An Interrupted Marriage (Silhouette Special Edition) (9 page)

She found that her legs were trembling. She touched a hand to her forehead and shambled over to the bed, sitting on its edge.

What on earth had that been about? Magnus was angry with her, deep-down furious. He hadn’t dared make love to her in case he lost his fierce control over that inexplicable rage.

Jade shivered. “It’s not my fault!” she whispered aloud. And then, louder, “I was
sick!
“

Her voice echoed in the big room. He
couldn’t
be blaming her for that, could he? It wasn’t
like
Magnus to hold anyone responsible for something they couldn’t help. He had almost no prejudices. He’d practically forced his mother to open her home to Annie—Annie, whose unstable mental condition had kept her in hospitals on and off for half of her life.

She wished Annie was here. Annie would have injected some sanity into the proceedings, she thought, and then caught herself thinking it, and giggled. The giggle turned into a sob, and she felt stinging tears rise in her eyes, spill onto her cheeks. She drew up her knees and hugged them with her arms, laying her head on them.

She missed Annie. She’d never met anyone quite like her before—irreverent, loud, untidy. And fiercely loyal, with an unexpected quality of empathy for someone going through a bad patch. Annie knew all about bad patches herself. Jade had done her best to be there for her, as Annie was when Jade wanted only to retreat from the world and everything in it, huddling small into a corner and rocking back and forth, crooning to herself, refusing to speak or listen.

Turning yourself into a little ball, then?
Annie had scoffed. “You know what happens to balls, don’t you? They get kicked. You gonna let everybody kick you around? Okay? Okay, if that’s what you want, I’ll leave you to it.”

The toe of her slipper had hardly been lethal, though it had connected quite painfully with the fleshy curve of Jade’s behind as Annie turned away. But it was the contempt in her voice rather than the kick itself that had brought Jade to her feet, flushed with anger. “Hey!” she said indignantly.

A nurse had already scurried up, saying sharply, “Annie! You know we don’t stand for that kind of behaviour. Are you hurt, Jade?”

Jade saw the rude sign that Annie made behind the nurse’s back, the gleeful glint in Annie’s blue eyes before she said meekly, “Yes, nurse. Sorry, nurse,” and folded her hands.

Jade had realised then, with astonishment, that she wanted to laugh. And that she’d just experienced two emotions in the space of two minutes—amusement, and anger. She, whose emotions had been dead for months, who had felt nothing except, sometimes, a sweating, screaming, inexplicable fear.

“It’s all right, nurse,” she’d said then. “Annie and I were just fooling around.”

“Yeah,” Annie said immediately, grinning at Jade. “I think I’m Peé and she thinks she’s a football. We’re both happy. Two nutters in perfect harmony.” She gave a deliberately goofy grin, and Jade laughed aloud.

* * *

Turning yourself into a little ball, then?

It was as though she saw herself, scrunched up on the bed, her knees next to her tear-stained face. Annie would have been disgusted.

She jackknifed herself out of it, stumbling off the bed, scrubbing at her wet cheeks.

“No!” This wasn’t the way to deal with it.
“No,”
she repeated, fiercely shaking her head.

The mirror showed her red-eyed and tousled. She picked up a brush and used it until her hair shone and her scalp tingled. Then she went into the bathroom to splash her face, holding a soaked cloth to her eyes for several minutes.

After changing into one of her new dresses, she occupied the time until dinner by carefully, meticulously, applying makeup to her face.

She descended the stairs looking cool and serene and, she hoped, confident. Unfortunately there was no one to watch her, but when she reached the hallway Magnus came out of the big front lounge.

“We’re having drinks in here,” he said. Then, staring a little, “You look very...lovely.”

“Thank you.” She smiled and met his eyes, finding them dark and with a faintly baffled expression in them. “I’d like a dry white wine, please,” she said, sailing towards him with her chin high. Nobody, she had decided, was going to kick her around. This evening, she had set her mind to giving every appearance of not caring a damn.

It was really quite easy, she discovered, after two glasses of wine. By then she didn’t care that Mrs. Riordan was regarding her with an expression of near-disdain, that Magnus watched her lynx-eyed. Or that Danella, joining them after putting Rose-Lee down to sleep, seemed more than a little put out when she found her husband sitting at Jade’s side on the sofa, laughing loudly at her recounting of parts of Annie’s letter.

