The Faithful Wife (11 page)

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Authors: Diana Hamilton

Tags: #Romance

BOOK: The Faithful Wife
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And he'd treat her like spun glass, so gently, win her back to him.
The sensation of being at peace with himself at last flooded through him. He believed now that Evie had meddled with Bella's life in a big way for the second time, with the help of his own sister this time. But that didn't matter—or only inasmuch as he was back on course, trusting her not to lie to him.
What really mattered was the way he'd finally and suddenly come to terms with her infidelity.
He could easily understand how the affair had begun. Maclaine was attractive to women, and she'd been very young when he'd met her. And she'd been grateful to him for helping her to achieve the financial security she and her family had never known.
And later his own long absences, his dedication to his work, his thoughtless prevarication when she'd mentioned babies, telling her they'd discuss all that some time in the vague future, had eventually driven her back to her former lover—the man who, or so it now seemed, had given her one hundred per cent of his attention.
His shoulders were broad enough to carry all of the blame, and in the future—if she'd give them a future—he would provide her with everything she craved for. He'd sort that out as soon as they got away from here.
But until he could show her that his good intentions were more than the hot air and vague promises he'd carelessly tossed at her in the past, and could offer her the solid physical proof that everything had changed, he'd walk as if he were treading on eggs. He wouldn't use their physical need for each other to blackmail her into being part of his life again.
The release from the canker of bitterness and anger was exhilarating. It had been nudged out of sight by the one great constant in his life—his love for her.
He crossed again to the window. Halfway down the track her slender body was dwarfed by the icy immensity of the snow-clad mountains. His heart surged with the determination to make their future as perfect as it could possibly be, keep her close to him, as much a part of his life as she was a part of his heart.
He prayed to God she'd give him a second chance.
 
