by Betty Neels
‘Well, maybe Shuli will have a new brother or sister of her own very soon,’ her mother suggested.
‘For heaven’s sake, Jennifer, let the girl catch her breath.’ And her lovely, lovely father, well-practised in the art of changing the subject, said, ‘This is a lovely old house, Mark. Not what I’d expected at all. I’ve seen some of your designs and I imagined you’d be living in some minimalist ultra-modern affair constructed from glass and steel. A functional advertisement for your work.’
Only Jane was situated to see the briefest look of pain flicker across Mark’s features before he said, ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and see what’s happening about dinner.’
‘And I’ll put Shuli to bed. Mum, do you want to come and give me a hand? See the house?’
Jane leaned back against the door. ‘Well, that was different.’
‘I enjoyed myself,’ Mark said. ‘They’re nice people.’
‘I never suggested they weren’t. Just that my mother has high expectations that I’ve never quite lived up to. But what would you have done if they’d accepted your invitation to stay overnight? Since the guest suite is occupied?’
She didn’t wait for his answer. He’d undoubtedly got it all worked out and she didn’t want to hear how she could so easily have hidden out in one of the small rooms on the top floor for tonight and no one would have known a thing about it. Instead, she kicked off her shoes and padded barefoot into the living room to set about gathering the coffee cups.
‘Leave that. Come and put your feet up for a minute.’ He settled on the sofa, patting the seat beside him. But Jane wasn’t in the mood to get cosy. They were on their own; there was no one around he had to convince with his happy families act.
The small touches, the quick conspiratorial smiles. He’d been so good at it. Her parents hadn’t suspected a thing. Now it was just the two of them. Platonically linked, until death did them part. No more need to pretend.
Until the weekend after next.
‘More to the point,’ she continued scratchily, her throat aching from a totally stupid desire to cry. She’d brought this entirely upon herself, after all. ‘What are you going to do on our long meet-the-family weekend? You do realise that we’ll be installed in state in the guest bedroom?’
He took his time, apparently giving the matter considerable thought. ‘Wear pyjamas?’ he offered finally.
That was it. She’d had enough. ‘You’re right, this can wait until the morning. I’m going to bed. Don’t forget to let Bob out for a run.’
She was halfway to the door before it occurred to her that she sounded exactly like a wife. One whose husband needn’t think that she’d be awake when he followed her up the stairs.
Very apt.
‘Jane—’ She turned in the doorway. Mark had put his feet up on the sofa and with his hands laced behind his head was stretched out with his eyes closed. ‘Sleep well.’
Mark couldn’t sleep. He’d forgotten how it felt to have a woman burning mad at him. The boiling mixture of emotions that could be blown away in the kind of sex that started as a fight and ended in hot, sweet, forgive-me lovemaking.
And the only woman he had in his head was Jane.
He didn’t understand it. A week ago he’d scarcely been aware of Jane as a woman at all. Now her scent clung to him, even here in his own bed, evoking the silk of her skin against his fingers.
That flash of anger in her eyes when he’d mentioned Caroline. The soft, dark look of surprise when he’d kissed the frown from her forehead. And his mind just wouldn’t let go of that early-morning picture, of full soft lips just begging to be kissed.
How many times today had he come close to kissing her? Just taking her in his arms and kissing her with no thought of the past? Half a dozen times. And when she’d stormed up to bed it had taken every ounce of will-power not to follow her and suggest they give the double bed a practise run.
He gave up on sleep and flung himself out of bed to pace the carpet.
That kind of response didn’t happen overnight. Not with someone you’d known for years. It had to have been there, growing unseen, like bulbs forced into flower for Christmas. Kept in the dark while they built up a strong root system, they burst into flower within days of being brought into the light.
Jane wasn’t conventionally beautiful. She wasn’t the kind of girl who’d ever turn heads. But her kindness and generosity were qualities that touched even the most moribund of hearts and, unlike beauty, would never fade. They already had the LTR, a long-term relationship based on trust and respect. It had simply needed light to flower into something deeper.
