The Marriage Truce

His hand closed, not gently, on her arm. ‘In the name of God,’ he grated, ‘what have you done to yourself?’

‘I’ve had my hair cut.’ She tried unavailingly to free herself from his grasp. ‘It’s not a crime.’

‘That,’ Ross said crushingly, ‘is a matter of opinion.’

‘And, anyway,’ Jenna went on, her own anger sparking into life, ‘it’s none of your damned business what I do.’

‘So, if I see an act of vandalism being committed—a work of art being defaced—I’m to say or do nothing? Or should I stand back and applaud?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snapped. ‘It’s not the same thing at all, and you know it.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s far worse. It’s a travesty—a sacrilege.’ His eyes held hers. The noise around them—the hum of voices, the stutter of traffic, and the crying of gulls from the harbour—seemed to fade, enclosing them in a strange and potent silence.

Then, over his shoulder, Jenna saw Betty Fox emerge from her shop, ostensibly to rearrange the newspapers in the outside rack, her glance darting avidly towards them, and the spell was sharply broken.

She said tautly, ‘I thought we had a truce. Yet here we are brawling in public, for all the world to see. Now, will you kindly let go of me?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Not yet.’

He set off down the street, still holding her arm, taking Jenna with him whether she wanted to go or not, turning the corner on to the harbour.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing.’ She was flushed, breathless with indignation at being whirled along in this undignified manner.

He had always done this, she thought. Starting with that night in London when they’d met again. Recognised each other in a totally new way …

‘Come.’ He’d taken her arm then, hurrying her from the room—from the building and into the street. Striding so fast that she’d had to run to keep up with him.

‘Where are we going?’ She’d been overwhelmed by all she felt for him—scared, joyous and hungry all at the same time.

And he’d stopped suddenly, and turned to her, his hands framing her face with heart-stopping tenderness. ‘Does it matter?’

Now, even though there was nothing remotely lover-like in his touch, she was shocked to find it could still shake her to the core. Or was that the memory it evoked?

‘Making amends, darling,’ he flung back at her. ‘Being amazingly civilised.’

He pushed open the door of the Quayside Café and marched her in. For a startled moment the buzz of conversation at the occupied tables faltered, then resumed at a slightly higher pitch as Ross ushered Jenna to a table beside the window and ordered two coffees from the flustered proprietress.

‘Would you like something to eat?’ he asked Jenna, glancing towards the counter laden with cakes, biscuits and scones.

‘Thank you, no,’ she returned glacially.

His face relaxed into a sudden grin. ‘Because it would choke you?’

It did not help her temper to know she’d actually been tempted, just for a moment, to smile back. ‘This is all a big joke to you, isn’t it?’ she said in a furious undertone.

His brows lifted. ‘Far from it, sweetheart,’ he drawled. ‘A tragedy, perhaps.’ He paused. ‘Now, perhaps we should find some bland neutral topic to keep us from each other’s throats until the coffee comes.’

‘You think of something,’ she said curtly. ‘I’m not into small talk.’

‘Fine.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Are you planning to go on holiday this year?’

‘I haven’t decided yet.’ She looked down at the checked tablecloth. ‘I might go for a last-minute booking on some Greek island.’

‘Alone?’

She shrugged. ‘I can hardly go with Natasha. One of us has to be there to run the gallery.’

‘Yes, of course,’ he said softly. ‘Thirza told me that you were now in business together.’

There was a note in his voice that reminded her that Natasha’s low opinion of him had been entirely reciprocated.

She lifted her chin. ‘How kind of your stepmother to take such an interest in my affairs.’

‘A slight exaggeration.’ The dark eyes glinted. ‘She merely mentioned it in passing.’

‘I see.’ She hesitated. ‘What about you? Are you—planning any kind of vacation?’

He smiled faintly. ‘For me, as ever, a holiday is simply to stop travelling.’

But you did stop—when you married me. You said you’d finished with that kind of life. The thought forced itself upon her before she could prevent it.

‘But I suppose I’ll go back to the house in Brittany,’ he went on. ‘Apparently the last lot of tenants weren’t the most careful in the world, and it needs some work.’

‘You’ve been renting out Les Roches?’ The place where we spent our honeymoon? ‘I—I didn’t know.’

Ross shrugged. ‘Houses shouldn’t be left empty, or the heart goes out of them.’

Jenna examined a fleck on her thumbnail. ‘You’ve never considered selling it?’

‘No.’ The response was crisp and instant. ‘It’s always been a family home.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘And one day I intend to have a family there.’

