He frowned again, and said curtly, ‘I have no idea, Sophy.’
His tone chilled her, it was almost as though she had angered him in some way by asking. Could he sense how she felt about him. Was he already resenting the thought of the demands her love might lead her to make on him?
After that she was careful to keep all her comments to him strictly related to business matters. As soon as they had gone through the post she excused herself, explaining that she wanted to go upstairs and pack for him.
It was strange how being in love with someone could invest even the most mundane of inanimate objects with a special poignancy because they were part of the beloved, Sophy thought, carefully packing Jon’s shirts. He was normally very neat in his habits but the shirt he had discarded the previous night lay across a chair and she picked it up, instantly tensing. The scent of Jon’s skin clung to the cotton fabric, and she had to fight against a crazy impulse to bury her face in it and absorb that tiny bit of him into herself.
She made them both a light lunch but scarcely touched her own. Jon was not particularly hungry either, she noticed, watching him push his salad round the plate. It struck her then that he had lost weight and even looked faintly gaunt. His expression withdrawn...brooding almost, as though something—or someone—weighed heavily on his mind.
Had he guessed how she felt? Was he, because of that, regretting that he had married her? He wanted her he had said...but that wanting had been a physical need not an emotional one. Perhaps that was what he wanted to talk to her about...to warn her that he could not reciprocate her feelings.
She drove him to the station and waited there until he was on the train. He did not kiss her goodbye, nor did she let him see how much she had wanted him to.
For the children’s sake she tried to behave normally, but she missed him intensely and some sixth sense told her that something was wrong...that there was something he was concealing from her.
It was Thursday morning before she heard from him. A brief telephone call merely to tell her what train he would be returning on.
‘I’ll drive into Cambridge and pick you up,’ she offered, but he vetoed her offer, saying, ‘No, don’t bother. I’ll have no trouble getting a taxi.’
Hurt and rebuffed, Sophy said nothing, letting him say ‘goodbye’ and hoping he wouldn’t catch the misery in her own voice as she responded to him. At least he would soon be back...and they could talk. Or at least she hoped they could.
Neither David nor Alex would be home until early evening, as both of them had been invited to a schoolfriend’s birthday party and another mother had offered to give them a lift home since she had to pass their house on the way to her own, so if Jon did want to talk to her, today would be an ideal opportunity.
Motivated by an impulse which she told herself she would have been wiser to resist, Sophy spent almost an hour getting ready for Jon’s arrival. She put on her yellow sundress and did her face, telling herself as she did so, that all she was likely to achieve was to make Jon feel even more uncomfortable but it was impossible to resist the age-old feminine instinct to make herself as attractive as she could for the man she loved.
When she heard a car coming up the drive, she dropped her mascara wand and brushed her hair feverishly. It was only one o’clock...and Jon had specifically said that the train didn’t reach Cambridge until one. It was a half an hour drive from Cambridge to the house...but then of course, it wouldn’t be the first time he had got a timetable wrong.
Unable to hide the eagerness in her eyes she rushed downstairs and into the hall, flinging open the front door.
‘Well, well, surprise, surprise...so you are pleased to see me after all.’
In dumb dismay Sophy watched as Chris climbed out of the car on the drive and staggered towards her. He had been drinking, she realised nervously, and there was a look in his eyes that made her feel slightly apprehensive.
‘I thought you were Jon.’ The admission was made before she could check herself, and she cursed herself under her breath as she saw the triumph in his eyes.
‘So, all alone, are you?’
She made to shut the front door, but it was too late. Chris was inside, breathing heavily as he glowered at her. ‘It’s all your fault,’ he told her thickly, lurching towards her, and grabbing hold of her arm. ‘All of it.’
‘Chris...you’ve had too much to drink,’ Sophy protested. If only she could get him into the kitchen she might be able to sober him up and send him on his way. ‘Look, let me make you some coffee.’
