The Marriage Truce

Jenna bit her lip. ‘It seems there is no alternative.’

‘Then shall we shake hands on it?’ He walked towards her, closing the space between them, and she couldn’t retreat because the damned bench was in the way. Could do nothing about the fact that he was now standing right beside her.

He held out his hand, his dark eyes mesmeric, compelling. Then a mischievous gust of wind suddenly lifted her loosened hair and blew it across his face.

Ross gasped and took a step backwards, his hands tearing almost feverishly at the errant strands to free himself.

For a crazy moment she wondered if he was remembering, as she was, the way he’d used to play with her hair when they were in bed together after lovemaking, twining it round his fingers and drawing it across his lips and throat.

And how she would bury her face in his shoulder, luxuriously inhaling the scent of his skin …

Sudden pain wrenched at her uncontrollably. Blood was roaring in her ears. Hands shaking, she raked her hair back from her face and held it captive at the nape of her neck.

She said hoarsely, looking past him, ‘I—I think the weather’s getting worse. I—I’ll see you around—I expect …’

She walked away from him, forcing herself not to hurry, across the short, damp grass.

And if he said her name again as she went the wind carried it away and it was lost for ever. And she could only be thankful for that.

Once safely inside the garden she began to run, stumbling a little as her feet crunched the gravel.

She fell breathlessly through the front door and met Christy, back from her shopping trip to Truro, coming downstairs.

‘Darling,’ Christy’s blue eyes searched her face. ‘Are you all right? Ma was worried about you …’

‘I’m fine,’ Jenna said, eyes fiercely bright, cheeks hectically flushed. ‘And, for good or ill, I’m staying. But on one condition—and it’s not negotiable.’

‘Oh, Jen.’ Christy hugged her. ‘Anything—you know that.’

Jenna took a deep, steadying breath. ‘I’m going into Polcarrow tomorrow—and I’m having my hair cut.’ She paused. ‘All of it.’

CHAPTER TWO (#ua0d46f50-4abf-506a-8244-19ee0b8a0da5)

THE wind dropped during the early hours of the morning. Jenna could have timed it to the minute, if she’d felt inclined, as she’d done little else since she got to bed but lie staring into the darkness and listening to the grandfather clock in the hall below sonorously marking the passage of the night.

If I don’t get some sleep soon I’m going to look and feel like hell in the morning, she told herself, turning on to her stomach and giving her inoffensive pillows a vicious pummelling.

Even so, there was no way she would look as bad as Ross had done yesterday, she realised with a pang of reluctant concern. Any doubts she might have had about the seriousness of his recent illness had shattered after the first glance. Because he’d looked as if the virus he’d picked up abroad had taken him to death’s door and back again.

He had told her she was thinner, but he too had lost an untold amount of weight, and his dark face had been haggard, and sallow, with deep shadows under his eyes. He’d looked older, too, and quieter. And oddly weary. For a moment she had found herself confronted by a stranger.

She could understand now why Thirza had been so worried about him, even if she did not relish the solution that worry had produced.

She sighed, burying her face in the pillow. For a while she’d been seriously tempted to keep quiet about their encounter on the cliff, but she’d soon realised that would be impractical. Besides, the way that she and Ross planned to deal with each other would have a direct bearing on the next few days, and affect her family, so they probably had a right to know.

She’d broken the news of their truce over dinner, keeping her voice light and matter-of-fact.

‘The last thing either of us wants is to make the situation more awkward than it already is.’ She had tried to smile. ‘So, we plan to be—civil.’

There was a silence, then Aunt Grace said, ‘Oh, my dear child, how desperately sad.’ She directed a fulminating stare at her husband, who was placidly eating his portion of chicken casserole. ‘Henry—how long have you known that Ross would be bringing Thirza to the wedding—and why on earth did you agree?’

‘She rang to inform me just this morning.’ Mr Penloe smiled at his wife. ‘And she didn’t ask my permission,’ he added drily.

