His Pretend Wife

CHAPTER NINE

ANDREW wrenched himself out of Elinor’s arms and for a moment he covered his eyes with his hand, as though engulfed by some feeling that was too much for him. Bitterly she realised that he couldn’t even bear to look at her.

‘Andrew-’ she said desperately.

‘No, for pity’s sake! Ellie, this isn’t the way I wanted it, can’t you understand?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, scarlet with embarrassment. ‘I didn’t mean to-’

‘It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have come here tonight. It’s not fair on you.’

She could hear him talking fast, trying to put a different light on this, anything rather than admit that he’d found himself with a woman he didn’t want. It was part of his kindness, she thought wretchedly, to try to make her feel better, but nothing could do that.

She was frantically buttoning up her nightdress, keeping her head down, but she was still aware of hasty movements as he covered his nakedness.

‘Dear God!’ she wept.

‘Ellie, please believe me, I didn’t come here for this. When I arrived tonight I was going to explain, and then leave. That would have been best for both of us, and I swear it’s what I meant.’

‘Stop, stop!’ she said in an agony of shame. ‘Do you think anything you say now can make it right? You’re right, you shouldn’t have come here. No, no, I didn’t mean that. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have called you, I shouldn’t have come to this house. I should have realised that “Mr Martin” was an invention. I’m not a child to believe in Santa Claus.’

‘Don’t blame yourself. It was something I wanted to do for you.’

‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘Why should you do anything at all for me? You hate me. You have done for years.’

‘I’ve never hated you.’

‘Oh, no, you rise above that, don’t you?’ she raged. She didn’t know why she was turning her temper on him, except that it made her pain more bearable. ‘Simple revenge would be beneath you, but heaping coals of fire on my head is different. Was that what it was all about? Make me realise what I threw away? Make me really regret it? Was that the idea? Because if so it was unworthy of you.’

‘Ellie, what is this?’

‘You know very well what it’s about. I really made a fool of myself, didn’t I? Just like I did once before, remember, that day on the island? And you turned away from me then, too. You’d think I’d learn, wouldn’t you?’

‘That other time was different. There was love then. But this-’

‘What about “this”? I made a fool of myself again. Or did you make a fool of me? Because that makes us quits, doesn’t it? After all this time you finally did it.’

‘Stop it, for pity’s sake!’

She didn’t hear him. ‘So let me tell you the rest, then you can really enjoy it. Jack Smith was a drunk who knocked me around, and Tom Landers was a control freak who walked out on me when Hetta was ill. And all the time I knew it was my own fault and I was being punished for what I did to you-’

His hand over her mouth cut her off. Nothing else would have done so. She was adrift in another world where there was only the sound of her own voice saying terrible things to silence her agony of embarrassment.

‘You must be mad to talk like this,’ he said, dropping his hand and taking her by the shoulders. ‘What have I done to deserve it? You make me sound like a monster of spite, and if that’s really what you think then I’m surprised you waste two seconds on me.’

‘I didn’t mean that,’ she choked.

‘I think you did. I think you’re coming out with all the hostility you spared me twelve years ago. Maybe I really did have a lucky escape. Or maybe we both did.’

Silence. He dropped his hands. They stared at each other, aghast.

A shudder went through him. He moved away from her and spoke over his shoulder.

‘Let’s call it a day. We’ve both said things tonight that should never have been said, and we have to forget them. In fact we have to forget everything that’s happened. It was a mistake to think we could meet each other as though the past didn’t exist.’

‘Yes,’ she said bleakly.

He turned slightly, making a visible effort to pull himself together. ‘I’m sorry for everything. You have enough to bear without me adding to it. Go back and get some sleep now. I apologise for disturbing you.’

‘Please don’t mention it,’ she said politely.

Somehow she got out of the room. She made it along the corridor to her own room, shut the door and sank onto the bed, overtaken by violent shivering. She was cold, so cold. If only she could cry. But no tears would come. She felt she’d cried her last tear long ago.

She meant to be downstairs first next day, but Andrew was there before her, in the kitchen, making coffee. He smiled briefly and set one before her.

‘Thank you for letting me stay,’ he said politely. ‘I needed that sleep.’

He still looked jaded and she wondered how much sleep he’d managed to get after she’d left.

