Marriage at a Distance (8 page)

Lionel had not been fond of what he termed ‘gadgets’, but he had invested in a handsome hi-fi system with a CD player, and they’d spent many companionable evenings listening to their favourite works.

Joanna made her selection from the rack of discs, and a moment later the emotive chords of Elgar’s ‘Cello Concerto’ filled the room.

Curled up in a corner of the sofa, eyes closed, Joanna gave herself up to the poignant, dramatic flow of the music.

The final movement was reaching its climax when instinct told her that she was being watched.

Her heart began to thud. Slowly she opened her eyes and turned her head, to see Gabriel lounging in the doorway.

Joanna sat up hurriedly, searching for something—anything—to say, when she saw him raise a quiet finger to his lips, indicating that they should both be silent until the music was over.

When the room relaxed into stillness again, he came forward. He was smiling faintly, his brows drawn together in a slight frown. ‘Do you always listen to such sad music when you’re alone?’

‘I don’t know,’ she returned stiltedly. ‘Solitary evenings are a comparative novelty.’ She paused. ‘And I don’t find it all that sad. I think it’s powerful and—exhilarating.’

‘I bow to your superior wisdom.’ Gabriel removed his jacket and tossed it onto a chair, before seating himself opposite to her. He met her startled look levelly. ‘Is something the matter?’

‘I—I wasn’t expecting you back so early.’

His frown deepened. ‘Did I say I was going to be late? I don’t think so.’ He slanted a faint smile at her. ‘Anyway, it means we can enjoy some domestic bliss together. Why don’t you put some more music on?’

She said stiffly, ‘Actually, I was on the point of going to bed.’

‘Really?’ His brows rose sceptically. ‘Now, I got the impression that you were totally relaxed, lost in some world of your own.’

‘Appearances,’ she said, ‘can be deceptive.’

‘Ain’t that the truth?’ he murmured. ‘But please don’t let me drive you away. You never know. Music might prove the common ground where we can meet without quarrelling.’

‘I doubt that exists.’

‘Well, we can try. And for starters you could stop being so uptight.’

Joanna bit her lip. ‘I’m—sorry. As I said—you startled me.’

‘I don’t know why. And I’m afraid, darling, you’re just going to have to live with my arrivals and departures.’

She said coolly, ‘I find the departures easier to handle.’

His mouth twisted, but he made no immediate reply. Instead the tawny eyes began a comprehensive survey of her, from the tendrils of soft hair brushing her flushed face, pausing momentarily at her exposed throat, then down over the cling of the grey wool dress to her rounded breasts, to the soft folds of the skirt outlining the slender length of her thighs. And back to her throat again.

He said softly, ‘You look like a ghost—a little grey ghost. But my mother’s pearls look good on you.’

‘Your mother’s?’ Joanna’s hand flew defensively to the smooth string. ‘I—I didn’t know—Lionel didn’t tell me…’

He shrugged. ‘Why should he? He gave them to her when I was born. Under ordinary circumstances they’d have come to you anyway—probably to mark the birth of our own first child,’ he added unsmilingly.

Her flush deepened. ‘Then I’m wearing them under false pretences.’ She put her hands up, fumbling for the clasp. ‘You can have them back now.’

‘Leave them,’ he directed briefly. ‘Pearls should be worn, or they lose their lustre.’

‘My—successor might not agree with you.’ Cynthia, she knew, had always coveted the necklace.

‘Let that be my problem, rather than yours.’ His tone brooked no further argument. ‘Consider them on loan, if you wish.’

‘After all, what’s one more thing among so many?’ Joanna muttered.

‘I beg your pardon?’ His brows lifted.

She said wearily, ‘It doesn’t matter,’ wondering at the same time if he’d gone to Larkspur Cottage to oversee the disposal of his property.

‘I’m going to have a nightcap.’ Gabriel rose and went across to the antique corner cupboard. ‘Care to join me?’

Prudence suggested she should refuse and go. On the other hand, she didn’t want to seem altogether churlish…

She said sedately, ‘Thank you. I’ll have a brandy.’

He nodded. ‘Then choose some more music for us to drink to.’

Joanna went reluctantly to the CD player. If he imagined she was going to allow this to develop into a cosy evening
tête à tête
, then he could think again. Just because his rendezvous with Cynthia clearly hadn’t worked out as planned…

A lot of the music was frankly too overtly romantic for the occasion. I need drama rather than passion, she thought, selecting Rimsky-Korsakov’s ‘Scheherazade’.

