Marriage Reclaimed

‘No, and no.’ Joanna forced a reassuring smile. ‘I have a lot of things to see to.’

‘Yes, Mrs Verne.’ The other woman hesitated awkwardly. ‘Will you want me to move your things—to the master bedroom? Mr Gabriel told me last night he wanted it to be prepared, and I didn’t know…’

Joanna’s smile felt as if it had been welded there.

‘Mr Gabriel’s arrangements are his own business, Mrs Ashby. However, while I remain at the Manor I shall continue to use this room.’

‘Yes, of course, madam.’ The older woman’s kind face was a picture of embarrassment. ‘What about all the late Mr Verne’s things?’

Joanna bit her lip. ‘I’ll speak to Mr Gabriel. Ask what he wants done. Then we’ll sort through them together.’

That was one difficult moment survived, she thought resignedly when she was alone again, but there would undoubtedly be more to follow.

She followed her usual routine of pouring her tea, then taking the cup into the bathroom while she ran a bath for herself, scenting it generously with foaming bath oil in a clove carnation fragrance.

By the time she’d finished her tea, the water was just as she liked it. She slipped off her chiffon nightdress and slid with a sigh into the perfumed bubbles, closing her eyes and leaning back against the quilted headrest.

Usually she had her day mapped out, but now, in spite of her positive words to Mrs Ashby, she had no clear idea of what lay ahead of her.

Did Gabriel wish her to go on running the house in the old way, or did he plan to give the orders now?

That was something else she would have to ask him about, she reflected without pleasure. She tried to think of a way to frame the question that wouldn’t sound as if she was pleading for her old status.

‘It’s dangerous to sleep in the bath. Or is this a planned drowning?’

Because she’d been thinking about him, it took Joanna a couple of seconds to realise that Gabriel’s faintly amused drawl was not just in her mind.

She gasped, nearly inhaling a mouthful of bubbles, her head turning in shock towards the bathroom door.

He was lounging in the doorway, totally at ease, the tawny eyes scanning the concealing foam with lazy appreciation.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’

Joanna remembered just in time not to sit up.

‘I came to tell you I’m going to be away for some while,’ he returned. ‘I have a meeting in Paris, and another in Vienna later in the week.’

‘All right, you’ve told me,’ she said tersely. ‘Now you can get out.’

Gabriel’s brows lifted. ‘I can’t say your manners have improved during our separation,’ he remarked coldly. ‘Not that it makes any real difference. I’ll leave when I’m ready.’

‘In other words, I’m to be allowed no privacy at all,’ Joanna said with a snap.

‘If that was really the case,’ he said gently, ‘you wouldn’t have been alone in that bed last night. And you’d certainly have my company in that bath this morning.’ He watched a wave of indignant colour invade her face and nodded. ‘So stop being absurd and listen.’

She said between her teeth, ‘Yes, master.’

He laughed. ‘You’re getting the idea. Did Mrs Ashby speak to you about Lionel’s room?’

‘She mentioned it.’ Joanna hesitated, the image of him kneeling beside Lionel’s bed in her mind. ‘Isn’t this a—little soon?’

‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But I don’t want it to turn into some kind of shrine, dusted once a week and everything the way he left it. I want life to get back to normal round here as soon as possible.’

‘You have a strange idea of normal.’ Joanna could feel the water getting colder. She was also becoming cramped through lying so still, but she dared not move.

‘Why, darling,’ he said mockingly, ‘is this your shy way of telling me you’d like ours to be a conventional marriage?’ He shrugged off his jacket, tossed it onto a chair, and began to loosen his tie. ‘Perhaps I’ll join you after all.’

‘You’ll do nothing of the kind.’ The breath caught in her throat as Gabriel moved across to the bath and sat down on its broad rim. ‘Go away.’ Her voice sounded hoarse and uneven. ‘Get out of here. Now.’

He said, ‘No, darling. Not quite yet.’

Paralysed, Joanna watched his hand descend towards the surface of the water. For a moment Gabriel allowed it to hover tantalisingly, barely an inch from her quivering body, then he scooped up some of the fragrant foam, lifting it to his face.

He said softly, ‘Now this evokes some memories. Each time I’ve encountered clove carnations in the past two years, I’ve thought of the scent of your skin in the darkness.’

‘Don’t expect me to be flattered,’ Joanna returned grittily.