When Bella walked back in, the scene was festive. Leaping firelight, sherry and two small tulip glasses side by side on the coffee-table, Jake fixing a strand of multicoloured fairy lights on the tree.
She felt as if she were on the outside looking in, a kid with her nose pressed to the window pane watching yearningly something it could never be part of.
‘You forgot to use the lights.' Carefully Jake gave her the most casual glance, the smallest smile. He wouldn't give her so much as a nudge towards the decision he was determined she would make when he'd put his own life in order.
‘I didn't know how to fix them.'
If he wanted innocuous conversation she'd give it to him. Right now she felt too weary to fight him. She'd walked the rage out of her system and, although it would probably come back—trailing hurt and the feeling of being used and discarded—she was too drained at the moment to cope with anything other than the superficial.
Jake crawled round the base of the tree and pushed the plug into the socket. ‘There.' He stood up, veiled eyes on her face, watching the way her eyes widened as the brilliant little lights came on, all the colours of the rainbow strung along the forest-green branches of the tree.
Something caught at his heart and tipped it over. Until her success she'd probably never had her own Christmas tree. Her father wouldn't have wasted money on such a thing, and after he'd run out on them all her family had probably had a struggle even to afford to eat.
Their first Christmas together had been spent at that rambling, Elizabethan inn, the two subsequent ones in the sophisticated elegance of a Bahamian hotel. The third—the third had been an unmitigated disaster.
But from here on in things were going to change. A sudden mental picture of the two of them dressing an enormous tree, stacking brightly wrapped gifts around it, flashed into his mind. It was followed by the moving image of a bunch of children—their children—galloping down the stairs at first light to investigate what Santa had brought them.
The future as she had always wanted it to be was what he wanted, too. And it was what they were going to have.
‘What should we do about that turkey?' he asked lightly. He wanted to take her in his arms and paint a picture of the future they would have together. But it was too soon. He had to tread gently, give her proof positive of his good intentions first.
‘Oh.' Bella blinked, and the dancing lights stopped mesmerising her. ‘Cook it and eat it, I suppose.' Could she pretend they were a normal couple spending a normal Christmas together?
It was, she supposed, the only civilised thing to do.
‘Then we'll do it together.'
Bella flinched. His smile was so warm it hurt her. She nodded, walking into the kitchen ahead of him, taking off her coat as she went. He was an enigma.
Two hours ago they'd been almost at each others throats, the pain of the last year spilling out. And now he was behaving as if it hadn't happened. As if last night hadn't happened.
What had happened between them last night was something he'd already put behind him. He didn't want to talk about it, or think about it, and he certainly didn't want to repeat it. As far as he was concerned it had been a one-night stand.
She would have to dig deep to find the strength to cope.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I
T WAS almost a relief to be heading away from the cottage at last. She wouldn't let herself dwell on all the painful regrets.
Bella sneaked a look at Jake's strong profile, and then wished she hadn't. There was an aura of excitement about him that was positively tangible. If she touched him she'd probably get an electric shock.
The prospect of getting away and dumping her safely back at her flat, out of the way, getting on with his own highly successful life must have mega-appeal if it made him look like that. It was as if he simply couldn't wait!
‘The mechanic they sent out was on the ball,' he commented as they left the valley behind them and turned carefully onto the mountain road, the surface of which was compacted with frozen snow, just as the valley track had been. ‘With us at nine, on the dot. That's what I call service.'
Bella said nothing. What was there to say? His heart-felt, appreciative comment had only reinforced what she'd just been thinking about his eagerness to put her out of his life again.
He'd been ready and waiting when she'd come downstairs that morning at a few minutes before nine, champing at the bit, as she'd described his mood to herself. He must have been up for hours. Everywhere was clean and tidy—the hearth swept clear of ashes, the baubles and lights taken down from the tree and stowed neatly away in their box. And that, more than anything else, had made her feel as if her world had stopped.
It was as if the time they'd spent together hadn't happened. And when the rescue vehicle had come into sight, advancing slowly down the track, he'd been out of the door as if someone had sprung a trap.
She'd built up_a foolish dream, founded on nothing more substantial than hope, and he'd stamped on it. And this morning's breathtaking eagerness to get back to his life was grinding her silly dream into the ground.
And it hurt!
‘I must remember to arrange to have flowers sent to Evans' wife,' he murmured, concentrating minutely on his driving because the conditions were on the side of downright dangerous.
Because the driver of the tractor had been instrumental in arranging his escape, Bella deduced acidly. She wished he didn't feel he had to make idle conversation, as if she were a stranger he felt he had to entertain.
‘I suppose,' she answered dully, too miserable to care, and Jake took his eyes from the road for a second, sweeping them over her tight features.
‘Headache still bothering you?' he asked softly.
As if he cared! ‘Not at all,' she disclaimed stiffly, and looked pointedly out of the window at her side. The headache was fictional. She'd made it up because she hadn't been able to stand another second of the false spirit of Christmas.
Yesterday, while the turkey had been roasting, they'd lunched on nuts and sherry, picked at a salad and a bowl of fresh fruit. And he'd followed her everywhere. Wherever she'd been he was there, at her shoulder. Helping. They'd prepared the vegetables together and he'd laid the table in the living room, unearthing candles from somewhere, so they'd dined by candlelight and firelight and the glitter from the tree.
Oh, she'd tried to be adult and civilised about it, but the tension had wound her up to the point of almost saying something she'd regret, coming out with something decidedly personal, like telling him she loved him so much she thought she was dying from it, and begging him to take her back!
She wouldn't have been able to bear his pity, contempt or plain disbelief when he thanked her for the offer but said he wouldn't take it up, if it was all the same with her. Because that was what would have happened; she knew it in her bones. Otherwise why had he brought the shutters down so effectively?
So she'd invented a headache, blamed it on too much wine, and gone to bed. Where she'd known she'd be safe. And so she had been. He hadn't so much as poked his head round the door to say good-night.
She spent most of the seemingly interminable journey wishing it was over so she could crawl into her own space, be alone and lick her wounds. But when at last they drew up in front of the mews flat she shared with Evie, Bella panicked. He was her husband, and she'd probably never see him again. If the past year was anything to go on he'd avoid her like the plague.
She simply couldn't go on like this.
He cut the engine and turned to her, and she got in first, before he could say anything—anything at all. ‘We never did get around to discussing the divorce.' And she watched his face go tight.
‘Divorce isn't in the frame,' he ground out through his teeth.
Was that anger in his black, black eyes? Or shock? Bella didn't know, or care. It was enough to have brought it home to him that she did exist, as his wife, albeit estranged. That she wasn't a passing stranger he had decided to be polite to, to the extent of making general, idle conversation to while away the time.
If he didn't like to be reminded that they were still legally tied, then tough! She would force the situation down his throat if she had to.
Ever since they'd made love he'd brought the shutters down. He treated her with politeness, with impersonal consideration, like a stranger. It was far harder to bear than when he'd been openly scathing, angry with her and at the situation they'd been put in.
‘Why not?' she countered, her voice splintering with anger. She'd get a real response from him if it killed her! ‘Our marriage is over, despite the mutually satisfying romp we had on the night of our fourth wedding anniversary.'
She'd stress that, oh, she would! He'd hurt her too much. The need to retaliate in kind was despicable, she knew that, but she hadn't been able to stop the raging words from falling off her tongue.
‘You don't know what you're saying,' he told her. His face was white beneath the olive tones of his skin.
So she had forced a reaction, even if it was merely anger at her temerity in daring to mention something he had probably already conveniently forgotten.
‘Oh, but I do,' she answered him back. ‘Despite the sex, which I have to admit was well up to standard, our marriage was over the moment I knew you didn't trust me. I knew you didn't love me because, the way I see it, trust has to be the biggest part of loving. You immediately thought the worst, and went on thinking it. And believing it. I knew then that there wasn't any point.'
He wasn't answering. He looked as if she had just exploded a bomb under him. ‘If you don't want to discuss divorce, we'll forget it,' she conceded finally, flatly, the fight draining from her, leaving her feeling weak and hopeless.
Divorce wasn't in any way important to her. It wasn't as if she would ever want to remarry. Jake was the only man she had ever loved, could ever love. She'd only mentioned it to get a real response.
She could see his point of view, too. Despite her having returned every one of the allowance cheques that had come through his solicitor, he might be understandably wary of the final break.
A divorce settlement could cost him heavily. The acquisition of wealth seemed the only thing that mattered to him. He wasn't to know she would never accept a penny from him, and he might suspect she would take him for all she could get, simply out of spite, if the break was made final.
‘Bella—' He shifted in his seat, facing her now. He took one of her hands in both of his, and she let it stay there. It was beyond her power to snatch it away, and she self-destructively impressed this final touch on her memory banks. ‘We do need to talk. Make arrangements for the future. At the cottage—' impressive shoulders lifted heavily ‘—the time wasn't right. You said trust was important.'
His eyes seemed to be probing her soul. ‘I'm working on it, believe me. And I'm asking you to trust me now. We'll meet soon, have dinner, sort everything out.' The look in his eyes told her he wanted that very much.
Stupid hope soared again, filling her heart until she felt it might burst, and try as she might she couldn't stop it.
‘When?' she asked, her voice low and husky, hoping he'd suggest the very next day.
‘Soon,' he promised vaguely, his eyes hooded now as he rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles lightly before releasing her hand. ‘I'll be in touch. I can't say when. I've a fair amount of business to attend to.'
So what else was new?
She released her seat belt, the momentary insanity of hope draining away. Business would always take precedence. Didn't she already know that? She scrambled out onto the slushy pavement. He would have far more important things to do than wine and dine his estranged wife, to talk her into accepting the status quo.
Because that was what it was all about. She was sure of that now—keep everything the same, a wife, but no wife, tucked away, never seen, making no demands. Avoid having to swallow a divorce settlement that would make a dent in all that money!
‘I'll see you when I see you, then.' Echoes of the past! Of the times when she'd watched him walk out of the apartment, immaculately suited, briefcase in hand, his thoughts already gone from her, on another plane entirely. And had that been her voice, all high and hard?
She slammed the passenger door, lifted her bags and walked away, knowing she wouldn't see him again—because when he did get round to finding the time to make that date she'd tell him to get his solicitor to put whatever was on his mind in writing!
No way would she put herself through the hell of seeing him again.
 