She had not seen that coming, and she felt as if she’d been punched in the solar plexus. There was an odd roaring in her ears, and when she parted her lips to say something—anything—no sound would come.

The arrival of the coffee saved her. By the time the cups had been placed on the table, and cream and sugar brought, she was able to speak again. To cover, she hoped, the momentary hiatus.

‘My God.’ She even managed a little laugh. ‘Is the rolling stone coming to rest at last?’

‘It would seem so.’ His mouth twisted. ‘As they all do—eventually.’

‘I thought you might prove to be the exception.’ She could only hope the lightness in her tone was convincing. ‘What’s caused the change of heart?’

‘I became ill.’ His gaze met hers. ‘And, as you know, I’m not used to that. It made me think. Perhaps—adjust my priorities.’ He was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘Also, there is—someone in my life. Someone important.’ He shrugged. ‘What can I say?’

‘There’s nothing that needs to be said.’ Stunned as she was, somehow she found the words. Made her lips utter them without faltering. ‘After all, we’re both—free agents. When—when’s the happy day?’

‘Nothing’s been decided yet. It is still a little too soon for her. She’s been married before as well, and there are adjustments to be made.’

‘Well,’ she said, smiling resolutely, ‘naturally you’ll want to be sure—this time.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I will.’ His brows lifted. ‘You’re—very understanding.’

She murmured something and looked down at the table. The compliment was undeserved, and she knew it. She understood nothing. Under her façade of composure she was seething with questions that she would not—could not ask him.

Do I know her? being the foremost. To be followed by, Is it Lisa Weston? And, if not, why not? What happened to the woman for whom you ended our marriage? And, Did you tire of her, too, in the end? The words were tumbling over themselves in her mind, demanding answers.

But these were places she dared not go. Because once the questions started she might not be able to stop them.

And the inner ice she relied on might crack, and all the pain—all the loss—might come pouring out at last. Betraying her utterly.

Revealing to him, once and for all, how deeply he had wounded her.

And revealing, most damagingly of all, that she still bled—still grieved in spite of the two years’ total separation between them.

And if he ever suspected the healing process in her had not begun, he might ask himself why. And she could not risk that particular humiliation, she thought breathlessly, or any other.

Aware that the silence between them was lengthening, she looked up and smiled brightly at him across the table.

His own glance was hooded, meditative. ‘And what about you, Jenna? Is there someone for you?’

‘No one that special.’ She lifted a nonchalant shoulder. ‘But I’m enjoying playing the field. I never really did that before.’

‘No,’ he said. He drank some coffee, grimaced and put down his cup. ‘This place serves the worst coffee in the world.’

‘You’ve said that every time we’ve been here.’ The words were out before she could stop them. They were loaded with shared memory. And just when she needed to make him think the past was a closed book, she thought, biting her lip.

‘That could be because it’s always true.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Maybe it’s time to bring our demonstration of ex-marital harmony to an end.’

‘Yes—yes, of course.’ She made a business of picking up her bag, watching from under her lashes as he walked to the counter to pay the bill, smiling at plump Mrs Trewin and saying something that made her bridle girlishly.

But that was Ross, she told herself stonily. He could use charm like a weapon, and it was something to which his new lady would have to accustom herself.

However, she couldn’t get over the astonishing change just a few hours had wrought in him.

He looked, she thought wonderingly, as if he’d woken, refreshed, from a deep sleep. He was still too thin, of course, but the lines of his face looked sharper, more dynamic this morning, and the old glint was back in his eyes—sexy, humorous, and as devastating as ever.

Perhaps he was looking for closure, too, wanting to go into his new relationship without baggage from the past to slow him down.

And that, of course, was what she should be seeking, too. Had always told herself that she was striving to attain.

Christy’s wedding was supposed to be a step on the path to her own regeneration. She had known ever since she received the invitation that she would have to be strong to cope with all the implications and resonances of the occasion. But that had been before the bombshell of Ross’s presence had been exploded, and all that had happened since.

Culminating in the revelations of the past half-hour.

And now, she knew, she was going to need every single weapon in her armoury of self-protection to get her unscathed through the next few days, let alone the eternity to come. And she was frightened.

She walked ahead of him out on to the cobbles, and stood for a moment, shading her eyes, looking at the familiar mix of fishing boats and sailing craft in the harbour, thankful to have something else to focus on.

Ross came to stand beside her. ‘You must miss this place—the sea—very much. Do you think you will ever come back?’

‘It was a wonderful place to spend my childhood.’ She kept her voice steady. ‘But I’m grown-up now, and my life is—elsewhere.’

‘London?’ His mouth twisted. ‘Even when we lived there together I was never convinced it was the right place for you.’

