Authors: Danielle Steel
Now and Forever (25 page)
"Why not?"
"I'll tell you why not. Because if you pit yourself against her, Ian'll lose," Martin was quick to interject. "You have to be the gentlest, sweetest, calmest wife in the world. You come on like a hellion, and she'll break you in two right on the stand. We went over everything this weekend. You know what you have to do." Jessica nodded somberly, and Ian sighed. Martin had gone over everything with him too, but that damn woman hadn't asked any of the right questions. And God only knew what she'd ask Jessie. "All right?"
"All right." Jessica smiled softly, and they dropped Martin off near City Hall. He had to go back to his office, and they had decided to go home to unwind. Jessica wanted a little time to take care of Ian. He needed it after the morning, and it kept her mind off what she'd have to say that afternoon.
When they got home, she made him lie down on the couch, took off his shoes, loosened his tie, and ran a soft hand through his hair. He lay there for a few minutes, just looking at her.
"Jess ..." He didn't even know how to say it, but she knew.
"None of that. Just lie there and relax. I'll go make some lunch." For once he didn't argue; he was too tired to do anything more than just lie there.
When she came back with a covered bowl of steaming soup and a plate piled high with sandwiches, he was asleep. He had the exhausted look of tragedy. The pale rumpled look one got when someone has died, when a child is terribly ill, when one's business had failed. Those times when schedules were disrupted, and one was suddenly at home, in seldom-worn clothes, looking terribly tired and afraid. She stood looking down at him for a moment and felt a wave of pity for him rush up inside her. Why did she feel so protective of him? Why did she feel as though he couldn't cope with it all, but she could? Why wasn't she angry? Why didn't she look like that now? She had when he was in jail, but he was here now, she could touch him and hold him and take care of him. The rest wasn't real. It was awful, but it wouldn't last. It would hurt, and it would rock him and humiliate him and do all sorts of grim things, but it wouldn't kill him. And it wouldn't take him away. As she sat quietly next to him and lifted his hand onto her lap, she knew that nothing would ever take him away from her. No Margaret Burton, no district attorney, no court, not even a jail. Margaret Burton would fade, Matilda Howard-Spencer would go on to some other case, as would Martin and the judge, and it would all be over. It was just a question of keeping themselves afloat until the storm passed. And she needed Ian too desperately to let anything, even her own feelings, jeopardize what they had. She wouldn't let herself get angry. She couldn't afford to.
There was the briefest flash of bitterness as she looked out over the bay and thought of her father. He wouldn't have done something like this, and he wouldn't have let her mother go through it, either. He'd have protected his wife more than Ian was protecting her. But that was her father. And this was Ian. Comparisons served no purpose now. She had Ian. It was as simple as that. She demanded a lot of him, so she had to give a lot too. She was willing. And right now it was her turn to give.
Looking down at him, as he slept there on her gray skirt, he looked like a very tired little boy. She smoothed his hair off his forehead and took a deep breath, thinking of that afternoon. It was her turn now. And she wasn't going to lose. She had decided that after the disastrous morning. The case was going to be won. And that was that. It was insane that it had gone this far. But it was not going much further. Jessie had had enough.
Ian woke shortly before two and looked up in surprise.
"Did I fall asleep?"
"No. I hit you on the head with my shoe and you fainted."
He smiled at her and yawned into her skirt. "You smell delicious. Did you know that every single item of clothing you own smells of your perfume?"
"Want some soup?" She was smiling at the compliment. He'd gotten them into one hell of a mess, but one thing was certain, and that was how much she loved him. Not just needed him, loved him. How could she be angry? How dare she ask for his left arm when fate had already taken his right? They had suffered enough. Now it was time to finish it.
"Christ, you look determined. What've you been up to?"
"I haven't been up to a thing. Do you want soup?" She eyed him alluringly as she held a Limoges cup in one hand and her mother's best soup ladle in the other.
"My, so fancy." He sat up and kissed her and looked at the tray. "You know something, Jessica, you're the most remarkable woman I know. And the best." She wanted to tease him and ask if she was better than Fifi Estabrook, but she didn't dare. She suspected that the wounds of the morning were still raw.
