An Excellent Wife (11 page)

That was the last time he would ever go there; he would never see Patience again, he told himself, and felt- something sharp and agonising jab deep inside his chest.

'Never' was a desert in which he had been abandoned when he was ten years old; his mother had vanished and his father had told him he would never see her again. Now it was happening to him again; he was back in that bleak, empty landscape—only this time he was doing it to himself.

A WEEK or so later James ran into Fiona at a reception given by a large American banking institution which had an office in the City of London.

Once upon a time most of the guests would have been men, but today women occupied very important jobs in the City, and it did not surprise James to see Fiona across the other side of the room. She was talking to several much older men who couldn't take their eyes off her. She looked like a blonde Cleopatra, her sinuous figure emphasised by a skintight black dress, her mouth darkly red, her eyelids glittering with silvery blue shadow and outlined in thick black.

James was talking to one of his clients, but from time to time he checked on where Fiona was, wondering whether to go over to her or let her come to him. Tactically, the latter would be preferable. He was in no mood to let any woman think she could jerk his string and have him come running.

Ever since he'd walked out of Patience's house he had been irritable, depressed, moody. He knew everyone had noticed; Barny and Enid kept giving him sideways looks, Miss Roper was warily observant every time he opened his mouth, and the little blonde airhead was in a constant state of panic for which James refused to be held responsible. Since she was now wearing an engagement ring on one hand—which, of course, had meant she and Miss Roper, and most of the female secretarial staff, disappearing for a long lunch break the other day, to celebrate her new status as an engaged person—he had hoped some unfortunate man was about to marry her and rid his office of her for good. Miss Roper had disabused him of this hope, though.

'They aren't getting married until next year and she isn't giving up work.

Good heavens, people can't afford to stop work these days just because they get married. I expect she'll stop when she has a baby, but she doesn't plan to have one for a few years.'

'Very wise. She's hardly capable of making coffee, let alone looking after a baby,' James said, and got one of Miss Roper's dry looks.

'You need a holiday,' she said, adding, 'Sir!' in a voice that stung like a wasp, and laid on his desk a typed list. 'You asked me to check a time when you could take a few days off without causing too much of a problem. I'm afraid you have a busy schedule for the next month, but if you delegated...'

'No, I've changed my mind. I can't take any time off yet.'

'May would be a good time to take a week off. You don't have too many appointments in the first week, and you could reschedule those you do have.'

He stared at the typed sheet. 'I'll think about it.'

But he hadn't. Maybe he would go abroad, spend a week on a beach somewhere, just sunbathing and forgetting about work? About his mother and Patience Kirby, too. He had been trying to forget them for days now but they ran round and round inside his head like white mice on a turning wheel.

Not that anyone could be less like a mouse, white or otherwise, than Patience, with her red hair and her wide, enchanting mouth, and those teasing, bright hazel eyes. She had a colour and warmth that blazed, was unforgettable.

'Hallo, James.'

He had been so absorbed in images of Patience that Fiona's melting ice-cream voice took him by surprise.

'Oh...hello, Fiona,' he said blankly, then pulled himself together. 'You look marvellous—what an elegant dress; black suits you. Very dramatic.' Did he sound as insincere as he felt? He was having to force the words out, yet it was true; she did look terrific and black did suit her. She was born to wear it with that very fair skin and fair hair.

She smiled, her long, darkened lashes sweeping down against her smooth skin. 'Thank you. How are you? It must be a long time since our last date.'

'Ages,' he agreed. 'But you did tell me you were going to be very busy while your father was away. When does he get back from his trip?'

'He got back this morning.'

'How did the trip go? Did he enjoy himself?'

She brushed aside the question of enjoyment with a wry little smile. 'He was there purely on business. He managed to see everyone he wanted to see, and I think the trip was very successful. He felt it was worthwhile.' Fiona narrowed her eyes at him. 'You don't look too well, James. Anything wrong?'

He had a crazy impulse to tell her the truth, to blurt out: Yes, I'm as miserable as sin. I can't stop losing my temper over nothing, I can't sleep at night, I'm sick of my job. But what if she asked the obvious question: Why?

What's wrong? What did he say then?

He shrugged, instead, and pretended to laugh. 'My secretary tells me I'm overworking and need a holiday.'

