Читать книгу Marriage Reclaimed: Marriage at a Distance / Marriage Under Suspicion / The Marriage Truce - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 11

WORK kept her going, coupled with the kindness of friends and neighbours. She rode out each day with Sadie, took the dogs for long walks, helped clear the winter debris from the garden, and worked out a regime for spring cleaning the entire house with Mrs Ashby.

They began, as instructed, with the massive master bedroom, packing Lionel’s clothes and personal effects into boxes in a strained and careful silence. The room had been decorated the previous year, so all that was really needed, after a thorough cleaning, was to change the curtains at the windows and around the massive four-poster bed.

Lionel had favoured a rather florid deep red, but Joanna found some much lighter drapes in a subtle olive-green, and these were pressed and hung.

For the bed she chose the best Irish linen sheets and pillowcases, adding a quilted satin coverlet that combined the olive of the curtains with shades of amber and dark brown in an intricate pattern. But she couldn’t bring herself to assist Mrs Ashby in making it up. There was only so much she could reasonably be expected to stand, she thought, beating a hasty retreat on the mendacious grounds that Sadie needed her in the stables.

Not that Gabriel would be spending many nights there anyway.

She found she was spending as much time away from the house as she could, accepting with genuine gratitude the invitations to lunch and dinner that were pressed on her by local people.

Some of the invitations, she knew, were impelled by curiosity too. Rumours of Lionel’s will and its strange provisions had inevitably leaked out, and people, aware of the separation between Gabriel and herself, were bound to speculate—and attempt a little delicate probing.

Joanna stone-walled the questions, and evaded committing herself about the future.

Not difficult, when she herself had no idea where she would go or what she would do.

On the face of it, she could take the easy option. Endure the year, then find a property well away from Westroe and its memories, and live on the income that Lionel had provided for that purpose. But she knew that wouldn’t do.

I’ve hidden from life for too long already, she thought. I need a career—some direction to my existence. Something that will stop me thinking…

But none of the plans she hatched for herself during the restless nights held any appeal in the merciless light of morning.

Get through one day at a time, she adjured herself. That’s as much as you can hope for at present.

Cynthia’s coming removal to Larkspur Cottage had also aroused discreet comment, but again Joanna refused to be drawn.

Anyway, if the local grapevine was working with its usual efficiency, they would all soon know what the score was, she thought unhappily. And then she’d have to endure them all feeling sorry for her.

Their sympathy for her over Lionel she could welcome, but to be pitied because her husband was having a blatant fling with her stepmother was a very different matter.

Cynthia’s preparations were in full swing already. She was rarely at the Manor during the day at all, which, as Joanna silently admitted, suited her fine.

Henry Fortescue was drawing up a lease for the cottage, although he’d looked down his nose at the token rent which Joanna had suggested. But then he probably didn’t realise who would actually be paying it, Joanna reminded herself. And it was not her business to tell him.

‘How does Mrs Elcott intend to earn her living?’ Henry Fortescue had looked sternly over his glasses. ‘You’ve been extremely generous over the rent, but she will still have the local tax to pay, and heating bills.’ He paused. ‘The allowance which Lionel paid her as your companion ceased on his death, of course.’

Joanna looked at the floor. ‘I believe Gabriel intends to continue it.’ She kept her face and voice expressionless.

‘Quite extraordinary,’ Mr Fortescue said dourly.

Not when you knew the facts, Joanna thought unhappily, although Gabriel must be totally besotted to let her manipulate him like this.

He’d telephoned each evening while he was away, and Cynthia had taken the calls. Try as she would, Joanna could not avoid the sound of her voice, speaking softly and intimately, with the occasional husky giggle, although thankfully she could not make out exactly what was being said.

It would be a relief, she thought, when Cynthia actually moved herself to the cottage and she no longer had to see or hear what was going on. And if she could have her imagination removed by some kind of lobotomy, that would be a bonus too.

‘By the way, darling,’ Cynthia said casually over breakfast, a few days before Gabriel’s projected return. ‘You don’t mind if I take some things with me to Larkspur?’

‘What did you have in mind?’ Joanna was going through the post, dividing bills and official communications from personal letters.

Cynthia waved an airy hand. ‘Oh, just home comforts. The picture Lionel left me, of course, and a few of the bits and pieces from my room.’

‘I presume you’ve already cleared it with Gabriel.’ Joanna slit open an envelope with precision. ‘So why ask me?’

