by Margaret Way
“No need to be, I’m leaving in the morning.”
“Might be time to give me a goodbye kiss,” he suggested, his smile sardonic.
Amelia moved in consternation. Heat was flowing from him to her. It flowed down her arms, her highly responsive body, her legs. It even tingled in her toes.
“What are you up to?” she said on a breath. “Obviously, there’s a method in your madness.”
“Perhaps we can persuade James, who is watching us compulsively, that he’s lost you.”
“He never had me.” She gazed up at him, near-hypnotized.
“You’re so much the seductress, your sights have been set on me as well,” he suggested. “Another conquest. Another enslaved male.”
“Damn you,” she said sweetly, lifting her hand to let it lie gently along his darkly tanned cheek. His polished skin was warm to her touch. “Goodbye, Royce, dear.”
“Play it for James,” he murmured, low voiced. “Don’t hold back.”
“Men!” she said with some contempt. “You’re cruel, all of you. What will Charlene think?”
“She’ll be less sure of me,” he said, bending his raven head.
* * *
Across the Great Hall, Marigold moved closer to her husband, taking his arm. At long last, she was the woman in possession. It was a heady experience. Mrs. James Stirling. She’d had a plan and gone after it. The plan worked. “Better move on, Jimmy darling,” she said with mock gentleness. “It appears our precious Melly is after your big brother. She does this sort of thing all the time.”
She didn’t get the response she wanted or expected. “If Royce and Amelia fell in love with one another, it would be the best thing that ever happened,” he said, in a quiet, sincere voice. “I love both of them. They both have character. We don’t.”
Chapter 3
It had been a long and upsetting day in the battleground that was the family court. Couples who had once sworn undying love for each other within a few years and a child or two were at one another’s throats. It had almost grown into a family custom. Just for a change, Amelia found herself on the husband’s side. Many men, she had come to realize, did get a rough deal. Sympathy most often lay with the wife and mother. It was on record, however, that the police had never been called to the marital home. Family, even his wife’s family, had made statements to the effect the husband had never shown physical violence towards his wife and small children.
He had broken the conditions that had been imposed on him after the split-up, to see his children once a month. So deprived, he had soon taken to turning up at all hours and unestablished weekends not entirely sober. On those occasions, his wife had refused him entry, claiming later to social workers and the police he was not only harassing her, he was threatening her, a charge that was vigorously disputed.
Marriage breakdowns were a sad and sorry business. Many times, Amelia had heard judges, solicitors, and barristers harangued by couples out of control and not of sound mind. She had been threatened herself and called a few ugly names. Very few patted her on the shoulder. Her work had made her wary of men.
The last thing she was prepared for when she finally arrived home was to find Marigold waiting outside her apartment door.
Surprise, surprise. Not a good one. More like a warning bell. What was Marigold doing here? Ordinarily, visitors had to be buzzed into the complex, but Marigold would have been recognised as family to most of the tenants. Some obliging soul not bothered by the rules had let her through the security door. This could only be trouble. Trouble all the day long! Amelia found herself gulping air in an effort to maintain her composure.
“Marigold,” she called, as she strode out of the lift. “What are you doing here?” If she lived to be a hundred, and Marigold still walked the earth, Marigold would always be able to shock her. She started rummaging in her handbag for the keys. Was there any sort of handbag that gave up keys willingly?
“Where’s Jimmy? Aren’t you supposed to be away for another fortnight or so?” Neither Marigold nor Jimmy had made contact. Understandable if they were madly in love, but neither appeared to have given a toss for the other when she’d last seen them. The most alarming thing was Marigold’s stomach. Instead of starting to show her pregnancy, it was as flat as an ironing board. That confounded Amelia, though she did have a friend who had worked for seven months without showing at all. The ballooning had come later. Even in silhouette, Marigold was flat.
“Getting drunk, I suppose,” Marigold answered her question as to Jimmy’s whereabouts in an offhand voice.