‘No, I accept that’s too much to hope for.’ His dark face inscrutable, he gently blew the bubbles from his palm. ‘Don’t you have any memories, Joanna?’

‘None that I care to recall.’ Her tone was curt.

‘And no curiosity, either? Haven’t you ever wondered how it might be between a man and a woman? Or how it should be?’

‘Never.’

‘That’s a shame.’ Gabriel dipped an idle hand into the water again. Joanna remained like a statue, determined not to flinch. ‘Because I’ve wondered a great deal—about you, about myself. About the fact that we’re both two years older, and, hopefully, wiser. That maybe there are things we could both learn from each other—before we part.’

His smile slanted down at her, and she felt deep inside her an answering twist of pain, mixed with—what? Regret—yearning? She couldn’t be sure. And didn’t want to find out.

‘I mean,’ he went on softly, moving the water gently with his fingers, ‘I wouldn’t want you to go out into the world thinking those few doomed encounters between us was all there was to it.’

‘So what are you offering?’ Joanna loaded her tone with contempt. ‘A quick course in sexual gratification?’ She shook her head. ‘Not for me. But I’m sure you won’t lack for willing applicants,’ she added cuttingly. ‘You never have.’

‘What a pity.’ The tawny gaze undertook another lingering survey. ‘Because those pretty bubbles are beginning to melt, opening up all kinds of interesting perspectives. Sure you won’t change your mind?’

‘Certain.’ She was trembling inside, but somehow managed to keep her tone even. ‘And now may I make something clear?’ She drew a deep breath. ‘If this kind of—harassment continues, it’s going to make it impossible for me to remain here—whatever the consequences.’

‘Sexual harassment between husband and wife?’ His brows drew together meditatively. ‘I wonder if that exists in law?’

‘I neither know nor care,’ she returned steadily. ‘I’m not talking legalities, but on a personal level. You may find these—games of yours amusing, but I don’t. The only way this arrangement can work is by each of us keeping out of the other’s way.’

‘You really think that’s the sole solution?’

‘I know it is.’

He shrugged. ‘Then we’ll play it your way. God forbid my foul lust should drive you away,’ he added derisively. He bent forward, running a hand swiftly over her bare shoulder. ‘And you’re freezing. It’s time you came out of that water.’ He got up and fetched the towelling robe which hung on the bathroom door. ‘Here, put this on,’ he directed brusquely.

Freezing? Suddenly she was burning, consumed by some strange and terrifying flame.

She set her teeth. ‘In my own good time.’

He laughed. ‘You mean you’d rather risk pneumonia than allow me a fleeting glimpse of you naked? Now, are you underestimating my self-control—or overestimating the effect of your own charms? However, we won’t debate the point now.’

‘Or ever,’ she snapped back.

‘All avenues of communication safely closed off?’ He shook his head. ‘You disappoint me, sweetheart. But from now on it’ll be strictly business.’

He draped the robe unhurriedly within reach, directed one last appreciative look downwards, then became instantly and impersonally brisk, leaving Joanna to grind her teeth in impotent rage.

‘With regard to Lionel’s clothes and belongings. I’d like them stored in another room, please, so I can go through them at my leisure.’

‘If that’s what you want,’ she acknowledged stiffly.

‘It isn’t, particularly.’ Gabriel grimaced. ‘It’s a lousy job, but I can’t, in conscience, wish it on anyone else.’

He picked up his jacket, slung it over one shoulder, and turned to go. Then he paused. ‘By the way, one last thought.’ His tone was abrupt, and Joanna tensed again. ‘As Larkspur Cottage is empty, why don’t you rent it to Cynthia for the next twelve months? Apparently she’s always had a hankering to live there.’

‘I suppose you discussed it last night—over the hors d’oeuvres?’ Joanna made her tone poisonously sweet, then regretted it.

But he smiled at her, unfazed. ‘Over the coffee and Armagnac, actually. But it’s entirely up to you. It’s going to be your property, after all. Think it over, and tell her your decision.’

Then he was gone. And a moment later she heard her bedroom door close.

She sat up gingerly, feeling slightly giddy. As she glanced down she realised with annoyance that her nipples had tautened to hard, rosy peaks in the cooling water, and hoped very much that they weren’t one of the perspectives Gabriel had referred to.

She climbed out, reaching for the robe and huddling it on with a shiver, thankful that it wasn’t Gabriel’s hands arranging the folds of fabric around her.

