had referred to her as looking sexy; as a teenager she had been so conscious of the differences between herself and all the other girls she knew, who all seemed to have fragile, slender bodies, with thirty-two inch chests that she had firmly imprinted on her mind as the type of women preferred, these almost androgynous females.
David’s desire for her she put down quite simply to money, and the fact that she was indifferent to him.
She was wearing her normal working clothes which consisted of a track-suit and a pair of ancient trainers. Most mornings she liked to go for a run or a long walk before she started work, it helped to get her mind in gear and made up for all the long hours she spent shut up in her study. When she moved it was with a loose strong gait that, had she but known it, drew every male eye she passed in a mixture of fascination and frank awe.
Now she would have to go round and see her sister. Despite her present exasperation with her, she was truly fond of Andrea, and if privately she thought that her sister would be far better off without David, she was wise enough not to voice these thoughts.
It only took fifteen minutes to drive from her flat, one of half a dozen in a large Victorian mansion with its own grounds, to her sister’s house.
She found Andrea in the kitchen, her face swollen with pregnancy and tears, and genuine fear for her sister’s health drew Jessica’s eyebrows together in a frown.
Andrea had been warned by her doctor that if she wanted to carry her baby to full term she must rest and relax as much as possible, but that was proving almost impossible, what with Andrea’s ridiculous suspicions about David and herself, and her sister’s highly strung nature.
As she walked into the kitchen Jessica noticed that the date was ringed round on the kitchen calendar as being one on which Andrea should have attended her ante-natal classes, but when she questioned her about it, Andrea shook her head and said bitterly, ‘How can I concentrate on anything like that when my own sister’s having an affair with my husband?’
Holding her breath and slowly counting to ten Jessica sat down and said gently, ‘Andrea, I promise you I am not having an affair with David.’
‘But he wants you,’ Andrea interrupted shrewdly.
It was not something she could deny. She had never been a good liar and she doubted that she could start now.
‘He does want you, doesn’t he?’ Andrea demanded, her face flushing alarmingly as she picked up on her sister’s inability to deny the charge. She was trembling visibly, her body far too thin and frail. ‘Why don’t you find a man of your own?’ Andrea demanded hysterically. ‘Why must you take what’s mine? If you want a husband …’
Unable to bear the torment in her sister’s face Jessica turned away, her attention momentarily caught by the newspaper on the table. It was open at the personal columns and absently she noted all the ads for potential mates both of a temporary and a permanent nature. Apparently it was quite commonplace these days to advertise in this way, proof, if she had needed it, that more and more people were beginning to realise that it was possible to have a marriage based on something other than mere physical attraction. Her mind once more on her work, it was several seconds before she realised her sister was speaking.
‘Jess, please, please give him back to me.’
Andrea was crying now, ugly, gulping sobs that shook her thin body. Jessica could feel the exhaustion of trying to cope with her sister’s disturbed mental state creeping over her. It would kill Andrea if she lost this child; she had already had two miscarriages in the years since William’s birth, but another miscarriage was exactly what she would bring on if she continued to torment herself in this fashion. But what could she do to convince Andrea that there was nothing going on between David and herself?
She hadn’t realised she had spoken her last thoughts out loud until she heard Andrea saying thickly, ‘Find a husband of your own, marry someone, Jess, and then I’ll believe you.’
On the point of retorting that Andrea was being ridiculous, her eye was unwillingly drawn to the newspaper again. Who replied to these personal ads? How many of those replies were genuine ones and how many were not? Why did they reply? Perhaps for the sake of her research this was an avenue she ought to pursue?
Even as the denial formed in her mind Jessica found she was asking herself just how much she cared about her sister’s welfare and health. Marriage these days did not necessarily involve a lifelong commitment, it could be a business arrangement—sometimes for illegal purposes such as when someone wanted to become a British citizen, or perhaps even when a husband or wife was needed for some other reason—as in her case. It might even be a way of discovering at first hand how viable her theories on arranged marriages were.
Suddenly a tiny thrill of excitement pierced her. She of course did not intend to fall in love—but if she could prove to herself that such a marriage would work, what a wonderful way of confounding her literary attackers! Dare she? Or was she being totally ridiculous?
It took her an hour to calm Andrea down to the point where she could safely leave her, but even once she was back at her desk, Jessica found it impossible to concentrate on her work. The ridiculous idea which had taken root in Andrea’s kitchen refused to be dislodged. When she thought about it logically there were several advantages at present to her having a husband; most importantly it would force Andrea to accept that there was nothing between David and herself, and it would also make David realise the pointlessness of pursuing her any longer; and not just David, but also those other men who had shown an interest in her since she had become something of a public figure.
Of course she would have to make sure that legally and financially she held the upper hand, but pre-marriage contracts were not entirely unheard of these days. She frowned, startled by how much thought she was giving to what was surely a ridiculous idea.
By early evening she had completely dismissed the thought from her mind and was busily studying the notes she had made the previous summer, so that when the doorbell rang it was several seconds before the sound penetrated her consciousness.
When it eventually did she was annoyed by the interruption. But her visitor, whoever it was, seemed determined not to go away. When she opened the door and saw her brother-in-law standing outside, his fair skin flushed by alcohol, his blue eyes faintly glazed, her own narrowed in biting contempt.
‘Whatever it is you want, David, I don’t want to know,’ she told him curtly. ‘Go home to your wife.’
He grinned at her, the inane, self-satisfied smirk of a man whose conceit overshadowed everything else.
‘Oh, come on Jess.’ He was slurring his words, his voice overloud in the enclosed hallway, and she glanced anxiously at the other doors, hoping that none of her fellow tenants would emerge and see David standing there. But she was also reluctant to invite him in, knowing it would take her ages to get rid of him.
‘You know you want me,’ he told her thickly. ‘Stop fighting it. It could be so good for us, babe.’
His arrogant egotism coming on top of her own tension snapped the frail cord on her temper, and before she could stop herself she heard herself saying furiously, ‘You’re quite wrong, David. Far from wanting you I loathe you, a fact that even you will have to accept now that I’m getting married.’
‘Married!’ It socked him into momentary sobriety. ‘You’re lying, Jess.’ He said it harshly, coming towards her as though he meant to take her in his arms. ‘You’re not the marrying type. You never have been. You’re too bloody independent for marriage. You’re incapable of wanting a man—any man—to the extent that you’d marry him,’ he went on, betraying the fact that he was quite well aware of how little she cared for him. ‘The only thing that matters to you is your work, your research …’ He paused and then stared at her, his eyes glittering with spite. ‘I get it,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s what it is, isn’t it, Jess? This marriage of yours is just an experiment. A way of testing out the theories behind your new book.’
It had been impossible to hide