The Flawed Marriage Page 6

  ‘Perhaps if you and Mike had a child of your own,’ she suggested, her eyes straying to where Joel was deep in conversation with Mike and two other guests, also employees of his company.

  ‘I wish to God we could, but Mike won’t hear of it. For one thing we can’t afford it, or so he says. He still has to support Shirley and the kids—Shirley still has their house—we, on the other hand, have to live in a poky little flat because despite Mike’s large salary it’s all we can afford. Even some of my salary goes to support Shirley and her children… Would you believe it, Mike doesn’t even trust me not to make sure I don’t get pregnant by accident any more…’ She grimaced, and Amber could see tears weren’t far away. She beckoned to a hovering waitress and ordered two cups of coffee.

  ‘Heavens, Mike will shoot me for this!’ Jennifer exclaimed. ‘At least you’re not likely to have our problems. Teri’s new husband is a very wealthy man. Mike was telling me that she intends to fight a custody battle for Paul—God knows why. She neglected him terribly, you know, poor little mite. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s doing it just to spite Joel. In fact I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole thing wasn’t just some sort of plan to make Joel pay more attention to her. She was like that. Always needling him, always trying to make him jealous. She was obsessively possessive of him; couldn’t even bear him to devote time to his business. I don’t think for one moment she actually intended to let things go as far as divorce. I’m sure she expected Joel to come running; she must have got the shock of her life when he instituted the proceedings. Poor Joel, he’d had enough. She was a first-rate bitch.’

  ‘Worse than Shirley?’ said Amber, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

  It drew a reluctant laugh from her companion. ‘I do tend to be a little obsessive myself, don’t I? In actual fact Shirley isn’t such a bitch; more a helpless clinger, if you know what I mean, but Teri… She was like a leech, clinging, sucking Joel dry.’

  ‘So there you are, my darling!’

  The husky, male voice acted like shock waves on Amber’s skin. Jennifer laughed when she flushed, standing up and waving Joel into the chair she had just vacated. ‘Something tells me we’re decidedly de trop,’ she said to her husband.

  ‘I’m a newly married man,’ Joel reminded her, giving Amber a long lingering look which rested pointedly on the soft thrust of her breasts beneath the cream silk. ‘Can you blame me for getting a little impatient?’

  There was a general burst of laughter, and people started to make noises about leaving. Someone asked if they planned to go away on honeymoon, and Amber held her breath, not daring to look at Joel.

  ‘I thought about it,’ he murmured to Jennifer. ‘But it was impossible to book somewhere secluded enough for long enough; so I’m not taking Amber away until we’ve been married long enough for me to be willing to share her with other people. I want her all to myself for a very, very long time.’

  There was more laughter, while Amber crimsoned, not so much with embarrassment, but more the knowledge that his friends must have thought Joel had lost his wits, to even mildly desire a girl as deformed as she was.

  ‘You’re embarrassing the girl,’ Mike Boston protested, adding surprisingly, ‘But I think in your shoes, Joel, I’d feel very much the same way. Ready, Paul?’

  It had been arranged that Paul would stay with the Bostons for a week. People would expect them to want to be alone, Joel had told her, and Mike was someone he could trust to watch over Paul properly. The little boy seemed quite cheerful and happy to go with Jennifer and Mike, and watching the guests prepare an exodus towards their cars, Amber felt a distinct sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  They left on a drift of laughter and confetti, Joel’s arm holding her firmly against his side as they made a dash for the car, but although her lips widened in the expected smile, there was no joy in Amber’s heart; only a strangely inexplicable pain.

  It took less than half an hour for them to drive back to the house, curiously silent without Paul.

  The phone was ringing in the study as they walked in, and Joel left her to go and answer it. Alone in the drawing room Amber wandered about keyed up with nervous energy, touching the flowers decorating the inlaid marquetry table in front of the silk damask settee. For the next six months this lovely old house was to be her home, and yet despite the elegance of the drawing room with its pale cream carpet and pastel furnishing she felt it was cold and unwelcoming. Teri had furnished it, as she had furnished every room in the house, with flair and expertise. Perhaps that way why it felt so alien to her, Amber reflected; she was not Teri.

