Читать книгу The Marriage Renewal - Maggie Cox, Maggie Cox - Страница 8

‘TARA? What are you doing sitting here with all the lights out?’

Blinking at the sudden brightness that flooded the living room, Tara guiltily uncurled her legs from beneath her on the couch and pasted an automatic smile across her face. The slightest slip of the controlled mask she’d so carefully constructed to prevent Beth knowing how she really felt inside and her aunt would pounce on her weakness like a lion on a raw steak, demanding to know what she could do to put things right. Her help would be well-meaning, of course, but ultimately useless. This was one situation her ever-practical aunt definitely wouldn’t be able to fix.

‘I drifted off,’ she lied in answer to the older woman’s question. ‘I locked up downstairs, fixed dinner, then came in here to relax.’

‘Did you see Mac?’ Her aunt threw her keys down on the little antique table just inside the door and stood, arms akimbo, in that brisk, no-nonsense, ‘I’m in charge’ way she had that reminded Tara of one of those TV cops about to conduct an interrogation.

‘I saw him,’ she replied carefully, tucking some stray blonde strands behind her ear. ‘Why did you tell him where to find me?’

‘Because he was charming and polite and concerned, and because in my opinion it’s about time you two got some dialogue going—even if most of the blame lies squarely at his feet.’ Beth Delaney, tall, slim, fiftysomething redhead with Irish temper to match, slipped off the tailored navy jacket of her suit and arranged it carefully on the back of a polished Edwardian chair.

‘I haven’t heard from him in five years, Beth, so I think you must have misinterpreted the “concerned” part. And as for dialogue, don’t you think it’s a little late for that?’

‘It’s never too late to talk, my darling. Your situation is just too ridiculous for words. Married but not married…in the usual cohabiting sense, of course. The pair of you need to sort it out.’

Tara took a deep breath and pushed herself to her feet. ‘It’s sorted. He’s asked me for a divorce.’

‘Oh.’ For a moment or two Beth looked simply stunned. Which had to be a first as far as Tara was concerned. No one, but no one ever caught her aunt off-guard. Sharp as a tack from the age of two—so the family mythology went. ‘And what did you say to that?’ Back in charge, Beth absently fingered the single strand of exquisite pearls round her neck.

Emotion tightened Tara’s throat. In her mind—the fevered jumble of thoughts that passed for logic—she told herself it was only natural Mac had found someone else. But a stubborn, hopeful, definitely illogical part of her had always clung to the tenuous belief that one day he might come back to her. As of today that belief had been cruelly swept away, like a lone leaf in the path of a cyclone.

‘I agreed, of course. What more was there to say?’

‘What more was there to…? I take it you told him about the baby?’

Dogged in the pursuit of truth, Beth didn’t flinch from asking the tough questions.

‘He’s met someone. He wants to get married again and start a family. In answer to your question, yes…I told him about the baby. In some respects I wish I hadn’t.’

Tearing her anguished gaze away from her aunt, Tara swept past her to the door. Some might call her a coward but right now she couldn’t take any more interrogation. All she wanted to do was unwind in a long, hot, scented bath and break her heart over Mac in private.

‘Why not? He deserves to know the agony he put you through!’

‘He was devastated, Beth. I saw it in his eyes. What’s the point of us both being in agony?’

For once, Beth did not know how to answer her niece. Making a little ‘tsking’ noise with her tongue, she retrieved her jacket then reached out a hand to gently smooth Tara’s fringe from her eyes.

‘You’re such a beautiful girl, my darling, you don’t deserve to be so dreadfully unhappy. At your tender age you should be having the time of your life instead of being stuck working in a fusty old antique shop with an old bird like me!’

Tara smiled, her heart swelling with affection for the aunt who hadn’t hesitated to offer her a place of refuge when Mac walked out on her. An aunt who’d given her not simply a home but a job too if she wanted it; who’d stood by her when times were at their toughest and held her hand all through that dreadful night in the hospital—weeping with her when Tara finally lost her precious babe.

