An Interrupted Marriage (Silhouette Special Edition) (2 page)

Magnus slowed to a near-crawl on the steeper corners that were corrugated by previous traffic, and the dusty ferns alongside brushed the windscreen and the roof.

The entrance to Waititapu was marked by heavy posts and an open gate. The car rattled over the metal bars of the cattle stop and followed the winding driveway between totara and English oaks shading azaleas, daphne and blue hydrangeas. In spring daffodils and jonquils and scented creamy freesias fringed the drive, but now the grass edges were neatly shorn.

At the end of the drive, the house stood white, high and sprawling, and the paddocks ended in a six-wire fence at the top of a steep sandy slope to the sea.

Magnus swept the car into the big new garage and opened the door for her, and immediately Jade smelt the salty wind. When he’d got out her case they walked onto the cobbled patio behind the arched trellis connecting the house and the garage, and Jade halted, her mesmerized gaze on the riffled blue expanse lying from headland to headland and stretching to a distant, purple-limned horizon.

“I’d forgotten,” she said, “how beautiful it is.” Magnus was looking at her curiously as she turned to him. “Magnus—do you remember when you first brought me here?”

He said, “Yes.” And then, as though he hadn’t meant to, “Do you?”

“Of course I do!”

His eyelids flickered. He looked at her with a strange, probing expression and then said abruptly, “We’d better go in. You’ll be getting cold out here.”

There was a brisk sea breeze, but she wasn’t cold. He didn’t give her a chance to argue, swinging away from her with the suitcase and pushing wide the side door for her to precede him.

She stepped inside and paused, so that Magnus almost cannoned into her. She felt his steadying hand on her arm as he muttered, “Sorry. You remember your way?”

“Yes, it’s just a bit dark after the sun outside.” She walked along the passageway to the front hall, an impressive entry with a glass-panelled door, and a chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. A broad stairway curved down on one side.

A voice, clear and feminine but not young, called, “Magnus? You’re back?”

There was a faint thudding on carpeted floorboards, and a grey-haired woman appeared in a doorway opposite the stairs. Slim and neatly groomed in a navy blue dress, she was leaning on two sticks. “And Jade,” she said, her gaze resting coolly on her daughter-in-law. “Welcome home.”

With genuine gratitude, Jade said, “Thank you very much. It’s...nice to see you again, Mother Riordan.” She crossed the hall and leaned forward to kiss a dry but scarcely lined cheek.

“You’re too thin.” The grey, aloof eyes were very like her son’s, although a shade lighter. “That dress doesn’t fit you.”

Jade managed to smile. She’d specially requested that Magnus bring the flared coral linen dress for her to come home in, and a pair of high heels to go with it. “I’ll have to alter some of my clothes.”

“Or eat more.”

“It’s good of you to be concerned.”

Magnus said, “Should you be standing around, Mother? Where’s Ginette?”

“I told her to take some time off. I didn’t want a stranger around when you brought Jade back.”

Jade wondered who she had been trying to save from possible embarrassment.

“Ginny’s hardly a stranger,” Magnus protested mildly. “She’s part of the household.”

His mother’s head lifted. “She’s not family.”

“Yes, well, why don’t you sit down,” Magnus suggested. “And I’ll take Jade and her luggage upstairs.”

“I told Mrs. Gaines you’d both have a cup of tea with me. She’ll have heard the car.”

“We won’t be long,” Magnus promised. “Come on, Jade.”

He had already started up the stairs, and she followed as Mrs. Riordan returned to her sitting-room.

He glanced back and, reaching the top of the stairs, led Jade along the passageway to the room he had brought her to as his new wife. The door was open, and Jade walked in and straight over to the window, to the view she’d always loved. From here she could see the breakers lift and curve and gallop towards the shore, then unfold along the sand with lazy precision.

She heard Magnus put down the heavy case, and hoped that he would come and slide his arms about her as he often had when they’d shared the room before, nuzzling her hair or her neck, sometimes inviting her to return to the wide, white-covered bed that faced the window and the sea.

Instead, he said, “We’d better go down pretty soon or she’ll start to fret.”

Jade dragged her gaze away from the smooth dun of the beach, the circling gulls, the shiver of sunlight on the sea. She turned and pushed back her hair.

“Do you need to freshen up?” Magnus asked. His eyes looked remote and didn’t quite meet hers. “I’ll wait for you.”