Danella marched across the room to stand in front of them.

“Hello, honey,” Glen greeted her, still grinning. “Rosie settled all right?”

“I thought we’d agreed not to shorten her name,” Danella said. “I could do with a drink, please.”

“Oh, sure.”

But Magnus had already poured one, which he placed in his sister’s hand. “Here, vodka and lemon, right?”

“Thank you, big brother,” she said sweetly. “Boy, do I need this!” She sank into an armchair. “You don’t know how lucky you are, not having any kids.”

Magnus looked down at her thoughtfully. “I’m sure you don’t mean that.”

“That’s what you think! Although it’s not the same for you men, is it?” She looked pointedly at her husband.

Glen said, “Feeling a bit tired, love?” He got up and went to perch on the arm of her chair, his hand on her shoulder. “It was a long trip. Never mind—I’m on the night shift, remember?”

“She’ll probably sleep right through, after today,” Danella predicted peevishly.

“Yeah, maybe.” Glen stroked her hair.

Magnus dropped into the vacant seat beside Jade as Glen was saying, “Tell you what, why don’t I take her over for the whole weekend? Give you a proper break and let you spend time with your family, go and see your old friends if you like?”

Danella’s face was transformed as she raised it to him. “Oh, Glen, would you?” She nuzzled her face against him. “I’m a bitch, and I don’t deserve you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Glen grinned and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “You’ll want to get to know your sister-in-law again, too.”

Danella didn’t answer, or look at Jade at all. Magnus, who had been watching the by-play with a bemused air, turned to Jade, his expression resigned, perhaps apologetic.

Jade smiled back at him. Nothing could hurt her tonight. She was armoured. “Where’s Ginette?” she asked him.

“It’s her weekend off. She and Mrs. Gaines take turns. She left this afternoon.”

Mrs. Gaines appeared in the doorway. “Dinner’s on the table.”

“Right.” Magnus went to help his mother, who had dispensed with the wheelchair tonight. In the dining-room Mrs. Gaines had set a straight chair for her at the foot of the table, and she presided over the meal like a queen, her eyes brighter than usual, her cheeks showing a high colour.

“It’s a pity Laurence and Andrew can’t be with us,” she said.

“Laurence will be in another year or so,” Magnus told her. “Provided he passes his finals, of course.”

Jade said, “He will, won’t he?” Laurence had been a bright boy, and she didn’t think he would have had any problems completing his degree in agriculture.

“I certainly hope so!” Magnus said.

Surprised at his vehemence, she gave him an enquiring look, but he had turned away from her to refill Danella’s wineglass.

* * *

After dinner they returned to the lounge, but Mrs. Riordan wanted to go to bed quite early. Magnus got up and said, “I’ll take you to your room and call Mrs. Gaines to help you.”

“I can help if you like,” Jade offered. Catching a slightly hostile look from Danella, she added hastily, “Unless Danella wants to....”

But Danella’s expression changed from hostile to irritable. “Mrs. Gaines knows what to do,” she said. “I’m sure she doesn’t need any interference—from anyone.”

Jade flushed. Magnus, gathering his mother’s sticks up, shot a glance at his sister and said, “It’s kind of you to offer, Jade, but not necessary, thank you.”

There was a tense silence as Magnus and his mother left the room. Glen looked uncomfortable, and Danella, her mouth clamped tightly shut, was swinging one of her shoes on her toes, her eyes firmly fixed on it.

Jade said, “I’m sorry, Danella.”

Danella’s eyes rose suspiciously to hers. Glen, his voice a little too hearty, said, “What for? You only offered to help.”

His wife cast him a look full of scorn. “She was trying to show me up.”

“No,” Jade said wearily. From past experience, she knew it was futile arguing with Danella.

Glen looked startled. “I’m sure that wasn’t what Jade—”

“That’s right,” Danella said resentfully. “Take her side!”

“I’m not—”

“How do you do it?” Danella asked Jade accusingly.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Jade stood up. “I think I’ll—”

“Twist men around your little finger the way you do! You’re not
that
good-looking—”

Glen said, “Hey, steady on, Danella!”

