by Penny Jordan
There could be no question now of him holding her by threats to their bogus engagement. India suspected that, like her, he would probably be only too glad for their association to end.
‘We’re in agreement on one point,’ Simon told her grimly. ‘Our engagement will certainly have to be terminated.’
It was her own suggestion after all; so why should she feel this acute sense of loss, this agonising despair?
‘I’ll see about a marriage licence in the morning.’
India stared at him, her body stiffening defensively. ‘A marriage licence? But….’
Simon had his back to her, but he turned to look at her pale face, his expression unreadable as he told her, ‘You do realise that you’re being less than flattering?’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘I am after all merely doing the time-honoured thing—gentleman seduces innocent virgin unwittingly and then marries her. Isn’t it the very stuff of romance?’
‘But there’s no need… I mean…’
‘I know what you mean, but contrary to your naïve faith and optimism, there could well be every need. I am referring to the fact that you could have conceived my child. You must forgive me for sounding ridiculously sentimental, but I have a peculiar disinclination to see the life I might have created destroyed on the operating table.’
In spite of herself India felt a curious lump rise in her throat, an aching pain that spread through her body.
‘But you can’t know,’ she protested in a shaky whisper. ‘I might not….’
‘We can’t afford to take the chance,’ Simon told her firmly. ‘You’ve already admitted there’s no one else in your life—the situation may not be ideal, but we’re in no worse a position than partners in an arranged marriage.’
‘And if it turns out that I’m not… not…’
‘Carrying my child?’ Simon supplied. ‘In that case, after a suitable interval we can have the marriage annulled.’ He looked at her. ‘You needn’t fear that because of what’s happened tonight I intend to demand my rights as your “husband”.’
Meaning what? India wondered bitterly. That he would continue to take his pleasure with the sophisticated women he normally chose as his companions?
As though he had read her mind he added harshly, ‘Neither shall I embarrass you with liaisons of the sort which the gutter press seem to delight in. In return I ask only that you give our union a chance, for the sake of our child…’
‘There may not be one,’ India protested, but she was weakening and she knew it. It was all very well for Simon to talk of an abortion, but she knew herself well enough to know that she could never destroy a life growing within her, and while she was financially secure enough to provide for her child no amount of material possessions could replace a united family unit; the presence of a father in a child’s life… It wouldn’t be easy. And yet, as Simon had said, they were no worse off than the participants in an arranged marriage.
‘Well?’ Simon demanded, frowning suddenly as he saw her face. ‘For God’s sake, why did you let me think…’
‘That I was an experienced woman of the world? You didn’t leave me much choice.’
‘I’m sorry that I hurt you,’ he said tersely. ‘If I’d known…’
‘It wasn’t intentional… I should have stopped you… Now, I’d like to go home,’ she added, ‘There’s an awful lot to think about.’
‘I’ll take you.’
He drove her home in silence, saying as he escorted her to her door, ‘I’ll be in touch later on. Don’t do anything foolish, will you, India?’
She shook her head, half blinded by the tears which had suddenly filled her eyes. A terrible sense of desolation swept over her as she watched him leave. Had she really agreed to marry him; a man who not twenty-four hours before she had considered her worst enemy? And why? For the sake of a child she might not even have conceived!
Alone in her flat she found herself reliving those moments in Simon’s arms—the intense arousal of her senses; her passionate response to him, her willingness to fall in with his plans. And then she admitted the truth. She had fallen in love with him!
Once the truth was acknowledged so much that had puzzled her fell into place—her intense awareness of him; the driving force of the anger she had kept lashing into heated fury to prevent herself from recognising the truth, the capitulation of her body at his first touch. She loved him! What on earth was she going to do? She couldn’t possibly marry him now! But did she have any choice? While he thought there was the slightest possibility that she might have conceived his child he would never allow her to escape him. And did she really want to? Who knew, perhaps within the framework of their marriage affection, if not love, might come. But would it be enough? Something pagan deep inside her said ‘no’. She wanted his love; a love that matched her own.
