by Daphne Clair
He gave her a penetrating look. ‘I’m not going to be “seeing” other women while we’re together, Shannon, if that’s what you mean. Except in a strictly platonic sense.’
‘I didn’t mean to imply anything,’ she denied. ‘You’re free to do as you like.’
‘I don’t believe in open marriages.’ He paused. ‘So I hope you don’t think that you are “free” in that sense.’
‘I have other things to think about than sex.’
‘Obviously.’ His mouth went tight. ‘Are you telling me you wouldn’t be concerned if I were sleeping with other women?’
How could she say the very thought made her feel sick—and furious? After all, she was denying him what used to be called a man’s marital rights. ‘As long as you’re discreet,’ she said with difficulty, ‘I won’t complain.’
‘Oh, you won’t?’ he said grimly. ‘Then you wouldn’t mind if I brought another woman here for the night?’
The hair at the back of her neck tingled. ‘I didn’t say you could flaunt your affairs in my face!’
‘There won’t be any affairs!’ He stood up, and in two strides was leaning over her, his hands on the back of the sofa, trapping her. His eyes blazed. ‘Not on my part and not on yours. Is that clear?’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘OR WHAT?’ Shannon defied him, her own eyes angry. ‘What are you going to do? Beat me?’
‘Don’t tempt me.’ Devin straightened. ‘You know damn well I wouldn’t physically abuse you. But I won’t stand by and let you break our agreement in spirit or in principle. You’re sailing dangerously close to the wind as it is.’
‘Is that a threat?’
Of course it was. If he withheld the rest of the money he’d promised, the whole project would fall apart. She supposed she was lucky he hadn’t used the possibility to coerce her into sex.
He shoved both hands into his pockets. ‘I’m not threatening you, Shannon. It’s a reminder that you’re still my wife and you promised to act as such…at least for a time.’
‘How could I forget?’ she flung at him, still angry. ‘I’m living with you, aren’t I? Sleeping in the same bed.’
‘Do you hate it so much?’ He looked down at her, his eyes veiled by the dark, straight lashes.
There were times when she didn’t, when they nearly slipped back into the companionship they’d enjoyed years ago. But always there was the knowledge that the so-called reconciliation was artificial. ‘Of course I hate it,’ she answered him. ‘What do you expect when you know you got me here against my will?’ Her deep chagrin and resentment that he had manipulated her into accepting his condition added to the undercurrent of tension between them.
He continued looking at her for several seconds, and then turned and walked across the room to the big window with its magnificent view of the harbour. ‘What would you have done,’ he said remotely, ‘if I’d simply asked you to come back, try to rebuild our marriage?’
She didn’t know. If she’d any sense she would have refused to put herself through that, with the distinct probability of reliving months of disillusion and pain. But he had given her no choice. Or rather, had made the choice into a humiliating quid pro quo. And that was hard to forgive, impossible to forget. A lump in her throat impeding her voice, she said acridly, ‘You’ll never know, will you? It’s too late now to find out.’
And with that she got up and left him standing at the window with the dark night sky behind him.
The following evening Devin hadn’t yet come home when the telephone rang just before nine and Shannon answered it.
There was a short silence, then an older woman’s voice said, ‘Shannon?’
Her spine stiffened. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘How are you, Marcia?’
‘I’m well…thank you,’ Devin’s mother said. ‘What are you doing there?’
Living with your son. ‘Devin hasn’t told you?’ Shannon said, silently cursing him. ‘We’re…together again. For a while.’
‘A while?’ Marcia Keynes’ voice rose slightly above its usually modulated tone. ‘What does that mean?’
‘We…we’re having a trial reconciliation.’ Devin’s euphemism was as good as any. ‘Can I give him a message?’
‘He’s…you’re…thinking of getting married again?’
‘We were never actually divorced,’ Shannon pointed out. Another echo of Devin.
‘As good as,’ his mother said tartly. ‘After all, you left him, didn’t you?’ she accused. ‘Do you mean you’ve changed your mind?’
