any idea how out of place they’ll feel?’
‘Only if we make them,’ Nell told him, persisting stubbornly. ‘Joss I wanted to get in touch with your mother, but …’
‘Forget it,’ he told her harshly. ‘She’s built herself a new life in Canada with a new family, and she doesn’t want to be reminded of the past, and especially my role in it.’
He saw her face.
‘Save your pity for someone who genuinely needs it,’ he told her drily. ‘She might be my mother, Nell, but only anatomically. There’s no emotional bond between us. She was sixteen when she gave birth to me, for God’s sake … only a child herself. There’s no point of contact between us, and both of us prefer it that way. My grandmother was my mother, and I mourned her far more than I did the girl who gave me birth.’