their love for each other entitled her to a fair hearing?
He appeared at last in the arched doorway to the courtyard, his big body taut, very still. The softly diffused lights, black shadows and trails of mist made him look desperately forbidding. Elena grasped the back of one of the cast-iron two-seaters that flanked the outdoor table. Her spine felt as if it had turned to water; she needed some support.
‘Where were you?’ she asked thickly as the minutes of fraught silence ticked away. He didn’t appear to be in any hurry to break the ice. Someone had to do it.
‘Seville.’ The short answer was clipped. But at least he began to walk over the cobbles towards her. ‘As you know, Nolan’s are to acquire a retail outlet in Seville. I was due to meet our architect in a fortnight’s time, to decide which of two suitable properties to go for.’ He stopped, feet away from her, almost as if, she thought hysterically, the air surrounding her might contaminate him. ‘For reasons I’m sure you’ll understand, I thought today might be as good as any to get back in harness.’
Elena flinched. They’d planned on a three-week honeymoon, here at her home, Las Rocas, then to spend a week in Seville together to meet with the architect and explore the lovely city. Plainly, the honeymoon was over. But after her bombshell what else could she have expected?
She made a small, one-handed gesture towards him, her throat thick with sudden tears. But if he noticed the way she reached out to him he didn’t respond, and she let her hand drop defeatedly back to her side and said raggedly, ‘Can we talk?’
‘Of course.’ The dip of his head was coldly polite. ‘But inside. It’s been a long day.’
He moved towards the house and Elena followed, pushing her long straight hair back from her face with a decidedly shaky hand. She could have borne his rage, his recriminations, far more easily. At least then she would have known what was going on inside his head, could have reassured him, told it as it was, asked him to try to understand.
She hadn’t met him, much less fallen in love with him, when she’d made the decision to be artificially impregnated—for reasons that had seemed right and sane and reasonable then. He was an intelligent, compassionate man. Surely he would understand how she had felt at the time?
Striding straight to the kitchen, Jed reached for the bottle of Scotch tucked away in one of the cupboards, unscrewed the cap and poured a more than generous measure for himself.
‘In view of your condition, I won’t ask you to join me.’ He swallowed half the golden liquid, then pulled a chair away from the chunky pine table and sat, long legs outstretched, the fingertips of one hand drumming against the grainy wooden top, his dark head tilted slightly in insolent enquiry. ‘So talk. I’m listening. Or would you rather I set the conversational ball rolling?’
His voice was so cold, almost as cold as his eyes. They reached deep inside her and froze her soul. Shakily she pulled a chair out for herself and sat on the edge, not opposite him, but further down the table so he would have to turn to look at her.
He didn’t, and she was as glad as she could be under these impossibly hateful circumstances. She didn’t want to see the frozen indifference of his eyes, not when they had once looked at her with so much love.
She shuddered suddenly, convulsively, knotting her hands together in her lap. Briefly, her eyes flicked round the farmhouse kitchen—heavy copper pans gleaming against the white-painted stone walls, the great stone chimney breast, gleaming terracotta floor tiles and carved, polished wood dressers, the pots of scented geraniums on the broad windowsills.
She’d always loved this room, and this last week, in Pilar’s absence, she and Jed had made their meals here together. Chopping vegetables and fresh herbs from the garden, washing fruit. Talking, laughing together, sometimes catching each other’s eyes, understanding the need, the love, reaching for each other, the meal in the making forgotten...
It didn’t seem possible that all the love and laughter, that magical feeling of closeness had gone. She wouldn’t let herself even think that it would never come back. Yet his attitude had erected a mountain between them. She didn’t know if she was strong enough to climb it.
She had to try, though. It was imperative. She flicked her tongue over her dry lips as she struggled to find the words. The right words. Words that would help him understand. But he said impatiently, ‘As you seem to have been struck dumb, I’ll do the talking.’ He swallowed what was left of his whisky and swung round on his chair, looking at her now from narrowed, unforgiving eyes. ‘I’ve thought about our distasteful situation and reached certain non-negotiable decisions. We stay married,’ he stated grimly, then reached for the bottle and poured another shot into his glass.
Something tore at Elena’s heart, a savage little pain. ‘You considered divorce?’ After what they’d been to each other she could hardly believe it. Would he hate himself for even thinking about it once he knew the truth? Would she be able to forget how he’d considered cutting her right out of his life without giving her the opportunity to explain herself?
‘Naturally. What else did you expect?’ He wasn’t looking at her now, but staring at his glass as he twisted it around between his fingers, watching the way the liquid caught the light and fractured it. ‘Under the circumstances it was the first thing I thought of. However, for two reasons, I decided against it. The first Catherine, my mother. She likes you.’ The very tone of his voice told her he couldn’t now imagine why. ‘Our marriage was the only thing that lightened her grief over Sam’s death. A divorce, so soon, would be rather more than she could be expected to bear.
‘The second reason for keeping the marriage going is my brother’s unborn child. I don’t blame Sam for any of this. He died without knowing he’d made you pregnant. So, for my brother’s sake, we stay married. I intend to take a full part in his child’s upbringing. Call it a duty of care. Sam tended to mock me for being the dutiful son, but perhaps, wherever he is, he’ll be thankful for it now.’
For a moment his eyes were drenched with the pain of grief, and Elena’s heart bled for him. She wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him, to tell him that everything could be all right if he’d let it be, if he’d listen to her and try to understand.
She was halfway out of her seat, on her way to him, but the quelling darkness of his expression put her back again, his voice cutting as he told her, ‘We will put up a good front, for the sake of my mother and the child when he or she arrives. But, that apart, I want as little as possible to do with you. We’ll return to the UK in three weeks’ time, as arranged, and I’ll get out of your hair as much as I can—visit the overseas branches. You can make the excuse that travelling doesn’t agree with pregnancy.’
He pushed away from the table and rinsed his glass out at the deep stone sink, upturning it on the drainer, and Elena choked back a sob.
Every word he’d uttered had strengthened the wall between them, making it impossible to breach. Whatever she said to him now, whether he believed her or not, those words—the brutal ending of their marriage in all but name—would never be forgotten.
‘And if I don’t agree to this—this farce!’ She struggled to her feet, but had to support herself against the table. ‘I want you to listen to my point of view. I want you to hear what really happened. I have that right.’
‘You have no rights!’ He flung down the towel he’d been drying his hands on, the first sign of a real emotion directed at her since his return showing through. ‘And you brought this “farce” on yourself. You married me while knowing you could be pregnant by my brother,’ he castigated
