A Passionate Affair Page 14

  Cassandra’s long lashes flicked upward. ‘You say that with confidence. Have you had personal experience?’ she enquired impulsively, and then blushed at the realisation of what she had said. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered, looking away. ‘Don’t answer that. It’s nothing to do with me. I don’t know what I was thinking—–’

  Jay took one of the silver-blonde curls that had now reached her shoulder, and tugged on it insistently. ‘I don’t mind you asking,’ he assured her solemnly. ‘And just for the record, Liz and I didn’t have that kind of relationship.’

  Her face burned. ‘As I said, it’s nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Maybe not.’ Jay shrugged, finishing his scotch. ‘But I thought I’d tell you anyway. Now, why don’t you have a piece of Mrs Temple’s fruit cake? I can assure you it’s delicious.’

  Cassandra shook her head. ‘I’ve had enough. You have some.’ She slanted a sideways look at him. ‘You don’t look as if you need to diet.’

  ‘Nor do you,’ responded Jay patiently. ‘Cass, at the risk of sounding trite, let me say you’ve never looked more beautiful than you do right now. Being pregnant suits you.’ His lips tightened. ‘But now, if you insist on behaving melodramatically, I suggest you allow me to show you where you’re going to sleep.’

  ‘It’s all right for you,’ declared Cassandra, disbelieving him and getting to her feet. ‘You don’t have to contemplate the future in terms of tent-like dresses and vitamin pills, and bumping into things because you’re big and clumsy!’

  Jay regarded her with sudden understanding. ‘Is that how you see it?’ he asked quietly. ‘Just as—an awful nuisance?’

  Cassandra went past him. ‘How else do you expect me to see it?’ she exclaimed, refusing to respond to the almost irresistible appeal of his voice. ‘Which way do we go? Upstairs, I suppose. Perhaps you’d better lead the way, as you’ve been here before.’

  Jay said nothing more. He set down his glass and preceded her out of the room, leading the way towards the stairs without further hesitation. He was obviously angry, but Cassandra refused to feel contrite. What else did he expect? she thought, justifying her belligerence. She hadn’t wanted to come here, and just because she had to give in, it did not mean she now must endorse all his arrangements.

  There were three bedrooms, Cassandra discovered, much to her relief, but only one bathroom. Like downstairs, however, all the rooms were attractively furnished, and breaking their silence she commented on this.

  ‘The Mortons put most of their furniture into store,’ Jay explained brusquely. ‘It was pretty old stuff, and they had no objection. I had a firm from London come and look the cottage over. They liased with a store in Sutton Medlock to have the whole place fitted out in keeping with its character. I thought you would approve.’

  ‘Well, I do.’ But Cassandra knew she sounded grudging. ‘Er—what firm from London?’

  ‘Ro-Allen Interiors,’ replied Jay offhandedly, ignoring her gasp of disbelief. ‘I thought it might help to widen their horizons, and any kind of advertising is good news.’

  She felt awful. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘It was supposed to be a surprise,’ said Jay flatly. ‘Now, which room do you prefer? I see Mrs Temple has put your things in the back room, but if you’d prefer the front—–’

  ‘Oh, Jay!’

  Cassandra gazed at him helplessly. She didn’t know what to say. The trouble was, whatever she said would sound counterfeit now, and she turned abruptly and walked into the back bedroom.

  Unlike the front, which was principally designed in shades of green and beige, the back was all cream and gold, with a fluffy cream carpet and a thick cream velvet spread. The furniture was composed of reproduction pieces, many of which were gilt-edged, and the heavy curtains at the leaded windows were of gold-tasselled brocade.

  Jay had turned on the gold-shaded lamp beside the bed, giving the room an added warmth, and in spite of the fact that there was no central heating, the room did not feel cold. Cassandra walked to the window and looked out on to undulating fields and a dark copse of trees, and knew an unexpected sense of wellbeing. She couldn’t be glad she was here, she told herself fiercely, but the fact remained, she did feel an insidious contentment stealing over her.

  ‘Do you like it?’

