Last Chance Marriage. Rosemary Gibson
people she cared most about in the world, should have developed such an aversion to each other’s company over the past few months, after years of friendship, had both baffled and upset her. Hopefully tonight they’d finally decided to call a truce, stop the ridiculous bickering. She felt a wash of sadness as her gaze rested on the small brunette by her husband’s side. She was going to miss Lisa when she moved to New York, was still surprised at her sudden decision to apply for the overseas post.
She lost sight of her husband and friend as the tempo of the music increased, dancing with renewed energy until she finally pleaded for mercy from her inexhaustible partner.
‘No staying power, these married women,’ David teased her, planting a brotherly kiss on her cheek as he released her hand. ‘And, if you’re looking for your lucky swine of a husband, I just saw him heading towards the kitchen.’
No doubt to replenish his empty glass. Edging her way towards the door, Clemency watched with amusement as David threaded purposefully across the room towards a solitary, attractive blonde. She’d spent the early part of the night circulating, catching up with friends, and now, she thought contentedly as she made her way towards the kitchen, she just wanted to spend what was left of the old year with Simon.
Later she was never quite sure why she had paused in the doorway, had not simply walked straight in the moment she’d seen Simon and Lisa in the otherwise empty kitchen. But she had paused, had seen that expression of utter desolation on Simon’s face as he gazed longingly across the room at the dark-haired girl standing with her back to him staring out of the window into the darkness.
‘Please don’t go to New York, Lissy.’
Clemency froze, unable to move, the anguished desperation in Simon’s voice numbing her completely.
‘I have to, Simon. You know that.’ Lisa’s voice was low and muffled, her back rigid. ‘If I stay...I don’t want an affair with you...I couldn’t do that to Clemmy.’
‘I don’t want an affair with you, Lissy. I love you...’
She couldn’t be hearing this. Would wake up any moment and find it was a nightmare. The numbness had eased, the first wash of agonising pain tearing through Clemency. This could not be happening, not to her. She wanted to cry out her protest, her denial as she watched her husband cross the floor and take her best friend in his arms but her throat was too raw.
‘Lissy, please.’
‘No, Simon...’ Pushing him away, Lisa swung back to the window. ‘I love you, but I love Clemmy too. I’ve known her since I was five, even longer than you have. She’s like a sister.’ Her voice was so low, Clemency could barely distinguish the words. ‘I couldn’t ruin her life, and nor could you, Simon.’
They already had...
Her eyes flicking open, Clemency stretched out her stiffening legs and leant back against the tree. Perhaps if she’d tackled Simon and Lisa right then it might have been easier, less painful in the long run. But she hadn’t. She’d turned and crept away like a wounded animal, grabbed her coat and escaped silently out of the flat into the December night.
Oblivious to the squeal of taxi brakes, moving like a sleepwalker, Clemency crossed the road to the river embankment. For a moment she stared down into the dark, cold water and then began walking along its edge, her pace increasing until she was almost running. Head bowed, her eyes blurred with unshed tears, she didn’t see the group of young men approaching until it was too late to take evasive action and almost cannoned straight into them.
‘Happy New Year, beautiful.’
‘What’s a woman like you doing on her own tonight?’
‘Fancy coming to a party with us, gorgeous?’
Their bantering was good-humoured—if puerile—rather than threatening, and normally Clemency wouldn’t have had any trouble in dealing with the group of intoxicated but harmless young men. But tonight she simply stared dazedly at the group forming a half-circle around her.
‘Scram!’
The deep, educated voice came from behind her. Quiet and controlled, it held an authority that was immediately recognised and acted upon. Macho bravado evaporating, the young men dissolved into sheepish small boys, murmuring apologies to Clemency before hastening on their way.
‘Are you all right?’
Tilting her head, Clemency looked up at the tall, quietly spoken man.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said mechanically. The glow of the street lights illuminated strongly carved male features.
‘Where are you going? It might be advisable to take a taxi.’
It was the flicker of concern in the dark, shadowed eyes, the gentleness in the deep voice that proved to be her undoing. ‘I d-don’t know where I’m going,’ she mumbled in a small, bewildered voice and burst into tears.
Vaguely she was aware of a firm hand on her arm propelling her towards a bench. He made no attempt to assuage her tears, offered no trite words of comfort, simply sat there silently by her side, letting her cry without question or intrusion. Yet his very presence, his aura of calm strength was more soothing than a million platitudes.
Her tears subsiding, she dabbed at her cheeks with a tissue and turned towards him. She had never broken down in front of anyone in her life before, should have felt self-conscious and awkward, but she felt neither. Maybe it was because he himself showed no signs of embarrassment or impatience, the corners of the very masculine mouth curving in a reassuring smile, the dark blue eyes inviting but not pressing her to tell him the cause of her distress.
There were tiny laughter lines etched on his face, hinting at a strong sense of humour, a sense of the absurd. A man not given to small talk but, she suspected from the astute eyes, an acute observer. His clean-shaven jaw was lean, well defined, its decisiveness reflected in the square, tenacious chin. In his early thirties, he looked resourceful and competent, not a man to be fazed easily, and certainly not by a weeping female.
She ran a hand over her face again and gave him a watery smile. The embankment was deserted but she felt no qualms about sitting alone in the night with him, not the slightest flicker of unease.
‘I’m fine now,’ she assured him unconvincingly. ‘Please don’t let me detain you any further,’ she added politely.
He didn’t answer. Made no effort to move. Just sat there. Waiting.
‘I’ve just found out that my husband has fallen in love with my best friend,’ she blurted out, and saw the leap of compassion in his eyes. She swallowed. ‘We were at my brother’s party and I overheard them talking in the kitchen...’ Jerkily she relived again out loud the most traumatic seconds of her young life. ‘I just ran away,’ she concluded in a mumble.
‘You had no idea?’ the man beside her asked softly.
‘No. Not a clue. I thought we were happy,’ she said bleakly. ‘I’ve known Simon since I was at primary school. He was my first boyfriend when I was sixteen.’ She paused, her luminous eyes huge with pain and bewilderment. ‘How can you know someone almost all your life, live with them, share their bed and not really know anything about them at all? Not really know what they’re thinking, feeling?’
‘I don’t know.’
His voice was even but the muscle flickering along the lean jaw betrayed him, alerted Clemency immediately. He wasn’t simply paying lip service to the words but actually understood—no, more than that—shared her dazed incredulity.
Slowly she searched his face, her eyes locking with his. And for the first time she saw the unhappiness in the dark blue depths. He wasn’t as she’d automatically supposed en route to a party, but, like her, had deliberately sought out the solitude and anonymity of the river embankment. This man was suffering as much as she was.
Her heart