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Cleo put her glass aside and stared Fiona straight in the eyes. 'Just what did Jude tell you?' Her stomach was tying itself in knots. Fiona meant well, but she was probing an open wound. No amount of interference on her part could alter a single damn thing!
'Nothing,' Fiona disclaimed. 'But he didn't need to. He arrived at the cottage around nine, looking like death, and he hung around until almost one—despite the heavy hints 1 dropped about needing my beauty sleep. And towards the end of our rather draggy conversation he let drop that he was looking for a country property for you to retire to—like immediately—in order to give the baby, when it comes, the space and freedom to run around in. And when I mentioned that Dene Place, not far from my cottage, was on the market he said it could well be the answer, if it was remotely suitable, as I'd be on hand most weekends to give you some company. Now I'm not a fool, Cleo,' Fiona stated the obvious, examining her fingernails with absorbed interest. 'Firstly, when he told me about the baby there was nothing coming over from him—no pride, excitement, nothing. He might as well have been telling me you'd ordered a new set of pans for the kitchen. And as for a country house, for you and baby to immure yourselves in—well, that makes no kind of sense. Even I, who scarcely know one end of a baby from the other, know it would be some time after it was born before it could go romping merrily through meadows and climbing trees and fishing in the brook.'
She spread her hands, still regarding them intently, and Cleo felt sick as Fiona went on slowly, deliberately, 'A country place would be fine for weekends and so forth—but as a permanent thing, for a pregnant lady and, later, a mum with a small round bundle under one arm, no way. So I decided that as I was unlikely to get any sense out of that dumb brother of mine I'd come and harass you. And what I see doesn't offer much comfort. So what goes on, Cleo?'
But Cleo couldn't answer; the words simply couldn't get past the painful lump in her chest. She would have given anything at that moment to be hard enough to achieve a brittle smile, to say not to worry because there was nothing to worry about. That she and Jude had decided, quite amicably, to call it a day—no hard feelings on either side. But that was something she could never do. Despite everything, her love for Jude ran too deep for that. It was still real, alive, and hurting. She had received very little affection in her life since her parents had died, and love, when she had finally experienced it, was too precious, even now, to sully with lies.
'Jude means a lot to me,' Fiona said softly, her blue eyes compassionate as they held the grey, dark-ringed ones. 'And when I first saw you two together I knew you were right for each other. I'd always known it would take a special kind of lady to snare the hard man's heart. And I was glad to know he'd found her at last.'
Those words, the very real affection in Fiona's voice, were Cleo's undoing.
She had never snared Jude's heart—she'd merely captured his interest with the offer of those shares, the statement of fact when she'd told him he could always be sure she hadn't married him for his money. She'd alerted the logical brain to her possibilities as a wife at a time when he'd been considering marriage for the sake of an heir.
Unstoppable sobs shook her slender frame and Fiona's arm, coming swiftly around her shoulders, opened the floodgates. Between deep, painful sobs, the tears she thought she had cried all out, the whole dreadful, tragic story of their brief stormy marriage was told.
'You mean that louse was trying to blackmail you and that pig-headed, obstinate brother of mine refused to listen to a word you said?' Fiona pushed a slippery strand of pale hair back from Cleo's flushed face. 'You poor baby.'
There was a crusading note in Fiona's voice and Cleo's eyes clouded with panic.
'Please,' she said, her voice thick, 'promise me you won't say anything to Jude?'
'It's time someone made him listen to the truth.' Fiona's mouth firmed. 'You are both fine, beautiful, brainy people, but as far as the emotions are concerned you haven't enough gumption between you to figure your way from A to B!'
'Please!' Even to her own ears, Cleo sounded demented. But Fiona simply didn't understand! How could she, when she hadn't lived through the searing agony of it all? Somehow, though, she had to try to make her understand a little of the way it was. Desperately, she clutched at the other woman's hands.
