Page 29 of A Secure Marriage

Thus, bleakly and coldly decided, she reached to the back of the cupboard and pulled out a grey wool skirt, slightly flared, with its matching waistcoat.

Worn with a crisp apple green shirt the outfit made her look severe and controlled. Which was precisely the effect she was aiming for.

Bolstered by her appearance—a modicum of makeup and her hair clipped back behind her ears with good old-fashioned kirby grips helped—she braced herself to deliver a mouthful of plain speaking. And at least she had her timing right, she thought relievedly as she tucked in behind Meg and the heated trolley. She would not now have to endure a pre-dinner drink with the man who so plainly found her beneath contempt, who thought lying was a way of life for her.

'Something smells good,' Cleo remarked politely. Her mind had never been further from food, but Meg always took trouble and her efforts deserved to be recognised.

The housekeeper gave her a warm, comfortable smile, 'Lamb casserole with chocolate fudge sponge to follow. You won't mind, madam, if I leave you to it?' She trundled the trolley into the drawing-room, to the small table in the alcove where Cleo and Jude often ate when they were alone to save Meg the bother of setting the huge table in the formal dining-room.

The table, Cleo noted drily, was set with two covers, candles, silver and crystal—all the right props for a romantic dinner for two. But there was no romance in this marriage, just mistrust and a whole load of agony, she mourned silently as Jude laid aside the papers he'd been concentrating on and stood up, a whisky-glass in his hand, bleak tension in his eyes.

'I was beginning to think you'd decided to go out again,' he commented bitingly.

Meg, seemingly unaware of the undercurrents that thickened the air, made the atmosphere volatile, carried on with what she'd been saying. 'Only there's a film on television we both want to watch. But I'll be down later to clear away.'

'That's fine, Meg.' Cleo had her mistress-of-the-house act honed to perfection and she smiled encouragingly as she took the hot plates and dishes from the trolley. 'Run along, Meg. I can see to this. You don't want to miss the beginning.'

She heard Jude cross the room as she ladled the herby, aromatic casserole on to plates and tried to relax muscles that had instinctively stiffened. He sat opposite her, his face stony, and as he unfolded his napkin she handed him his plate of meat and then sat in front of hers, knowing she wouldn't be able to eat a thing.

'I've skimmed through your conclusions,' he imparted coldly as he helped himself to new potatoes and courgettes. 'But I distinctly recall having asked you to consult me before putting anything in front of Luke.'

'Perhaps you did.' Those shares were the only thing he seemed interested in nowadays, she thought sourly— the only thing of hers, at least. She pushed a piece of meat around her plate, still clinging to her air of poised control because she was going to need it when she told him she would not be sharing his bed, and perhaps not even his roof, until things were resolved between them.

'You know damned well I did.' His voice was quiet, level, almost soft, and that was more nerve-racking than if he'd shouted. It was the dangerous tone he used when hauling some unfortunate Mescal Slade employee over the coals if the hapless person had had the misfortune to annoy him. She shuddered slightly, and he must have noticed the involuntary tremor because his eyes met hers, hard and cold. He poured her a glass of burgundy, which she ignored, and she choked back hot words and found a tone to equal his.

'I don't work for you any more. You did the firing and suggested I move to Slade—if you remember.' She pushed her food around some more, just for something to do with her hands. 'I'm under no obligation to consult you at this stage. I prefer to handle this my own way.'

'The idea was,' he laid his cutlery aside, eyeing her frigidly, 'that we should work together to get the company back on its feet. Or had you forgotten?'

The look he gave her made her want to run away and hide, but she resisted the cowardly impulse and draped one arm over the back of her chair, achieving a casual elegance she was proud of, and told him dismissively, 'It was your idea, not mine. In any case, I don't quite see how it could be managed without a certain degree of accord—something which our relationship distinctly lacks. So I do this alone, or not at all. And talking of togetherness--' she ousted yet another cowardly surge of desire to remove herself from the room and studiedly re-applied herself to her cooling food, even managing to get a tiny onion as far as her mouth '—I'm going to have to insist that we sleep separately from now on. I want nothing more to do with you physically until—;

'Why not?' he cut in smoothly, giving her no time to finish what she had intended to say. 'When you enjoy it so much. We both know I only have to touch you to turn you on.'

And that left her floundering, her cheeks flaming. It was precisely because he could so easily make her want him, need him, abandon her scruples, that she had to sleep alone! She could endure the feeling of degradation no longer!

'Or is it because you are seeing Fenton again, getting all the satisfaction you can handle?' he added silkily, his eyes slitted and dangerous.

Blinking back the pain of incipient tears, fighting the racking ache in her chest, she pushed herself out of her chair. She didn't have to take this! She wouldn't take it!

Her mouth set in a furious line as all pretence of control deserted her, and she ground out, 'I want a divorce.'

It was pointless to go on trying, to even pretend to hope that things could come right for them again. As soon as she'd realised he would never listen to what she had to say in her own defence she should have known it was all over. So why put herself through this agony, the agony of loving a man who only wanted to punish her, and go on punishing her—for a crime she hadn't even committed?

'I've been waiting for this.' She could almost see the violent emotion that emanated from him, and his eyes were narrowed, taking in the flush of rage that burned along her cheekbones, the glitter of angry tears in wide grey eyes. 'I've wondered when you'd get around to asking.'

At his icy words the rage left her, just like that, and she clutched at the back of her chair. Did he mean he'd been waiting for the suggestion to come from her because he wanted out of a marriage that had become intolerable? And had she unknowingly hoped, against all common sense, that he would throw every objection in the book at her, say that, despite everything he still wanted her in his life, that he needed her?

And then he did say that much, but the same words can mean different things, and her face turned paper- white as he drawled, 'Divorce you so that you can marry Fenton, with the so-called Slade Millions safely in your control? No way.' He thrust his chair back savagely, his height, his breadth of shoulder diminishing her. And his face was austere, tight-fleshed, but a derisory dent appeared at one side of his hard mouth as he told her, 'You used me to gain control of your inheritance, the money you needed to lavish on your lover in order to keep him. But it stops there. Right there. There's no way I'm going to hand you your freedom on a plate. You're my wife and that's something you're going to have to learn to live with. And I mean live with. While you're my wife you'll share my roof-space, share my bed.'

It was the most demeaning thing he could have said to her, a

nd she didn't know whether she loved him or hated him now. Both, she supposed, the one being almost indistinguishable from the other. And misery and shame goaded her on.

'There's nothing to stop me walking out on you and going to him,' she flashed recklessly, stung by his hateful words, saying anything at all she could think of that might hurt him as much as he had repeatedly hurt her.

And strangely, she felt back in control again, almost coldly so, with only a residue of fury left to inject a very slight tremor into her voice as she curled her mouth down in a sneer. 'According to the way you view me, I'm not the type of woman to balk at walking out on my husband and going to live with my lover.'

There was just a moment of complete silence, very still, heavy, just one moment when she felt she had the upper hand, though she knew she didn't want it. And then he warned, his voice like ice, 'Do that, and I will drag you back, kicking and screaming. And that's a promise. Wherever you go, I'll find you, and make you pay, and go on paying.'

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