  Mrs Downs had told her that after Teri left Joel had had the large master bedroom completely refurnished and redecorated. ‘Not that they shared it for very long,’ she had told Amber frankly. ‘When Joel came home from abroad he used to sleep alone in one of the guest rooms.’

  Amber had changed the subject, somehow reluctant to encourage Mrs Downs to gossip about Joel’s ex-wife, even though she was curious about her—curious and in some strange way almost envious, although why that should be she found it impossible to tell.

  ‘Amber?’

  She came to with a start, freezing as she heard Joel call her name. He walked into the drawing room, lithe and intensely masculine in the narrow trousers that clung to his hips, and the thin silk shirt, betraying the breadth of his shoulders and chest, and the dark sprinkling of hair beneath the fine fabric.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he apologised. ‘A business call from someone who didn’t know that today was our wedding day. Hungry?’

  Amber kept her back to him, staring out of the window watching the dying sun turning the waters of the lake burnt umber, her throat closing suddenly as the full meanings of the words ‘our wedding day’ burst upon her like a two-edged sword, carrying the total implication of what they should have meant and what in fact they did mean.

  The sudden weight of Joel’s hands on her shoulders had her stiffening tensely.

  ‘Relax,’ he murmured against her hair ‘there are two ways of getting through the next six months, you know. One is with both of us making it hard for each other, with a lot of hassle every time we’re alone. The other is for us to agree to put our differences behind us. We’ve struck a bargain—me because I’m determined to keep my son, you because I was prepared to pay you. Shall we make another? To get through these next six months as easily as we can with respect on both sides?’

  He turned her to face him, and for a moment Amber felt the strangest sensation; a dreadful aching pain coupled with a wild longing to fling herself bodily into Joel’s arms.

  ‘Well?’

  The cool question brought her back to reality, her husky, ‘I agree,’ drawing an approving smile from Joel’s firmly chiselled lips.

  ‘Come on, let’s drink to that. Mrs Downs has left us some supper in the kitchen, and some kind soul put a couple of bottles of champagne in the car.’

  The supper Mrs Downs had left them consisted of tender fresh salmon and a delicious salad which they washed down with the champagne.

  Afterwards Amber enjoyed a feather-light lemon mousse, while Joel completed his meal with a wedge of Stilton. To her surprise Joel insisted on helping her with the washing up while they waited for the coffee to percolate, and half an hour later, sitting in the study, listening to the music drifting softly over them from Joel’s hi-fi, her coffee cup in her hand, Amber knew a contentment she hadn’t experienced since her accident.

  Her mood was broken abruptly when Joel stood up and glanced at his watch.

  ‘Time we called it a day, I think.’ He leaned forward to remove Amber’s cup, his fingers brushing her lightly. The brief, accidental touch of his flesh against her sent sudden shivers of tension through her. It was ridiculous to feel like this, she reminded herself. Joel had always promised that their marriage was a business arrangement only; he had evinced not the slightest interest in her physically; she knew she had absolutely nothing to fear.

  Bu
t that didn’t stop her from cravenly longing to suggest that for tonight at least she slept in the guest room she had been using since her arrival at the house. Almost as though he read her mind, Joel smiled grimly and mocked, ‘Start as you mean to go on, isn’t that always the best way? If it helps, pretend I’m one of those men who used to provide you with pretty clothes and expensive holidays before your accident.’

  Amber closed her lips firmly together against the desire to demand by what right he took it upon himself to speak so contemptuously—and incorrectly—about her past life.

  Perhaps because she was tired, or perhaps because she was nervous, she didn’t know which, her damaged leg trembled weakly when she stood up and tried to put her full weight on it, and the sudden blenching of her face drew Joel’s attention to her, bringing a frown to his face.

