The Marriage Replay (4 page)

They were in this thing together and they would
stay
together—as one united family.
Nothing else would do…
Reece was absolutely resolved on that.

‘Reece,
mi querido
! But how wonderful to see you!'

He glanced up in surprise at the confident ringing tones and the dark Latin beauty of the well-dressed woman in front of him. Angelina Cortez was a diva in every sense of the word. Reece had promoted nearly all of her concerts in the USA and Europe, and if her relentless demands had sometimes almost driven him crazy—well, he would forgive her every one the moment she opened her mouth to sing. The woman's exquisite voice could make the hardest heart melt at the emotion and passion that it emitted. The international acclaim she had attracted was more than deserved.

Rising to his feet, Reece kissed her affectionately on both cheeks, his senses momentarily hijacked by her seductive perfume and the dark flashing eyes that could no doubt have the same shocking effect as a stun gun on any healthy male who happened to be in the same vicinity.

‘Angelina. You're looking more beautiful than ever, I see. What are you doing here in London? I thought you were taking a few months off to spend more time with little Emmanuel?'

‘I am…I
have
! We have been travelling, my little son and I, and enjoying every minute of it! We flew in from Milan only yesterday…but what about you? Are you having dinner with a client, or is this a rare night off for you,
querido
? I've always said that you work too hard…even if it has been to my benefit!'

‘I'm here with Sorrel…my wife.'

As he smiled into Angelina's interested eyes Reece
glanced over her shoulder towards the other end of the restaurant, where Sorrel had disappeared in search of the ladies' washroom. He felt a twinge of concern that she was taking so long.

‘You mean the delicate little blonde with the pretty blue eyes? You see—I remember! It would be charming to meet her properly and have dinner together some time, don't you think?'

‘Yes, I'm sure Sorrel would enjoy that.'

He wasn't sure at all, but for politeness' sake he said it anyway.

‘And in the meantime you and I must meet for lunch, Reece. I have been in talks with my agent this morning, and he wants me to do another American tour with perhaps one or two exclusive European dates thrown in. Of course you must promote me, as you did before. I will ring you in the next few days, OK? I am staying at the Dorchester, so I will book us a table there.'

Now wasn't the time to explain to Angelina that he would rather not take on such a big commitment with his wife being pregnant. But when they had lunch together, Reece would put her in the picture and give his regrets.

Feeling slightly on edge that Sorrel still hadn't returned, he loosened his collar a little and forced himself to smile at the ravishing star. ‘I'll look forward to hearing from you.'

‘Adios, querido
. So lovely to see you again!'

 

Her feet inexorably slowing on the thick red carpet as she exited the Ladies', Sorrel watched in mute distress as she saw her husband embracing a stunningly beautiful brunette. Recognising the renowned opera star Angelina
Cortez, she recalled the weeks and weeks Reece had spent away from home last year, travelling the world with the Spanish singer while she toured. The only contact she'd had during that interminable time they were apart had been Reece's daily telephone calls, and sometimes they'd only lasted a brief minute or two before he'd had to get back to giving all his attention to Angelina.

Had being apart from his wife been the hardship that it had been for Sorrel with
him
away? Somehow she didn't think so. Not when she rested her eyes on the beauty and elegance of the fascinating woman by his side. Jealousy and hurt immobilised her and made her knees feel decidedly shaky. Deliberately waiting until she saw Angelina move away from their table, Sorrel took her time walking back to join her husband.

‘Is everything all right?'

Unable to hide the genuine concern that had made him so on edge at her absence, Reece studied her hard.

‘Fine.'

Shrugging her shoulders, Sorrel picked up the black cashmere wrap that she'd left draped across her chair.

‘Are you ready to leave now?'

 

‘Can I get you anything?'

Pausing at the drinks cabinet, Reece undid his tie, shrugged off his jacket and threw them both on the back of a nearby couch. Sorrel had hardly spoken two words to him since they had left the restaurant. In spite of his vow that he would do everything he could to try and restore some harmony between them, he could barely hold back the rising tide of anger and resentment that was building inside him.

He would much rather deal with her temper than this cold, statue-like remoteness she was displaying towards him now. In her simple but elegant black dress, her pale moon-kissed limbs and light honey-blond hair made her look like a princess from a fairy tale who had been frozen in ice until the handsome prince came along and magically melted it away. In his heart Reece couldn't help wondering if he would be able to work any kind of magic at all on his lovely young wife to help restore her affections towards him.

‘No, thanks. I think I'll just go straight to bed.'

‘Alone?'

His green eyes alighting with a speculative glitter upon her startled face, Reece struggled with his growing irritation at her deliberate withdrawal of contact.

‘I'm not ready to—I mean for us to share a bedroom just yet. Please understand.'

