The Millionaire's Christmas Wife. Helen Brooks

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      ‘This is ridiculous.’

      ‘Ridiculous or not, that’s the way I feel.’

      ‘I’ll take you home. Wait while I get my jacket.’

      ‘I’m not waiting for you, Jay. I thought you knew me well enough to understand that word doesn’t feature in my vocabulary. I watched my mother waiting for my father for years and years.’

      ‘You’re being unreasonable. I’m asking you, telling you to wait here for two minutes while I get my jacket, OK? If you’re not here when I get down there’ll be hell to pay, Miriam. I mean it. We’re going to talk this through and it’s not going to ruin our Christmas.’

      Ruin their Christmas? She stared at him with huge eyes. Was he mad? She’d just caught him with another woman and he was talking about ruining their Christmas? What about the rest of their lives?

      As soon as he had disappeared into the lift she left the building, hailing a taxi which had—miraculously in the circumstances—passed by empty. Once in the apartment she threw a few things into a suitcase, working purely on automatic and praying all the time Jay wouldn’t arrive before she had left. She had just exited the apartment block and crossed the road when a taxi screeched to a halt outside the building. Melting into the shadows, she watched as Jay leapt out of the car. It had been too dark to see his face clearly but she hadn’t had to to know he was furiously angry. It was evident in every line of his body.

      Once he had gone inside she had made her escape. She hadn’t gone to her mother and stepfather, knowing that was the first place he’d try, but instead had booked into a hotel for the night. From there she had phoned her mother and told them the dinner party on Christmas Eve was off and why, and asked her to let everyone know. It was only when her mother had become somewhat tearful that she’d promised she’d go and see them the next day and stay over Christmas. Then she had had a long hot bath and cried enough tears to fill it twice over before falling asleep exhausted at some point in the evening.

      When Jay had turned up at her mother’s the next day she hadn’t been surprised; he’d been phoning her mobile every few minutes but she hadn’t taken the calls. He’d given the same explanation, adding Belinda had had too much to drink at the Christmas party, which was why she’d acted as she had. He wasn’t excusing her, he’d said crisply, but apparently she’d gone to sleep in an empty office somewhere and then arrived in his while he was getting himself the coffee. He had walked in to find her reclining on his desk, half-undressed. She could believe him or not, but that was the truth. She’d said she chose not to believe him and he had left after telling her not to be such a little fool and to take time to think logically. He wasn’t going to beg and plead, he’d added. Trust was an essential ingredient in any marriage and it was about time she grew up and realised that.

      His attitude had shaken her. He had seemed so staunch in what he said, totally unwavering in his explanation of what had happened. By the time she’d returned to work after the Christmas break—the worst time of her life—she had been weakening. Her mother had been insistent she’d made the biggest mistake of her life in walking out on Jay and—mainly, Miriam admitted, because she badly wanted to believe his version of events—she’d begun to think she might have got it wrong.

      Then on that first morning back at work Belinda had phoned her.

      Miriam sat up in bed. This was ridiculous. She was never going to be able to sleep now and why she was doing a post-mortem at this late stage she didn’t know. Everything was cut and dried and had been for ages. She had made her decision in January and it was irrevocable.

      Switching on the light, she reached for a book on the table next to the sofa bed. She read a couple of pages without taking a word in; all she could focus on was the memory of Belinda’s sugary-sweet voice on that morning ten months ago.

      She was so sorry, Belinda had murmured, that Miriam had had to find out about the affair the way she had, but she must believe it was over now. She wasn’t returning to work at Carter Enterprises—she had left Jay’s employ—so there was no chance temptation could rear its head again.

      Miriam had listened, sickened, as the soft voice had gone on. With the benefit of hindsight she realised she should have put the phone down as soon as Belinda had spoken, but she had been like a rabbit immobilised and horribly fascinated in the glare of the headlights of the car that was going to destroy it.

      She just wanted to explain, Belinda had gone on, that she didn’t make a habit of sleeping with married men but, as Miriam had probably realised by now, Jay was irresistible when he wanted something. She’d fallen madly in love with him even though she had known deep down that for him it was only a physical thing and that he was the sort of man who would always take advantage of the attraction he held for women. But she did wish Miriam well…

      She had put the phone down at this point but it had been too late. Belinda’s words had burnt themselves like a branding iron into her mind. She had known then that her marriage was over.

      Of course, Jay had denied everything when she’d told him what Belinda had said later that day when he had called her to ask when she was returning home. Belinda was a woman scorned, he’d insisted. When he had told her there was no way they could work together again after what had happened she had become abusive, threatening all sorts of repercussions. This was her revenge for his rejection of her. It was perfectly obvious, wasn’t it? Transparent, even.

      The conversation had rapidly developed into a fullscale row with things said on both sides that would have been better unsaid. In the end she had told him she was going to see about getting somewhere else to live in the morning; she wouldn’t be returning to the apartment. Ever. There had been a long pause and then his voice had been quiet, almost conversational, when he had said, ‘You must do as you see fit, Miriam. Whatever I thought we had, I was mistaken. You’ve never loved me, not if you’re prepared to bail out the first time we hit a problem.’

      It had been the final straw. ‘A problem?’ she’d screamed down the phone. ‘A problem is leaving the top off the toothpaste every morning or forgetting a birthday or not cleaning the bath properly after you’ve used it. This isn’t a problem, Jay. This is a third person in our marriage and it’s one too many for me.’

      ‘You don’t trust me. You’re prepared to take Belinda’s word against mine. Damn it, you want to believe her.’

      Maybe the harsh note of anger and resentment in his voice should have warned her. ‘If that’s the way you want to look at it,’ she’d replied, feeling as though she was dying inside.

      ‘Then perhaps some time apart is best. When you’re prepared to at least listen to what I have to say, contact me.’ And he’d put the phone down. Just like that.

      Miriam slung the book to one side. Sliding out of bed, she fixed herself another mug of hot chocolate and took a couple of aspirin for the headache, switching the TV on and watching an old comedy programme while she drank.

      It was nearly an hour later before she settled down in bed again and this time, with the help of the aspirin and not least because she was emotionally exhausted, she fell straight to sleep.

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