‘Good choice,’ Gabriel approved as he brought over their brandies. ‘This has always been one of my favourites.’

‘I—I didn’t know.’ Joanna cradled the brandy glass between her palms, breathing its heady aroma.

His mouth twisted. ‘Music is just one of the many gaps in our knowledge of each other.’

He added another log to the fire and stood up, dusting his hands.

‘I gather that’s Charles and Sylvia’s new tenant you were chatting to this afternoon.’ He reseated himself and picked up his own brandy. ‘Known him long?’

She shook her head. ‘I met him just this morning.’

‘You amaze me,’ he said equably. ‘I took him for an old and valued friend.’

She shrugged. ‘Perhaps one relates to some people more quickly than others.’

‘Clearly one does.’ His tone mocked her formal phraseology, and she stiffened. ‘As a matter of interest, how did you meet him?’

‘I wouldn’t have thought it was a matter of any interest to anyone except ourselves,’ she said coolly.

‘Then you’d be wrong.’ He studied the colour of the brandy. ‘While we remain married all your acquaintances—fascinate me.’

She hesitated. ‘I met him this morning while I was riding. He was walking along Wellow Lane.’ She paused, mentally skating over the exact circumstances of their meeting. ‘We—got into conversation, that’s all.’ She threw him a challenging look. ‘Is there anything wrong in that?’

‘You tell me,’ Gabriel murmured.

‘Or,’ she went on, ‘has some ban been imposed on my making friends at all?’

‘Not in the least.’ He took a meditative sip. ‘What’s his name?’

‘Gordon,’ she said with exaggerated clarity. ‘Paul Gordon. If it means anything to you.’

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘And I’d like to keep it that way.’

She stared at him. ‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning I’m sure I can rely on you to behave with discretion.’ His tone was silky.

Joanna put her brandy down on the sofa table with a bang that threatened to shatter the fragile crystal.

‘My God.’ Her voice shook. ‘Congratulations, Gabriel. You’ve just elected yourself king of the double standard.’

‘Meaning?’ He turned her own question against her.

‘Meaning your own record wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny,’ she flung back at him.

‘Harsh words, sweetheart. On what do you base this assumption?’

‘Your rake’s progress has been well documented,’ Joanna said scornfully.

‘Gossip columns,’ he said, ‘are not the most reliable sources—whatever they themselves believe.’

‘Are you saying you’ve passed the last two years in total celibacy?’

His mouth tightened. ‘No. When you’re hungry, Joanna, you’ll take whatever crumbs are available.’

Her voice shook. ‘And your appetite is naturally prodigious.’

He gave her a thoughtful glance. ‘I’m sure you always thought so.’ His sigh was brief and harsh. ‘Yes, I’ve strayed, but not seriously, and not often. Is that what you wanted to know?’

‘Your love life is no concern of mine.’ She could feel the pulse hammering in her aching throat. ‘But the lady who follows me may take a different view.’

‘I hope so,’ Gabriel drawled. ‘I really couldn’t face another battery of wifely indifference.’

Joanna got to her feet, outraged. ‘You—you hypocrite,’ she said unevenly.

It was you, she thought, who was indifferent. You who didn’t care—who left me here, bleeding to death.

He rose too. ‘More harsh words?’ His voice bit. He walked over to the CD player and silenced it. ‘Perhaps I should teach you some manners.’

‘Take some lessons yourself—in fidelity,’ she hit back at him.

‘Oh, I’ve already learned that, my love.’ His smile seemed to grate across her shivering skin. ‘My bride-to-be will have nothing to complain about, I promise.’ He laughed harshly. ‘Isn’t it amazing what love can do?’

The pain that consumed her was intense. From some reserve of strength she hadn’t known she possessed she managed to raise her head. To smile, even.

She said, ‘That’s not something I feel qualified to judge. But—to return to Paul Gordon—I’ll be discreet if you are, Gabriel. And that’s all I’ll guarantee. So it’s up to you. Goodnight.’

She turned towards the door. He reached her in two strides, his fingers closing like a vise on her shoulder.

‘Joanna—listen to me…’

‘Go to hell.’ She glared at him. ‘And take your hands off me.’

Behind them the drawing room door opened quietly.

‘My goodness,’ Cynthia purred, her narrowed eyes flickering over them. ‘Is this a private fight, or can anyone join in?’

Joanna flashed her a glittering smile. ‘It’s the end of round one.’ Her voice sounded brittle. ‘And I’m ahead on points.’