At last, after what seemed to be hours of hard arguing backwards and forwards, she gave in to the clamourings of her heart. If fate had decreed that Simon should offer her marriage who was she to refuse? Let what must be be. Perhaps it was cowardly of her, but she lacked the strength and determination to fight both her love and Simon.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THEY were married a week later in the same small village church where Simon’s parents had been married, and during the brief ceremony India caught herself praying that their marriage would prove more secure and enduring. Which was extremely foolish of her, she told herself afterwards sipping champagne and trying not to look as bemused as she felt as Simon introduced her to various people, because if any marriage was doomed to failure theirs surely must be. She didn’t doubt Simon’s good intentions, but how long would it be before he found himself longing for the sophistication of women such as Ursula and Melisande?
It was something India tried not to think about. Alison had been both delighted and horrified when Simon informed her how quickly they were to be married, and despite her pregnancy had insisted that the simple no-fuss ceremony Simon was planning was unfair to India, who would want to cherish the memory of her wedding day.
Instead, Alison had organised a small, informal buffet party at her house, and although India was touched by her thoughtfulness in many ways she would have preferred just herself Simon and the necessary witnesses. There was something bordering on the temptation of bad luck about celebrating what was no more than a formal business arrangement in such a way.
Simon had asked India what she preferred to do after their marriage; if she wished to move into his flat which had a spare bedroom, or if she would prefer them to start afresh. If there was to be a child, he had pointed out, the flat would hardly be suitable, for all its luxury.
Moved by an impulse she could barely comprehend, India had asked if it would not be possible for them to move down to the cottage, regretting the words the moment they were spoken, as she saw Simon frown and hesitate.
‘So you managed it after all!’
She hadn’t seen Ursula Blanchard approaching her. The older woman’s eyes raked the plain cream silk dress and jacket India had chosen for the ceremony—not her own design as there had not been time to make anything suitable but an outfit she had bought from Bellville Sassoon and which bore their unmistakable stamp.
‘You’re not wearing white, I notice,’ Ursula murmured cattily. ‘Very wise of you, my dear—no one knowing Simon would have believed you had the right… Oh, there you are, darling,’ she cooed as Simon, tall, and unbelievably handsome in a dark formal suit and crisp silk shirt, came towards them. ‘I was just telling your little bride how fortunate she was.’ Her fingers stroked the fabric of Simon’s suit, and India felt nausea rise up inside her as she pictured those plum-tipped nails digging passionately into tanned male flesh; the sullen, pouting lips, parting beneath the skilled insistence of Simon’s… She moved blindly away, appalled by the depth of her emotions; the strength of her jealousy, her face paling suddenly, causing Simon to frown and glance at her from beneath hooded lids. As she turned away India caught Ursula’s deliberately o
utstretched arm, and a full glass of champagne cascaded over the cream silk.
‘Oh dear!’ the other woman exclaimed insincerely, ‘You must send me the cleaners’ bill—or perhaps the bill for your outfit, it might be cheaper. Was it one of your own designs?’
India gaped at her effrontery, convinced that somehow Ursula had deliberately stepped forward as she moved, and spilt her drink. Simon was looking away, his expression withdrawn, and India flushed, fearing that he might think she was given to snide exchanges of the sort Ursula had promoted.
‘I ought to be getting changed anyway,’ she said quietly. ‘If you’ll both excuse me.’
‘Take all the time you like. I’ll see to it that Simon doesn’t get bored. I’m good at that, aren’t I, darling?’
Feeling sicker by the minute, India managed to walk away with commendable poise, but her self-control deserted her the minute she reached the room Alison had set aside for her to change in, and she was sitting staring out of the window, making no attempt to do anything about her damp dress, when Alison walked in.
