‘I know how you must be feeling,’ she prompted, concealing her irritated impatience. She had other things to do. She didn’t want to leave Nick on his own for too long at this stage. She didn’t want him getting cold feet, changing his mind. Not that he could afford to. She had seen to that.
‘If it weren’t for my baby…’ She lowered her head mock modestly. ‘You can see, can’t you, that I… we have to put him first.’
‘Yes, I can see that,’ Fern agreed calmly.
If they did, it would probably be for the one and only time in Nick’s or her life, she reflected ironically, as she watched Venice fight to control the triumph gleaming in her eyes. It was plain that she felt she was on safer ground now. Her head came up, her body tensing almost like that of a fighter.
‘There will have to be a divorce, of course… and quickly. Nick will accept full responsibility… admit adultery. He’ll make the house over to you, of course…’ Venice paused delicately. ‘And provided there aren’t any problems… any delays…’ She stressed the word, looking directly at Fern for the first time. ‘I’m sure he?
?ll want to make proper financial arrangements for you…’
First the threat and then the bribe, Fern reflected. What kind of woman was Venice? Did she honestly think that, if Fern had actually really loved Nick, she would have wanted to put him through the misery of a long-drawn-out and acrimonious divorce? Love meant putting the other person’s needs first, not one’s own. And as for that comment about the house and the money, Nick must be besotted with Venice if he had agreed to that.
For the first time she allowed something of her own feelings to enter her voice as she told Venice coolly and very drily, ‘That’s very generous of Nick, but quite unnecessary.’ It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Venice that the last thing she wanted was any kind of reminder of the misery her marriage had been, much less this house which Nick had always so determinedly claimed was his and his alone.
Venice looked nonplussed. ‘You mean you’ll agree to the divorce?’ she questioned.
Fern permitted herself a small inner smile. ‘How can I not?’ she responded sorrowfully. ‘For the baby’s sake.’
She could see that her capitulation coupled with her rejection of the money had confused Venice, who now did not seem to know exactly what to do.
‘Nick’s clothes…’ she suggested. ‘You’ll want… If you’d like to wait I could pack them… or…’
Venice stared at her. Could this woman be real? Her contempt for her grew. How could she be so submissive, so… so accepting?
Fern could see the look Venice was giving her, but of course what the other woman did not know was that the last thing she wanted now was for Nick to come round, change his mind. The last thing she wanted was any further contact with him.
It didn’t take her long to pack; she literally threw everything into the suitcases, reflecting with savage satisfaction that it would no longer be her job to keep his pure cotton shirts flawlessly uncreased, his wool suits immaculately pressed, his shoes cleaned.
Not that she could see Venice performing any of those tasks for him.
As she heaved the final case downstairs, Venice came out of the sitting-room. She was holding a small booklet in her hand.
‘I was just reading this. I hadn’t realised that the Broughton House gardens had been designed by Gertrude Jekyll.’
‘Yes, they were,’ Fern agreed. ‘Mrs Broughton showed me the actual plans.’
‘Do you know where they are now?’ Venice demanded. Fern looked at her. ‘The plans?’ Venice prompted excitedly. ‘Do you know where they are?’
‘Well, I presume they’re with the rest of her papers, with her solicitor,’ Fern responded.
What on earth had prompted Venice’s excited interest in Broughton House’s gardens? Fern wondered curiously.
‘So it’s agreed, then?’ Venice announced, after Fern had carried the final case out to the car for her. ‘You won’t contest the divorce and, in return, Nick will sign the house over to you and make you an allowance?’
‘I shan’t contest the divorce,’ Fern told her quietly, and she certainly didn’t intend to accept any money for her compliance.
Her compliance… Why hadn’t Nick told Venice that she, Fern, had already announced that she wanted a divorce?
With that kind of deceit between them, how could their relationship—their marriage succeed? But then that was their worry and not hers…
Thank goodness.
She glanced at the phone. She would ring Cressy, tell her what had happened, ask her what she thought of her moving to Bristol.
She couldn’t believe how good she felt… how relaxed… relieved… how happy… how free…
* * *