Head high, she left the room, shutting the door behind her. Closing them in together. As she crossed the hall she could hear the murmur of voices, and Cynthia’s tinkling laugh.

The bravado seemed to ebb out of her suddenly. She leaned against the newel post, staring unseeingly into space.

What price one hollow victory? she asked herself wretchedly. When the war is already lost? And you know it.

And, slowly and defeatedly, she began to climb the stairs towards the loneliness of her bedroom.

‘T
HE
decorator has finished, and my new bed should be delivered tomorrow,’ Cynthia said complacently. ‘So I can move into the cottage later this week.’

She smiled at Joanna across the breakfast table. ‘Which will be much more convenient—for everyone. Don’t you think, my pet?’

‘If you say so,’ Joanna agreed quietly, frowning over her post.

‘It looks very nice now that it’s all been painted. I probably wouldn’t have bothered, as I don’t plan to stay there very long, but Gabriel insisted.’ Her smile widened. ‘He’s incredibly considerate—in every way.’ She sighed nostalgically, then put her head on one side. ‘Why don’t you pop down this afternoon and have a look at the cottage? It is your property, after all.’

‘I’d almost forgotten,’ Joanna returned with cool irony. ‘And I’m afraid I’m busy this afternoon. I promised Mrs Barton I’d help at the hospice shop.’

Cynthia’s eyes glinted maliciously. ‘Still maintaining the fiction that you’re the Lady of the Manor, darling? I wonder what penance you’ll have to do for deceiving the vicar’s wife.’

Joanna folded her napkin and rose. ‘Don’t worry, Cynthia. Living in this house, under these conditions, is penance enough for all the sins of the world, believe me.’ She gathered up her letters and left the room.

In the hall, she paused, drawing a deep, steadying breath. How much more, dear God, was she supposed to take?

The past fortnight had been a nightmare. She had felt all the time as if she was tiptoeing on thin ice. Since their last confrontation Gabriel had treated her with cool civility, and she had tried to respond in the same way.

During the daytime she’d done her best to keep out of the way. It was Gabriel who now rode out with Sadie first thing in the morning, while Joanna deliberately postponed her own ride until later in the day. She even delayed coming downstairs in the morning, to avoid encountering him at the breakfast table.

But some meetings at mealtimes were inevitable, and she’d been forced to observe Cynthia’s blatantly proprietorial attitude towards him—the hand on his sleeve, the whispered asides, the teasing, pouting looks.

She could only be thankful that neither of them chose to dine at the Manor very often, and that they spent their evenings together at the cottage—the lack of the new bed being apparently no deterrent.

Joanna bit her lip. She couldn’t afford to think on those lines, she adjured herself firmly. She had to stay detached—impersonal. It was the only way.

She looked down at the letters in her hand. But for once it seemed as if her avoidance policy would have to be temporarily abandoned. Because she needed to talk to Gabriel.

With a sigh, she crossed to the study door and knocked, waiting for his terse ‘Come in’ before entering.

As he registered who it was his expression became closed, almost wary.

He rose formally to his feet. ‘Joanna—this is an unexpected pleasure.’

She heard the question in his voice—the surprise. And another note, less easy to analyse.

He looked tired, she thought, his eyes shadowed, the lines on his face strongly marked. But then she recalled the reason for his faintly haggard appearance, and hardened her heart against a pain that went too deep for tears.

She said coolly, ‘Don’t worry. This isn’t a social call.’ She put the letters she was carrying on the desk. ‘I’m beginning to get requests from local people—organisations. The Red Cross want to know if they can hold their usual garden party here in July. The Riding Club are asking us—you and I—to present prizes at the gymkhana. The list is growing, and I— I don’t know what to tell them.’

‘Because of our personal circumstances?’ His tone was ironic.

She nodded. ‘It seems wrong to—pretend that everything’s fine and normal, when…’ Her voice tailed away.

Gabriel sighed sharply. He picked up the letters. ‘Would you like me to deal with these?’

‘Thank you. That might be best.’ She gave him a fleeting, wintry smile, and turned away.

‘Jo—wait.’ The harsh urgency in his tone halted her in her tracks.

‘Is something wrong?’

He said grimly, ‘Just about everything, I’d say. Will you sit down for a moment, please? We need to talk.’

She paused, then took the chair by the fire, perching tensely on its edge.

‘What is it now?’ She lifted her chin. ‘More rules for me to obey? I’ve tried to follow your regime.’

‘I’m sure you have.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘The fact is, Joanna, it was never feasible—for either of us. Sharing a roof like this is an impossible situation.’

