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She didn’t want to end up being the convenient other half in a relationship where she would inevitably be taken for granted, nor was it fair on either Eleanor or Dominic for her to slot into their lives where she would eventually pick up the slack, enabling Damien to return to his workaholic life which had no room for anyone, least of all a wife. Even a wife he might temporarily be in lust with.
And yet when she thought of waking up next to him, being able to turn and reach out and touch his warm, responsive body...every morning...
When she half closed her eyes she could recall the feel of his mouth all over her body, kissing and licking and exploring, and a treacherous little voice in her head insisted on telling her that that could be hers. Lust could last a very long time, couldn’t it? It could last for ever. It could turn into something else. Couldn’t it?
And yet he had approached her the way a person would approach a mathematical equation that needed solving. And that wasn’t right. Not when it came to marriage.
But she still had to take a deep breath and steel herself against being sidetracked. Especially when he was sitting right there in front of her, his hands loosely linked, his body leaning towards her, his dark, sinfully beautiful face stirring all sorts of rebellious thoughts inside her.
‘But—’ she inhaled deeply ‘—I’m on the side of the minority who actually have working marriages and kids with both parents.’ She plucked at her jumper with nerveless fingers. ‘And please stop looking at me as though I’m mad. There are some of us out there who prefer to dream rather than just cave in and think that we’re never going to be happy...’
‘No one’s talking about being happy or not being happy...’ Damien interrupted impatiently. ‘Where did you get that idea from? Did I ask you to marry me with the sub-clause that you shouldn’t hold out for happiness?’ He wondered why he was continuing to pursue this. She had turned him down and it was time now to take his leave. And yet, although he could feel the sharp teeth of pride kicking in, something was compelling him to stay. Was it because he was keenly aware of how awkward it was going to be breaking the news of their break-up to his mother and Dominic? Made sense. Who liked to be the harbinger of bad news, as he undoubtedly would be? Were it any other woman, he would have left by now. Actually, were it any other woman he would not have proposed in the first place.
‘We’re not suited. Not in any way that makes sense for a long-term relationship. We might enjoy...you know...the physical side of things...’ At this point, she felt faint at that physical side of things no longer being attainable. No more of that breathless excitement. No more melting as their bodies united. But, much more than that, no more heady anticipation knowing that the man she loved was going to be walking through her front door, taking her in his arms... How had she only managed to now work out what should have been obvious from the start? That so much more than just her body looked forward to seeing him? That he had awakened a side to her that she never knew existed and something like that didn’t happen in a vacuum? That she just didn’t have the sort of personality that could lock away various sides of herself and only bring them out when appropriate?
She had sleep walked herself into loving him and it was a feeling that would never be returned. No amount of persuasive arguments about divorce statistics could change that.
‘You’re repeating yourself. I don’t think there’s much point to my remaining here to listen to any more of the same old.’ He made to stand and a wave of sickening panic rushed through her at speed, with the force and power of a tsunami.
‘But I know you agree with me!’ Desperate to keep him with her just a little bit longer, Violet sprang to her feet and placed a restraining hand on his arm.
He looked down at it with withering eyes. ‘Our days of touching are over. So...if you don’t mind?’ He raised one cool eyebrow and Violet removed her hand with alacrity.
‘We would end up in a bitter, corrosive relationship if we got married,’ she gabbled on, clasping her hands tightly together because she wanted to reach out again and pluck at him to stay. His face was stony. ‘I’m sorry I ever said anything about...about... We’d be far better off staying just as we are...’ Violet knew that she was backtracking and that there was desperation in that but there was a void opening up in front of her that she knew would be impossible to fill. It was dark and bottomless and terrifying. So what if they just carried on the way they were? Would it be the end of the world? And wouldn’t it be better than this? Being a martyr? Hadn’t she agreed with him once that martyrdom was cold comfort?
‘I don’t think so,’ Damien said coolly, as he began getting his things together. ‘That window’s closed, I’m afraid.’
Violet fell back and looked at him in numb silence until he was ready to leave.
‘I’ll tell my mother this weekend that things didn’t work out between us.’
‘Let me come with you.’ She could feel tears pushing to the back of her eyes.
‘What for?’
‘I’d like to explain to her myself that...that...’
‘There’s nothing to explain, Violet. Relationships come and go. Fortunately my mother is in a better place. She’ll be able to cope with the disappointment. I wouldn’t lose sleep over that if I were you.’
Violet could feel him mentally withdrawing from her at a rate of knots. She hadn’t complied and there was no room for anyone in his life who didn’t comply.
‘Of course I’m going to lose sleep over it! I’m very fond of both Eleanor and Dominic!’
Damien shrugged as though it was of relatively little importance one way or the other. He was moving towards the door. Where was the necklace? No matter. He wanted to tell her that she could consider it a suitable parting gift but he knew he would have to listen to a lecture on all the things money, apparently, couldn’t buy. He gritted his teeth at the uncomfortable notion that he would miss those lectures of hers, which had ranged from the ills of money to the misfortune of those who thought they needed it to be happy. She was adept at pointing out all the expensive items that had brought nothing but misery to their owners. She always seemed to have a mental tally at the ready of famous people whose lives had not been improved because they were rich, and had been prone to loftily ignoring him when he pointed out that she should stop reading trashy magazines with celebrity gossip. In between the fantastic sex, which had evolved from their charade in a way that had taken him one hundred per cent by surprise, he was uncomfortably aware that she might have got under his skin in ways he hadn’t anticipated.
‘In that case,’ he returned with supreme indifference, ‘I suggest you go see your local friendly doctor and ask him to prescribe you some sleeping pills.’
‘How can you be so...so...unsympathetic?’ She was traipsing along behind him to the front door. Before she knew it, he was pulling it open, one foot already out as though he couldn’t wait to leave her behind.
‘There’s no point in you having any involvement with me or my family from now on. My mother would be far happier were she spared the tedium of a post-mortem.’
And with that he was gone, slamming the door behind him in a gesture that was as final as the fall of the executioner’s axe.
Left on her own, Violet suddenly realised just how lonely the little house was without the promise of his exciting, unsettling presence to bring it to life. She lethargically tidied up the kitchen but her thoughts were exclusively on Damien. She had backed him into a corner and it was no good asking herself whether she had done the right thing or not. You couldn’t play around with reality and hope that it might somehow be changed into something else.
But neither could she put thoughts of him behind her as easily as she might have liked. School was no longer gloriously enjoyable because she was busy looking forward to seeing him. There were no little anecdotes saved up for retelling. She spent the following week with the strange sense of having been wrapped up in insulation, something so thick that the outside world seemed to exist around her at a distance. She listened to everyone laughing and chatting but it was all a blur. When Phillipa phoned in a state of high excitement to tell her that she and Andy were getting married at the end of the year, on a beach no less, and would she come over, help her choose a dress or at least a suitably white sarong and bikini, she heard herself saying all the right things but her mind was cloudy, not operating at full whack, as though she had been heavily sedated to the point where her normal reflexes were no longer in proper working order.
Several times she wondered whether she should call Eleanor. But was Damien right? Would his mother be happier to accept their break-up without having to conduct a long conversation about it? Furthermore, what would she say? She had no idea what Damien would have told her. For all she knew, he might have told her that she was entirely to blame, that she had turned into a shrew, a harpy, a gold-digger. It was within his brief to say anything, safe in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be contradicted.
