Cruel Legacy (32 page)
Authors: Penny Jordan
'Have you any idea what it feels like sitting there at an empty desk three days out of five?' he had demanded angrily two evenings ago. 'No, of course you haven't,' he had gone on, answering his own question, 'because you made the right choice, the clever, wise career decision... Ryan's right—you are better than me, Deborah...'
'I went into liquidation because it was the only avenue open to me,' Deborah reminded him. 'You were the one who made the original decision to move here, Mark. I was quite happy in London. I only switched to liquidation and receivership because that was the only job open to me up here—you know that.'
They had, after all, discussed it thoroughly enough before she'd accepted the job, but then Mark had been the one with the promising career and the promotions ahead of him and, as he had explained to her, she might find that she would simply be treading water if she came north to join him, because of the rather old-fashioned attitude the firm had to female professionals.
'Then I shall have to change that attitude, shan't I?' she had said robustly.
Then they had both laughed; then they had ended up in bed, making love, the serious matter of their careers pushed impatiently to one side in the heat of their urgent need for one another.
'Be careful,' an older, harder woman colleague had warned her. 'Otherwise you're going to fall into the trap of allowing him to believe that his career, his needs have priority over yours.'
'It isn't like that,' Deborah had protested. 'I want to go, and it is a good career move for me.'
"This time, maybe,' the other woman had responded drily.
'Mark isn't the kind of man who would ever expect me to put my career on hold; he knows how important it is to me,' Deborah had told her.
'Yeah... that's what they all say at first.' She was in her late forties with a bad divorce behind her, and sometimes the scars had still showed despite the good camouflage job she had done on them. 'In my day they used to try to get you into bed with them by telling you that of course they'd still respect you in the morning. That was when we were stupid and brainwashed enough to believe that we needed respect from them. Now they tell you that of course they respect your independence, of course they believe in equality; the only difference is that, while my generation knew fine well they were lying, yours believes them.'
Deborah had laughed, as much at the thought of Mark ever needing to deceive her as at the irony in the other woman's voice.
'It might be a hell of a long way from the kitchen to the boardroom and it's certainly a hell of a hard slog, but what real difference does that journey make when emotionally too many of us are still attached by a piece of elastic to some man who we claim loves us? It hurts like hell when they pull on that elastic, which all of them do... Is that love?'
The bitterness of her divorce had made her overly cynical, Deborah had told herself.
Irritably Mark opened his office door. He was tired of spending half his day sitting at his desk shuffling paper around pretending to be busy.
As he stepped out into the corridor he saw that the blonde temporary clerk was walking towards him, her arms full of files.
'Which way?' he asked her with a grin, his irritation lifting as he watched the deliberately provocative sway of her hips.
Perhaps Deborah was right when she claimed that the girl made deliberate use of her sexuality, but there was something about the sensual sway of those curving hips and the pout of the lipsticked mouth that made a man feel good about his sexuality, Mark acknowledged as he went to open the fire-doors for her.
The fact that both of them knew that she could quite easily have pushed them open herself didn't matter. What mattered was the way she looked at Mark as she thanked him, pausing deliberately in the doorway where there was the least room for both of them and where his arm still curved behind her, holding open the door.
'Thanks... I hadn't realised how heavy these things are.'
As she jiggled them in her arms, the fabric of her blouse pulled taut against her breasts, outlining her nipples. They looked pert and hard, as though...
Hurriedly, Mark withdrew his gaze from her body, offering, 'Let me give you a hand with them.'
'I hope it's the files you mean,' she responded coquett-ishly, and then giggled as she moved closer to him so that he could take some of the files from her.
She was being quite deliberately and openly provocative, Mark recognised, flirting with him quite outrageously, in fact...
'Goodness, aren't you strong?' she murmured as he relieved her of all the files. 'I suppose you spend a lot of time at the gym; you can always tell a man who takes care of his body. Not that I like anyone who's too muscular...' She pulled a pouting face while she watched him archly, and Mark, who knew quite well that when it came to male physique he was simply average, albeit with the advantages of being six feet in height and having the shoulders that came from playing rugby as a youth, turned his head to hide his grin from her.
