The Marriage Deal

‘How wise of you,’ purred Erica. ‘It’s always so much better to respect the conventions in these matters, and pretend the marriage has been arranged—such a telling phrase, I always think—for personal rather than business reasons.’

Ashley felt as if a hand was slowly tightening round her throat. ‘Are you insinuating that Jago is marrying me only to gain a stake in Landons?’

‘Hardly a stake, my dear.’ The deadly needle went in and out, doing its work. ‘After all, you’re an only child with neither the physical nor mental capacity to become a—a captain of industry. Your father, naturally, needs someone he can trust to run the company eventually, and who better than a son-in-law and as you were—gratifyingly ready to marry him, and Jago is extremely ambitious, everyone’s satisfied.’

There was a silence. Ashley said flatly, ‘I don’t believe you.’

Erica laughed. ‘Of course not. Why should you? And you have nothing to worry about. Jago will never forget that you’re Daddy’s daughter, and be less than attentive, but you must remember to allow him—a little leeway now, before the noose tightens for ever. So why don’t you go home like a good girl, and wait for him to call you. I’m sure he will, eventually. He tends to have a fairly strict sense of duty,’ she added blandly.

Some guardian angel must have protected Ashley on that nightmare drive to his flat, because she remembered nothing about it.

All the way there, a voice in her head was whispering, ‘It can’t be true—can’t be true …’

And yet suspicion, once planted, was growing like a weed in the sun, sending out deadly tentacles to smother and choke. She had to see Jago, to confront him, and find out once and for all the real truth behind their marriage.

Because, she had to admit, the romance had been a whirlwind affair. She hadn’t seen a great deal of Jago while she was growing up, but after Silas had decided to seek a permanent home base near the company headquarters, they had begun to come into contact with each other.

At first, she had been full of shy admiration, gauche and tongue-tied whenever he was around. As he shared her father’s professional interests, it was inevitable that they should meet. Sometimes he was kind to her, at others, he teased her unmercifully. Gradually, almost in spite of herself, her admiration turned to a kind of hero-worship, and then, bewilderingly, to something much deeper.

Ashley had found she was aching for a glimpse of him, and agonising when this was denied her. She was ecstatic when he noticed her—once he gave her a lift home from the library, and she lived on it for weeks—and miserable when the passenger seat in his car was filled by one of the leggy blondes he seemed to favour. Not that he was always at home by any means. A lot of the time he was away, pursuing his career, immersed in one of the civil engineering projects for which he had trained at university.

‘He’s going straight to the top, that lad,’ Silas had remarked more than once with unveiled satisfaction.

But Jago’s ambitions and professional abilities counted for little with Ashley. For her, he was the focus of all her romantic dreams, and when, right out of the blue, he had rung and invited her to have dinner with him, she had thought she would die of delight.

But she had lived, and it was the start of an idyllic period in her life. Jago dined her, and danced with her, partnering her at tennis, taking her on picnics, and visits to the theatre and cinema.

And when, after six heady weeks, he had asked her to marry him, she had said ‘Yes’ eagerly, with no thought of dissimulation. ‘Gratifyingly ready,’ Erica had said mockingly, she recalled with a shiver of nausea. But it was no more than the truth. She’d been foolishly, blindly ready to allow herself to be handed over in exchange for the Landon empire.

As she drove, a lot of pieces seemed to be coming together in an increasingly terrifying pattern. She remembered the impatience in him, coiled like a spring, when she had drawn back from the growingly explicit demands of his mouth and hands, so different from the gentle restraint he had displayed during the early days of their courtship.

Before he was sure of her, said a small icy voice in her brain.

If he’d really cared for her, wouldn’t he have been prepared to make allowances for her inexperience? she asked herself.

And more troubling still, he had never actually said in so many words that he loved her. He wanted to make love to her, in any way she would permit, but all he had said when she agreed to be his wife, was, ‘Darling Ash, I’ll try and make you happy.’

She’d been more than content with that at the time, but now it seemed a disturbing omission.

At first when she rang the doorbell at his flat, she thought he was still out somewhere, and she was just about to turn away in defeat when she heard the sound of movement inside.

