A Whirlwind Marriage (2 page)

‘But your dress.
My
dress?’

‘That’s no problem. Zeke’s on first-name terms with several designers, and one of them—’ she’d mentioned a name that had brought Pat’s green eyes opening wider ‘—has just finished a special collection for a show in Paris all to do with weddings. One of the dresses—oh, Pat, you ought to see it—is just
gorgeous
, and he’s agreed to do your dress, too. So you see, everything is sorted.’

Pat’s lips had still been agape and she’d suddenly become aware of it, shutting her mouth with a little snap as she’d leant back in her seat with her eyes glued on Marianne’s face. ‘And you are sure, you’re absolutely sure this is what you want?’ she’d asked slowly.

‘Absolutely.’

‘I hate to be the original wet blanket, but have you considered that little phrase, “Marry in haste, repent at leisure”?’ Pat had asked almost apologetically.

‘No need.’ Her voice had been firm. ‘I’ve never been
more sure about anything in my life than I am about marrying Zeke.’

Marianne sat up straight suddenly, swishing the water into a foamy wave that sloshed over the side of the bath onto the ankle-deep carpeting below. And she
had
been sure, one hundred per cent sure, that she and Zeke were going to be blissfully content and happy ever after, she told herself, wrapping a massive fluffy bath sheet round her sarong-style and padding through to the master bedroom.

Once seated at her dressing table, she glanced at the row of costly perfume bottles and the set of mother-of-pearl jewellery boxes dripping with expensive items of jewellery without really seeing them, her mind winging back in time again.

She had repeated that conversation with Pat to Zeke word for word when he’d arrived to take her out to dinner later the same day.

Since the first afternoon they had met Zeke had insisted on driving down from London to her home village on the outskirts of Tunbridge Wells every evening, claiming that the thirty-plus miles from his offices in Lewisham barely gave the Ferrari time for a workout.

And she hadn’t tried to dissuade him
too
hard, she admitted to herself now, in spite of worrying about him dashing backwards and forwards each day. She had needed to see him every evening, to feel his strong arms about her, his lips on hers. He had been like a drug, a sensual, handsome, powerful and wildly intoxicating drug. He still was. Although now she understood that the very thing you craved above all else could carry a crushing price with it.

She should have known, from his reaction when she had innocently prattled on about Pat, that a serpent was rearing its head in her Garden of Eden.

‘So, our bridesmaid tried to warn you off me?’ Zeke had asked with dry amusement, his smoky grey eyes creasing at the edges as he’d smiled at her briefly before concentrating on the country road along which they’d been travelling. ‘I’ll have to have a word with her some time.’

There had been something, the slightest inflexion in his deep voice, that had suggested he wasn’t quite so amused by Pat’s cautionary advice as he’d seemed to be, and Marianne had glanced at the hard, handsome profile for a moment before she’d said, ‘She didn’t mean anything by it, Zeke. Pat’s just a little protective of me, I guess, since Mum died.’

‘She doesn’t need to be,’ he had answered lightly, but still with the slight edge to his voice. ‘I’m all the protection you need.’

She didn’t need any protection—she was more than capable of taking care of herself!

The words had hovered on her lips but she’d bitten them back—probably a grave mistake in hindsight, she thought now—but she’d been unwilling to spoil the lovely summer evening by prolonging what had suddenly become an awkward conversation. Their first awkward conversation.

‘Pat will see how it is the moment she meets you,’ she had said instead, as she listened to the voice of love telling her he had raced down from London after a hectic, long day—he was always at his office by seven in the morning—and she couldn’t expect him not to be a little tetchy now and again. And perhaps she’d been unwise to repeat the conversation with Pat. But she’d thought he’d laugh at the ridiculous notion that their love could waver, like she had. Still, men viewed these things differently, especially strong, decisive, capable men like Zeke.

She’d known he was as resilient and tough as they came; he’d had to be with the background he had come from.
Abandoned by his single parent mother when he was just a few months old, he had spent most of his childhood in and out of foster homes, with two attempts at adoption failing. But he’d had a brilliant mind and an even more formidable will, and at the age of eighteen—armed with four grade A A-levels—he had decided to put himself through university, studying every day and working every night and weekend to pay his way.