‘You’re really doing double duty, aren’t you?’ she managed to say. ‘Isn’t Sir Elmer back from the flu yet?’

‘It turned nasty and he was away longer than we expected, but with any luck he’ll be back this week. It’ll give me a chance to catch up with my paperwork.’

‘And your sleep,’ she suggested.

‘True. We’re none of us at our best when we’re overtired, but it’s pointless to dwell on those times.’

He was shifting his armour firmly back in place, telling her to forget that she’d seen his weakness, that he’d briefly clung to her and then calamity had engulfed them both.

‘Elinor, I want you to understand-’

‘It’s all right, I understand perfectly.’

‘I don’t think you do. You were very kind to me last night. You gave me a warmth and comfort I’d almost forgotten existed. But kindness can only go so far, and I never meant to make demands on you.’

‘Andrew, please-’

‘Wait, let me finish. Last night I said I wasn’t going to use your troubles as an excuse to force my presence on you, and barely a few hours later-it was unforgivable of me, and I apologise for my behaviour.’

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she said in a dead voice. ‘You were asleep.’

‘I can’t justify myself that easily. Because of Hetta, because I was the one lucky enough to be able to help her, you seem to feel that you owe me something, and that you had to repay it. I promise you that isn’t so. You owe me nothing, and the last thing I would ever want is that kind of gratitude.’

He was subtly rewriting the facts. In this new version she hadn’t thrown herself at him and earned his contempt. It was he who had imposed on her. She wondered if he thought he was making it easier for her. If so, he was wrong. She felt as though she were dying inside. She would have stopped him if she could, but she had no strength to move or speak.

‘I promise you nothing like it will ever happen again,’ he continued. ‘You’ll be glad to know that this will be my last visit.’ He checked his watch. ‘I must be going. Say goodbye to Hetta for me.’

‘Let me fetch her. She’ll hate it that she missed you.’

‘I examined her last night and found her in good shape. The district nurse will continue to call-’

‘That’s not what I meant. You’ve been nice to her; she likes you. Let me fetch her.’

‘No, I’m in a bit of a hurry.’

‘Then come to see us again.’

‘I don’t think so,’ he said harshly, closing his briefcase and not looking at her. ‘I’m glad we got matters sorted out, but there’s no need-I mean, it would be better if we didn’t see each other again. Wouldn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ she said sadly. ‘Perhaps it would.’

She followed him into the hall where he put on his jacket, collected his briefcase and went to the door.

‘Thank you again,’ he said formally. ‘I hope you keep well. Please remain here for as long as you wish.’

In a moment the door of his exquisite car had closed behind him, the engine purred into life, and he vanished down the winding drive. Elinor watched him go with a sense of desolation. She knew he’d finally shut a door on her.

As she turned back into the house she saw her daughter descending the stairs slowly. Hetta’s face showed that she’d seen him go.

‘He didn’t wait, Mummy,’ she said in a voice of disillusion.

‘No, darling. He couldn’t.’

‘Doesn’t he like us after all?’

‘He likes you to bits,’ Elinor said, giving Hetta a hug. ‘Now come on, let’s have breakfast.’

For the first time ever her daughter’s company was a strain. She wanted to be alone to think, and to cry. But somehow she got through the day without Hetta suspecting anything amiss, and then it was evening and she could go to her room, shut the door, and give way to her anguish.

If only she could blot out the sight of his eyes when he’d opened them, his horror when he’d seen who had been in his arms, his appalled cry of ‘No!’ Perhaps he had another woman now, one he loved. And he’d awoken to find himself in the arms of a woman he hadn’t chosen, one he now probably despised. That thought made her curl herself up into a tight little ball, as though by doing so she could vanish from her own eyes.

How could she have thought that she had anything to attract him now? But she hadn’t been thinking of herself, only of him and his needs, and she’d opened her arms to him in defenceless love.

Love. She resisted the word, but it wouldn’t let her go. It was too late now to protest that her love should never have been allowed to live again.

For it didn’t live again. It had never died. Through twelve lonely years it had hidden away in a place she couldn’t bear to visit, calling to her with a voice she’d refused to hear, waiting for the day it could seize her again. And this time there would be no escape.