"For you, milord, nothing but the best." She carefully poured the asparagus soup into the cup and added two neat little roast-beef sandwiches to the plate. There was a fresh salad too.
"You're the only woman I know who can make a sandwich lunch look like a dinner party."
"I just love you." She put her arms around his neck and nibbled his ear, and then stretched and stood up.
"Aren't you going to eat?"
"I already did." She was lying, but she couldn't have eaten a thing before going on the stand in less than an hour. She looked at her watch and headed for the bedroom. "I'll straighten out my face. We have to leave in ten minutes." He waved happily from the midst of his lunch and she disappeared into the bedroom.
"Ready?" He walked into the bedroom five minutes later, tightening his tie and glancing at his ruffled hair in the mirror. "Good lord, I look like I've been sleeping all day."
"As a matter of fact, darling, you do." And she was pleased. The brief hour of sleep had done him good. The time they'd spent at home had done them both good. Jessie felt stronger than she had in weeks. Margaret Burton wasn't going to touch them. How could she? Jessie had decided to ignore her, to rob her of her powers. And it was as though Ian sensed the rebirth in his wife.
"You know something? I feel better. I was really beat after this morning." And he hated to think of what Jessie would have to go through that afternoon, but she seemed ready for it. "You changed?"
"I thought this looked more appropriate." It was a wonderfully ladylike dress, the kind she might wear to a tea. It was a soft gray silk with full feminine sleeves, and a belt of the same fabric. The whole line of the dress was gentle and easy, and without being fancy, it screamed "class." "As long as they're going to bill us as being so upper-class, we might as well look decent. I'm so sick of those fucking tweed skirts, I'm going to burn them all on the front steps the day this is over."
"You look gorgeous."
"Too dressed up?"
"Perfect."
"Good." She slipped on quiet black kid pumps, clipped pearl earrings on her ears, picked up her bag, and headed for the closet to get out her black coat. Ian truly did think she looked gorgeous. He was so damn proud of her. Not just of how she looked, but of how she was taking this.
Martin was not quite as pleased, though, when they walked into the courtroom. He noticed Jessica's black coat and the glimpse of gray silk. It was just what he didn't want. Everything about her looked expensive. It was as though she had set out to prove everything Matilda Howard-Spencer had suggested. Jesus. Where were their heads? Crazy kids, they didn't realize what was happening. They had an unnerving assurance about them as they took their seats, as though they had arranged everything and there was nothing more to worry about. It was a bad time for them to make a show of strength, however subtle. And yet, maybe it was just as well that they felt a little more confident. They had both looked so beaten after the morning.
This new look of confidence underlined the bond between them. One was always aware of that, of them as a pair, not just Ian or Jessie, but both. It was frightening to think what would happen to them both if someone tried to sever that bond. If they lost.
Jessica looked remarkably calm as she walked up to the witness stand. The gray dress moved gracefully with her, the full sleeves gentling her impressive stature. She took the oath and looked at Ian for one tiny instant before turning her attention to Martin.
His questions built up a picture of a devoted couple and of a wife who respected her husband too much to doubt that he was telling the truth. He was pleased with Jessica's quiet, dignified manner, and when he relinquished his witness to the prosecutor, he had to repress a smile. He would have liked to see these two women roll up their sleeves and stalk each other around the room. They were evenly matched. At least he hoped so.
With Jessica, Matilda Howard-Spencer was not going to waste time. "Tell us, Mrs. Clarke, were you aware that your husband had cheated on you before this?"
"Indirectly."
"What do you mean by that?" The attorney looked puzzled.
"I mean that I assumed that was a possibility, but that it was nothing serious."
"I see. Just a little lighthearted fun?" She was back on that track again, but Jessie had seen it coming.
"No. Nothing like that. Ian isn't flip about anything. He's a sensitive man. But I travel quite a bit. And what happens, happens."
"Does it happen to you as well?" Now the attorney's eyes were glittering again. Gotcha!