‘You’re not old, Beth. Not in any way, shape or form. And as for having the time of my life, well…’ Colouring helplessly, Tara momentarily forgot her deep sorrow at unhappy memories she’d rather not dwell on. ‘I think I had that for the first two and a half years I was with Mac.’

‘The man’s a fool!’ the older woman declared in disgust. ‘I said it then and I’ll say it again now. I wonder if he has even the slightest clue just what he walked away from?’

Mac pulled over into a lay-by to study the map once again. Satisfied he was on the right track, he wound down his window to breathe in some fresh country air. It was nearly autumn and the Indian summer that had lasted well into the first week of September was at last showing real signs of abating. Leaves were already scattered beneath the hedgerows and there was the scent of wood-smoke in the air. There was also a refreshing drop in the temperature that right now Mac found he welcomed. The cool air helped him think straight and God knew he’d done some thinking over the past three nights. He had the bags under his eyes to prove it. Flipping open the glove compartment, he delved inside for a photograph—a dog-eared colour print of Tara standing outside the Tower of London that he’d snapped years ago when they’d first met. Laughing back at him into his camera lens, she looked completely ravishing with her soft blonde hair, sparkling green eyes and pretty summer dress that moulded itself to her lithe, slim body. Mac had hardly been able to take his eyes off her and she’d been so sweet, insisting on paying for lunch and treating him when they both knew he was easily the more solvent of the two. But he had soon discovered Tara was like that: generous and loving to a fault. And Mac had lapped it up, the attention and the loving, like a man who’d been living underground all his days until he’d met her. She’d brought light and joy and humour into his life, and the day he’d walked away from her had been the darkest of his life. Until she’d told him about the baby, that was…

The pain of that thought was like a knife ripping through his chest. Releasing a harsh, dizzying breath, Mac dropped the photograph onto the passenger seat beside him and started the ignition. There was a deep frown between his dark blond brows as he checked his mirror then navigated the silver Mercedes out onto the country road to continue his journey. If he’d calculated the distance just right, he should arrive in Tara’s little market town round about lunch-time. He’d check into his hotel, get some directions from the desk clerk and go in search of Beth Delaney’s antique shop, Memories are Made. Whether she liked it or not, Tara and he had some talking to do. He just hoped that she or her aunt wouldn’t simply slam the door shut in his face and deny him the opportunity.

‘You can badger me all you like, Mac Simmonsen, but I have absolutely no intention of telling you where Tara is. I made the mistake of doing that only a few days ago and she’s been a different girl since you and she met up again. She took a long time to get over you…losing the baby—’

‘God dammit, Beth! Why didn’t someone tell me she was pregnant? As her husband, I had a right to know!’ Glad that the little antique shop was helpfully empty of customers, Mac knew his temper was on a dangerously short rein. He could accept he’d been in the wrong. He wasn’t so arrogant that he blamed Tara for keeping her pregnancy to herself—not when he’d walked out—not when he’d been the one who’d asserted he wasn’t ready for fatherhood. But he did hold her family responsible for being so damned self-righteous that they couldn’t even contact him on her behalf…especially in her hour of need.

Beth Delaney bristled. Her long topaz earrings shook alarmingly as she crossed her arms in front of her thin chest and squared up to the impressively built male in his perfect designer suit with blue eyes that would dazzle a less immune woman at twenty paces. But Beth prided herself on being stronger than that. Her beloved niece’s well-being was her priority and no amount of hectoring or pleading would shake her conviction that right now Tara should keep well away from this man. Not that she could imagine the proud, self-contained, Mac Simmonsen pleading for anything.

‘Let me remind you that you relinquished all your rights as a husband when you coldly and unfeelingly walked out on my niece as if she was less than nothing to you! You put your business and your ambition way above your relationship, and that’s a fact. It’s just a shame you deceived Tara by marrying her in the first place!’