‘Well, you are the mistress of the house.’ Cynthia paused. ‘Nominally at least.’

‘So I am,’ Joanna agreed drily. ‘How could I forget?’ She looked down at the letter in her hand. ‘Oh, the Osbornes are back from Portugal. I’d better go over there this afternoon and see Sylvia. She’s obviously terribly upset that they weren’t here when it happened.’ She picked up the pile of correspondence. ‘Do you want to come with me?’

Cynthia studied her nail varnish. ‘Absolutely not. Sylvia Osborne’s the dullest woman in the neighbourhood, and I can’t stand any more weeping and wailing.’

‘She’s also Gabriel’s godmother, and he’s very fond of her,’ Joanna reminded her levelly. ‘And you can hardly call a highly successful landscape painter dull.’

Cynthia shrugged. ‘Well, you rush round and admire her latest daub. I’ve got better things to do.’

‘The hairdresser?’ Joanna suggested lightly on her way to the door.

‘Beauty parlour, actually. A whole day’s pampering from my head down to my toes.’ Cynthia gave her a cat-like smile. ‘I want to be looking and feeling my best when Gabriel returns.’ Her smile widened. ‘Of course, you don’t have to worry about things like that. You do your bit by keeping the dogs and horses happy.’

‘I know my place,’ Joanna agreed equably, and went out of the room, followed by the dogs. She phoned Sylvia Osborne and left a message on the answering machine, suggesting that she would call over during the afternoon. Then she went out to the stables.

Sadie emerged from the tack room. ‘Morning, Jo. Shall I saddle up Minnie for you?’

‘Change of plan today.’ Joanna gave the elderly mare, who was her usual mount, a consoling pat, and moved on to Nutkin’s box. She ran her hand down his handsome nose. ‘I’d better give this lad some exercise today. Heaven knows, he needs it.’

Sadie hesitated. ‘Mr Gabriel said no one was to ride him but himself,’ she offered uncertainly.

‘Nonsense,’ Joanna said briskly, relegating her own doubts about handling the chestnut to the back of her mind. ‘Nutkin can’t stand around waiting for him to get back from his European tour. Let’s get him tacked up.’

Sadie still held back. ‘Mr Gabriel was quite definite about it, Jo. He’s not sure about Nutkin’s temperament.’ Her eyes brimmed suddenly. ‘Poor Mr Lionel. I know it wasn’t the horse’s fault…’

‘No,’ Joanna said briskly. ‘It certainly wasn’t, and I won’t allow him to be demonised because of it. Don’t look so worried, Sadie,’ she added more gently. ‘Mr Gabriel isn’t here, and, anyway, I’ll take full responsibility. I’m just going to hack him quietly round the lanes.’

Sadie looked as if this was little consolation, but together they saddled Nutkin, who was inclined to take exception to their attentions.

As Joanna had expected, he was lively in the extreme, and not easy to hold, but he didn’t drop his head, or buck to try and unseat her as she eased him, sidling and dancing, out of the yard, the dogs following behind.

‘It’s all right, my beauty,’ she told him softly. ‘You and I are going to be friends.’

It wasn’t the most comfortable ride she’d ever had. Nutkin was suspicious of everything, and an approaching cyclist had him rooted to the spot, eyes rolling.

Joanna spoke gently and reassuringly, but kept firm control as she urged him past this apparently alarming hazard.

After that it became much easier. The lanes were quiet on a chill, grey morning, and the rest of the ride passed without incident. Until Joanna turned for home.

She noticed something large and white in the hedge ahead of them, and by the way Nutkin began to fidget and toss his head he’d seen it too. As she got closer she realised it was a sheet of newspaper. As they drew level, with Nutkin snorting in protest, the wind caught it and it suddenly ballooned upwards.

Nutkin whinnied in fright and reared upwards, with Joanna clinging onto him for grim death as he plunged and skittered, his hooves sliding on the frosty road.

She heard a shout, and saw a young man—a stranger—running towards her.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Getting there,’ Joanna returned breathlessly.

He grabbed the bridle, and, between them, Nutkin came back under control.

Once Nutkin was quiet, the newcomer walked over to the hedge, seized the offending newspaper and crushed it into a ball which he thrust into the pocket of his quilted jacket.

He came back to Joanna’s side and looked up at her. He was tall, with fair hair, and blue eyes which crinkled at the corners when he smiled. He said, ‘Thank God you’re all right. I really thought you were coming off there. You could have been hurt really badly.’