There was genuine pain in her soft, bewitching voice, and for a moment Reece's anger relented, even though her reluctance to have him back in her bed cut him to the quick.

‘Go on. Go to bed, Sorrel. I'll see you in the morning.'

Turning back to the drinks cabinet, Reece poured himself a generous measure of the Scotch he'd been craving at dinner and took a slug. As the familiar burn slid down into his stomach, he realised he had never felt so low…not even when Sorrel had walked out on him. It was damn hard to go through the motions of living when every little bit of spark inside him had been inexorably extinguished by the slow but deadening deterioration of his relationship with his wife.

‘Was that Angelina Cortez I saw you talking to in the restaurant tonight?' Sorrel asked him from behind.

Nursing his glass of Scotch, Reece processed the question with a spurt of surprise and did an about-turn. His expression was instantly wary.

‘You saw us? Why didn't you come and say hello?' With a flush of guilt, Sorrel glanced quickly away from the censure in his compelling eyes.

‘The two of you seemed quite happy together without me joining in,' she replied, forcing her tone to sound deliberately airy. ‘Is she going to be touring again soon?'

Knowing he shouldn't be so stunned by her astuteness, Reece imbibed another generous gulp of whisky before replying. ‘Maybe. Why do you want to know?' Hugging the warm cashmere wrap more tightly across her chest, Sorrel could not hide her sharp disappointment and fear. ‘Obviously I'll need to know if you're going to be away for months on end again…especially now that the baby's coming.'

‘Of course, I'll be taking that into account.'

He didn't want to go into detail right now. Instinctively he knew that if he did Sorrel would only read any explanation he might offer in the wrong way. Her hostility was as inevitable as the tides, it seemed.

‘She's a widow, isn't she? She must like having you dance attention on her hand and foot when you're away together.'

Even though common sense loudly dictated that she didn't push this any further than she ought, her sorrow at losing her husband's affection made Sorrel dice with death. Her heart started to throb deeply as she waited for his inevitable cutting comment.

With a look of harsh dismay, Reece curled his mouth disparagingly at the corner. ‘I don't “dance attention” on her, for God's sake! I promote the woman's concerts—that's all…period! If you acted more like a real wife and travelled with me when I work you'd see the truth for yourself!'

His acid statement burning her inside, Sorrel blindly reached for the catch on the door and fled out into the corridor.

I
N HER
dream Reece and Angelina Cortez were laughing at her—holding hands and mocking her misery as she anguished and wept and felt as if she was being flayed alive by a whip studded with red-hot nails.

‘You don't know how to be a
real
wife!' Reece taunted her, his mouth twisted and his eyes hard as flint.

‘Yes, I do!' Sorrel cried, over and over, the pain jack-knifing through her middle as though her very flesh was being sliced open. ‘Please give me another chance, Reece! I promise I'll try and be the wife you want!'

Her deep sorrow—along with a very real excruciating pain low down in her stomach—woke her up. Her brow was slippery with perspiration and her short cotton nightgown was uncomfortably damp. As she forced herself to sit up, acute waves of debilitating pain almost made her head fall back onto the pillow again. So intensely sharp were they that it was all she could do to gulp down enough air to breathe.

Her distress increased dramatically when she threw back the sheet and satin counterpane and saw to her avid horror that her white nightgown was stained not with perspiration but with
blood
. Immediately Sorrel started to shake, her hands clutching her stomach, and
she was keening, ‘Oh, God, oh, God…' as she realised with stark cold terror that she must be losing the baby.

Knowing that if he was deep in the middle of sleep—in his room several yards down the hall from hers— Reece was not likely to hear her shouts of distress, Sorrel had no choice but to force herself to her feet and try and get to the door. With her nightgown pressed tight between her legs, terrified by the stream of blood that seemed to be gushing down her pale, slender thighs as though it would never stop, she managed to hobble to the door and wrench it open.

‘Reece!' she cried out in rising hysteria as she held onto the door with one hand and her nightgown with the other, her fear escalating almost out of control as she struggled to deal with the horror of it all. ‘Oh, God… Reece—help me, please!'

 

He had been dreaming too…dark, disturbing, haunting dreams that made him break out in an icy cold sweat. When Sorrel's sudden shout of distress pierced his subconscious, Reece moved like lightning up into a sitting position, his heart thudding so acutely that it immediately alerted him to danger.

Orientating himself, he frantically wondered if he had imagined the whole thing or whether it had just been part of the general nightmare he'd been disturbed by. When he heard Sorrel's voice for real—genuine distress turning into a frightened, almost childlike sob—he threw his legs out of the bed, flung out through the door dressed only in a pair of blue cotton pyjama bottoms, and came face to face with the kind of horrific scene he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy.

