Anne Mather - Captive Destiny

Emma plugged in the kettle. ‘Why not?’

‘Why? Why, because—because—how do you know it’s his father who wants to see you? How do you know it’s not some devious—–’

‘Gilda!’ Emma’s impatient use of her name silenced her. ‘Don’t be foolish! Jordan Kyle isn’t interested in me. Good heavens, you said yourself he was involved with Stacey Albert! And in any case, aren’t you forgetting—I’m married!’

‘Is that what you call it?’ retorted Gilda sharply. ‘Being at the beck and call of a man who’s only half a man!’

‘Gilda!’ Emma was trembling now as much with nervous reaction as indignation, although she would never have admitted it. ‘Gilda, David isn’t responsible for his condition.’

‘Isn’t he?’ Gilda was unsympathetic. ‘Who is, then? Who else was at the wheel of the car if it wasn’t himself? He was alone when they found him, wasn’t he? You can’t blame yourself for that.’

‘I don’t. I just wish you wouldn’t talk like that about—about my husband.’

‘But he’s not your husband, is he?’ pursued Gilda relentlessly. ‘He never has been. And don’t forget, I was with you that week before the wedding. I know the doubts you had, long before Master Ingram chose to smash himself, and your relationship, before it had even been consummated.’

‘Oh, Gilda …’ Emma dropped two teabags into the pot. ‘Must you keep bringing that up? David and I are married. We’ve been married for almost four years. Why can’t you accept it? There’s no point in thinking about what might have been. This is here and now, and there’s no—no—–’

‘Escape?’ suggested Gilda dryly, but Emma vigorously denied it.

‘No. I was about to say there’s no—altering it. That’s all.’

‘All right.’ Gilda finished the sandwich and delicately licked her fingers. ‘So where does that leave us? Oh, yes—Jordan’s invitation to temptation.’

‘Gilda!’ The kettle boiled at that moment, and she made the tea with hands that spattered drops of boiling water all over the papers on the desk. ‘Jordan’s father is ill. He wants to see me before—in case—anything happens.’

‘I see,’ Gilda nodded.

‘That’s confidential, Gilda.’

‘Of course,’ Gilda agreed. ‘But that doesn’t answer the question, does it? Are you seriously considering going?’

‘I don’t know …’ Emma added milk to the teacups. ‘I honestly don’t know.’

The chiming of the shop bell brought their conversation to an abrupt halt, and leaving Gilda to drink her tea in peace, Emma went to attend to the customer. For the rest of the afternoon, she was kept busy and although she knew that Gilda only had her well-being at heart, she was relieved. The whole situation was too new, too fraught with difficulties, to discuss coherently, and the arrival of Gilda’s latest boy-friend just before closing time curtailed any prolonged farewells.

‘See you Friday,’ she called, as she left the shop, but she was not unaware of her employer’s impatience at the knowledge that it would be two days before she heard her decision.

Outside, Frank Horner’s Jaguar was parked at the kerb. A man in his early fifties, he had already been married twice before, and Gilda was his present quarry. Gilda herself took him much less seriously. She had not reached the age of forty-two without learning a little about the opposite sex, and while her slim figure and good looks attracted plenty of attention, she seldom got seriously involved with anyone. She was a career woman, first and foremost, and the income from the shop more than compensated any need for security. Emma doubted she would ever get married, despite Frank Horner’s ambitions.

David’s mother had left by the time she got home, and to her relief David was engrossed in his study, working on his present commission. He spared a moment to greet her, and then, while she set the casserole she had prepared at lunchtime on a low light and went to bathe and change before serving their evening meal, he returned to his work.

Later, eating their meal from a serving trolley set before the fire in the drawing room, Emma let herself relax. It was pleasant in the lamplit room with the television playing away quietly in one corner, there to be seen or not as the mood took her. She could almost convince herself that they were any ordinary couple sitting eating their supper together, until David got bored with quiet domesticity and thrust his tray savagely aside.

‘God, I wish this weather would improve!’ he muttered, reaching for the bottle of Scotch on the table beside him and splashing a generous measure into his glass. ‘I’m so sick of being confined to this house, day in and day out! I get so bored I could scream!’

Emma gathered the dirty dishes together on to the trolley. ‘We could go out tomorrow, if you like,’ she offered mildly, looking up to see his reaction, and predictably, he scowled.

‘With you driving?’ he demanded, and then shook his head. ‘You know I hate being driven by a woman.’

‘I know that. But unless you do—–’

‘I know, I know. Don’t remind me. Unless you drive, I can’t go anywhere.’

‘David, you know you could have transport …’

‘One of those ghastly three-wheelers? No, thanks!’

‘No. I believe there are other vehicles—–’

‘It doesn’t matter. They’re all the same. They all have disabled driver on the back.’

‘Well, that’s what you are, David,’ Emma pointed out quietly. ‘Surely you see that if you could only accept that, things would be so much easier …’

‘For you, you mean. Would it take some of the guilt from your shoulders knowing I was mobile?’

Emma sighed. They had had this argument before and it always ended the same. ‘David, accepting your disability would make it easier for you, too. Don’t you see? There’s so much in life to enjoy—–’

‘Not in my life. I’m just a living vegetable. I just about manage to feed and clothe myself, and that’s all.’

‘You have your work …’

‘My work!’ David snorted. ‘Do you think I don’t know that all the jobs I get now are second-rate commissions? Langley never sends me anything worthwhile any more. That’s why he never comes here. He daren’t show his face.’

‘David, Harry Langley doesn’t come here because you’re so unpleasant to him when he does, that’s all. And I think you’re wrong. The commissions he sends you are good commissions. It’s just that you don’t take the—the interest in them that you used to do.’

‘Don’t give me that! I’m interested all right. David Ingram used to be a name to be reckoned with, and I’m not about to give that up.’

‘Then—then stop feeling so sorry for yourself!’ exclaimed Emma urgently. ‘And stop drinking so much. That’s the second bottle of Scotch you’ve started this week.’

‘Who’s counting?’ retorted David, and deliberately refilled his glass.

Shaking her head, Emma rose and wheeled the trolley out of the room. It was useless trying to reason with him, particularly when he’d been drinking. His self-pity was absolute, and she could see no end to it.

As she loaded the dishes into the sink, she pondered the improbabilities of her life thus far. Gilda had been accurate about the doubts she had had before her marriage to David. There had been times in those weeks before the wedding when she had considered calling the whole thing off. She had not loved David as she should have done, but he had known that and wanted her anyway, and she had foolishly allowed herself to be persuaded.

It was all down to her feelings for Jordan Kyle. Maybe if she had never known him, her affection for David would have been enough. As it was, she had known what love could be like between a man and a woman, and didn’t they always say that a woman never forgot her first affair?