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‘It sold in twenty-four hours.’ Zeke was looking straight ahead now, towards the big Victorian whitewashed house that was their new home. ‘Which gave me a few weeks to get things sorted here. Of course you can make any changes you see fit,’ he added as he pressed down on the accelerator.
Marianne sat quite still as the car purred along the road running parallel with the common, and then they were turning through big gates and on to the drive of the house she had fallen in love with all those months ago.
Her heart was thudding in her chest and she felt weak at the knees, although she wasn’t quite sure why. When she had spoken to the Bedlows on her visit in November they had been quite willing to sell any of their beautiful antique furniture Marianne wanted; their house in Portugal was already furnished as it had been their holiday home for the last five years.
She had loved some of the mellow old pieces and had tentatively chosen what she would like to retain, although then, in the back of her mind, she had wondered if they would suit Zeke after the stylish modernness of the apartment.
The first things she saw as she entered the large, sloping-roofed porch were the two white Lloyd Loom chairs and the small cane table, and she turned to Zeke, her eyes shining.
‘Oh, Zeke! You kept these.’
They had been hand in hand, but now he whisked her up into his arms, his eyes tender and his mouth hungry as he kissed her until she was breathless before saying, ‘The Bedlows assured me you liked them. Now, prepare to be carried over the threshold, wench,’ he added smilingly.
‘Mind your ankle!’
He had been limping quite badly—their sexual gymnastics at the bedsit couldn’t have been beneficial to a newly healed bone, and neither could the drive to the house—but from the scathing glance he bestowed on her she wisely decided to say nothing more.
‘Oh, it’s just as I remember,’ she said delightedly.
He had kissed her again before placing her on her feet in the hall, and now, as she gazed at the beautifully carved staircase and mellow wood floor, she felt as though she was dreaming.
This morning she had been counting the pennies to see if she had enough money for the tube as well as some photocopying she needed at the library, and tonight… Tonight she was in paradise.
It was when Zeke opened the door to the drawing room that she knew she was going to cry, in spite of all her efforts to the contrary. The pale green and warm buttery-yellow colour scheme was exactly in line with her sketches, and every piece of furniture she had wanted to keep was there, along with a few new pieces that fitted perfectly.
‘How…?’ She turned to find him watching her very closely, and she wondered how she could ever have thought his grey eyes cold.
‘I just followed your ideas,’ he said softly, ‘but you can change anything you don’t like.’
‘I love it.’ She flung her arms around his neck, suddenly petrified that this was a dream and she would wake up and he would be gone. She held on to him tightly, burying her face in his broad chest as she sought the reassurance of his solidness.
‘We’ll make it work,’ he promised thickly above her head as he sensed her panic. ‘This is a new beginning, my love.’
My love. She pressed even closer, a nameless dread filling her soul for a moment. He called her his love and she believed he meant it, but was he really able to change? Really able to trust her, to believe that she meant to grow old with him, love him, cherish and adore him? He had admitted he wasn’t there yet, and until he was they would never really be happy.
And then she brushed the chill away, resolutely lifting her face for his kiss. She would make him understand, whatever it took. She didn’t think she could go through the last few months again and survive. She needed him just as much as he needed her.
The rest of the house was just as she had envisaged, although apart from the master bedroom the other rooms upstairs were unfurnished as yet, with just the odd piece from the Bedlows dotted about although all the carpets and curtains had been left.
They sat up into the early hours making plans, and then they went to bed, to lie in each other’s arms and love until dawn was breaking over a night-washed sky and the birds were singing in the garden below. Their garden, she thought wonderingly.
Sunday was spent mostly in bed, and Monday morning Zeke called in to the office to say he was taking the day off, but gradually life resumed some sort of normality. Marianne continued at the supermarket for a further few days until Mrs Polinkski’s daughter—who had delayed her departure from Poland several times—returned home, and then she threw herself into furnishing the rest of the house.
Zeke left later in the mornings and returned earlier in the evenings, often mid-afternoon, and one or two evenings Marianne took the bull by the horns and spread out the college and university prospectuses and showed him the courses she was considering.
He was encouraging at those times, but restrained, and when she invited Pat down for the weekend of their third week in Hertfordshire he left them alone on the Saturday, to have a good chin-wag, and then took both girls out to dinner in the evening and behaved impeccably towards Pat, who, albeit reluctantly at first, was won over.
‘You set out to charm her, didn’t you?’ Marianne accused that night as they got ready for bed, her eyes brimming with laughter at the smug expression on his handsome face. ‘You can be a smooth devil when you want to be, Zeke Buchanan.’
‘I don’t deny it.’ He grinned at her, his eyes dancing, and her own smile widened. He seemed lighter these days, freer, and she passionately wanted to believe it would last.
It was all going to be all right, she told herself as she lay beside him later that night, listening to his steady breathing. He was accepting the thought of her studying for a degree now, had actually discussed her choices of university with Pat and herself at dinner, and it had been he who had suggested they go and spend the weekend with her father in a couple of weeks’ time and include Pat again wh
en they went out for dinner.
He had dismissed the apartment and city life without a qualm, and he seemed—he seemed—to enjoy living on the outskirts and being at home more. But how did she know for sure?
She wriggled slightly, angry with herself, but she couldn’t help it. He had told her, the first night at the house, that he had come face to face with himself that lunch-time he had seen her with Wilmer and realised he was poised on the edge of a chasm.
