An Indecent Marriage (7 page)

“You seem to know a lot about him.”

“He’s the only interesting person around here,” Jean replied airily, picking up a stack of books. “I prefer keeping tabs on him to watching the paint peel.”

“Is he dating anyone?” Jessica asked, and then could have bitten her tongue off as a grin spread across Jean’s face.

“So you are interested,” she said triumphantly. “I knew it!”

“I merely asked a question,” Jessica said mildly, and Jean chuckled.

“You can’t fool me,” she sang.

“You probably don’t know if he is,” Jessica said quickly, trying to extricate herself.

“As a matter of fact, I do. I know at least one person that he was seeing. I saw a picture of them together in the newspaper.”

Jessica waited, and Jean began to study her nails with deep concentration. After several seconds she looked up, her expression the epitome of innocence.

“Oh, do you want me to tell you who it is?” she asked, batting her lashes.

“If you don’t mind,” Jessica replied in a tone of extreme forbearance.

“Daphne Lewis. Her father owns Lewis Plumbing and Heating. You must know her.”

Jessica certainly did. Daphne was a petite brunette firebrand, the same age as Jack. Jessica had known her in school.

“I’m surprised she isn’t married,” Jessica said softly, thinking out loud.

“Oh, she was. Several times. But she’s between engagements at the moment and has been making the rounds with Chabrol.”

“You’re a fountain of information,” Jessica said dryly.

“I try,” Jean replied, flicking imaginary dust off her lapel, and then glanced at her watch.

“Oh, gosh, I have to run. I’ll be late. I’ll see you back here this afternoon, okay? And take my advice. Go get something nice to wear. Don’t be a schlump, all right?”

She bolted out the door. Jessica, not wanting to be a schlump, decided to drive over to the mall in Arlington and shop for a new outfit. By the time she returned with her purchase, a violet silk shirtwaist that had cost too much but looked it, Jean had already come home and gone out again. Jessica found a note explaining that Jean was visiting a friend and telling her that a Madeline Giotti had called and would call again.

Jessica smiled slightly as she opened her package and hung the dress on a hanger. Maddy. How on earth had she found out that Jessica was back in town? She was married now, with a little boy, and lived in Greenfield, a suburb about twenty miles from Bright River. Jessica was looking forward to seeing her again.

The receipt was at the bottom of the bag, and Jessica stuck it in her purse without looking at it, hoping that the next time she saw it the figure would change. There was no way to justify the extravagance. She simply wanted to look good for Jack, and that was that.

The horror of the morning had receded, and she was determined now to mend her fences, to get on good terms with him again. She understood his motive for taking over the mill, but certainly she could make him see the light, deal with the situation in a mature, rational manner. They were both older now, adults with careers and a wealth of experience acquired since their abrupt parting. It had been a shock to see Jack unexpectedly and to relive the unhappy past, but she was recovering. She had to salvage their relationship in order to make the deal go smoothly, and she was determined to do it.

Her mood of optimism persisted as she got ready for Jack’s arrival. She called the hospital to check on her father and then showered in the blue tiled bathroom on the second floor. It seemed strange to dress and make up where she had prepared for her teenaged dates, worrying over hairstyles and breakouts, scattering an array of cosmetics and lotions on the vanity tray. The face staring back at her now was older, thinner, shorn of the innocence that had once graced it. She was pretty still, as Jack had said, but different in a way that defied description. She only knew she felt the difference, and carried it with her like a weight.

Jean returned a few minutes before Jack’s arrival and stationed herself in the entry hall. Jessica wanted to barricade her in her bedroom, but a request along those lines would have made Jean more suspicious than ever, so Jessica tolerated her pacing and peering through the curtains. They heard the low hum of a sports car simultaneously, and Jean pointed to the mantel clock, visible through the doorway to the living room.

“Right on time,” she whispered, and Jessica shot her a look.

When the bell rang Jean yanked open the door and greeted the new arrival effusively.

“How do you do? I’m Jean Portman, Jessica’s sister,” she said, beaming, and then her smile faded as Jack looked past her at Jessica, who was standing behind her.

One glance at his expression and Jessica knew that her high hopes for mutual understanding had been in vain. He nodded stiffly at Jean, saying, “Hello,” and then stepped around her to confront Jessica, who had to restrain herself from shrinking visibly at his approach.

Jean, baffled, looked at both of them and decided quickly that retreat was in order. “Well, I’ll say goodnight. I have some homework to do. See you later, Jessica.” She fled to the back of the house, doing an accurate impression of a shooed squirrel.

Jessica felt like joining her. She had several unformed, fleeting ideas about pleading a headache or some other infirmity. But then she decided to face Jack down, trying not to consider what delights the rest of the evening might bring. This was only the beginning, and he already looked like a thundercloud about to burst.

“I’m ready,” she said unnecessarily, as she was wearing her coat and clutching her purse.

“You look lovely,” he said flatly, and it didn’t sound like a compliment.

He was impeccably dressed, as he had been that morning. Tonight the suit was beige, with a cream shirt and brown silk club tie. He had a topcoat over his arm.

“Where are we going?” Jessica asked nervously.

“Mario’s,” he replied shortly.

“Is that place still in business?” A decade earlier it had been the most expensive restaurant in town.

“I had lunch there yesterday. As far as I know it didn’t burn down last night,” he answered.

Jessica glanced at him sharply. “I was just trying to make conversation,” she said.

“It’s not necessary to humor me,” he stated, meeting her eyes.