  ‘What’s the matter? Too much champagne?’ he mocked.

  Amber’s heart quailed at the thought of the long flight of stairs up to the master bedroom which was at the far end of the upstairs landing, but refusing to let Joel continue to mock her, she forced herself to walk steadily towards the door; the short journey making heavy inroads into her small store of energy and ability to hold pain at bay.

  She thought she had been successful in concealing her pain from Joel until he reached the door before her, his eyes savagely dark as he swept her up against him as easily as though she weighed no more than Paul.

  ‘For God’s sake,’ he protested angrily, ‘there’s no need to play the martyr for me. Why on earth didn’t you tell me you were in pain?’

  Without further ado he kicked open the door, carrying her lithely up the stairs and not stopping until he had reached the bedroom they were to share for as long as Amber remained his wife—as long as it took to convince Teri that he would never give up the child she had given him.

  Once there he pushed the door shut with his shoulder and placed Amber gently on the bed, before switching on a softly glowing bedside lamp and grasping her chin firmly to force her drawn features round into the light.

  ‘I’ve got some work to do,’ he told her briefly. ‘Try and go to sleep. Have you something you can take for the pain?’

  Nearly as astounded by his apparent concern as she was by his unexpected consideration in leaving her alone to prepare for bed, Amber nodded her head.

  ‘In my bag. I left it downstairs.’

  ‘Don’t move, I’ll get it for you.’

  He was back within minutes, dropping her handbag on the bed while he walked swiftly across the slate blue carpet into the adjoining bathroom, to return with a glass of water.

  Amber reached for her bag, wincing with the sudden pain lancing through her leg.

  ‘Here, let me.’ Her bag was open before she could protest, but in extracting the small phial of painkillers Joel accidentally dislodged Rob’s last letter to her. Amber felt him stiffen and saw that the letter was open on the last few lines; lines which she knew off by heart without having to re-read them. ‘And so, my dear,’ Rob had written, ‘for both our sakes I think it best that we call it a day. I can never give you what you want.’

  He had meant that he could never give her his love, Amber knew, the letter was a reaffirmation of all that he had said at the hospital, and she couldn’t understand why Joel’s lips twisted so bitterly, until he said sardonically, ‘What happened? Couldn’t he afford you? You must have been…’

  ‘What?’ she said bitterly. ‘Quite attractive before I was permanently disfigured?’

  Joel’s mouth tightened. ‘You’re obsessed with physical appearance, Amber—a fault of your breed of woman; they never seem to realise that there are more important things than looks and constantly wonder why women they consider less attractive than themselves attract men. Is that what happened to you? Did you lose him,’ he glanced down at the letter, ‘to someone else?’

  ‘Looks are important,’ Amber argued fiercely. ‘The icing on the cake.’

  ‘Icing can sometimes be used to hide very dull sponge,’ Joel replied drily, watching her take her painkillers and then handing her the glass of water. ‘Poor Amber,’ he mocked, ‘did losing him hurt very much? Perhaps there’s hope for you after all, then, if you’re still capable of feeling.’

  He turned towards the door, leaving Amber to mutter rebelliously under her breath, ‘What the hell do you know about it?’ to his departing and apparently unconcerned back.

  Half an hour later, bathed and in bed, Amber tried to relax, and finding it impossible lay staring into the darkness, alert for the first sound of Joel’s approach.

  It was over an hour before he came, moving quietly and carefully about the room. Amber saw him go into the bathroom, and heard the sound of the shower. Had he known she was awake?

  When he returned she closed her eyes instinctively, feeling the bed depress as he slid in beside her, stifling a half hysterical laugh as she remembered how calmly he had talked about this aspect of their business arrangement. It would be necessary, he had told her coolly; they would have to create the image of a happily newly married couple, with all that that implied, but she had nothing to fear.

