Catherine O'Connor - Mandate For Marriage

‘You need to ask?’ she replied. It was all his fault. She had lost weight, and sleep, as she had struggled unsuccessfully to fight off the takeover that she felt sure he was planning. Now it all seemed sadly futile.

‘Still talking m riddles? Look, Fee, I know something has gone wrong, but surely we can work it out?’

There was a plea in his voice that sounded almost genuine, and Fee felt a momentary lapse.

‘Now is not the time to discuss personal issues,’ she retorted tartly.

‘No? I think our relationship, our marriage, is of paramount importance.’

‘It’s a pity you didn’t have that same conviction six months ago,’ she responded. She darted him a look, hoping that her gibe hurt, but she was disappointed. He remained unmoved by her caustic remark. His eyes fixed on hers. She smoothed her skirt down in a nervous gesture.

‘Stop pretending we’re here to discuss the distillery and nothing else,’ she added forcefully. She wanted to be a cool-headed businesswoman, in control, yet some-how already uncomfortable doubts were beginning to form.

‘Who’s pretending?’ he drawled mockingly. Fiona frowned; this was much too important a meeting to allow personal feelings free rein. They had other things to discuss, things of greater importance, and no doubt the real arguments would begin then.

‘Shall we go up to the offices?’ she said, changing the line of conversation abruptly and pushing her heavy chestnut-coloured fringe from her face. He obviously derived satisfaction from that gesture. It betrayed the fact that she was not as calm and poised as she looked.

‘OK,’ he replied quickly. This was going to be more difficult than she thought, Fiona admitted silently to herself as they crossed the foyer and made their way to the offices.

‘You’re very efficient this morning,’ he drawled as he walked confidently, his stride set with a purposefulness that rankled her.

‘Better late than never,’ she snapped back, wishing she had come to her senses sooner. Then she would never have been in this position. She had known this day would come, yet she had tried so hard to prevent it. Now, despite all her hard work, the day of reckoning had arrived. He had returned the true victor, ready to claim his spoils.

‘So you’ve come to your senses?’ he repeated. ‘And you now fully understand the situation?’ he taunted.

‘Yes, I do,’ she spat back. ‘I know exactly why we married and why you failed to return from America.’

‘I doubt that, Fee. As for my prolonged stay in the States, it was partly to help you,’ he said quietly.

‘Help me? Help yourself more like—to my family’s business—and, as for our marriage…’ she returned bitterly.

‘There was no coercion. You married me willingly, remember?’ he interrupted.

She swallowed the rising bile at the back of her throat as she recalled the claim he had made on her and how willingly she had given herself to him. At this moment she hated him, hated the pretence and the deceit, but, even more than that, she hated the hurt and vulnerability that he still aroused in her.

‘Let’s just stick to the reason why we are here,’ she clipped back, not wanting to be reminded of her own foolishness.

‘Yes, then at least we should have some common ground to build on,’ he replied blandly, ignoring the shadow of pain that flitted across her face.

‘Business is indeed the only area where we share a common interest,’ Fiona reminded him coolly, still striving to keep the conversation on a strictly nonpersonal level.

‘How things have changed,’ he said almost huskily as he increased his stride, and Fiona felt a momentary stab of remorse at his words. She kept pace with his long steps with difficulty, allowing her gentle brown eyes to skim over him. He had come dressed for business: his well-cut suit was dour and grey, his black shoes highly polished and his shirt pristine white, offset with the splash of a cool vine-green silk tie. Did he want to put their relationship behind them and stick to the matter in hand? He carried a slim leather briefcase in his hand and Fiona’s stomach sank when she spotted it. She knew what papers it contained and she blazed with a flare of anger and defiance.

‘Your visit to America appears to have been fruitful,’ she said pointedly.

‘I did telephone every day,’ he reminded her. ‘Had you taken my calls I would have told you exactly what was going on.’

A sudden flash of pain flickered in his eyes and Fiona wondered what had exactly gone on in America. He was usually so sure of himself, so confident of his power and his business capabilities.

‘I had no reason to take your calls. I was too busy trying to protect my business from a takeover.’ Fiona bit thoughtfully into her bottom lip; she had tried so passionately to raise the money herself but all the banks were reluctant, some of them positively hostile.

‘You’re joking! Why do you never listen to me? Your distillery is old-fashioned, you’re losing money hand over fist and have been for years. You British are just so sentimental,’ he accused.

‘I couldn’t stomach the alternative. This area suffers enough from unemployment,’ she said through gritted teeth. His tough American business acumen left no room for feeling, Fiona felt. He couldn’t understand her commitment to the area. She sighed audibly; her family had given so much to this place, they were part of it, part of the Lowlands. Their hearts were here, as they had been for generations.

‘I didn’t mention job losses, just reallocation. Anyway, you were keen enough to support Andrew Farr’s ideas,’ he said, angrily shaking his head in disbelief.

She sighed again. She knew sooner or later it would come back to Andrew. Grant’s distrust of him was partly fuelled by jealousy. She frowned, unaware that Grant was watching her. She was too preoccupied to notice. He marched into her office, shrugging his jacket from his broad shoulders and flinging it casually over a chair. He walked to the window and opened it, taking in great gulps of the crisp fresh air.

‘It’s stuffy in here,’ he noted, turning away from the open window and fixing his glacier gaze on her.

‘I haven’t been here very often.’ There was a breathless catch in her voice which she immediately tried to hide. I’ve been too busy…’ Her voice trailed away as he sat down, placing his briefcase in front of him. Fiona watched in silent fascination at his arrogance.

‘My sister was thinking of coming over later this year to have a look around,’ he commented casually.

‘Really?’ replied Fiona, trying to keep cool. She had longed to meet Grant’s older sister. He came from a large, loving family who had all seemed delighted with the news that he was marrying. His sister and Fiona had spoken on the phone and she seemed great fun. There was little point now, though. She wanted to make a clean break of it, to concentrate on keeping her family’s firm, and yet it hurt. Had she meant so little to him that he could forget everything? Maybe Andy was right, he was just using her. It wouldn’t be the first time she had fallen for such a ruse. She gave a bitter smile as she recalled Mark: he had been a third-year student at college, bright, popular and very attractive. In her innocence, Fiona had been flattered by his attentions, and it had been several months before she’d realised he was more interested in the distillery than in her.

‘I showed her the video we had taken of the area and she was very impressed,’ Grant continued, ignoring Fiona’s frosty response. She looked away, drawing a deep breath and releasing it with a shudder. She didn’t have the energy or inclination to waste her time on personal issues; he had betrayed her and she knew she could never forgive him. The long, lonely nights of the past six months had strengthened her convictions. She had longed for his return those first few weeks, but then the sheer pain and isolation of being alone had made her realise what a fool she had been. She flicked back a look of impatience and caught the stubborn tilt of his firm jaw. She watched him with increasing irritation as he made himself comfortably at home, rearranging the files on her desk till he had sufficient room. This was still her office, her domain, yet he had taken over with his usual self-assurance, every gesture and action reaffirming the fact that soon it would be his. Fiona wanted to object, but somehow it seemed churlish to mention the fact that he was sitting in her chair in her office. She sat down with a weary resignation and waited for him to speak. Suddenly all the pressures seemed to bear down upon her and she felt very tired. He glanced up at her.