“Surely not?” Jimmy couldn’t have been in such bad shape. “Come inside.” Amelia’s heart was beating hard. Had Marigold lost the baby? She was so tired and depressed, she found herself fighting the urge to burst into tears. Marigold was a rarer than rare species. She was looking very chic in what had to be a designer label dress. She wore her trademark very high heels. No flatties. Surely if she had miscarried, she would be looking ineffably sad? Losing one’s baby had to be the worst possible outcome for an expectant mother.
Inside the apartment, Marigold moved from the hallway into the nearby living room with its welcoming elegance.
Melly was just so clever about everything, Marigold thought. So cultured. A lovely word. There were paintings, not prints, on the walls, flowers, always flowers, top-quality furnishings, objects d’art in every strategic place. Marigold had never bought an object d’art in her life and didn’t plan to. Disgruntled, she moved to sit on one of the two plush caramel-coloured sofas that were separated by a gleaming mahogany, circular cocktail table. It looked like a big wooden bowl to Marigold’s unappreciative eyes.
“Can I get you anything?” Amelia asked, depositing her handbag on the nearest chair. “Tea? Coffee? Have you eaten?”
Marigold ignored Amelia’s offer of refreshments. She was on a diet anyway. “What I really want is a divorce,” she said in a gust of anger, knowing full well how much that would shock Melly.
Amelia had already braced herself for shocks. “You’re not serious, of course, Marigold. Couples don’t sue for divorce while on their honeymoon. They stretch it out a bit. Everything is still all right with you and the baby?” she asked, with an anxious frown. “You’re not showing at all.”
Marigold drew her hands down over her shapely breasts. “I hope I don’t break your heart, but there’s a reason for that. There isn’t any baby.”
The force of that piece of news hit Amelia like a blow. “You mean you miscarried? Sympathy went to the very core of her being. “God, how awful, Marigold. I am so, so, sorry. You must be heartbroken, and poor Jimmy!”
“Bugger Jimmy!” said Marigold, a fevered glint in her eyes.
Amelia felt her knees sag. There was a total lack of sensitivity in Marigold’s expression. “You sound as if you don’t care.”
“I don’t.” Marigold clashed her small white teeth.
“I’m sorry. I’m just so shocked. This is devastating news.” Amelia slumped onto the sofa opposite. “Jimmy must be broken-hearted. He was so looking forward to your coming child. So was I. A little niece, a little nephew to love.”
“Hey there, ease up!” Marigold threw up her two hands. “I’m not in mourning. In fact, I’ve got news for you. I don’t give a fuck.” It was delivered with a mix of crudity and callousness.
“I see.” No one could beat Marigold at throwing out shocks. She hadn’t been reared to fling crude language about.
For a moment, Marigold felt panic. Amelia looked sad—worse, disgusted. She had always been able to run to Amelia for help. She instantly softened her tone. “I didn’t have a miscarriage, Melly, if that’s what you’re thinking. Baby was a myth. Turns out I wasn’t pregnant at all. I thought I was.” She rose to join Amelia on the sofa, but Amelia waved her away.
Marigold sat down again. “Look, Melly, I’m not the first woman to think herself pregnant when she wasn’t. I definitely blame my youth and ignorance. I had missed two periods, just like I t
old you.”
Amelia’s mind was reeling. “Jimmy married you because he believed you were pregnant with his child.”
Marigold shrugged the charge off. “Stop looking at me as if I’m wicked. I made a mistake, right? Can’t you get your head around that?”
“No, I can’t,” Amelia said. “You missed two periods. That’s it? Two periods. You didn’t consult anyone, a doctor. Take one of those pregnancy tests?”
“I didn’t feel I needed to, Melly.” Marigold was back to her little girl breathy voice. “You know I hate doctors. I did have morning sickness . . . or so I thought.”
Amelia took another deep breath. She was feeling quite light-headed. Marigold might have been saying she thought she had irritable bowel syndrome, but as it turned out, that wasn’t the case. “You’d better go,” she said, putting a hand to her aching head. “Go on, clear off, Marigold. You’re twenty-four years of age. You’re not a child. You have money. Just look at that dress and those shoes! There’s something wrong with you.”
“Maybe there is.” Marigold gave a careless shrug. “There’s something wrong with everybody, even perfect old you. I’m not the kind of person you are, up and coming pillar of the establishment like your dad. Actually, I wouldn’t want to be. You’re not a bit of fun.”
