An Interrupted Marriage (Silhouette Special Edition) Read online

  “I was twenty-one.”

  “Very young,” Mrs. Riordan repeated, “to be married to a man ten years older.”

  “Nine.”

  Mrs. Riordan made a dismissive gesture. “I suppose he thought you would give him children.”

  Jade’s hands clenched tightly before she deliberately relaxed them. She said, “There’s still time. Actually, Magnus didn’t w—”

  Mrs. Riordan’s gaze sharpened as Jade halted in mid-sentence, but she said nothing.

  “Things will be different now,” Jade said firmly. “And I’m afraid I don’t think it’s...appropriate to discuss my marriage—with anyone.” She stood up. “If that’s all you wanted...?”

  A door opened and closed and light, quick footsteps traversed the uncarpeted passageway. A young woman appeared in the doorway of the room. Her dark hair was swept back into a knot, her brown eyes questioning as they met Jade’s.

  She wore jeans that showed off a nicely proportioned, curvy figure, and a cropped top displaying a firm tanned midriff. In one hand she had a large plastic carrybag with a shop logo printed on it. “I’m back, Mrs. Riordan,” she said. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”

  “I was just leaving,” Jade said. “You’re Ginette?”

  The young woman gave her an alert, curious look. “That’s right. You must be—”

  “This is my son’s wife,” Mrs. Riordan said.

  Ginette held out her hand. “Hello. I’m pleased to meet you at last, Mrs. Riordan.” Her clasp was firm and seemed friendly.

  “Call me Jade, please.”

  “Thanks. With two of you in the house it could get confusing.” Turning to the older woman, Ginette added, “I’ll just go and get changed, then I’ll be right with you.”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Riordan was eyeing the skimpy top. “You’d better change.”

  Ginette stood back for Jade to go out first, and threw her a wry look before hurrying off down the passageway.

  Shaken by the confrontation with his mother, Jade found herself wavering in her decision to confront Magnus. She hesitated, then walked to the front door, down the broad steps and across the springy short grass to the ragged edge above the beach. Here it was not fenced, and she kicked off her shoes and went on down the uneven, sandy slope, her feet sinking into warmth and gritty softness.

  The beach had a slight downward slope, and she found firmer, cooler sand to walk on where the tide had recently receded, leaving behind glistening bits of driftwood and scattered shells.

  A small breeze ruffled her skirt and her hair, and she shook her head back, then gave in to an impulse and ran—ran along the curving tide line, with the wind on her face and the sand under her feet, for the sheer joy of being there.

  She didn’t stop running until she reached the water-worn grey rocks at the base of the headland, and then she climbed them until she found one that was almost flat on top, and sat there with the flared skirt of her dress drawn round her knees, hugging them and staring out at the sea until her breathing was perfectly steady and the sky was washed faintly with pink, the horizon gradually darkening.

  She stood up at last, discovering that her limbs had stiffened, and looked towards the house. It gleamed white, the windows dark and opaque, and as she gazed at it a man came out of the door and stood looking about him. Magnus.

  He was too far away for Jade to hail him. She scrambled down the rocks and briskly retraced her steps along the sand. From there she could see the top storey of the house, but knew that she’d be invisible to Magnus unless he came to the edge of the grass where he could look down on the beach.

  She had nearly reached the spot where she’d climbed down before she saw him there. She waved, and he lifted a hand in return, but didn’t come to meet her. When she paused at the foot of the slope, she saw that he had her shoes in one hand, and only then did he come down a short way and stretch out his free hand to help her to the top.

  He released her as soon as her feet reached the grass, and stepped back, holding out her shoes. Jade took them but didn’t put them on. The coarse grass would help to get the clinging sand off her feet.

  “Were you looking for me?” she asked him, tucking her hand into his as they walked.

  For a moment his fingers were rigid in hers before they curled about her hand. “It’s dinner time,” he said. “We wondered where you were.”

  She had a watch, but she wasn’t used to checking the time for meals. It hadn’t occurred to her. “I’m sorry, I suppose I should have come in earlier. I didn’t notice the time.”