All he could see at first was the blood.
There was
so much of it, and his rapidly wakening brain tried to make sense of the dreadful sight with its usually insistent logic—telling him that she must have tripped and fallen somehow, and badly cut herself. At that precise moment Reece couldn't allow himself to believe that the shocking scarlet stains defiling his wife's virginal white nightgown were anything to do with the baby.
Their
baby. The child that Reece had fathered. His son or daughter.
Please God, no…

‘What's wrong, honey? What have you done to yourself? Tell me, Sorrel…let me help you!'

He tried to lead her back into the bedroom, but she suddenly bent over doubled up in agony, her hand a white-knuckled clamp around the hard edge of the door. From this angle all Reece could see was the top of her ravishing blond hair and the smooth buttermilk skin of her neck, where the impossibly delicate silken curls fell away. But then his gaze locked in dread onto the pool of blood that was trickling down through her toes and staining the cream rug she was standing on. It was clear then that his fears about the baby were more than real.
Sorrel was losing it…

His throat locked tight as emotion overwhelmed him. But then Sorrel cried out again, and Reece knew he had to get her to the hospital before she bled to death. That one goal in mind, he swung her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. As she lay there, frightened and sobbing, he held onto her hands, wishing they weren't so cold, and looked urgently into her terrified blue eyes.

‘Sweetheart, I'm going to have to get you to the hospital. I'm not going to phone for an ambulance because I can get you there quicker myself. It's going to be all
right, angel…I promise. Just let me wrap this around you to keep you warm, and we'll get going.'

Pulling the aubergine-coloured counterpane from the bed, Reece placed it tenderly around Sorrel's shoulders, lightly touched her face, then lifted her up again into his arms.

‘Am I going to die, Reece?' she asked him, her voice quivering. ‘There's so much bl-blood!'

There was no point in asking him if she was going to lose the baby. She'd known as soon as she'd woken up with that terrible knifing pain practically slicing her middle in two and seen the vivid scarlet stains on her gown that that was practically a certainty.

She felt Reece's strong arms enfolding her even more tightly, the muscles in his biceps bunching like iron. His gaze was reassuringly fierce as he stared back at her.

‘You are not going to die, Sorrel…don't you dare even think about it! We're going to get you to the hospital and everything's going to be just fine…do you hear me?'

Her eyes were drifting closed as another wave of pain stole away the words she'd been going to say, but one clear thought rang out in her mind above all the rest.
Reece was wrong…delusional or just too ridiculously optimistic for words…
Because after this nothing was going to be fine ever again. Even in her traumatised state of mind Sorrel already knew that.

 

The ceiling was very white and clinical, and as Sorrel stared up at it, her mind determinedly trying not to focus on the terror and pain she had just survived, she bizarrely recalled a similar ceiling in her dentist's surgery. As pale and clinical as this one, it was nonetheless transformed by a wonderful colour poster of a sun-drenched
Caribbean island. The scene comprised a sweeping crystalline sandy beach and swaying palm trees, and on the horizon miles and miles of iridescent ocean, sparkling off into the distance.

That poster never failed to transport her to another world. While the dentist attended to her teeth Sorrel would determinedly concentrate her gaze upon it until he'd finished treating her. And as she dreamed about lying on that sublime beach and inhaling the evocative scents of coconut and sea breezes, feeling the kiss of that Caribbean sun on her skin, she barely even noticed the time passing in the dentist's chair.
She wished she could call upon her ability to dream the time away now, and be the fresh-faced eager young girl again, that Reece had fallen head-over-heels in love with.
But how could she when her heart felt as though a rusty three-inch nail had been driven into it with force and her soul felt shrivelled and all used up?

Experiencing a powerful urge to cry, Sorrel couldn't give vent to her need—because the strong sedation she had been given acted like an impenetrable stone wall between her heart and her tears and they simply would not come. Biting down hard on her parched lips instead, she deliberately shut her eyes, truly feeling that the darkness was somehow much more preferable to the light right now….

 

He felt like a survivor of a train wreck, or something equally shocking. Staring into the mirror above the chipped enamel sink in the men's room at the hospital, Reece hardly recognised himself. Every feature on his face was tinged with the shadow of heartbreak and the horror of his enforced descent into darkness when he
had realised that not only was Sorrel losing their baby, but she might just possibly lose her life, too.

