A Whirlwind Marriage

Of course she could fetch the bamboo screen back in from where she’d placed it in the bathroom—she’d dispensed with its services as soon as she’d moved in, finding it just got in the way—and hide behind that while she dished the food up, but it wasn’t going to be easy. Oh, why hadn’t she thought of all the consequences before she’d thrown caution to the wind?

‘What time do you finish work?’

They had reached the shop and he turned her briefly to face him, his hand dropping from her elbow almost immediately.

‘Four. I’m working through my lunch hour because Mrs Polinkski says the world goes crazy from about eleven to three and then we’re shutting shop at four.’

They were talking as courteously as two strangers. He was regretting this evening, she thought miserably. She stared up into his dark face, searching for the right words to tell him he didn’t have to come, and that she perfectly understood how he felt about things—the comments relating to her freedom and no strings being attached had been crystal-clear—when he bent quickly and kissed her.

It was a hard kiss, and passionate, and certainly couldn’t have been mistaken for a friendly goodbye. One hand was clasping the back of her head and the other arm was wrapped round her back, and she could smell the intoxicating fragrance of him as he held her close to his hard male frame. The scent released a thousand erotic memories, and as the desire to moan against his lips rose overwhelmingly she jerked away, horrified at his power over her.

‘They…the Polinkskis might be watching,’ she stammered jerkily. ‘They know I’m separated and they might…might think—’

‘And they might think you’re a scarlet woman with a secret lover?’ he teased drily, but with a gentleness that made her sigh with relief that she hadn’t offended him.

‘You never know,’ she said with unintentional primness.

‘No, you never do,’ he responded with a quiet smile that made her want to leap on him. ‘I’ll be waiting at four, okay?’

‘Okay.’

And then he was gone, striding back down the street to where the BMW sat waiting, and she turned into the shop, her heart perfectly in tune with the joyous carols that met her ears from the supermarket’s speakers.

Zeke was back before four—just gone one, to be precise—and as she glanced up from serving another of the steady stream of customers that had filled the shop all day, Marianne felt her heart stop and then race on at express speed.

He looked cool and indifferent to the Christmas throng, the original ice-man, and she was so sure he was going to cancel their date that her mouth fell open in a little gape when he bent down and said, very quietly, in her ear, ‘Can I borrow your front door keys?’

‘What?’ She was aware of Mrs Polinkski and Kadia, who were manning the other two tills the small shop boasted, watching them interestedly, and she knew she was blushing a bright scarlet.

‘Your keys,’ Zeke repeated patiently. ‘I’ve bought a few things and I’d like to leave them in the bedsit if that’s all right?’

‘Oh, yes—yes, of course. I’ll just…’ She gazed round somewhat desperately. ‘My bag’s in the back.’

‘I can wait a while.’

She found it excruciatingly hard to concentrate on what she was doing, with every tiny sensor in her body aware of Zeke as he leant lazily against the far wall, his dark gaze trained on her hot face, but eventually she finished serving her customer, asked the next in the long queue to wait for a moment, and flew out to the back of the shop.

He levered himself upright as she reappeared, taking the keys with an enigmatic smile as his eyes lingered on her mouth long enough for her to feel hot all over.

‘I’ll see you later,’ she whispered feverishly, aware of their audience as Mrs Polinkski’s and Kadia’s eyes burnt a hole in her back.

He nodded. ‘Till four.’

It was typical of Zeke that he didn’t waste any words. When he spoke it was brief, concise and succinct, she thought ruefully as she watched the big dark figure walk out of the shop without a glance at anyone, regal and autocratic to the last. And then she caught at the wayward feeling of tenderness the thought evoked, forcing it under lock and key before it could run riot.

She loved him, but nothing had changed, not really, she told herself firmly. They might be sharing a Christmas meal tonight but they were separated still, and it didn’t look as though Zeke was any nearer to dealing with his personal demons.

But he had come to see her, the reckless, more abandoned Marianne breathed radiantly. He could have spent Christmas with any one of a number of besotted females, but he had sought her out. That meant something, didn’t it?

Pity? A feeling of responsibility? Guilt? the sensible little voice in her head said nastily. It could mean any one of those or all of them.

Or it could mean he hadn’t been able to stay away. But the radiance was dimming as the sensible part of her came to the fore.

She took a deep, steadying breath and turned back to the next customer, who had been watching events with some interest.

‘Your young man, is he, love?’ the little old lady with bright round button eyes and rosy-red apple cheeks asked in a stage whisper. ‘Bit of all right, ain’t he? Reminds me of my ’arry, he does.’

Marianne glanced at the pitifully meagre items in the basket, which included a roast turkey dinner for one, and as though the little woman guessed what she was thinking, she added quietly, ‘Lost ’im in the War, love. We’d only bin married six months. Over fifty years ago now, but I never married again—although I had offers. Oh, yes, I did an’ all.’ She nodded her head like a bright-eyed robin. ‘But no one measured up to my ’arry, if you know what I mean.’