Page 18 of The Valentine Child


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It was going to be a nice day. The inconsequential thought flashed in her mind. The English always moaned about the weather, and yet she had never found it too bad; in fact, she had adapted to the climate with no bother at all.

Maybe that was her trouble—she had been far too pliable, adapting to her uncle and Justin in much the same way as she had to the weather, a young girl desperate to be accepted by the only family she had left. A psychiatrist would probably have a field-day with the past seven years of her life.

She lifted her hand to her head and swept the tangled mass of her sweat-wet hair from her brow. She was naked, exhausted, sated, and yet unable to sleep. The last few hours had been a revelation to her. Justin had made love to her with a demanding, savage intensity that surpassed anything that had gone before.

To her amazement, and shame, she had matched him every time. Lost in a mindless frenzy, she had held him, shared with him, and followed him down a dozen erotic paths she had never dreamed of, until finally, with the light of dawn just breaking, he had fallen asleep. .

She glanced once more at him. A twisted smile curved her full lips but never reached her icy blue eyes. The irony did not escape her—only the threat of divorce could persuade her husband to spend all night in her bed. Nor could she avoid concluding that Janet had been right about her husband. He was a three-times-a-night man and more. But it also underlined the fact that Janet had been telling the truth. . .

A tear slowly trickled down her cheek; she sniffed and, turning, buried her head in the pillow. A strong arm fell over her waist and hauled her into the hard warmth of a masculine body. She swallowed hard; the last thing she wanted was that Justin should find her crying.

She lay tense and silent, expecting any second to hear him speak, but after a while she realised it had simply been a reflex action—he was still asleep. She stifled a yawn and closed her eyes; she was tired, so very tired.

At least in sleep she would not feel the pain of his betrayal, was her last conscious thought.

The following night the pain was still eating into Zoe's heart, tearing at her stomach, preventing her from eating. She shoved her chair back from the dinner-table and stood up.

'Do you want coffee in the study?' She addressed the question to somewhere over Justin's left shoulder. She could not bear to look at him. Dinner had been a miserable, silent affair and she could not wait to get away.

'So you are speaking to me; I'm flattered,' he drawled sarcastically. 'I was beginning to wonder, after your stony silence all evening.'

'Answer the question. Anything else you have to say to me can be said through a lawyer,' she flung back, and stepped back as Justin leapt to his feet, knocking his chair over in his haste.

'Zoe, I will not tolerate that kind of talk from you. You are my wife, and my wife you are going to stay. I thought I made that perfectly clear last night.' His black eyes clashed with her contemptuous blue ones. 'But if you want another demonstration I will be happy to oblige.'

'Sex. You think that solves everything.'

'I didn't hear you complaining.'

'Oh! I'm going for the coffee.' And with a toss of her head she walked out of the room and to the kitchen. She knew that Mrs Crumpet was off tonight; she had said goodbye to the lady a few hours earlier, knowing she would not see her again.

Everything was arranged. She had awakened at lunchtime to discover from Mrs Crumpet that Justin had gone to London. She had been glad; the thought of facing him after the night they had spent together had filled her with anger and humiliation.

She had spent the rest of the day quietly and efficiently packing her clothes; the cases were safely stowed in her wardrobe. Her flight was booked on the morning Concorde to New York, and if she could just get through the next few hours without breaking down she would be home free. . .

'Zoe, we have to talk.' She was just reaching for the coffee-cups from the top shelf of the cupboard and her hand shook at the sound of her husband's voice. 'Here, let me.' He reached over her head and picked up the cups.

She could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck, and slowly, reluctantly, she turned around. Her back was against the kitchen units; Justin was much too close. 'Thank you,' she mumbled, edging warily along the counter and out of his reach.

His long body tensed. 'For God's sake, Zoe, I'm not about to leap on you in the kitchen! There's no need to behave like a frightened rabbit,' he said bitingly. 'Look at me.'

'I'm making the coffee.' She watched the percolator for what seemed like an awfully long time.

'OK, have it your own way. But we will talk.'

She heard the scrape of the pine kitchen chair on the quarry-tile floor and knew that Justin had sat down. She imagined that she could feel his eyes burning into her back and her hand shook when lifting the coffee- jug. She carefully poured the aromatic liquid, filling two cups.

Slowly she turned, a cup in each hand. He was sitting, his elbows on the table, his head in his hands, a dejected slant to his wide shoulders, and for a second she felt a bitter regret for all she had lost. But, as if sensing her scrutiny, he straightened up immediately.

I’ll have my coffee here; it's been a hell of a day in court and I need it,' he said flatly.

'Yes, I'm sure.' They were talking like two strangers— stiltedly, meaninglessly. She placed a cup in front of him and took the seat opposite, and gratefully lifted her own cup to her suddenly parched lips. This was probably the last time she would ever speak to him at any length, she realised, and the thought hurt. Even though she knew it was for the best, she frowned.

'I'm sorry, Zoe.' He looked at her frowning face, his eyes wary. 'I should not have behaved as I did last night.

You have every right to be angry. He broke off andshe looked straight at him, her sapphire eyes wide with a hurt she could not disguise.

How could he be so insensitive? He was apologising for making love to her! Not, as she had expected, for marrying her for all the wr

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