A Whirlwind Marriage

Zeke phoned at six o’clock and he sounded harassed. ‘I’m not going to be able to make it back tonight,’ he said through what sounded like a babble of voices at the other end. ‘There’s still a long way to go before we clinch the deal. I’m sorry, Marianne.’

‘It’s okay.’ She bit back the disappointment and made her voice bright as she said, ‘The house was wonderful, Zeke. It’s the one; I’m sure of it.’

‘The house?’ And then immediately, ‘Oh, yes, of course, the Bedlows place. You liked it, then?’

‘I love it,’ she said a little flatly.

‘Good.’ The noise rose in a wave and then died down, and it was in that moment Marianne heard a familiar voice say, ‘Zeke? Are you coming, darling? I’m famished,’ before the babble began again.

Liliana. Marianne stood, the phone pressed to her ear and her body frozen, and stared straight ahead across the room. Liliana was there with him.

‘Look, it’s chaotic now. I’ll phone you later, when we get back from the restaurant.’

She heard Zeke’s voice but the power to respond was just not there. ‘We’. He’d said we. Him and Liliana.

‘Marianne?’

She barely knew what she was doing when she replaced the receiver, but then in the next instant she had whipped it up again, lying it down beside the phone with numb fingers.

Liliana was in Stoke with him. He had taken Liliana with him. After all she had said to him about how she felt about the other woman he had chosen, deliberately, to take Liliana with him on this trip. And now they were staying overnight.

She began to pace back and forth, her mind spinning. Had she made a mistake? It was possible. It was possible. She was clutching at straws and she knew it. Perhaps her mind had played a trick on her. You heard of such things. He wouldn’t have taken Liliana with him; there was no need. The project he had employed the redhead for had nothing to do with the development in Stoke. She must have made a mistake.

She glanced at the address book at the side of the telephone and then picked it up slowly. She shouldn’t do this; she really shouldn’t do this, she told herself sickly as she found Sandra’s home number. She should wait until Zeke came home and then ask him calmly and coolly; that was what she should do. But the way she was feeling right now she’d be a gibbering idiot by tomorrow night.

She dialled the number.

‘Hallo, Amy Jenkins speaking.’

‘Hi, Amy,’ Marianne said carefully to Sandra’s twelve-year-old daughter. ‘Is your mother there? It’s Marianne Buchanan.’

‘Just a minute and I’ll get her.’

Marianne’s heart was thudding so hard she was pressing her hand to her breastbone when Sandra’s concerned voice came on the line. ‘Mrs Buchanan? Is anything wrong?’

‘I’m sorry to bother you at home,’ Marianne said evenly, ‘but I’ve found a financial file regarding the Stoke project which Zeke has left here. Knowing Zeke it’s probably because he doesn’t need it, but I wondered if the financial guys have gone with him anyway?’ She was safe in this; Zeke had left the file in his study, but she knew he had extracted relevant data the night before because she had brought him a cup of coffee just in time to hear him muttering about ‘the useless amount of rubbish cluttering up this file!’

‘Don’t worry, Mrs Buchanan, I’m sure it’s all right,’ Sandra said soothingly. ‘We’d have heard by now if he needed anything.’

‘Did any of the financial team go with him?’ Marianne pressed quietly. And then she took a gamble that made her shut her eyes tightly as she said, ‘Although I suppose there wasn’t a lot of room with Miss de Giraud going, too.’

‘Oh, there would have been room, but Mr Green had gone the day before,’ Sandra explained helpfully. ‘I think Mr Buchanan expected that everything would run smoothly and the solicitors could iron out any little hiccups between them, but of course it hasn’t turned out like that.’

‘No, it appears not.’ Talk naturally. Be upbeat. ‘Not to worry, then, if Mr Green’s there. I hope you didn’t mind me calling?’

‘Of course not, Mrs Buchanan. How’s the house-hunting going?’ Sandra asked cheerfully. ‘Seen anything you like yet?’

They talked briefly for another minute, and then, after thanking Sandra again, Marianne finished the call. But again she placed the receiver next to the telephone. If Zeke rang back she didn’t want to talk to him; she didn’t even want to hear his voice.

She sank down on to the thick carpet as her trembling legs gave way and remained there for some minutes, in too much agony to even cry, her face as white as lint but her eyes burningly dry.