The door opened, and they faced each other. He looked terrible, was her first thought. He was pale, and his eyes were bloodshot, and he seemed to be wearing a dressing gown, and nothing else.

She said anxiously, ‘Jago, are you ill?’ She took a step forward, to be arrested by the sour reek of spirits on his breath. It was something she hadn’t encountered before with him, and it alarmed her.

In his turn, he was staring at her as if he didn’t know who she was, and then she saw a dawning horror in his eyes.

And in the same instant heard a girl’s voice saying with plaintive impatience, ‘Sweetie, aren’t you ever coming back to bed? Get rid of whoever it is and …’ She appeared from the bedroom, wearing nothing but the coverlet from the bed draped round her, none too effectively.

The hand was round Ashley’s throat again, tightening, squeezing …

The girl came forward to Jago’s side. Her eyes, blue and hard as nails, flicked over Ashley dismissively.

‘They say three’s a crowd, don’t they, darling? Or is that the way you like it?’

Jago slumped against the door jamb with a muffled groan.

Ashley wanted to stamp her feet. She wanted to kick, to lash out with her hands, and tear with her nails, and scream. She wanted to damage them, both of them, physically. Mark them as they had smashed her emotionally.

Nausea rose, hot and acrid, in her throat, and she turned and ran down the stairs, not waiting for the lift, and out into the chill of the night air. She leaned against her car, retching miserably, uncaring who might see her or what conclusions they might draw. Then, as soon as she was sufficiently in control of herself, she climbed into the driving seat, and started the engine. She didn’t go home. She drove out of town, and down to the river, parking in the very spot where Jago had proposed to her, sitting white-faced and burning-eyed until dawn.

When she finally returned home, she brushed aside her father’s reproaches and anxious queries, saying merely that she’d had some thinking to do, and needed to be alone. When she’d added that she was no longer going to marry Jago she and Silas had the worst row of their lives.

‘But you can’t throw him over for some whim!’ he’d raged at her. ‘My God, girl, only last week you thought the sun, moon, and stars all shone out of him! And I need him. I need a strong man to run Landons after I’m gone. As your husband he can become chairman after me. As soon as I met him, I knew he was the right man.’

‘Right for me?’ she wanted to ask, wincing. ‘Or merely right for Landons?’ But she’d never voiced the query.

Her magnificent solitaire diamond ring she’d sent back to Jago by company messenger, with a note stating bleakly that she never wanted to see him or hear from him again.

And nor had she, Ashley thought wearily, until now. Until that phone call, like a bolt from the blue.

Not only was her company at risk. With Jago’s return, her precarious peace of mind was threatened. And that, frighteningly, seemed a great deal worse.

CHAPTER TWO

AFTER a while, when she felt a little calmer, she lifted the telephone and dialled.

‘Martin Witham, please,’ she told the receptionist who answered. ‘Tell him Miss Landon is calling.’

She was put through with flattering promptness.

‘Ashley!’ Martin sounded pleased and surprised. ‘Why on earth are you back so soon?’

‘Clearly, you haven’t been reading the financial pages,’ she said lightly. ‘Let’s just say a state of emergency’s been declared and it seemed better to return.’

‘My poor sweet!’ His voice was warm and concerned. ‘Want to tell me all about it over dinner at the Country Club tonight?’

She laughed. ‘That’s exactly what I hoped you’d say,’ she teased. ‘Pick me up at eight?’

‘I’ll be counting the minutes,’ he promised.

She felt better after that. His voice had reassured her, helping to take away the sour taste the earlier call had left.

She’d been seeing Martin for a couple of months, since he’d arrived from London to join a local firm of solicitors. After Jago, Ashley had tended to steer clear of any kind of involvement, but Martin had persuaded her to think again, although he had made it clear from the first that he was in no hurry to rush into any kind of serious relationship. He’d been divorced, he told her, and was still licking his wounds, but he would be glad of some female companionship.

It was an arrangement which suited them both very well. Since Silas’ death, Ashley had been lonelier than she cared to remember, and Martin’s friendship had buoyed her up, just when she needed it most.

And she needed him now, she thought ruefully.

Martin had not told her very much about his marriage, and she was equally reticent on the subject of her broken engagement. Now, she supposed, she would have to tell Martin that her ex-fiancé was back in town, throwing fresh attention on an episode she had hoped was behind her for ever.

