The Failed Marriage. Carole Mortimer

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СКАЧАТЬ told me the biggest gossip in town believes that my husband is being unfaithful to me. Should I shout and scream? Would that make you happy?’

      Her mother looked about them selfconsciously as Joanna’s voice rose over the last. ‘I’m thinking of your happiness,’ her tone was low. ‘That’s why I’ve told you about Joshua. Lots of men—stray. Why, even your father—But that’s another story,’ she hastily dismissed at Joanna’s sudden look of interest. ‘But if you know what’s going on then you have a chance to stop it.’

      Did she want to? Did it really bother her that much any more what Joshua did? She knew the answer to that only too well. And her mother would be deeply dismayed if she knew of her real feelings for Joshua.

      ‘I have to go, Mother.’ She picked up the bill. ‘I believe it’s my turn,’ she said lightly. ‘I’ll see you next week as usual,’ and she stood up.

      ‘Joanna—–’

      ‘Yes?’ She looked down at her mother, seeming much older than her twenty-three years.

      ‘Just—Remember what I’ve told you!’ Cora looked worried by Joanna’s attitude. ‘Joshua is a man of—experience, sophistication.’ She frowned. ‘Don’t blame him too much if this does turn out to be true. I’m sure it’s nothing more than a fleeting affair. Oh, and congratulations on the book,’ she added absently.

      ‘Thank you, Mother,’ Joanna said dryly, knowing how much of an afterthought the good wishes had been.

      She took another taxi home, to the house she shared with Joshua in Belgravia, although perhaps shared was too intimate a description; they both just happened to eat and sleep there, they hadn’t shared anything worthwhile in a long time.

      The elegant house had been run very efficiently by Joshua’s housekeeper before they were married, and Mrs Barnaby continued to do so now, her presence unobtrusive and very ordered, never a jar or hiccup in the routine of the household. Breakfast was always at eight o’clock, lunch always at one, and dinner always at seven-thirty sharp. The house was always spotlessly clean, everything at Joanna’s fingertips day and night—and she hated it, from the brass handles on the doors to the crystal chandelier in the lounge. It wasn’t a home, it was a hotel, a very beautiful hotel, but no less impersonal.

      She nodded coolly to the maid as she opened the door for her, glancing idly at the mail that had been left on the hall table, the heady scent of the carnations in the vase there pleasant to the senses. Most of the letters were for Joshua, as usual, but there was just one letter for her, an invitation to dinner from one of Joshua’s medical colleagues. She left this with the other mail, knowing it would be Joshua’s decision whether or not they went. They probably would.

      ‘Any messages, Mrs Barnaby?’ she asked the housekeeper as she came through from the kitchen with a pot of tea.

      ‘Just from Mr Radcliffe,’ the woman informed her without emotion, her rigid nature reflected in her appearance, from the tight bun of hair at her nape to her no-nonsense shoes. ‘He said to tell you he’d be home for dinner at seven as usual.’

      ‘Thank you,’ Joanna nodded, pouring herself a cup of the tea. ‘I’ll take this upstairs with me,’ she nodded dismissal, ignoring the other woman’s look of disapproval. She had become impervious to those looks over the years, knowing the housekeeper didn’t approve of drinks being taken upstairs.

      Her bedroom was evidence of Joanna’s own self-indulgence, a beautiful boudoir in white and pink lace, even the four-poster bed having white lace curtains that could be drawn at night. As a child she had always dreamt of a room like this, and while her parents had always given her everything money could buy, they had considered such a room ridiculous. When they were first married Joshua had been inclined to satisfy this whim of hers, but had insisted that the adjoining bathroom and his own bedroom on the other side of this remain free of feminine frills.

      Separate bedrooms. Joanna had hardly been able to believe it when they were first married, but Joshua’s claim about not disturbing her if by some unlikely occurrence he should happen to be called out to the clinic during the night had seemed a valid one. Now she was glad they didn’t share a room; she couldn’t have borne to share a bed with him all night, every night.

      Her mother’s suggestion of an affair between Joshua and his receptionist/secretary at the fashionable consultancy he ran in Harley Street didn’t seem so unlikely when she considered the amount of time he spent there, an image of the ultra-elegant consulting-room and lounge coming to mind as a scene for the affair. No, it didn’t seem so impossible, but Joanna deplored Joshua’s choice of mistress, knew that any number of women would have been willing to have an affair with him.

      She heard the quiet throb of the white Rolls-Royce at the front of the house at exactly seven o’clock, checking her appearance in the full-length mirror as she heard the deep sound of Joshua’s voice as he greeted the housekeeper downstairs. There would have been a time when she herself would have run down the stairs to greet him, but those days were long gone.

      They always dressed for dinner, and she had chosen to wear a black gown caught across one shoulder, leaving the other shoulder and arm bare, a gold slave bracelet pushed up on to the completely bare arm. The gown moulded to the slender curves of her body, once again high-heeled sandals adding to her diminutive height. Her make-up was perfect, her hair loose blonde curls that clung to her head, her expression coolly composed as she went down to the lounge to wait for Joshua to join her.

      She was sipping her sherry when he came into the lounge fifteen minutes later, his hair still damp from the shower he had just taken. Joanna was able to look at him objectively, to see how the black evening suit fitted the broadness of his shoulders, the trousers tailored to the lean length of his legs.

      At thirty-seven Joshua was still probably the most handsome man she had ever seen, his hair dark and thick, tinged with grey at the temples, his eyes a deep piercing grey, his nose long and straight, his mouth a thin uncompromising line, the firmness of the jaw telling of the authority that came as a second nature to him.

      The grey eyes were hooded now, almost expressionless as he looked down at her. ‘Congratulations.’ His voice was low and controlled, almost as expressionless as his eyes.

      Looking at him now Joanna could see that he too had changed since their marriage five years ago, that there was hardly a trace left of the man she had first met and been instantly attracted to. Deep lines of cynicism were now grooved beside his mouth, and she could see the years hadn’t dealt kindly with him. Could it be that Joshua was as dissatisfied with their marriage as she was? His affair with Angela seemed to say he was.

      ‘Your mother telephoned me,’ he explained at her silence, moving to sit in the chair across from her. ‘She told me about the book. You must be very proud.’ He sipped his whisky.

      ‘Yes,’ she nodded.

      The grey eyes narrowed, fine lines fanning out from their corners. ‘She also seemed concerned about you.’

      Her shoulders stiffened at her mother’s underhand method of interfering. ‘I can’t imagine why,’ she dismissed coldly.

      ‘You are looking pale—–’

      ‘That’s because I’m hungry!’ She stood up, determinedly putting an end to the conversation. ‘Shall we go through to dinner?’

      ‘Of course,’ he nodded abruptly, and stood up too, at least a foot taller than she was.

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