  When Jay spoke she realised he had come to stand behind her, and her pulses raced in spite of herself. ‘I—it’s beautiful,’ she conceded, keeping her back to him. ‘I really am grateful, even if—even if—–’

  ‘—even if you didn’t want to come here, I know,’ he finished laconically, but Cassandra shook her head.

  ‘No, I—that’s not what I meant.’ She licked her dry lips. ‘I was just about to say—even if I don’t—don’t always show it.’

  ‘I see.’ Jay exhaled slowly, the warmth of his breath moving the hair at her nape. ‘Well, believe it or not, I do want you to be happy here.’

  Cassandra breathed shallowly. ‘Yes.’

  He hesitated. ‘So—are you going to forgive me? For forcing you into this?’

  She sighed. ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’

  ‘Why not?’ Jay’s hands were suddenly at her thickening waistline, and before she could guess his intentions, he had drawn her back against him. ‘Cass, you know what I want,’ he said unsteadily. ‘You know what holding you like this is doing to me. We’re married, Cass. What’s to stop us from leading a normal existence, from living together like any other husband and wife—–’

  ‘Don’t!’ With a shudder of self-revulsion for the desperate urge she experienced to give in to his plea, Cassandra pulled herself away from him. ‘Please,’ she choked, keeping herself stiff and unresponsive. ‘You know why we’re married. And—and you know I intend to get a divorce as soon as—as soon as it’s over. What—what you’re suggesting is—is impossible!’

  Jay swung her round to face him. ‘Why is it impossible?’ he demanded, but his gentleness had gone and she could see the light of hostility in his eyes. ‘What are you afraid of now, Cass? Me? Or yourself? Maybe Roland deserved some sympathy after all. God knows, if you froze him off as you’re freezing me, perhaps he was justified in seeking consolation elsewhere!’

  Cassandra slept badly that night. She was intensely conscious of Jay sleeping in the room across the landing; and while she could console herself with the thought that he was unlikely to make any further overtures towards her, she was painfully aware that it wasn’t quite that simple.

  The truth was, she had wanted to give in to him. She had wanted to accept his invitation and pretend their marriage was something it was not. But that was all it would have been—pretence; and once the child was born, there would be no further reason for that convenient charade.

  Nevertheless, lying there in the darkness, so much darker than she was used to in London, Cassandra had to concede the idea had some merit. Jay wanted her, and God knew, she wanted him; she wanted his warmth and protection, she wanted the pulsating strength of his manhood, and the wild, mindless ecstasy of his possession. But she wanted his love, too, and love was something Jay didn’t talk about. He talked about wanting and needing, and living together; but never love. And love was something Cassandra needed, not least because she had discovered she was in love with her husband! Crazy though it might seem, and against all the odds, she had been unable to resist it at the last, and their living together was going to be sufficient torment as it was, without the ever-present knowledge that if she did allow him to get close to her, she was inviting self-destruction. Jay was not the kind of man to settle down to married life. He had never pretended otherwise. So somehow she was going to have to get through these weeks and months without disclosing her ever-present weakness.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CASSANDRA was lying down in her bedroom when she heard Jay go out. She heard the sound of the porch door as it slammed behind him, and guessed that Mrs Temple had the back door open, too, causing the sudden vacuum. It was a hot afternoon, and it was im
possible to get enough air into the house, and Cassandra had gone to lie down only because it enabled her to take off all her clothes.

  Now, almost compulsively, she levered herself up from the bed and wrapping a cotton gown around her, opened the bedroom door. The landing window gave a view of the drive that ran along the side of the cottage, and presently she was rewarded by the sight of her husband reversing the Ferrari out into the lane. The powerful car swung round in a half circle before Jay thrust the engine into forward gear and accelerated away, leaving a cloud of dust hanging in the air behind him.

  Cassandra sighed. She wondered where Jay was going. He had started going out a lot recently, and when he came back it was usually too late for him to discuss with her where he had been. Perhaps he had another woman, she reflected tautly, aware that this idea was coming more frequently to her lately. After all, how could she blame him? He was a normal healthy male, and it was three months since they had left London.