  She had turned on her side away from him, and she could feel the warmth of his body spreading over her spine and thighs even though he wasn’t touching her. Almost within minutes of him joining her in the bed Amber heard the slow steady breathing which signalled that he was asleep. An alien emotion began somewhere deep inside her, followed by a sudden, jolting disbelief which totally obliterated the earlier sensation. Had she actually experienced it, or was it merely imagination? Imagination for sure, she reassured herself. Why on earth should she feel disappointed that Joel had kept his promise and scrupulously left her alone?

  The first thing she heard when she woke up was the birds, singing outside the window. She opened her eyes, looking fearfully at the other side of the bed. It was empty; only a faint dent in the pillow showing where Joel’s dark head had lain. Raising herself up slightly, Amber looked round the room. She hadn’t seen it properly in daylight before. It was furnished in shades of grey-blue and cream; a predominantly masculine room, with a comprehensive range of fitted wardrobes and a thick-pile carpet which seemed to emphasise its size.

  The bathroom echoed the colour scheme of the bedroom. Amber finished showering, dressed in clean underwear and walked back into the bedroom, idly wondering what she ought to wear. They were supposed to be on honeymoon, after all; perhaps Joel might want to take her out somewhere for lunch. Unlike Rob he seemed to feel no distaste at appearing in public with her, despite her scarred leg, but then, of course, she wasn’t really his wife. Rob had been ashamed of her; had hated visiting her and had cringed very obviously every time he caught sight of the scar tissue, for all that he was a doctor.

  Perhaps the new separates she had bought would be the right thing to wear; there was a pair of trousers with tapering legs and pleats at the waistband which flattered her too thin body. She was looking in the wardrobe for them when she heard the bedroom door open and froze disbelievingly.

  Surely Joel hadn’t come back? She had thought he was being tactful leaving her to get dressed alone in privacy.

  ‘Tea and toast,’ she heard him call out cheerfully. ‘Come on, make the most of it, I’m not going to make a habit of this!’ he pushed the wardrobe door closed, and Amber saw that he was dressed in jeans and a checked cotton shirt, the sleeves rolled up above his elbows, fine dark hairs lying crisply along his forearms, his hair still damp from the shower he must have taken before dressing.

  Amber literally cringed as he looked at her, in her haste to conceal the imperfection of her injured leg from him, grabbing the first thing she could find from the wardrobe, which just happened to be the silk negligee he had bought her.

  ‘And just what was that in aid of?’ he demanded angrily, when she had knotted her sash with shaking fingers. ‘Frightened the sight of your nubile flesh might drive me mad with desire?’

  Amber flushed under the scorn underlying the bitte
r words, and shook her head wordlessly.

  ‘What, then?’ Joel demanded harshly. ‘Look, I thought we made a bargain last night, but if you’re going to try these coy, teasing tricks every time I walk in, we’re never going to make it work. I have seen the female form before, you know, and…’

  ‘Far more attractively designed than mine?’ Amber brought out in a voice that shook. ‘I wasn’t trying to be coy, I…’ she bent her head, and her hair fell forward over her hot cheeks.

  ‘You what?’ Joel asked, suddenly gentle, putting down the tray and pushing her lightly on to the bed.

  ‘I didn’t want you to see my leg,’ she admitted huskily, amazed that she could actually bring herself to tell him the truth. ‘It’s so badly scarred, you see, I thought…’

  ‘What?’ he demanded, plainly not understanding. ‘that I’d run from the room screaming?’ Before she could stop him he reached for her and flipped back the hem of her robe, his fingers encircling her ankle as he turned her damaged leg upwards on the bedspread and studied it dispassionately, while her stomach churned with nausea.

  ‘I think you’re coming close to becoming obsessive about these scars,’ he pronounced at length, ‘and letting your bitterness about them colour your entire attitude to life. So you’ve got some nasty scars and you aren’t as agile as you once were—does that mean the whole world has to pity you?’

  ‘I don’t want anyone’s pity,’ Amber retorted, stung by the unwarranted accusation. ‘In fact that’s the last thing I want…’