The Faithful Wife

Well, he was going to let her get her own way. He hadn’t known why he’d done it, not at first. But now he did. They were going to talk the whole thing through, and for that they needed time and space.

He needed to learn her secrets—if she had any more to divulge—discover exactly how and why their marriage had failed.

Because then, and only then, would he be able to put it all behind him and attain the freedom he needed to get on with the rest of his life, unfettered by memories and regrets.

Knowing that the prospect of freedom from the spell she’d cast on him the very first time he’d seen her had to be responsible for his present adrenalin-high, he made no attempt to keep the underlying hint of laughter from his voice as he told her, ‘We’re not going anywhere for a couple of days. Put the kettle on; we have a guest.’

The driver of the tractor was a wiry little man, swamped by a thick waxed jacket and a big red knitted hat. His name was Evan Evans, and he insisted on removing his boots.

His knitted socks were red, too, Bella noted, hurrying to make the hot drink Jake had offered, her heart winging with a great surge of happiness she desperately tried to suppress.

Jake could have left; there’d been nothing to stop him. Except the desire to stay?

But she mustn’t think like a naive teenager, she chided herself as she moved round the kitchen, the murmur of masculine voices coming from the other room a backdrop to her thoughts.

He had no desire to be with her—hadn’t he made that crystal-clear? For the past twelve months their marriage hadn’t been either one thing or another. He probably wanted to get everything sorted out, discuss divorce, tidy everything up.

The cold almost certainty of that left her feeling physically and mentally drained. Yet hope lingered, a feeble but stubbornly burning flame at the back of her mind. She didn’t want hope, not when it would surely turn out to be false.

Telling herself to keep her chaotic emotions in check, she made hot chocolate for the men and found a tin of biscuits. She opened it and put it beside the mugs on the kitchen table, then called them through.

‘There’s lovely, isn’t it?’ Evan picked up his mug and cradled it in mittened hands. ‘Just what I needed.’ He refused to sit, blowing on his drink to cool it, and Bella handed Jake his mug, careful not to look at his face. He might see those futile hopes warring with the bleak certainties in her eyes.

‘So I’ll phone the recovery service and give them your details, and ask them to bring the part out on Boxing Day. Is it set on spending Christmas you are? Snow or no snow?’ Evan finished his drink. ‘It’s a tidy enough place.’ He glanced around him, his eyes twinkling with open appreciation as they rested on Bella. ‘Don’t blame you, mind. Do the same in your shoes! Though who’d go vandalising your car is beyond me.’

He scratched the side of his head and the knitted cap rose higher, looking, Bella decided half-hysterically, like a melting church steeple.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Jake said smoothly. ‘We’re very grateful for your help.’

Bella tried to analyse his tone. Satisfaction, or amusement? She couldn’t decide which. And Evan was getting ready to leave.

‘Missus’ll be wondering where I’ve got to. We’ve got all the family back with us for Christmas, as usual. Five grandchildren in all. Little imps! Mind you—’ bright brown eyes twinkled beneath the scarlet of the rearing hat ‘—Christmas wouldn’t be the same without their racket, would it? And—’ he stressed the word heavily, smiling broadly ‘—I’m doing Santa duty again. Each year I tell myself it’s the last time I’m dressing up in all that stuff. Seems I never learn!’

Bella watched him go, accompanied by Jake, to find his boots, and envied him. She closed her eyes and desperately envied all the families happily getting ready to celebrate this special season. And when Jake joined her there were tears in her eyes.

‘Why didn’t you go with him?’ she demanded thickly. Attack was the best form of defence—defence against the reckless need to hurl herself into his arms and beg him to fall in love with her again, to want her with the almost obsessive need that had driven them both ever since the very first time they’d met.

To beg him to take the hurt away.

‘Because I’ve finally reached the conclusion that we need to talk. We’ve spent a whole year avoiding each other and it doesn’t make any kind of sense. We’ve got to find a way to put the past behind us. We both need to be free to get on with our lives.’

‘Yes, I see.’ She turned away, trying to conceal the hurt. She’d guessed his motives for staying on here, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear. He was going to suggest divorce.

‘But not right now. There’s plenty of time. A couple of days,’ he said, his voice softening. There were tough questions to be asked, tough decisions to be made. It wouldn’t be easy on either of them. And right now she looked so vulnerable, almost utterly defeated, and that wasn’t like the Bella he knew.

The range and depth of the sweeping wave of compassion he felt for her came as a shock. For a moment it took his b

reath away.

Suddenly restless he suggested, ‘So why don’t we try to relax, get a breath of air before it gets dark?’ He watched the graceful tilt of her head as she turned huge, questioning eyes to him. ‘I don’t mean a repeat of this morning’s marathon!’ he assured her, reliving the long minutes of frantic concern when he’d been afraid he’d never find her, wondering what that reckless journey of hers out into the blizzard had been meant to prove.

He pushed a log further onto the glowing embers with a booted foot, needing action of some kind, no matter how small, and then added more harshly than he’d intended, ‘It was a suggestion, that’s all. You don’t have to come. But I need air.’

‘I’ll be two minutes.’ Relief washed through her, washed away the tension, making her body feel light as air as she went to the kitchen. The terrible conversation that would lead to the legal ending of their marriage was to be postponed. Maybe, later, she’d find the strength from somewhere to handle it with dignity.

She fished the clothes from the drier and sped up the stairs, casting aside all that out-of-place elegance. She dressed hurriedly in the leggings and sweater, clean and still warm from the dryer, and pulled his bulky Aran jumper on over the top because her own coat was still damp.

Her hair had come adrift. She gave it an impatient look in the mirror, and sped out of the room and down the stairs. She didn’t have time to fiddle.