She felt depression closing in on her like a cloud, and gave herself a swift mental shake. Sleep was what she needed, and food. She made herself an omelette in her compact kitchen, eating every scrap, then curled up on the living room sofa, emptying her mind, and relaxing her muscles until her intrinsic weariness had its way with her.

When she woke, she felt perceptibly better, refreshed and even relaxed. Which seemed, she thought, to bode well for the evening ahead. She applied her usual light make-up, sprayed herself lavishly with Amazone, then zipped herself into a new dress she’d bought on impulse during her West Indian holiday. It was the colour which had attracted her originally—a clear, vivid emerald, enhancing her eyes.

Her one beauty, she thought critically, as she turned and twisted in front of the mirror, trying to decide whether the dress was too extreme for the sedate delights of the County Club. Certainly, the crossover bodice plunged lower than anything she had worn before, and the back of the dress bared her from the brief halter round her neck almost to the base of her spine. For a moment, she was tempted to change into something more demure, something that reflected the muted businesslike image she tried to project these days. Then she tossed her head, making her glossy hair swing challengingly.

To hell with it, she thought recklessly. Since the night of Jago’s betrayal, she’d lived a kind of half-life. Perhaps it was only right that his return should signal her emergence from her self-imposed chrysalis—proclaiming to the world at large, as well as himself, that she no longer carried even the flicker of a torch for him.

She’d been a fool to react like that to his call, she told herself angrily. She should have been civil but indifferent, instead of letting him know he could still get under her skin. Well, she would know better at their next encounter—if there was one.

Martin’s expression when she admitted him to the flat was evidence, if she needed it, that her change of image was a success. And it reminded her too of how little thought she’d given to her appearance over the past couple of years.

‘The new me,’ she explained. ‘Do you approve?’

‘I’m not sure if “approve” is the word I’m looking for,’ Martin said carefully. ‘May I kiss you, or will it spoil your make-up?’

Ashley went readily into his arms. She was accustomed to the light embraces they exchanged on meeting and parting, and when Martin deliberately prolonged and deepened the kiss, she made no demur. Perhaps it wasn’t just the outer shell she needed to change, she thought, submitting passively to the ardent pressure of his mouth on hers.

She waited for some answering surge in her own blood, but it didn’t happen. Probably she was still too tired and caught off-balance by the past twenty-four hours to be able to conjure up much of a response, she excused herself, as they left for the Club.

It was already quite crowded when they arrived. Martin had booked a corner table, away from the dance floor where a three-piece band played quietly.

‘The usual wide choice, I see,’ he said wryly, handing her a menu. ‘Steak, steak, scampi or steak.’

Ashley smiled at him. ‘And I keep telling you that’s the height of sophistication in this neck of the woods,’ she teased.

‘So you do,’ he muttered. ‘What’s it to be, then?’

‘Melon, please, followed by a fillet steak rare to medium, and a side salad.’

‘And I’ll have the same,’ Martin told the waiter. His hand reached for Ashley’s across the table. ‘We never seem to ask for anything else. Maybe we should make it a standing order.’

‘Maybe,’ Ashley returned neutrally. She returned the pressure of his fingers, but his words troubled her, seeming to signal a permanence she wasn’t ready for. She was relieved when the conversation took a less personal turn. Martin was engaged in litigation work, and he gave a droll description of some of the cases he’d been defending while she way away.

Ashley leaned back in her chair, enjoying the fragrance of the white wine she had asked for as an aperitif, her eyes idly scanning the room as she did so.

‘And when the magistrate asked if he had anything to say, the idiot came back with “But the car always stalls if I drive at less than sixty, Your Worship”,’ Martin was saying, then his voice sharpened. ‘Ashley, what is it? Are you all right?’

Her whole body had tensed, and she could feel the blood draining from her face. Standing in the doorway, looking round the room, was Jago Marrick.

Her first, instinctive thought was how little he had changed in the intervening years. The breach between them had left no mark on him as it had on her, but then why should it? she asked herself bitterly. No doubt he’d regretted the loss of Landons, but he was a success in his own right as Silas had always predicted. Ashley had been nothing more to him than a means to an end.

