On entering the house in January, Victoria had found the large oak-dominated hall, with its winding staircase and mellow wooden floor, enticingly reminiscent of another, more tranquil era. It was a house in which to raise a family, she had told Zac excitedly on their first viewing, the sunlight streaming in through the sash windows and the big high-ceilinged rooms that reflected every scrap of light and space, her idea of a real home.
Zac had smiled indulgently at her enthusiasm, whilst pointing out the pitfalls of an older house, but he had bought it the next day, warts and all. And now she would never live in it.
'I don't want to go inside,' Victoria insisted again as Zac opened the passenger door and held out his hand to help her alight. 'We can talk just as well in the car, can't we?'
'Don't be ridiculous.' He had never spoken to her with such scathing disdain, but she preferred his ridicule to stepping inside the home she had dreamt about more times than she would like to remember over the last few weeks. And the dreams always had one conclusion—she and Zac entwined in their enormous king-size bed, the wildly expensive silk sheets which Zac had insisted on with wicked relish soft and sensuous beneath her naked limbs. 'What do you think I'm going to do—take you by force as soon as the front door closes?' he asked derisively. 'Now come and have a coffee and let's at least pretend to be two civilised people.'
She didn't feel civilised, Victoria thought miserably as she scrambled reluctantly out of the car, ignoring his outstretched hand and nearly sprawling headlong into the drive as a result of her defiance. In fact every time she thought of him with Gina she wanted to bite and kick and destroy. She just hoped the article she had read a day or so ago in one of the mother magazines she had bought, which stated that the unborn child picked up its mother's thoughts and brain patterns, was wrong. Otherwise she'd be giving birth to a miniature Rambo with psychopathic tendencies.
The hall was as beautiful as she remembered it, the two Shaker-style wooden chairs with floral-style woven silk seats at either side of an antique chest on which a vase crammed full of trailing roses stood looking just as she had pictured they would They had been due to be delivered the first week of their honeymoon, and so Victoria hadn't seen them in residence before.
She felt the tears begin to well up and spoke quickly, her voice clipped, to quell the flow. 'The chairs look very nice.'
'Damn the chairs.' It was pure Zac, and in any other circumstances would have brought forth a smile. Now laughter was the last thing on her mind as Victoria followed the big, broad figure of her husband through to the huge farmhouse kitchen at the back of t
he house, which opened up on to a large and very gracious Victorian conservatory. 'Sit down.' Zac indicated one of the plumply upholstered cane sofas dotted about the conservatory through the open kitchen doors. 'I'll bring the coffee through.'
The back garden was a good deal larger than the front, about a third of an acre in all, and laid mainly to lawn with a thick border of mature trees and bushes that shielded the grounds from being overlooked. A few apple and pear trees dotted the lawned area, along with strategically placed benches positioned to benefit their occupants of the leafy shade, and it was to one of these that Victoria made her way, walking right through the conservatory and out into the sleeping garden.
The air was thick with the scents of summer, the air slumberous and still in the July heat, and as Victoria sank down onto the warm wood she found her legs were trembling and weak with trepidation.
She had to tell him about the baby now—she should have done it that day a week ago, Victoria thought miserably, leaning her head back against the smooth wood and shutting her eyes. That was another thing she didn't understand, this overwhelming tiredness she felt all the time. Even on the nights she did sleep well she woke up just as exhausted, and she hated feeling like this. She hated feeling tearful, she hated the constant nausea, she just hated everything, although it was some small comfort to know from the other pregnant women at the clinic that a good few of them felt just the same.
Self-pity threatened to overwhelm her, and she pushed it away determinedly, settling herself more comfortably on the sun-warmed bench. A lone aeroplane droned monotonously in the cloudless blue sky above, and Victoria could hear the odd bee or two buzzing for pollen in the background, but suddenly it was too much effort to open her eyes.
When Zac joined her she would tell him about the baby whilst emphasising she still wanted a divorce, and then the peace would be well and truly shattered, she thought wearily. For now she was taking a minute or two to rest in the calm before the storm; she had a feeling she was going to need it.
When Victoria next opened her eyes it was with the sensation that she was struggling up through layers of thick cotton wool, the exhaustion that had blanketed her senses taking a second or so to fade as she tried to adjust her mind to where she was.
The air was cooler. That was the first thing that registered in her dazed mind. And the dusky shadows of evening were beginning to stretch across the lawn. That was the second. The third was Zac's intent, narrowed gaze as she turned her head and saw him stretched out on a blanket at the side of her, an open briefcase and scattered papers all around him telling her he had been working while she had slept. And working for some time by all accounts.
'Oh, I'm sorry.' Victoria couldn't believe she had fallen asleep like that, her horrified face speaking for itself as she struggled upright, and hot colour staining her cheeks scarlet. 'What time is it?' she asked confusedly. 'Is it late?'
'Just gone seven,' Zac said expressionlessly.
'Seven?' She had slept for over five hours, she thought feverishly. What must he be thinking?
She found out what he was thinking when Zac said, his voice still level and even, 'Victoria, I'm going to ask you something, and I want a truthful answer. Are you ill?'
'What? No, no, I'm not ill,' she said hastily. She hadn't wanted it to be as abrupt as this, but suddenly there was no other way to say it. 'I'm…I'm expecting a baby. That's what I wanted to talk to you about,' she said hesitantly, feeling suddenly shy.
He didn't move a muscle, not even a flicker of those thick black eyelashes, and Victoria found herself beginning to babble as she continued, 'That's…that's why I'm not feeling too good at the moment—morning sickness and all that. Of course it's natural, perfectly natural, but that doesn't help much when it's happening.' She stopped abruptly; she was handling this all wrong. 'I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, in Tunisia,' she said more slowly, 'but I just couldn't.'
'You felt you should tell the father first.' It was a statement not a question, and for a moment she didn't understand what he was getting at And then it hit her, like a vicious body blow in the solar plexus, whitening her face to chalk and strangling anything she would have said in her throat as the pain gripped her with merciless fingers. 'Did you plan it?' he asked grimly, and now there was a very strange expression on his face that frightened her. 'Did you plan it?' he repeated in a low growl.
The shock was still so great that her vocal cords seemed frozen, but she managed a shake of her head as he rose slowly to his feet to stand looking down at her with savage revulsion.
'So it was an accident.' Dark colour stained the chiselled cheekbones, his midnight-black eyes bitter. 'On your part at least, but I have no doubt that Howard knew exactly what he was doing. He's in love with you and you presented him with the perfect opportunity. And this is our noble, holier-than-thou William, is it?'
'You've got this all wrong.' But she had left it too late to protest her innocence, and her confusion and panic didn't impress him in the least, his eyes flicking over her with grim fury.
'Sure I have,' he snarled viciously.
'I mean it,' she said desperately, trying to form coherent words through the whirlwind in her head. 'I didn't… We haven't—'
She wasn't making much sense but he seemed to understand what she was trying to say anyway, his face contemptuous as he glared at her with narrowed, glittering eyes. 'Don't give me that, not now,' he bit out furiously. 'You knew he was crazy about you and what could happen when you ran to him for comfort. You knew. You lived in his home, for crying out loud, and then he visited you in Tunisia—-how many times? Two, three, four? Why would he take all the time and trouble to follow you like that if you weren't having an affair? He wanted to hide you away out there, didn't he? Give himself more time to convince you you'd married the wrong man. And he's succeeded beyond his wildest expectations.'
'It wasn't like that,' she protested. Why wouldn't he listen!