  “You enjoyed the beach?”

  “It’s as beautiful as I remember.”

  He glanced down at her and seemed to think better of whatever he’d been going to say. “Ginette’s back—Mother’s nurse-aide. You’ll meet her at dinner.”

  “We’ve already met. I was talking to your mother when she arrived this afternoon. She’s young.”

  “She’s about your age.”

  She looked younger, Jade thought.

  They were nearing the door, and Magnus loosed her fingers and opened it for her. “If you want to go up and change, I’ll let them know you’re on the way.”

  “I don’t need to change—do I?” Her dress might have got slightly creased but it was still presentable. As he shook his head, she added, “I’ll wash my hands and get the sand off my feet, and be down in five minutes. Don’t wait for me.”

  She ran up the stairs, and was as good as her word. When she hurried into the dining-room with the big bay windows overlooking the sea, the housekeeper was just serving the first course.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Gaines,” Jade said as the woman passed her on the way out of the room. “I didn’t realise how late it was.”

  “It’s mostly cold anyway,” the housekeeper said.

  There was salad and cold roast pork, but also steaming new potatoes and fresh peas boiled with mint and sugar. Mrs. Riordan, in her wheelchair, sat at the foot of the large dining table, opposite her son. Ginette was on Magnus’s right, and Jade slipped into the empty chair on his left with a murmur of apology.

  Magnus passed her a dish of potatoes and turned to Ginette. “How was your afternoon?”

  Ginette had an elusive dimple by her mouth, Jade noticed, making her smile particularly attractive. “I had a lovely time, thank you. I went to Warkworth and did some shopping. Found some quite nice things. This dress, for instance.” She looked down at the low-cut cotton dress, sleeveless and smothered with tiny blue flowers.

  “It’s very nice,” Magnus said, inspecting what he could see of it.

  The dimple flashed. “Thank you, Magnus.”

  Jade stiffened in the act of forking a piece of meat from its platter. The housekeeper had called Magnus “Mr. Riordan.” The two women were of different generations, of course, she reminded herself. Carefully she lowered the pork to her plate. It would be stupid to get upset just because an attractive young woman called her husband by his first name.

  She smiled across the table at Ginette. “What else did you buy?”

  “Oh, not much. Couldn’t afford to—not that I’m not well paid,” she added hastily, with another glance at Magnus, “but I’m saving to buy a car.”

  “You don’t have one?”

  Ginette shook her head. “Magnus gave me the use of one.”

  “It goes with the job,” Magnus explained.

  “I see.”

  Mrs. Riordan said precisely, “Magnus bought another car so that Ginette could take me about, and so she needn’t bother him to provide transport for her on her days off.”

  Jade tried not to flush. She hadn’t been criticising, merely making conversation. “It sounds like a very sensible arrangement.”

  She busied herself with her meal, letting the conversation drift around her. They spoke of ongoing household and farm matters that she’d had no chance to learn about, and people she didn’t know. But Magnus turned to her as they were discussing a family whose eldest son had apparently won a schola
rship to study in America. “You’d remember the Beazleys, Jade,” he said.

  She frowned blankly. The name meant nothing. “No,” she said, “I’m afraid I don’t. How long have they lived around here?”

  Mrs. Riordan said dryly, “About twelve years.”

  “They have the Mediterranean-style house about four miles down the road,” Magnus said, “and a large family. Terry is the same age as Andrew.”

  Andrew, the youngest Riordan, had been twelve the year that Jade arrived at Waititapu. She recalled vaguely a number of seemingly interchangeable youngsters who used to arrive on horseback or bicycle with him at odd times, always apparently in dire need of immediate sustenance, no matter what the time of day. Had one of them been Terry Beazley?

  “I remember the house,” Jade said, recalling that they’d passed it on the way here, and it had been quite familiar to her. “But the people—” She shook her head. “Perhaps when I see them....”

  Mrs. Riordan said, “They’re practically our neighbours!”

  Magnus said, “I explained to you, Mother. Don’t worry about it, Jade. As you say, it will probably come back to you when you meet them again.”