She was very still. ‘As I’ve tried to tell you.’

‘Indeed you did.’ He bent his head almost defeatedly. ‘So I’m looking for a way out—for both of us. I thought you’d want to know.’

‘Yes,’ she said, dry-throated. ‘Yes, I’m—very grateful.’ She hesitated. ‘May I know what’s made you change your mind?’

It was Gabriel’s turn to pause. He said reluctantly, ‘Let’s say I’ve had time to think. And I’ve been made to see how unfair this situation is to you.’

In other words, pressure from Cynthia, she thought with a pang. She told me herself she wasn’t planning to stay long at the cottage. No, she wants to take over here, and for that she needs to be rid of me.

Aloud, she said, quietly, ‘So—what do you suggest?’

‘I don’t know yet. There are all kinds of ramifications that need going into thoroughly.’ The tawny eyes were sombre. ‘But I’ll make sure you don’t suffer, Jo.’

Ah, but I am suffering, she cried out in silent anguish. More than you can ever know. Because, although living here has been purgatory, leaving—never seeing you again—will be the worst kind of hell. And how will I bear it?

‘Thanks again.’ She got to her feet. Her voice was bright. ‘It will be good to make some plans at last—to decide what to do with the rest of my life. I’m sure you feel the same.’

His mouth twisted. ‘My plans are already made. All I need is the freedom to carry them out.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, of course.’

He said, ‘So that’s that. Shall we shake hands on a bargain?’

Startled, Joanna hesitated, then slowly put her hand into his.

A half-forgotten line of poetry came into her mind. “‘Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows.”’

But it wasn’t until she saw his brows lift in mocking acknowledgement that she realised she’d spoken aloud.

He said, ‘Ah, but remember how it starts, Joanna.’ He quoted softly, “‘Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part.”’

She looked up at him mutely, mesmerised by the sudden intensity in his tawny gaze. Then he bent his head, and gently, even tentatively, put his mouth on hers. He did not take her in his arms, or try to impose any other intimacy upon her. It was a breath of a kiss, a sensuous brushing of lips, hauntingly sweet, but with a kind of sad finality. It drew them into a tiny, shaken vortex of feeling. Held them rapt, in total thrall to each other, motionless, deaf and blind. Until some slight sound—a log, perhaps, crumbling in the grate—made them draw apart.

Gabriel was breathing rapidly, the warmth in his eyes turned to a dangerous flame.

His voice was low, savage. “‘Nay, I have done: you get no more of me.”’ He threw back his head in an oddly defensive gesture. ‘You’d better get out of here, Joanna.’

Without another word, she obeyed.

The hospice shop was only open on a part-time basis, so it was invariably busy.

Joanna, asked to take charge of the nearly-new clothing section, found herself too occupied to brood—a blessing in itself. But the memory of that kiss and its aching sweetness stayed with her like a shadow, no matter how hard she tried to put it from her mind.

She’d left the study and gone straight up to her room, remaining there until she was sure that Gabriel, and then Cynthia, had left the house.

But when she was alone, the house seemed strangely oppressive, and she’d taken the dogs up onto the hill. It was a cold, clear day, and she’d sheltered from the wind by the Hermitage stones.

She’d looked down at the Manor, standing below her, absorbing every detail, imprinting it on her memory for all the long, lonely days ahead. Saying goodbye for ever.

Then she’d walked slowly back, changed, and driven into Westroe, pale but composed, for her stint at the shop.

Towards the end of the afternoon, she was approached by a harassed Mrs Barton.

‘Mrs Verne, could you possibly stay on and lock up for me? My husband’s just rung to say that Sarah’s fallen and hurt her wrist, and one of us should take her to Casualty.’

‘Oh, poor kid.’ Joanna grimaced sympathetically. ‘You go straight away. I’ll cope.’

‘That is good of you.’ Mrs Barton rolled expressive eyes at the ceiling. ‘Children—there’s always something.’ She patted Joanna’s arm. ‘As you’ll soon find out, I expect.’

Joanna felt the smile freeze on her lips. So many people blithely assumed that she and Gabriel were reconciled, she thought unhappily. They were the focus of a lot of genuine goodwill.

She only hoped that he would find a solution to their problems soon, and release her from this treadmill of other people’s expectations. And her own unfulfilled longings, she thought with a little sigh.

As closing time approached Joanna cashed up, and then took some unwanted carrier bags and packing materials out to the dustbins at the rear of the shop, then went into the little curtained changing room to retrieve some dresses which had been tried on but not purchased.