She was trying very hard, he conceded, and it surprised him how much he was actually enjoying what she was doing.
'Have you made any plans for the Easter holiday weekend?' she asked him.
Mark shook his head.
'No, neither have I... What I'd really like is to spend the whole weekend away somewhere romantic with a gorgeous sexy man.'
She looked mock-coyly up at Mark from beneath her mascaraed lashes.
'Just the two of us... on our own,' she emphasised purringly.
They had reached the corridor's second set of security doors and as Mark paused to open them for her, even though he was now the one carrying most of the files, she leaned closer to him, ostensibly trying to squeeze through the small gap in the half-opened door, but in reality pressing her body so close to Mark's that he could feel the soft, warm weight of her breasts against his arm.
Deborah had neat, firm and very pretty breasts which at work she kept discreetly concealed beneath heavy silk shirts; the temporary clerk's were much fuller, softer, momentarily conjuring up in Mark's memory echoes of the lustful yearnings of his young teenage self.
'Hey...what's going on here...?' Abruptly Mark turned his head as he realised that a couple of the other accountants were walking towards them down the corridor. Younger than Mark and newly qualified, they were working in the general office, and as the clerk drew away from him, all pouting arch confusion as she thanked him for his help and made a great play of smoothing down her blouse before taking the files from him, Mark could see the look in the men's eyes change from one of mockery to that particularly male kind of respect which was grudgingly given to another man seen to be more sexually successful.
As the clerk disappeared they lingered, turning their heads to watch her undulating progress towards her office.
'Nice work,' one of them commented enviously, adding with a grin, 'Come on, tell us the secret. What is it... your aftershave...?'
Mark grinned and shook his head. 'Sorry, boys,' he told them mock-despairingly. 'But it isn't something you can buy in a bottle... you've either got it or you haven't...'
It feit good knowing that they were slightly envious of him, that they couldn't just dismiss him as a professional no-hoper who had to stand aside and watch his lover fast-track past him, even if the way he was behaving, the comments he was making were somewhat out of character for him.
Since he had grown up, become mature, he had put aside his old macho teenage need to flex his sexual muscles and show off in front of his peers, and he knew exactly what Deborah would think of such behaviour.
Deborah didn't flirt; she simply wasn't that sort of woman. She was too honest and straightforward, and abhorred any kind of deceit or pretence within a relationship. The last thing she would ever do would be to indulge him with a bit of harmless massaging of his ego, either in private or in public.
'Come on, don't hold out on us... Tell us your secret...'
'Yeah... you're a dark horse all right... There we were thinking that '
'What's going on here? Haven't any of you got any work to do?'
Mark tensed as he recognised Ryan's voice coming from behind him.
'What the hell are you two doing?' he demanded of the two juniors. 'And where's that file I asked you for?'
'Sorry.. .just going to get it...' one of them apologised, shuffling his feet.
Without waiting for them to be out of earshot, Ryan turned to Mark.
'Look, I know you aren't exactly carrying a full workload at the moment, and I appreciate that time must be hanging heavily on your hands, but, if you've got time to waste, try wasting it with someone from your own department and not mine, would you?
We
do have work to do.'
He turned on his heel, striding down the corridor before Mark could make any retort, his comments completely wiping out the good feeling that Mark's brief flirtation with the clerk had given him, leaving him with the bitter taste of anger and resentment souring his mouth.
'Made any plans for the long weekend?' Peter asked him as he walked slowly back into his office and to the empty desk which was beginning to feel like a prison to him. 'The wife and I thought we might take the camper down to the coast.'
'Mmm...what...? No, we're not doing anything,' Mark replied absently, and then frowned.
How long was it since he and Deborah had had time away together, just the two of them? Last year they had holidayed with friends and this year they hadn't as yet made plans for their main holiday. Deborah had been too busy to talk about it... Just as she was too busy to talk about anything that didn't concern her work and her promotion.
'I'm going to take an early lunch-hour,' he told Peter, suddenly coming to a decision.
