Wife And Mother Forever Page 9

  Fine! Evie thought with a touch of contempt. She wouldn’t let his son down, even if he did.

  They waved him off together and spent the day at the beach. Neither of them mentioned Justin. In the evening they played chess. Evie began by resolving to let Mark win a game or two, and ended up struggling to beat him even once. His twinkling eyes told her that he’d followed her thoughts.

  She laughed with him, thinking how like Justin he looked. His mouth was different, gentler, with a touch of sweetness, but his nose was exactly the same, sharp and dominating his face, with a curiously flat bridge.

  The phone rang. Mark ran to be the first to answer it.

  ‘Hallo, Dad? When are you coming home? OK-I’ll put you on to Evie-all right. I’ll tell her.’

  He replaced the receiver.

  ‘Dad couldn’t talk to you because he was in a hurry, but he says he’ll be here first thing tomorrow.’

  She answered vaguely. She was disturbed by a small knot of anxiety that was easing inside her, almost as though she were glad of his return. Even pleased, although pleased was perhaps going a bit far. She would admit to relief, but only for Mark’s sake.

  They tidied up and went to bed. Evie lay in the dark and tried to focus her attention on Andrew, wondering just how broken-hearted it was suitable for her to be. After a while she gave up. How could you grieve for a man whose face you couldn’t remember?

  In the early hours she awoke, hearing sounds from below. In a moment she was out of bed, pulling a light dressing gown on over her pyjamas and slipping quietly out on to the landing. The light was growing fast and she could see the man who had just arrived.

  ‘Justin?’ she called softly.

  ‘Yes, come down. I have something to tell you.’

  ‘Goodness, what’s happened?’ she asked, wondering at his businesslike tone.

  She hurried down and saw him rummaging in his briefcase. He looked tired and unshaven.

  ‘Have you been driving all night? You look done in.’

  ‘Never mind that,’ he said, sounding almost impatient. ‘There’s something I want you to see.’

  ‘Is this the surprise you told Mark about? Shall I fetch him?’

  ‘Later. I want you to see it first.’

  ‘You’re getting me worried.’

  ‘No need. Here.’ He’d found a large envelope in his briefcase and held it out to her. ‘This is yours.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Look at it,’ he said curtly.

  At first the words were a jumble, dancing before her eyes. Then she recognised the address of the cottage.

  ‘It’s sold,’ she said at last. ‘You mean the Nicholsons moved that fast?’

  ‘Not them. Me. I bought this place yesterday.’

  ‘You what?’ Then her eyes fell on the price. ‘How much?’

  The final price was fifty grand higher than the original asking price.

  ‘You didn’t really pay that?’ she gasped.

  ‘I had to. When the Nicholsons heard of my offer they raised theirs, which, I must admit I hadn’t expected, considering that they tried to get it cheap. But, once they’d decided, they were determined not to let go. There was a bidding war, but I won because I kept going longer.’

  ‘Yes, I can imagine that you did,’ she said, dazed. ‘But why-?’

  ‘Look at the other paper. It’ll tell you.’

  The other paper was a deed of gift, making over the cottage to herself.

  ‘I don’t understand this,’ she murmured.

  ‘Surely it’s clear enough? The cottage is yours. I bought it and now it’s yours.’

  She should have felt an uprush of gratitude, but there was only the old, uneasy feeling of a net closing about her. He hadn’t done this for her sake, but for reasons of his own.

  ‘But why are you giving it to me?’ she asked.

  His manner became even more impatient.

  ‘What does it matter why? The point is, it’s yours. You won’t have to move out now. And since I paid over the odds you’ll have plenty left when the debts are cleared. It’s a very good deal for you.’

  ‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’ she said in a voice that was suddenly hard. ‘And you really did pay over the odds, I can see.’

  ‘Sometimes you have to, if it’s the only way to get what you want.’

  ‘I understand that,’ she said slowly. ‘It’s really impressive, the way you never let anyone get the better of you. Not anybody. Ever.’