  Three months! Cassandra turned and walked back into her bedroom, running an exploring hand over the swollen mound of her stomach. In spite of all her fears, the time was passing, and what had seemed a lifetime no longer looked that way.

  On the contrary, the weeks were passing more quickly than she would have believed possible, and she had been amazed at how smoothly they had settled into a routine. Mrs Temple had been a boon of course, and her presence had ironed out some of the more awkward moments. But, nevertheless, she had Jay to thank for making things easy for her, Jay, whose calm tolerance and facile humour had oiled the wheels of matrimony.

  Not that she could truly regard their arrangement as a marriage. Apart from that one occasion, the day of the wedding, Jay had never referred to the physical side of their relationship, and although they lived in the same house and shared the same meals, their association was emotionally detached. They were companions, nothing more, two people brought together by circumstance, and without any real means of communication.

  In the beginning, Cassandra had welcomed this development. She had been relieved when Jay announced that he intended to start work on his book immediately, and every morning he disappeared into the study downstairs, and only joined her for lunch. The afternoons had been much the same, until recently, and Cassandra had got used to accompanying Mrs Temple on her shopping trips into the village, and enjoying the new sensation of becoming a part of village life.

  But latterly, Cassandra had begun to wish Jay would pay a little more attention to her. She missed having a man to talk to, and her infrequent telephone conversations with Chris in no way made up for a verbal combat of words. On the rare evenings when he did join her after dinner, his nose was invariably buried in a book, and when she did arouse a comment from him, he was always infuriatingly polite.

  What was wrong with her? she asked herself now, shedding the cotton wrapper and surveying her reflection in the long cheval mirror. She couldn’t conceivably expect Jay to feel attracted to her like this, and she always took good care never to appear before him without being suitably covered.

  Sighing, she tugged disconsolately at the damp strands of silky blonde hair that clung to her neck. It was so hot, the hottest June on record, she felt sure. And she was forced to wear all-concealing smocks and full-waisted dresses, instead of the bikinis lying useless in the drawer.

  Of course, she reflected, it would be much hotter in London, and no doubt Thea thought she was very rude for not inviting her down for a weekend. But the truth was, they had no room, not unless she turned Mrs Temple out of her bedroom, and she couldn’t do that. If only she still had her flat, she thought dejectedly. She could have gone up to London and spent a few days with Thea. But although she had insisted on keeping her furniture and putting it into storage, it would have been madness to go on paying the rent for the flat. Besides, she acknowledged now, Jay might not have approved of her going away, and the last thing she wanted was to rock this uncertain craft.

  Even so, she could not help the feeling of abandonment that was gripping her. Where had Jay gone? Why didn’t he talk to her about it? Surely if it was something to do with his book, she might be able to help. She would welcome the chance to exercise her intelligence.

  Shaking her head, she walked out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, uncaring of her nudity. There was no one to see her except Mrs Temple, and the housekeeper was unlikely to be shocked.

  A cold shower left her feeling somewhat brighter, and after putting on a pretty sprigged cotton smock dress with a camisole bodice, she regarded her appearance with more enthusiasm. She didn’t look too repulsive, she decided indifferently, totally unaware that she had never looked lovelier. With the bloom of health in her cheeks and the honey-gold warmth of the sun colouring her skin, she had a shining natural beauty. And the tumbling silver-blonde waves that now hung almost to her shoulders only enhanced her image.

  As she went downstairs, she wondered if Jay had remembered she had to see Doctor Lomax the following day. The doctor, whose surgery was in Sutton Medlock, had no idea that she and Jay were not the happily married couple they appeared to be. Jay always behaved immaculately when they were in his company, and she wondered now what the doctor would say if he knew their real circumstances. She supposed the fact that Jay always escorted her encouraged Doctor Lomax’s belief. And although she had had the little Alfa delivered to the cottage, the occasions when she had used it could be counted on one hand.

  Perhaps that was what she should do now, she thought—go for a drive on her own. But the unwilling suspicion that Jay might think she was spying on him made her discard the idea, and she walked into the kitchen instead.