‘It was Devin’s idea,’ Shannon said.
‘Well…I must say you’ve surprised me.’
And she clearly wasn’t pleased.
‘Shall I give him a message?’ Shannon offered again, not anxious to prolong this conversation.
After a short silence Marcia said stiltedly, ‘I wanted to be sure he hadn’t forgotten his father’s birthday dinner on Friday. Perhaps you would ask him to ring me when he comes in?’
‘Certainly.’ Shannon wondered if he would, and face up to a cross-examination from his mother.
‘Thank you. Goodnight.’
The phone clicked in her ear, and Shannon replaced the receiver with a faint, wry twist to her mouth.
When Devin came in an hour later she said, ‘Your mother phoned to remind you of your father’s birthday party. She didn’t know I was living here.’
‘I haven’t seen my parents since you moved in.’
‘You didn’t think to pick up the phone and tell them?’
‘No. What did she say to you?’
‘She didn’t say anything much. She’d like you to call her back.’
‘Tonight?’ Devin glanced at his watch.
‘I think she’ll be waiting up until you do.’
He picked up the portable receiver from the telephone and dialled, crossing to the cabinet that held drinks. Glancing at Shannon he asked, ‘Would you like something?’
‘A red wine, thanks.’ Obviously he wasn’t bothering to make the phone call private.
He poured the wine one-handed and gave it to her as he said into the phone, ‘Mother…Shannon said you wanted to speak to me.’
Turning away, he returned to pour a wine for himself. ‘Yes, we are…no, it’s quite recent…I’ve been busy.’
He sat down opposite Shannon and shifted the receiver a little to sip his drink. ‘I hadn’t forgotten. I’ll be there—with Shannon if she’s free.’
Even as Shannon looked up, startled, his voice hardened. ‘She’s my wife, Mother. If I’m invited, so is Shannon.’ Then after a second or two, ‘Thank you. Why don’t you ask her yourself?’
Shannon made an agitated signal of negation but he ignored it, passing her the phone.
Reluctantly she took it from him. ‘Marcia?’
‘Shannon…of course you’re welcome to join us on Friday,’ Marcia said coolly. ‘Ralph will be pleased to see you again.’
Marcia had obviously had a battle between her instinct and her rigidly entrenched good manners, but couldn’t quite bring herself to pretend that she ever wanted to see her son’s ex-wife again. Devin’s father, though, had what his wife called with a sort of acerbic tolerance ‘an eye for a pretty face,’ and after a rocky beginning Shannon had got along quite well with him.
‘Thank you.’ Shannon tried to sound grateful, while glaring at Devin. ‘That’s very…kind,’ she added before handing back the phone to him.
He rang off almost immediately, and she said, ‘There was no need for that. Of course I won’t go.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t like being where I’m not wanted, for one thing.’
‘What makes you think you’re not wanted?’
She cast him a glance full of scorn. ‘You forced her into inviting me.’
‘No one has to force my mother to remember the normal courtesies. She just takes a while to adjust to a new situation.’
Marcia had never adjusted to his marriage, but Shannon h
eld her tongue about that. ‘I won’t go,’ she said again. ‘It’s a family occasion.’
‘You are family,’ Devin insisted. ‘And I’d like you to be there.’
‘Whatever for? Just to prove you only have to whistle and I’ll come to heel?’
His voice was mild but his eyes had cooled. ‘I want my family to see that we’re together.’
‘Rubbing their noses in it? They already know you can’t be made to conform to what they want. I think that’s half the reason you married me in the first place. You knew they’d disapprove and you wanted to fling me in their faces.’
Impatience lit his eyes. ‘When I met you I was way past the teenage rebellion stage. You know perfectly well I fell for you hook, line and sinker. The last thing on my mind was using you as some kind of weapon.’
‘You told me what a struggle it was to strike out on your own, your father assuming you’d go into the family firm and eventually take over from him.’