There was a bathroom shared with a spare bedroom next door. She said, “Would you mind putting my case on the bed for me? I’ll unpack properly later, but it’s got my toilet bag in it.”

He did as she asked, and she opened up the suitcase, rummaging for the flowered bag. The room looked strangely empty and unlived in, the dressing table holding only a small bowl of pansies, the polished bedside tables bare. Magnus had always been a tidy person.

In the bathroom there was one toothbrush on the rack over the basin. Jade opened the mirrored cupboard above and saw a safety razor, a comb, some masculine deodorant and a bottle of aftershave lotion, finding them oddly reassuring. After rinsing her face she combed her hair and used a pink lipstick, not too bright. Mrs. Riordan didn’t approve of obvious make-up.

Her cheekbones were more noticeable than when she’d last looked into this mirror, and her sea-green eyes looked larger, the lids shadowed under finely curved brows. Oddly, she didn’t think she looked any older. But maybe that was something that happened so slowly you didn’t notice it yourself. Certainly she felt older inside, indelibly marked by bitter experience.

Mrs. Riordan’s hair had been more grey, her body rather more stooped than before, her eyes more hollowed under strong brows. And Magnus? He was the same, yet different. She couldn’t read Magnus any more. Didn’t know what he was thinking, feeling.

She swallowed on a sudden upwelling of grief. Magnus had suffered, too.

She would make it up to him, somehow. Starting tonight, she would make it all worthwhile for him.

Opening the door, she smiled at him, and his muscles moved in answer as though he’d forgotten what a smile was. With a sudden surge of compassion and love, she walked over to him and put her hand against his cheek and kissed him on the lips. “It’s so nice to be here, with you,” she said softly.

He didn’t move. His eyes seemed to grow hot, then cold. His voice harsh, he said, “We’re keeping my mother waiting.”

“I’m ready.” Confused, she stood back from him.

“Right.” He clamped a hand on her arm and marched her to the door. It was the first time he’d voluntarily touched her today, except for a perfunctory brush of his lips on her cheek when he’d come to fetch her.

All the way down the stairs he didn’t look at her once. When they reached the bottom she made an uneasy movement, and he looked down at his hand on her arm and dropped it as though he hadn’t realised he was holding her at all.

A solidly built middle-aged woman wearing an apron was bearing a laden tray across the hallway. Seeing them, she asked, “Did you have a good trip, Mr. Riordan?” Her gaze, discreetly curious, skimmed over Jade.

“Yes,” he answered perfunctorily. “Mrs. Gaines, this is my wife. Jade, Mrs. Gaines is our housekeeper, and a great asset to us.”

The woman smiled politely. “How do you do, Mrs. Riordan? I can’t shake hands, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll take that for you,” Magnus offered, relieving the housekeeper of the tray.

“Oh, thank you. If there’s anything else you need—”

“This looks fine,” Magnus said. “I’ll bring it along to the kitchen when we’ve finished.”

He carried the tray into the room and set it down on a round table near his mother, who had her feet up and cushions piled behind her on an antique chaise.

She said, “Thank you, Magnus. Sit down, Jade. Do you still take sugar?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I’ll fix it,” Magnus said. He’d never had much patience with his mother’s ritualistic afternoon teas. Jade hid a smile as she saw the resigned look on the older woman’s face.

She sat in the chair Mrs. Riordan had waved her to, and took the cup of tea that Magnus handed to her. She’d have preferred coffee, but tea was what Mrs. Riordan always had at this time of day, and it was easier to conform.

After serving his mother, Magnus proffered a plate of sandwiches to Jade. She shook her head, too tense to be hungry.

“How are you feeling now, Jade?” Mrs. Riordan asked her.

“I’m perfectly well, thank you. And you?”

Mrs. Riordan sipped her tea. “I don’t get any better.”

“Aren’t the new pills helping?” Magnus asked her.

“They ease the pain a little. You should eat something, Jade.”

Jade reached over to the table and took a small chocolate-iced square from a glass dish and nibbled at it. It was sickly sweet and she wished she’d taken a sandwich when it was offered, but at least the chocolate square gave her an excuse not to talk. She took a mouthful of tea to wash it down.

Mrs. Riordan said to Magnus, “Danella phoned while you were away. She and Glen are coming for the weekend, with the baby.”

Magnus frowned. “
This
weekend?”

His mother looked frosty. “Is it a problem?”