‘Deceived her?’ His handsome brow furrowing, Mac’s heart thudded heavily inside his chest.

‘Yes, deceived her!’ Beth reiterated angrily. ‘You didn’t want a wife! You must have known you weren’t interested in a real marriage when your work so obviously came first. You deceived Tara by telling her you were doing it for her. She’s a trusting soul, Mac. She believed every word you told her. No matter how many times you let her down—and believe me, I know there were many because she cried on the phone to me—she would still end up giving you the benefit of the doubt. “One day he won’t have to work so hard,” she’d tell me. “One day Mac and I will be able to have a real holiday together somewhere wonderful.” She worshipped the ground you walked on and what did you do to her?’ Beth paused to inhale a deeply outraged breath. ‘You walked away without so much as giving her a chance at a reconciliation. I’m not privy to all the details of what went wrong between you both, but the fact is you broke her heart. And when she lost that much loved, much longed-for baby of hers…you broke it all over again. I really think it’s best for all concerned that you just turn around and leave. After all, it is what you do best, isn’t it?’

He told himself he deserved the tongue-lashing Beth had given him but, even so, anger welled up inside his chest because she’d made his walking out on Tara seem so premeditated and cold when the truth was it was anything but. He’d anguished over his decision for days and days, unable to bear the sight of his lovely wife looking so desperately unhappy. At the time, Mac hadn’t had a clue how to put things right between them—they had seemed to want different things and the gap between them had grown wider. The demands of his business had swallowed up most of his time—too much—a fact he now bitterly regretted. He should have paid more attention to his wife; shouldn’t have left her alone for most of their married life. Somehow he’d fooled himself that she’d wait until he’d secured them the future he wanted for them; fooled himself that she’d understand why it wasn’t practical for them to have children right then. One day he’d make it up to her, he’d promised himself. One day he’d give her everything she ever wanted… Well, he’d made his fortune but he’d lost the woman he’d loved—lost her long before he finally walked through the door and never looked back.

‘Marriage doesn’t come with an instruction manual, you know?’ Sighing deeply, Mac glanced at Beth and speared his fingers frustratedly through his hair. ‘I made a mess of things. I know that. Trouble is…we stopped communicating.’ A self-deprecating little crease appeared between his brows. Something inside Beth melted a little.

‘I stopped listening,’ he continued. ‘It’s just a wonder that Tara stayed around as long as she did. As for the baby…’ Those deep blue eyes of his that could be as icy as a Scandinavian winter shimmered with a vivid flash of pain. ‘Did she think I’d abandon her when I found out she was pregnant?’

Beth examined the two gold rings on her fingers and shook her head. ‘Perhaps she worried you might think she was trying to trap you into staying. I don’t know, Mac, but, knowing Tara as I do, I’d say that had something to do with it. She tells me you want a divorce—that you’re going to remarry?’

‘No.’ Mac stared past Beth at the row of grandfather clocks that were unanimously chiming the hour in a cacophony of bells and gongs. ‘Amelie and I broke up.’

‘I see.’

‘She wasn’t the right woman for me.’

‘So what are you doing here, Mac? Why do you want to see Tara?’

‘Is she seeing anyone right now?’ He couldn’t help himself. He just had to ask the one question that had been bothering him since he’d seen her at the museum. There was no way a beautiful girl like Tara would have spent the last five years alone—but it still made him feel sick with jealousy to think of her with someone else.

‘There’s never been a shortage of interested young men lining up at the door to ask her out. What do you think, Mac?’

He was afraid to think, truth to tell. There was so much he didn’t know about the girl he’d married. So much water under the bridge that stood between them. He could only guess at the kind of person she was now. All he had to go on was memory—and hope…there was always hope. A dimple appearing at the corner of his attractive mouth, he allowed himself a brief smile before replying. ‘I think the male population of this town would have to be blind not to be interested in Tara. But you haven’t answered my question, Beth. Is she in a serious relationship?’

