Marriage of Convenience

Chapter Twenty-Six

There was no communication between them now, not even anger, and one day soon Freya was going to have to answer the questions she could see building up behind Mary's eyes. The housekeeper was fond of them both, especially Theo, and even if she hadn't sensed the icy atmosphere and she would have to be blind and deaf not to she was well aware that they used separate bedrooms, that Theo left the house before eight each morning and was rarely back before midnight.

So sooner or later the questions would come, Mary wouldn't be able to help herself. And what could she answer? Freya wondered tiredly. She could hardly tell Mary the truth, tell her that Theo had seen her laid on the floor, semi-naked, with Leo Isaac, that he believed the child she carried was Leo's!

It was the thought of the child that finally woke senses that had been buried in a dull, unfeeling limbo. She had hoped to make her marriage a good thing, to teach him, eventually, to love her as she had loved him. But that hope had died and she'd be a fool if she ever thought of trying to bring it to life. And there was her unborn child to consider. No child could be expected to thrive in a house where its parents rarely met, hardly exchanged two words from one week to the next!

There would have to be a separation or a divorce. Freya didn't care which And if Theo wouldn't agree then she would just have to take matters into her hands.- Move out, and soon. Thus decided, she settled herself to wait for him. He had told

Marry he wouldn't be in for dinner, and as far as Freya knew he hadn't yet spent the entire night away from home. But when the clock hit two in the morning she began to think there was a first time for everything, and it was then she heard the sound of the door closing, his footsteps, dragging as if he were extremely tired or drunk.

Twenty-four hours ago she would have been able to face him with a dreary kind of equanimity. But her emergence from the limbo she had inhabited meant that her emotions were alive and kicking again, torturing her. All through the long waiting hours, he had sneak through her mind.

Despite everything, her love for him survived. He couldn't murder that. Now, her legs shook weakly as she went to catch him in the hall, and a hand went up to push tiredly at her hair as she told him, 'I must talk to you.'

'Now?' The hall was dimly lit at this hour, but she could see the lines of strain around his eyes, his mouth, the shadow of stubble that darkened his tautly fleshed jaw.

'I'm afraid so. It won't wait.' She turned back into the study-room, her heart beating heavily.' She half expected him to ignore her request, to carry on upstairs. He looked exhausted enough to fall into bed and sleep for twenty-four hours. But he wasn't far behind her and she turned, watching him as he loosening his tie, And as he pours brandy into a glass she wondered, for the first time, how he spent the evenings he stayed away from home, where he spent them, and with whom.

She wished she hadn't. Her mind conjured images she didn't want to begin to consider. And the wave of jealousy was painful, frightening.

'Well?' The question was put without any real interest and that hurt. It was as if she were of no importance at all, something not to be considered, unless necessary. She saw him empty his glass in one long swallow,'Do you need to drink like a fish?'

One dark eyebrow came up at that, but only slightly, as if her presence had registered, just a little, but was of no consequence. He turned to refill his glass, his voice cool. 'Need? Do you begin to know what I need?'

'No!' The response was pushed out of her on a gasp. 'I don't know. Not anymore! But I do know this--'

She dragged in a deep, ragged breath, getting hold of herself again. She couldn't get through to him on an emotional level, not any more. And, having accepted that, the only sane thing to do was to keep cool, not allow him to know how her heart was beginning the painful process of breaking up again. If she could keep her dignity, and her pride, it would at least be something. I know we can't go on like this,' she went on, her voice flat. 'The sort of marriage we have doesn't make any sense. The house is full of

Silence; you rarely speak. You're rarely at home and your absences are unexplained. It's no atmosphere to bring up a child in.'

She sat down, too weary to stand now, her eyes pools of fatigue in the pale oval of her face, and Theo said slowly, 'Of course. The child.' His eyes drifted over her as if to find evidence of the new life. 'We mustn't forget the child.' He went to stand in front of the empty fireplace and the dry bitterness in his voice made her throat tighten. 'I am willing to accept the child, give it my name regardless of whether it is mine or Theo's. But' in exchange, I would prefer it if you didn't start divorce proceedings soon. We can review the situation in a few years.'

Freya became very still, If she moved now, or tried to speak, she knew she would go to pieces. That he wanted her to remain, legally, as his wife for a few more years meant only that he would prefer to keep up appearances.

How she felt, trapped in this marriage, was neither here nor there. Then he said as if he had previously given the matter a great deal of thought, 'However, for the sake of sanity, it would be best if we lived largely apart. The absence of the unavoidable tension would be better for the child, too. 'But it would seem feasible that we might have decided it to be in the child's best interests to be brought up in the country. If you'll leave it in my hands I'll arrange everything. As it happens,' his eyes flickered to her stony face, 'Kate mentioned property for sale a mile or so away from her weekend cottage. I'll look into the possibilities.'

'Do that,' she choked, shocked by the way she was feeling as if she had just received a death sentence! And she knew that, although she couldn't live with him, she couldn't live without him.

In a moment she might cry. But she wouldn't shed tears in front of him in front of the remote, cold-eyed stranger he had become. And she pushed herself to her feet, her legs distinctly unsteady as they carried her to the door.

The expanse of carpeting had never seemed so wide, the privacy of her room so far away. But he was at the door before her, holding it open, telling her, 'I'll get something settled as quickly as possible. I'll keep you informed, of course, and you can vet any property I find that's suitable.'

Pausing, the words he was saying sounding more like verbal torture than a reasoned solution to a shared and bitter problem, she looked up into the hard, handsome planes of his unforgiving face and suddenly her eyes narrowed as hatred, quick and burning, filled the smoky eyes that had been huge pools of misery.

'After you're settled somewhere I will try to drop by from time to time,' he was remarking levelly as she pulled her shoulders 'You won't have to waste your time. I wouldn't let you over the doorstep!'

And he could make what he liked of that, she thought as she swept past him, her head high, two spots of hectic color blazing along her cheekbones.

As far as she was concerned there was no way their separation would resemble anything like a civilized arrangement!

She had finished with him; no more pining, no more regrets. Nothing! And she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that her violent reaction to a reasonable suggestion has been sparked by the scent of the exotic perfume she had detected on his clothes!

He would never know that she was blindingly jealous of the woman, whoever, who wore such a distinctive perfume for him, the woman whose arms he had left before coming home to tell his wife he was in the process of finding some suitable hole to bury her in!