  Something in her manner finally got through to him. He turned, regarding her with a puzzled frown.

  ‘Evie, don’t you understand? The cottage is yours. Yours to keep. For ever. It’s what you wanted. Don’t you have anything to say to me?’

  She raised smouldering eyes to him.

  ‘Yes,’ she said fiercely, ‘I do have something to say to you. I shall never forgive you for this as long as I live.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  J USTIN stared at her. ‘Did I hear that properly?’

  ‘I think you did. What were you expecting? Gratitude? Well, maybe I’d be grateful if I didn’t know the real reason behind this.’

  His voice was hard. ‘And you think the reason is what?’

  ‘Control. Acquisition. I’m useful to you, because of Mark, and when something’s useful you have to make sure it can’t escape, right? So you buy it.’

  He went pale. ‘Is that what you think? That I’m trying to buy you?’

  ‘What else? The perfect takeover bid, mounted under perfect conditions-the important one being secrecy so that the object of acquisition doesn’t even know about it until it’s too late.’

  “‘Object of acquisition!” For pity’s sake, listen to yourself! You’re talking nonsense.’

  ‘I don’t think so. You’ve done a perfect job, behind my back, only I wasn’t supposed to see the strings being pulled.’

  ‘I tried to give you something,’ he shouted. ‘Something I thought you wanted. You’ve told me how much you love this place.’

  ‘I was talking generally, not angling for a handout.’

  ‘Yesterday you were crying about it.’

  ‘Don’t remind me about yesterday,’ she said dangerously.

  The way he’d kissed her as an assertion of power rankled with her still, and drove her to lash him cruelly. She would think about it later. For now she only knew that the moment she had seen him her heart had felt a disturbance that was mysteriously linked to anger.

  ‘The place is yours now,’ he snapped. ‘Do what you damned well like with it.’

  ‘I can’t. This isn’t right. It mustn’t happen.’

  ‘You can’t stop it. The sale’s gone through.’

  ‘I don’t see how you can have done it in one day. All that money takes time.’

  His shrug was a complete answer. What was a huge amount to her was a pittance to him. He’d probably handed over cash.

  ‘I can’t accept the cottage as a gift,’ she said. ‘Nor can I take the extra money. As soon as it’s paid to the executor, and he’s cleared the debts, I’ll tell him to return you the balance.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ he shouted. ‘Where’s your common sense?’

  ‘Obviously I don’t have any. But I do have some self-respect, enough not to take charity from you.’

  She heard his sharp intake of breath, and the look on his face was very ugly. She held out the papers and he snatched them.

  ‘Go to hell,’ he said with soft venom. ‘Go there and stay there.’

  Both tense with anger, neither noticed a figure looking down at them from the stairs, or heard the soft noise as he scuttled back to bed.

  For a moment it seemed that Justin expected her to yield. When she didn’t he simply walked out of the room, and a moment later she heard his car starting up. She sank down on the stairs, trembling violently.

  She wondered what had come over her to have rejected his gift. To keep the cottage had been her heart’s desire, and now it was hers, if she
would only bend her pride a little.

  But no power on earth could make her bend it for this man. His curt, businesslike tone as he’d outlined his methods, the way he’d crushed all opposition, the easy way he tossed money around, told her all she needed to know about his motives.

  And it was all the worse because a corner of her heart had started to warm to him. If he’d done this in friendship she might have been tempted to accept. But Justin Dane didn’t ‘do’ friendship.

  She went back to her room and lay down, not expecting to sleep. But the fight had left her drained, and she dozed uneasily. When she awoke the sun was high, but Justin’s car had not returned.

  Looking out, she saw Mark sitting far out on the rocks. She dressed and hared out after him, ready with the words of reproach for slipping away alone. But they died on her lips when he raised his eyes and she saw the unhappiness in his face. Just like at the start, she remembered.

  ‘Hallo,’ she said, speaking cheerfully. ‘You’re out early. Anything interesting in the pool?’

