A Passionate Affair: The Passionate Husband / The Italian's Passion / A Latin Passion

She took a deep breath and lifted her head, opening the shower room door and walking briskly into the main room. And then she stopped dead. It was empty. He’d gone. She glanced about her as though she expected him to leap up from behind the sofa, and then she saw the note on the breakfast bar. Walking across, she picked it up, holding the rose which he had slanted across one of the pages from the message pad she kept near the telephone.

Sorry, urgent call on my mobile means I’ve got to cut and run. We’ll talk later. T

Marsha sank down on one of the stools, her heart thudding. T. Not even ‘love T’. And surely he could have waited a few minutes until she’d showered and dressed? Had he regretted making love to her? Or had he thought it would be easier on her if he left before she came out? She had said she wasn’t hungry, but—

Stop it. The command in her head was strong. No amount of rationalising would give her the answer. Only Taylor could do that, and she couldn’t ask him. She put down the note and the rose, staring at the deep red petals for a long time. She had let Taylor into her mind and her body this morning; she’d gone against everything she had told herself over the last eighteen months and had given him goodness knows what message. She was stark staring mad.

Coffee. She nodded to the thought. She was going to have a cup of strong hot coffee and then force herself to eat some of this food. She would need to be fully in command of herself when she went to see Susan this morning. The time had come. Or perhaps it was long overdue. Eighteen months overdue. If nothing else she should have insisted on seeing Susan and Dale once the initial shock had subsided. She realised that now. So perhaps, as Taylor had said, there was hope for her yet? But it wasn’t hope for herself she wanted, it was hope for them.

She frowned to herself, hating to admit just how much she needed him. From the moment he had come into her life, like a powerful, inexorable force, she had known she would never love anyone else. Taylor was part of her, he was in her blood, her bones, and whatever she did to try to forget him it didn’t work.

It had been so good when they had first been married … She let her mind wander back to those golden days in a way she hadn’t done for a long time because it was too painful. She had adored him, had been over the moon that a man like Taylor—sophisticated, handsome, wealthy, powerful—had noticed her. Not just noticed her but fallen madly in love with her if he was to be believed. And he had been so gentle, so tender with her.

She pushed back the silk of her hair, her eyes cloudy with the memories which were crowding in.

Right from their first date it had been enough to be together; they hadn’t needed anyone else. In fact it had been something of a sacrifice when they had shared their time with other people, even old friends. They had practically lived in each other’s pockets before they were married, their relationship so intense it had disturbed her when she stopped to think about it. Which wasn’t often. Not with Taylor by her side, filling every moment, every thought, every breath.

She sighed deeply, her body still holding the tingling awareness of their lovemaking and her breasts full and heavy with the remnants of passion.

She had told him they shouldn’t have made love, but it had seemed the most natural, the right thing to do. So where did that leave her?

Up the creek without a paddle. An old saying of the home’s matron, a severe, grey-haired lady with the name of Armstrong, came to mind. Matron Armstrong had been a Yorkshire lass, and full of such little gems, but she had been kind beneath her grim exterior. Marsha could still recall when the second set of prospective parents had returned her to the home, making no effort to hide their disappointment in her, and the way Matron had whisked her into her quarters once they had gone, feeding her hot crumpets and jam by the fire and talking long and hard about how stupid some grown-ups could be. Yes, she had been a nice woman, Matron Armstrong.

She sighed again, gazing round the bedsit as though the little home she had created for herself would help her sort out her confusion. Why did she still, knowing all she knew about Tanya—or at least thought she knew, she corrected, trying to be fair—ache for his touch, his love?

Because she loved him in a way she could never love anyone else.

The thought thrust itself into the forefront of her mind, causing her to lower her head as she made a sound deep in her throat.

She sat quite still for some minutes before raising her head, and now her mouth was set in a determined line, her eyes narrowed. She would go and see Susan and bear whatever came of their meeting, good or bad. She owed it to herself to do that, even if she didn’t owe it to Taylor.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SUSAN’S large, faintly ostentatious house was gently baking in the morning sun as Marsha paid the taxi driver. As he drove off she turned, standing and looking at the building for a moment.

The small select estate of three-year-old executive style properties was all manicured green lawns, pristine flower borders with not a petal in the wrong place and pocket-size back gardens without a bird in sight. Windows gleamed, drives were immaculate and the odd silver birch tree—the only trees which had been planted by the builders in the middle of every other front lawn—were neatly trimmed and perfect. Marsha found it hard to imagine that real flesh and blood people lived in such uniform perfection.

She had telephoned Susan earlier that morning, and it was clear the other woman had been keeping an eye out for the taxi as the front door suddenly opened. ‘Marsha.’ Susan smiled at her. ‘How lovely to see you. Do come in.’

As Marsha reached her sister-in-law she was briefly enfolded in a cool perfumed embrace, and then she was in Susan’s elegant cream and biscuit hall—the same colour scheme being reflected throughout the five-bedroomed house.

‘Come through to the sitting room,’ Susan continued, leading the way into the large and expensively furnished room Marsha remembered from when she had still been living with Taylor. Brother and sister had had a few altercations over the price of several items, not least the three two-seater cream leather sofas, the cost of which had run into six figures. Dale’s salary—as Taylor’s general manager—should have been able to cover the mortgage and the cost of any necessary new furniture or appliances when they had moved from their more modest house just after Marsha and Taylor had wed, but neither Susan’s husband nor her brother had expected her to go on a spending spree as she had. When Susan had come crying to Taylor that she couldn’t keep up the repayments on various items he had taken the debts and paid them, but not before he had made it very clear he wasn’t happy with her wild squandering of what was essentially his money.