But it was unfair, she thought, digging her nails into the palms of her hands, that his physical appeal should not have diminished. Outwardly, he was still the man she’d fallen so helplessly in love with.

The lean, graceful body, the lightly curling brown hair, still worn rather longer than convention demanded, the cool, incisive lines of nose, mouth and jaw, had lost none of their impact, thrusting her into sudden unwelcome turmoil.

With a superlative effort she fought for control.

‘It’s all right,’ she said, forcing a little laugh, and inwardly thankful for the comparative seclusion of their table. ‘I—I’m jet-lagged still, I suppose. Perhaps I should have had a quiet evening at home.’

‘Well, you still can,’ Martin assured her promptly. ‘When we’ve eaten, I’ll drive you back.’ He smiled at her. ‘Some cosseting’s what you need.’

She doubted whether she needed anything he had in mind but now was not the time to be talking about that. She felt suddenly like an animal, caught in a snare with the hunter drawing closer …

Get a grip on yourself, she adjured herself, silently and savagely. So he’s here. It’s a public place, and he has as much right to use it as you. But there’s nothing he can do to you any more—nothing …

Martin said with a faint groan, ‘Oh, hell! One of the firm’s most important clients has just come in, and he’s heading this way. I shall have to be civil at least.’

Ashley knew with a sense of sick inevitability who it would be, and nerved herself, her hands clenching into fists in her lap, her face schooled to impassivity.

‘Good evening, Witham.’ Jago stopped beside their table. She made herself look up, her face stretched into a polite smile which felt like a grimace. He wasn’t alone, she saw. Erica was beside him, ethereal in black chiffon, clinging to his arm. The grieving widow’s first public appearance, Ashley decided ironically.

Jago was looking at her now, his brows lifting with faint cynicism as he assimilated her appearance.

‘Ashley,’ he said softly. ‘What a charming surprise.’

‘You know each other?’ asked Martin. ‘I was just about to introduce you.’

‘No need,’ Jago assured him. ‘Ashley and I are old—acquaintances, aren’t we, darling?’

‘You could say that,’ she said shortly. She looked past him to Erica. ‘Please accept my condolences on your sad loss, Mrs Marrick.’

‘Such a terrible shock,’ Erica sighed delicately. ‘But life must go on. That’s what dear Giles would have wanted.’

Remembering the big, bluff man with his booming laugh, Ashley thought this was probably true. At any rate, it absolved Erica from most of the conventions of mourning, she decided cynically.

‘Won’t you join us?’ Martin offered, to Ashley’s horror.

‘We’d be delighted,’ Jago said smoothly, and she had to bite back a gasp of sheer anguish. But nothing could be done; a waiter was already hurrying to lay two extra covers. Ashley’s sole consolation was that Erica seemed no better pleased by the situation than she was herself, judging by the expression she had seen fleetingly cross the widow’s lovely face, and the way her fingers were curving possessively on Jago’s sleeve.

Well, everyone looks for consolation in their own way, she told herself, and turned an artificially radiant smile on Martin.

The meal was a three-dimensional, Technicolored nightmare, with full stereophonic sound. The steaks, when they arrived, were excellent, but Ashley might just as well have been chewing her way through an old handbag for all the enjoyment she derived from hers. Tautly, she declined a dessert when it was offered, and coffee too, praying that Martin would take the hint, and whisk her away as he’d promised.

But Martin wasn’t in the market for hints. Oblivious to any undercurrents, he was leaning back in his chair, being expansive and thoroughly enjoying himself. Taking the opportunity to impress an important client, Ashley thought, then chided herself for being unkind.

She glanced up, and found Jago’s eyes on her. He, she realised resentfully, wasn’t even making an attempt at pretence. Openly and unashamedly, he was staring at her, insolently studying the shape of her breasts under the flimsy bodice, and to her shame and horror she found her body reacting to the calculation of his gaze, the nipples hardening and thrusting against the soft cling of the fabric. And, worst of all, she could tell by the slow smile curling his firm-lipped mouth that her involuntary arousal had not gone unnoticed.

