Marriage at a Distance (4 page)

‘I had no idea he had any kind of heart trouble.’

Gabriel shrugged a shoulder. ‘I presume he didn’t want to worry you.’

She stared at him. ‘Then—you knew?’ she asked incredulously.

‘Yes.’ His voice was even. His tawny gaze met hers in direct challenge. ‘I’ve been seeing him quite regularly in London. The last time was a couple of weeks ago, when he came up to consult a specialist who recommended a by-pass operation.’ He paused. ‘But unfortunately fate intervened.’

He gave her a speculative look. ‘Our meetings have clearly come as an unpleasant shock to you. If you’d hoped the breach between us was total, and I’d be cut off with the proverbial shilling, you’re going to be disappointed.’

She stood up, spilling coffee down her skirt. ‘How dare you say that?’ Her voice shook. ‘I never thought—never wanted you to be apart from him. I’ve been blaming myself terribly…’

‘And scalding yourself as penance, it seems,’ Gabriel said grimly. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘No, of course not.’ She dabbed crossly at her damp skirt with a hankie. ‘God, how stupid.’

‘Sit down,’ he said more gently. ‘And calm down.’

‘I was perfectly calm,’ she said, off the edge of her voice, ‘until you started your—rotten insinuations.’

‘Mea culpa.’
His tone was almost casual. ‘Consider yourself absolved—of that particular crime anyway. And don’t throw any more coffee about,’ he added, as her head lifted in shock and she glared at him.

‘Is this your idea of preserving the decencies?’ she demanded.

‘That’s in public,’ he said. ‘This is private—just between the two of us. Husband to wife.’

‘Is that how you still regard us?’ Joanna perched tensely on the edge of the sofa.

He shrugged. ‘It happens to remain a legal reality, however regrettable.’

‘But not for much longer.’ Joanna swallowed. ‘Gabriel, we married each other for all the wrong reasons, but it doesn’t have to be a life sentence. Not any more.’

‘What do you suggest?’

‘A quick divorce,’ she said. ‘Then we can both get on with our lives.’ She paused. ‘Actually, I—I wrote you a letter with my proposals. It’s on the desk in the study.’

‘How very efficient of you,’ he said slowly. ‘You certainly didn’t waste any time.’

‘It seemed to me we’d wasted enough already.’ She forced a smile. ‘And there’s nothing—no one—to keep us together any more.’

He said coldly. ‘I do not need to be reminded of that, thank you.’

She winced. ‘I’m sorry. But you know it’s true.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘We married each other because it was what Lionel wanted, and we made a wretched mess of it all.’ She hesitated. ‘I think he regretted it too.’

‘I know he did.’ Gabriel’s tone was dry.

‘Well, then,’ she prompted.

He got up and went over to the table to pour himself some more coffee.

‘I don’t think we should file for divorce before the funeral,’ he said, without turning. ‘It might look rather pointed.’

She stiffened. ‘I wasn’t suggesting that. And it’s not a joke.’

‘Bloody right, it isn’t,’ he said with sudden violence, and she jumped.

‘You were the one who wanted to talk,’ she said defensively.

‘I did not, however, choose this particular topic of conversation,’ he retorted, returning to his seat. ‘Maybe we should postpone it until we’re both feeling a little less raw.’

Her voice was uncertain. ‘But you said there were things to settle.’

‘About the funeral, mainly.’ His firm lips tightened. ‘One of the reasons I came back today was so that you wouldn’t have to handle things all by yourself.’

‘That was thoughtful of you,’ she said stiffly. ‘I made a list this morning of everything there was to do. Perhaps you’d better look through it and see what I’ve forgotten.’

‘I don’t think I dare,’ he murmured.

‘Gabriel—this isn’t easy for me. Lionel wasn’t just my father-in-law. He was my dearest friend. Whatever our personal feelings, we should—respect his memory and try to work together.’

‘That’s a good speech,’ he approved. ‘Did you think of it all by yourself?’

She got to her feet in one swift, angry movement. ‘Oh, this is impossible. Maybe I’m the one who should move to Midhampton.’

‘No.’ He rose too. ‘No—I apologise. You’re right. We’ve got to shelve our own problems and unite this last time for him. We both owe him that.’

‘Yes.’ Joanna bent her head. ‘It’s been rather a long day. I think I’ll go to bed.’

‘I’ll come up as well, once I’ve seen to the dogs. Do they still sleep in the rear hall?’

Joanna nodded. She’d pleaded tiredness, but she knew she would not sleep. Her stomach was in knots and her pulse-rate was going haywire.

She took the coffee tray back to the kitchen and then went upstairs. Gabriel caught up with her as she reached the gallery.