'What
do you mean, you've booked a holiday? Mark, how could you? You know I'm up to my eyes with this liquidation. I can't go... I'd planned to spend the break getting up to date with my other work...'
Deborah stopped her angry pacing of their living-room and turned round to face Mark, pushing her fingers into her sleek hair in an irritated gesture of impatience. 'Why didn't you
tell
me first... ?'
'I wanted it to be a surprise,' Mark told her stiffly.
'A surprise!' Deborah made a small explosive sound of disbelief. 'You
know
how important this liquidation is to me,' she protested. 'I can't just drop everything and go off with you. You should have consulted me first, before you booked this holiday—surely you can see that?'
She stopped, frowning as she saw the look Mark was giving her.
'I should have consulted
youT
he repeated grimly. 'Doesn't that go both ways, Deb—does this equality thing you women are so keen on only work in your own favour? Now that you are the major wage-earner, you get to make all the major decisions—is that it... ?'
Deborah couldn't believe what she was hearing. 'You're the one who went ahead and booked the holiday,' she reminded him.
'And you're the one who decided that you were going to work—
without
consulting me. Just tell me something, Deborah. What am I supposed to do while you're working?'
Deborah stared at him, baffled.
'It's a bank holiday weekend,' Mark reminded her forcefully. 'A time for people to spend
together, relaxing, enjoying
themselves. Oh, but I forgot,' he added sarcastically.
j
'You're already enjoying yourself—with your work. Well, .
forgive me if I can't pretend to be getting the same satisfaction out of mine. It may have escaped your notice, since you're obviously far too busy these days to notice such things, but it isn't the greatest mental stimulation in the world sitting in front of an empty desk five days a week.'
'Oh, Mark, for goodness' sake stop exaggerating. Your desk isn't empty.'
'Damn near—but that isn't the point. Nothing else matters to you apart from your work, does it, Deborah? Everything... everyone has to fit in around your precious career. How the hell do you think I feel, sitting here night after night while you're working late, being told to turn down the television so you can work, being treated as though I'm some kind of sub-standard human being because I don't measure up to you professionally?'
'That's not fair,' Deborah protested. 'I can't believe I'm hearing any of this,' she added wearily. 'I thought you
understood...
I thought we had an
agreement.
I can't believe this is really you I'm listening to, Mark... what is it exactly that you're trying to say? That you expect me to back-pedal on my career because yours isn't going well?'
Mark tensed as he caught the angry contempt in her voice.
'No, of course not,' he denied. 'It's just... Look, I know how much this promotion means to you, but you've got to admit that it hasn't exactly come at a good time for me..
'For you?' Deborah's eyes rounded. 'But this is
my
career we're talking about... what is it you want from me, Mark? Am I supposed to pretend that I don't want it... that I'm not thrilled about it...?'
'No, of course not...' Irritation and guilt mingled inside him. 'It's just that you might try to be a little less self-obsessed about it, to remember that there are
other
things in life. Is Ryan planning to work this weekend as well?'
His question caught her off guard, her face flushing even though she assured herself she had nothing to feel guilty about.
'I don't know... He may do... He hasn't said so... Just that he wants to make sure that I'm really on top of everything.
'The bank is a major client,' she pointed out defensively when she saw the way he was looking at her. 'Mark, you know how important this promotion is to me... Ryan's already beginning to make noises about having to defend his choice of me for the case to the other partners...1 don't want to let him down.'
'No? Why not? You sure as hell don't seem to mind letting me down.'
Deborah froze. "That's unfair,' she told him angrily. 'And I could make the same accusation of you. After all, you've hardly been supportive recently, have you? I'm beginning to wonder if Ryan's right when he says that you're jealous of me '
She stopped abruptly, cursing herself under her breath as she realised she had said too much.
'Mark,' she protested as she saw his face.
'Forget it,' he told her bitingly as he turned around. 'Forget the whole damned thing. You go and get on with your precious work, Deborah... I'll spend my weekend painting the flat. Who knows—I might get quite a kick out of it...it will certainly be a damn sight better than spending the weekend in a foursome with bloody Ryan and your fucking work. The four of us just wouldn't get in that double bed together...'