‘But I didn’t, and I wasn’t.’ Joanna was more shaken than she cared to admit, but she returned his smile with an effort. ‘But from now I’ll ride him up on the hill, where there aren’t any stray newspapers or other white flapping things to spook him.’ She paused. ‘And thank you for your help, too.’

‘You didn’t really need it. You’re one terrific rider.’

She shook her head. ‘If I was, I might have seen the problem coming and avoided it.’

It occurred to her that she’d never seen him before, which was unusual out of the holiday season.

She said, ‘Are you staying locally?’

‘I’m actually living here now. I came down to visit old friends, found they’d moved on, and decided to stay anyway.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Paul Gordon.’

‘Verne—Joanna Verne,’ Joanna said as they shook hands.

‘Is that Miss or Mrs?’

She felt her cheeks warm under the frank appraisal in his blue eyes. ‘Mrs,’ she returned briefly.

He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Just my luck. And I was hoping I’d met someone who could show me around—maybe have dinner with me.’

Joanna laughed. ‘Sorry about that—but I’m sure you’ll soon make friends.’

She heard a rumbling noise and glanced down. Jess and Molly were standing menacingly, legs stiff and hackles raised, as they growled at the newcomer.

‘Hey, you two,’ Joanna admonished them. ‘Everything’s fine. Don’t be silly.’

‘I’m afraid I’m rather nervous of dogs,’ Paul Gordon said, grimacing. ‘I expect they can sense that.’

‘Possibly.’ Joanna frowned. ‘Yet they’re usually very friendly.’ She hesitated. ‘Well, I’d better be getting back before someone raises an alarm. Thanks again for your help, and—I’ll see you around.’

‘You can count on it.’ He stepped back, lifting a hand in a cheerful salute.

The dogs gave a final throaty bark, and followed her.

‘I’m ashamed of you both,’ she told them severely. At the corner, she realised she hadn’t asked where he was living. She glanced back, but Paul Gordon had disappeared.

As she rode into the stableyard the dogs dashed past her, whimpering joyfully and uttering short, staccato barks of excitement.

With a swift lurch of the heart, she saw Gabriel standing at the door of the tack room waiting for her, his hands thrust into the pockets of his navy overcoat.

Her lips began to curve involuntarily into a smile of welcome, but there was no answering warmth in his expression.

Instinct told her that he was very angry.

She leaned forward, patting the gelding’s neck to hide the swift colour which had risen in her face.

Her voice sounded high, and rather brittle. ‘Surprise, surprise. You weren’t expected back for several days yet.’

‘Evidently.’ His tone was icy. He looked past her to an apprehensive Sadie, just emerging from one of the loose boxes. ‘I gave orders that only I was to ride this horse. Why have I been disobeyed?’

Joanna said quickly, ‘It’s not Sadie’s fault. She told me what you’d said, and I—I overruled her.’

She saw his face darken, and added, ‘If you want to talk about it later, then I’ll listen. But, for the moment, Nutkin’s needs take priority.’

His lips tightened. ‘As you wish,’ he said with ominous quietness. ‘I’ll expect you in the study in half an hour.’ He turned and walked away towards the house.

As if I were some schoolgirl playing truant, Joanna thought, seething, as she dismounted.

‘Oh, Lord,’ Sadie said dismally. ‘I’d better start looking for another job.’

‘Nothing of the kind,’ Joanna told her robustly. ‘He won’t blame you. I’ll see to that.’

Without particular haste, and smilingly refusing Sadie’s anxious offers of assistance, she rubbed Nutkin down and put his rug on him, then cleaned the tack with her usual care, before hanging it away.

Grace Ashby met her as she entered the house.

‘Mr Verne has returned, madam,’ she said rather anxiously. ‘And he’s been asking for you. Several times.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Joanna returned steadily. ‘Bring some coffee to the study, please, Grace.’

The study door was closed. She regarded it for a moment, then tapped lightly and went in.

Gabriel was sitting at the desk, frowningly intent on the computer screen in front of him.

Without looking up, he said, ‘I don’t appreciate being kept waiting, Joanna.’

She said crisply, ‘And I don’t like being ordered about as if I were a servant. Or being reprimanded in front of the staff either.’

His head lifted sharply. He gave her a long look. ‘Point taken,’ he said at last. ‘But the difficulty is knowing exactly how to deal with you.