Now all he had to do was find some way to demonstrate his feelings. And to help Jane forget whatever pain had driven her to contemplate a platonic marriage.
He remembered what she’d said about diamonds. Guaranteed to convince. But that was to convince other people. No, it needed a larger, more personal gesture, something that she couldn’t possibly misinterpret.
As he turned he stepped on something sharp. A hairpin. He bent and picked it up. Then looked around. Jane had been in here? That was why her scent lingered in the air?
He groaned as he realised that she must have scattered her possessions around to convince her mother. Her brush, her hairpins. He crossed swiftly to the bed and, pulling off the pillows, was assailed by the delicate scent she’d been wearing. Her nightdress. Her nightdress had been here in his bed. The very thought of it inflamed a passion he’d thought long dead.
Reaching for his robe, he went down to his study. He might as well catch up with work. There was no way he was sleeping tonight.
CHAPTER NINE
‘MARRIED life is a lot tougher than it looks,’ Jane said in response to Laine’s question. She tucked the telephone into her shoulder, taking advantage of Shuli’s absence at playgroup to tidy Mark’s office as she talked. He must have been looking for something to show her father because there were blueprints heaped up everywhere. ‘My parents came to dinner last night.’
‘I know. Your mother rang my mother and I’m seriously in the doghouse for not spilling the beans. I hope it’s worth it.’ Then, when Jane didn’t respond with instant glee, ‘From the resounding silence I take it you’re still in the spare room?’
‘Please! The guest suite. But you’re right; it isn’t going to happen overnight. In fact my plan of proving myself the perfect wife didn’t survive the first day.’
‘You’ve had a row?’
‘Yes. No. Maybe.’
‘That was decisive.’
‘It wasn’t about anything personal.’ Well, it had felt pretty personal when she’d been compared to Caroline and found wanting, but that was her business. ‘It all began when I found this stray dog.’
‘Crumbs, Jane. Whatever possessed you?’ Laine demanded, when she’d finished telling her the entire story. ‘Can’t you ever just look the other way?’
Like Caroline? ‘Apparently not.’
‘Well, I think your Mark is a hero and you can tell him so from me. Give him a great big kiss as well.’
‘You haven’t heard the worst, yet. We’ve been invited home for the weekend. A full-dress family affair.’
‘Is that a problem?’
‘Think about it, Laine.’
‘Oh, you mean you’re going to have to share that great big double bed. Some problem. Why are you waiting until next weekend? Drag him down there tomorrow. And don’t forget to pack your sexy black nightdress.’
‘I don’t just want sex, Laine. I want him to love me.’
‘Darling, you wear the nightdress, you let your hair hang loose and you just stand there. He won’t be able to help himself. Trust me.’ Then, ‘How’s that sweet little girl?’
‘Totally gorgeous. She’s at playgroup right now.’ Then, ‘She woke me up this morning to ask if she could call me Mummy.’
‘Oh, Jane!’ Then, ‘Did you cry?’
She sniffed. ‘I’m crying right now.’
‘So am
I.’
Promising to ring again soon, Jane replaced the receiver on the handset and bent down to pick up a piece of blueprint that had been ripped up and tossed in the bin.
It wasn’t for anything very big. It didn’t have a project number or name, only ‘Detached House, Upper Haughton’ printed in the corner. And the date. It was five, no, six years old.
Jane retrieved the rest of it, but she knew where it was even before she’d pieced together the drawing of the front elevation. She’d passed it that morning as she’d taken Shuli to the village hall.
She might not have noticed the house at all, hidden behind an old weathered brick wall, but as she’d passed the gate the woman who lived there had come out with her own two little ones and had stopped to say hello. And then Jane had seen the house and admired it.
‘We were so lucky. It was exactly what we were looking for, although I suppose it’s not to everyone’s taste. It was built specially as a surprise for the architect’s bride-to-be, but she’d set her heart on a Georgian rectory she’d seen. And that apparently was that.’
She’d known even then that it must have been designed by Mark. Now, looking at the drawing he’d poured his heart into, Jane wanted to weep all over again.
