A Passionate Affair Read online

  ‘You see?’ he murmured, close to her ear, and she was made intensely conscious of his nearness and what it was doing to her. ‘You just don’t know how to look after yourself,’ he told her. ‘But when we’re married, I intend to change all that.’

  Cassandra drew away from him, but cautiously this time, risking no revival of that debilitating weakness. ‘You can’t be serious,’ she pleaded. ‘You don’t really want to marry me.’

  ‘No,’ he said at last, his words brutally frank. ‘No, I don’t want to marry you, but you are carrying my child, and everything else is irrelevant.’

  She trembled. ‘And—and if I refuse?’

  ‘I could take you to court,’ he stated bleakly. ‘That would be original, wouldn’t it? I should say, without hesitation, it might even warrant national coverage!’

  ‘You—you wouldn’t!’

  ‘Wouldn’t I?’

  Jay’s eyes were hostile, and Cassandra shook her head before subsiding on to the sofa again. She was hardly aware of him leaving her, until he returned a few minutes later with a tray of tea and some thin sandwiches. With bland insistence, he put them down on the low table between the sofas, and gestured to Cassandra to help herself.

  ‘My housekeeper always leaves me a snack, even when I’m dining out,’ he explained. ‘Go ahead. Help yourself.’

  ‘I don’t want anything,’ Cassandra exclaimed dully, turning her head away, but Jay came down on the sofa beside her and thrust the plate under her nose.

  ‘Don’t be a fool,’ he said. ‘Starving yourself isn’t going to solve anything. I promise you, they’re good.’

  Cassandra could smell ham, and cheese, and the delicious flavour of cucumber, and with a resentful shrug of her shoulders she obediently helped herself to a sandwich. She ate it unwillingly, but she felt so much better afterwards, she took another, and before she knew what she was doing she had eaten more than half of what was on the plate.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, swallowing some of the hot tea he had poured her. ‘I—I must have been more hungry than I thought. Do—do eat the rest.’

  ‘I’m dining out,’ replied Jay flatly, lounging back against the green velvet cushions. ‘Please—finish them. Mrs Temple will be highly delighted, I assure you.’

  Cassandra put down her teacup. ‘You really mean to go ahead with this, don’t you?’

  Jay nodded.

  ‘Then—then don’t you think you’re being totally unreasonable?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ He was noncommittal.

  ‘Suppose—–’ Cassandra was hesitant, ‘suppose I agree to our getting married.’ She paused. ‘Don’t you think you could—meet me halfway?’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘By allowing me to stay in London.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But I can’t just—abandon Chris!’

  ‘I’m not asking you to.’ Jay’s mouth turned down. ‘I guess you must be—what? Two months pregnant?’

  ‘Ten weeks, actually,’ admitted Cassandra reluctantly.

  ‘Okay. So I’m prepared to allow you another—month to make other arrangements.’

  ‘A month?’ Cassandra was appalled.

  ‘I’m being generous,’ declared Jay flatly. ‘My instincts tell me to make it a week.’

  She bit into another sandwich. ‘And—and afterwards? After the baby is born, I mean. I’ll—get a divorce?’

  ‘If that’s what you want, I can’t stop you.’

  Thea was undisguisedly delighted by Cassandra’s news.

  ‘You knew what he would say, didn’t you?’ Cassandra accused her hotly. ‘Thea, he actually threatened to sue me if I didn’t go along with his plans!’

  ‘How could he sue you?’ Thea was disarmingly gentle. ‘Darling, the man wants to marry you. Be thankful he hasn’t washed his hands of the whole affair.’

  ‘Oh, Thea, you’re so old-fashioned!’ Cassandra felt a helpless sense of frustration. ‘A girl doesn’t have to get married just because she’s pregnant! Not these days. There are loads of one-parent families, and they haven’t all had the blessing of some grey-faced registrar!’

  ‘Nevertheless, you’ll find it’s for the best,’ Thea assured her firmly. ‘I mean—let’s face it, Cass, you’re not exactly affluent, are you? How were you going to afford to have this baby?’

  ‘I probably wouldn’t,’ retorted Cassandra crossly. ‘You know what I said.’

  ‘I also know that talking about something and actually doing it are two different things,’ averred Thea, with irritating certainty. ‘Relax, darling, Jay will make you happy. I know he will.’

