Don't Hurt Me (20 page)

  
He turned his back on her, reaching
for his jeans and pulling them roughly back on without bothering to find the
rest of his clothes. There was a dangerous note in his voice. ‘So nothing’s changed?’

  
‘Are you going to stop sleeping
with Sasha?’

  
His head swung and he fixed her
with an angry warning stare. ‘I told you before, I am not sleeping with Sasha.
I’m getting pretty sick of repeating myself on that score.’

  
She looked down at her hands without
seeing them, a bitter little smile on her face. ‘Then you can stop repeating
yourself,’ she told him quietly, ‘because I know you’re lying.’

  
‘For god’s sake - ’

  
‘Sasha rang you on your mobile this
morning,’ she said sharply, interrupting him. ‘You weren’t around, so I
answered it. She took great pleasure in letting me know that you’d left your
notebook at her place the other night. How do you explain that, Marshall?’

  
There was a moment of terrible
stillness. He sat there on the edge of her bed, motionless, the scar on his
face paler than ever. There was a taut clenched look to his face, his mouth an
unsmiling line. ‘That little bitch,’ he said between his teeth.

  
‘So it’s true?’

  
He made an impatient noise, a cold
anger still in his face, but the hazel eyes slid away beneath her searching
gaze. When he finally spoke, she guessed his reluctant admission before it came
and put a hand to her mouth, feeling physically sick.

  
‘Yes, it’s true. I did go to see
Sasha on Tuesday evening and may well have left my notebook there by mistake.’
He met her eyes directly. ‘But it’s not what you think.’

  
‘Of course,’ Julia said drily, but
when she tried to swallow it felt as though her throat was full of glass.

  
‘You still don’t trust me, do you?’
Marshall demanded. When she didn’t answer, he continued, a deep burning anger
behind his words. ‘I’ve told you I’m not sleeping with Sasha anymore. What do
you expect from me? A blow-by-blow account of my movements every time we’re
apart? Because you can forget it, I’m not prepared to live like that.’

  
‘Then give me a divorce.’

  
‘Oh, go to hell,’ he burst out
harshly, gathering his clothes from the floor and stalking from the room.

  
The bedroom door shook violently in
its frame as he slammed it. Then he was gone, leaving her nothing but the sound
of his swift furious footsteps echoing along the landing to his own room.

  
She stayed where she was for a
moment, pale hands trembling in her lap, then she leapt up and dressed
hurriedly.

  
Dragging her suitcase down from the
top of the wardrobe, Julia packed at a feverish pace, throwing clothes
haphazardly into the case and zipping it shut with unsteady fingers. It might
still be her birthday but she could not bear to spend another night beneath his
roof, not with a man who cared so little about her feelings. Marshall had not
denied a single word of it. He merely expected her to turn a blind eye to his
adultery, leaving her at home every day with his daughter while he enjoyed
himself with another woman.

  
Victoria!

  
In her agonised state of confusion,
Julia had forgotten all about the vulnerable teenager. Her lip trembled
uncertainly. She did not want to abandon Vicky, it would break the girl’s heart
and possibly send her back into that distrustful silence she had inhabited when
Julia first arrived at Moor’s Peak. Yet there was nothing she could do to
prevent that from happening. She could not stay simply for the child’s sake,
his affairs would kill her in the end.

  
The house stood shrouded in silence
and darkness as she crept from her room, carrying the heavy suitcase with
difficulty. She had scribbled a short apologetic note for Victoria which she
pushed under the girl’s door, hoping she would forgive her for leaving, then
made her way downstairs. The stars above watched dispassionately as she started
her car and spun away on the gravel.

  
Glancing in her rear view mirror,
her vision blurry with tears, Julia thought she saw lights come on downstairs
in the great house. But when she rounded the bend at the bottom of the drive
and looked back for the last time, the lights seemed to have vanished, hidden
behind the gnarled trees guarding the entrance to Moor’s Peak.

  
Julia took a deep breath and
accelerated away on the main road, her heart clenched in pain as she realised
she would probably never see Marshall or his daughter again.

CHAPTER
TEN

The
afternoon was deepening into a deliciously warm spring evening as Charlotte
turned from her contemplation of the garden and stared in amazement at Julia,
who had just pushed open the kitchen door and swayed in on a pair of wickedly
high heels. She put down the plate she had been washing and stripped off her
rubber gloves, drying her hands on a tea towel.

  
‘My god, Julia, you look absolutely
fabulous in that dress! I’d kill to have a figure like yours.’ She gave her
younger sister a teasing smile. ‘So who are you out to impress tonight?’

  
‘Oh shut up,’ Julia laughed,
blushing hotly.

  
She had lost weight recently and
knew how good she looked in the expensive black dress, its plunging neckline
revealing more than a glimpse of her breasts, the clinging material finishing
mid-thigh and showing off her slim legs. To complete the outfit, she had chosen
the elegant black heels she had bought in Truro for her birthday, the day she
had left Moor’s Peak forever.