She watched him closely. 'You do work very long hours, don't you, James?

So are you going to take some time off?'

He shook his head. 'Certainly not for a while—I have a crowded appointment book, no spare time at all for months.'

Fiona nodded. 'Same here.' She looked at her watch. 'Well, I must be off; I'm having dinner with a client. See you, James.'

'We must have dinner, now your father is back,' he quickly said before she could walk away.

She gave him a curious glance through her lashes, lifting her darkened brows as if she did not quite trust what he was saying. 'Love to—give me a ring.' Did she think he was simply making polite noises?

He felt impelled to insist on making a concrete arrangement. 'How about tomorrow night?'

'Tomorrow?' She distinctly hesitated, then said slowly, 'Yes, actually I am free tomorrow.'

'I'll pick you up at seven? Where would you like to eat?'

'You choose.' She looked at her watch again. 'So I'll see you at seven, tomorrow. Sorry, I must rush or I'll be late.'

James watched her cross the room and disappear. He wasn't the only man with his eyes on her; as she passed them men turned their heads to stare at the ice-blonde hair, the arctic blue eyes, the model-girl figure in the tight black dress. She was desirable, and she knew it; her swaying walk was that of a woman who knew men were watching her avidly.

She used her looks without compunction to get what she wanted, and James had always known other men desired her. He remembered what Charles had said only the other day: he'd called him a lucky bastard, he envied him, but then Charles thought he was sleeping with Fiona. Charles would be amazed if he knew the truth.

Fiona was an ice goddess, beautiful but chilly, a hard, tough woman who could fight as hard as a man in the business world, who was fixated on success and money. That was her sole criterion for judging a man. He had to be rich and powerful or Fiona wasn't interested, even if he was very good-looking.

Had that been the only reason why she had dated him? James thought, frowning. She certainly hadn't felt any overriding desire for him, had she?

Or they would have been sleeping together for months. Had she ever had any deep feelings for him at all? Had she ever had any deep feelings for anyone?

Or was she cold-hearted, self- obsessed, her sights set on money and power?

What did he know of women, anyway? He didn't understand any of them: Fiona, Patience, his mother, Miss Roper, Enid, even the fluffy-headed little blonde who jumped like a frightened mouse every time she saw him. They were all a mystery to him.

Come to that, he didn't even understand himself. Why had he started seeing Fiona, anyway? He hadn't fallen in love. He had just liked the look of her, had been pleased with himself for getting such a spectacular date, enjoyed the sensation of having other men envy him when he walked into a room with her on his arm. That made him feel ten feet tall, gave his ego a boost.

But he hadn't fallen head over heels, had he? Fiona was well connected, would make an excellent wife for any man who wanted to succeed. She knew a lot of very influential people, she could be charming and smooth in social contexts, she would be a great hostess, give wonderful dinner parties, be a big asset to his career. They had both been as cold-hearted as each other, hadn't they?

So why was he dating her again tomorrow? Ego again? Because she had seemed indifferent, and he wanted to make her regret it if he walked out of her life?

No, not that stupid, or that simple. He was trying to get back to normal, back to the way he had been before ...

Before what? He irritably caught himself up. Oh, stop facing the issue, he thought, grinding his teeth so loudly as he left the reception that the porter holding the door open for him gave him a startled, alarmed stare.

James walked over to where Barny was waiting. 'Home, sir?' asked Barny, looking back at him as James climbed into the back of the car and slammed the door behind him.

Nodding, James settled back. What was the issue here, anyway? But he knew perfectly well. Patience was the issue. Before he met Patience his life had been quiet, peaceful, boring.

Oh, don't be ridiculous! How could it have been boring? He had been busy, had a great social life, a terrific future ahead of him, a beautiful girlfriend.

What more could any man want? Yes, he had to get that life back. Why shouldn't he?

He groaned aloud, forgetting Barny, his eyes closed, knowing that he was a drowning man trying to grab at straws. Fiona was the straw he was clutching at, but he knew even as he grabbed at her that she wouldn't savo him. He didn't care enough about her to be rescued. He was going to drown in deep, black waters of loneliness and isolation, with or without Fiona.

'Toothache, sir?' Barny asked.

