and he had felt bound to abide by her wishes, even though he himself as a boy had felt his father’s hand against his backside on more than one occasion—events which he remembered without rancour when he recalled the misdeeds that had given rise to them.
‘Your Aunt Justine can’t look after you any more.’ He frowned, a solution presenting itself to him, and added slowly. ‘Perhaps I ought to send you both away to school.’
Briefly both sets of hazel eyes mirrored fear, and he had a momentary urge to reach out and enfold them reassuringly, but he knew that any attempt on his part to touch them would be fiercely repudiated. He had already talked over with Justine the wisdom of sending them away to school but she had been vehemently against it. ‘If you do they will grow up institutionalised, Lyle,’ she had told him. ‘They haven’t got enough self-confidence in themselves for that. They’d think of it as punishment.’ And now looking at them he could see that she was right.
‘Okay, no boarding school.’ He felt rather than saw them relax, and wished a little despairingly that they were not so close to the long school holiday. Previously they had stayed with Justine during the week, coming home to him at weekends, but today she had made it plain that that could not continue.
Justine had forced him into a corner with marriage as his only escape. But marriage was the last thing he wanted. His marriage to Heather had been a living hell, and he had loved her. But this marriage that Justine was promoting would not be like that, it would be a business arrangement, like employing a housekeeper or a nanny.
‘Why can’t the pair of you make more of an effort to get on with Peter?’ he demanded wearily as he got to his feet. ‘Your Aunt Justine loves you, but …’
‘No, she doesn’t.’ Stuart’s lip curled as he spoke. ‘She doesn’t love us at all,’ he continued, watching him. ‘She just puts up with us because you’re our father.’
There was enough truth in what he was saying for Lyle to be lost for a way to answer.
‘No one loves us,’ James piped up. ‘And we don’t love anyone, just each other.’
Slowly Lyle backed towards the door. Poor wretched little brats … But what on earth could he say to them? That he had loved the four and two-year-old sons he had been forced to leave when Heather wanted her divorce, but that the ten and twelve-year-olds they now were were strangers to him? Heather had demanded sole custody and had told him that she thought it would be better for the children if they didn’t see him, and his solicitor had advised him to accept her demands, so they had come to him virtually strangers.
Justine was right, he thought, opening the door abruptly. They did need someone of their own. She was also right about the pressure of his personal problems and the effect it was likely to have on his work, and as a doctor he could not afford to make mistakes.
What was she like, this woman who advertised so boldly for a husband, merely describing herself as twenty-six, single and self-supporting?
Well, thanks to Justine it looked as though he might soon find out.
CHAPTER TWO
ONCE HAVING MADE UP her mind to find herself a husband Jessica was amazed at how calm she felt about the whole thing.
She did not anticipate that David would attempt to tell Andrea what she was doing; to do so would constitute far too hard a blow to his pride, and she suspected that he found it very convenient to hide his brief flings with his female students behind her sister’s neurotic belief that he was having an affair with her.
More surprisingly however, neither did it stop him from attempting to make headway with her himself. She was a regular visitor to the university library, and it irritated her how often he managed to waylay her there, subjecting her to the heavy gallantry and smug male egotism that she most loathed about him.
His skin was so thick nothing could dent it, she reflected bitterly after one such encounter. He still refused to believe that she would actually get married and constantly taunted her about it, to the extent that she felt she would virtually marry the first man who asked her simply to prove him wrong.
Over and above all this, Andrea’s mental state worried her increasingly, and she was finding it almost impossible to concentrate on her work. She needed a calmer, more relaxing environment. She grimaced faintly to herself. Marriage, from what she had observed of it, was scarcely conducive to such virtues, and then because her sense of humour was highly developed and sometimes disconcertingly self-directed she wondered if embarking on such a marriage as she planned would confirm her research on arranged marriages, and how she would cope if it did not.
IF SHE HAD WONDERED what sort of person responded to advertisements in the personal columns, she was no nearer to discovering the answer over a week later when she had read through the replies she had received.
After discounting the cranks and frankly obscene responses she was left with over a dozen apparently genuine replies all from men who seemed united in only one thing—their loneliness. Apart from one, that was.
Thoughtfully she picked up the letter which had seemed so different from all the others and read it again. For one thing, it was much longer than the other replies; it was also extremely detailed and direct giving her much more information than her other correspondents, even to the point of being almost ‘chatty’ in places.
It described both the house and life-style of the writer, and made no bones about the problems he was experiencing with his two sons, nor his reasons for wanting a wife, ‘Primarily to take care of the boys and give their lives a focal point, and secondarily to provide for myself a well-organised home life, so that I can concentrate on my patients.’
It contained no false promises of emotional commitment or mutual happiness, being rather severely practical. In short, it represented a subtle challenge and the ideal background against which she could test out her research behind her new book, and Jessica felt herself responding to that challenge, her response in no way lessened by the knowledge that the letter was carefully designed to elicit such a response.
She was surprised by the degree of sympathy she felt towards the two boys, described unflatteringly in the letter as ‘a pair of holy terrors designed to try the patience of a saint, and who, despite their insecurities and needs, manage to be as obnoxious and unlovable as it is possible to be.’ No false imagery there. It was the cry of an exasperated adult, exhausted by the emotional problems he was ill-equipped to solve.
She retained sufficient memories of her own parents’ divorce to be fully aware of the nature of the children’s problems, and going into such a household was hardly likely to leave her as much free time as she was used to, to concentrate on her work, but despite that she found herself reading and re-reading the letter. Absently she searched among her books for a map, and found that as he had guessed the village was less than seventy miles away. Far enough away to put a distance between her and David, but close enough for her to get back quickly if Andrea needed her. Rather oddly the letter named a day and a time for a prospective meeting, taking things forward faster than she had anticipated. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for a direct confrontation with her prospective spouse as yet, but he it seemed had no qualms. The letter included a map and directions, she noticed, but no surname or telephone number so that it would be impossible for her to ring up and cancel the appointment. She simply either had to turn up or ignore the letter completely. Plainly there were not going to be any half measures.
How would she like being married to a doctor? Contrary to popular opinion she had found that they were often harassed, ill-mannered brutes, anxious