‘The playgroup is holding a jumble sale on Saturday, Mark. I’ve sorted through my things, but I wondered if you’d got anything past its wear-by date in your wardrobe. It’s for a good cause. We’re raising money for some outdoor play equipment.’
Mark glanced up. For days there had been a brittle, touch-me-not distance about Jane. Everything she did was pitch-perfect, there had been no more incidents with stray dogs, or mud on the kitchen walls, but something was wrong. He just couldn’t pin her down long enough to find out what it was. Every time he tried to talk to her she leapt up to do something that apparently couldn’t wait a second.
He’d hoped that prompting Shuli to call her Mummy would have opened the emotional barriers. She’d been affected by it, he knew; he’d seen the tears. But it hadn’t been enough. Even now she could hardly wait for his answer so that she could race off and be doing something, anything, rather than putting her feet up and spending the evening with him.
‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Once you’re on the jumble sale rota your life will never be your own. Have they got you on the village hall committee yet?’
‘I’m not helping, Mark. Not this time,’ she said, avoiding a direct answer. ‘We’re going away for the weekend. Remember?’
‘Of course. Better hang on to any pyjamas you find, then,’ he added. He knew he shouldn’t, but he just couldn’t stop himself.
‘You’ve actually got some?’ she enquired, ultra-polite.
‘I couldn’t swear to it.’
Jane was struggling to hold herself together. Until she’d seen that plan she hadn’t had any idea of what she was up against. How much he’d loved Caroline. How utterly futile it was to imagine he would ever love her. And nothing less would do. ‘We don’t have to go, Mark,’ she said, hoping that he would grab the lifeline. ‘I could make up some excuse.’
‘No, they’re expecting us. It’s supposed to be a secret but they’re planning a huge party.’ He’d been talking to her parents? He must have seen her confusion because he added, ‘Harry phoned and asked if I wanted to go fishing.’
‘Oh.’
‘Don’t look so tragic,’ he said. ‘I promise I won’t snore—’
She snatched the paper out of his hands. ‘Stop it! Will you stop being flip and take this seriously?’
‘It’s serious? I thought it was just a jumble sale. Okay, well, you’ll find a load of Caroline’s clothes in one of the spare rooms. Take those. I’m sure they’ll cause a lot more excitement than my old shirts.’
She looked stunned. She might well do. He was fairly stunned himself. That had come out of nowhere. It was right—he should have done it a long time ago—but the fact that he could do it so easily now was faintly shocking.
‘Is that serious enough for you?’
For a moment she just stood there, and then she turned and walked away. He heard her mount the stairs, then go up again to the top floor, where there were half a dozen small rooms that were mostly used for storage. He heard her opening doors until she found the one with the rails of designer clothes that had belonged to Caroline.
He poured two large drinks and then went after her.
‘Jane?’ She’d pulled the dust covers from the rails and was looking at the clothes. He offered her a glass. She took it without saying a word, didn’t even appear to notice that their fingers had touched. Didn’t so much as twitch, let alone jump like the nervous kitten she’d been all week. He was the one who felt as if his skin had been seared. She swallowed a mouthful of brandy and shuddered. ‘This lot should cause a bit of a stir in jumble sale circles,’ he offered.
Jane had expected a few bags of clothes. Designer labels, of course. There’d been nothing ‘chainstore’ about Caroline Hilliard. Tall, slender, with a personal fortune that had allowed her to indulge her taste in fine things, she’d caused a stir wherever she went, apparently. But it was a shock to confront the reality. She couldn’t conceive of any woman owning so many beautiful clothes.
‘You can’t…I can’t…’ She gave up. She didn’t know what to say.
‘Can’t what? They’re just clothes. Would you wear any of them?’ Jane shook her head. Took a step back. ‘Of course you wouldn’t.’
Afraid she’d offended him in some way, Jane said, ‘They wouldn’t fit me, Mark.’ Not in any sense, she thought.