As it might have been. And the shock of that realisation made her breathless. As, indeed, had her body’s helpless reaction to the brief touch of his hand on her shoulder.

If this unwanted confrontation had taught her anything, it was that she was by no means impervious to Gabriel, and she needed to be.

She would have to armour herself somehow, she thought grimly. And his absence over the next few days would give her the opportunity to do so.

Nor would she again allow herself to be this physically vulnerable. She would call a locksmith immediately, and have her bedroom door made secure.

But how to keep the thought of him out of her heart—and the remembrance of him out of her bloodstream—was another matter entirely.

She would give Sadie a hand in the stables, Joanna decided as she dressed in breeches, boots and a heavy sweater, and then she’d help her exercise her charges. Some strenuous hard work was what she needed to take her mind off her personal problems. Besides, the horses hadn’t had much attention in the past few days, and would probably be kicking down the doors of their boxes.

She wondered what Gabriel would do with Nutkin, the gelding Lionel had been riding when he died. He was a strong, powerful beast, and Joanna wasn’t altogether sure she could handle him, or if she even ought to try.

She sighed silently as she descended the stairs. This was just one of the matters needed a decision from Gabriel. She would have to make a list.

As she reached the foot of the stairs she encountered Cynthia, just emerging from the dining room. Joanna, aware that her stepmother rarely stirred out of her room until midday, gave her a surprised look.

‘Could I have a word?’ Cynthia’s expression was that of a cat who’d been awarded if not the cream, a very large saucer of milk.

‘Fine.’ Joanna paused. ‘Is there any coffee left?’

‘Plenty. Why?’

Joanna shrugged. ‘We may as well make any discussion as civilised as possible,’ she countered, walking into the dining room and filling a cup from the heavy silver pot.

‘Darling.’ Cynthia draped herself decoratively on one of the high-backed dining chairs. ‘I’m perfectly prepared to be as civilised as you could wish.’

Provided you do as I want, Joanna supplied silently.

She took the chair opposite. ‘I suppose this concerns Larkspur Cottage.’

‘It does indeed.’ Her stepmother assumed a vaguely injured expression. ‘I can’t imagine what Lionel was thinking of to leave the place to you. I thought that he and I were in complete agreement about it.’

Joanna bit her lip. ‘I don’t think Lionel was considering anyone’s personal wishes when he drew up his will.’

‘No.’ Cynthia’s eyes sparked with sudden malice. ‘Or he wouldn’t have put in that absurd clause about Gabriel having to stay married to you for another year. The poor sweet looked positively murderous when it was read out.’

‘Indeed,’ Joanna said politely. ‘Then what a pity I only fainted instead of actually dropping dead from shock. Think of the trouble it would have saved.’

Cynthia’s crimson lips tightened. ‘What nonsense you talk sometimes.’

‘Well, you won’t have to put up with it much longer,’ Joanna said cheerfully. ‘Not if you move to Larkspur Cottage.’

‘Then you’re willing to rent it to me?’ Cynthia sounded surprised.

‘Why not?’

Her stepmother shrugged. ‘It occurred to me that you might try to put a spoke in my wheel. Play dog in the manger.’ A slight acid entered her voice.

‘If it comes to that, the place doesn’t actually belong to me yet,’ Joanna pointed out levelly. ‘Henry Fortescue and Gabriel are joint executors. Presumably they have no objection.’

‘Well, Gabriel certainly doesn’t.’ Cynthia stretched voluptuously. ‘It was all his own idea.’ She looked at Joanna from under her lashes. ‘But I don’t suppose he told you that. After all, it wouldn’t be very tactful—under the circumstances.’

Joanna had the strangest feeling that she’d just been pierced to the heart with a spear of ice.

Her voice, too, seemed to be coming from some far distance. And to belong to a stranger. ‘In other words, it’s more convenient for both of you to conduct your affair under a different roof. No, he’d hardly be likely to mention that.’

Cynthia shrugged again. ‘Naturally, he’d want to spare your feelings, darling. While you’re still officially his wife, that is.’

Joanna recovered herself. ‘But you, clearly, have no such compunction.’ Her tone was dry.

Cynthia laughed. ‘Well, I’d already told you my intentions.’

‘Does Gabriel know that?’

‘Well, hardly.’ Cynthia’s tone was dismissive. ‘Men are such egotists, darling. He wouldn’t want to know you’d given your permission, as it were. I expect, in his heart of hearts, he’d much prefer to think you minded—that you still cared—a little.’