“I think I’ll go up to bed,” Jade finished. Her limbs trembling, she turned away from them, but Danella’s voice followed her to the door.

“He’s only taken you back out of pity, hasn’t he—my brother? He’s not fool enough to let you pull the wool over his eyes again.”

“Danella!”
Glen’s voice unexpectedly rang with authority.

Jade glanced back from the doorway. Glen was glaring at his wife, while she’d turned to stare defiantly back at him. “It’s true!” she said. “Why do you think they sleep in separate rooms?”

“It’s none of our business.” Glen cast an apologetic look at Jade.

“Magnus is my brother!”

“And he wouldn’t thank you for discussing this,” Jade said. Not for the first time, she sorely wanted to shake her sister-in-law. “Good night.”

She walked towards the stairs, deliberately shutting out the sound of Danella’s shrill voice saying, “Oh, go on, tell him, then! You always ran to him with tales!” followed by Glen’s protesting murmur.

Magnus was coming out of his mother’s room. He looked at the open door of the lounge, and then his gaze slid enquiringly to Jade. “Trouble?”

Jade shook her head. “I’m tired. I thought I’d go up to bed. Danella’s—a little excited.”

“Excited?” He frowned, cocking an ear, but Danella’s voice had sunk to a muted note of complaint, and no words were audible. “What did she say to you?”

“Nothing,” Jade insisted. “She’s talking with Glen.”

“Arguing?”

Jade shrugged. “It’s none of our business, is it?” she said, quoting Glen.

“No, thank heaven. Glen seems to manage her moods better than I ever did.”

“Or me,” Jade said ruefully. “I failed you there, I’m afraid.”

Magnus shook his head. “You did what you could. No one could fault you in that direction, Jade. You showed a great deal of patience with her. Maybe too much.”

Magnus had said before he married her, “There’s such a big gap between me and my younger brothers and sister, I feel more like an uncle, sometimes. And now my father’s dead, even more so. You’re nearer her age, and Danella needs a friend just now. I can’t seem to get through to her.”

But Jade hadn’t got through to Danella, either, despite her best intentions. “It didn’t do much good, did it?” she said now. “She still doesn’t like me. But she seems very protective of you.”

“Protective?” His gaze sharpened.

Jade bit her tongue. “Fond of you,” she amended. “It’s...nice.”

“I’m fond of her, too. It doesn’t stop me finding her damned exasperating on occasion. What
did
she say?” His gaze swung towards the lounge door, and he stiffened as though about to march in there.

“Never mind.” Jade put a hand on his arm. “Girl talk,” she said lightly.

“Girl talk!”
His lip curled in disbelief. “You and Danella?”

“Please, Magnus.” She dropped her hand. “I’d like to be friends with her some day. Let us work it out in our own way, will you?”

His eyes searched hers. “If that’s what you want. Lord knows, anything I say will probably make things worse.”

“Yes.” It had before, when Danella had been almost rabid with adolescent jealousy of her older brother’s bride. “We should have realised,” Jade said, wearily, “that the last thing she wanted was a big sister.” As the only girl, Danella had frankly been spoiled by a father who adored her and an older brother who treated her with casual indulgence. When her father died, she’d found Magnus less indulgent as, conscious of his new responsibilities, he’d tried to impose some discipline on a wilful young woman. “She must have felt that she’d lost her father
and
her big brother. It wasn’t really surprising that she blamed me.” And that any time Magnus had intervened on Jade’s behalf, Danella had only disliked her more.

“Maybe,” Magnus conceded. “It’s easier to see these things in hindsight. But she’s not a schoolgirl now.”

“No, but my relationship with her has been on hold for a long time. Just as—”

“Just as ours has,” Magnus finished for her. He gave her a curious, searching look. “You must feel like Rip van Winkle.”

“A bit,” she agreed, with a pale smile.

He stepped back. The voices in the lounge had died to a murmur. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Magnus said.

Jade’s smile turned ironic, but she said nothing. Trying to make love while Danella, with her husband and child, slept just across the way was hardly her idea of bliss. She gave Magnus a small nod of acknowledgement, and went on up the stairs.

W
hen Jade went down for breakfast, Magnus was buttering toast, and Glen was there with his daughter cooing on his knee. “Danella’s still sleeping,” he said. “She was more tired last night than she realised—the journey did her in.”