‘No,’ he said. And she shrank inwardly. She was way out of her depth here. And in grave danger of making a fool of herself. He must never know how she felt about him. That scrap of dignity was all she had left. ‘She was a lot taller than you.’ A lot more everything, Jane thought as he bent to pick up a shoe. ‘And she had feet to match.’ Long, narrow, elegant feet.
‘Talk about her, Mark. Tell me about her.’ Lay the ghost.
‘You want to know about Caroline?’ She didn’t want to know about her. She didn’t want to ever hear her name on his lips. But until his first wife was out in the open, all the dark shadows exposed to the light, their marriage would remain a sham. ‘Caroline is what you see about you, Jane,’ he said at last. ‘The house, the clothes. Perfection in everything. It was, in the end, her need for perfection that killed her.’
Jane frowned. ‘But she drowned…’
‘She was suffering from post-natal depression, Jane. It wasn’t an accident.’
‘Oh…’ She shivered. ‘I had no idea. Poor woman. Poor Shuli.’ And then, ‘Poor you.’
He replaced the shoe and then put an arm around her shoulder and said, ‘Come on, let’s go back downstairs.’ He paused in the doorway, looked back, then turned out the light. ‘I’ll get this lot cleared out tomorrow.’
‘No.’ She looked up at him. ‘Leave it to me. I’ll do it. But not to the jumble sale. I don’t want Caroline talked about, her things picked over.’ Having Mark meet someone in the village wearing her clothes. ‘It wouldn’t be…proper.’
‘I’m not sure either of us deserve such thoughtfulness from you, Jane. But thank you.’
Back in the softly lit drawing room, Mark topped up their glasses. ‘We were the golden couple, did you know that?’ he asked, with just a trace of bitterness. He didn’t expect an answer because he went on, ‘We had everything. Money, recognition, style. And for a while it was enough. Then Caroline decided she had to have a baby, too. All her friends had babies. It was the ultimate accessory. They glowed, they gave birth and then passed the result to a nanny to care for. They made it look so easy.’
Jane shivered, stirred, looked at Mark. ‘What about you?’
‘Me? I was delighted, over the moon. It was like the world had been made over just for me.’ He took a long drink. ‘The first few months were fine. She told all her friends, basked in the attention, read all the books. She was going to be the perfect mother.
Then—’ he shook his head. ‘I don’t know. She just seemed to panic. It had been exciting for a while, but then reality kicked in and she wanted to turn it all off. She couldn’t.’
‘What a nightmare.’
‘She blamed me, of course. And she was right. She was like a beautiful piece of perfect glass. Exquisite, but fragile. I should have known she’d never cope. That she was just playing—’
‘Mark…’ she warned. She was sure he didn’t mean to be saying this. But he didn’t seem to hear her. Maybe it had all been bottled up so long that it was unstoppable.
‘She hadn’t had much morning sickness to speak off, but suddenly she started to be sick with nerves. I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.’ He stared into the depths of his glass. ‘The last three months were undiluted hell, but I thought once the baby arrived everything would be better. If anything they were worse. She just lost interest in everything. I even had to wash her hair…’
Jane fought the lump in her throat. She must not cry. He needed her to be strong. To listen and absolve him…
‘She wouldn’t touch Shuli. Could hardly bear to look at her. She had a maternity nurse, but she couldn’t be on call twenty-four hours a day. I did what I could but the work was piling up. Maybe if she’d had a mother it would have been different.’
Jane thought of her own capable mother, how she’d been there for her sisters. Was always there. A lifeline. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘A mother makes all the difference.’
‘She was totally unable to cope with this small helpless creature who was totally dependent upon her. She was desperate to escape. When some friends suggested she join them for a couple of weeks in the Mediterranean she begged to go with them. God help me, I thought it would do her good. The sun, swimming…She loved to swim.’
‘It could have been an accident, Mark. Even the strongest swimmers get into difficulty.’
‘That was the Coroner’s verdict,’ he conceded. ‘But she’d sent me a letter. Taken it to the post office and sent it by special delivery so that she could be sure it would arrive. By the time I got it, she was dead.’