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Adam watched her sadly. He didn’t try to deceive himself—he knew quite well that if she had been able to she would have disappeared without speaking to him. Could he blame her? In her shoes, wouldn’t he have done the same thing?
He felt the pain and the guilt tighten around his heart in a familiar vice-like grip, its pressure relentless, remorseless.
Fern… If he stood still and closed his eyes and breathed in slowly without moving, without disturbing the air around him, it was still just… just possible for him to breathe in the elusive fragrance of her. Once that fragrance had been his, wrapped around him, engulfing him, clinging to his skin, so that even after she had gone he had felt as though he carried a part of her with him.
Fern… He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat while his gaze dimmed and glittered. Fern…
* * *
By the time she returned home Fern told herself that she was over the shock of seeing Adam and that she wasn’t even going to think about it. What was the point? She was a woman, not a girl; she had other problems, other pressures.
She made herself a cup of coffee and sat down with her books, willing herself to concentrate on reality and not drift into pointless and impossible daydreams.
Determinedly she picked up one of the Relate leaflets she had already read and started to study it.
When she heard someone knocking on the front door she frowned and put the leaflet down. It couldn’t be Nick, of course, he had a key…
She opened the door and stared at her unexpected visitor in surprise. ‘Nick isn’t here,’ she told her quietly.
‘No, I know he isn’t.’ Venice was inside before Fern could object.
‘As a matter of fact,’ she announced, ‘he’s in my bed; he spent the night with me last night.’
If Nick had spent the night with her, what was she doing here? Fern wondered.
‘We need to talk,’ Venice added. She grimaced openly as she glanced around her. God knew why Nick wanted to hang on to this place. It was badly decorated, and even more badly furnished.
Fern turned round, perplexed, unable to see the purpose of Venice’s visit.
‘Nick wants a divorce,’ she heard Venice telling her, and then, before she could say anything, never mind attempt to point out that Nick already knew that as far as she was concerned their marriage was already over, Venice dropped her bombshell.
‘I’m pregnant… it’s Nick’s baby.’
Fern stared at her. She wasn’t sure what stunned her most, the fact that a woman like Venice could prove vulnerable enough to conceive by accident, or the fact that Nick was prepared to publicly accept responsibility for the conception.
What she did not feel, she realised with relief, was any sense of envy or anguish, and as that knowledge flowed gently through her she recognised how very badly she needed to be free of her marriage; how intensely damaging it had been… how destructive.
‘I know how you must feel,’ Venice was saying to her. ‘But Nick and I… Well, we tried to fight what was happening… Neither of us wanted to hurt you.’ She looked directly at Fern, tears standing out brilliantly in her eyes.
Fern blinked, wondering if Venice actually expected her to believe her.
‘But now for the sake of our baby…’
Venice was enjoying herself, Fern recognised. Relishing the role she had cast for herself.
But what of her role… the role of deserted, abandoned wife left alone to face the humiliation of seeing another woman carrying her husband’s child… another woman bearing his name… ? If she had in actual fact loved Nick…
But she didn’t love him, and Nick knew that. He also knew that she was no barrier to his relationship with Venice. So why hadn’t he told her that?
A cold finger of apprehension stroked down her spine. Nick had left the house last night claiming that there would be no divorce… that there was no reason for them to divorce.
Fern thought quickly. Just now, sitting daydreaming about the future she could potentially have, the independence, the satisfaction of working to help others, she had known how strongly she wanted to be free. And if that meant aligning herself to Venice… allowing herself to adopt the role Venice had cast for her… if it meant suffering public speculation and pity, well, she had the strength to endure it.
Besides… It had occurred to her just now, rereading the leaflets, that instead of staying here in Avondale she should consider moving to Bristol. There she would have a better chance of finding non-skilled work; she could also hopefully enrol on a postgraduate course of study.
Why the hell didn’t the stupid bitch say something instead of staring dumbly at her? Venice wondered impatiently. It had surprised her that her announcement of her pregnancy had not provoked the intensely emotional reaction she had anticipated. Venice considered herself to be a shrewd judge of character. She had had to be. Fern was the self-sacrificing type, the humble, irritating, walk-all-over-me-and-then-turn-round-and-kick-me type that Venice acutely despised.
At the very least Venice had anticipated that the announcement would provoke shocked tears, perhaps a denial followed by the acknowledgement that no, she could not stand in their way, could not rob an innocent child of its father.