  ‘Some crabs. Nothing much. I just wanted to think a bit.’

  ‘Well, it’s a good place for it. Did you come up with anything?’

  He shook his head. ‘Thinking doesn’t really help,’ he said wistfully. ‘It doesn’t change anything.’

  He was too young to believe that, she thought. Unable to find any words of wisdom she said, ‘It’s easier to think on a full stomach. Breakfast?’

  He nodded. ‘Then can we come back?’

  ‘Yes, we’ll spend the day here.’

  She waited for him to ask if his father had returned, but he said nothing.

  After breakfast they went back to the beach and explored the rock pools until Mark said, ‘Here’s Dad.’

  Justin was coming across the sand towards them. He smiled at Mark, and then in Evie’s general direction.

  Mark greeted his father kindly but without eagerness. Nor did he ask about the surprise Justin had promised. She recalled his sadness of that morning and guessed that it was still there, suppressed beneath a polite smile.

  It was like that for the rest of the day. On the surface all was calm. But beneath were tensions, only just held in check. In the evening Justin insisted on taking them out to a restaurant.

  It was an expensive place and they all dressed up for it. She wondered why he’d done this until she realised that, in the fuss of waiters and choices to be made, the awkwardness between them was less noticeable.

  He offered her wine, but refused it himself, explaining that he never touched alcohol.

  Of course, she thought. Staying teetotal is a way of keeping control.

  But then she castigated herself for dwelling so much on thoughts of him and his motives. There and then she made a resolution to put him out of her mind.

  But that was hard when other people seemed so aware of him. At a nearby table sat two young women, both of whom seemed much taken with Justin. They regarded him with lustful appreciation, tried to catch his eye, smiled if his head turned briefly.

  They were beauties that any man would be proud to have on his arm, and they were Justin’s, if he wanted them, which he didn’t seem to. She had to give him full marks for courtesy, for he gave her and Mark his whole attention.

  She was forced to see him through their eyes as a vitally attractive man, with a presence and charisma that went beyond mere good looks, and she began to remember things she would rather forget: days on the beach with him stretched out beside her, half naked or fooling in the surf. From there it was a short step to being held against his bare chest as he kissed her fiercely, repeatedly.

  It was useless to say that she hadn’t wanted that kiss. Some part of her had wanted it, although she would go to the stake before letting him suspect.

  Then came other thoughts-the way she’d awoken on the sofa to find him kneeling beside her, asking gently about her sadness. His unexpected kindness had touched her heart, making her vulnerable to him. But then he’d tried to turn it to his own advantage…

  ‘Are you all right?’ Mark asked her.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘I thought you looked a little sad.’

  ‘Not me,’ she said untruthfully.

  It was late when they reached home and Mark’s eyelids were drooping. When Evie suggested that he go to bed he agreed without protest. Justin bade his son goodnight and immediately opened his computer.

  ‘I think I’ll go to bed, too,’ she said.

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Goodnight.’

  She regarded the back of his head with exasperation.

  ‘Goodnight,’ she said, and went upstairs.

  She tucked Mark in and sat down on the bed. ‘You didn’t enjoy today, did you?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘It was like it used to be.’

  ‘Used to be? When?’

  ‘Just before Mum left. She and Dad-they were polite but it was horrible.’

  Evie groaned. Why hadn’t she thought?

  ‘I’m sorry, Mark. We were just both in a bad mood. It didn’t mean anything. Don’t worry. Go to sleep, and everything will be all right in the morning.’

  But when she’d gone to bed and switched out her light she wondered if she’d spoken truly. How could everything be all right after this?

  She lay for a while, trying to get to sleep, but actually listening for the sound of Justin climbing the stairs. Instead she heard something from the next room that made her sit up in bed. There it was again-a wail from Mark’s room.

  She was out on the landing in a moment, pushing open his door to find the child sitting up, his eyes closed, tears pouring down his face.

