Penny Jordan - Marriage Without Love

‘One thing at least hasn’t changed,’ he said unkindly, pausing to watch the wary expression creep into her eyes. ‘At least not if all the gossip one hears is correct. It seems you still enjoy turning men on and then freezing them off. With one notable exception.’

Briony gasped at the unfairness of the accusation, and the cynical, twisted smile which had accompanied his last words, and was just about to demand an explanation when Kieron added acidly:

‘You’ve made how you feel about me quite plain, Briony. You hate and loathe me, right?’

When she didn’t comment, he breathed out sharply, anger etched deep in his face.

‘God, you must want to keep this job very badly!’

‘Very badly,’ Briony agreed coolly, hoping that her voice wouldn’t betray anything that she was feeling. How on earth she was going to work for Kieron and keep her sanity she did not know, but work for him she must.

‘So that you can be with Matt?’

Before Briony could get over the shock of the accusation, Kieron was saying with bitter contempt, ‘Is that what your taste runs to these days? He’s not a man, he’s a babe in arms!’

Briony went white, but Kieron had already turned away. She fumbled for a piece of paper and put it in her typewriter, her fingers rattling over the keys in an even staccato rhythm, but the typewritten words were blurred by a mist of tears she was powerless to control.

IT was after seven when Briony stepped wearily off the bus at the end of her road. There had been a last-minute panic necessitating recall of an article and she had worked late to help Doug get the crisis sorted out. The adrenalin flow which had helped her through the day had abated, leaving her feeling drained and exhausted. Her feet dragged as she walked up the tree-lined avenue. It had been a perfect spring day, and now as long golden shadows fell across the pavement the last liquid notes of birdsong filtered sweetly through the air.

She had a long way to commute, but she had particularly wanted a house with at least some pretensions towards being rural. She knew North London wasn’t fashionable and people raised their eyebrows when they discovered how far out of town she was, but the house had a long back garden, which was enclosed with hedges and boasted half a dozen wizened apple trees, and in the spring when they were in blossom and the cherry trees flowered along the surburban pavements she could almost convince herself it was as good as the country.

She had bought the house three years ago, a necessity rather than a luxury, and as well as realising her modest investments she had had to take on a seemingly huge mortgage. House prices had soared since the sale of her parents’ old home, especially in London, and she had been desperate when she found this house. Split into two self-contained flats, it was ideal for what she needed and she occupied the lower flat, the upper being let to an Italian couple who were living in England on a temporary basis. They had a baby girl and Briony got on very well with them, especially Gina, who was her own age and very much on her wavelength.

Gina was waiting for her when she opened the front door, and her heart instantly started to pound with fear, her mouth dry with dread.

‘Has.…’

‘Everything is fine,’ Gina soothed her fondly. ‘Never have I known such an anxious mamma! It is because you cannot be with your child as you would wish. This I understand. I came down merely to get his night things, he is tired from playing in the garden.…’

Relief swept over her in a wave and she sagged against the door, her face white with strain. This was the penalty she must pay for being a working mother. Gina watched over Nicky as though he were her own child, she knew that, and yet always at the back of her mind was the consuming fear that something might happen to him through her inability to be with him; that he would need her and she would not be there. She was lucky to have Gina, she knew. The Italian couple had been desperate when they came to her, and she had let them have the flat at a very modest rent, but she had never regretted it, and in return Gina, who did not work, had looked after Nicky. When her own baby had arrived ten months after Nicky’s birth he had been fascinated by the child, and Briony bitterly regretted that he, like her, would never know the pleasure of having brothers and sisters.

They went upstairs together, Gina pushing open the door to her flat and standing aside as a small dark-haired tornado flung himself into Briony’s open arms. As she cradled the soft and infinitely precious body of her son in her arms Briony gave a tiny sigh of relief. He smelled of baby powder and clean skin, his dark, thick hair still damp from his bath, his eyes huge and reproachful as he asked where she had been.

‘I’ve been at work, earning lots of pennies,’ she told him softly.

Nicky knew that his mummy had to earn pennies, but Briony still felt an unbearable pang every time she had to tell him. She had already missed so much of his young life and he was growing up so quickly. Gina was more of a mother to him than she was.

‘He’s had his tea,’ Gina told her with a smile. Briony thanked her without taking her eyes off her son, her expression illuminated with love and pride. The people who worked with her would never have recognised Doug’s cold, withdrawn secretary in this adoring young woman. Tonight as she went over each belovedly familiar feature she found herself scrutinising them more than normal, her heart thumping betrayingly.

‘Have you been good for Gina?’ she asked him.

He nodded solemnly, eyes twinkling, and Briony’s heart contracted on a wave of love. He had wound his way so tenaciously into her heart and life, this child whom she had borne in such pain and despair, without realising that her love for him would far outweigh the circumstances of his birth.

‘Go and get your toys for Mummy,’ Gina instructed him, closing the living room door behind him as he toddled off obediently. Italian parents adored their children and spoiled them lavishly, and yet they were also wise in teaching them good manners and obedience. Briony too was firm about not giving in to the impulse to over-compensate for her absences by too much indulgence, and already Nicky knew what was and was not permissible.

He was an attractive child, with soft dimples and a roguish smile, his dark curly hair making him easily mistakable for Gina’s own child. Briony never made any attempt to hide her unmarried state. She was proud of her son and loved him dearly, but she also wanted him to grow up in truth.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked Gina anxiously as she closed the door.

‘Nothing really. It was just that while we were in the Park today Nicky started asking about his father. He’s very intelligent, you know, Briony. He sees that Caterina has a mummy and daddy and constantly he asks me what has happened to his daddy.’ She saw the look of anguish in Briony’s eyes and mistaking its cause said gently, ‘Can it really be that his father does not want him? Surely.…’

‘His father doesn’t even know he exists,’ Briony told her harshly, taking a deep breath. ‘Oh, Gina, please don’t ask me about him. Not tonight of all nights. I just couldn’t bear it.…’

‘For Nicky’s sake you must,’ Gina said gently. ‘You cannot fob him off for ever. Soon he will be old enough for play school, and children can be so unkind.…’

‘One-parent families are nothing unusual these days,’ Briony defended, ‘and surely Nicky is better off with me than with two parents who fight continuously, or worse—–’