‘Perhaps it wasn’t the environment,’ she said tautly, ‘but other factors that were wrong. Anyway, I’d prefer not to discuss it.’ She squared her shoulders. ‘My car’s over there. Do you want a lift back to Thirza’s?’

He said slowly. ‘That would be kind. But are you sure you wish to do this?’

She didn’t look at him. ‘We may as well keep the charade going to the bitter end.’

There was still a breeze, but it was turning into a perfect spring day. The clouds were high and broken, and the sun was hot and bright on Jenna’s newly shorn head as they walked along the quayside. She slipped off the quilted gilet she was wearing and pushed up the sleeves of her thin wool sweater.

He said suddenly, his voice faintly hoarse, ‘Dear God—did I do that?’

Glancing down, Jenna saw the red marks, clearly visible on her bare arm, where his fingers had gripped her.

She said, ‘It’s—not important. And the dress I’m wearing for the wedding has long sleeves. Besides,’ she added, coolly and pointedly. ‘I always did bruise easily.’

His swift smile was humourless. ‘Ah, yes. Of course. How could I forget? Whereas I, on the other hand, remained unmarked and untouched by everything—always. As if I have chain mail instead of skin. Is that what you’re saying?’

She bit her lip. ‘Not exactly. I—I couldn’t expect you to care about—some things in the same way as I did.’

‘Presumably because I am an insensitive boor of a man, who understands nothing of a woman’s innermost feelings.’ His tone was suddenly icy. ‘You have a short memory, Jenna. In those first few months of our marriage I came to know all your most intimate secrets—including some you’d never been aware of yourself until then.’

Her suddenly flushed cheeks owed nothing to the heat of the day.

She said in a suffocated voice, ‘You have no right to talk to me like this. No right at all.’

‘I need no reminder,’ Ross said softly, ‘of all the rights in you that I was fool enough to surrender.’

His words seemed to hang in the air between them, challenging, even threatening. Reviving old memories—old hungers. Shocking her with their potency.

He was watching her, the dark eyes glittering as they travelled over her in unashamed exploration. The cream round-necked sweater and close-fitting blue denim jeans she wore were no barrier to the intensity of his scrutiny, she realised as she stared back at him, eyes dilating, lips parted. Aware of a small, unwelcome stir of excitement deep within her.

Because he knew—none better—how she looked naked, after all the times he’d removed her clothes, his hands sometimes tender, often fiercely urgent. His lips caressing the warm skin he’d uncovered.

She was horrified to feel her nipples hardening involuntarily under the sudden force of the recollection.

This was what she’d always feared, she thought, swallowing. This was why she’d refused to allow any personal contact between them during the divorce, even in the safety of the lawyers’ offices. Or afterwards.

Because she knew she could not guarantee to control her physical responses to him.

However much she might have trained her mind to reject him, her body still shivered with remembered desire in his presence.

Suddenly she felt heat blaze from him like a dark sun.

And realised with swift, scared certainty that all she needed to do was reach out her hand …

Her throat tightened. She thought, ‘I can’t do this.’ And only realised she had spoken aloud when she saw his face change. The firm mouth harden.

Saw him take a step backwards, deliberately distancing himself from her.

He said quietly, ‘Unfortunately, you don’t have a choice, Jenna. And neither do I.’ He paused. ‘However, it might be better for me to walk back to Thirza’s. I’ll see you later.’

He turned and strode off down the quay.

For a moment Jenna stood where she was, watching him go, then, slowly and shakily, she made her way across the cobbles to her car.

She unlocked it and got in, stowing her bag on the passenger seat. Even fitting the key in the ignition. But she made no attempt to start the engine.

Her heart was thumping rapidly and noisily, and she felt slightly sick. Certainly she didn’t trust herself to drive. Not unless she wanted to find herself, and the car, on the bottom of the harbour.

She thought, I have to pull myself together.

But that, of course, was easier said than done.

She drew a deep breath and made herself review the situation. It had been lousy luck running into Ross two days in a row, but she’d make sure it didn’t happen again.

She was bound to see him at the wedding, of course, but there would be plenty of other people around, and he would be easier to dodge in a crowd. And there would be the unknown Tim to act as safeguard, anyway.

Apart from the wedding rehearsal tomorrow, there was no need for her to leave Trevarne House at all, and she would make sure that her every waking moment was full—even if all she could find to do was soothing Aunt Grace.

She folded her arms on the steering wheel and leaned her forehead against them, feeling the prickle of tears against her closed eyelids.

But who, she thought, with sudden desolation, is going to soothe me?