After a few days she no longer strained her ears for the sound of a car. He wasn’t coming back, and she couldn’t stay here. Hetta was well enough for a move, and Andrew’s generosity meant that she had enough money to cushion them for a while. It galled her to have to rely on his money, but at least she wouldn’t accept any more.

She called Daisy, living in a comfortable little hotel near the boarding house, now being rebuilt. The hotel would have a twin room vacant next week, and Daisy reserved it for them. Hetta was in two minds over the move, sad to be leaving, but glad to see Daisy again.

She wrote Andrew a polite letter, thanking him for his kindness but explaining that she could no longer impose on him. She ended it, ‘Yours sincerely, Elinor Landers (Mrs).’

In return she received a blunt note saying, ‘There’s no need for this. You should reconsider. A.’

She wrote back, ‘Thank you, but my mind is made up. Elinor Landers.’

There was no reply.

The days began to narrow down. Four days, then three, then two, one. She would be gone soon and the last connection between them broken. Hetta would need one more visit to the hospital, but doubtless Andrew would depute another doctor to see her.

On the last day, while Hetta was upstairs, unpacking and repacking some toys for the umpteenth time, Elinor went around the garden, trying to be strong-minded and not let herself feel wretched. She knew she’d done the right, the only thing, but the voice of the tempter whispered that she could have stayed a little longer, and perhaps seen him just once more.

Then she thought how that meeting would be: full of the remembered humiliation of their last encounter. Was that pain worth it, just to see him one more time?

Yes, anything was worth it.

As she headed back to the house Elinor became aware that there was someone else in the garden. It was a tall, dark-haired woman, expensively dressed and with an air of ease that came from always having money. Elinor had seen that look often enough in her customers. The stranger watched her approach, unabashed at being discovered intruding. A few feet away Elinor stopped and the two women regarded each other.

‘Who are you?’ they both said.

The woman laughed. ‘I’ll answer first, although I don’t know why I should, since it’s my home.’

‘This-? You’re-?’

‘I’m Myra Blake. And I should have said this used to be my home. I moved most of my things out months ago. It doesn’t really bother me who’s here now, but, just for the record, who are you?’

‘I’m Elinor Landers,’ she said carefully.

‘And when did Andrew move you in? I must say, this kind of caper isn’t normally in his line. Too much of a puritan. In fact, that’s what-well, it’s old history.’

‘I’m only here because he operated on my little girl,’ Elinor hastened to say, ‘and while she was in hospital our home burned down. I had nowhere else to go, and he was very kind.’

Myra Blake gave a crack of laughter. ‘Oh, yes, of course. I was forgetting how often he takes in waifs and strays from the hospital.’ Her voice was heavy with irony.

‘Mrs Blake, I promise you this isn’t how it looks. Besides I shall be l-’

‘Good grief, what do I care how it looks? Let’s go inside and you can make me some tea.’

She turned and led the way to the house, the picture of confidence. Elinor followed, her head in a spin. But since Myra Blake wasn’t flustered by the situation she determined that she wouldn’t be either.

She made tea and carried it into the room overlooking the garden where Myra had removed her luxurious cashmere coat and tossed it onto a chair. She’d seated herself on the sofa and now leaned back, surveying Elinor from dark eyes that gleamed with malicious fun. She was lovely, with black shining hair, cut elegantly and just touching her shoulders. As a beautician Elinor had become a connoisseur of other women’s looks, and professionally she had to admire Myra. Her legs were long and elegant, sheathed in black silk and ending in impossibly high heels. Her curvaceous figure looked as though she worked hard keeping it trim, her complexion was perfect and her face had been made up with great skill.

So this woman had been Andrew’s wife, had shared his life, his home, his bed. He’d said it hadn’t been a happy marriage, even implied that he’d married cynically, but at some point he must surely have been enraptured by her beauty, and whispered words of passion into her ears as they’d danced at their wedding.

‘Smashing!’ Myra said suddenly, and Elinor stared at hearing the down-to-earth word from this picture of elegance. ‘Smashing tea! Best I ever tasted.’ She was sipping enthusiastically.

‘I’m glad you like it, Mrs Blake,’ Elinor said politely, seating herself.

‘Myra, please.’

‘Myra, there’s a lot I don’t understand.’