She got to her feet. ‘Now I think I’ll go and have a look round the cottage. It’s partly furnished, I know, but there are things I’ll need to get.’ She smiled slowly. ‘A bigger bed, for starters.’ She paused, allowing that to be absorbed. Then, ‘Tell Mrs Ashby that I won’t be in for lunch, there’s a dear.’

Joanna watched her leave the room. Her whole body ached with tension, and there was a weird drumming in her ears.

Cynthia’s news should have come as a welcome relief, yet its effect had been the opposite. She felt dizzy—crucified with emotional pain. And she knew why, and for the first time was prepared to admit it.

‘I do mind.’ She said the anguished words aloud. ‘God help me, I do care. And somehow I’m going to have to live with this.’

She shook her head. How could she have been such a fool—so blind, so stubborn? How had she failed to see that even the fiasco of their failed marriage could not kill the love and longing that Gabriel had always engendered in her? Pride and a sense of betrayal might have driven it underground, but could never destroy it.

And this was the truth she now had to face. Now, at the very moment that Gabriel had chosen to begin an affair.

Somehow, she told herself, I’ve got to hide the pain and simply pretend—to Cynthia, to the staff, to all our friends and acquaintances. And to Gabriel. She swallowed. Oh, God, particularly to Gabriel. I must never—ever let him know. I’ve told him the marriage is over—if it ever really began—and that’s how it must remain.

She drew a deep breath. He’s creating a new life for himself. And whatever I may think about it, it’s what he’s chosen, she thought, biting her lip until she could taste blood. And I’ve got to do the same. Because hoping that Gabriel might change—that he might love me as his wife in the way that I need to be loved—is a futile exercise.

Oh, he’d take me to bed, if I gave him the chance. He’s no angel, after all, and I must be one of his few failures, so he has something to prove. But it wouldn’t change a thing—because sex without love is meaningless—a travesty, and I couldn’t bear it.

So, by holding him at arm’s length I’ve done something right, at least, even if I didn’t realise it at the time.

She lifted her chin. She’d made believe that she didn’t love Gabriel—didn’t want him—for nearly three years. Up to a few minutes ago she’d even deceived herself. Until another woman—and Cynthia, of all people—had shown her the truth about herself.

She thought, If I can go on pretending for another year.

But she knew, all the same, in spite of her brave thoughts, that ahead of her were the twelve longest, loneliest and most desolate months of her entire life.

CHAPTER SIX

WORK kept her going, coupled with the kindness of friends and neighbours. She rode out each day with Sadie, took the dogs for long walks, helped clear the winter debris from the garden, and worked out a regime for spring cleaning the entire house with Mrs Ashby.

They began, as instructed, with the massive master bedroom, packing Lionel’s clothes and personal effects into boxes in a strained and careful silence. The room had been decorated the previous year, so all that was really needed, after a thorough cleaning, was to change the curtains at the windows and around the massive four-poster bed.

Lionel had favoured a rather florid deep red, but Joanna found some much lighter drapes in a subtle olive-green, and these were pressed and hung.

For the bed she chose the best Irish linen sheets and pillowcases, adding a quilted satin coverlet that combined the olive of the curtains with shades of amber and dark brown in an intricate pattern. But she couldn’t bring herself to assist Mrs Ashby in making it up. There was only so much she could reasonably be expected to stand, she thought, beating a hasty retreat on the mendacious grounds that Sadie needed her in the stables.

Not that Gabriel would be spending many nights there anyway.

She found she was spending as much time away from the house as she could, accepting with genuine gratitude the invitations to lunch and dinner that were pressed on her by local people.

Some of the invitations, she knew, were impelled by curiosity too. Rumours of Lionel’s will and its strange provisions had inevitably leaked out, and people, aware of the separation between Gabriel and herself, were bound to speculate—and attempt a little delicate probing.

Joanna stone-walled the questions, and evaded committing herself about the future.

Not difficult, when she herself had no idea where she would go or what she would do.

On the face of it, she could take the easy option. Endure the year, then find a property well away from Westroe and its memories, and live on the income that Lionel had provided for that purpose. But she knew that wouldn’t do.

I’ve hidden from life for too long already, she thought. I need a career—some direction to my existence. Something that will stop me thinking…

But none of the plans she hatched for herself during the restless nights held any appeal in the merciless light of morning.