Mortified beyond all bearing, she stared down at the table. What kind of person was she to allow herself to be excited by a look from a man who had treated her as badly as Jago had done? She swallowed, remembering that he had always had that effect on her, no matter how hard she’d tried to resist it. Even in company, one lingering glance from him had been enough to melt her bones, and send sweet fire coursing through her veins. It was only later, alone with him, that the problems had started, shame at her body’s own urgency freezing her into frightened rigidity when he tried to kiss and caress her.

But that was something she neither needed nor wanted to remember, and she tried to turn her attention elsewhere, gazing at the couples moving round the dance floor in time to the music.

Jago leaned towards her. ‘Would you like to dance?’ he asked courteously.

Her voice was stony. ‘No, thank you.’

‘Oh, go on, darling,’ Martin urged jovially. ‘You know you love this tune.’

Had she really admitted that to him? she asked herself despairingly. How could she—when it was a song she’d danced to with Jago over and over again in those first heady days?

‘Then that settles it.’ Jago was standing beside her chair, reaching for her hand, drawing her inexorably to her feet before she could utter any further protest.

She couldn’t free herself without making some kind of scene, and her spirit quailed at the thought of that, so numbly she allowed him to guide her through the encircling tables to the dance floor.

‘I’ll try not to touch any bare skin,’ he said sardonically, as he drew her into his arms. ‘But the design of your dress makes it rather difficult.’

She flushed angrily. ‘Don’t!’

‘Why so sensitive?’ he jeered. ‘You can’t help being the way you are, any more than I can. And you certainly never wanted to be touched—by me, at any rate.’

Ashley shrugged, trying not to flinch from the clasp of his cool fingers, making herself move to the music with him. ‘Why drag up the past?’ she asked shortly. ‘It was a long time ago. I’ve changed. Probably we both have.’

‘In your case, the change is formidable,’ he said softly. ‘What’s brought about this new sophistication? Witham?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Ashley, lifting her chin. ‘If it’s any of your business.’

The tawny eyes glittered down at her. ‘Going to marry him, Ash?’

‘Now that really is none of your business.’ Ashley bit her lip. ‘I’d like to go back to the table, please.’

‘When the dance is over.’ He swung her round, gently but inexorably, making her realise it was impossible to be free without undignified hassle. ‘And isn’t it natural that I should be interested in your plans for the future? After all, they once involved me quite intimately, if you recall.’

‘I’m not likely to forget,’ she said scornfully. ‘I’d have said you’d totally forfeited any right to enquire into my private life. And while we’re on the subject, how did you get hold of my phone number? I’m ex-directory.’

‘Let’s say a little bird told me,’ he said. ‘You seem rather besieged at the moment. I thought you might welcome a friendly call.’

‘Then you miscalculated,’ Ashley said bitingly. ‘I don’t need your interest in my affairs, business or personal. In future, kindly leave me alone.’

Jago gave her a meditative look, his eyes hooded. ‘That isn’t as easy as it sounds. I’d say we were bound to run into each other in a place this size. Don’t you think we should at least practise being civil to each other?’

Ashley tried to quell the inner dismay his words evoked. He seemed to be confirming that he would not, after all, be returning to the States, just as Henry had suggested.

‘It’s a small town indeed,’ she said.’ And rather limiting, I’d have thought, for someone of your ambition. I imagine you can’t wait to go back to America.’

‘Then your imagination is playing you tricks,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I’ll be happy to discuss my plans with you, Ashley, but now is not the time. I didn’t ask you to dance in order to have a serious talk.’

‘No? Then I can only assume you intended to annoy me.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Jago. The most I can call on where you’re concerned is indifference. If anyone’s suffering from any kind of aggravation here tonight, then it’s probably your cousin Erica.’

‘Oh, I think Witham is managing to keep her entertained,’ he said casually. ‘Although he’s a bit of a dull stick.’

‘He’s a decent person,’ Ashley said levelly. ‘Although I suppose decency is a quality that couldn’t be expected to have much appeal for you.’

‘Or to you, my sweet vixen.’ His mouth curled. ‘But I asked you to dance, Ashley, to find out if the change in you is any more than skin deep.’ His hand at her back increased its pressure suddenly, forcing her towards him across the slight decorous distance that separated them. Bringing her body into intimate, objectionable contact with his.