‘That could be for quite a long time. You’re young, only twenty-six. What happens if you fall in love?’
He was watching her very carefully now and Jessica knew that much hung on her response to this question. It was ridiculous that she should have this strange desire to convince him that she was a suitable candidate for the position as his wife, but she refused to dwell on her feelings, merely saying coolly. ‘That will never happen. You see…’ she let her eyes meet his, gold tangling with blue, ‘I do not happen to believe in ‘‘falling in love’’. It’s a euphemism, used at best to describe the emotional side of a strong physical desire for someone, and at worst as a crutch for the self-deluded.’
He looked at her for a long time and then said softly, ‘Tell me, have you ever had a lover?’
Jessica didn’t hesitate, knowing that she must convince him that it was not from any virginal fear of sex that she shrank from the commitment of marriage. Quite truthfully, she told him that she had and watched the way he controlled his reaction to her response, without adding that she had found it a singularly uninspiring experience and one which she had not bothered to repeat once that frail relationship had fizzled out, unable to survive the strain of their mutual disappointment in the physical expression of their desire.
Since then she had found it quite easy to rebuff any men who approached her sexually and privately she considered herself to be possessed of a rather low sex-drive, but that was not something she was going to impart to him. For one thing it was something it was not necessary for him to know, and for another… Mentally she dwelt on the sheer masculinity of the length and breadth of him and acknowledged that unlike hers, his physical experience was probably both vast and pleasurable.
It came as something of a shock therefore to hear him saying equably, ‘Well, I hope you don’t expect to find another in me. The one thing I don’t want from marriage is sex.’
It was obvious from the way he was looking at her that she had not managed to conceal her astonishment as well as she had thought.
‘And no, I don’t have a lover,’ he added harshly, ‘and neither do I want one. To put it bluntly, the effects of my wife’s death are such that I doubt if emotionally I am capable of making love. Well,’ he challenged, in the silence that had fallen, ‘do you still feel you want to marry me?’
‘Yes, provided I can get on with the children.’ How deeply he must have loved his wife! She was surprised to discover how unacceptable she found that knowledge.
It was not the answer she had intended to give at all, and she could hardly understand why she had given it. Plainly he was equally astonished. To cover up her own inner shock she added crisply, ‘Your sexual prowess or lack of it is of no interest to me. All I want from you is…’
‘The protection of my name as your husband. Yes, yes, you’ve already told me that.’
He really was the most exasperating, rude man. Jessica fumed on the point of whirling round and walking out on him, when they both heard the sound of a car outside.
She watched him stride over to the window, his lean body moving with a totally unexpected grace.
‘My sister,’ he told Jessica flatly. ‘She’s got the boys with her. Do you want to stay and meet
them?’
Tacit acceptance of the role she might be going to play in their lives? Jessica didn’t know, but suddenly she no longer wanted to leave.
‘Too late, they’re on their way in.’
The door opened to admit a tall dark woman with strained blue eyes which brightened immediately she saw Jessica, although she was careful to pretend that she had no idea who she was or what she was doing here, Jessica noted, watching her.
‘You can stop the theatricals, Justine,’ the hard flat male voice instructed. ‘She knows it was all your idea.’
‘Honestly, Lyle.’ Impatience edged up under the wryly affectionate response.
So his name was Lyle. Unusual, but she quite liked it.
‘I’d better introduce myself. I’m Justine Wheeler, Lyle’s sister.’
‘And matchmaker extraordinaire,’ Lyle supplemented drily, breaking off as he realised the two boys were watching sullenly from the doorway.
‘Come on in, you two.’
Turning to watch them Jessica recognised in their faces all the resentment and misery that had dogged her own teenage years. How well she could remember how fear and pain was blocked out with defiance and silence.
‘Stuart, James, say hello to…’
‘Jessica,’ Jessica supplied for Justine, as she made the introductions. She made no attempt to touch or talk to the boys, but subtly let them know that she was aware of their presence, including them in her comments to Justine about her journey and the state of Lyle’s garden.
It was acutely painful to watch their cautious approach to her. They were so frightened of being hurt that they instinctively recoiled from anything they themselves did not originate.
It was the elder one who spoke to her first, Stuart. ‘Is that your car?’ he demanded to know in a tone almost as truculent as that of his father, and watching the frown creasing the latter’s forehead Jessica had to fight against an absurd desire to protect the child from his father’s wrath.
‘Yes, it is, do you like it?’