  
The past few weeks had passed so
quickly she had barely noticed that a whole month had gone by since she arrived
in London. Her sister had taken pity on her homeless state and offered to put
her up until she could find a suitable place of her own. She had intended to
rent a flat
 
again. After scanning
advertisements in newspapers and estate agents’ windows though, she had decided
not to waste any more money as a tenant and buy a one-bedroomed apartment instead.
Property prices in London were as ridiculously inflated as ever, but she had
managed to land several lucrative contracts since leaving Cornwall and buying
her own home was easily within her scope.

  
‘Will Marshall be at this awards
ceremony tonight?’

  
Julia stiffened on hearing his
name, her face pale, immediately on the defensive. ‘I don’t know and I don’t
particularly care. As far as I’m concerned, that part of my life is over.’

  
‘He is still legally your husband
though,’ Charlotte pointed out, in her irritatingly matter-of-fact way. ‘And
the awards are for children’s literature, aren’t they? Marshall is bound to
have been nominated for at least one award, his novels always seem to be on the
bestseller list.’

  
‘Even if he’s there, I won’t be
talking to him,’ Julia insisted fiercely. ‘We’ve got nothing to say to each
other.’

  
‘Mmm, maybe you’re right.’
Wrinkling her nose suspiciously as she sniffed some milk that had been left out
of the fridge for several hours, Charlotte gave a careless shrug. ‘He certainly
hasn’t made much of an effort to find you since you left Cornwall. After all,
he’d only have to ask Richard to find out where you’re living.’

  
Julia shook her head, watching her
sister put the kettle on to boil. ‘I made Richard promise not to tell anyone
where I was.’

  
‘Not even your husband?’

  
She laughed grimly. ‘Especially not
him.’

  
‘Oh come on, Julia. Whatever
Marshall did to upset you, it can’t possibly merit treating him like a
stalker.’ Her sister reached up for the terracotta jar where they kept the
teabags, her eyes narrowing on Julia’s silent averted profile. ‘Or did you
leave him because you’re interested in somebody else? I didn’t want to say
anything, but I have noticed that you and Richard have been seeing rather a lot
of each other lately.’

  
‘Don’t be ridiculous, he’s my
agent!’
 

  
The doorbell rang at that moment
and they looked at each other without speaking, an unresolved tension in the
air.

  
Humming to herself, Charlotte
poured hot water into her cup and stirred in a spoonful of sugar as the tea
infused. There was a knowing little smile on her face. ‘I expect that’s Richard
come to pick you up,’ she murmured. ‘You’d better let him in.’

  
Feeling flustered, Julia stormed to
the door and threw it open. It was indeed Richard, immaculate as ever in a dark
suit and tie. Her agent stared at her exactly as Charlotte had, his jaw
dropping in delighted admiration. She was beginning to wish she had not chosen
to wear such a revealing outfit, wondering she had time to run upstairs and
change into something more sober-looking.

  
‘You look like a million dollars,’
Richard said huskily. ‘But we’re running a bit late, I’m afraid. Are you ready
to go?’

  
‘Come in,’ she nodded. ‘I just need
my handbag.’

  
Restlessly jingling loose change in
his pockets, Richard followed her into the living room of the small
semi-detached where Charlotte was already curled up on the sofa, watching the
television. He gave her sister a cheerful nod and perched on the edge of the
armchair, running his eyes over Julia’s figure in the tight black dress as she
bent to pick up her handbag.

  
‘Wow! You must have been shoehorned
into that dress, Julia, it’s like a second skin. I’m going to be the envy of
every man at the awards tonight.’ He grinned as she flushed scarlet, clearly
unrepentant. ‘You’ve got an excellent chance of winning your category too. It
looks like being a great evening.’

  
Charlotte shot her a wry glance
which said “I told you so”, but discreetly did not comment, sipping her tea
while she flicked through the television guide. ‘Well, don’t worry about
disturbing me if you’re back late. I’m going to have a bath while the kids are
out and get an early night. You two enjoy yourselves.’

  
Julia stayed silent during their
short drive into central London, staring out of the car window at the darkening
streets. There was jazz music playing on the radio and she found herself
remembering how she and Marshall had driven from Cornwall to London, in search
of his missing daughter. They had listened to one of his favourite jazz CDs
that night too. She fought against the memory, clenching her fists in her lap,
shutting her eyes tight. It hurt too much to remember, her whole body aching as
though she were ill.

  
It had been a mistake to let her
mind drift back to him, she thought grimly. Now she could almost see that dark
head turning in her direction, heard his voice telling her to go to hell, the
final slamming of the door. Julia shivered, wondering if Charlotte was right
and he would be at the awards ceremony tonight. She had told her sister she did
not care if he was there, but that had been a lie, an act of bravado on her
part. In fact, every nerve in her body jangled at the thought of seeing him
face to face again.

  
‘You okay there?’ Richard asked in
tones of concern, breaking into her reverie.

  
She nodded, opening her eyes and
sitting up straight. They were nearly there, deep in the heart of the capital,
familiar Victorian red brick houses and modern office blocks looming out of the
darkness as they approached the hotel where the awards were being held.