  Jade nodded, still frowning. “It’s rather hit-or-miss, I’m afraid,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault,” Magnus told her. “We know that.” He was looking at his mother. He turned his attention to Ginette, asking if she needed more petrol for the car.

  Jade’s eyes wandered about the familiar room. There was a new picture on the cream-papered wall, a vase she didn’t recognise on the sideboard, and the sideboard itself had been shifted to make room for the small tea-trolley that used to be kept in the main living-room.

  She realised that she was very sleepy, and blinked, giving herself a little shake.

  “Something wrong, Jade?” Magnus asked her.

  Her head jerked up, her eyes wide. “I’m a bit tired, that’s all.”

  She wished immediately that she hadn’t said it. Magnus was inspecting her face rather thoroughly. He said, “You’d better have an early night.”

  Her voice was higher than she’d meant it to be. “I’ve had enough early nights, thank you. And enough of people deciding for me what to do and when to go to bed.”

  There was a short silence, broken by Ginette’s light, pretty laugh. “Well, that’s telling you, Magnus.” Turning to Jade, she added, “All the same, he could be right, you know. It’s a stressful experience, coming home.” Her brown eyes were compassionate, her smile understanding. It wasn’t fair that her sensible advice made Jade’s teeth clench. Ginette was a nurse and no doubt was accustomed to summing up patients’ needs.

  But Jade wasn’t her patient. She was no one’s. It took some willpower to bite back the urge to tell Ginette so. “I suppose it is,” she said. “More so than I realised.”

  Perhaps she’d expected too much of her homecoming. More of Magnus’s time, for instance. When she ought to have known that Magnus rarely had time to spare. That hadn’t changed, she reflected rather caustically.

  Mrs. Riordan hadn’t mellowed, either—the reverse, if anything. Before, she had usually accepted Jade’s presence with dignified tolerance if little warmth. This afternoon she had shown real dislike and antagonism. Although she’d made a reasonable recovery from the stroke she’d suffered after her husband’s death, the after-effects, coupled with the pain from her chronic arthritis, had left her highly irritable, and that obviously had not improved with time.

  Mrs. Gaines came in to clear the plates and place a dessert decorated with cream and strawberries on the table. When Mrs. Riordan had helped herself and Magnus passed the bowl to her, Jade shook her head. “I’ve had enough, really. I’ll just wait for coffee.” It was true she was feeling unusually well fed. The meat and vegetables, while plain and wholesome, had been deliciously fresh and neither overcooked nor barely warm.

  Mrs. Riordan said, “Nonsense. Give her some pudding, Magnus. It’ll do her good.”

  Jade felt her hands fasten hard on the seat of her chair. “I don’t want pudding, thank you,” she said clearly. “Pass it to Ginette, Magnus.”

  She met his eyes, held them with hers. And after a moment he silently placed the bowl on the other side of the table in front of the nurse.

  Ginette said brightly, “I wish I had your willpower, Jade. Mrs. Gaines makes such superb sweets and cakes.”

  “It’s not willpower,” Jade said, her stomach churning with tension. “I’ll have to get used to eating good food again.”

  “I thought the food was all right?” Magnus said, his voice sharp. “You told me it was.”

  “It was wholesome and adequate,” Jade said wearily. “There wasn’t anything wrong with it.”

  Ginette, pushing the bowl towards Magnus, made a sympathetic face. “Food cooked in bulk does tend to be bland and stodgy. And keeping it warm dries it out.”

  Jade said, “Exactly.”

  Thankfully, the others soon finished their dessert, and Mrs. Gaines brought in coffee and the plate of chocolate biscuits with which Mrs. Riordan liked to finish the evening meal. No one commented this time when Jade declined to take one.

  She was glad when they were able to leave the table. Magnus went round to push his mother’s wheelchair. She said, “Take me to my sitting-room, Magnus, thank you.”

  He obeyed without comment, Ginette following along behind, and Jade stood uncertainly at the doorway of the dining-room. Mrs. Gaines came hurrying along from the kitchen, a large tray in her hands. Moving aside for her, Jade said, “Can I help?”

