obviously didn’t feel she could talk to me. The fact that she waited until virtually the very last minute to say anything to me. I feel such a fool for not realising… for not suspecting…’
‘She deceived you,’ Marcus told her quietly. ‘And discovering any kind of deception on the part of someone we believe we know and trust is always hurtful. It hurts us where we’re most vulnerable. In our emotions and in our pride…’
‘Pride?’ Eleanor questioned him, lifting her head to look at him.
‘Mmm… Because it shows us that we’ve made an error of judgement… that our trust has been misplaced.’
‘Yes,’ Eleanor agreed, adding, ‘At first I just wanted to blame Paul and then I realised that Louise must have wanted to end the partnership as well. If only she’d said something to me sooner…
‘What’s happening to me, Marcus? I feel as though my whole life is falling apart. First Tom and now this…’
‘Tom?’
‘I didn’t even know he’d eaten the ice-cream,’ she told him sadly. ‘You knew, but I didn’t. And I didn’t…’ She stopped abruptly, not wanting to burden Marcus with the rest of her problems. ‘What kind of mother am I? What kind of wife when I can forget to organise a babysitter for a dinner party? What kind of partner when I don’t know, can’t see what’s going on under my nose?’
‘Hey, come on… You must accept that you can’t take on the responsibility for everyone else around you. You’re only human, Nell. Just like the rest of us… and, just like the rest of us, sometimes you get things wrong. You can’t be perfect, you know. After all, perfection is often a very sterile and empty concept. It’s our imperfections that make us human… loveable… and loving…’
He kissed her slowly and asked softly, ‘Do you know how much I want to make love to you?’
‘Again?’ Eleanor asked him, smiling at him.
‘Again,’ he confirmed as he reached for her. ‘Very, very definitely again.’
Three days later, when Eleanor was searching through her briefcase for something else and she inadvertently came across the advertisement she had torn from the magazine, it seemed almost like fate.
She told herself as she dialled the number of the estate agent that she was wasting her time, that the house was almost bound to have been sold.
When she discovered that the bids were still to come in, a feeling of unfamiliar and almost childlike excitement filled her.
She stared at the photograph again. It was the kind of house—the kind of home she had longed for so often as a child; solid, permanent, it offered the kind of security she had yearned for so desperately.
It would be a perfect home for them, close enough to London for Marcus to commute, rural enough to give Tom and Gavin the benefits of growing up in a country environment. More than enough room to accommodate them all comfortably, including Vanessa.
With a bit of careful planning there was no reason why she should not be able to work from there. Of course it would mean regular visits to London to collect and deliver translations, but the benefits of moving to the country far outweighed the disadvantages. She would have more time to spend with the children for one thing. More time to share with Marcus.
This would be a shared home, a new start for all of them, somewhere they could all have a stake in, feel a part of.
Vanessa would be able to choose her own room and its décor. Tom would feel secure in the knowledge that his room was solely his.
Surely with so much space at their disposal, with so much security, they would all be able to integrate far better. Life would be easier, free of the small but potentially very destructive tensions which now seemed to infuse it.
She couldn’t wait to share her excitement with Marcus. It was the ideal solution to all their problems and she was surprised that she hadn’t thought of it before.
She smiled to herself. Perhaps Louise had after all done her a favour in announcing that she intended to terminate their partnership.
She hummed happily under her breath, her face alight with happiness, and new purpose.
‘FERN?’
Anxiety prickled down Fern’s spine as she heard Nick’s voice. He walked into the kitchen, frowning when he saw that she was dressed for going out.
‘Where are you going?’ he demanded.
‘I promised I’d help Roberta sort through the stuff she’s collected for her jumble sale.’
‘What time will you be back? I’m leaving for London this afternoon. You’ll have to pack a case for me. I’ll need my dinner suit. Did you remember to take it to the cleaners?’
‘Yes,’ she told him quietly. There had been lipstick on the collar of his dress shirt; bright scarlet lipstick, the colour Venice had been wearing the night of her dinner party.
People, even the most casual of acquaintances, did kiss these days, she reminded herself as she looked away from him.
Why didn’t she just ask Nick if he was involved with Venice?
What was she so afraid of? Not the ending of their marriage, surely?
What was it, then? Having to confront the fact that all the effort she had put into holding their marriage together over these last two years had just been so much wasted time… Having to admit that she should never have married Nick in the first place… having to face up to the fact that her parents had not been omnipotent; that their way of living their lives was not necessarily right for her. Having to admit that she was married to a man who, despite the fact that he claimed to love and need her, increasingly behaved towards her in a way that suggested his feelings towards her held more contempt than love; that his need was more for a housekeeper than a wife.
Was it the realities of her marriage she was so afraid of confronting, or was it herself?
What was it she really wanted to do? Stay true to the way her parents had believed their daughter’s life should be lived, or be true to herself, accepting herself with all her fallibilities; accepting that staying within her relationship with Nick as it was now was slowly destroying her, killing her self-respect, filling her with loathing for the woman she saw she had become.
‘How long will you be away?’ she asked Nick now before she opened the back door.
‘I don’t know!’ His mouth tightened impatiently. ‘Is my grey suit pressed? I’m taking a client out to lunch.’
‘Venice?’ Fern asked him.
She could see the angry colour seeping up under his skin.
‘Yes, as a matter of fact it is.’
‘You seem to be seeing rather a lot of her lately.’
‘What the hell are you trying to say?’ Nick exploded angrily. ‘She’s a client, that’s all. A very rich client, I might add, and with business the way it is right now…
‘My grey suit, Fern,’ he added impatiently. ‘Is it pressed?’
‘Yes,’ she told him.
They couldn’t go on like this, she told herself as she left the house. They had to sit down and talk honestly with one another.
She smiled grimly to herself. Sit down and talk… The last time they had done that had been two years ago after she had found out about Nick’s affair. She had thought then that he was being honest with her, had allowed him to convince her that their marriage could still work, and for a little while she had actually thought that it might; but