Marriage Reclaimed: Marriage at a Distance / Marriage Under Suspicion / The Marriage Truce

CHAPTER THREE

DINNER was a sombre and solitary affair. Joanna drank the vegetable soup and picked at the grilled chicken breast, conscious all the time of the empty chair at the head of the table.

Jess and Molly, Lionel’s two retrievers, lay dejectedly in the doorway, silky golden heads pillowed in bewilderment on their paws.

‘Poor old girls.’ She bent to give them each a consolatory pat as she left the room. ‘No one’s been taking much notice of you, and you don’t understand any of it. Never mind, I’ll take you both up on the hill later.’

She drank her coffee by the drawing room fire, the dogs stretched on the rug at her feet. The morning paper lay on the table beside her, still neatly folded. Usually she and Lionel would have been arguing companionably over the crossword by now, she thought, with a pang of desolation.

She drew a sharp breath. ‘I’ve got to stop looking back,’ she whispered fiercely to herself. ‘Because that brings nothing but pain.’

The future was something she dared not contemplate. Which left only the emptiness of the present.

She knew she would deal with that unwelcome moment of revelation she’d experienced before dinner. It was essential to rationalise and somehow dismiss it before Gabriel came back.

I’m in an emotional low, she told herself. I’m bound to be vulnerable—prey to all kinds of ridiculous imaginings.

Or maybe Cynthia’s right, and I’m just a dog in the manger.

I could live with that, she thought. But not with the possibility that Gabriel is still of importance in my life.

Determinedly, and deliberately, she switched her attention to another of Cynthia’s bombshells—that Lionel had been affected his whole life through by his passion for Joanna’s mother. Could it be true? she wondered.

Certainly she’d never heard him say anything that gave credence to such an idea. However tempestuous his marriage had been, she’d always believed that he’d loved Valentina Alessio. And he had never seriously contemplated putting another woman in her place—whatever Cynthia might choose to think.

Henry Fortescue had described Mary Verne as Lionel’s favourite cousin, and that was how she still planned to regard their relationship.

A low whine from one of the dogs reminded her that she’d promised to take them out.

She pulled on some boots, shrugged on her waxed jacket, and wound a scarf round her neck.

She collected a flashlight and let herself out by the side door, the dogs capering joyfully round her. They went through the garden, across the field, and onto the hill via the rickety wooden stile.

The temperature had fallen, and a damp, icy wind was blowing, making Joanna shiver in spite of her jacket.

Cold enough for snow, she thought as she followed the gambolling dogs up the well-worn track.

‘Don’t get too excited,’ she warned them. ‘We’ll go as far as the Hermitage and then I’m turning back.’

It was a stiff climb, and the ground was slippery and treacherous with loose stones. She was breathless when she reached the awkward huddle of rocks on the summit, and quite glad to lean her back against the largest boulder and shelter from the penetrating wind.

The dogs were hurtling about in the dead bracken, yelping excitedly. Joanna clicked off the flashlight to save the battery, and shoved it in her pocket.

It was a good spot for star-gazing, but tonight the sky was busy with scudding clouds.

Joanna looked back the way she had come. The Manor lay below her in the valley. There was a light in the kitchen wing, and one from Cynthia’s bedroom, but the rest of the house was in darkness.

A week ago it would have been ablaze with lights. Lionel had liked brightness and warmth, and had never mastered the theory that electricity switches operated in an ‘off’ position too.

The blank windows said more plainly than anything else that the master was no longer at home.

The wind mourned softly among the fallen stones. Local legend said that centuries before a man had come to this place and built himself a stone shelter where he could pray and do penance for his sins in complete solitude, and that the keening of the wind was the hermit weeping for his past wickedness.

And so would I, thought Joanna, adjusting her scarf more securely. She called the dogs and they came trotting to her side. As she reached for her torch they stiffened, and she heard them growl softly.

‘Easy,’ she told them. ‘It’s only a sheep—or a deer.’

They were too well-behaved to go chasing livestock, but something had clearly spooked them. Or someone, Joanna thought with sudden alarm, as she heard the rattle of a stray pebble nearby. Her fingers tightened around the unlit torch. Normally she’d expect to have the hill to herself on a night like this.

Perhaps it was the hermit, who was said to wander across the top of the hill in robe and cowl, usually when the moon was full, she thought, her mouth twisting in self-derision.