‘Where have you put me?’ His mouth curled slightly. ‘Not in your room, I’m sure.’

‘That’s hardly likely.’ She felt defensive colour invade her face.

But Gabriel wasn’t looking at her. He’d turned to stare down the length of the gallery to the door which led to the master suite. His voice sounded abrupt—almost remote. ‘And not in there, I hope.’

‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘I thought for the time being—your old room.’

He was very still, his gaze fixed on the closed door as if nothing else existed in that moment. His face was haggard, suddenly, and the tawny eyes were filled with a pain too deep for words.

The leopard, Joanna thought suddenly, was wounded. No longer the cool, invulnerable conqueror, but someone she wasn’t sure she recognised any more.

She felt her own hurt, her own grief well up inside her in response. Her hand went out to touch his arm. Her lips parted to say his name.

Then a door halfway down the gallery opened and Cynthia came out. She was wearing a white satin dressing gown, and her hair was loose on her shoulders. She had no make-up on and her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying non-stop for hours.

She looked, Joanna thought, about twenty years old.

Cynthia stared at Gabriel, her mouth trembling. ‘I thought I heard your voice,’ she said huskily. ‘Thank God you’ve come. It’s been so awful.’ Her voice broke. ‘So terrible. Oh, Gabriel, darling.’

She ran to him, burying her face in his shoulder, her whole body shaking as she pressed against him. And his arms closed round her, holding her.

It was, Joanna thought dispassionately, a brilliant performance. But somehow she had no desire to see any more of it.

She turned and went into her own room, shutting the door behind her, wishing, as she did so, that she could shut out the image of Gabriel and Cynthia together with equal ease.

And knowing, with heart-chilling certainty, that it was impossible.

I
T WILL
all be over soon.
Joanna, smiling, shaking hands with departing mourners, heard the words echoing in her head over and over again like a mantra.

It was her own personal act of faith, she thought defiantly. Something to cling to in the ongoing nightmare of the past few days.

It had almost been a relief to lose herself in the beauty of the funeral service that morning. The ancient parish church had been crowded, the affection and emotion from the congregation almost tangible.

She had walked composedly up the aisle with Gabriel at her side, and if significant glances and whispered comments had been exchanged she hadn’t noticed them.

The only distraction from the age-old words of sorrow and farewell had been Cynthia’s ostentatiously muffled sobbing. But then her behaviour had been over the top all week, Joanna thought wearily.

Her stepmother, constituting herself chief mourner, had plagued the staff with constant demands for service. She’d also criticised all the arrangements for the funeral, from the choice of hymns to the food being served at the buffet, but without offering any alternatives or assistance.

And she had barely let Gabriel out of her sight.

Not that he seemed to object, Joanna admitted fairly, although he’d never appeared to pay her a great deal of attention in the past.

But she wouldn’t have welcomed it then, either, because she’d been engaged in her single-minded pursuit of Lionel.

Cynthia had even persuaded Gabriel to drive her to London, with the plea that she had nothing suitable to wear at the funeral. No doubt she had also coaxed him to foot the bill for the mountain of elegant carrier bags and boxes she’d brought back with her.

Watching her descend the stairs that morning, dressed from head to foot in black and wearing a hat with a veil, Joanna had hoped he would feel his money had been well spent.

Perhaps he thought that Joanna herself should have made more of an effort, she’d speculated, hugging the comfort of her navy wool coat around her.

Back at the house, Cynthia had stationed herself on one of the sofas in the drawing room, looking ethereal and accepting condolences as if she were Lionel’s widow.

Or Gabriel’s future wife.

The thought stabbed at Joanna like a knife in the ribs. But she could no longer doubt the seriousness of Cynthia’s purpose. Not having seen her in action over the past few days.

It doesn’t matter, she told herself steadily. It can’t matter, because when it happens I’ll be long gone and far away.

In the meantime she had to cope as best she could, accepting the sympathy and good wishes of their friends and neighbours.

‘You’re looking very pale, my dear,’ said the wife of the local MP. ‘I’ve told that charming husband of yours that he should take you away for some winter sun. A second honeymoon, perhaps,’ she added archly.

Joanna, encountering a sardonic look from Gabriel standing only a few feet away, coloured to the roots of her hair and muttered something disjointed.

People were beginning to drift away, and while Gabriel was outside on the drive saying a few last goodbyes Joanna took the opportunity to go up to her room.

One more ordeal—the reading of the will—to be faced, and then she could get on with her life, she thought, picking up a comb and running it through her hair.

Mrs MP, however out of touch with a particular local situation she might be, had nevertheless been right about one thing.