Jade smiled at the oblique apology. “It’s a long way, and it must have been a strain, with the baby.”

Rose-Lee had grabbed a spoon from the table and was examining it with interest. She looked up at the sound of Jade’s voice, smiled and dropped the spoon on the floor. Jade bent to pick it up and the child stretched out her hand for it, gave it a cursory glance and dropped it again, regarding Jade with a demanding, owlish gaze.

Magnus said, “She’ll have you doing it all morning if you pick it up again.”

“It’s the latest game,” Glen explained, as Jade did so. He took the spoon himself this time and placed it out of Rose-Lee’s reach. Offended, the baby strained unsuccessfully towards it, and settled for investigating her father’s plate of sausages and eggs instead, covering her small fist in egg yolk.

“Oh, hell!” Glen picked up a napkin and wiped his daughter’s fingers.

Jade laughed. “I’ll hold her for you until you’ve finished eating, if you like.”

“What about your breakfast?”

“I can wait a few minutes.” She held out her hands and the baby happily lifted her arms. “Did she sleep through the night? I didn’t hear her cry.”

“Nearly. We had to give her a bottle at five. The joys of parenthood.”

Jade sat down with the baby, shifting her chair away from the table. Rose-Lee looked at her with solemn concentration, and patted her face with a slightly sticky hand. “Hi,” Jade said softly. “Remember me?”

Magnus put down his knife and fork with a small clatter and pushed away his plate. “Coffee, Glen?”

Glen nodded, his mouth full of sausage and ruined egg. Magnus turned to Jade. “Some for you?”

“Later. I wouldn’t want to spill hot coffee on Rose-Lee.”

He poured some for Glen and himself, and sat watching her with the baby. Jade looked up and caught his eyes. Something wordless passed between them, and she recalled telling him what she’d said to his mother—that it wasn’t too late for them to have a child of their own. Deliberately, she smiled at him, and saw his eyes turn wary before he looked away and began to talk with Glen.

Glen was just finishing his coffee when Danella appeared in the doorway. Her eyes found Jade and the baby first, and her mouth parted and then closed tightly before she turned her gaze to her husband.

Jade said, “I’m just holding Rose-Lee while Glen finishes his breakfast.”

Danella came round the table and her hand clamped on the back of the chair next to Jade.

Jade stirred, shifting her grip on the baby. “Do you want to take her?”

Danella looked across the table at Glen, then back to Jade. She pulled out the chair and stiffly sat down. “She looks happy enough where she is.”

Considerably surprised, Jade said, “I’m enjoying it, too.”

Glen smiled at Danella and put down his cup. Pushing back his chair, he said, “I’ll take the baby now, Jade. You need breakfast, too.”

Over his coffee cup, Magnus raised an eyebrow at Jade as she relinquished Rose-Lee to her father.

Danella took a piece of toast from the pile on the table. “Glen, are you sure you don’t mind if I go off to visit my friends and leave Rose-Lee with you?”

“I don’t mind, honest. You go and enjoy yourself. I’ll take her down to the beach and introduce her to the water. It’s much warmer now than last time we came.”

“You’re an angel, and I love you!” Danella said fervently.

Glen grinned back at her.

Danella ate quickly and skipped coffee. Magnus was still lingering over his, and Jade was pouring her first cup when the others left the room. “You’re right,” she said. “Glen does know how to handle Danella. They seem very happy.”

Magnus put down his cup. “I’m just glad she’s not my responsibility any longer.”

“You take your responsibilities very seriously.”

“Is that a criticism?”

Jade looked at him, finding a slightly bitter little curve on his mouth. “What makes you say that?”

His eyes searched hers. “Things might have been a lot easier for you if I hadn’t been so engrossed in my responsibilities to my family.”

“But if you hadn’t been the sort of person you are, I wouldn’t have...married you.”
Fallen in love with you,
she’d been going to say, but a new shyness with him held her back.

“Security? Is that what you were looking for? I wasn’t such a good bet, then, was I?”

She opened her mouth to deny both suggestions, but perhaps there was some small element of truth in the first, at least. Wryly, she said, “Maybe I fancied the idea of having a family again. A mother, brothers, a sister...and a real home.”

