Captive Destiny

‘God, I wish this weather would improve!’ he muttered, reaching for the bottle of Scotch on the table beside him and splashing a generous measure into his glass. ‘I’m so sick of being confined to this house, day in and day out! I get so bored I could scream!’

Emma gathered the dirty dishes together on to the trolley. ‘We could go out tomorrow, if you like,’ she offered mildly, looking up to see his reaction, and predictably, he scowled.

‘With you driving?’ he demanded, and then shook his head. ‘You know I hate being driven by a woman.’

‘I know that. But unless you do—–’

‘I know, I know. Don’t remind me. Unless you drive, I can’t go anywhere.’

‘David, you know you could have transport …’

‘One of those ghastly three-wheelers? No, thanks!’

‘No. I believe there are other vehicles—–’

‘It doesn’t matter. They’re all the same. They all have disabled driver on the back.’

‘Well, that’s what you are, David,’ Emma pointed out quietly. ‘Surely you see that if you could only accept that, things would be so much easier …’

‘For you, you mean. Would it take some of the guilt from your shoulders knowing I was mobile?’

Emma sighed. They had had this argument before and it always ended the same. ‘David, accepting your disability would make it easier for you, too. Don’t you see? There’s so much in life to enjoy—–’

‘Not in my life. I’m just a living vegetable. I just about manage to feed and clothe myself, and that’s all.’

‘You have your work …’

‘My work!’ David snorted. ‘Do you think I don’t know that all the jobs I get now are second-rate commissions? Langley never sends me anything worthwhile any more. That’s why he never comes here. He daren’t show his face.’

‘David, Harry Langley doesn’t come here because you’re so unpleasant to him when he does, that’s all. And I think you’re wrong. The commissions he sends you are good commissions. It’s just that you don’t take the—the interest in them that you used to do.’

‘Don’t give me that! I’m interested all right. David Ingram used to be a name to be reckoned with, and I’m not about to give that up.’

‘Then—then stop feeling so sorry for yourself!’ exclaimed Emma urgently. ‘And stop drinking so much. That’s the second bottle of Scotch you’ve started this week.’

‘Who’s counting?’ retorted David, and deliberately refilled his glass.

Shaking her head, Emma rose and wheeled the trolley out of the room. It was useless trying to reason with him, particularly when he’d been drinking. His self-pity was absolute, and she could see no end to it.

As she loaded the dishes into the sink, she pondered the improbabilities of her life thus far. Gilda had been accurate about the doubts she had had before her marriage to David. There had been times in those weeks before the wedding when she had considered calling the whole thing off. She had not loved David as she should have done, but he had known that and wanted her anyway, and she had foolishly allowed herself to be persuaded.

It was all down to her feelings for Jordan Kyle. Maybe if she had never known him, her affection for David would have been enough. As it was, she had known what love could be like between a man and a woman, and didn’t they always say that a woman never forgot her first affair?

She sighed, dipping her hands into the soapy water. The trouble was, she had never known a time when Jordan had not played some part in her life. She remembered when she was little more than a toddler and he was already twelve or thirteen years old, the way he had given her rides on his back, taught her how to swim, had snowball fights with her, and given her trips on the crossbar of his bicycle. As she grew older he was always there, to tease or mock, to chide or admire, the older brother she had never known. Because they were both only children, and because their fathers were partners in business, it was natural that they should see a lot of one another, and by the time Emma was eighteen and home from boarding school, her infatuation for Jordan was complete.

The magical thing had been that he appeared to feel the same. For all there were ten years between them, he had never seriously bothered with any other girl, and that summer of her maturity had been the most marvellous summer of her life. Although even then Jordan had already joined the company and was starting to make a name for himself in the cold hard world of finance, all his free time he had spent with Emma, and their relationship became the most important thing in her life. She had adored him with all the stirring passion of her youth, and had been able to deny him nothing …

The blade of a knife skimmed her finger, and a thread of blood appeared along the parting skin. With an exclamation, she ran the cut under cold water, wondering whether the careless gesture had been an omen. Certainly it epitomised the savagery of their parting when it happened; she had felt then that she was bleeding—but inside.

It had happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, so brutally. So wrapped up in her own feelings had she been, she had not noticed the strain in her father’s face which had increased daily, the anxiety her mother must have been feeling. Instead, when the crash came, it tore into her like a physical blast, shattering her home and her family, everything she had held dear.

Her mother had stood up well under the strain. She had blamed Emma’s father entirely, and perhaps this had been her means of recovery. And it was true, Jeremy Trace had been gambling recklessly, using shareholders’ money to subsidise his debts. He had always enjoyed the good life, sometimes to the detriment of his wife and daughter, but inevitably time had caught up with him. Even then, he had taken the easiest way out. He had shot himself in the library of their home, leaving his womenfolk to settle his debts and face the inevitable scandal that followed.

Andrew Kyle had tried to help them, but naturally he had to think of his shareholders first, and in any case, her mother had not wanted his assistance. Instead, she had sold the house standing adjacent, to the Kyle home, and moved herself and Emma into a tiny flat in Abingford, overlooking the yard of St Stephen’s Church.