  Mrs Temple was not indoors, however. She was sitting in a striped deckchair in the garden, which was presently a glorious mass of colour. The Mortons’ gardener had continued to come and work for Jay, and the wide expanse of lawn was neatly cut and prettily edged with borders of shrubs and flowers.

  Mrs Temple smiled when she saw Cassandra, but as she started to get up, Cassandra waved her back. ‘Stay where you are,’ she said. ‘You look so comfortable.’

  ‘Oh, I am.’ Mrs Temple looked about her contentedly. ‘Who wouldn’t be here? I’m so glad Mr Ravek decided to move out of London.’

  ‘Yes.’ Cassandra was noncommittal. ‘I—er—Jay’s gone out, hasn’t he? I—I heard the car.’

  ‘Yes. He left about half an hour ago,’ agreed the housekeeper, nodding. ‘Didn’t say where he was going, but I expect it’s to do with that book of his.’

  This was Mrs Temple’s way of reassuring her, Cassandra knew, and although she was grateful to the housekeeper for her understanding, she couldn’t help a sudden irritation with Jay for making this conversation necessary.

  ‘I—er—I think I’ll go and get myself some orange juice,’ she declared, turning back towards the house. ‘You take it easy, Mrs Temple. I know where it is.’

  The kitchen, which had felt warm on her way outside, now felt delightfully cool, and the jug of freshly-squeezed orange juice she took from the fridge chilled her fingers. She poured herself a glass and replaced the jug in the fridge, but then, instead of going outside again, she wandered through to the front of the cottage.

  Just as the dining room formed a rectangle with the kitchen at the back of the house, the study matched the drawing room across the hall. Although she had entered it a couple of times just after their arrival, lately Cassandra had felt loath to go into the study. It was where Jay worked. She had grown used to hearing the muted clatter of his typewriter through the door, and in spite of the fact that Mrs Temple had stored her books in there, she had felt herself an interloper. In consequence, the study had become very much Jay’s domain, and even though he was out now, she was reluctant to intrude.

  But boredom, and an unwilling acknowledgment of a sense of curiosity, made her hesitate now at the door, and with a determined shrug of indifference she decisively turned the handle.

  Her first impression was of the untidiness of the place. The floor w
as literally strewn with rolled up balls of paper, not just around the desk, but even in the corners of the room, as if Jay had thrown them there with real force. The desk, too, was spread with discarded sheets of typing paper, carbons and erasing pencils adding to the confusion.

  Cassandra shook her head bewilderedly, her own problems forgotten as she took in this unmistakeable evidence of Jay’s frustration. It was obvious he was far from satisfied with what he was doing, and she felt only a mild sense of trespass as she picked up some of the curls of paper and opened them out.

  Pages of half-typed manuscript met her troubled gaze, lines composed of disjointed phrases and sentences, without any style or originality. The writing was flat, unimaginative, and while the content was impressive, it was totally unlike the incisive brilliance of his work in journalism.

  Cassandra had read some of his work now. Before her marriage, Chris had given her several reports to read, filched from a friend in the newsroom at the Post, and she had found his writing totally absorbing. She would have discussed it with him, if he had given her half a chance, but somehow it was a personal thing and could not easily be broached.

  Now, however, her brow furrowed as she picked up more pages and saw the stumbling etymology repeated. Was this why Jay was spending more and more time away from the cottage? she wondered compassionately. Because the task he had set himself was tearing him to pieces?

  Hardly thinking what she was doing, Cassandra gathered all the balls of paper together and deposited them in the waste basket. Then she tidied the desk, dropping pens and pencils into an empty jar and putting all the loose sheets together in a filing tray she found in one of the drawers. Within five minutes the room had assumed some semblance of neatness, and she hoped Jay would find his work easier in more orderly surroundings.

  As had happened recently when Jay went out, Cassandra had dinner alone that evening, and she had retired to bed before she heard the sound of the Ferrari pass the cottage on its way to the garage. A quick glance at the clock on the bedside cabinet informed her it was after eleven o’clock, and the book in her hands sagged as she felt the familiar sense of dejection. He had obviously not been researching his book this late in the evening, and her stomach plunged unpleasantly at the obvious explanation.