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‘Because I don’t like it, for a start,’ she said bravely, her determination slightly aided by the Dutch courage she had imbibed throughout the meal.
‘This little talk couldn’t have something to do with the fact that you’ve spent most of the day with Pat and most of the evening with an equally formidable woman, could it?’ Zeke asked with insufferable pleasantness. ‘Both of whom regard men as infinitely lesser beings?’
‘No, it couldn’t,’ she snapped back quickly. ‘And they don’t, anyway.’
‘They do from where I’m standing.’
‘Then you must be standing in the wrong place.’ Oh, this wasn’t going at all as she had planned, Marianne told herself silently as she watched his face darken. ‘Look, Zeke—’ she took a deep breath and forced her voice down an octave or two ‘—I’m a grown woman and perfectly able to determine what I think without any help from Pat or Wendy. You must have realised things haven’t been good between us for some months now?’
‘The hell I have!’ he said with controlled grimness.
How selfish men could be. As she looked into the breathtakingly attractive face frowning at her Marianne’s heart was thumping at the confrontation. He had effectively ignored her cries for help—both verbal and silent—for months now, wrapped up in his little empire as always. He had been quite happy for her to remain isolated and frustrated as long as his world ticked on as normal. She had been here in her position as the perfect wife as far as he was concerned, cooking his dinner, entertaining his friends and business colleagues, putting his interests before her own and—because she loved him so much—waiting patiently for him to start making a few decisions on things that affected them.
Maybe it would have been different if they had had children? Her heart gave a pang as it always did when she thought of babies, Zeke’s babies. And then again it might have been worse. Perhaps she had to face the fact that there was something integrally wrong in this marriage. Anyway, whatever else, she had been patient long enough.
‘Are you still upset because I gave the contract to Liliana?’ Zeke asked now, a softer note in his voice. ‘Marianne, I needed the best person for that particular job—it’s very important to me—and Liliana is the best interior designer around. That’s all there is to it.’
No, that wasn’t all there was to it, she thought painfully. Oh, why couldn’t he see?
‘Liliana is just a part of it, that’s all,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s much more than that.’
‘What, exactly?’ He leant forward as he spoke, and even at this crucial moment her senses leapt at the dark, virile power that radiated out from him.
‘This apartment, for one thing.’ She waved her hand to encompass the beautiful room. ‘We were going to look for a house together once we came back from our honeymoon; you know that. I’ve never wanted to live in the middle of London and you promised me we’d find a family house on the outskirts somewhere, something that was really ours. But it’s always “tomorrow” or “next week”.’
‘This is ours,’ he said quickly, a note of surprise in his voice.
‘No, it isn’t,’ she said steadily. ‘It never has been. It’s yours, just yours.’ With Liliana’s spectre forever popping up like the evil genie.
‘Okay, we’ll look next week if you—’ He stopped abruptly as her wide azure eyes forced him to hear what he was saying. He ran a hand through his short black crop of hair in an impatient gesture as he rose irritably, walking across to the cocktail cabinet and pouring himself another stiff brandy. ‘Marianne, I’m up to my eyes in this new development, but why don’t you start looking and narrow it down to just two or three for us to look at together?’ he said evenly as he turned to face her again. ‘And if we both like something enough I promise you we’ll take it, okay? I accept we should have moved sooner.’
‘You do?’ She stared at him, hope springing up in her heart. ‘And you promise we’ll move?’
‘I promise.’ And then he smiled his rare, sexy smile as he added, ‘I even promise you can have the last say; you’re going to be there more than me so that’s only fair.’
She should have challenged him on that—their home was to be a new beginning, just as important to him as it was to her, besides which when she started working for her degree and went on to a career it was likely she wouldn’t be at home any more than Zeke—but with him smiling at her like that after the trauma of the last minutes, when she had thought the altercation was going to turn into an argument of momentous proportions, all she felt was overwhelming relief.
She rose to her feet, flying across the room and into his arms as she said excitedly, ‘Tomorrow! First thing tomorrow I’ll start looking! Oh, Zeke!’
And then, as he gathered her into him, his passionate kisses taking them both into a blaze of hungry sexuality where the only thing that mattered was the satiation their lovemaking would bring, nothing else seemed important.
Later, once they had showered and gone to bed—only to love some more before settling down to sleep, entwined in each other’s arms—Marianne lay awake for some time after Zeke’s steady breathing told her he was asleep. A real home of their own would be a new beginning, and she would make it work, she told her
self determinedly; she would. She couldn’t live without Zeke, she didn’t want to live without him, and he had met her halfway over this. That was a portent that they’d be happy…wasn’t it?
It took Marianne six weeks of looking, as far away as Reading on the one hand and Watford and Chelmsford on the other, but eventually, in the third week of a bitterly cold November, she came across the house which immediately knocked all the others off her list.
Ironically, considering she had had particulars from umpteen estate agents, it was her father who had put her on to the place. She and Zeke had spent the previous Sunday with him, and when she had mentioned they were looking for a family house—preferably on the outskirts of London somewhere, but with modern motorways distance wasn’t too much of a problem—Josh Kirby had nodded thoughtfully.
‘Funnily enough I might know of somewhere to suit you,’ he’d said quietly as he’d carved the enormous Sunday joint. ‘Old Wilf Bedlows—you remember him, Annie, came to your wedding?—is retiring early; only chatted to him on the phone the other week. He was the only wealthy one among us at medical school; his parents were consultants, so I understand, and as their only son he inherited the family home when they died. Rather than sell it he moved his family in because it was such a beautiful place. Anyway, the kids are grown up and his wife suffers with bad arthritis so they’re leaving England for warmer climates. Portugal, I think, or it might have been Spain.’
‘And they want to sell their house?’ Marianne had asked somewhat wearily. She felt as though she had been rushing from one end of the country to the other for decades, and Zeke hadn’t been very sympathetic when she’d had a grumble the night before. Still, at least they weren’t arguing—they didn’t see each other enough for that since she’d been house-hunting!
‘That’s the idea, although Wilf’s reluctant to put it on the open market, I think. He was born there and I think he’s loath to sell to just anyone. He’s very attached to the old place.’
‘I’m not just anyone.’ She’d suddenly had a good feeling about this.
‘No, you’re not,’ her father had agreed with warm smile. ‘I’ll give Wilf a ring after lunch, if you like, and Zeke can talk to him.’