He was behaving childishly and he must know it, Deborah told herself. Her own anger was a tight, hard ball of resentment clogging up her throat, her eyes already stinging threateningly with over-emotional tears.
She hated quarrels and arguments—she always had; and she and Mark never normally quarrelled—or at least they never used to.
Mark's bitterness and anger had caught her completely off guard, the accusations which had spilled from him as they'd quarrelled so unlike him that she could hardly believe he had actually voiced them.
Well, one thing was certain now. There was no way she could give her work the concentration it needed with this hanging over her. Perhaps it would do than good to get awav for a few davs: to sit down and talk things over
rationally. She knew how upset Mark was about his job but she had never dreamed that he might actually resent her success.
Listening to him just now, it had almost been as though he was trying to ciaim that he felt he was in some kind of competition with her with her work and yet the two aspects of her life were completely different and separate issues.
When she walked into their bedroom he was standing in front of the window staring out of it. He didn't turn round until she touched him. He looked pale and tense. His grey eyes were shadowed instead of warm with laughter, she noticed guiltily. How long was it since they had last laughed together? It had been his sense of humour that had first drawn her to him. And, as with his warmth and gentleness, she had felt able to respond to it and to him without fearing that she was in any way putting herself under his control.
'Perhaps a few days away would be a good idea,' she told him quietly. 'We obviously need to talk...'
Beneath her arm she could feel the stiff resistance in his body. What more did he expect from her? she wondered angrily. Not, surely, an apology... For what? She had done nothing that he would not have done and felt he had every right to do had their positions been reversed.
It hurt her that he should reveal this unwanted side of himself to her; she had thought him above that petty need to have his ego nurtured and massaged which she despised in so many other men.
'Aren't you forgetting something?' Mark asked Deborah as he picked up their suitcase.
Deborah followed his glance towards her briefcase. She shook her head and tried not to feel guilty as she saw its bulging outline.
Ryan hadn't been at all pleased when she had told him that she was going away. In fact, he...
'Ready, then?'
Nodding, she picked up her lightweight jacket and followed Mark out of the room.
'Where to?' she asked him once they were in the car. He had insisted on keeping their destination a surprise and she had done her best to enter into the spirit of the thing, even though in reality she was still far too wound up over her work and their quarrel to feel like playing games.
'At least these few days away together will give us time to talk,' she commented as she followed his directions.
'No,' Mark told her shortly, adding less curtly, 'Let's just forget everything else for a few days, Debs, and enjoy being with one another. Guessed where we're going yet... ?'
She frowned. What had got into Mark? He didn't normally go in for that kind of escapism.
'No...' she responded absently. 'You'll have to tell me.'
'Rimington,' he announced.
Rimington? She was startled enough to turn her head to look at him. The small Yorkshire village was the place where they had spent their first weekend away as lovers. Their hotel had been quiet and remote, a converted Edwardian house set in its own parkland, with huge bedrooms and the original attached bathrooms.
It had been November then, the moors surrounding them damp and misty, the log fire in their room far too tempting to leave for very long... like their bed.
Mark had been the first man with whom she had felt truly able to express her sexuality. Joyously she had shown him how much she desired him, how intensely sexual he made her feel. That weekend had been the first time in her life she had felt truly able to let go and to allow someone else to enter the private world of her sensuality.
It had also been the first time she had experienced an orgasm with a man without having to work hard for it. And not just one. Her body, once it had made up its mind to accept Mark, had seemed intent on making up for lost time.
'Hey—steady on,' he had teased her at one point when she was urgently trying to re-arouse him with her hands and mouth. 'I don't have your powers of recovery,' he had told her gently as he'd eased her slightly away from him.
She hadn't been put off, though, whispering to him that he could still give her aroused body the satisfaction it wanted.
'Now why didn't I think of that?' he had murmured softly, his mouth at her breast, his hand sliding down between her legs while she'd clung to him and shivered with anticipatory pleasure.