And for that she could find no satisfactory answer at all.

CHAPTER THREE

THE car was a cocoon. A refuge closing her away from everything except her thoughts. Those she could not escape, or even evade. Not any more.

Her mind was in chaos, yet somehow she found she was being dragged inexorably back in time to that night over three years ago when she, a child no longer, had met Ross again.

There’d been a private view at the Haville Gallery for a talented young painter having his first exhibition. The evening had gone well, and a number of pictures had displayed the red dot of success. People had begun to drift away when, suddenly alerted by an odd tingle in her senses that she was being watched, Jenna had turned and seen Ross standing a few yards away, his eyes narrowed in a kind of stunned disbelief as he looked at her.

They might have been alone. None of the chattering groups around them had seemed to exist any longer.

All the breath seemed to leave her body in one deep, startled gasp as her gaze had locked with his. Read what he was thinking as if he had shouted it aloud. The total astonishing certainty of the moment had taken her a willing, helpless prisoner. Joined them both in a new and devastating recognition.

It had been as if some lifelong search was suddenly over, and the hidden treasure—the Holy Grail—was there waiting for her.

Her stomach had churned—her pulses had gone crazy. A delicious heat had spread through her veins, and her senses had gone spinning into a kind of delirium.

And then she’d seen him smile and start towards her, and she had moved, too, going to meet him halfway. More than halfway. People had spoken to her, but she hadn’t heard what they said. She’d been oblivious, every fibre of her being focussed on this man now reentering her life with such unbelievable impact. She’d realised that she was accepting without question that here was the only man in the world whom she would ever want.

And that it was how, in some strange unfathomable way, she had always known it would be.

When she’d reached him, her voice had been a little husky croak. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I was invited. Someone I met at a party.’ She watched him draw an uneven breath. ‘I—I almost didn’t come …’

And they both laughed in derisive rejection of the very idea. Because they knew that since time began it had been inevitable that they would meet again at this place—at this moment. That this was what they had both been created for, and that there was nothing that could have kept them apart.

She said, her voice smiling, ‘You recognised me—in this crowd?’

He said slowly, ‘I’d have known you anywhere.’ He paused. ‘But why are you here?’

‘It’s where I work.’

‘Of course.’ He shook his head. ‘Thirza told me that you’d done an art course.’

‘I’m surprised she remembered.’

He said quietly, ‘But I asked about you, Jenna. I always—always asked about you.’

And as she met his eyes, and saw the flare of passion, the unhidden hunger, she felt her skin warm passionately and involuntarily, and her throat tighten in a sweet excitement she had never known before.

She said, in a whisper, ‘I—I don’t understand. What is happening?’

‘We are.’ His voice was almost harsh. ‘We’re happening to each other. At long last.’ His hand touched her cheek, stroked its curve, and she turned her head in a swift, involuntary reaction, finding his caressing fingers with her lips.

‘Jenna.’ He spoke in a tortured whisper. ‘Dear God, Jenna …’

For a moment he was silent, mastering his breathing. Then, ‘Come.’ He took her arm, hurrying her from the room—from the building and into the street. Striding so fast that she had to run to keep up with him.

‘I can’t just leave …’ But her protest carried no real conviction.

‘You just did.’

‘Where are we going?’ She was overwhelmed by all she felt for him—scared, joyous and hungry all at the same time.

And he stopped suddenly and turned to her, his hands framing her face with heart-stopping tenderness. ‘Does it matter?’

And she replied simply and seriously, ‘No.’

They went to his flat in a warehouse development overlooking the Thames. As he sat beside her in the shadowed intimacy of the taxi Ross took her hand and held it. There was no real pressure in the clasp of his fingers, but his touch seemed to penetrate to her bones, and she began to tremble inside.

Yet as they rode in the lift to the upper floor Jenna found her first euphoria evaporating, leaving her feeling shy and vulnerable. She cast a swift, sideways glance at Ross, but there was nothing to be read from his expression. Suddenly he seemed to be the cool, enigmatic stranger of her teens again, and she was assailed by a pang of real doubt.

What am I doing? she thought. Why am I here?

Well, she knew the answer to that, of course. She might be inexperienced, but she wasn’t naïve. And she had gone with him of her own free will, so she could hardly protest if he expected her to keep the promise that her capitulation implied, she thought, swallowing.

But her first glimpse inside the flat itself drove everything else from her mind. Eyes widening, she stared round at the high vaulted ceilings and enormous windows which provided untrammelled views of the river from the main living area. The wooden floors gleamed with the patina of gold, and the pale walls provided a neutral background for furnishings and drapes in warm earth colours.

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