Page 22 of A Secure Marriage

And that night, for the first time, she pretended to be deeply asleep when he came to their bedroom.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE last of the everyday cooking utensils and crockery went into a packing case, ready to be taken to Oxfam, and now Cleo had to start wrapping the things of sentimental value—mostly bits and pieces her student friends had given as housewarming presents when she had first moved into the small house in Bow.

These and most of the furniture would go into store. Jude had said, 'You might like to hang on to your things, put them about when we get a place in the country,' and she had agreed, because she had taken time and trouble when furnishing, and some of the pieces were like old and valued friends.

Getting up from her knees, she decided on coffee to help steady her nerves because Robert Fenton had said he'd be here around lunch time, and that could mean anytime between twelve and two.

She tucked the hem of her blue and green striped Viyella shirt back into the waistband of her sleek green needlecord jeans and filled the kettle, plugging it in with hands that shook a little. She would be thankful when today was over, this whole horrible business behind her.

She spooned coffee granules and powdered milk into a mug and waited for the kettle to boil, chewing on a corner of her lower lip. It had seemed a good idea to suggest Fenton collected the money from here. She hadn't wanted him anywhere near the house in Belgravia, but she could have laid down a definite time, an anonymous meeting place—outside some tube station or other.

But she wasn't used to this kind of cloak and dagger stuff, and she hadn't been thinking too clearly when she phoned him yesterday. He would be here anytime during the next two hours. But at least, after then, it would all be over and she could put all her energies into making this marriage work.

But that would be an uphill struggle, she admitted. Those shares had been the primary reason behind his decision to accept her proposal, make her the mother of the children he wanted to have. But she'd always known that, hadn't she? Her conversation with him last night had merely reinforced what she'd already known. Nothing had changed, not really, and besides, she wasn't a quitter and would do everything she could to make this marriage work, and pray that in time love would grow for him, too.

She smiled at this thought, a small, tight smile, and as she poured water into the mug she remembered how she'd sat opposite him at breakfast this morning and he'd asked, 'Are you going to take a look at the Slade Securities books this morning?'

She'd shaken her head, her stomach tying itself in knots because this morning she was collecting the money from the bank, seeing Robert Fenton, and it wasn't a prospect she was over the moon about.

'I'll give him a call and ask him to send all the relevant stuff over in a taxi this afternoon,"' she had told him/'I can work through them in peace here, without him breathing down my neck.'

'Good idea. And don't let him try to put you down.' His mouth quirked humorously. 'Not that I think he could, not in a million years. But just remember, your uncle's on your side all the way, and if you need any help or advice you know you can count on me.'

Jude had finished eating and he'd be leaving for the City soon. Cleo had tried to look on the bright side, because the next time she saw him the nightmare of Robert Fenton would be over and behind her, so she smiled and said,

'Have a good day.'

'Make it a better one?' he'd countered lightly. 'I miss you around the office, so have lunch with me?'

'I'd better not,' she'd said quickly, perhaps too quickly, because she'd caught the slight lift of his brows over cool, enquiring eyes, and she'd just had to explain as she'd followed him to the door, feeling like a worm, 'I thought I'd take myself over to Bow this morning. I need to get things sorted out and packed, and arrange for some of the stuff to go into store. The house agents will be putting the board up next week.'

It had felt like telling lies, although it was part of the truth. And she would phone through and make those arrangements just as soon as Fenton had gone. Until then, she was too edgy to make coherent arrangements with anyone about anything.

It was almost an hour later when the shrill of the doorbell made her drop the pile of books she was moving down from her former bedroom. Her nerves were stretched tight as she stepped over the scattered books, but she took a deep breath and told herself that this would soon be over, and after that she felt calmer, better able to cope.

As she opened the door he was leaning against the frame, smiling unpleasantly; she ste

pped back and he walked through as if he owned the place.

He was casually dressed and she thought: brown leather trousers, ye gods!

and decided they didn't suit him. Neither did the brown silk shirt, open almost to the waist. The outfit marked him as the poseur he was. Saying nothing, she preceded him to the living-room, untidy now with the bulging cartons and carriers she'd dumped haphazardly because this morning she hadn't been functioning on her normal calm and efficient level. There was a small wall safe behind one of the pictures, installed by a previous owner, and she'd put the package in there as soon as she'd come from the bank. Twenty-five thousand was a lot of money to leave lying around, even for a few hours.

It took a few moments to extract the package, and when she turned he was sprawled out on the sofa, his booted feet on the almond-green upholstery, his eyes avid, following her every movement. He held out his hand wordlessly but she shook her head.

'The hotel receipt first.' She watched coldly as he pulled the scrap of paper from a pocket in his shirt and released it so that it fluttered to the carpet.

'How do you know I haven't had it photocopied?' he asked, his face blank, and she snapped,

'You probably have. But I'd advise you not to try it on again. Just pay off your debts and stay away from me.' She tossed the package at him, disgust on her face. 'Now get out!'

He turned his head, staring at her, his face tightening. 'You weren't always so keen to see the back of me.'

'I didn't know what a creep you were then,' she grated, her control precarious now. She couldn't bear to be reminded that she had once found him remotely likeable. It made her feel ashamed to know that she had ever been so blind, so gullible. And he knew that, he'd have to be a fool not to, and his mouth whitened with temper as he retaliated,

'But / knew what a pain you were! My God—when I think of the time I put in—all those boring trips to the country, the ghastly picnics, the cosy meals you dished up here and the predictable, prissy "hands off" signals if I did more than kiss you! God, what a bore it all was. And for what? For sweet damn-all!'

---