“You think you are?” Amelia gave a brittle laugh.
“Come on, Melly,” Marigold urged. “I desperately need your help.”
“Not any more, you don’t.” Amelia was thinking of the countless times she had been there for Marigold. It was high time to pull back. Marigold had only been using her. Using people was Marigold’s game plan. “I can let you have the name of a very good woman psychiatrist,” she said with the utmost seriousness. “You need that sort of help. I can’t help you. I’ve tried and tried, but it was all wasted effort. Poor Jimmy!”
Marigold glared. “Poor Jimmy! He’s a sorry piece of work and that’s the truth.”
“How did he respond when you told him you’d lost the baby?” Amelia asked, catching Marigold’s darting eyes.
Marigold stood up, smoothing her short skirt that had ridden high. “You know what, Melly dear? He cried. A man crying, I ask you!”
“For what it’s worth, Marigold, I think you’re fast turning into a despicable human being.”
Marigold’s lips curled. “That’s no way to describe me, Melly. I’m a realist.” She gave Amelia a brazen stare. “Are you involved with Royce?” She spoke as if she had scored quite a point.
“How can you ask me that?” Amelia gave an exhausted sigh.
“Come off it, Melly!” Marigold snorted. “I was witness to the two of you sharing a humdinger kiss at my wedding.”
“It was nothing. It wasn’t real,” Amelia said quietly.
“Was it to let my pathetic lovelorn husband know you weren’t interested in him?” Marigold asked shrewdly.
“Forget Royce Stirling.” Amelia roused herself to issue the warning. “I can see tragedy here, Marigold. Tragedy of your making. You told Jimmy how and when this bogus miscarriage happened, did you? He couldn’t have been around. You may have convinced him and me you were pregnant, but you can’t talk yourself out of this mess. He won’t believe you. You would have called out for help. You would have needed it. Where were you anyway?”
“He took off for two whole days. Abandoned me.”
“You were in mortal danger in your luxury hotel?” Amelia asked.
Marigold chose to ignore the implied sarcasm. “When he finally came back, I told him the baby went down the toilet.”
“God Almighty!” Amelia visibly recoiled.
“I’m sorry, but I had to say something. What would he know anyway?” Marigold flashed back. “Let him believe he brought it all on himself. He’s been so nasty to me. He believed I was pregnant, yet he gave me a tough time. He was out most of the time. He didn’t want to be near me.”
“Jimmy married you because of a baby that never was.” Amelia spoke not to Marigold but to herself.
“He was awful to me,” Marigold maintained. ‘I genuinely thought he would settle down and we could make a go of it. Only what did he do? He banged on and on about you all the time, like I meant absolutely nothing, mother of his child or not. He pushed me once.”
Amelia’s golden head shot up. “He did not!” She spoke emphatically. “I won’t accept that. I know Jimmy. I know you. You’re a pathological liar, Marigold. Both of us need to face it. You lie and lie about everything you don’t want people to know.”
“Like you were there?” Marigold challenged, her cheeks flushed. “Are you against me too?”
Amelia gave her a drained stare. “You freak me out, Marigold.”
“Please . . . please . . . don’t say that.”
“Stop the playacting, Marigold,” Amelia said, her tone dropping in disgust.
“Melly, please don’t be mad at me,” Marigold implored.
“I haven’t started yet,” said Amelia. “I want you to go, Marigold. Truth to tell, I can’t bear to look at you one moment more. I should question whether you believed yourself pregnant at all. You were determined on marrying Jimmy. You could have lied about it.”
In the blink of an eye, Marigold turned into the picture of despair. “I respect you too much to lie to you, Melly,” she said, dipping her head in shame. “I beg of you, please don’t tell Jimmy. He’s bound to come to you for sympathy. He believes I had a miscarriage. He’ll get over it. You putting him straight won’t help. It’s best this way. We won’t have to say a thing to the family. They don’t need to know.”
“Jimmy may decide to tell them,” Amelia said. She walked to the door, opened it, and held it back. “You said you wanted a divorce. I’d advise you to hold off to a more appropriate time. Learn patience, Marigold. Couples don’t normally talk divorce on their honeymoon.”
