Diana Hamilton - The Faithful Wife

She glanced up at him, but his features told her nothing. Blank. So what was new? Hadn’t he always closed her out, guarding his emotions, keeping them to himself? Except when they’d been making love, she recalled unwillingly, feeling the colour come and go on her face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, her voice thick.

She didn’t know why she was apologising. His sister was just as much to blame as hers. She heaved another log onto the fire, for something to do with her hands. She didn’t know where to put herself; the sudden, swamping embarrassment at having been forced into this situation was intense.

He said nothing. Just stared at her. Bella verbalised her thoughts, putting everything in order, hoping that that would help her cope.

‘They’ve been friends ever since we married. But you know that, of course. They obviously hatched the idea of getting us back together.’ She smiled thinly, an acknowledgement of the vain futility of that forlorn hope. ‘Kitty was to get you here, on some pretext or other, while my devious sister drove me down and dumped me. It would have been Evie who hung around until she knew you’d arrived, then spiked your car.’

She saw one dark brow slowly rise at that, but didn’t grasp the significance—not then. She moved, heading for the kitchen. ‘I’ll make tea. But I warn you, there won’t be any milk.’ She was trying to be adult about this—this dreadful situation. They were in it together whether they liked it or not, until the morning anyway, and there was no point in behaving like a pair of squabbling children, sulking and not speaking to each other.

‘Try the fridge,’ he offered drily. He’d followed her through. She wished he hadn’t. It was easier to act normally if there was space between them.

Bella plugged in the kettle she’d filled earlier. It felt more like a hundred years than a couple of hours ago since she’d heard the car arrive and had confidently expected Evie to come in out of the cold, needing a hot cup of tea.

She shook her head slightly at his suggestion, even managing a small, condescending smile. There would be no fresh provisions; she already knew that. But she crossed to the fridge and opened it, simply to humour him.

No one could have crammed another item in, even with a shoehorn. Her wretched sister’s doing! She’d been nothing if not thorough! She’d been out all day yesterday—Christmas shopping, she’d said. When in reality she must have come up here, stocked the fridge, made sure everything was ready.

‘I can’t believe it,’ she said thinly.

Jake standing beside her now, murmured, ‘No?’

Bella closed her eyes. Her head spun as the warm, intimate male scent of him overpowered her, forcing her to remember how it had once been for them: the deep, endlessly intense need, the hopes, the dreams, the loving—oh, the loving...

‘Aren’t you going to read it?’

The laid-back taunt made her eyes flip open, erotic memories thankfully slipping away, extinguished by his obvious and habitual disbelief in her which released her to enquire breathlessly, ‘Read what?’

‘Oh, come on, honey!’ He reached for the stainless steel handle and reopened the door.

Bella bit her lip. Why dredge up that old endearment? Why employ that tone—half-amused, half-exasperated? The tone he’d used when he’d continually brushed aside every last argument she’d ever produced whenever she’d tried to make him see things her way.

‘This is the next step in the game, I imagine.’ He indicated a rolled up piece of paper tied to a leg of the fresh turkey with a festive bow of scarlet ribbon. He removed it, closed the door with his foot and handed her the paper, his eyes coldly mocking. ‘Your cue to straighten things out, I guess. Exonerate yourself and put me in the picture—just in case I’ve lost the wits I was born with and am still staring into space, wondering why you’re here and Kitty isn’t.’

She dropped the paper as if it were contaminated. She was going to scream, have hysterics—she knew she was; she could feel the pressure building up inside her!

Turkey legs tied up with red ribbon! Cryptic notes he seemed to know all about! His attitude—oh, his attitude! Pitying yet contemptuous...

The paper was back in her hand almost before she knew it, his steely fingers closing over her own. ‘Read it,’ he demanded, his voice hard, intolerant of argument.

Hand on hand, fingers on fingers. The slight contact immediately became the core of her very existence. Every atom of her body, every beat of her pulse, was centred on his touch, the abrasive warmth of his skin, the underlying steel of sinew and bone.

A whole year, and nothing had changed—not for her. She only had to look at him to need him, and his touch—ah, his touch...

Her breath quivered in her lungs, fighting against the sudden, biting constriction of throat muscles, and his hand moved abruptly away, leaving her cold with a creeping coldness that invaded every part of her.

‘Well?’ he prompted cuttingly. ‘Don’t you want to know what it says? Or perhaps you already know? Dictated it, did you?’

Her eyes moved to his, locking with the black, glittering depths until she could no longer stand the pain. A deep shudder raked through her, and her fingers were shaking as she unfurled the note.

Despite everything, he still believed she was the prime mover, that she’d set this thing up. Well, he would, wouldn’t he? When had he ever believed a word she said?

It was the final straw, she thought, her eyes blurring as Evie’s distinctive scrawl danced around on the paper. Her hands flew to her face, hiding the scalding outpouring of silent, unstoppable tears, the paper fluttering to the floor again. And through the storm of her emotions she heard Jake move, heard him drawl, reading aloud, every word a bitter punishment.

‘You’ll forgive us eventually, I promise! But it’s all your own faults. Yes, really! You won’t see each other, talk to each other, even though you’re still crazy about each other. Yes, you are! So marooning you together was the only answer. We were driven to it! So work things out, for pity’s sake. Happy Christmas! E.’

And then silence. A long, hateful silence while the sobs built up inside her, threatening to pull her to shreds. How could Evie have done this to her? Dumped her in this hatefully embarrassing, hurtful situation?

They’d always been so close, looked out for each other since they were children—and now this, this shattering betrayal. Oh, how could she?

She’d accepted that something like this must have happened, but she hadn’t taken it in—not properly. Not until now.

The sheer awfulness of the situation hit her—Jake plainly believing she’d masterminded the entire thing, the gut-wrenching pain of seeing him, feeling his contempt, the deep anxiety she’d gone through when her sister hadn’t returned, her imagination working overtime, dreaming up worst-case scenarios!

Reaction set in, releasing a crescendo of weeping, her whole body shaking with the force of it. Then the shock of feeling his hands on her shoulders, turning her gently to face him, made it worse. So much worse.

She would die if he offered her the comfort of his arms, and she’d die if he didn’t!

He didn’t.

He wanted to hold her, but he didn’t. Hell, if he took her in his arms he’d be a lost man! Common sense, the self-discipline of a rational human being, the primary human urge towards self-protection—all down the drain.

His hands dropped to his sides. ‘Calm down. You’ll make yourself ill.’

His shoulders rigid, he turned to make that forgotten pot of tea. Her sobs were a little less frenzied now, he noted. The Bella he had known had never cried. She’d had, in his experience, a pragmatic approach to problems. Yet she was clearly distressed now—deeply distressed—and all he could do was offer her tea?