A Passionate Affair Read online

  When she heard him coming upstairs some time later, she was tempted to put out her light. But she doubted he would care whether she was asleep or awake, and pressing her lips together she forced her attention to the words on the page in front of her.

  She was totally unprepared for her bedroom door to be flung open, or for Jay to appear in the aperture, and her hand went automatically to her throat as he stood there swaying in the doorway. He was drunk, she realised disbelievingly. Even without the overpowering scent of alcohol about him, she would have known it from the unsteady stance he had adopted and the bloodshot insolence in his eyes.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said, making no attempt to moderate his tone. ‘How cosy! The little wife staying obediently at home, waiting for her husband’s safe return.’

  Cassandra hesitated only a moment before reaching for her dressing gown and sliding out of bed. The folds of apricot-coloured silk were hardly concealing, but right now she was more concerned with not waking Mrs Temple.

  ‘Jay—–’ she began, but he was not listening to her. His blurred gaze was on her body, ruthlessly appraising her ripe fullness, and she wrapped her arms about herself defensively, unable to pretend she didn’t care.

  ‘My child,’ Jay said thickly, lifting his eyes to hers. ‘My seed there inside you. Be thankful for its protection. A few moments ago I wanted to strangle you!’

  Cassandra shook her head helplessly. ‘Jay—Jay, it’s after eleven—–’

  ‘I know what time it is,’ he muttered savagely. ‘My God, don’t I count every minute of every day wishing it was my last?’ He pushed his fingers through his hair and gazed at her broodingly. ‘And what do you do? You don’t even grant me the courtesy of finding my private road to hell!’

  ‘What are you talking about? Cassandra was totally confused. ‘Jay—please! I beg of you! Don’t make a scene now, not when Mrs Temple is asleep. Whatever it is, can’t it wait until morning?’

  ‘Who gave you permission to touch my manuscript?’ Jay persisted, and suddenly Cassandra understood. He had been into the study. He had discovered what she had done—and he resented her for it.

  ‘Go to bed, Jay,’ she said quietly, taking his arm and propelling him out on to the landing. ‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow—–’

  ‘Like hell we will,’ he muttered, tripping in spite of himself and almost taking her with him as he lurched across the top of the stairs.

  ‘Oh, Jay!’

  Cassandra made a frustrated sound and pushed open his bedroom door, and as she did so, he stumbled past her and flopped down on to the end of the bed. ‘Poking about in the study,’ he mumbled, pulling off his tie. ‘What were you looking for? What did you hope to find? Whatever it was, I guess you didn’t find it amongst that shit!’

  Cassandra sighed, and realising Mrs Temple might open her door at any time to see what was going on, she went into Jay’s bedroom and half closed the door. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I admit it was me who tidied up the study. But I wasn’t prying, as you seem to think. What you do in there is no concern of mine. But if it was so secret, you should have made sure you didn’t leave anything lying about, shouldn’t you?’

  Jay tugged at the buttons of his shirt. ‘So now you know,’ he muttered, regarding her with dark hostility. ‘I’m as much a failure at that as I am at everything else!’

  Cassandra shook her head. ‘You’re not a failure, and you know it. For some reason you haven’t found the right formula, that’s all. It’ll come. Just give it time.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ Jay’s tone was derisive. ‘Well, who knows? What does it matter anyway? I can always go back to journalism. Perhaps I should never have left it. Perhaps that’s the only kind of writing I can do.’

  He seemed to be having difficulties with his shirt buttons, and almost instinctively Cassandra went to help him. ‘You’re just feeling sorry for yourself,’ she declared, scarcely realising what she was doing. ‘And getting drunk isn’t going to improve things. Unless you were serious about trying to kill yourself.’

  ‘Oh, I was serious all right,’ murmured Jay softly, looking up at her. ‘Living here with you, sleeping under the same roof—you don’t know what it’s doing to me. I want you, Cass, not inspiration!’

  Cassandra quivered as his hands touched her, his fingers sliding over her hips, drawing her between his legs. For a moment she was too bemused to do anything, and he pressed his face to the swelling mound of her stomach and shuddered as if he had achieved some desperately needed goal.