‘Are you all right?’ the other woman asked anxiously. ‘I saw Ursula collaring Simon.’ She pulled a wry face. ‘Dreadful creature! You mustn’t let her get you down. She really must have the hide of an ox—Simon has been trying to shake her off for ages, but she simply won’t take the hint.’
‘He didn’t seem to be doing much shaking off just now,’ India commented in what she had intended to be a light tone, but which instead sounded more than a little shaky.
Alison took her hand. ‘Poor India! She is rather a man-eater, isn’t she? But you really mustn’t worry. It’s obvious how Simon feels about you.’
If only Alison knew! India found herself thinking grimly as the older woman sat down. Her face and ankles were slightly puffy despite the fact that her pregnancy was only in the sixth month, and watching her India could not help remembering what Mel had said about his wife’s state of health.
‘You shouldn’t have done all this,’ she felt moved to say to Alison. ‘You look dreadfully tired.’
‘I’m fine, and besides, I enjoyed it. Left to himself Simon would have got married in a dreadful hole-and-corner fashion. My only regret is that neither of his parents were alive to see today. Have you decided where you’re going to live yet?’ she added, changing the subject. ‘Rather selfishly I can’t help hoping you might decide to move down here. I know most of the structural work on the house is finished, but I suppose you’ll want to keep the London flat on for the sake of your work.’
‘We haven’t really had time to discuss it yet,’ India told her truthfully. Whenever she had thought about the future and her possible marriage, before meeting Simon she had always visualised herself continuing to design, possibly even when the children arrived, although not at the salon as she did now, but in her own home. Jenny was more than capable of running the salon side of the business. She had worked very hard and India would have liked to reward her in this way, but she was a little reluctant to make any firm plans until she had spoken to Simon. The fact had to be faced that he might not want her in the home he had once shared with his parents; that he might prefer to keep their relationship to the sterile atmosphere of the London flat. She hadn’t forgotten his reaction when she had first raised the subject of them living at the cottage.
The final goodbyes had been said; India had received an affectionate kiss from Simon’s grandmother, who despite her wry smile had had tears in her eyes as she gathered with the other guests to wave them off.
They didn’t have time for a proper honeymoon, Simon had told her when she had enquired where he intended taking India, but India knew that the real reason must be that he didn’t really want to be alone with her, and more than ever she wished she had not allowed herself to be carried along on the crest of an emotional wave into a marriage which she grew more convinced with every passing second was doomed to fail.
There was the usual confetti and trail of tin cans adorning the Ferrari—although the sleek car had escaped the indignity of slogans painted all over it in shaving foam; his nephews probably weren’t yet aware of the handiness of such a weapon, Simon had commented when he stopped on a quiet side road discreetly out of sight of the guests, and got out to remove the offending articles.
Glad of an opportunity to break the stifling silence which had seemed to fill the interior of the car the moment they left the reception, India said eagerly that they seemed very pleasant boys.
‘They are—Mel’s a lucky man both in his wife and his children.’
‘He is,’ India agreed warmly. ‘Alison is a lovely person.’ Her face clouded as she remembered the other woman’s tired face. ‘I’m only worried that the work of giving us such a lovely reception might have proved too much for her in her present condition. Did you notice how tired she looked?’
She was startled when Simon stopped the car, resting his forearms on the wheel as he turned to look at her, an expression she could not define in his eyes.
‘You’re one real nice lady, Mrs Simon Herries,’ he told her with an exaggerated transatlantic drawl. ‘Do you know that? And while we’re on the subject it seems that I owe you yet another apology. Ursula and I had a most interesting discussion while you were upstairs repairing the damage caused by that glass of champagne she slung over you. Did you know that she was the one who told the Press about us?’
‘I suspected,’ India confessed. ‘In fact I tried to tell you in the car that time, but you made me so furious that I couldn’t get through to you.’
