Phantom Marriage

She knew that he was going to kiss her, but what she hadn’t bargained for was the hard brutality of a kiss that took without giving, ravaging the softness of her lips, reducing her to the mere recipient of some male-driven aggression that found relief in the rape of her mouth. Before she could move his hand stroked upwards, his palm burning into the tender skin of her breast.

Just for a moment she experienced a traitorous urge to yield, to mould her body to his and respond with fierce need to the raw sexuality of his embrace, but just in time self-respect urged her to resist. She was confusing the hard, cynical man who held her in his arms with the tender lover he had been in her youth—and he had been tender, no matter what might have followed later. As though he sensed her withdrawal, James raised his head and stared down at her, studying her swollen mouth and shadowed eyes.

Turning on his heel, he left the kitchen without a word to her, leaving her drained and sick to her soul with self-revulsion because she had so nearly given in to the dangerous undertow of desire whispering falsely in her ear that to be made love to by James once again, no matter through what motivation, was more than wor

th all the tears and heartache which would inevitably follow.

How could she so easily have forgotten all her hard-earned lessons, have been ready to throw away the self-respect and self-confidence she had built and nourished so painstakingly since the twins’ birth?

In the distance she registered his goodbyes to the twins and their disappointed response. It was not Mandy’s fault, she told herself tiredly later in the evening when she was bathing the little girl, and she came very close to losing her temper with her when she kept insisting that ‘Uncle James’ was her very favourite man. It was not Mandy’s fault at all. If anything it was hers, but knowing that didn’t make bearing her burden of guilt any the easier.

CHAPTER NINE

FOR two weeks Tara saw and heard nothing of James, and then one afternoon in Knightsbridge, where she had gone searching for some props Chas needed for a ‘County’ shot he was filming, she saw him coming out of an expensive-looking mews, a slim, dark-haired woman clinging to his arm.

For a moment Tara simply froze, and then realising how easily he could turn his head and see her she panicked, darting into the first shop door she came to.

As it happened, it was a dress shop and she was able to make a pretence of browsing while James and his companion strolled past.

Tara recognised her immediately. It was the woman who had come over to their table in the restaurant the day he had driven them down to Sue’s. The dull ache inside her became a sharp pain, jealousy a bitter gall tainting the back of her throat.

When she was sure that they had gone she escaped from the expensive and slightly overpowering environs of the shop. She was grateful for Chas’s forbearance when she returned to the studio minus several of the items he had asked for, but one look at her pale face and huge, agonised eyes had warned him against questioning her. He had seen that look on too many women’s faces to mistake it, and he found himself wondering about the man who had brought it to Tara’s. Outwardly she was so cool and in control; unflappable and pleasant always and yet retaining a detached, keep-your-distance air that never failed to intrigue him. She was adept at holding people away from her, and yet he had sensed from the very first moment she had come for her interview that beneath the cool surface lurked a woman of deeply felt emotions. Recognising that in her present disturbed state she was not likely to work to optimum proficiency, he suggested they make an early night of it. Surprised, but too wrapped up in her thoughts to question his decision, Tara thanked him.

As though catching her mood from her the twins were particularly awkward during the evening—not just Mandy but Simon as well, and, her temper frayed by her brief sighting of James with his woman friend, Tara snapped crossly at them when they baulked at going to bed. That the battle was a nightly ritual and never normally bothered her was forgotten, their disobedience bringing to a head the churningly disturbing emotions she had been feeling all afternoon—no, not just all afternoon, she admitted to herself as she thankfully closed Mandy’s bedroom door behind her, but for several weeks. Ever since she had been forced to admit to herself that she still loved James. Mandy’s parting comment hadn’t helped either, but a brief smile tugged at Tara’s lips nevertheless, as she recalled Mandy’s piped and scathing, ‘You’re just cross because Uncle Chas doesn’t come round any longer—well, we don’t care. We don’t like him, we like Uncle James!’

If only she knew, Tara thought tiredly, regretting her impatience with them. She would make it up to them in the morning, she decided, thank goodness it was Saturday, they could all go out for the day. It would do them good to get away from London. They could drive down to Brighton, play on the beach. It was time she put James firmly behind her, she told herself. He didn’t care any more about her now than he had done before—probably less, and it was unfair of her to take her own pain out on the twins.