  ‘Jay—–’

  Putting her hands on his shoulders, she tried to move away, but he wouldn’t let her go, and besides, as he continued to hold her, she felt an insidious desire to stay where she was expanding inside her.

  ‘Stay with me, Cass,’ he muttered, getting up from the bed to gather her fully against him. ‘Stay with me . . .

  Cassandra took a trembling breath. ‘I—I can’t—–’

  ‘Why can’t you?’

  ‘Jay, this is crazy—–’

  ‘No, it’s sane,’ he told her huskily. ‘Cass, if you have any thought for my sanity at all, don’t leave me now—–’

  The sound of Mrs Temple talking to the milkman awakened Cassandra. She lay for several minutes listening to the unusual sound and wondering why she had never noticed it on other mornings, before realising she was not in her own bed. This room was not her room, it was Jay’s, and a feeling of shame swept over her as she remembered what had happened.

  She had not wanted to give in, but Jay had seemed so vulnerable somehow. It was strange; she had wanted to be strong, but his weakness had overcome her, and when his mouth had parted her lips, it had proved irresistible.

  She had thought he would be repulsed by her, but he had not been. He had told her she was foolish to think that way, that she was just as beautiful as ever, and that he had never known such pleasure with anyone else but her.

  So she had gone to bed with him, she had let him make love to her, rejoicing in the hard urgency of his body, the thrusting strength of his manhood, that aroused such mindless sweetness inside her. Her limbs had quivered beneath his possessive hands, her skin had tingled with the abrasive caress of his tongue, and her body had surged against him, seeking the satisfaction only he could give her . . .

  She shivered. What had got into her? How could she have given in to nothing more than a physical need? And what kind of precedent had she created? Jay would know now her desire to keep him at bay stemmed from her own need and not his.

  She turned her head unwillingly, dreading the thought that he might be watching her, and discovered she was alone in the bed. And why not? It was almost ten o’clock. Jay had gone. His clothes had gone, rescued from the floor where he had abandoned them the night before, and even her nightgown had been picked up and tossed with her dressing gown across the bottom of the bed.

  She realised at once she was naked under the sheet, and scrambled up quickly to pull on the silk nightgown. Jay was up, which would account for the fact that Mrs Temple had made no attempt to lower her tone when speaking to the milkman, and presently she was going to fetch Cassandra some tea upstairs, expecting her to be in her own room.

  She thrust her legs out of the bed with sudden reluctance. Moving had made her aware of the delicious sense of lethargy that had enveloped her, and her eyelids felt heavy and still full of sleep. Maybe she could go back to sleep again, she reflected dully, desperate to avoid Jay after what had happened, and gathering up her dressing gown, she scurried back to her own room.

  But when her tea arrived, it was Jay himself who brought it, not Mrs Temple. He came into her room, frowning at the evident transition, glancing behind him impatiently as if measuring the distance between the two beds.

  ‘Why?’ he asked flatly, as she struggled up against the pillows with pink cheeks. ‘Wasn’t my bed comfortable? Or were you afraid Mrs Temple might throw up her hands at the sight of a wife in her husband’s room?’

  Cassandra took the tr
ay he had brought and set it firmly across her knees. ‘I—I just thought it would look—odd,’ she confessed, avoiding his eyes. ‘I—thank you for the tea. Mrs Temple couldn’t have done better.’

  ‘Mrs Temple prepared it,’ stated Jay shortly, pushing his hands into the pockets of his tight-fitting jeans. ‘Cass, I offered to bring it up because I wanted to talk to you. And—well, I thought we might talk easier here, away from unwary eavesdroppers.’

  ‘There’s no need, really.’ Cassandra concentrated on the tray, picking up the lid of the butter dish and toying with the corner of a triangle of toast. ‘I—what time did you get up? Was it early? I’m afraid I’ve overslept. It’s after ten—–’

  ‘Cass!’ Jay came down on the side of the bed, his weight depressing the springs and causing her to hold on to the tray. ‘Cass,’ he said again, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know how to say this, but I do know how you must feel. I was drunk. I behaved like a heel. I swore to myself I’d never take advantage of you, and now I have!’