‘Like how I just managed to walk in? I still have a key.’ She leaned forward to put her cup on the low table, but suddenly she stopped, frowning as she looked at Elinor. ‘Have we ever met before?’

‘No, never.’

‘Funny, you look familiar somehow. Never mind. So what am I doing here? I want to collect a few things that I left. And I thought Andrew might be around somewhere, although I can’t imagine why. He never was around. I need to talk to him. So come on, tell me. What gives?’

‘What gives?’

‘You and Andrew.’

‘There is no me and Andrew,’ she said firmly. ‘My daughter needed a heart transplant. She was originally a patient of Sir Elmer Rylance.’

‘My uncle,’ Myra said casually.

‘Yes, I know.’

‘Andrew told you that much, then. Go on.’

‘He was ill when a heart became available for my daughter, so Andrew did the operation. And, as I told you, my home caught fire-’

‘And he played the Good Samaritan. Well, well!’ Myra was looking her over with a look that was hard to read, amused, cynical, but not unfriendly.

‘It’s a wonderful place for Hetta,’ Elinor urged. ‘So quiet and peaceful, which is what she needs to recover-’

‘And Andrew here to keep an eye on her.’

‘He doesn’t live here,’ Elinor said quickly.

‘But he visits?’

‘Only once to see how we were doing. It’s just Hetta and me. He says he has this little apartment near the hospital-’

‘Oh, sure, I know it. A real monk’s cell. He spent most of his time there even when we were officially together. When he did come back it was just to see Simon, our son. Don’t look like that. I don’t suppose I’m telling you anything you didn’t know. Andrew’s obviously discussed me with you. Hell, I don’t mind! In fact it rather suits me. Did he tell you I was getting married again?’

‘No.’

‘Well, I am. Cyrus Hellerman from Detroit. He’s big in motors, and I mean big.’

‘A millionaire?’

‘Please! A million dollars gets you nowhere these days. Multi-multi-multi, if you know what I mean.’

‘I think I do,’ Elinor said. ‘This wasn’t enough, then?’ She indicated the house.

‘This? Nice little cottage, but I felt the need to spread my wings. Enter Cyrus. His wife had died a few months back, he was lonely, and why hang around?’

‘For someone else to snap him up?’

‘Right,’ Myra said, unabashed. ‘Of course, Andrew is very successful in his way, and when I married him I was really in awe of him. Uncle Elmer said he was the best of his generation, but he had some funny ideas. He’s never made as much money as he should have done because he does so much for free. Well, I respect that. I really do. But it got kind of boring when I wanted to remodel the house.’

‘What did Uncle Elmer say about his unpaid work?’

‘He was all for it. Said it enhanced Andrew’s reputation.’

‘But if he was helping people for nothing surely he was thinking of them, not himself?’

‘Oh, please! I got all that high-minded stuff from him. I can’t tell you how desperate I was to get away from it.’ She looked at Elinor suspiciously. ‘Are you high-minded?’

‘Andrew has just saved my daughter’s life, so I’m bound to be a bit high-minded about what he does.’

‘Uh-huh! Well, I guess you can’t help it, then,’ Myra said, as though excusing some social flaw. ‘I’m not that way myself.’

‘But don’t you come from a medical family?’

‘Yes, and I can’t tell you how that stuff got on my wick all these years. Andrew briefly made me find it acceptable, but the fact is that I misread him as he misread me, and the best thing we ever did was get a divorce.’

‘But what about your son?’

‘I’m coming to him. You could do me a favour.’ She spoke as though it were a given that Elinor would want to. ‘Simon is seven years old. What about your little girl?’

‘Seven too. And thanks to Andrew she’s going to be eight, and nine, and ten.’

‘Uncle Elmer says he’s the best surgeon he knows for operating on young children. It’s a special skill, because everything’s so small. Oddly enough, he’s good at talking to them as well.’

‘Why is that odd?’

‘Because his own son is a closed book to him. Mind you, it would help if he spent some more time with him.’

‘But there must be so many demands on him. Surely he manages as much as he can.’

‘What do you know about it? Were you there on Simon’s fifth birthday? Or his sixth, come to that. Have you seen the look on that child’s face when his father has put him last yet again? Andrew’s digging the grave of that relationship, and if I was the bitch some people think I am I’d sit back and let him do it. As it is, I’m here to do him a favour.’