‘My sister will make a much better fist of it. Her heart’s in the printing business, and mine never was.’
‘They use your machines.’
‘Because they’re the best on the market. I never asked for any favours and was never given any.’
‘So why are you determined that your family has to accept me? They never thought I was good enough for you and they’re hardly likely to change their minds now. What’s the point?’
‘No one ever said you weren’t good enough!’
‘No one needed to. They’re far too polite to spell out what was blindingly obvious.’
His mother’s delicate interrogation and pityingly raised eyebrows had certainly implied that a farmer’s daughter from the wilds of Northland with no living relatives and no proper ‘background’ was hardly a suitable bride for a Keynes.
Shannon had been twelve when her mother died after a short, painful illness, and she’d done her best to help her father keep the farm going. At sixteen she’d left school, and although jobs in the nearest town were scarce she’d secured part-time work at the local cinema. During the day she worked on the farm, and in the evenings she drove into town to sell tickets, usher in patrons, and dole out ice-cream and coffee before and after the shows.
And in between she sat at the back of the theatre and watched the larger-than-life characters on screen. The fantasy world of films was an antidote to the hard physical reality of the farm and the loneliness that went with it.
Watching in snatches, she’d seen some scenes over and over, missed others altogether, but become fascinated by the techniques of bringing a story to life. She hired videos, playing them again and again to study their structure, and borrowed books from the library about films and film-making.
One evening just before Shannon’s nineteenth birthday her father didn’t come in for his dinner, and in growing anxiety she went out into the gathering darkness and a fine Northland drizzle, eventually discovering his overturned tractor on a hillside, his twisted, mangled body beneath it.
The sale of the farm left very little money after mortgage payments had been taken care of, and she’d moved to Auckland where work was easier to find and opportunities less limited. She’d spent her meagre inheritance on a course in film-making, and after that had taken whatever jobs she could find in the industry, often working for nothing while she survived on an unemployment benefit. Then she’d begun to be offered paid positions, and over the next few years climbed the ladder to a job as second assistant director on a feature film before she met Devin.
It was a fluke meeting when they both became involved in a rush-hour mishap on the motorway. Shannon had been forced to take evasive action to avoid hitting a car that had spun out on the wet road in front of her, and as she changed lanes Devin’s bumper clipped her rear, so that her car too went into a spin. She’d hit the median bar between opposing streams of traffic, careened back across the road—miraculously missing other cars that were screeching and ducking to avoid the original collision—and ended up facing the wrong way on the verge.
Devin drew up in front of her and leapt out, racing to open her door and demand, ‘Are you hurt?’
Shaking, she said, ‘No, I don’t think so.’
He reached across to switch off her ignition and unfasten her safety belt. ‘Can you move? Be careful, and stop if anything hurts.’
Relieved, she’d found that nothing did.
Devin called the police and they both gave statements before Shannon’s car was towed away. When it was all sorted and they’d exchanged cards for insurance purposes, Devin, whose Mercedes had got off lightly, said, ‘Can I drive you somewhere?’
Still in a state of dazed shock, she said, ‘Thank you. I have a meeting with a producer…’ Then, glancing at her watch, added, ‘I’ll have to phone and ask if we can reschedule.’
After she’d done that he suggested a quiet cup of coffee. ‘Or something stronger? I doubt if you’re always as pale as you are now.’
She couldn’t recall what they had talked about, only that his solid presence helped her jumping nerves, and his occasional dry humour, delivered with a grave face, made her laugh.
The cup of coffee had become two, then three, then lunch. Maybe because they were aware how near they had been to disaster, the normal social constraints dropped quickly away.
She felt she’d always known him.
When they parted Devin caught at her hand and said, ‘May I phone you? And not about the insurance.’
‘I’d like that,’ she’d replied honestly, and smiled at him.
He didn’t smile back. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘I should be thanking you! You’ve been very kind, and given me a lot of your time.’