'Don't you see--' she appealed, her eyes intense. 'Telling Jude the truth now wouldn't mean a thing. We got along fine to begin with, I grant you that, and I had begun to hope he'd learn to love me.' Her voice wobbled at that, at the hurting memory of hopes long dea
d, but she forced herself to go on because it was important. 'He never did love me, it was a marriage of convenience, simply that. And things started to go wrong before he could begin to develop any deep feelings for me. He began to despise me for what he thought I was.
It's understandable, if you stop to think about it. He didn't love me, so he had no real reason to question the evidence of his eyes, and I suppose I had too much pride to stand there and bellow and force him to listen to what I had to say. In a peculiar kind of way I felt he had to ask me for the truth, or at least to show a willingness to listen whenever I tried to bring it up.' She shrugged wearily. 'I thought that if I was beginning to mean anything to him at all he surely must want to hear my side of things. But he didn't, of course, because all the time his dislike of me was hardening. He'd made a bad mistake in marrying me and he wanted me out of his life. And if you think about it you'll realise for him there can be no going back to the days when he thought I was a reasonable proposition as a wife, the mother of his children. So promise me, Fiona,' her grip tightened, 'promise you won't say a word. The truth might make him feel uncomfortable—bad, even—but what's the point of that? There's been too much mistrust, contempt, to make our marriage even begin to look like working again. If there'd been love on his side, too, then it might have stood a chance. But there never was. It's better for both of us to make a clean break. So please promise you'll say nothing?'
Fiona stood up, disentangling her hands, her face strained.
'If it's what you want to hear and it will put your mind at rest, then all right, my dear. I promise.'
CHAPTER TWELVE
'THE estate agents' particulars are in here.' He passed her a large envelope then fastened his seat-belt. 'You might like to glance at them on the journey.'
'Thank you,' she said stiffly, her words almost inaudible, and as the Jag turned out of the quiet, early morning London square her fingers tightened on the envelope. She knew she would make little sense of the contents, even if the particulars of the house they were going to view had been written for an idiot's consumption.
It was going to be another glorious day, the sun already warm as it streamed through the window at her side. Jude was casually dressed in lightweight stone-coloured jeans, a black body-hugging T-shirt that emphasised the whiplash power of his shoulders and chest. But there was nothing casual about his attitude; she could feel the tension in him and it was as tightly coiled as her own. Her edginess was reaching impossible proportions, every one of her senses sharply aware of every move he made, every breath he took.
Until last night she hadn't seen him since he'd told her it would be better if they lived apart. He hadn't been home. If he'd been away on a business trip she hadn't known about it and she'd had too much pride to ask. But last night he'd come to her room, tapping on the door politely, like a stranger. She'd been already in bed, sitting up staring blankly at nothing as she'd tried to bring her mind to the point of making plans for her future, where she would go, and when.
'I picked up the keys to Dene Place,' he'd told her flatly, his eyes a stranger's eyes in the gauntness of his face. 'I'll drive you down to take a look at it tomorrow. We might as well make an early start. Eight o'clock?'
And on that he had gone, closing the door quietly behind him, tangible evidence of the way he had shut her out of his life.
Three days ago she would have told him to get lost, that she could find a place on her own, didn't need his help. But since that traumatic conversation with Fiona she had done some serious thinking. It was pointless to be on the defensive, to fight. Her relationship with Jude was written out, the end of a chapter in her life. It was something she had to accept, no matter how painful, so there was no point in making things even more difficult.
As for Dene Place—well, if it was remotely suitable then she and her child might as well live there as anywhere else. At least Fiona would be around most weekends, and that was a plus. She had taken an instinctive liking to Jude's sister and she knew all there was to know about their disastrous marriage. There would never be any need to pretend with her; Fiona was on her side, and that had to count for something.
A sigh was dragged from her, right up from her toes, and although she'd been scarcely aware of it, absorbed in her thoughts, it had registered with Jude and he said roughly, 'It will soon be over, Cleo.'
Her, eyes flicked to him briefly, noting the twist of his mouth, the hard bones of his profile jutting against the taut skin. Was he talking about the journey?
Or the sick farce of their marriage? She didn't know and she wasn't asking, and she closed her eyes and didn't open them again until the car drew to a halt and he cut the engine.