Three years later he had emerged into the world again with a first-class degree, and after two years of working all hours of the day and night he had earnt himself enough capital to start his own business.

That had been the start of a spectacularly swift climb to wealth and power which had made him—at the age of thirty-five—one of the richest men in his field.

Wise investments, shrewd business deals, ruthless takeovers and a reputation that he wasn’t someone to mess with had assured him of a place at the very top of the tree, and if she hadn’t seen the real Zeke—the tender, ardent lover and fascinating intellectual—he would have scared her to death.

But all she’d known at their first meeting, in the village street on a sunny July afternoon full of the scents of summer, was that the most amazing, magnetic man she had ever met wanted to take her out to dinner. And, at direct variance with her shy, reserved, gentle nature, she had answered eagerly in the affirmative. And so it had begun.

The sudden jarring call of the telephone cut in on her thoughts, and more out of habit than anything she rose and padded through to the breakfast room, where the answer-machine was situated.

‘Marianne?’ It was Zeke’s voice, impatient and slightly irritated. ‘Pick up the phone.’

Her hand was actually halfway to the receiver when she
stopped herself. Why did she always do what he said? she asked herself as her stomach lurched and trembled. She was a full-grown woman with a mind of her own. She didn’t
have
to pick up the phone if she didn’t want to.

‘Marianne?’ The deep dark voice was definitely terse now, and she pictured him in her mind’s eye, frowning at the inoffensive plastic that had dared to thwart him. ‘Hell, I haven’t got time for this. Are you in the bath or something? Look, I just wanted to check you’ve remembered to order that pâté Gerald Morton likes so much, the one from Harrods. I was going to remind you last night, but with all that happened—’ He stopped abruptly. ‘Anyway, get them to send some round if you haven’t done so already.’

She waited for a word of goodbye, something,
anything
, but there was just the sound of the receiver being replaced.

‘Damn Gerald Morton’s pâté.’ It was soft at first, and then she said it louder, her voice shaking,
‘Damn the rotten pâté!’
Their marriage was falling apart and he was worrying about a dinner party!

Purposefully now, she walked through to the beautiful drawing room to stand in front of the ornate fireplace above which hung their huge wedding portrait.

She ignored the young, glowing-faced girl on Zeke’s arm and stared instead at the tall dark figure of her husband, at the midnight-black hair cut severely short, which just emphasised his rugged appeal tenfold when added to the harsh, handsome face, the jawline square and uncompromising.

But it was his eyes that had first enchanted her that day two years ago. Grey, and of a warm smoky quality, they had floored her. Absolutely floored her. They still did.

When she had looked into his eyes during the early days of their relationship it hadn’t mattered that they came from
vastly different worlds. Zeke from a rags-to-riches background and a childhood devoid of love and stability, and she from a steady, non-eventful middle-class upbringing full of love and family values.

She had been only twenty when she’d met Zeke and had been sexually unawakened; he had had relationships with women from the age of sixteen and had been a cynical and worldly-wise thirty-five.

He hadn’t kissed her until their second date, however, the evening after the first day they’d met. But when he had drawn her into his arms in the intimate shadows inside her garden gate she had known why the fumbling attentions of her previous boyfriends had merely irritated and slightly disgusted her.

The subtle, spicy flavour of his aftershave, the hard lean body and devastating male sensuality had shaken her to her roots. By the time the kiss had finished she’d been trembling with passion and excitement, her heartbeat thudding in her ears and the blood rushing through her veins like hot mulled wine.

‘You’re special, Marianne.’ Zeke had pulled her closer into him as he had spoken, wrapping his arms around her as if to bind her to him. ‘Very, very special.’

She hadn’t been able to speak, she’d barely been able to stand, and when his mouth had taken hers again in a kiss that was powerful and hungry she’d responded wildly, knowing she hadn’t really been alive until that moment.

She had known by the end of that first week that she loved him and that she couldn’t live without him, the intensity of her love as frightening as it was thrilling.

The bath sheet slipped a little and she caught it to her, her eyes never leaving the cool, handsome face of her husband.

And when she had married him she had given him all
of herself—body, soul and spirit—withholding nothing.
Fool, fool, fool.