Joanna did indeed look pale. And subdued, and drab and totally unexciting in her cream lambswool polo-neck sweater and pleated navy skirt, she added silently, pulling a face at her reflection. Although her uninteresting appearance was probably no bad thing, under the circumstances.

She didn’t want to be noticed, she reminded herself. She wanted to fade into the background and then disappear altogether and without trace.

Now she lingered at the window, reluctant to return downstairs, even though she knew Henry Fortescue would have been buttonholed by Cynthia by now, and be looking for rescue.

It had snowed overnight, and a faint powdering still touched the top fields with white. The sky was unremittingly grey, and the whole landscape looked bleak and frozen.

Like me, she thought ironically. But the weather suits the day. Brilliant sunshine wouldn’t have been appropriate at all.

With a sigh, she turned away from the starkness of winter and surveyed her room instead.

She’d started to pack up some of her more serviceable things, sorting them from the smart clothes and cocktail wear, which could go to the local charity shop, and putting them in the old suitcase which she’d arrived with all those years ago. Not in the matched luggage which had accompanied her on honeymoon, she thought, swallowing. That would stay behind with her jewellery, already collected together in its leather case. Only her wedding ring remained, but that was purely temporary.

And she’d been through the classified ads in the county newspaper, looking for possible posts as resident housekeeper, and had written to several of the most likely. If all went well, she could be gone within the week.

But she would miss this room, and the refuge it had provided for so long. Not least in the past two years.

She would probably miss the Manor itself, although it had already begun to change. With Lionel there had always been noise—raised jovial voices, laughter, dogs barking.

Now the place hummed with a quieter, different kind of energy, as if a powerful dynamo had been switched on. There was a new vibrancy—an edge in the atmosphere.

Lionel’s study was now unrecognisable. The day after Gabriel’s return, a large van had brought a computer and every electronic aid to communication known to the mind of man. The old desk had been sidelined, and in its place was a vast modern affair, bristling with equipment and reminiscent of Mission Control, Houston.

Clearly Gabriel planned to use the Manor as an extension of his office.

So, he won’t be using pressure of work as an excuse to stay away in future, Joanna thought. Perhaps the freedom to do exactly what he wants when he wants isn’t quite so important to him any more.

He had taken total control of the house—and only once had she seen that control slip. She had been on her way to bed the previous night when she’d noticed a light in Lionel’s room. She’d walked down the passage and through the open door, had seen Gabriel on his knees beside his father’s bed, his head buried in his folded arms, his whole body shaking…

For a moment every instinct she possessed had urged her to go to him and comfort him. To pillow his head against her and let him weep out his grief in her arms.

But of course she had done no such thing, just tiptoed away, choking back her own tears. Because it changed nothing.

She looked down at her wedding ring, twisting it nervously on her finger. Really, she should remove it now. The conventions had been observed and she had no further reason to go on wearing it.

She was trying to tug it over her knuckle when there was a brief tap on the door and Gabriel walked in.

There was no way he could have seen what she was doing, but all the same Joanna found herself flushing as she put both hands defensively behind her back.

She lifted her chin. ‘I didn’t tell you to come in.’

‘So what else is new?’ he asked with cool derision. He saw the half-packed case, and his brows rose. ‘Forward planning, darling?’

‘I have to think about my future,’ she returned, keeping her tone even.

‘Now that my father’s safety net has been removed?’ He gave her a meditative look. ‘You’ll find it’s a cold, hard world out there, Joanna.’

‘Living here,’ she said, ‘hasn’t always been a barrel of laughs.’

‘I’m sorry. I’ll try and be more amusing from now on.’

She shook her head. ‘No need. I shan’t be here long enough to care.’

‘Will you delay your escape long enough to join us in the drawing room? You’re keeping everyone waiting.’

‘Then do please start without me,’ she said with exaggerated politeness. ‘It isn’t an occasion I relish.’

‘This whole week has been a pretty good imitation of hell,’ Gabriel said levelly. ‘But you’re coming down to the drawing room, and you’ll listen to Lionel’s last will and testament along with everyone else. Because you’re still my wife and your place is beside me. At least for the time being.’

‘I’m glad you said that.’ While they’d been talking she’d managed to work her ring off her finger. She held it out to him. ‘I’ll return this to you now. I’m sure you can find a good use for it.’

She saw something flare briefly in his eyes, then vanish.

He said silkily, ‘I came across Dad’s old riding crop yesterday. I could find an even better use for that. Don’t push me too hard, Joanna.’

The silence between them, the space that divided them, crackled with sudden tension.

Joanna bit her lip. ‘Careful, Gabriel. That famous charm of yours seems to be slipping.’

