Phantom Marriage

‘Don’t look so worried,’ he told her. ‘Tara’s tougher than you think. Aren’t you?’

There was no kindness in the dark blue eyes as they held her captive and to her horror Tara felt tears burning the back of her throat.

She managed to make some brittle comment, something cynical and mocking which brought an uncertain smile to Sue’s lips, and as though that exchange had set the tone for the evening it passed in a state of armed guardedness which made Tara’s skin prickle with tension. And to think she had come away this weekend to try and relax! She was beginning to think she might have been better off with Chas after all. Her expression must have betrayed her, because Alec teased suddenly, ‘Where did you go—you looked almost wistful?’

‘I was thinking of Chas,’ Tara said without thinking. ‘I was supposed to spend the weekend with him.’ She was about to add that they had been going to work when she saw James’s cynical grimace, contempt darkening his eyes as he murmured for her ears alone, ‘What was that you were saying before dinner? It’s always advisable when you tell lies to at least remember some of them.’

‘Thanks,’ Tara replied sweetly in the same low voice. ‘I take it you’re speaking with the benefit of experience.’

It was worse, far worse than she had imagined it could be, she acknowledged shakily when they were all sitting in the drawing room. Alec had insisted on pouring her a large brandy, and that, on top of the wine they had had with the meal, had combined to make her feel distinctly lightheaded. Tomorrow the first thing she was going to do was to make some excuse for returning home. There was simply no way she could endure another twenty-four hours in James’s company. How dare he look at her with such contempt and loathing, such derision, when she was the one with the grievance, with the right to feel those emotions? Tara drank her brandy slowly. The rich warm liquid fired the anger burning up inside her. Quite when anger turned to drowsiness she didn’t know. One moment she had been listening in a desultory fashion to the conversation between Alec and James. Alec, it was apparent, held James in high regard—Sue had gone to see Mrs Barnes about the arrangements for breakfast—and the next waves of drowsiness were sweeping over her, drowning out the low hum of male voices until consciousness faded.

In some dim and distant

fashion Tara was aware of being lifted and carried, of a warm comforting sound against her ear, like the echo of a sea-shell found on the beach. For the first time in years she felt warm and safe. She murmured something in her sleep, curling inwards to the source of the warmth, muttering protestingly as the warmth was removed.

‘Tara.’ The coolly firm male voice was familiar and not to be ignored. Reluctantly she opened her eyes, shock widening them and darkening the pupils to jade as she realised that she was lying fully dressed on her bed with James leaning over her.

‘Relax,’ he told her sardonically as she tensed and edged away. ‘You’re quite safe.’ The cynical look in his eyes brought a vivid flush of colour to her pale cheeks. ‘Or perhaps that’s it,’ James said softly, studying her rich colour with hard eyes. ‘Perhaps you don’t want to be safe, eh, Tara?’

‘Get out of my room.’ Even to her own ears her voice sounded shaky rather than firm. ‘Just get out,’ she reiterated huskily.

When he had gone she lay staring at the ceiling, forcing herself not to remember how it had felt to be held in his arms, but the moment she closed her eyes it swept over her in shuddering waves; the sensation of being held close to him, of being safe. With a tortured groan Tara rolled over, trying to blot out the memories.

* * *

‘After we’ve had breakfast, I’m going to take Misty for a walk by the lake,’ Simon announced proudly over his cornflakes. Tara smiled at him, mentally wondering just what sort of pressure she was going to be subjected to once they got home concerning the addition of a puppy to their household.

‘Oh, that reminds me, James,’ Sue murmured, ‘There was a phone call for you this morning.’ She pulled a slight face as she turned to Tara, ‘A neighbour of ours, who seems to have attached herself to James.’

‘Yes, I believe we met her yesterday,’ Tara responded, allowing herself a tight smile. ‘They make a very… well matched couple.’

She could tell that James was looking at her, but she refused to return it. Much to her amazement Mandy, despite James’s rejection of her the previous evening, was doing her level best to engage his attention.

Tara watched them out of the corner of her eye, burningly resentful when James tried to ignore Mandy’s beguiling smiles. Was it because Mandy was her daughter? she wondered bitterly. Poor little Mandy, she had no idea of her handicap.

‘I’m going for a walk after breakfast,’ Mandy announced to James. ‘Do you like going for walks?’

‘Mr Harvey is far too busy to go for walks with little girls,’ Tara interrupted hastily, trying to divert Mandy’s attention, but the little girl clung to the subject like a limpet.

‘Why not?’ she demanded with enquiring eyes. ‘Doesn’t he like little girls?’

‘She certainly knows how to load her questions, doesn’t she?’ Sue murmured under her breath to Tara. ‘And will you look at James? Game, set and match to Mandy in one go, I believe!’

A sudden wail from Piers saved James from having to reply, and watching him hold the little boy as Sue retrieved the toy her son had flung to the floor, Tara felt a sharp pain stabbing through her. While his own children were ignored and unwanted James lavished time and affection on Susan’s little boy. Telling herself that she was being ridiculous, Tara got up abruptly. She was glad James would be going out, that would make it much easier for her to make her excuses to Sue and leave early. She could pack their things while the twins went for their walk.

‘Don’t worry about them, they’ll be quite safe in the garden,’ Sue assured her.

From her window Tara had an excellent view of the garden and the attractive lily-strewn pool. Guessing that Sue would be busy with her son for some time after breakfast, she decided to wait for half an hour or so before broaching the subject of their departure. She was packing the twins’ case when something drew her to the window. Glancing out of it, she studied the countryside. One could forget how fresh and green everything was, living in London. If her dream ever came true and she was able to set up her own business it would be somewhere quiet; some small market town where Simon could have a dog and… A dog! Her heart suddenly thudded heavily as she saw Misty rushing excitedly into the pool after an inaccurately thrown stick. The dog was paddling vigorously, its golden tail sweeping the still water. A terrible sense of dread suddenly swept over Tara, and her blood turned to ice as some sixth sense kept her glued to the window, sick terror rising up inside her as she saw Mandy’s familiar dungaree-clad frame wading purposefully after the dog. She opened her window and called, but it was obvious that the little girl couldn’t hear her.

Filled with sick panic, Tara flung open her door and ran swiftly downstairs. The dog had been swimming, not paddling, and Mandy wasn’t much taller than the labrador.

Thoughts, wild and terrible, flashed through her mind in the precious minutes it took her to race down the path towards the lake, her heart pounding like a drum, the same refrain falling over and over again from tense lips, ‘Please God, don’t let any harm come to her, please, please God!’

Sue and Alec, alerted by her frantic race through the house, were somewhere behind her, but when Tara reached the pool there was no sign of the blue dungarees or the dark-haired little girl. Fear clawed at her, icy terror flooding through her veins.

‘Mum, over here!’ She responded automatically to Simon’s high-pitched cry, turning towards the sound.

Some bushes shielded him from her view. She pushed past them, careless of scratches on her arms and legs. Simon was standing on the grass behind the bushes. Lying at his side was a wet and obviously chastened Misty and several yards away lay a tiny limp figure like a boneless rag doll, a tall man on his haunches beside her, jeans plastered wetly to his legs as he bent over her tiny figure.