that wasn’t going to happen. He scowled as he started the engine of the powerful Mercedes, barely acknowledging the salute of the security guard who was on duty at the gate of the building complex. Elizabeth had a dinner party for her father planned that he’d promised to attend. Instead of changing into jeans and a tee shirt and picking Isobel up for a bar-meal at some country pub, he was obliged to put on a dinner jacket and spend several hours talking to people he didn’t even like.
He sighed. That wasn’t absolutely true. Many of his in-laws’ acquaintances were friends of his, too, and if he could have counted on looking at Isobel across the candlelit dinner table he’d have been content.
He was actually working on a plan to take her away for a few days. There was an architects’ conference in Paris in August, and the prospect of several days—and nights—with Isobel caused his trousers to become unpleasantly tight. Dammit, they’d never spent a whole night together. He couldn’t wait to wake up with her beside him.
The trouble was, while it was comparatively easy to find excuses for going out in the evenings, it was much harder to explain a night’s absence. And, lately, Isobel had been finding excuses for not seeing him in the evenings either. On two or three occasions recently she’d turned him down in favour of other commitments, and, while he knew she had some crazy idea of breaking up with him, he also believed she was as helpless as he was to destroy what they shared.
His lips twisted. It was his own fault, after all. No one had forced him to marry Elizabeth. He’d gone into their relationship with his eyes open, and if the knowledge that as Howard Goldman’s son-in-law he might be given the opportunity to gain recognition for his work had not been unpleasing to him, it had definitely not been the sole reason he’d made Elizabeth his wife.
He’d joined Goldman Lewis as a very junior draughts-man after getting his degree, and from the beginning he’d been aware of Howard Goldman’s daughter watching him every time she came into the office. Elizabeth was easy on the eye, and he wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t been flattered by her attention, but he’d never expected anything to come of it.
That it had had been more due to Elizabeth than himself. Young architects with big ideas were ten a penny, and he’d naturally assumed that Elizabeth would marry someone with a far different pedigree than his own. He’d actually hesitated before accepting that first invitation to a party at the Goldmans’, unsure what her father would make of one his junior employees fraternising with the boss’s daughter.
In fact, Howard Goldman had encouraged the relationship, but it hadn’t been until they were married that Jared had found out why. Dazed by the speed with which he’d been promoted from a minor employee of the firm to a member of the family, Jared hadn’t looked for reasons. He’d been far too busy congratulating himself on his good fortune to search for motives for his success.
His life with Elizabeth, however, had soon proved how naïve he had been. The woman he’d known far too fleetingly before the wedding bore little resemblance to his new wife, her black moods and violent depressions demonstrating that whatever feelings she had expressed for him before they were married, she could barely tolerate him now.
Within a few months, Jared had realised that Elizabeth’s reasons for marrying him had had nothing to do with love or sex. She’d no longer been interested in him except as a means to pacify her father, and Jared had begun to understand that marrying him had been a way to get Howard off her back. The old man had confided in him before the wedding that his dearest wish was that his daughter should give him a grandchild, and, with Elizabeth approaching her thirtieth birthday, he’d been losing hope that she’d ever find a husband. Now that they were going to get married, he’d assumed Elizabeth would be proud to grant his wish.
How wrong he’d been.
Jared’s lips compressed. Elizabeth’s agenda had been totally different from her father’s, from his own. She’d known all about his background before the wedding: the fact that his parents were dead, that he’d been brought up in a series of foster homes until he was sixteen and he’d run away to London, that there’d been little love of any kind in his life. He’d had to steel himself against his emotions; he’d been hurt too many times in the past to trust anything to change. He’d worked at a handful of jobs to earn the money to go to college, determined to get the qualifications necessary to get a decent job. And when he’d passed all his exams he’d returned to the north-east.
To a job with Goldman Lewis.
He sighed now. Elizabeth had apparently believed he’d be so grateful to her for what her father could do for him that whatever she did, however she behaved, he wouldn’t object. She’d been sure he’d do nothing to jeopardise his privileged position, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. For more than half his life already he’d been forced to do what other people—often strangers—told him, and he’d had no intention of allowing it to happen again.
Yet it had.
He scowled. He’d tried so hard to save the marriage, he remembered bitterly. He’d even convinced himself that he must be to blame for Elizabeth’s change of attitude towards him, and when she’d suggested that their relationship might benefit from being given a little space, he’d happily agreed to her spending the weekend at a health farm with one of the women she played golf with.
The call that had shattered all his illusions had come on a Sunday morning. Jared had been sprawled on one of the sofas in the living room, the Sunday papers scattered around him in disarray. He’d actually been anticipating his wife’s return with some enthusiasm, hoping against hope that whatever it was that had brought them together might still have the power to promote a reconciliation.
The call had killed any feelings he’d still had for her. It had been from a clinic in London. To begin with, Jared had assumed Elizabeth must have given him the wrong information. She’d said the health farm was in Northamptonshire, and as these places sometimes called themselves clinics, Jared had assumed he’d made a mistake.
He hadn’t.
The young woman who’d contacted him—a very junior nurse, he’d learned later—had explained that there’d been a complication. She’d said that the operation Mrs Kendall had had the previous afternoon hadn’t gone as satisfactorily as Dr Singh had anticipated.
Jared had been stunned. He hadn’t known Elizabeth needed an operation and he’d briefly blamed himself for his ignorance. And when he’d expressed his concern the young nurse had taken pity on him, assuring him that his wife was in no danger, that the termination had been successful.
Jared had heard the rest of what she’d said in numbed disbelief. He hadn’t wanted to hear that Elizabeth had developed an infection immediately after the operation, or that she wouldn’t be able to return to Newcastle for a few days. His revulsion that she should do such a thing, without even telling him, had been all he could think about, and he’d been hard pressed to be civil to the girl who’d broken the news.
Of course, Elizabeth had never expected him to find out. As he’d discovered afterwards, the clinic was supposed to be totally confidential, and it was only the fact that a new—and very inexperienced—nurse had been on duty when Elizabeth had expressed her concern about the delay, and had taken it upon herself to call the number Elizabeth had given when she’d booked in, which had given the game away. Elizabeth herself had been a little groggy at the time, or she’d never have made such a stupid mistake. She’d have waited until she was well enough to call him herself, and given some other excuse for not returning home.
Jared didn’t know how he’d got through the rest of that day or the days that followed. His first impulse had been to pack