She said nothing to the twins of her decision to take them out for the day over breakfast, and was glad when she went out to the car and saw with a sinking heart the slow puncture in the front nearside tyre.

Her spare tyre wasn’t in the best of conditions, and rather than risk the journey without it, Tara decided to change the wheel and then drive to her local garage where she knew she could get another. She could also fill up on petrol at the same time, and instructing the twins to behave while she was gone, she hurried back out to the car, suppressing a faint smile.

The pair of them had been thoroughly subdued over breakfast, so much so that she had been tempted to plead for their forgiveness, but they would cheer up soon enough when they learned what she had in mind. Her mind on the picnic meal she intended to prepare, Tara completed her business at the garage and drove quickly home.

As she drew up outside the house the first thing she noticed was that the front gate was open, and she frowned. The twins were strictly forbidden to leave the garden when she was not with them. She glanced at her watch. She had been gone just over twenty minutes, hardly long enough for them to get bored enough with their own company to want to flout one of her strictest rules. She must have left the gate open herself in her haste, she reassured herself, but nevertheless her heart pounded sickly and her footsteps sounded anxious as she hurried up the path and pushed open the door.

Silence greeted her, a silence which made her stomach churn in agonised protest, her gaze desperately flying from one object to another as she called the twins’ names.

No answer. She hurried into the kitchen on legs suddenly desperately weak. On the floor lay the smashed pieces of a china teapot—part of a set her mother had given her the previous year. The china wasn’t particularly to Tara’s taste, but knowing how offended her mother would be if she didn’t appear to treasure it the twins were strictly forbidden to touch. Her heart lurched into her stomach as she contemplated the broken teapot which she dimly remembered had been wedged awkwardly in one of the bottom cupboards, at a slightly dangerous angle. She remembered that she had made a mental note to move it to a safer place and had then completely forgotten. There was evidence that some washing up had been in progress and it didn’t take any great powers of deduction to realise that the teapot had met its unfortunate fate during this operation. Recalling how cross she had been with the twins the previous evening, Tara realised that they had probably gone into hiding somewhere fearing retribution. The thought lifted her stricken spirits, and she hurried upstairs expecting to find the twins in one of the bedrooms, all innocent smiles when taxed with their ‘crime.’

The bedrooms were empty, and fear gnawed at her again. Downstairs she made a thorough search of the house before going into the garden. Could they have gone to see Janice?

Her neighbour was sympathetic but couldn’t help.

‘The little imps,’ she chuckled when Tara had explained what had happened, ‘they’re probably hiding somewhere in the garden.’

‘No,’ Tara told her tightly. ‘Oh God, Janice I’m so frightened! You were my last hope. One hears such dreadful things…’ She shuddered, burying her face in her hands, making no protest when Janice pushed her down into a chair and disappeared into her kitchen. She could hear her moving about and started to get up, but Janice reappeared, carrying a mug.

‘Hot, sweet tea—yes, I know you don’t take sugar, but it’s the best thing for shock. Look, let’s go through the whole thing again. I’ll come back with you and we’ll go right through the house. Panic makes people do odd things; ten to one they’re tucked away somewhere in the house, too scared to come out and admit what they’ve done. We’ll soon find them,’ she comforted practically. ‘Drink your tea.’

Numbly Tara did as she was told. Deep in her heart of hearts, she wasn’t convinced by what Janice had said. The twins had run away, she was sure of it. She remembered how cross she had been with them, how subdued they had appeared this morning and how tragic the broken teapot must have appeared. Oh God, what had she done? Allowing her own children to believe a china teapot mattered more to her than them!

This and other equally morbid thoughts ran through her head as Janice hurried with her back to the house.

Half an hour later Janice, now as pale as Tara was herself, was forced to concede defeat.

‘There’s nothing else left but to call the police, love,’ she said softly. ‘Shall I do it, or…’

Tara shook her head. ‘I’ll do it,’ she managed in a voice that cracked with pain.