‘Typical,’ Grace Penloe said hotly. ‘Absolutely typical. If she’d had the least consideration for us all she’d have stayed away herself.’

Jenna laid a placatory hand over her aunt’s. ‘Darling, it’s all right—really. I admit I was upset when I first heard Ross was here, but that was—just me being silly.’ She gave a resolute smile. ‘It could be all for the best,’ she added, with a sideways glance at her uncle. ‘After all, we had to meet again some time.’

‘Probably,’ said Mrs Penloe. ‘But, for preference, not under the Polcarrow microscope. Oh, Betty Fox will make a meal of this,’ she added, stabbing at a mushroom as if it were the lady in question.

‘Betty Fox will have enough to do, criticising what we’re all wearing and finding fault with the decorations in the church hall and the caterers,’ Christy said, pulling a face. ‘Even she can’t make much capital out of a divorced couple being polite to each other.’

‘That’s what you think,’ her mother said tartly. ‘Oh, damn Thirza.’ She paused ominously. ‘And, Jenna, what’s this Christy tells me about you making an appointment at the hairdresser tomorrow to have your hair cut?’

Jenna shrugged. ‘New attitude—new image. I’ve had long hair all my life. It’s time for a change.’

Mrs Penloe gave the smooth chestnut coil at the nape of her niece’s neck an anguished look. ‘Oh, Jenna, don’t do it. At least, not now. Wait until the wedding is over, please.’

Jenna stared at her. ‘Aunt Grace, I’ll be wearing a spray of freesias in my hair. The style won’t make any difference.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of the headdress.’ Mrs Penloe shook her head. ‘Oh, dear.’

‘You’d think,’ Jenna said later, as she gave the condemned hair its final nightly brushing, ‘that I was having my head cut off instead.’

Christy, who was sprawled across the bed, turning over the pages of House and Garden, frowned. ‘Ma did overreact slightly,’ she agreed. ‘I can’t say I’m entranced with the idea myself, but it’s your hair, and your decision.’

She pulled a face. ‘Perhaps the wedding is starting to get to her at last. She’s been amazingly calm and organised so far, until dear Thirza dropped her bombshell, that is. I’ve told Pops that when it’s all over he should take Ma away for a holiday.’

A sharp gust rattled the window, and the girls exchanged wry glances.

‘Preferably somewhere warm and peaceful,’ Jenna said drily, putting down her brush.

‘Thank heavens we decided to have the reception in the church hall, instead of …’ Christy paused awkwardly.

Jenna sent her a composed smile. ‘Instead of a marquee on the lawn as I did?’ she queried. ‘It’s all right. You can mention it without me having hysterics.’ She pulled a face. ‘I suspect I’ll need to grow another skin over the next few days, anyway.’

Christy shut the magazine and sat up. ‘Jen—I’m so awfully sorry you should be put through this.’ She paused. ‘The village rumour mill had Ross totally bedridden and being fed intravenously, of course, so you’d hardly expect him to pop up on Trevarne Head, being civilised.’ She gave Jenna an anxious look. ‘Seeing him again—was it as bad as you feared?’

‘Heavens, no,’ Jenna said lightly. Worse—much worse.

‘Well, that’s a relief.’ Christy shook her head. ‘Not that it lets Thirza off the hook. As a contributor to consideration and family unity, she makes a terrific fabric designer.’

‘Well, she’s certainly that, all right,’ Jenna agreed. ‘In fact, I’ve often thought I’d like to stage an exhibition of her work at the gallery.’

‘You could always suggest it.’

Jenna shook her head. ‘She’d refuse. I was never her favourite person, even before the divorce.’

‘I could never figure that,’ Christy said thoughtfully. ‘After what she went through with her own husband, I’d have said her sympathies would have been with you.’ She paused ruefully. ‘Ouch, my big mouth again. Jen, I’m so sorry …’