‘Is that why you’re here, Mac? To try and win her back?’ Cocking her head to one side, Beth considered the silent tussle going on behind those riveting blue eyes.

He laid his hand on the smooth, burnished surface of a ponderous Victorian dining table just to his left, in front of Beth’s desk. ‘You have some nice things here,’ he commented, glancing around. It was amazing to him just how many antiques one could cram into such a relatively small space. Then he thought of Tara working here, in that same small space, day after day—when she should be dancing, maybe teaching in a school of her own. Once upon a time that had been her dream and Mac had vowed to himself he would help manifest it. He frowned as he remembered. ‘We need to talk. That much I do know. What time will she be back?’

Beth flipped open the big red diary on her desk but her gaze was deliberately vague. ‘She won’t be back until this evening. She’s gone out for the day. Said she wasn’t sure what time she’d be home. Perhaps you could come back another day?’

‘No.’ He was unequivocal about that. What he had to say to Tara couldn’t wait. It was already five years overdue. ‘Here’s where I’m staying.’ Retrieving a small business card from his jacket pocket, he laid it on top of the diary. ‘I’ve taken a month’s leave. I’m not in a hurry to go back to London if that’s what you’re wondering. Please tell Tara I called and I’d like to see her. Will you do that for me, Beth?’

He seemed so sincere, in earnest, that the older woman relented. She prayed she was doing the right thing.

‘I’ll tell her, Mac—but I can’t promise she’ll be in touch. You might just have to live with the fact that she might not ever want to speak to you again.’

‘Just give her the message—that’s all I ask. I’ll be seeing you Beth…and thanks.’

With a little jangle of the doorbell, he closed the door behind him and strode away down the street. Beth picked up the gold-embossed business card he’d left on the desk with the name of the best hotel in town on it and for a moment or two clutched it speculatively to her chest. ‘Oh, Tara,’ she sighed.

‘It was a great movie, wasn’t it?’

Hating to burst his bubble, though action movies with buildings and people being blown up at every turn really weren’t her thing, Tara grinned ruefully at the handsome young man who’d taken her to the cinema. Raj Singh was the adored son of Sanjay and Binnie—proprietors of her local newsagents—and from time to time Tara and he would date, although their association was on a unanimous friendship-only footing—which suited them both. After Mac, Tara just didn’t do deep, meaningful relationships any more, and Raj was promised to a girl of his parents’ choosing in an arranged marriage. The wedding would take place in three months’ time at Christmas, when the whole family would decamp to Kerala on the Indian subcontinent for a traditional Indian ceremony. For a young man as westernised as Raj, Tara was enormously impressed that when it came to the question of marriage, he was willing to bow to the more traditional wishes of his family.

‘It wasn’t in the same league as Gone with the Wind,’ she teased, ‘but it was OK.’

‘Gone with the wind?’ Completely bewildered, Raj scratched his head.

“‘Frankly, my dear—I don’t give a damn.”’ Ring any bells?’ Tara’s mouth quirked in a smile. ‘Obviously not. It was my mother’s favourite film. I was named after the house that featured in the story.’

‘Tara was the name of a house?’

‘Forget it. Let’s go and get a pizza, shall we?’

‘Why do you get to choose what we eat? You know I’d prefer a burger!’

‘I let you choose the film, didn’t I?’ she shouted at him over her shoulder.

‘You are one bossy woman, you know that?’ Raj hurried to keep up with the slender blonde spitfire as she pushed her way through the busy throng of humanity spilling into Leicester Square and hoped to God that his promised new wife would have just half as much spark. The last thing he wanted was some submissive little wallflower with no opinions other than her husband’s.

‘Pizza, then home,’ he said firmly, knowing Tara would completely ignore the assumed authority in his voice. ‘I promised your aunt I wouldn’t get you back too late.’

Tara stopped dead in her tracks and swung round to face him, hands on hips. ‘Well, more fool you, Raj Singh, because I want to go dancing!’