  “That’s all right, Mrs. Riordan. I can manage,” the woman said.

  “You’d better call me Jade, don’t you think? We could have some confusion, otherwise.”

  “If you like,” the housekeeper agreed equably. Unexpectedly, she added, “My name’s Netta.”

  “Thank you.”

  Magnus came out of his mother’s room. He said, “Do you want to sit in the lounge for a while, Jade? Ginette may join us later.”

  “I was hoping to talk to you,” she said. “Could we go for a walk?”

  “In the dark?”

  They’d often walked in the dark before, arms about each other in the moonlight, with the spent sea swaying and hushing beside them and the night air cooling their skin. Sometimes they’d even swum together, naked in the concealing blackness, and sometimes they’d made love on the beach, spreading towels or discarded clothing beneath them, and later laughing together at the gritty sand that nevertheless clung to their damp limbs and had to be washed off in the waves.

  “We can find our way,” Jade said. “Can’t we?”

  Some expression lit his eyes for a moment, and she thought he, too, was remembering. But he quickly doused it. “All right,” he said. “Will you be warm enough?” He eyed the short sleeves of her dress, the scooped neckline.

  “It can’t be that cold outside.” She turned towards the door so that he had no choice but to follow.

  They walked side by side, their feet making no sound on the cushioning grass. She wanted to hook her arm into his, but he seemed distant, almost a stranger, keeping nearly a foot of space between them, his hands thrust into his pockets.

  The water gleamed in the light of an egg-shaped orange moon. Jade paused at the top of the sand to take off her shoes while Magnus waited, his eyes on her but his body half-turned away. When she ran down the slope, her feet sinking into the soft, now cooled sand, he followed more slowly, joining her at the bottom.

  “What did you want to talk about?” he asked her as they found the firmer part of the beach and walked parallel to the restless, white-glimmering waves.

  “Us,” Jade said. It was a large subject that might occupy the rest of their lives.

  Magnus said, “I know it’s necessary, but...tonight?”

  Jade took a quick step ahead so that she could turn and face him. She said provocatively, “You have a better idea?”

  He didn’t laugh, or reach for he
r, or react visibly in any way. Perhaps the moon didn’t give enough light for him to read the flirtatious challenge in her eyes, the curve of her lips. Standing rock-still, he said, “You’ve only just got here. Wouldn’t it be wiser to postpone any heavy discussions for a day or two? Give yourself a chance to adjust?”

  “Myself,” she said, “or you?”

  “Both of us, perhaps.”

  “Magnus—why have you moved out of our room?”

  It seemed a long time before he answered. “I thought...you might prefer it.”

  Her heart thudding uncomfortably, Jade said, “Prefer to sleep apart from you?”

  He seemed to be studying her carefully. “You wouldn’t?”

  Jade made a helpless gesture, not understanding him. “You’re my husband, Magnus.”

  “Yes,” Magnus said, and then he added, unbelievably, “Has it occurred to you that since we’ve spent the requisite two years living apart, it would be quite easy to get a divorce?”

  Chapter Three

  Divorce? The word echoed in her head, louder than the sound of the breakers rolling in from the sea. His mother had advised Magnus to divorce her, she remembered. Apparently he was ready to take the advice.

  And he was still speaking, his voice composed, even. “Sharing a room would muddy the waters as far as the court is concerned. You hadn’t considered that?”

  Jade opened her mouth, her lips moved. Her voice seemed distant, hardly her own. “No, I hadn’t. The thought never crossed my mind.” She felt numb. Somewhere there was an enormous pain waiting to crash over her, but for the moment the numbness mercifully held it at bay.

  “Never?”

  Jade shook her head. It was difficult to say anything. Had she been stupid? It was entirely possible that Magnus had found someone else. Not only possible, probable. She ought to have expected this.

  Who is she? was the question screaming in her mind, but her lips refused to form the words. Instead she said, grasping at random thoughts, “You’ve been so faithful!” Immediately shaking her head, she amended, “I mean, you visited so regularly.”