“Yeah . . . well, I’m not the first and not the last to consider it.” Marigold forced herself to walk to the door. She had confidently expected Melly would ask her to stay. “Jimmy is the one wanting the divorce. He’s damn near an alcoholic, you know.”
“I bet you can match him drink for drink. Stoli on the rocks?” Amelia gave Marigold a hard look that nevertheless held a measure of pity.
Marigold reached out, laying her hand on Amelia’s arm. “I need you to back me, Melly. I know I might sound as if I don’t care, but I’m someone who was badly scarred as a child. I’m sure that’s the way a psychiatrist would explain it away. I’ll get that woman’s name in a day or two. I mean it, Melly. I’ll heed your advice. For now, I’ll say goodnight. You look so pale. I’m sorry I shocked you, but you’re the only one who truly cares about me. I love you, Melly. You’re my rock.” With the saddest smile, she inched up to kiss Amelia’s cheek. “You’re a good woman.”
“Don’t I wish you were,” said Amelia crisply.
On her own, Amelia sat down on the sofa, head in hands. She didn’t know what to think anymore. All thought of a little niece or nephew was gone. She had really been looking forward to a brand-new member of the family, although strictly speaking, there was no blood line. But that didn’t matter. There was a strong link between her and Marigold.
But did anyone truly know Marigold? There had been no real proof of Marigold’s pregnancy before the wedding. Jimmy, apparently, hadn’t even asked for proof. He had accepted Marigold’s news as the truth. Jimmy had revealed himself as desperately worried that Marigold, if thwarted in her ambitions. would seek an abortion.
Amelia clasped her hands together tightly. Marigold had trapped Jimmy, but Jimmy had to answer for his irresponsible lifestyle. Tonight, poor Jimmy would be in the abyss. It wasn’t as though he and Marigold could grieve together, a loving couple facing this unexpected tragedy in their lives. Would Jimmy talk to his brother? He worshipped Royce. She really didn’t know what Jimmy would do. Marigold had begged her not to say anything either to Jimmy or his family.
Think, Amelia. Think!
This was all going to be ex
tremely harrowing. She was caught in the middle. What would Royce Stirling think of her? His opinion of her now was bad enough. Jimmy, under enormous stress, might not stick to the plan and tell his brother Marigold had lost the baby. He would say he and Marigold were devastated. Only she feared Royce Stirling’s natural capacity to read people. He might be wrong about her, but he wasn’t wrong about Marigold. Marigold, with her devious tongue, would probably have painted her in a less than admirable light. It had become a habit with Marigold over the many years. Despite all the little betrayals, Marigold always came to her for protection. Maybe it was high time she started to consider whether she was the one who actually needed protection.
* * *
Anthea waited until dinner was over and they were having coffee before she took a print-off of James’s email out of the pocket of her skirt and passed it to Royce, who had had a full day with a pre-Christmas muster. Beside her on the sofa sat Sally, who had read her son’s email many times, all the while shaking her head sadly. It was obvious Sally was acutely conscious of the anger and disappointment that was gathering around them.
Anthea watched Royce read through the email carefully. Even when he had finished absorbing the contents, he continued to stare down at the print-off in a grim silence, his strong features drawn taut.
“So that’s why he married her,” he said, directing a glance at his aunt.
“I’d say so,” Anthea agreed quietly.
“What?” Sally was aghast. “But he loves her!” Sally was not the most observant of women.
“He loved the idea of becoming a father more,” Anthea said.
“But why didn’t he tell me?” Sally looked from one to the other for the answer. “I am his mother. Didn’t I have the right to be told? Didn’t we all have the right to be told? That beautiful girl, the sister. Why didn’t she tell us? She must have known.”
“Of course she knew,” Royce balled the piece of paper, no emotion on his handsome chiselled features.
“Even if Amelia did know, Marigold must have insisted she say nothing.” Anthea sprang to Amelia’s defence. She had developed a strong liking for Marigold’s sister. Alas, not for Marigold. “Amelia aside, James was the one who should have told us Marigold was pregnant.”