Something about the way Simon was regarding her was making her pulses race, her heart thumping unsteadily as she tried not to let her own eyes drop. A ridiculous shyness washed over her, and she didn’t realise that she was fidgeting nervously with her seat-belt, until firm warm fingers closed over her own, uncurling them from the strip of fabric, and lifting them to lips that for the first time since she had known their owner seemed to be curling upwards in a smile. And what a smile! Her heart lurched and then suddenly started beating erratically, as she stared upwards as mesmerised as a small rabbit caught in the powerful glare of the Ferrari’s headlights.
‘You know,’ Simon commented conversationally, ‘if I didn’t know you better I’d think you were nervous. What of?’ he asked her unexpectedly. ‘That I’ll go back on my promise and claim the rights this—–’ he touched the plain gold band adorning her finger beneath the magnificent square-cut emerald engagement ring he had given her—‘gives me?’
‘Oh no, I’m sure you wouldn’t… wh-what I mean… I’m sure you’d never go back on your word,’ she managed huskily in the end.
‘Umm. Which leaves me in something of a quandary, doesn’t it? Either I prove that I’m a rogue whose word means nothing, or I run the risk of having my very attractive wife turn to someone else for consolation following the neglect of her husband.’
India couldn’t understand him in this changed mood, and her eyes, green mirrors of bewilderment, showed her bemusement.
‘Shall we try and start again?’ Simon suggested softly. ‘We’re married now—for better, for worse—let’s try and make it for better. Not perhaps straight away. I’m prepared to give you time to get used to me, but,’ he smiled again, this time teasingly, ‘we both know that we aren’t indifferent to one another, eh? You see, India, my own parents were divorced, and because of the misery I suffered, I’ve always sworn that I’d never inflict on any child of mine the trauma I experienced. It’s a terrible thing for a child to be torn between its parents.’
‘I know,’ India agreed in a low voice. ‘I feel the same way.’
‘There you are! We’re both in agreement, and I believe that with a lot of goodwill and patience we can make this marriage work…’
‘For the sake of the baby I might be carrying?’ India asked slowly, not knowing quite why she felt impelled to differentiate between the situation should she be pregnant and the situation should they discover that she was not after all.
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sp; ‘Yes. Well, do we have a bargain? A vow from us both to join the other vows we’ve already made today, but this time a private one. A vow that we’ll both try to make this marriage work. When I made love to you…’ he seemed to hesitate as though choosing his words with care, ‘although it sounds facile now to say so, had I known that you were a virgin, that you’d never known a man…’
‘You wouldn’t have made love to me?’ India supplied, forcing a shaky smile ‘I kn…’
‘I’m a man, India, not a saint,’ Simon corrected her with a wry smile. ‘No, what I was going to say was that I would have ensured that the experience was not as… traumatic as it was.’
India looked away, trying to conceal from him the unexpected tears welling in her eyes. Did that mean that he had desired her? That it hadn’t simply been anger that had prompted his actions?
‘I…’ She tried to speak and then shook her head when the words refused to come. Simon’s hand was warm against her chin as he tilted her face upwards.
‘I hurt you—you cried out. Unavoidable perhaps, but I could have been less… brutal, for the lack of another word. I don’t want you to think that what you experienced in my arms on that occasion is the sum total of how it feels to make love. You’re a passionate little thing,’ he added slowly. ‘Surprisingly so when one considers all that cool control you consistently assume. So,’ he said briskly, changing the subject, ‘shall we make that vow?’
Suddenly shy, India could only nod her head, her eyes widening with shock as Simon bent his head, his intention unmistakably clear as his hand slid from her jaw to the back of her head, to tangle in her hair, and secure her against the warmth of his own body as he kissed her; lightly at first, on the eyelids and forehead, before slowly parting her lips with the tip of his tongue, his breath fanning slightly across her skin.
‘You can kiss me back, you know,’ he whispered teasingly in her ear, when she made no attempt to respond, holding herself rigidly in check too terrified to betray how she felt about him to risk the response she knew she would give once she allowed her emotions to get out of hand. ‘In fact you have to. It’s a part of the bargain.’