"No, it does not."
"You're under oath, Mrs. Clarke."
"I'm aware of that. The answer is no."
She looked surprised. "But you don't mind if your husband fools around?"
"Not necessarily. It depends on the circumstances." Jessica looked every inch a lady, and Ian was incredibly proud of her.
"And these particular circumstances, Mrs. Clarke, how do you feel about them?"
"Confident."
"Confident?" Jessica's interrogator looked taken aback, and Martin fidgeted. "How can you be confident, and what about?"
"I'm confident that the truth about this matter will come out, and that my husband will be acquitted." Martin watched the jury. They liked her. But they had to like Ian too. And more than that, they had to believe him.
"I admire your optimism. Are you footing the bill for the expense of this?"
"No, not really." Ian almost cringed. She was lying under oath. "My husband made a very wise investment after he sold his last book. He put the investment in my care, and we decided to sell it to cover the expense of the trial. So I can't say I'm footing the bill." Bravo! The Morgan! And she was telling the truth! He wanted to jump up and hug her.
"Would you say that you have a good marriage?"
"Yes."
"Very good?"
"Extremely good." Jessica smiled.
"But your husband does sleep with other women?"
"Presumably."
"Did he tell you about Margaret Burton?"
"No."
"Did he tell you about any of his women?"
"No. And I don't think there were very many."
"Did you encourage him to sleep around?"
"No."
"But as long as they were little nobodies, you didn't care, is that it?"
"Objection!"
"Sustained. Leading the witness."
"Sorry, Your Honor." She turned back to Jessica. "Has your husband ever been violent with you?"
"No."
"Never?"
"No."
"Does he drink a great deal?"
"No."
"Does he have problems about his manhood, because you pay the bills?" What a question!
"No."
"Do you love him very much?"
"Yes."
"Do you protect him?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, do you shield him from unpleasantness?"
"Of course, I'd do anything I had to to shield him from unpleasantness. I'm his wife."
Matilda Howard-Spencer's face settled into a satisfied smile. "Including lie in court to protect him?"
"No!"
"The witness is excused."
The assistant district attorney turned on her heel and went back to her seat as Jessica sat gaping on the witness stand. That damned woman had done it again.
Everyone was back in their seats the next morning for the two attorneys' summations to the jury. Ian and Jessica were pleased by Martin's comments and his style in addressing the jury, and they felt that he created a real wave of sympathy for the defense. Everything was in control. Then Matilda Howard-Spencer stood up, and the assistant district attorney was demonic. She painted a portrait of a wronged, distraught, heartbroken, brutally abused woman--hard-working, clean-living Peggy Burton. She also made a strong case that men like Ian Clarke shouldn't be allowed to dally where they wished, use whom they wanted, rape whom they chose, only to toss the women away and go home to the wives who supported them, who would do "anything to protect them," as Jessie herself had said. Martin objected and was sustained. He explained later that it was rare to have to object to a closing argument, but that this woman breathed fire at the mere mention of Ian's name. And Jessie was still steaming when the court adjourned for lunch.
"Did you hear what that bitch said?" Her voice was loud and strident and Martin and Ian quelled her rapidly with a look.
"Keep your voice down, Jess," Ian pleaded. It wouldn't pay to antagonize anyone now, least of all the jury, who were filtering pas them on their way out to lunch. He had seen two of them look at Jess as she'd started to talk.
"I don't give a damn. That woman ..."
"Shut up." And then he put an arm around her and gave her a squeeze. "Bigmouth. But I love you anyway." She sighed loudly and then smiled.
"Damn, that aggravated me."
"Okay, me too. Now let's forget about this crap for a while, and go get some lunch. Deal? No talk about the case?"
"Okay." But she said it grudgingly as they walked down the hall.
"No 'okay,' I want a solemn promise. I refuse to have my lunch wrecked by this. Just make believe we're on the jury and can't discuss it."
"You really think they stick to that?" He shrugged indifferently and pulled a lock of his wife's hair.
"I don't care what they do. Just tell me if I have that promise from you. No talking about the case. Right?"