  
‘Just a bit tired,’ she said,
giving him a wry smile. ‘It’s wonderful to be working flat out again though.
I’ve nearly finished those Colquitt illustrations. They should be on your desk
next week.’

  
‘That’s excellent. But you’re too
pale, you’re going to burn out at this rate. You should slow down, Julia. Go
abroad somewhere for a few weeks.’ He hesitated. ‘Perhaps we ought to ask the
publisher for an extension on your next deadline.’

  
‘Nonsense.’ She shook her head when
he protested, adamant. ‘I’m enjoying the challenge.’

  
Smoothing the hem of her dress,
which had ridden up her thighs during the journey, she caught the downward
flash of his blue eyes and flushed, realising that Richard was staring at her
legs. It made her feel nervous, realising that Charlotte had been uncannily
accurate in her assessment of their relationship.

  
It was true. She and Richard had
been seeing each other regularly over the past few weeks. At first it had been
brief lunches near his offices or the odd drink in the evening, always to
discuss business. But more recently he had been phoning her on the slightest of
pretexts, suggesting dinner at intimate little restaurants on the outskirts of
the city, or house parties thrown by friends rather than work colleagues.

  
She had a genuine affection for
Richard. That was only natural, they had been friends for years. But she felt
nothing when they were together, in sharp contrast to the sweet piercing desire
she experienced whenever Marshall came into her thoughts.

  
As if reading her thoughts, Richard
glanced at her with a hesitant look on his face. ‘I ought to warn you, there’s
a good chance Marshall will be at the awards ceremony tonight.
The Girl from the Moor
has been
nominated for children’s book of the year and he looks likely to win it.’

  
Her heart turning cold at the news
she had been dreading, Julia was impressed by her ability to hide that
reaction. She managed a shrug and an unconcerned smile, her voice calm.

  
‘Well, I know you refused to tell
him where I was living, but it was inevitable we’d bump into each other sooner
or later. Publishing is such a small world.’

  
‘So you can handle it?’

  
‘Our marriage is over. What more is
there to say?’

  
Richard gave an approving nod.
‘That’s the spirit, Julia. No matter what they say, don’t budge an inch ...
that’s what I learnt from my first divorce. Otherwise they take you to the
cleaners.’

  
A few minutes later, she spotted a
reasonably-sized parking space further up the street, gold dust in that area of
the capital, and pointed it out to him. Richard hurriedly drove past and
reversed into it, clearly relieved to have found a space so close to the hotel.

  
‘Look, I don’t know what happened
between you and Marshall,’ he murmured, switching off the engine and turning to
look at her. ‘But I can see that the bastard hurt you. So if he starts making a
nuisance of himself tonight, you will let me know, won’t you?’

  
‘You’re very sweet,’ she said
huskily, smiling.

  
She had leant forwards at the same
time as him and their heads were very close now, almost touching in the dark
interior of his car. She heard his breathing increase and saw the blue eyes
drop slowly to her mouth. Charlotte had not been mistaken, she realised, an
embarrassed blush creeping up her face. Richard wanted to make love to her.

  
Alarmed, she fumbled for the door
handle, slipping out of the car and waiting for him on the pavement. Her pulse
was racing. She was not even remotely interested in having an affair with
Richard, and not least because it would ruin an excellent working relationship.
Falling in love with somebody else might ease the pain in her heart, but she
simply did not find Richard sexually attractive. There was only one man in the
world she yearned to go to bed with, and it was not her agent.

  
Nevertheless, she managed a bright
smile as they walked together towards the hotel, his hand at her back, lightly
guiding her through the revolving doors into an elegant lobby. The media were
already there, a small group of photographers and camera crews near the hotel
entrance, hoping for a glimpse of some of the more famous writers.

  
‘I don’t advise you to antagonise
Marshall though,’ she whispered, worried in case any of the press overheard
what they were saying. ‘He’s got an appalling temper. I don’t think it would
look too good in the national papers tomorrow, a shot of you two brawling at
the awards ceremony.’

  
Richard blinked, looking down at
her in surprise. He had clearly not considered the possibility that her husband
might start a fight in public. ‘That’s not likely, is it?’

  
‘I wouldn’t put anything past
Marshall.’

  
They were directed by a sign to a
discreetly furnished conference suite on the ground floor of the hotel. The
brightly lit room was milling with people as they entered, many of them writers
and publishers whom she vaguely recognised, some raising a hand in greeting as
they made their way through the crowd to the buffet table.

  
There were several people loitering
near the buffet table that she knew quite well, one of whom hailed her and
asked her to join the conversation. Richard darted off to find them a glass of
champagne each while she chatted pleasantly with a male editor she had worked
with some years before, when she was just starting out as an illustrator and
felt uncertain which direction to take.

  
As they stood together, discussing
the award nominations, her eyes scanned the room nervously for Marshall. Now
that she knew he was likely to attend the presentation, her stomach had started
hurting and she felt slightly sick.