  Liz took the news very differently.

  ‘You’re crazy,’ she avowed angrily. ‘Letting him blackmail you into marrying him! For goodness’ sake, Cass, pull yourself together before it’s too late. If there’s no baby, what can he do about it?’

  Cassandra shook her head. ‘I couldn’t do that,’ she replied. It was strange, she reflected, but whenever anyone tried to give her advice, she tended to swing in the opposite direction. ‘I—I’m going to have this baby.’

  Liz snorted. ‘Well, I think you’re mad. Hell, Cass, I thought you said you wanted a career. God knows, I’ve done everything I can to make it a success. I thought you’d had enough of marriage to last you a lifetime!’

  Cassandra had thought so, too, but something drove her to say: ‘Jay’s not like Mike. He—well, it’s different with him.’

  ‘Is it?’ Liz’s lips curled. ‘Well, I have heard he’s quite a stud in bed.’ She snorted contemptuously. ‘You must get his ex-girl-friends to give you the lowdown!’

  Cassandra flinched, and needing to strike back, she enquired tersely: ‘Including you, Liz?’

  Liz gave her a scornful look. ‘I wouldn’t touch Jay Ravek with a long stick,’ she declared, making for the door. ‘Goodbye, Cass. You’re a fool. And don’t come running to me if that louse you found under that stone turns out to be a louse, after all!’

  CHAPTER NINE

  HONEYSUCKLE Cottage stood on the outskirts of Combe Bassett, about eight miles south-west of Sutton Medlock. Jay said that that was the nearest town, but as Cassandra had never even heard of Sutton Medlock, let alone Combe Bassett, she estimated their whereabouts in relation to Cheltenham, some twenty-five miles away.

  It had been an uneasy journey from London, with rain blanketing their surroundings in a chilly mist, and the absence of any familiar landmarks had left Cassandra feeling decidedly anxious. The prospect of the next few months filled her with a mixture of alarm and apprehension, and the realisation that she was Jay’s wife now did nothing to ease her sense of isolation.

  They had been married that morning, a civil ceremony, at Kensington Register Office, with only Thea and Chris, and some friends of Jay’s, the Conways, as witnesses. Cassandra had already met and liked Guy and Helen Conway. She and Helen were much of an age, and as Helen had had a baby herself the year before, they had something in common. Afterwards, they had all had lunch together at the Savoy Grill, and Cassandra thought how incongruous it was to be drinking their health in champagne. Warm milk would have been more appropriate, she thought, bearing in mind the reason for their nuptials.

  It was almost six weeks since she had paid that fateful visit to Jay’s apartment. Looking back on it now, she felt almost resentful of what had been achieved in such a short time. It was as if fate was conspiring against her, and even Chris had not given her the support she had expected.

  ‘Don’t let it worry you,’ he had said, when she had broached the subject of her replacement. ‘I’ll cope. And Combe Bassett’s not so far away that I can’t ask your advice from time to time.’

  ‘But the work that’s already in hand!’ Cassandra had protested. ‘How will you get through it all?’

  ‘I’ll get Paul to help me,’ Chris replied airily. ‘He’s quite astute, as you know, and he’s already suggested we advertise for temporary assistance. Art schools are funnelling out talented students all the time
. Leave it to us. We’ll find someone.’

  ‘But how will you pay them?’ Cassandra had wailed. ‘Chris, you know we can’t afford—–’

  ‘We can.’ Chris spoke confidently. ‘As a matter of fact, I know of someone who’s prepared to back us for a while. Stop worrying, Cass. Ro-Allen Interiors is not about to fold.’

  Thinking of this now, Cassandra felt a renewed sense of desolation. Ro-Allen had been her idea, her baby; the only kind of baby she had ever expected to produce.

  She was brought out of her reverie by the sound of Jay slamming the car door, and glancing round, she realised he had got out to open up the boot. The Ferrari was crammed with her belongings, and while he was unloading suitcases and boxes, Cassandra had her first real look at her new home.