Magnus gave a crack of laughter. “Sarcasm. That’s new, from you.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “You’ve changed,” he said with a kind of respect. “Grown some kind of shell.”

“You mean I’m harder?” It might be true. She’d had to fight to regain her health, and it hadn’t been easy. She felt battle-scarred. And determined not to let anything or anyone send her spiralling again into a pit of despair and illusion.

“Harder?” Magnus considered. “Less...accessible, perhaps.”

Jade said involuntarily, “You’re the one who’s running away.”

“Running away?”
His shoulders stiffened, a frown in his eyes.

She hadn’t meant to say that, but now that the words were out, she wasn’t going to retract them. “You moved out of our room, suggested we wait—”

She broke off as Mrs. Gaines entered the room. Magnus cast an impatient glance at the woman and shoved his chair back, standing up. “We’ll finish this discussion some other time.”

Jade stood up, too. “When?”

The housekeeper hesitated inside the doorway, her expression flustered. “I didn’t realise you were still here. I’ll come back later—”

Magnus shook his head. “It’s all right, Mrs. Gaines,” he assured her. “We were leaving now, anyway.”

Jade followed him to the door, so that he was obliged to step back and let her through. In the hallway, she turned to face him. “When?” she repeated.

His eyes flickered. He glanced back through the doorway, and grasped her arm, propelling her along the passageway to his office. There he closed the door on them and dropped her arm. “What are you trying to do, Jade?”

“I’m trying to—” she groped for the right word—save? renew? resurrect? “—get back our marriage,” she finished. “If you won’t sleep with me, and you won’t talk to me—”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t talk,” he interrupted. “I said we’d discuss it some other time. You surely don’t expect me to spill my guts in front of Mrs. Gaines?”

“You know I don’t!”

“So stop trying to goad me,” he said. “Unless you want a repeat of what happened last night.”

Jade’s head snapped up. “Is that a threat?”

She thought the expression in his eyes was surprise, but they quickly narrowed so that she couldn’t be sure. He said softly, “It’s a warning. Back off, Jade.”

Her heart pounding, Jade swallowed, but she wouldn’t let her gaze drop from his. “I
wasn’t
trying to goad you,” she said steadily. “But I won’t be intimidated by you, Magnus. You said we’d talk.”

He gave a sharp sigh. “I know.” One hand jammed into his pocket, he thrust the other over his hair. “Look, it wasn’t my idea to have Danella and her family here this weekend. But you can see that it’s hardly the time for the kind of discussion we need.”

If they’d been sharing a room, she thought, things might be different. But she conceded his point. She could hear the baby’s distant wail, and Danella’s voice calling something to Glen. A rattle of dishes and a succession of brisk footfalls denoted Mrs. Gaines’s progress towards the kitchen.

“I’m trying to clear myself some space,” Magnus said. “I thought we might take a week, get away from here, spend some time together and sort ourselves out, you and I.”

“That sounds like a very good idea.” Surely once they were alone their problems would resolve themselves. She was heartened that Magnus was willing to make time for her, for them. It had never been easy for him to put his business, or the farm, aside. And of course his family commitments had complicated matters still further.

“Let’s just get through this weekend, first,” Magnus suggested. “Then we’ll decide where you’d like to go.”

Jade quelled the thought that his promise was a kind of sop, something to keep her quiet meantime. “All right,” she agreed. If Danella continued to be as amenable as she had been at breakfast, maybe the rest of the weekend wouldn’t be too difficult. Particularly if Danella was to spend most of it visiting her friends instead of remaining about the house.

Magnus looked at his watch. “I have to see the farm manager before lunch,” he said. “Do you want to come along and meet Dave and his wife?”

Surprised at the offer, Jade agreed, overcoming her instinctive cringing from meeting strangers who must know something of her history. It was nothing to be ashamed of, she reminded herself. “I’d like to,” she said. “When do you want to go?”

“If we walk, it should be soon. But I can take the car if you don’t feel up to that.”

“I can walk easily. It’s only about a mile.”

“Good. I’ll let my mother know. Glen may like to come with us, as he’s left literally holding the baby. You wouldn’t mind?”