Sexually they were still as good together, even if recently their lovemaking had become less intense and less frequent ... much less frequent.
There had been more than one occasion recently when she had gone to bed after working late to find him already asleep.. .so deeply asleep that neither the touch of her hand on his body nor the warmth of her mouth against his ear as she'd whispered to him that she wanted him had been enough to wake him up.
'Oh, Mark.. .Rimington !' she exclaimed now.
'Don't tell me...' he interrupted her grimly. 'You don't want to go there...'
She shook her head.
'Yes—yes, I do,' she told him softly. 'Of course I do.'
Perhaps Mark was right; perhaps she was allowing herself to become engrossed in her work... making him feel that she was shutting him out, even though he ought to know her well enough to realise that she'd never do that.
Rimington. Just the thought of going back there with him was lifting the burden of tension from her shoulders.
'You're right,' she told him huskily. 'We do need some time together... on our own...'
Mark flinched as he beard the sensual promise in her voice. When he had first booked this break for them it had seemed such a good idea; buoyed up with his harmless flirtation with the clerk, he had remembered how good that first weekend away together had been. He had never known such a generous lover as Deborah. There was no coyness about her, no game-or role-playing, no insistence on any pretence of him having to coax her into physical intimacy.
And then he had certainly not wanted or needed to feign sleep to avoid making love with her.
He tensed and moved uncomfortably in his seat. In every relationship there was bound eventually to be a diminution of that early urgent and compulsive sexual desire.
Diminution, yes... a total cessation... He had begun to wonder recently if there was something physically wrong with him as he'd struggled to force his body into reluctant arousal, panicking inwardly in case it failed him, but his physical response to the clerk had proved to him that there was nothing wrong with him physically., .far from it.
The problem must lie elsewhere, then,.. with Deborah? Or rather with his reaction to her?
It wasn
't
that he had stopped
loving
her, he knew
that,
and he had hoped originally that this time away together would help to restore the sexual chemistry which had once burned so strongly between them, but Deborah's reaction to what he had done had left him physically numb, his masculinity somehow threatened and under attack.
He didn't want to talk to her and he didn't want to go to bed with her either, he recognised bitterly. If the truth were known, he was sick and tired of the new role in their lives which she seemed to have cast for him, just as he was sick and tired of Ryan's mocking comments and constant allusions to Deborah's controlling position in their relationship.
Couldn't she see how hard things were for him at the moment... couldn't she understand... ?
'Oh, Mark, this is going to be such a wonderful weekend... just the two of us,' Her eyes were shining.
'When you said you wanted to go out for a walk, I didn't realise you meant a full-blown hike,' Deborah laughed protestingly as she caught up with Mark, who was walking with the group's leader,
'You're
the one who's always complaining that we don't get enough exercise,' Mark reminded her.
They had arrived at the hotel late the previous evening and it had been dark by the time they had unpacked.
Deborah had pulled a face when he had insisted on their having dinner in the dining-room rather than ordering a room-service meal, but she had accepted it tolerantly enough, just as she had when he had spent the rest of the evening in conversation with a fellow guest, leaving Deborah to mate what conversation she could with the man's shyly timid wife.
She had frowned a little this morning when he had got up before her and then come back to announce that he had booked them both on to a local organised walk.
'Come back to bed,' she had suggested, smiling invitingly at him; the spring sun had warmed the pale ivory of her skin to soft gold and he'd known that it wasn't the coolness of the air on her naked body that was flushing her nipples into rosy hardness, but he had still shaken his head, telling her,
'We can't; the walk starts in three-quarters of an hour.'
And he had deliberately stayed downstairs, waiting to come up and announce what he had done until he knew that there would not be enough time for them to make love.
Her sunny acceptance of his refusal and her good humour during the walk had only added to his guilt and also, oddly, to his anger against her. It would have been easier for him to justify what he was doing if she had objected or protested.
'Mmm—I can't wait to get back to our room and that lovely big bath,' she whispered in his ear, teasingly nuzzling it while no one was looking.