‘After all,’ he added with deliberation. ‘You certainly don’t want me to treat you as a wife.’ He gave her a barbed smile. ‘Or has my absence made your heart grow fonder?’

‘No,’ she said expressionlessly. ‘It has not.’

‘The loss,’ he said, too courteously, ‘is all mine.’ He paused. ‘However, when I give particular instructions, I expect them to be obeyed—even by you. And I said quite clearly that Nutkin was only to be ridden by me.’

‘But you,’ she said, ‘were on the other side of Europe. Vienna, wasn’t it?’

‘Vienna was cancelled. My opposite number has appendicitis.’

‘Whatever,’ she said shortly. ‘The point is it’s not fair to leave the horse eating his head off in the stables while you charge round the world playing businessman of the year.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘The real point is that you thought I wouldn’t find out.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Find him a comfortable ride, did you?’

‘He will be,’ she said. ‘When we’re used to each other.’

‘Lionel had doubts about him, you know. Wasn’t sure he was going to keep him. He thought he spooked too easily.’

She shrugged. ‘That can be cured. On the hill there’ll be nothing to alarm him.’

‘Nor will there be you,’ he said. ‘At least, not on Nutkin.’

‘Lionel never forbade me to ride anything in his stables,’ she flashed.

‘I don’t think he’d have encouraged you to ride Nutkin.’

‘Yet here I am, safe and sound.’ She put out of her mind the memory of those moments when she’d thought both she and the horse would go down on the road.

‘Then let’s keep it that way. From now on you ride Minnie or Rupert.’

‘Am I supposed to be impressed by this display of autocracy?’

‘That’s entirely up to you.’ He reached for the mail she’d placed on the desk earlier. ‘By the way, Sylvia rang back to say this afternoon’s fine and ask us to have tea with them. I accepted.’

Joanna stared at him. ‘You mean—both of us?’

‘Of course. Why not?’

She shook her head. ‘I can think of all kinds of reasons. I’ll go on my own at a different time.’

He said wearily, ‘Joanna—stop being a brat. We shall have to appear in public together from time to time. It’s known as satisfying the conventions. Going to Sylvia’s will be a painless start.’

That, she thought, is what you think.

Aloud, she said, ‘Don’t you think your godmother will find it strange to see us playing good companions?’

‘On the contrary, she’s all for civilised behaviour.’ He paused. ‘Even if she did think our marriage was a terrible mistake.’

‘Yet another one.’ Joanna gave a small, metallic laugh. ‘The list is endless.’

There was a knock at the door and Grace Ashby came in with a tray of coffee, which Joanna directed her to place on a side table.

When they were alone again, Gabriel’s brows lifted mockingly. ‘Your idea, darling?’ he drawled. ‘How very thoughtful of you.’

‘Just practising my civilised behaviour.’ While the door was open she’d seen Cynthia hovering in the hall, clearly awaiting her chance.

I shouldn’t hold up the course of true love any longer, she thought, biting her lip.

‘Well,’ she continued brightly, ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

‘Stay,’ he said. ‘Have some coffee with me.’

‘Another order?’ She looked at him with hauteur.

‘Just a simple request.’

‘Now, that,’ she said, ‘I don’t believe.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because simplicity is not one of your primary characteristics.’

‘You’re wrong,’ he said. ‘I’m an animal of fairly basic appetites—as I’m sure you remember.’ His gaze held hers for what seemed an endless moment. ‘But for now my overriding desire is for coffee. Be a good wife and pour me some, will you?’

‘Gladly.’ She paused. ‘Let me see. You take it with cream and two sugars, right?’

‘Wrong.’ He rocked back gently in his chair. ‘Just plain black.’

‘Of course,’ she said repentantly. ‘I must have been thinking of someone else.’

‘You wish,’ he murmured.

She poured the coffee with exaggerated care and put it beside him, retiring with her own cup to the seat beside the fire.

There was a silence, then Gabriel said abruptly, ‘Thank you for sorting out Lionel’s room. It can’t have been easy.’

‘Very little is.’

He gave her an ironic look. Then, ‘Did you come to any decision about Larkspur Cottage?’

Her throat muscles tightened. ‘I followed up your suggestion, and it’s all settled. Cynthia’s on the point of moving in.’ She hesitated. ‘Henry Fortescue seemed concerned about the rent—how it was going to be paid. I—I didn’t really know what to tell him.’

‘I’ll talk to him.’ Gabriel made a note on a pad beside him. ‘Explain the situation.’