She said clearly, ‘Jess—Moll—it’s all right.’

For a moment they were still under her restraining hand, then with a whimper of excitement they leapt forward into the darkness. A moment later she heard them barking hysterically a short distance away.

‘Damnation.’ She switched on the torch and followed them, cursing herself for not having brought their leashes.

She could only hope they hadn’t flushed some hardy courting couple out of the bracken.

She could see their quarry now, a tall, dark figure, standing quietly while the dogs leapt about him, yelping in joyous welcome.

She hurried into speech. ‘Good evening. I do hope they’re not annoying you. They’re not usually like this with strangers.’

For a moment he neither moved nor spoke, then he put down a hand and the dogs sank to their haunches, their faces lifted worshipfully towards him.

And Joanna knew in that instant, with a sudden sick dread, exactly who was standing in front of her in the darkness.

He said quietly, ‘They’re not annoying me, Joanna. And I’m hardly a stranger.’

The breath caught in her throat. She took a quick step backwards, the torch swinging up to illumine his face and confirm her worst fear.

Her voice was a scratchy whisper. ‘Gabriel?’

‘Congratulations. You have an excellent memory.’

She disregarded the jibe. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘My father died yesterday.’ A harshness invaded the usually cool drawl. ‘I’ve come to attend his funeral.’

‘But we weren’t expecting you—not for another two days.’

‘I decided to end my self-imposed exile and take an earlier flight. I hope it won’t cause you too much inconvenience.’

She swallowed. ‘No—no, of course not.’

‘Said with no conviction at all,’ he murmured. ‘Not that it makes a ha’p’orth of difference. I’m here, and I intend to spend the night under my own roof. And if that’s a problem for you, Joanna, you’re just going to have to sort it out.’

She said tautly, ‘You’re forty-eight hours early, that’s all. No big deal. And if anyone’s going to be inconvenienced it will be Mrs Ashby. I’d better go down and warn her.’ She paused. ‘Moll—Jess—come on.’

The retrievers didn’t budge. Gabriel laughed softly. ‘They seemed to have transferred their allegiance.’

She said, ‘Like all good subjects at the start of a new reign.’

‘Is that how you see yourself too?’ There was faint amusement in his voice. ‘Can I expect the same unquestioning obedience?’

She said shortly, ‘You can expect nothing,’ and plunged off down the path, aware that her face had warmed.

Don’t you ever learn? she castigated herself. Why bandy words with him when you always lose? Don’t let him wind you up.

He caught up with her easily, the dogs pacing at his heels. ‘Take it easy. You might fall.’

And break my neck? she thought bitterly. I’m not that lucky.

She said, ‘What were you doing up there anyway?’

‘I’ve spent the past twenty-four hours cooped up in boardrooms and shut in a plane,’ he returned shortly. ‘I needed to breathe—and to think.’

And to grieve, she realised, with sudden remorse.

She said haltingly, ‘I—I’m sorry I intruded.’

‘Where else would you take the dogs?’ His tone was dismissive.

They continued on downhill. Even with the torch-light to guide her, Joanna found the slope hard going. She was burdened by her awareness of Gabriel walking beside her, close enough to touch, but not touching—inhibited by her fear that if she put a foot wrong he would reach out a hand to her, and that invisible, necessary barrier would be shattered.

She needed to say something—to break the silence. ‘You might have telephoned,’ she remarked. ‘Told us to expect you.’

He said lightly, ‘I decided against it. You might have changed the locks.’

‘That isn’t very amusing.’ Her tone was chilly.

‘Who said I was joking?’ He paused, then said more gently, ‘Look, forget I said that. I suspect this is going to be a bloody difficult few days, Jo. Let’s do what we can to preserve the outward decencies, whatever our private feelings. For Lionel’s sake.’

‘You don’t have to bludgeon me with his memory,’ she said raggedly. ‘I’ll behave.’ She drew a breath. ‘I’ll go on ahead, give Mrs Ashby a hand. Have you had dinner?’

‘I had something on the plane. It successfully destroyed my appetite for the foreseeable future.’

‘Oh.’ She hesitated. ‘Well, when you bring the dogs in, will you dry off their paws, please? You’ll find their towels—’

‘In the rear cloakroom,’ he supplied. ‘Where they’ve always been. I’ve been gone for two years, Joanna. It’s hardly a lifetime.’