“Jade needs some time to settle—”

“It’s all right.” Jade swallowed disappointment and a flutter of trepidation. “I’ll look forward to seeing the baby.”

Magnus cast her a swift glance, and his mother said, “It’s only right that Danella should come and introduce her family to Jade, now that she’s back. A courtesy.”

A new departure for Danella, then. Jade quickly stifled the thought.

“They might have waited a bit longer,” Magnus said. “Are you sure you don’t mind, Jade?”

“I’m not an invalid,” she reminded him, keeping her voice low and even. “There’s nothing to worry about.” Turning to his mother, she said, “Magnus told me Danella and the baby are both doing well. I’ll be interested to meet Glen, too.”

“He’s her choice. She wouldn’t listen to anyone. I hope she won’t live to regret throwing herself away.”

Jade said carefully, “I suppose no one ever seems good enough for your daughter—or your son.”

Magnus asked his mother, “Have you told Mrs. Gaines there’ll be extra people for the weekend?”

“Yes. She’s going to ask the farm manager to bring over some meat.”

“Mrs. Gaines seems to be a nice woman,” Jade commented.

Mrs. Riordan gave her a look of surprise. “She’s very capable, and able to take direction.”

Unable to think of any reply, Jade sipped at her tea in silence. Magnus said, “We were lucky to find her. Not too many women are keen on living and working out here.” He glanced at Jade.

His mother said, “It’s not in the wilds, Magnus. Mrs. Gaines has a very comfortable position here. And she’s well paid.”

Jade thought the housekeeper probably earned every cent, but refrained from giving an opinion. She allowed her mind to wander as Mrs. Riordan returned to the subject of her granddaughter. It had been an exciting, tiring day, and the room was rather stuffy. She found herself almost dozing. Blinking herself awake, she drained her cup and lowered it to her lap, and Magnus immediately stood up and said, “Finished?”

She put the cup into his outstretched hand and he replaced it on the tray. Adding his mother’s cup and his own, he said, “I’ll take these to Mrs. Gaines. I have some work to finish in my study, and Jade hasn’t unpacked yet. Is there anything else you want before Ginette gets back?”

“Nothing, thank you, I have my book.” Mrs. Riordan fumbled at her side and produced it. “I’ll see you at dinner, Jade.”

Jade stood up with relief, and Magnus retrieved the tray and stepped back for her to precede him to the door.

In the hallway he said, “If you need help I’m sure Mrs. Gaines won’t mind—”

“I can manage,” Jade assured him. Erasing any hint of complaint from her voice, she added, “Will you be long, working?”

“I may not be finished before dinner. You should probably rest for a while when you’ve unpacked.”

“I slept in the car.”

“Not for long.”

“I might go for a walk on the beach later.”

“Be careful,” he said, but didn’t offer to accompany her, and after a moment she turned to go up the stairs while he carried the tray to the kitchen.

When she was alone, the bedroom seemed larger than she remembered it. She had become accustomed to having a very small space to herself.

The suitcase was on the bed as she had left it. Kicking off her elegant high heels, she fished out a pair of comfortable sandals and put them on.

When she opened one of the matching built-in wardrobes that flanked the door to the bathroom, a scent of roses and lavender met her. Someone had placed a bowl of potpourri on the shelf above the hangers.

Most of them were empty, those clothes still left on them mostly formal or party dresses, and the lower shelf near the floor held several pairs of high-heeled shoes. She went back to the suitcase and emptied out jeans, sweatshirts and blouses, skirts and low-heeled shoes.

With a pile of undies in her hands she crossed to the long dressing table, pulling out the top drawer to put them in. She closed it and knelt to open the second drawer, sinking back on her heels.

The drawer shimmered and frothed and glowed with silk and lace and ribbons, with peach and apricot and emerald and wine-red garments that weighed next to nothing as she lifted them, that were low-cut and narrow-strapped and exceedingly sexy. She remembered the way Magnus would look at her when she waited for him, wearing one of them, her hair shiny with brushing, her skin fresh and warm from the bath and scented at throat, wrists, between her breasts and behind her knees.

She found a pale green wrap, delicately hand-embroidered, that Magnus had bought for her birthday, and laid her cheek against its soft lustre, closing her eyes. When she’d put it on for the first time, after a bath, and re-entered the bedroom, he’d drawn her to the bed and stroked her body through the fabric, then eased the garment away from her until his hand met her bare skin and kept on stroking. “Satin,” he’d murmured. “You’re all satin.”