  Cassandra endeavoured to school her features. He blamed himself! She could hardly credit it. She had believed she was to blame. If she had not interfered with his manuscript, if she had not gone into his bedroom—–

  ‘I guess it was just seeing you like that,’ Jay was continuing, smoothing his palms over the worn knees of his trousers. ‘I lost my head.’ He moved his shoulders. ‘You have every reason to despise me.’

  Cassandra moistened her lips. ‘I—don’t despise you, Jay.’ She couldn’t be dishonest. ‘I—I can’t let you take all the blame.’

  Jay snorted. ‘I could have hurt you!’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘I always understood—well, a woman had to take care—–’

  ‘You didn’t hurt me, Jay.’ Cassandra held up her head. ‘And I’m sorry for disturbing the papers in the study. It was none of my business, and—–’

  ‘Forget it.’ He got abruptly up from the bed, massaging the back of his neck half impatiently. ‘As a matter of fact, that was something else I came to tell you.’ He paused. ‘It was the book that got me up this morning. I guess it was around six.’ He made a rueful gesture. ‘Perhaps it was just as well.’ His eyes darkened. ‘Waking up beside you, I might have had even more to reproach myself for.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘Anyway, as I say, I got up about six—I don’t know why. I just knew I had to go and write, and I suppose now I’ve typed about five thousand words. It’s pretty rough yet. It needs polishing. But—well, I know it’s good.’

  ‘Oh, Jay!’ Cassandra was genuinely delighted. ‘I’m so glad for you.’

  ‘Yes.’ Jay’s tongue circled his lips. ‘I’m pretty glad myself. I can’t be absolutely certain, of course, but it feels like I’ve found the right formula at last. You were right, it was only a matter of time.’

  Cassandra forced a smile. ‘It’s wonderful news!’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Jay surveyed her intently. ‘So—I guess I’d better go and do some more.’

  ‘Yes.’ It was an effort to drag her eyes away, but she managed it, determinedly pouring herself a cup of tea from the silver pot on the tray. She could not put what had happened between them the night before out of her mind, and there was a traitorous yearning inside her to tell him she had changed her mind, that if he still wanted it, she was prepared to make their marriage a proper one, in every way.

  ‘It won’t happen again, I promise.’ She was just congratulating herself on having achieved a certain measure of composure when the strangled words were torn from Jay’s throat. ‘You don’t have to worry. I have no intention of jeopardising your health—or the health of the child—just to satisfy my sordid desire for your body. I’m sorry. I know it’s inadequate, but I am sorry.’ He grasped the handle of the door and swung it open. ‘Now, eat your breakfast. I haven’t forgotten that today’s the day you visit Doctor Lomax.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IF Cassandra had seen little of Jay before, she saw even less of him now. The sound of his typewriter reverberated in the study from dawn till dusk, and sometimes even later. He was like a man possessed, emerging from his retreat only when bodily needs demanded it, and Cassandra’s initial relief gave way to a growing resentment. It was totally unjustified, she knew that. This was the situation as she had anticipated it, and she had no cause for complaint. But since that night in June when she had shared his bed, her feelings towards him had changed; and while she still outwardly clung to the arrangement as it was inaugurated, deep down inside her, other forces were at work. More and more frequently she knew the urge to take the initiative, to go to Jay and demand that he start treating her as a woman, and not as some fragile object that might fall apart in his hands; and more and more frequently she lay awake, long after the house had gone quiet, wondering if her future peace of mind was worth all these wasted nights.

  One morning towards the end of July, Jay’s mother rang. Lady Fielding had telephoned before, but invariably Jay had taken the call, and Cassandra’s knowledge of her mother-in-law was limited to the polite words of greeting exchanged at long distance. Jay had admitted that he and his mother had seldom seen a lot of one another, which would account, Cassandra supposed, for the fact that Lady Fielding had not been invited to the wedding. But she had been curious, and she would have welcomed the opportunity to learn more about her husband’s family.