Get through one day at a time, she adjured herself. That’s as much as you can hope for at present.

Cynthia’s coming removal to Larkspur Cottage had also aroused discreet comment, but again Joanna refused to be drawn.

Anyway, if the local grapevine was working with its usual efficiency, they would all soon know what the score was, she thought unhappily. And then she’d have to endure them all feeling sorry for her.

Their sympathy for her over Lionel she could welcome, but to be pitied because her husband was having a blatant fling with her stepmother was a very different matter.

Cynthia’s preparations were in full swing already. She was rarely at the Manor during the day at all, which, as Joanna silently admitted, suited her fine.

Henry Fortescue was drawing up a lease for the cottage, although he’d looked down his nose at the token rent which Joanna had suggested. But then he probably didn’t realise who would actually be paying it, Joanna reminded herself. And it was not her business to tell him.

‘How does Mrs Elcott intend to earn her living?’ Henry Fortescue had looked sternly over his glasses. ‘You’ve been extremely generous over the rent, but she will still have the local tax to pay, and heating bills.’ He paused. ‘The allowance which Lionel paid her as your companion ceased on his death, of course.’

Joanna looked at the floor. ‘I believe Gabriel intends to continue it.’ She kept her face and voice expressionless.

‘Quite extraordinary,’ Mr Fortescue said dourly.

Not when you knew the facts, Joanna thought unhappily, although Gabriel must be totally besotted to let her manipulate him like this.

He’d telephoned each evening while he was away, and Cynthia had taken the calls. Try as she would, Joanna could not avoid the sound of her voice, speaking softly and intimately, with the occasional husky giggle, although thankfully she could not make out exactly what was being said.

It would be a relief, she thought, when Cynthia actually moved herself to the cottage and she no longer had to see or hear what was going on. And if she could have her imagination removed by some kind of lobotomy, that would be a bonus too.

‘By the way, darling,’ Cynthia said casually over breakfast, a few days before Gabriel’s projected return. ‘You don’t mind if I take some things with me to Larkspur?’

‘What did you have in mind?’ Joanna was going through the post, dividing bills and official communications from personal letters.

Cynthia waved an airy hand. ‘Oh, just home comforts. The picture Lionel left me, of course, and a few of the bits and pieces from my room.’

‘I presume you’ve already cleared it with Gabriel.’ Joanna slit open an envelope with precision. ‘So why ask me?’

‘Well, you are the mistress of the house.’ Cynthia paused. ‘Nominally at least.’

‘So I am,’ Joanna agreed drily. ‘How could I forget?’ She looked down at the letter in her hand. ‘Oh, the Osbornes are back from Portugal. I’d better go over there this afternoon and see Sylvia. She’s obviously terribly upset that they weren’t here when it happened.’ She picked up the pile of correspondence. ‘Do you want to come with me?’

Cynthia studied her nail varnish. ‘Absolutely not. Sylvia Osborne’s the dullest woman in the neighbourhood, and I can’t stand any more weeping and wailing.’

‘She’s also Gabriel’s godmother, and he’s very fond of her,’ Joanna reminded her levelly. ‘And you can hardly call a highly successful landscape painter dull.’

Cynthia shrugged. ‘Well, you rush round and admire her latest daub. I’ve got better things to do.’

‘The hairdresser?’ Joanna suggested lightly on her way to the door.

‘Beauty parlour, actually. A whole day’s pampering from my head down to my toes.’ Cynthia gave her a cat-like smile. ‘I want to be looking and feeling my best when Gabriel returns.’ Her smile widened. ‘Of course, you don’t have to worry about things like that. You do your bit by keeping the dogs and horses happy.’

‘I know my place,’ Joanna agreed equably, and went out of the room, followed by the dogs. She phoned Sylvia Osborne and left a message on the answering machine, suggesting that she would call over during the afternoon. Then she went out to the stables.

Sadie emerged from the tack room. ‘Morning, Jo. Shall I saddle up Minnie for you?’

‘Change of plan today.’ Joanna gave the elderly mare, who was her usual mount, a consoling pat, and moved on to Nutkin’s box. She ran her hand down his handsome nose. ‘I’d better give this lad some exercise today. Heaven knows, he needs it.’

Sadie hesitated. ‘Mr Gabriel said no one was to ride him but himself,’ she offered uncertainly.