Some of her pleasure in the prospect dimmed, but she said brightly, “Of course not. Rose-Lee will probably enjoy it.”

* * *

Of the four of them, Rose-Lee seemed to enjoy the outing the most. She was passed from her father to Jade as they walked along the sand towards the headland. Then Magnus took her while they climbed a steep path bounded by blue-tinged, sword-leaved flax and wind-driven marram grass.

A seagull angled its wings above them, swooped to the cliff face and rode the wind up again, and Rose-Lee, squinting against the stiff, salty breeze, followed its flight and cooed approval. The gull opened its beak and quarked. Rose-Lee, her arms waving, emitted a similar cry, setting the three adults laughing.

Watching Magnus with the child in his arms, his eyes warm with humour, Jade felt the laughter catch in her throat, turning to tears. Abruptly she brushed her eyes in a pretence at fighting the wind that dragged her hair across her face.

At the top of the path a stile over the wire fence led them to sheep-shorn, uneven grassland, and they could see the farmhouse on a small rise about half a mile further on, red-roofed and with a grove of trees protecting it from the sea winds.

Glen said, “Here, I’ll take Rose-Lee now. You wouldn’t think a baby could be that heavy, would you?”

Jade heard Magnus say, “Coming?”

Glen had gone ahead. Magnus waited for her in the shade of a shaggy, silver-leaved pohutukawa with tightly closed buds, and as she drew level with him he caught her arm. “Sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine.” She threw him a smile, not looking directly at him, and pulled her arm from his light grip as she passed him. Hurrying, she caught up with Glen and chatted with him and Rose-Lee the rest of the way to the farmhouse.

The manager’s wife, a sturdy, fair-haired woman in her thirties, gave them tea and biscuits on the wide veranda while her husband and Magnus talked. If she was curious about Jade she didn’t show it. Magnus must have prepared them for her homecoming, Jade realised. He had, in his way, done everything he could to make it easier for her.

They walked back along the road, arriving a little hot and dusty in time for lunch. Danella, Mrs. Gaines told Glen, had phoned to say she was invited to eat with her friends. Jade felt a distinct relief, followed by a twinge of conscience.

Glen fed the baby and put her down for a nap before joining them at the table. “I’ll just stick around and read a book until Rose-Lee wakes up,” he answered Magnus’s enquiry as to his plans for the afternoon. “Later I might take her down to the beach and see how she likes the water.”

“You’ll excuse me if I go and do some work in my office, then?” Magnus asked. After the barest hesitation, he added, “Jade, could I impose on you to type a few more letters?”

“Of course,” she said instantly. “No problem.”

It didn’t take long, and his manner was so impersonal that she found herself being the brisk, capable secretary, the face she’d presented to him when she’d first worked for him. It had been a conscious thing then, an eagerness to impress him with her skills, her business acumen, her ability.

From the first she’d been aware that she was attracted to her new boss, but wary of betraying it, knowing how messy office affairs could be, and how one gone wrong could damage her future prospects. She’d had a casual boyfriend when she began to work for Magnus, and for a while had gone on seeing him despite her waning interest, using him as a sort of buffer.

It had helped, of course, that Magnus had not made any moves in her direction, although occasionally she’d thought his gaze lingered on her when she wasn’t looking. She’d feel a faint prickle of awareness, and perhaps look up to find his eyes on her, but always he either looked away, his face quite expressionless, as though he’d been dwelling absentmindedly on a pot plant or a piece of furniture, or he’d ask her to bring him a file or a cup of tea, or note something down.

Only a week before his father died, Magnus had taken her to dinner after asking her to work late one evening. Fearful of jumping to unwarranted conclusions, she’d been careful to act as though it were nothing more than a business meeting. Towards the end of the meal Magnus had asked about her parents, and she’d told him briefly about the accident that had taken both them and her sister when she was barely sixteen.

“It must have been rough for you,” Magnus had said with appalled sympathy, “losing your family at that age. Did you have any other relations?”

“Only in England. Mum and Dad had emigrated before I was born. My mother’s parents were dead before then. My other grandparents suggested I should come to them, but I’d never met them. Everyone I knew was here in New Zealand, and besides, my parents had come here because they wanted their children to be New Zealanders.” And she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the three graves on one side of the world while she lived on the other.