Susan had argued and cried and sulked, taking herself off for a weekend to a health farm at the height of the dispute, but with the debts all paid off and her new home furnished exactly the way she wanted she had soon been herself again—with Taylor, at least. With Dale she had seemed a little distant.

It was through this fracas that Marsha had seen Taylor’s relationship with his sister was more father to daughter than sibling to sibling. One night when the dust had settled he had explained to her that their father had been such a transitory figure in their lives, even before their mother had died, that he had taken on the responsibility of Susan from childhood. It had explained a lot. Susan’s adoration of her big brother and Taylor’s indulgent humouring of his sister’s sometimes excessive demands had fallen into place.

‘I’ve missed you.’ Susan placed a beringed hand on Marsha’s arm once they were sitting in air-conditioned comfort. Mrs Temple—Susan’s daily—bustled in a moment later with a tray of coffee.

Once the two women were alone again Susan leant forward, her light brown eyes—which were a washed-out version of Taylor’s deep tawny orbs—uncharacteristically warm as she said, ‘How are things, Marsha? What have you been doing with yourself?’

Marsha gave a brief description of her job and her home, to which Susan listened intently. Taylor’s sister had never aspired to further education and she had left school at sixteen, working for a few hours a day in a flower shop before her marriage to Dale, when she had been just over twenty-one. At that point she had given up work entirely.

‘And do you enjoy your job? Are you happy?’

There was something of an urgency to Susan’s tone, which surprised Marsha. She looked at her sister-in-law, her smile soft at the other woman’s concern as she said, ‘Yes, I love my work. It’s challenging and rewarding and every day is different.’

‘But are you happy?’

Marsha took a sip of her coffee to give herself time to think. She had never worn her heart on her sleeve and she wasn’t about to start now, but she couldn’t in all honesty say she was happy, not even before Taylor had burst into her life again and turned everything upside down. She was satisfied with the life she had carved out for herself of necessity, and with that satisfaction had come more self-respect than she had ever had before, along with a belief in her own strength and fortitude, but happy? Happiness was Taylor. Joy was Taylor.

She took a steadying breath as she placed the delicate one china cup on its fragile saucer. ‘Happiness is different things to different people,’ she prevaricated quietly, ‘but can I tell you why I came today?’

‘It’s something to do with Taylor, isn’t it?’ It was more a statement than a question.

‘He’s told you he came to see me?’ Marsha found she was faintly surprised. Susan and Taylor were very close, but somehow she had imagined he would keep the last few days quiet until they had sorted things out one way or the other.

Susan nodded, her eyes fixed on Marsha’s face. ‘He… he said you’re still determined not to go back to him. Is that true?’

Again Marsha prevaricated. ‘Susan, I just need to check a few things with you. Some of what he said—’ She stopped abruptly. She really didn’t know how to put this. ‘He’s adamant he never slept with Tanya or anyone else, not then and not since we’ve been separated. Could you have got it wrong?’

Susan continued to stare at her before bringing her lids down over her eyes as she reached for her own cup.

‘You phoned the hotel yourself,’ she said flatly.

‘I know.’ Marsha’s stomach lurched. She had been banking on a ray of hope; she realised that now. ‘Taylor said the booking was made in error—the double room for him and Tanya, I mean. He said he took the only other available bed in the place and shared a twin with another man at the conference. He maintains he wrote me a letter explaining everything—’

‘Marsha, what do you want me to say?’ Susan had set her cup down and now her face was tight as she raised her head again. ‘You made the decision to leave him at the time and I don’t see what’s changed.’

Marsha returned her gaze for a long moment, then sank back against the sofa, putting a hand to her forehead. She had been clutching at straws; she saw that now. Susan was trying to be kind by not rubbing it in, but it was clear the other woman had no doubts about Taylor’s infidelity. ‘I… I want to believe him, I suppose,’ she said throatily, tears welling up despite all her efforts to control herself.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Marsha, really.’ Suddenly Susan was beside her, hugging her. ‘But you’ve just told me what a great life you’ve made for yourself without him. You’ll be all right. You will. You’re so brainy and beautiful and… and nice.’

As her sister-in-law’s voice broke and Susan began to cry with her, Marsha knew she had to get her equilibrium back. She should never have come here today. It could serve no useful purpose—simply opening the old wound until it was raw and bleeding.

She drew back a little from Susan with as much aplomb as she could muster, her voice still husky with tears as she said, ‘It’s me that’s sorry, Sue. I’ve come here and upset you, and after all you did for me. It must have been hard, loving Taylor as you do, to tell me about Tanya and everything. Look, I ought to go.’

‘No, no, don’t.’ Susan sounded almost desperate. ‘Stay for a bit, please. Here, have some more coffee; you’ll feel better.’

She couldn’t feel any worse. Marsha dredged up a smile from somewhere as she nodded.

‘I have missed you, Marsha, so much. I mean it.’ Susan pushed back her hair from her damp face.

‘Not with your busy social life, surely?’ Marsha attempted to bring things back to normal, her voice brighter. Susan and Dale lived in a social whirl that would have made her giddy. She and Taylor had liked to go out quite often, dancing the night away at nightclubs, having and going to dinner parties or to the theatre, but they had also enjoyed quiet romantic dinners at home together, or weekends when they saw no one. Susan and Dale, on the other hand, rarely had an evening at home, and when they did it was usually because they were throwing a dinner party.

Susan shrugged now. ‘Quantity of friends doesn’t necessarily mean the quality is right,’ she said, so bitterly that Marsha was shocked out of her own misery.

‘Is anything wrong?’ She placed a hand on Susan’s arm.