She bit her lip. ‘I thought it might have slipped your memory, that’s all.’

‘Oh, no, Joanna.’ His voice was quiet, almost reflective. ‘I think I can safely promise you that I haven’t forgotten a thing. Not the smallest detail.’

In the brief silence which followed, her sharply in-drawn breath was clearly audible.

He nodded, as if satisfied, then added, ‘Now, go and break the good news to Mrs Ashby. Like the dogs, she’ll be pleased to see me.’

Joanna turned and, half-stumbling, half-running, made her way back to the house.

Mrs Ashby’s reaction to the news was all Gabriel could have wished. She shed a few tears, smiled through them, made a few disjointed remarks, and bustled off to prepare his room.

Joanna knew she should have offered to help, but as she couldn’t in honesty share the good woman’s raptures she decided to keep her distance.

He’s been back five minutes, she thought, and he’s managed to unnerve me already. By the end of the week I’ll be a basket case.

When Gabriel himself returned, she was sitting in the drawing room, having dragged together the threads of her composure. She’d discarded her jacket and boots but resisted the impulse to tidy her wind-blown hair, or disguise the pallor of her face with cosmetics.

‘Well, this is a cosy, domestic scene.’

Joanna glanced up from the book she’d snatched up at random, and was pretending to read, to find him lounging in the doorway, watching her, his eyes hooded, his face inscrutable.

‘It’s better than you realise,’ she returned, trying to sound casual, in spite of the sudden dryness in her throat. ‘Grace has brought in a tray of fresh coffee. May I pour some for you?’

‘No, don’t get up. I’ll do it.’ He walked over to the side table and busied himself with the cafetière and cream jug. ‘She wanted to serve up a fatted calf, but I persuaded her just coffee would be fine.’

To her annoyance, the cup he handed her was just as she liked it. His memory for detail was indeed disturbingly good, she reflected uneasily.

Gabriel looked down at the book she was holding and whistled appreciatively.

‘Wisden? Is this interest in cricketing statistics a new departure?’

‘Not particularly.’ Joanna flushed with annoyance. Of all the damned things she could have chosen, she thought angrily. She closed the book with a bang, and put it down. ‘Actually, I began watching the game to keep your father company.’

His smile was tight-lipped. ‘Of course,’ he drawled. ‘The perfect daughter.’ He paused, then added softly, ‘In-law.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I think.’

He seated himself opposite her on one of the big chintz-covered sofas which flanked the fireplace. The dogs, who’d followed him into the room, lay down on the rug between them.

For the first time Joanna was able to take a real look at him, studying him covertly from under her lashes.

He’d changed, she thought. The lines beside his mouth had deepened, and his features had lost any last trace of boyishness. He looked not just older, but harder.

He glanced up, meeting her gaze meditatively, and she hurried into speech.

‘You were a long time coming down from the hill.’

His brows lifted. ‘Did you miss me?’ he drawled. ‘I’m flattered.’

She bit her lip. ‘That isn’t what I meant.’

His mouth twisted. ‘I didn’t really think it would be.’ He drank some coffee. ‘I went down the other way—to pick up my car. I’d left it in the lay-by at Combe Gate.’

‘Oh,’ Joanna said rather blankly. ‘I see.’

‘No,’ he said gently. ‘I don’t think you do. I wasn’t sure in my own mind whether I was ready to come back to this house yet, or if I preferred to spend the night in Midhampton. I went up onto the hill to spy out the lie of the land, and then you came along and the dogs recognised me. That seemed to make the decision for me.’

She said slowly, ‘If I’d been alone would you have said anything? Let me know you were there?’

‘Ah,’ he said lightly. ‘That we shall never know.’

‘Well—I think your decision was the right one.’ She paused. ‘Your room will be ready by now. I—I expect after all that travelling you’d appreciate an early night.’

‘Not particularly,’ he said. ‘I think, don’t you, that we should talk? Settle a few things?’

‘Yes,’ she said, her heart sinking. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Gabriel, you may not want to hear this from me, but I really loved your father, and I—I’m devastated by what’s happened.’

He stared down at the cup and saucer he was holding. ‘Well, at least we agree on something.’

‘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.

CHAPTER FOUR

IT 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.