During this traumatic time, Emma had seen little of Jordan, or his parents. She had not thought a lot about it, being in the grip of her own grief, and needing to comfort her mother. But as the weeks passed and the scandal died down, he still continued to avoid her, and her suspicions were born.

It took some time before the truth gradually began to sink in. Jordan had been interested in her only so long as she was her father’s daughter. By marrying her, he would have gained ultimate control of both family’s shareholdings. Once that situation no longer applied, he had decided to cut his losses. Why marry a girl without a penny to her name when there were plenty of well-heeled ladies around only too willing to share their inheritance with a man as attractive as Jordan Kyle?

She had considered the possibility that perhaps her father’s suicide and the scandal which had ensued might have affected his feelings towards her, but she couldn’t believe Jordan to be so small-minded, so the obvious explanation seemed the most probable.

Whatever, Emma had suffered a severe relapse herself. Her relationship with Jordan had been such that she had never given the idea of not marrying him any serious consideration, and to discover that he had deceived her in that way had been more than she could bear. As soon as she was capable of finding a job, she had taken herself off to London, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the Kyles as was humanly possible. Her mother had encouraged her decision, and Emma had decided that so far as her mother was concerned, the break-up of their relationship had not been unexpected.

Inevitably, time wrought its own miracles of healing. Emma was lucky enough to get a job in an auction house in London. She had always been interested in antiques, and her apprenticeship there served her in good stead when she finally returned to Abingford. She came back when she discovered her mother was finding it difficult to live on the allowance she made her, and for a while Emma shared the flat with her again.

It was about this time she met David Ingram once more.

She had met him first in Jordan’s company. David was a freelance commercial artist, working at that time on an advertising campaign for Tryle Transmissions. She had known immediately that she attracted him, but whether that was because she was the boss’s girl-friend or not, she could never be sure. What had always been apparent was that any girl who could hold a man like Jordan had to have something, and several of his friends had made passes at her when they thought Jordan wasn’t looking.

Emma had quite liked David, although she had sensed his feelings towards Jordan contained quite an element of envy. He had always had an intense ambition to be wealthy, and having money meant a lot to him.

From the minute he learned that Emma was back in Abingford to stay, he had started dating her, and within a very short time he asked her to marry him. Emma had demurred, insisting that they hardly knew one another, secretly wondering whether Jordan might ring her once he knew she was home again. She knew he was still unmarried, unattached, if what the papers said was true, and she cherished hopes that perhaps time would have worked its miracle for him, too.

But as the weeks and months went by, and there was no word from Jordan, she was forced to accept that so far as he was concerned, their affair was over. Her mother, guessing her feelings, had ridiculed such foolishness. David, she said, was a far better candidate than Jordan Kyle could ever be, and besides, she wanted Emma to have nothing more to do with that family.

The crunch came the night Emma casually encountered Jordan at the charity ball. He had spoken to her politely, but that was all. His eyes had looked straight through her and she had known that whatever there had been between them was dead—and buried. That was the night she had accepted David’s proposal, and lived to regret it. His accident, just four days before the date of the wedding, had destroyed any idea she might have had for cancelling the ceremony. Instead, it had been conducted around his bed in the hospital, the only thing, they said, that would give him a reason for living. A reason for living …

Emma pressed her lips together tightly now. That was ironic. From the moment David learned that he was paralysed from the waist down, he had despised the life he was forced to live, and gradually he was forcing Emma to despise her life, too. It was as if there was a malignant cancer growing inside him that was gradually corrupting his soul, and Emma seldom looked into the future without a sense of despair.

If only David had accepted his disability. If only he could appreciate how good it was to be alive, instead of persistently bemoaning his lot in life, and allowing the envy he had always possessed to poison and destroy what little happiness they might have had.

‘Emma!’ She heard him calling her now, the irritability evident in his voice. ‘Emma, what in God’s name are you doing? Does it take half an hour to make a cup of coffee?’

‘Coffee!’ Emma started guiltily. She had forgotten to turn on the percolator.

‘I won’t be long,’ she called in reply. ‘I’m just finishing the dishes!’ and as if to emphasise this point she clattered plates and dishes on to the draining board.

But later that night, lying in the lonely isolation of her bed, she gave in to the frustrated tears that stung the backs of her eyes. She and David didn’t even share a bedroom, he having decided he needed the double bed they had once intended to use for his own use downstairs, while she occupied the single divan in the bedroom upstairs. How could she suggest going to the West Indies? she thought helplessly. Apart from anything else, it was unfair to David to even think of such a thing when he was stuck here at home, hating the cold weather. There had never been money for expensive holidays. Even the accident insurance had been denied to them on a technicality, which Emma had never understood, and without her job in those early days they would have had to have applied for social security.

Besides, what could Andrew Kyle have to say to her that was so desperately important that he should send for her practically on his dying bed? It didn’t make sense to her, so how could David be expected to understand, let alone agree to the trip?

She sighed. Jordan would not be surprised if she refused. Relieved, was his more likely reaction. After all, how boring it would be for him having to escort her all that way, and embarrassing, too, if she chose to bring up the past. But she wouldn’t do that, she thought, fumbling under her pillow for a paper tissue. She had some pride! Of course, he didn’t know that, and now he would never find out.

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