Pat was waiting for her when Marianne walked into the elegant and tranquil confines of Rochelle’s, and she was glad she had thought to ring in advance and reserve a table for two in her name. Or rather Zeke’s name, she thought a trifle bitterly. The magic name that opened myriad doors.

‘Annie!’ Pat bounced to her feet, her thick brown curls bobbing as she waved enthusiastically, as though the restaurant was crowded and busy instead of being virtually empty. In another half an hour, though, that would all change, and by one o’clock every table would be occupied. But for now it was blessedly quiet and private.

‘Oh, Pat, it’s so
good
to see you,’ Marianne breathed as the two exchanged a bear hug.

‘And you.’ Pat grinned at her as they sat down, and then, as the waiter appeared at their side like a rabbit out of a hat, she said, ‘You still drinking the same? Dry martini, wasn’t it?’

‘I prefer a glass of wine these days.’ She didn’t add that Zeke had educated her on good wines until now she could hold her own with the best wine waiter. ‘Red is your preference, isn’t it?’

Pat nodded. ‘Not much changes,’ she said with a wry grimace.

Oh, if only that were true. Marianne selected a superior bottle of wine that she knew from experience was soft and mellow with a warm oak flavour, and then, once the two girls were alone again, she said softly, ‘You look terrific, Pat.’

‘So do you.’ Pat’s pretty, pert face was unusually soft as she surveyed Marianne’s slender, finely boned figure and beautiful heart-shaped face, the huge cornflower-blue
eyes, small straight nose and full mouth framed by a mass of luxuriant silver-blonde hair that hung in silky waves to below Marianne’s shoulderblades. ‘But you’re too thin, if you don’t mind me saying so, and with you that means you’re worrying or unhappy about something. You’ve never eaten for comfort like me, have you?’

Marianne shook her head slowly. You never got any pussy-footing around with Pat, and after all the sycophantic boot-lickers that tried to attach themselves to Zeke’s brilliant black star, her friend’s frankness was refreshing to say the least.

‘So, what gives?’ Pat asked gently.

The return of the wine waiter delayed Marianne’s answer somewhat, but once they were sitting with an enormous glass of red wine and an embossed menu in front of each of them, Marianne said without any preamble, ‘It’s all such a mess, Pat—me, Zeke, everything. I thought…I thought it was going to be so different. I knew his work was a big part of his life, and that’s all right, it is really, but he doesn’t seem to understand that I need something to do. I can’t just be content with keeping house and lunches with the wives of his friends and shopping afternoons and organising dinner parties and so on. I’m not made like that.’

‘Nor me,’ Pat said with a shudder.

‘He’s expected all the compromise to be on my side. I’ve had to fit completely into his world, and he hasn’t made the slightest attempt to fit into mine. He doesn’t want me to work, says I don’t need to, and even when I tried to set up some voluntary work at the local hospital he made it so difficult I finished up letting it go. The apartment…I feel it’s a prison, I hate it, and he promised before we got married that we’d leave there as soon as we found somewhere more suitable for bringing up a family.’

‘A family?’ Pat queried carefully.

Marianne stared at her miserably. ‘It just hasn’t happened,’ she said quietly. ‘The first twelve months it didn’t matter, but then I started to worry, so we went for tests and everything’s fine, apparently, but still no baby. And this constant city life, it’s stifling me, Pat. Choking me.’

‘Have you told him all this?’ said Pat, watching her closely.

Marianne nodded. ‘But he has an answer for everything, he’s that sort of man, and I always end up feeling in the wrong. The doctor at the hospital…he thought I wasn’t getting pregnant because I was stressed, and when he said that it was more reason for Zeke to say he doesn’t want me to do anything outside the home. I tried to tell him it was
because
I was being locked away from the outside I was stressed, but he wouldn’t accept it.’

‘Because he didn’t want to,’ Pat said astutely. She’d had a taste of Zeke Buchanan’s single-mindedness when he had all but shut her out of Marianne’s life once they were married.

‘I still love him, Pat.’ Marianne was staring down into her glass as she spoke and missed Pat’s green eyes narrowing shrewdly on her unhappy face. ‘But then last night we had a terrible row.’