For Better for Worse

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘BUT where are we going?’ Gavin persisted, leaning forward between the front seats of the Daimler.

‘I’ve told you, it’s a surprise,’ Eleanor responded, adding firmly, ‘Put your seatbelt back on, please, Gavin.’

‘Yes, otherwise Marcus will have to go to prison,’ Tom cut in with such a mixture of virtue and relish that Eleanor couldn’t quite stop herself from laughing.

‘Thanks very much,’ Marcus murmured drily. ‘I’m delighted to see that the prospect of my potential detention at Her Majesty’s pleasure fills your offspring with so much despair.’

‘Oh, it would never happen,’ Eleanor assured him softly. ‘You see, I know this wonderful Q.C.’

‘Mmm… But can we afford him?’

Eleanor laughed, her fingertips resting briefly on his thigh as she whispered provocatively, ‘Oh, I think I can come up with an appropriate way of rewarding him.’

It had been a long time since they had indulged in this kind of trivial, almost adolescent sexual banter, she recognised when Marcus made what was quite obviously an unnecessary change of gear, the muscles beneath her fingertips flexing slightly as he did so.

Last night they had made love with a passion and vigour which had been missing from their sex life for some months. She suspected that it was her excitement over the house which had helped to throw off the tension-induced restraint which had been inhibiting her lately.

Certainly Marcus had noticed the difference, murmuring appreciatively in her ear, ‘Mmm… We really should do this more often, you know.’

It seemed he had meant it, too, because he had made love to her again this morning, not in the comfortable warmth of their bed, but in the shower, surprising her not just with the unexpectedness of his desire for her, but with its intensity as well.

How long was it since they had made love like that… quickly and impetuously, so eager and hungry for one another that she had been crying out to him to enter her almost within seconds of his touching her, and then still wanting him enough to go on to caress him slowly and deliberately into a second erection?

Not since the early days of their marriage. Not even last year, on holiday in Greece.

The villa they had hired had been beautifully situated, immaculately clean and more than large enough for all of them, but by some trick of Greek architecture it had also had an accoustic receptiveness more suited to an auditorium than a private home.

The holiday had been ruined for her on the second morning when over breakfast Vanessa had insisted on monotonously kicking her foot against the base of the table around which they were all seated eating their breakfast.

It had been Marcus who had suggested mildly that he would like her to stop, since the noise she was making was both intrusive and unnecessary, to which she had replied triumphantly, throwing a malicious look at Eleanor, ‘Well, now you know what it was like for me last night listening to the two of you…’

Marcus’s curt, ‘Vanessa,’ had stopped her before she could go any further, but her comment had ensured that the holiday was ruined for Eleanor, and if she was honest she would have to admit that ever since then, even if Vanessa was not in the house, she had felt slightly tense and on edge whenever they did make love.

But not last night and certainly not this morning, which was surely a good omen and proof that she was right to feel so confident and enthusiastic about the house. A small smile curled her mouth as she remembered the small betraying bruises she had found on her body this morning, the faint but very real and slightly provocative ache she could still feel within her body.

She remembered how with Allan she had always known when he had started a new affair because of the intensity with which he had made love to her. He had admitted to her after the divorce that it had been a volatile mixture of guilt and physical desire for his new lover which had been responsible for these bursts of passion.

Marcus, thank God, was not like Allan. He loved her. She and Allan had thought they were in love, but in reality they had married too quickly and too young, without really knowing enough about one another. She bore Allan no malice or resentment, and was just relieved that they had been able to develop an amicable enough post-divorce relationship to allow the boys to know that both of them loved them.

When the boys had first been born, Allan had been too immature to be a father, and she had transferred the love she had thought she felt for him to his sons. She had no

personal regrets over the ending of their marriage. From a personal point of view at least she had felt guilty about depriving the boys of their father, even though they had been so young when they divorced that they had scarcely any memories of them actually living as a family.

Marcus was very good with them, and after an initial period of natural suspicion and resentment at his role in her life both of them were beginning to develop strong bonds with him, or so she had believed.

In the back of the Daimler the boys were squabbling amicably over which tape they wanted to listen to. The weather forecast had predicted rain, but nothing could obscure the glow of pleasure and elation which Eleanor could almost feel encapsulating her.

She turned her head and smiled at Marcus. ‘I’m so excited,’ she told him huskily.

‘I know,’ he agreed wryly. ‘Eleanor, don’t—’

‘Mum, it’s my turn to choose. Tom chose last time.’

‘No, I didn’t… you did.’

‘Stop arguing, both of you,’ Eleanor told them firmly. ‘I’ll choose.’