  On this occasion, however, Jay was not there to answer his mother’s call. Mrs Temple had decided to use some of the raspberries going to waste in the garden to make some jam, but she had no preserving jars. Unfortunately, the village store did not stock such things, and with some reluctance Jay had agreed to drive into Sutton Medlock and collect a dozen for her. Cassandra would have offered to go with him, but the day was enervating, the sky brassy and ominous, threatening a storm later.

  She was sitting in the garden shelling some peas, when the telephone rang. Mrs Temple answered it, but when she came to tell her that Lady Fielding was on the line, Cassandra got up at once to take the call.

  ‘Cassandra?’ Jay’s mother’s voice sounded remarkably near. ‘I understand James is not at home.’

  ‘No, that’s right.’ Cassandra hesitated. ‘He’s gone into Sutton Medlock for some preserving jars for Mrs Temple. I’m afraid I don’t know exactly when he’ll be back.’

  ‘Preserving jars? How quaint!’ Lady Fielding sounded amused. ‘That doesn’t sound like James at all.’

  Cassandra chuckled, too. ‘Well, he wasn’t very enthusiastic about going,’ she admitted. ‘But Mrs Temple can be very persuasive.’

  ‘Ah, yes, Mrs Temple.’ The older woman sounded as if she understood. ‘Hmm—well, and how are you, my dear? Up to entertaining a couple of visitors, I hope. Giles and I have been staying with some friends in Worcester, and I thought we might make a detour home to come and have lunch with you.’

  ‘To—to have lunch with us?’ Cassandra was taken aback.

  ‘Yes, dear. You don’t have any objection, do you? I mean, I think it’s time I met my daughter-in-law face to face, don’t you?’

  ‘I—well—yes. Yes, I suppose so.’ Cassandra glanced round helplessly, wishing Mrs Temple was around to confer with. What would Jay say if she invited his mother and stepfather without his permission? Oh, why had he had to go out this morning of all mornings! ‘It’s just that—well, I never expected—–’

  ‘Aren’t those the best kind of surprises?’ prompted Lady Fielding lightly. ‘Lovely to speak to you again, Cassandra. We’ll see you about half past twelve. ’Bye.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  Cassandra put down the phone with some reluctance, and she was still standing staring at it when Mrs Temple appeared from the kitchen.

  ‘I’ve finished doing those peas, Mrs Ravek,’ she said, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘And I’ve made a raspberry mousse for lunch. There are more than enough raspberries to make twelve pounds of jam.’

  ‘Will there be enough for four?’ enquired Cassandra flatly, exp
elling her breath rather heavily, and the housekeeper frowned.

  ‘Bless you, you’ll have enough jam—–’

  ‘Not jam, Mrs Temple. Mousse,’ exclaimed Cassandra interrupting her. ‘For lunch. Do we have plenty for four? I—Lady Fielding has just told me she and Sir Giles are in the area. They’ve invited themselves to lunch, and—and I don’t know what Jay is going to say.’

  ‘Oh, dear!’ Mrs Temple sighed. ‘That woman has the knack of creating awkward situations! Fancy her ringing this morning, when Mr Ravek’s gone out! She couldn’t have chosen a more convenient time.’

  ‘Convenient?’ Cassandra shook her head. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well—–’ Mrs Temple clicked her tongue, ‘knowing Mr Ravek, as I do, I doubt he’ll welcome his mother here today. I mean, his having to go into Sutton Medlock for me this morning has upset his schedule, and now that his mother’s coming . . .’

  ‘Don’t say any more,’ muttered Cassandra, pushing her hands into the pockets of the baggy dungarees she was wearing. ‘I suppose he’ll imagine I invited her. Oh, Mrs Temple, I can’t even ring her back and cancel it. I don’t know where she’s staying.’

  The sound of the Ferrari’s engine interrupted their speculations, and presently Jay came striding through the open door of the porch carrying a cardboard box. He was wearing denims and a short-sleeved sweat shirt, and Cassandra’s senses stirred as his dark gaze swept briefly over her.

  ‘All present and correct,’ he remarked, handing the box to Mrs Temple. ‘What are you both looking so worried about? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten something.’

  ‘No.’ Cassandra caught her lower lip between her teeth and exchanged a look with the housekeeper. ‘No, I—it’s something else. Nothing to do with the jam-making.’