For the rest of that day and the whole of the next Bella was alone. No sign of Evie. She felt more isolated than she'd been at the cottage. At least she'd had Jake for company.
But she wouldn't think about Jake, she vowed. Not ever again. Yet when the phone rang. startling in the silence, her stomach churned over sickeningly. Jake? Making that dinner date? Making time for her in his busy, busy life?
It was her mother, phoning long distance.
‘I tried to get you on Christmas Day. Both out enjoying yourselves, were you?' She didn't wait for a reply. ‘Your auntie sends her love. She's thinking of coming back with me when I visit again in the summer. You won't mind? Is Evie in? Is she still seeing that Mitchell boy? He's something in computers, isn't he?'
A sudden change of tone told Bella that she was about to come out with what had been uppermost in her mind. ‘Have you and Jake got together yet and tried to sort things out?'
Bella ignored that for the moment. She'd answer briefly and in context. ‘Evie's not here. She found out Bob Mitchell was already married and dropped him. At the moment I think she's got a crush on her new boss, so she's bounced back, as usual. And Jake and I have nothing to sort out. Our marriage is over. And my job's keeping me—'
Her mother wasn't interested in her job. ‘Both you and Jake need a spanking!' she cut in. ‘You're two lovely people, you had a lovely marriage. So you had a tiff, a difference of opinion—that's not the end of the world. All couples have them—'
Bella switched off. ‘A difference of opinion' was putting it too mildly. They had both wanted vastly different things. But she had been willing to change, to want what he wanted, because she'd wanted to be back in his life. She'd been sure she could learn to live with his lack of trust; surely she could if she really tried? It was a flaw in his character she could do nothing about.
She would have told him, tried to pull their marriage back together, but he'd withdrawn the intimacy that would have made it possible. And now she was thankful she hadn't set herself up for the unbearable humiliation of having him tell her he wasn't interested.
‘So it isn't any wonder, is it? Bella?'
‘Sorry, Mum, I didn't quite catch that.'
‘That I worry about you.'
‘Then don't. I'm fine, really I am. Getting on with my life, making friends.' She gently steered the conversation away from the subject. Her mother had had a dreadful marriage and, understandably, she wanted her daughters to fare better. Bella couldn't blame her for nagging, but when the call ended she knew she had to do what she'd said—get on with her life.
She had her job and she enjoyed it. And she had the new friends she'd made at the agency. In the past, when she'd been invited to socialise, she'd always politely refused. Not any more. She would start to do some inviting of her own.
She picked up the phone. She'd call Guy and Ruth first, find out if the New Year party they were throwing at their home, with agency staff welcome, was still on. If it was she'd invite herself.
She heard the key in the lock as she ended the call. Evie. Anger at what her sister had done came back with a blistering whoosh.
Wearing a blue silk shift that matched the colour of her eyes and clung to her curvily plump figure as if it had been grafted on, Evie swayed on her very high heels and croaked, ‘What are you doing here?'

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