‘I never remember it cutting much ice with you anyway, darling.’ The endearment was almost an insult. ‘Now, put the ring back on and come downstairs. Be a brave girl for just a little longer,’ he added derisively.

Shaking with anger, she hesitated, then thrust the ring into her skirt pocket and followed him down to the hall.

Outside the drawing room door, she halted. ‘There’s something I need to ask you.’

‘Yes?’ He spoke with thinly veiled impatience.

‘The letter I left for you. Did you find it?’

He nodded. ‘Found it and read it.’

‘So—what did you think?’

He shrugged. ‘That what it lacked in style it made up for in content.’

She hung onto her temper. ‘That was not what I meant, and you know it. I asked you for a quick, no-fault divorce. I’d appreciate an answer.’

‘Yes or no? Right here and now?’ His brow lifted.

‘Please. If it’s not too much trouble,’ she added icily.

‘Not at all.’ He was silent for a moment, observing her flushed face, the mutinous tilt of her chin. ‘The answer’s yes, Joanna. You can have your divorce. And the sooner the better. We’ll discuss the details later.’

As her lips parted in shock, he took her arm and propelled her into the drawing room.

She felt suddenly blank, emptied of all emotion. But why should she feel like that? After all, she’d got exactly what she wanted—what she needed. And she should be jubilant. Or as jubilant as the present circumstances allowed, she amended hurriedly.

She saw Cynthia’s sidelong glance as they passed, and had to repress a malicious impulse to give her a ‘thumbs-up’.

Apart from her stepmother, and Henry Fortescue, the room was occupied by Mrs Ashby with her husband Tom, who was the head gardener, Graham Welch, the estate manager, Sadie, the groom, and the rest of the staff.

Joanna wanted to shout her freedom aloud, but common sense told her this was neither the time nor the place. For the next half-hour at least she would continue to play her designated role.

But then we’ll see, she thought.

Teeth gritted, she allowed herself to be taken to a chair, managing not to flinch as Gabriel perched himself beside her on its arm, his hand resting on her shoulder in apparent solicitude.

Henry Fortescue did not waste time on lengthy explanations. The bulk of Lionel’s estate, he said, went to Gabriel, but there were a few personal bequests, and he would begin with the smaller ones.

Every member of staff, right down to Mrs Kemp, who came in to clean, had been remembered with characteristic generosity.

‘To Cynthia Elcott,’ read Mr Fortescue, ‘I bequeath the Victorian oil painting known as
Low Tide
, which she always admired.’

Out of the corner of her eye, Joanna saw her stepmother smile complacently and wait to hear the rest of her good fortune.

But that, apparently, was it. Because Mr Fortescue had moved on. ‘And to my beloved daughter-in-law, Joanna Catherine Verne, I leave the detached house in Meadow Lane, Westroe, known as Larkspur Cottage.’

Joanna heard Cynthia’s gasp of fury, but her attention was fixed almost painfully on the solicitor, who was telling her that Lionel had also arranged for an annuity of fifty thousand pounds a year to be paid to her.

Tears stung her eyes, and her throat closed. She thought, Thank God. I can sell the cottage and move as far away as I want. I could even live abroad. Darling Lionel. He
did
understand.

But Mr Fortescue hadn’t finished yet.

‘Both these bequests are conditional on the said Joanna Catherine Verne remaining married to my son Gabriel Verne,’ his even voice went on. ‘And residing with him at Westroe Manor for a year and a day from the reading of this will.’

The silence which followed was absolute. Joanna could feel all the faces in the room turned towards her, could sense the discreet surprise, Cynthia’s narrowed eyes, and, above all, Gabriel’s fingers tightening like a vice on her shoulder.

She wanted to cry out—
no
—but her throat refused to utter the sound.

She stared at Mr Fortescue, her eyes pleading with him to say it was all a sick joke. That Lionel couldn’t have imposed such a cruel—such an unworkable restriction on her.

But the lawyer’s tall figure seemed to be receding, becoming smaller in some strange way, as if she was looking down the wrong end of a telescope.

She tried feebly to wrench away from Gabriel’s hold and follow Henry Fortescue—appeal to him—but suddenly there was only darkness, and she fell forward into it.

A voice was saying her name insistently, over and over again. A voice she didn’t want to hear, that made her moan feebly in rejection.

She opened unwilling eyes and found herself stretched out on one of the sofas. Gabriel was sitting on its edge, facing her, holding a glass of water.

‘What happened?’ She struggled to sit up, looking round the deserted room. ‘Where is everybody?’

‘I sent them away when you fainted.’ His tone was matter-of-fact.