‘Well, I think it’s a proper scandal.’ It was the tart voice of Mrs Golsby, one of the regular helpers and an inveterate gossip. ‘He must be years younger than she is, and he’s round there at that cottage with her all the hours God sends. I feel heart-sorry for Mrs Verne,’ she added self-righteously, and there was a brief murmur of assent from her two colleagues. ‘It can’t be nice for her—her own stepmother carrying on like that.’

Joanna shrank into the corner of the cubicle. It was what she’d feared. Gabriel’s affair with Cynthia was becoming common knowledge. But, as a result, her own departure wouldn’t cause quite as many shock waves, she reminded herself without pleasure.

She tiptoed back into the rear passage, then came back noisily, rattling the clothes hangers she was carrying. She gave the other women a smiling goodnight, as if she didn’t have a care in the world, and watched them leave.

Then she hung the discarded dresses back on the rail, and bent to take the shop keys from their hook under the counter. As she did so the doorbell tinkled.

Joanna straightened. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just closing. We’ll be open again on Friday,’ she began, then stopped abruptly.

‘I know.’ Paul Gordon smiled at her. ‘I’ve been hanging round outside for ages, waiting for you to shut up shop.’

‘Why?’ Joanna stared at him.

‘Because I spotted you when I was passing earlier, but you were obviously too busy to interrupt.’ He paused. ‘So I decided to let the rush die down, then ask you to have dinner with me.’

‘That’s very kind of you.’ Joanna was taken aback. ‘But I couldn’t possibly.’

‘Why can’t you?’

‘For all kinds of reasons. We hardly know each other.’

‘And we never will, if you keep turning down my invitations.’ He looked at her with a half-smile. ‘So what’s the problem? Do you have to rush home like a good little wife to dish up your husband’s dinner?’

‘No,’ Joanna returned, nettled. She already knew she was destined for another solitary meal tonight. Unless…

Paul Gordon was not what she wanted, and never would be, but as that was beyond her reach anyway, why shouldn’t she take him up on his offer?

With which slightly muddled reasoning she accepted. ‘All right. I’d like to have dinner. Shall I go home and change, and meet you later?’

‘You look fine to me. And this—’ he indicated his jeans, roll-neck sweater and elderly tweed jacket ‘—is as good as it gets. My wardrobe down here is strictly limited, I’m afraid. But I’m told the wine bar in the High Street doesn’t operate a strict dress code.’ He gave her a hopeful look. ‘And perhaps we could go for a quiet drink first. Get acquainted.’

In spite of herself, Joanna was amused. ‘You have the whole evening planned, I see.’

‘Not all of it,’ he said softly.

Joanna caught an audacious gleam in the blue eyes and knew a flicker of misgiving, which she firmly crushed.

She said, ‘I’ll get my coat.’

They went for a drink to the White Hart. Paul ordered beer for himself, but could not talk Joanna out of her request for a mineral water.

‘I’m driving,’ she reminded him. ‘But I’ll have a glass of wine with the meal.’

He was an amusing enough companion, she was forced to admit. He seemed to have had a variety of jobs, including writing advertising copy and working in some minor production capacity for an independent television company.

‘There aren’t many media opportunities round here,’ Joanna remarked lightly.

‘Which is probably a good thing.’ Paul wrinkled his nose. ‘Because it’s freed me for the serious bit. I started a novel some time ago, and now I’ve got an agent and a publisher definitely interested, so I’ve come down here to finish it in peace and quiet.’

‘I thought you were looking for a social life,’ Joanna remarked, sipping her mineral water. ‘Yet writing’s supposed to be a solitary occupation, isn’t it?’

He shrugged expansively. ‘Well, of course. But I don’t intend to devote every waking moment to it.’ He smiled at her with what she felt was conscious charm. ‘You know what they say about all work and no play.’

He paused. ‘But that’s enough about me. Tell me about you. Was that your husband who passed us the other afternoon? He looked rather fierce.’

‘His father died last month,’ Joanna said quietly. ‘It’s not a particularly joyous time—for either of us.’

‘God, I’m sorry.’ He looked genuinely remorseful.

‘You weren’t to know.’

‘Have you been married long?’

Hardly at all, thought Joanna. Aloud, she said, ‘Three years, but Gabriel’s been away much of the time. He has a very successful investment company.’

‘And you don’t accompany him on his travels?’ The blue eyes sharpened. ‘How can he let you out of his sight?’