Last Chance Marriage. Rosemary Gibson
in a beam. ‘Brought you something for your supper tonight,’ he said laconically and without preamble. Digging into the pocket of the voluminous waxed jacket that he wore both summer and winter, and, Clemency sometimes suspected, even to bed, he drew out a brown paper parcel and thrust it into her hands. ‘Fresh this morning.’
‘Oh, how lovely!’ Clemency exclaimed enthusiastically, her heart dropping as she felt the clammy contents through the paper. ‘I shall look forward to them.’ Stooping down, she petted the black and white collie sitting obediently by the gum-booted feet. ‘Thank you very much.’ She smiled, straightening up, only then noticing the lean figure coming up the drive towards them.
‘Come on, Jesse.’ Nodding his head with satisfaction at Clemency’s evident pleasure with his gift, the elderly countryman made his way back down the drive, returning Joshua’s courteous greeting as they passed with a monosyllabic grunt.
‘A man of few words,’ Joshua commented as, a tool box in one hand, a pane of glass in the other, he reached Clemency’s side.
‘William doesn’t say a lot,’ Clemency conceded, trying to ignore the way the sun’s rays were flickering over the thick, rich dark hair, caressing the hard contours of his face. ‘But he and his wife are very sweet,’ she added over her shoulder, leading Joshua down the hall and into the kitchen. She was unsuccessful in camouflaging her slight shudder as she deposited the package on the sink unit, and sighed resignedly as she met the quizzical blue gaze.
‘They don’t have a car any more so I give them the occasional lift into Bournemouth,’ she said vaguely. She didn’t mention the fortnight last winter when she’d faithfully driven William over to the hospital every evening to visit his wife who’d been recovering after a fall.
‘And William and his wife express their appreciation with mysterious brown parcels?’ Depositing his tool box and the pane of glass on the floor, Joshua’s eyes dropped thoughtfully back to the sink unit.
‘William was a gamekeeper until he retired.’ Clemency’s own eyes returned to the package. Oh, heavens, it hadn’t moved had it? No, that was definitely her imagination. ‘And I suppose he still has, um, contacts in that line.’ She had never enquired too closely about the source of her presents. ‘It’s usually fish, like today. But sometimes it’s a rabbit or even a pheasant.’ Her large, expressive eyes darkened unhappily. ‘William just assumes that I can...prepare them.’ She paused and confessed in a guilty rush, ‘I know it’s dreadful but I bury them at the bottom of the garden.’
‘In the dead of night so no one can see you?’ The corners of his mouth twitching, Joshua turned his attention to the back door.
‘It’s not funny,’ Clemency reproved, but she grinned back at him and then sighed. ‘I should have been honest with William right from the start.’ Leaning back against the sink unit, she watched as Joshua deftly inserted the new pane of glass into the door, fascinated by his dexterity. ‘And told him I was just a feeble, squeamish townie.’ She’d held one of those strong, capable hands, felt the warmth of those long, supple fingers against hers. She swallowed hard. ‘Or claimed to be a strict vegetarian, but...’
Her stomach muscles contracted in a fierce knot as against her will her eyes skidded over the chiselled mouth. Why did she have to start remembering that kiss now? Just when she’d begun to feel at ease with him, begun to relax.
Taking a step backwards, Joshua examined his handiwork and, apparently satisfied, glanced back over his shoulder. ‘I picked up a couple of new bolts while I was out.’ Discarding his sweatshirt, he tossed it casually over a chair, the tanned length of his arms sprinkled with fine, dark hairs revealed by the dark blue T-shirt.
Clemency felt herself stiffening. She didn’t want his unnerving masculine presence in her home for one moment longer than was strictly necessary.
‘Thanks.’ She forced out the word but knew from the slight narrowing of his eyes he’d noticed her hesitation. But hopefully, she prayed inwardly, not the reason for it. ‘I really ought to have changed the old bolts before now,’ she added more lightly. Joshua had demonstrated just how easy it was to gain access to her home now the rusty bolts were no longer functional, she admitted. Especially as she did occasionally forget to remove the key from the lock.
Armed with a screwdriver, Joshua dropped to his haunches by the door, the blue denim jeans tautening across the muscular thighs. Clemency averted her gaze abruptly. ‘Coffee?’ She had to occupy herself with something, couldn’t just stand there watching him—or trying not to watch him—any longer.
‘Yes, please.’ He looked up. ‘Black. No sugar.’
‘Right.’ His eyes under the thick sweep of dark lashes were so impossibly blue, the depth and intensity of the colour almost mesmerising. She turned away swiftly and spooned coffee into two mugs, cursing under her breath as the spoon slid from her fingers and landed on the tiled floor with a resounding clatter. Bending down to retrieve it, she sensed Joshua watching her.
‘Yes?’ she enquired silently, lifting her eyebrows.
‘Nothing.’ The innocent blue eyes answered wordlessly. Smiling blandly, he began collecting up his tools.
One black coffee, one white, Clemency reminded herself firmly. Surreptitiously she watched Joshua as he rinsed his hands and drew up a chair to the table. Sitting sideways, he stretched out his long, lean legs indolently in front of him, crooking a muscular arm around the back. This was her house, her kitchen and yet right now he seemed to be the one completely at home, not her, she thought with a prickle of resentment.
Picking up the mugs carefully, she carried them across to the table and handed him one.
‘Thanks.’
Sitting down opposite him, she took a sip of coffee and flicked him an upward glance. The dark blue eyes were resting pensively on her left hand, the betraying band of white skin on her third finger long since disappeared.
‘I used to wonder occasionally what had happened to you. How everything had turned out.’
The quiet admission was so unexpected it made Clemency start.
‘Did you?’ she said with studied casualness, wondering why she found it so difficult—no, impossible—to make the same admission. ‘Simon and I separated when I moved down here four and a half years ago,’ she said instead, after a pause. ‘We’ve been divorced for two.’ She wasn’t unduly surprised by his slight frown as he registered the time discrepancy.
‘I didn’t confront Simon about Lisa straight away,’ she said evenly, and saw the furrow between the dark eyebrows deepen.
‘Why not?’ he said quietly.
She averted her eyes. Initially because I felt so damn guilty about you. It had been absolutely absurd in retrospect, particularly under the circumstances. One fleeting New Year kiss—and for a while she’d actually felt as guilty about Simon as if she’d been the betrayer not the betrayed. She’d waited nearly five weeks before finally confronting Simon.
‘I suppose I convinced myself that he was simply infatuated with Lisa, that once she went to America he would forget her. It wasn’t as if he’d actually had an affair with her, been physically unfaithful.’ Was that really true or had she simply chosen to believe it? Put her own interpretation on the words she’d overheard in the kitchen?
‘And then when you finally did tackle Simon about Lisa?’ Joshua asked quietly.
Clemency studied the table. Simon’s distress at the pain he’d caused her had been almost as unbearable as her own hurt. ‘We decided to give our marriage another shot.’ For nine long months they’d tried so hard, both concealing their increasing unhappiness beneath a veneer of superficial domestic normality. ‘It didn’t work out. Simon didn’t stop loving Lisa just because she went to America, and I stopped deluding myself that he had.’
Her eyes darkened, remembering both the sadness and relief with which she and Simon had finally agreed that their marriage was over. A marriage,