  ‘Mark,’ she said urgently, taking him into her arms. ‘What is it, darling?’

  ‘Mum,’ he wailed, ‘Mum!’

  She tightened her arms, feeling the frail body shaking with misery against her. He’d given up on words now and simply lay against her, crying uncontrollably. At last she felt his hands grasping her arms tightly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he hiccuped.

  ‘There’s nothing to be sorry about. But please, tell me what’s the matter. Did you have a bad dream?’

  ‘No, it was a lovely dream.’

  ‘Was it about your mother?’

  ‘Um!’ He nodded against her shoulder.

  ‘You miss her all the time, don’t you?’ she whispered.

  ‘It’s worse at night, because then I dream she’s alive. She comes home to me and says it was all a mistake and she didn’t mean to go without me. Then we run away together. Or sometimes she stays home with me. It was a mistake, you see. She didn’t really leave me because she wouldn’t do that.’

  His voice rose on the last few words and he buried his face against her, shaking with sobs.

  ‘No, darling, she wouldn’t,’ Evie murmured, racked for him.

  Gradually he grew quieter. She continued to sit there, holding and soothing him, but actually alert, because her sharp ears had detected a faint sound from just outside the door.

  ‘She would have come for me,’ Mark said, ‘if she hadn’t died.’

  ‘Of course she would. And I know she never stopped thinking of you, all the time.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  ‘Then why didn’t she come home? Do you think Dad stopped her?’

  ‘No,’ she said swiftly. ‘I know he wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘You don’t really know.’

  ‘Yes, I do. He’d never do anything to hurt you. Mark, you must believe me.’

  ‘But he wouldn’t bring her home when she died.’

  ‘That’s different. When she was alive-’

  She paused. She had no right to repeat to Mark what Justin had told her. After a moment she realised that she had no need to say any more. The child had fallen asleep against her shoulder.

  Gently she laid him down on the bed and drew the covers up. Then she kissed his cheek before slipping quietly out of the room and closing the door.

/>   It was dark in the corridor, but the sliver of moonlight from the window was just enough to show her Justin standing there, leaning against the wall, his head back, motionless.

  ‘Waiting at the window every week,’ he whispered.

  ‘Justin-’

  ‘Standing there for hours because today would be different-today she’d really come.’

  Of course he’d heard his son’s words, and his heart had understood. If only he could talk directly to Mark like this. She could see the tears on his cheeks. He didn’t try to brush them away. Perhaps he didn’t know about them.

  She reached out and held him, enfolding him in the same gesture she had used to comfort his son, and at once she felt his arms go around her, clinging on to her as if he were seeking refuge.

  ‘But she never came-’ he murmured.

  ‘Justin!’ She took hold of him, giving him a little shake.

  He looked at her despairingly. ‘I was sure she’d come, but she never did.’

  ‘You?’ she echoed, wondering if she’d heard him clearly.

  ‘She promised,’ he said huskily. ‘I knew she wouldn’t break her promise-but I never saw her again.’

  Only then did she understand that Justin wasn’t empathising with his son’s loss. He was talking about a loss of his own.

  It was as though a pit had opened beneath her, and from its depths came an aching misery that left her shattered. It clawed at her, howling of endless despair, grief too great to endure. The man in her arms was shuddering with that grief and she held him more tightly, helplessly trying to comfort something she did not understand.

  They mustn’t stay here, she thought. Mark might hear them and come out. Gently she urged him across the landing to her own room. He could barely walk.

  Inside, she closed the door without switching on the light. He almost fell on to the bed, taking her with him, for his hands were holding on to her like grim death.

  Once before he’d held her in an unbreakable grip, but this was different. Instead of arrogance, she felt only his need and desperation and everything in her went forward to meet it, embrace and console it.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she murmured, just as she had done with the child. ‘I’m here. Hold on to me.’

  He kept his eyes fixed on her. He was still trembling like a man caught in a nightmare from which there was no escape.