‘That—might be best,’ Joanna agreed woodenly. She hesitated again. ‘Cynthia’s suggested taking some of the furnishings from here. Do you wish to make any kind of stipulation about that?’

He shrugged. ‘No. Let her take what she wants.’

In other words, give her carte blanche to strip the place, Joanna thought bitterly. But why should I care?

She took a deep breath to compose herself. ‘Perhaps you’d let me have a schedule of your movements over the next few weeks, so that I can consult Grace about meals,’ she suggested with cool politeness.

‘That won’t be a problem. I shall be remaining here for the foreseeable future.’

Her cup rattled back into its saucer. She said, ‘You mean you won’t be going abroad again for a while?’

‘I shan’t be going anywhere.’ Gabriel gave her a cordial smile. ‘I’ve delegated the running of the company to my managers, and told them to contact me only in emergency. I have enough on my hands here as executor of the estate at the moment.’

Joanna bit her lip. ‘This is—rather a change in policy for you.’

‘And probably long overdue.’ The tawny eyes rested on her meditatively. ‘If I’ve learned anything from the debacle of our marriage, Joanna, it’s been the unwisdom of sacrificing personal relationships to work. I shan’t make the same mistake again.’

Somehow, Joanna drank the rest of her coffee, put down her cup, and rose to her feet.

She said quietly, ‘I’m sure your future wife will be glad to hear it.’

He smiled faintly. ‘I’ll make sure she is.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Shall we say half past three?’

She stared at him, thrown. ‘For what?’

‘Our visit to Charles and Sylvia,’ he said patiently. ‘We’ll take my car.’

She wanted to scream at him, Take your future wife instead. But she forced the words back with an effort.

‘Actually, I have some errands in Westroe this afternoon,’ she improvised swiftly. ‘Perhaps it would be better if I met you there.’

‘Perhaps.’ He rose too, coming round the desk to her. Joanna made herself stand her ground, return his gaze with apparent unconcern.

He said softly, ‘Just as long as you don’t forget, or find yourself detained by some unforeseen circumstance. Because that, Jo, wouldn’t amuse me at all.’

‘In other words—your rules.’ She kept her tone flat. ‘You’ll have to supply me with a list of them, Gabriel, in case I inadvertently transgress.’

His eyes glinted at her. ‘What—you, my little plaster saint? Impossible.’

‘Plaster saint?’ she exclaimed, stung. ‘That’s a foul thing to call anyone.’

‘Isn’t that what you want to be?’ There was no amusement in the tawny gaze now. ‘Safe in your little niche—immune from the sins of the flesh—untouchable and—untouched? Because you’ve never wanted to be a woman, Joanna.’ He paused, ‘Or was it simply being my woman that was so abhorrent to you?’

His words were like knives, but she made herself shrug lightly.

‘Can’t we simply agree we were incompatible and leave it there?’

He shook his head slowly. ‘You were one of my failures in life, Jo. And I don’t like to lose.’

Her heart was hammering against her ribcage. His eyes were like molten gold. She felt them searing her flesh.

She lifted her chin. ‘Not a failure, Gabriel. Just—a mistake. From which we can both learn.’

‘Or we could choose a different lesson.’

One hand snaked round her, pulling her forward. The other lifted to release her hair from the confines of its prosaic elastic band.

She found herself held against him—imprisoned by his arms.

He said huskily, ‘Forget the pious platitudes, Jo. For once in your life kiss me as if you wanted to. As if you wanted me.’

His mouth was so close—just a butterfly’s wing away. His hand moved on the nape of her neck, under the fall of her hair, softly, teasingly, sending a deep shiver pulsating through her body.

He whispered, ‘Kiss me…’

It would be so easy, she thought longingly, to yield to his persuasion. To let the desire of the moment sweep her away. To assuage the pain and the need of the past unhappy years by putting her lips against his. And by following wherever that led.

Oh, dear God, so disastrously, fatally easy.

She wrenched herself free. Took a step backwards, distancing herself. Out of harm’s way.

She said, between her teeth, ‘This is not a game, Gabriel, and I am not some toy. You don’t like to fail. I won’t be used. Checkmate.’

She turned and went out of the room, across the hall and up the stairs, without looking back and without hesitation, in spite of the scalding tears that were half blinding her.

Tears that she dared not let him see. Tears she could not allow herself to shed, because they were a sign of the weakness she could not afford.

And she knew with painful desperation that she was going to need all the strength she possessed—just to survive.