  It certainly looked more attractive than she had expected from Jay’s description. It’s just an old country cottage, he had told her, with no central heating, septic tank drainage, and half an acre of land. But it was nearing the end of March, he had added, and if he decided to stay on in the country after the baby was born, he would look around for something a little bigger with more amenities. Cassandra, aware that her baby was due in August, had reserved judgment. But she had had little belief that she would be spending next winter in Combe Bassett.

  ‘Do you need any help, Mrs Ravek?’

  As Cassandra pushed open her door to get out, a woman in her fifties emerged from the cottage and came down the garden path to greet them. Cassandra had already met Mrs Temple, and it was somewhat of a relief to see at least one familiar face.

  ‘I can manage,’ she said now, closing the car door behind her and swaying for a moment in the damp evening air. It had been quite a mild day in London, the rain holding off until they had stepped into the car, but it was much cooler now and Cassandra shivered.

  ‘Go along inside,’ directed Mrs Temple firmly, noticing the girl’s sudden pallor. ‘There’s a warm fire in the drawing room, and a drink, too, if you’d like one. If not, I’ve a kettle boiling in the kitchen, and it won’t take a minute to brew some tea.’

  ‘Tea would be lovely,’ agreed Cassandra, glancing round. ‘Here, let me take that suitcase.’

  ‘Leave it!’ said Jay authoritatively, straightening from the boot. ‘Do as Mrs Temple says. Go and get warm. You don’t want to spend your first few days here recovering from the ’flu, do you?’

  Cassandra was tempted to argue, but with Mrs Temple looking on she acquiesced. But she wasn’t a child, and she didn’t like being treated like one, particularly in the circumstances.

  It was obvious why the cottage had been so named, and she ducked beneath the drooping vine to gain access to a stone-flagged porch. Beyond, a panelled hallway smelt deliciously of lavender, and as she stepped inside she realised the cottage was bigger than she had thought.

  Several doors opened from the hall, all closed but one, and when she glanced into the open aperture, she guessed this was the drawing room Mrs Temple had spoken of. The carpets in the hall, and in this room, whose windows overlooked the lane in front of the cottage, were surprisingly new for a rented property, and the furniture that gave the drawing room a comfortable elegance, did not look like the worn possessions of a retiring couple. But the squashy chintz-covered sofa and easy chairs were evidently not from Jay’s apartment, and Cassandra came to the conclusion that Helen’s aunt and uncle must have refurnished quite recently.

  She was still hovering in the doorway, surveying the cosy room with its large open fire, when Jay came into the hall. She heard the sound of his footsteps and stiffened instinctively, but after a moment they receded again as he continued on upstairs. She looked out of the door tentatively as Mrs Temple followed her employer inside, and the housekeeper pulled a face as she set her burden down.

  ‘Go and sit down, Mrs Ravek,’ she exclaimed, as Cassandra’s eyes turned reluctantly from the right-angled curve of the staircase. ‘I’ll go and make the tea before I take these boxes upstairs. You’ll be happy to know your books arrived yesterday, and I’ve left them in the study for you to unpack.’

  Cassandra loosened the jacket of the cream silk suit she had worn to be married in. ‘Really, Mrs Temple,’ she said carefully, ‘I’m not an invalid, you know. Just show me where the kitchen is, and I’ll make the tea. I don’t want you to think I intend to spend my days in idleness.’

  Mrs Temple hestiated. ‘Mr Ravek—–’

  ‘Mr Ravek isn’t here at this moment,’ declared Cassandra, albeit lowering her tone. ‘Come on, Mrs Temple. I’d really like to help. Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.’

  Mrs Temple gave in unwillingly. ‘Well, the kitchen’s through there, Mrs Ravek. Like I said, the tea’s just waiting to be brewed. But I won’t be a minute taking these things upstairs, and if there’s anything you’re not sure of, just you let me know.’

  Cassandra smiled. ‘I’m quite sure making a pot of tea won’t overtax my capabilities,’ she remarked drily. ‘You’ll join us, won’t you, Mrs Temple? I’m sure Jay will have instructions for you.’

  In truth, Cassandra wanted to delay the moment when she and Jay would be alone together, and she had yet to discover what the sleeping arrangements would be.