He laughed then. ‘This isn’t kindness, Shannon. It’s sheer self-interest. Apart from the initial…impact, and the few seconds when I thought you might be injured, I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in months. I’d like to see you again.’
He had, as often as they could snatch time together in the next few weeks, and behind his natural reserve she’d glimpsed a side of him that she later realised was seldom on view. Tenderness, warmth tinged with humour, and even raw passion. He was like no other man she’d ever met, the only one who could for a little time make her forget her burning ambition, put her single-minded passion for her work aside.
In less than two months he’d asked her to marry him, and she’d said yes without even thinking about it.
And then he’d taken her to meet his family.
Mrs Keynes appeared to have a deep-rooted distrust of anyone working in ‘entertainment’ with the possible exception of opera, ballet, and symphony orchestras. Her husband had progressed from disapproval to a slightly heavy-handed Dutch-uncle acceptance. Once he had confided that while Devin’s stubborn streak could be damned inconvenient Ralph respected his son’s strong will and determination. ‘I see some of the same qualities in you,’ he said, ‘and Devin admires you for them…but watch out if you have a real difference of opinion. He doesn’t like to be crossed.’
How true that was, she had soon discovered. And it didn’t seem he had changed very much.
If she wasn’t going to have sex with Devin, she could at least be scrupulous about keeping to the other terms of their agreement. So on Friday evening she dressed with care in a bias-cut black dress, hung a couple of fine gold chains around her neck, and swathed a gold mesh scarf about her shoulders, hoping she looked subdued enough to meet the Keynes’ standards.
Marcia’s greeting was superbly gracious, and Ralph kissed her cheek and squeezed her waist, apparently happy to see her.
Devin’s sister, Lila, gave her a reserved smile, and her husband, a quiet, pleasant man named Payton Ellis who ran a modest import-export business, surprised Shannon with a brief hug as he said, ‘Nice to see you again, Shannon. We’ve missed you.’
Perhaps he was glad to have an ally of sorts among the forceful Keynes clan.
Pre-dinner drinks were offered, and the atmosphere became les
s strained. During the meal Marcia and Lila inquired politely about Shannon’s recent success, and Lila admitted to having seen Heart of the Wilderness. Her husband expanded enthusiastically on that, and Shannon was relieved to turn to him and listen to his comments.
Later, while Lila helped her mother serve coffee in the lounge, Ralph patted the sofa beside him and said, ‘Shannon, come and talk to me.’
Shannon obeyed, conscious of Devin watching from across the room. Then Payton leaned over and engaged his attention as Lila handed coffee to her father and Shannon.
‘So,’ Ralph said, casting Shannon a frankly inquisitive look, ‘you two are back together.’
She answered cautiously. ‘We’re…seeing how things go.’
‘I hope they go well. My son needs someone like you.’
Startled, she said, ‘You didn’t think so at first.’
‘I was concerned about the suddenness of it all. Out of character for Devin to be bowled over by a pretty face, but I could soon tell that you’re much more than that.’
‘He knows lots of prettier women than me.’
‘Don’t underestimate yourself, my dear—Devin knows quality when he sees it.’ Reaching out to pat her hand, Ralph said, ‘It’s nice to have you back where you belong.’
‘Thank you, but I don’t think everyone feels…’ She didn’t finish the thought as her eyes went involuntarily to Ralph’s wife and daughter, now seated side by side on another sofa.
‘Don’t worry about Marcia and Lila,’ Ralph advised. ‘If Devin wants you they’ll come round. They’re both very fond of him, you know. That’s why they were angry with you for leaving him.’
She supposed they were. And if they had doubts about this apparent reconciliation she could hardly blame them. ‘I don’t think they ever liked me very much,’ she murmured.
‘They don’t dislike you, Shannon!’ Ralph chided. ‘I think they were a little daunted by you.’
Shannon almost choked on a mouthful of coffee, putting the cup back in its saucer with a clatter. ‘Daunted? How?’