Jessica planted her feet. “Look, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Why don’t we wait for Friday, as I originally suggested?”

“I can disgrace your father, or not,” he said quietly. “The choice is up to you.”

Jessica stared back at him, speechless.

“I can arrange a sheriff’s sale of the house and furnishings, publish a bankruptcy notice in the papers, make sure everyone knows exactly what happened to the mill and who caused it,” he went on in the same flat, explanatory tone. “Or I can handle it differently. Your behavior will determine the decision I make.”

So there it was. She either went along with this, allowed him to toy with her like a cat playing with a ball of yarn, or he would make sure her father wound up publicly humiliated as well as penniless. Jack knew how much Portman’s good name meant to him. His status in the town was more precious to him than his money, and he had always liked his money quite a lot.

“I’ll go with you,” she whispered past the lump in her throat.

“Fine. Then I think I’d like a drink before we leave. Scotch, if you have it.” He walked ahead of her into the living room, and she had no choice but to follow.

He dropped his coat on a chair as she went to the bar.

“Water?” she asked, as he looked around the room at the pictures, the family photographs her mother had framed and hung.

“Just rocks,” he replied.

Her fingers trembled as she fixed the drink, but she made sure they were steady before she handed it to him. Then she watched as he prowled the room like a powerful leashed animal, picking up objects and putting them down again, touching pieces of china and crystal as if they were living things. The subdued lighting glinted off his glossy dark hair and cast shadows along his cheekbones, making them seem more prominent. If anything, he was better looking than when she had last seen him, and Jessica felt her stomach muscles tighten.

“This room smells of money,” he finally said, turning his head to look at her. He took a large swallow of his drink.

“These things were all inherited. They may wind up on the block very shortly.”

“What a shame,” he murmured, and she couldn’t tell if he were being sarcastic or not.

“I think it is.”

“Some of this stuff is old. Looks like your father hung on to everything,” Jack observed softly.

“So far,” Jessica said pointedly.

“Just being back here makes me feel eighteen again,” he said quietly. “And poor.”

“Then why did you want to come back?” Jessica asked, bewildered.

“I guess to reassure myself that it wasn’t true any longer,” he answered, fingering a silver sconce on the wall. “You left me because I didn’t have any of this. Now I do, and you’re the one on the outside looking in.” He drank again and drained his glass.

It was a moment before Jessica found her voice. “Is it that important to hurt me?” she asked in a husky, unsteady tone.

His eyes flashed, and she saw the fires he kept so closely banked blaze brightly for a second. “You hurt me,” he replied simply.

“And that’s where we stand. An eye for an eye.”

He smiled slightly, enigmatically, and didn’t answer.

“I wish we could both let the past go,” Jessica said miserably, looking away from his pitiless, perfect features. “I wish we didn’t have to carry on with this charade.”
 

“You and your daddy are getting exactly what you deserve,” he said coldly, “and when it’s over you can go back to whatever you’ve been doing for the past ten years.”

“And in the meantime I have to put up with this...treatment.”

“Yes, you do, and be grateful that it isn’t any worse,” he said roughly.

Jessica hesitated, taking a breath. “What if I told you there was a good reason for what I did back then?”

“I know there was a good reason. I didn’t have any money, and you met someone who did. That was a good reason. For you. Especially for George Portman.”

“What if I told you it was something else?”

He smiled charmingly. “I wouldn’t believe you.”

Jessica’s heart sank. Her father had gotten to him first. And permanently.

“You’ve changed,” Jessica whispered. “You’re so dead, so unfeeling.”

He nodded bitterly. “I wonder what made me that way.” He set his empty glass down and picked up his coat. “Shall we go?”

Vanquished, Jessica shut off the lights and went with him to the door.

Chapter 4

Jack’s low-slung, deep red convertible was parked in the turnaround in front of the house. A brisk wind fluttered Jessica’s hair as he handed her into the passenger seat, then walked around to the other door. She waited tensely for him to join her, wondering if this was really the same person who used to take her on long drives to escape her father, laughing and telling her stories about his large, unpredictable family. But then the car had been his old green Ford, they were young and the world was a different place.

Jack got in, gunned the engine and guided the car into the street without glancing in her direction. Jessica pressed her lips together and decided to try.

“I was just thinking about your parents and Lalage, the kids. How are they?”

Jack pulled up to a stoplight and turned his head. “My father died about five years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

He snorted. “It was hardly a surprise. Everyone was amazed he lasted as long as he did. Cirrhosis finally got him.”

“And your mother?”

“As soon as I could put the money together I bought her a place in Canada. She’s back there now, raising the rest of the brood. She lives near Lalage and her husband and their two little girls.”

“So you’re the only one left this side of the border.”

“Oh, yes. I’m an American now, a citizen. I even talk like a native.”

Again, his tone could have been tinged with irony, or maybe she was imagining it. She could hardly take anything he said at face value. “I noticed that. I...miss the accent.”

The light changed and the car surged forward. “Sometimes, so do I.”

Jessica sensed a slight easing of the strained atmosphere and felt bold enough to ask, “Did you like playing professional football?”

He laughed mirthlessly. “It wasn’t a question of liking it. Playing football was the only thing people were willing to pay me a lot of money to do. Choice didn’t figure into the plan very heavily.”

“You used to enjoy football in school,” Jessica said.

“I enjoyed winning games and getting a break from people in the town who would have spit on me otherwise. Besides, comparing high school football with the pro game is like comparing a pistol shot with a cannon blast.”

“So you quit?”

“I was fired. My knee fired me.”