With a start James opened his eyes, shook his head, frowning. 'No, just thinking.' Couldn't he even think without being watched and commented on?

Barny refrained from comment on that, but softly murmured, 'So we aren't going up to Muswell Hill tonight, then?'

James glared murderously. 'No, we are not! We are never going there again.'

Barny distinctly said, 'Ah.'

'"Ah", what?' snarled James.

'I didn't say anything, sir,' Barny lied, and a few moments later they were in Regent's Park and James stamped off into the house without another word.

He stood in his bedroom that evening, the curtains open, staring out into the darkness of the park, hearing the distant roar of a lion, the chattering of monkeys swinging around their cages, the flap of many wings, all the night-time sounds that came out through the trees, as if these elegant, exclusive streets which curled round and round like the maze of a human ear held the jungle hidden within them.

As a small child he remembered a welling fear, the uncertainty of someone who didn't feel safe any more, who was alone and lost and yet afraid to cry.

He had been afraid the animals would one day get out and hunt him, tear him to pieces; he had imagined them loping through the streets with people running in all directions, screaming in fear. Life had been a jungle to him all his life. Maybe he would never feel safe.

Shivering at that idea, he turned away, drew the curtains, got undressed and went to bed, knowing even as he turned out the light that he wouldn't sleep, or, if he did, would have dark dreams that made him feel exhausted next morning.

Red rims around his eyes, his temper in shreds, he went into work next day and gave his staff hell, knowing what he was doing but unable to stop because he wanted to give someone else the hell he was having himself.

'It isn't our fault, Mr Ormond,' Miss Roper reproached him just before she left that evening.

He was off guard, worn right down by weariness and black moods. 'What isn't?' he muttered, not even looking up from the paperwork cluttering up his desk.

'Whatever is turning you into a monster. We haven't done anything. It isn't fair to shout at us because you're miserable.'

He looked up then, going dark red and eying her as if he wanted to run her over with his car.

'Miserable? What are you talking about? Who said I was miserable?'

Miss Roper shook her head at him wryly. 'If you were a woman you'd be bawling your eyes out.'

'A woman? Thank God I'm not. Women cry at the drop of a hat. I saw that blonde girl you've got out there crying when she broke one of her nails, for God's sake.'

'You'd cry if you had spent months growing your nails, buffing and manicuring them, painting them with varnish, and then one of them just breaks and you have to start all over again!'

'I wouldn't grow them in the first place, let alone paint them bright red. How can anyone work with hands ending in talons that colour?'

Miss Roper eyed him ruefully. 'Why don't you swallow that pride of yours and call the girl?'

He stiffened, eyes flashing. 'My private life is none of your business, and anyway, as it happens, I am taking Miss Wallis out tonight, so you can stop feeling sorry for me.'

'Miss Wallis?' repeated his secretary in withering tones, and he felt his face burn. 'You know I didn't mean her. She's not the woman for you, and you know it.'

'Goodnight, Miss Roper!' snarled James. She opened her mouth to say something else, and he shouted. '
Goodnight, Miss Roper!'
She left without another word, closing the door with ultra, ultra care so that she didn't make a sound. James sat staring at the wall, his face tense, jaw aching, eyes deeply set. Was he that obvious to everyone? Was the whole office talking about him, whispering behind his back, watching him?

He tried to get back to work but his brain wouldn't operate; he was too disturbed by realising that what he had thought were his own private problems had become the subject of public discussion among his staff.

Damn them.

After a few minutes he got up and walked out too. Barny was waiting to drive him home, as usual. When they got back to the house in Regent's Park James went upstairs without a word to take a shower and change, flinging off his clothes with more speed than usual, and standing for minutes under the warm jets of water with his eyes closed, wishing he had time to wallow in a bath for an hour or so. His whole body ached with exhaustion.

He was just towelling his wet hair, standing barefoot in his bedroom before getting dressed, when there was a tap on the door. 'Someone downstairs to see you, sir.'

Enid's voice made him start.

'Who is it?' Surely Fiona hadn't forgotten that he had said he would pick her up? He looked at the clock on his bedside table and saw that it was half past six; he would have had to hurry if he wanted to get dressed in time to drive to Fiona's house, so it would be a relief if she had come here instead.