  The square kitchen at the back of the cottage was remarkably well equipped. The stone floor had been softened by the introduction of brick-coloured rubber tiles, and against the rosy-pink walls was set an assortment of labour-saving devices. Cassandra was again surprised. She had expected an old-fashioned gas cooker and little else. Instead, she saw a split-level oven with rotary spit, a fridge-freezer, which would accommodate the food for a family, an automatic washing machine and tumble drier, and even a medium-sized dishwasher. Certainly, Mrs Temple would have nothing to complain about here, particularly as the room was warmed by an Aga boiler, whose glowing eye took away any feeling of having walked into a showroom window.

  Mrs Temple had left a tray on the table, that occupied the middle of the floor. Two teacups, a milkjug and sugar basin, and a teapot, sat beside a plate of homemade scones and some delicious fruit cake, and Cassandra’s tummy gurgled in anticipation of the food.

  The electric kettle soon boiled, and after filling the pot, Cassandra looked round for a third cup. She was opening the third cupboard door when Mrs Temple came in, and she felt her colour rising in spite of herself as she explained what she was looking for.

  ‘All the teacups are in here, Mrs Ravek,’ the housekeeper explained, apparently without objection, opening the sliding cupboard above a melamine working surface. ‘But don’t you worry about me. I’ll make my own tea and have it in here, if you don’t mind. I’d rather. You and I can have a proper chat some other time, when Mr Ravek is working.’

  Cassandra opened her mouth to protest, but Mrs Temple had turned away, and with a feeling of inevitability, she picked up the tray. After all, she couldn’t go on relying on Mrs Temple as a kind of mediator between them. She had married Jay, and somehow she had to learn his kind of detachment.

  There was no one in the drawing room when Cassandra carried the tray through from the kitchen. She set it down on the low table beside the couch, but she had scarcely time to breathe a sigh of relief before she heard Jay coming down the stairs.

  He came into the room vigorously, bringing with him a feeling of energy and vitality, and Cassandra thought again how unfair it was that they were equally responsible for the child inside her, and yet she was expected to bear all the hardship.

  He had shed his jacket, she saw, as he closed the door behind him and came to join her on the hearth. He had worn a dark grey three-piece suit to get married in, and now he had taken off his tie and unloosened the top two buttons of his shirt. With his hair slightly ruffled from his exertions, and drops of rain sparkling among the dark strands, he looked relaxed and approachable, and Cassandra’s pulses tingled at the unwilling awareness that this relationship had its compensations.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down and make a start?’ he suggested, glanci
ng round thoughtfully, before making his way across the room to where a tray of drinks invited his inspection. ‘I need something stronger than tea. What do you have in those cases? Armour?’

  Cassandra’s lips parted humorously, and without trying to anticipate future developments, she sat down on the couch and helped herself to a scone. They were delicious, and unable to resist, she had another, raising her eyes to meet his intent gaze without thinking.

  ‘You look like a little girl caught stealing cream cakes,’ he remarked, with disturbing emphasis. ‘Go ahead—make a pig of yourself. I like you better with a bit of flesh on your bones.’

  Cassandra put down the second scone at once. ‘You mean I’m getting fat,’ she accused, her appetite affected as much by his tone as by what he had said.

  ‘I mean you’ve lost that waiflike air,’ he retorted firmly. ‘Don’t look so put out. It suits you.’

  Cassandra made no move to eat anything else. It was bad enough knowing she couldn’t help gaining a certain amount of weight over the next few months, without adding to her predicament by over-eating.

  Jay sighed, noticing her self-absorption, and came to join her on the couch. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, his dark eyes unexpectedly gentle. ‘You’ve hardly said a word since we left London. You’re not still mad at me, are you? I thought we’d got over all that.’

  She stiffened. ‘Why? Because I seem to have fallen in with all your plans? Because I haven’t interfered with any of your arrangements?’ She bent her head. ‘I didn’t think there was much point. You made your position perfectly clear.’

  ‘Cass!’ His use of her name was exasperated. ‘Cass, what’s brought all this on? I thought we agreed it was best—for all of us. You know perfectly well you could never have gone through with an abortion.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She looked indignantly up at him.

  ‘I mean what I say,’ averred Jay flatly. He shook his head. ‘Honey, you may think you’re very cool and emancipated, but I know better. You’re not the type. You’re not like—Liz Lester, say. She wouldn’t have hesitated, and she certainly wouldn’t have bothered to tell the father of her child what she intended.’