He'd sensed the medical team's urgency as they'd shut him out of the operating theatre, and again and again Reece's heart had slammed against his ribs as he waited for the surgeon in charge to reappear.
By the time he'd got Sorrel to the hospital she'd lost so much blood.
He'd had a nightmare journey to get her there—not because of traffic, but because her cries of pain and distress had torn him apart inch by torturous inch.
And it was all his fault.
If he hadn't made her come out to dinner when she was clearly not feeling up to it… If he hadn't rowed with her and threatened her with court proceedings if she didn't come home with him… If he had only tried to be more understanding about this desire of hers for him to be home with her more often rather than away travelling for most of the time…

As he stared into that cold, unflattering square of cracked and tired mirror Reece reflected in silent agony on all the things he could possibly have done to make his wife feel more loved. He hadn't wept tears since he was fourteen, when they had told him that his mother was dying and wouldn't survive the cancer that had eventually taken her away from him. He'd gone to stay with his aunt Shirley in New York and had locked all his feelings away deep inside him, in the hope that he could barricade his wounded heart against any such devastating hurt again.

In the past few hours Reece had discovered that his heart was just as vulnerable than ever. If not more. Now he wanted to weep and never stop. Tears pricked his eyelids like taunting spearmen pushing him towards the edge of a cliff. But as his sight became suddenly blurred
by the threatened deluge he turned away in disgust and shame and pushed out through the door into the long medicinal-smelling corridor of the hospital where he had brought Sorrel. Almost as soon as he did so, he mentally started to steel himself to come face to face with her after the trauma of last night, and couldn't help fearing that he was woefully inadequate to the task.

 

She had her hands curled into fists beside her on the sheet and her lovely face was as pale as a winter moon as Reece approached the bed. Silently thanking God that they'd taken down the drip they'd put up last night, and that she was free from tubes and wires and all the frightening hospital equipment that denoted a critical condition, he felt the smallest release of tension ease out between his shoulder blades.

There was a hard grey vinyl chair beside the bed, but apart from the plain yellowed locker at the other side of Sorrel the room was pretty much bare of any decoration or comfort.
Stark
was perhaps the word he would use to describe it. He would get her out of here just as soon he got the all-clear from the surgeon, he quickly decided. She couldn't possibly recuperate in such a depressing environment. But all the same he was grateful for everything the medical team had done. They had saved his wife's life and given her the privacy of a room of her own for the first day at least. He hadn't particularly relished the idea of speaking to Sorrel for the first time since the traumatic events of last night in a ward filled with other patients.

Turning to regard him, Sorrel registered his presence with her eyes, like a sleepwalker suddenly stumbling awake—and the brief streak of fear and anxiety
reflected in the grief-stricken blue depths made Reece's stomach contract in pain, as though his bare flesh had suddenly been penetrated by a sharp blade.

‘Hello,' she said softly, the unexpectedly husky quality of her gentle voice sending shivers cascading down Reece's spine.

Reaching for her clenched fist, he stroked across her knuckles with the pad of his thumb…back and forth, back and forth. She reacted by uncurling her fingers a little, like a nervous bud cautious about flowering. Even after the shocking events she had been through she was still the most ravishing creature Reece had ever laid eyes on. Her pale, delicate, and yet at the same time striking features were poignantly bare of any artifice save her own natural beauty, and although he wasn't blind to the pale mauve shadows beneath her eyes, or the sorrowful downturn of her mouth, her loveliness still shone through the pain.

He wanted badly to kiss her.
He desired it so much that he almost trembled with his need to feel that wondrously tender skin beneath his own. But fear of rejection was an ever-present companion to that need, so Reece held back—praying for a sign—the smallest, most fleeting indication from Sorrel—that she might welcome his kiss.

‘Hi.' He smiled down at her, behind the tenderly bestowed gesture wondering if he would see
her
sweet lips curve into a smile of joy or happiness in his presence ever again. ‘How are you doing?'

‘I hurt.'

Reece flinched. ‘I know you do, honey, and I wish I could take all the pain away for you—God help me, I do. You were so brave, sweetheart…brave and strong.
As soon as I've seen your doctor I'm getting you out of here to somewhere much nicer, so that you can be more comfortable.'

His face was bereft of colour, his strongly delineated features almost stark with shock and sorrow. As she studied him, Sorrel registered a fresh wave of pain that was nothing to do with her physical hurts. He might have smiled at her, but behind that smile was an ocean of suppressed agony that she couldn't deny. It was there in the sombre set of his jaw, in the dark circles beneath the now dulled emerald of his fascinating eyes and the tiny, deeply indented grooves bracketing his mouth.

Reece had clearly had to reach deep down inside himself to even find the will to make that smile. Yet part of Sorrel couldn't help fretting—was he privately
relieved
that she had lost the baby? She knew it was a terrible, probably totally undeserved judgement, yet the undeniable pressure of it threatened to seriously impede her breathing.
Now there would be no need for him to change or alter his commitment to work in any way.
For Reece, things could return to normal. For Sorrel,
dying
seemed like the only acceptable alternative right now.