‘Don’t want coffee.’ His voice was becoming slurred. ‘Revenge...that’s what I want. Ruined my life, that’s what you did. Bloody—!’ He called her a name that made her wince. ‘Frigid bitches like you ought to be destroyed...because that’s what you’ve done to me. It’s your fault Felicity left me. Christ, remembering what it’s like touching you is enough to make any man impotent...’
Sophy tried not to listen while he hurled further insults at her. Surreptitiously she tried to free herself from his grasp but he suddenly realised what she was trying to do and grabbed hold of her with both hands, shaking her until she thought her neck would break.
‘Are you cold in bed with him?’ he demanded thickly, suddenly, his eyes narrowing onto her own, glittering with a hatred that suddenly turned her blood to ice water. ‘Are you, Sophy?’
She cried out as he shook her again and her head hit the wall with a sickening thud. For a few seconds she thought she was going to faint but then the pain cleared. ‘Let me go, Chris,’ she pleaded, regretting the words, the instant she saw the satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. How on earth had she ever imagined herself in love with him...this apology for a man? He was so weak and immature, so ready to blame others for his own failings. Suddenly she was furiously angry with him, her anger overcoming her earlier fear.
‘No woman could be cold in bed with Jon,’ she told him truthfully, watching the fury twist his face.
‘You’re lying to me.’ He said it thickly, pushing his face against her own so that she was forced to inhale the sour whisky fumes that clung to his breath. ‘Don’t make me angry, Sophy,’ he warned her. ‘You won’t like it when I get angry. Felicity didn’t,’ he added, watching her.
Suddenly Sophy knew that he was threatening her with physical violence and she felt acutely sick. This was the man her mother had wanted her to marry; had held up to her as perfect husband material...this...this creature who had just openly boasted to her that he had used violence on his wife.
Suddenly she was so angry that there was no room or fear. ‘Is that what you like, Chris,’ she sneered, ‘hitting women?’ She watched his face contort and was horrified by the violence in him but knew that to let him see her shock would be to add to his sense of power over her.
‘I think it’s time you left, Chris,’ she told him coolly. She saw the indecision flicker in his eyes, and knew that her controlled manner had disconcerted him. She could even feel the grip of his hands relaxing slightly. Pressing home her advantage, she added, ‘Jon will be home soon.’
She knew instantly that she had made a mistake, the very mention of Jon’s name brought forth a torrent of invective and abuse so foul that she had to close her ears to it.
‘You made a fool of me by marrying him,’ he told her pushing her back against the wall, ‘but he won’t want you anymore when he sees what I’ve done to you...’
He must be mentally deranged, Sophy thought as she tried to fight down her own panic, sensing that to show it would only be to inflame Chris even further. Even making allowances for the fact that he was drunk, his behaviour still hinted at an instability of temperament that shocked and frightened her, all the more so for being concealed so carefully in the past. And yet now she remembered that he had always had a streak of cruelty...always enjoyed hurting people.
She was about to make one last plea to him to set her free when she heard a car outside. Chris, still mouthing threats and insults at her, apparently had heard nothing, and Sophy prayed that Jon would find them before Chris did anything to hurt her. She didn’t even dare move in case Chris realised...but then she heard a car door slam and saw Chris lift his head.
‘Is that him?’ he demanded, shaking her. ‘Is it...?’ He was starting to drag her towards the kitchen. She had a mental image of the dangerously sharp cooking knives hanging on the wall just by the door and her stomach clenched in mute protest. She mustn’t let Chris get in there.
Panic shuddered through her and she reacted instinctively, screaming Jon’s name...hoping her scream would penetrate through the thick front door.
For agonising seconds nothing happened...and she was terrified he hadn’t heard her. Chris was still dragging her towards the kitchen and then blessedly she heard the kitchen door open, and Jon was calling her name. At the same time the front door opened and a burly taxi driver stood there. Jon had obviously heard her cry for help and had instructed the driver to take the front door whilst he took the back.
‘In here, guv!’
She heard the driver call out and then the kitchen door burst open and Jon was standing there. She gave a tiny sob of relief and closed her eyes, only to open them again as Chris was thrust away from her.