‘You do?’

‘I do.’ And, although she was smiling and determined to have a good time, inside Tara’s heart was aching because Mac had never—not even once—taken her to a nightclub to dance.

‘I think that just about covers everything. If you can think of anything else, call me. You’ve got my number.’ His business concluded, Mac replaced the receiver on its rest and swung his long legs onto the bed. Picking up the hardbacked book beside him on the nightstand, he flicked to the page he’d turned down at the corner then, adjusting the stack of pillows behind his head, proceeded to read where he’d left off earlier.

Five minutes later, having read the same two sentences at least ten times, Mac dropped the book beside him on the counterpane and with a harsh sound of exasperation dragged both hands back and forth through his thick blond hair. Unused to having time on his hands, time when he should be relaxing and enjoying himself, he concluded it was a sad state of affairs when a man didn’t even remember how to participate in either of those two very necessary states. He was so used to working twelve-to fourteen-hour days, his body seemed to have lost the ability to relax when he wanted it to. Getting up, he strode over to the old-fashioned sash window, lifted the forest-green drape and glanced out at the deserted street below. The row of Tudor-fronted shops reminded him how historical this little town was. How appealing to the out-of-town visitor or tourist from abroad. But it was mid-afternoon and as quiet as the grave…too quiet. How did Tara stand it? Wasn’t there anything about London she missed? Apart from the Victoria and Albert Museum and Sadler’s Wells, that was? The capital city could be an unforgiving mistress with its noise, traffic jams and pollution, but Mac had to admit he loved it—missed it when he wasn’t there. In the early days of their marriage, Tara had often talked about wanting to move to the country and Mac had put her off, promising to discuss it ‘some time in the future’ when he wasn’t so busy—when the demands of his steadily growing business were perhaps less. He’d get someone in to run the agency for him, he’d told her—then it wouldn’t matter that he didn’t live close by; he could keep in touch by phone or fax, just show up for the important stuff. His ambition had been like a drug, he acknowledged now, shame churning his insides. He’d let it blind him to the fact that his wife had needs too, and more often than not he wasn’t meeting them. He shut his eyes at the memory. On the nightstand, the trill of the telephone mercifully jolted him.

‘Yes?’

‘Mr Simmonsen? I have a Mrs Simmonsen down here in the lobby to see you.’

A vein throbbed in his temple. For a moment he didn’t know what to say. He’d begun to think she wasn’t going to get in touch after all, as Beth had speculated she might not. All day he’d resisted the impulse to make his way back to the shop and see if she was there—find out if she was deliberately avoiding contact. Not that he’d let a little obstacle like that get in his way—there was far too much at stake for that…

‘Tell her I’ll be right down.’

As he descended the thickly carpeted staircase to the floor below, Mac straightened his tie, rubbed a hand round his recently shaven jaw, and mused that it was surely a good sign that Tara was still using his name when she could have so easily reverted to her maiden name. Even though they weren’t actually divorced, who could have blamed her under the circumstances? But, that aside, he couldn’t deny the throb of pleasure that pulsed through him at the sight of her sitting on the big cream sofa in the lobby. She was wearing light blue jeans with a crisp white blouse and she’d folded her tan-coloured jacket across her lap. She looked fresh-faced and pretty and when she trained her wary green gaze his way Mac knew an almost irresistible desire to get her alone, in the most intimate situation he could think of.

She got to her feet as he drew level, and her scent drifted round him, stirring memories strictly of the bedroom variety.

‘I got your message. I can’t stay long—I’m helping Beth with a stock inventory. What is it, Mac? What was so urgent that you couldn’t just tell me on the phone?’

Going for broke, he squared his shoulders. ‘I’ve decided I don’t want a divorce after all,’ he replied evenly.

‘You don’t?’ Big as saucers, Tara’s green eyes were visibly apprehensive. ‘Then…then what do you want?’

‘I want you, Tara…back in my life. I want us to have a proper marriage.’