The Marriage Deal. Sara Craven

her small elegant bathroom, she stripped and showered slowly, letting the water pour through her hair and down her body. She dried herself without haste, and wrapped in a fresh towel, sarong-style, wandered back to the bedroom and stretched out on her bed.

      She felt infinitely weary, but sleep eluded her just the same. There was too much on her mind, she thought, punching the pillow. And if she was honest, the problem about the takeover wasn’t foremost in her thoughts as it should have been.

      Jago, it seemed, was back, and possibly planning to stay. She had banked very heavily on never having to see him again, but if he was really going to be around as a permanent feature, she didn’t see how this could be avoided. It wasn’t that large a town. Nor could she leave. This was where Landons had its head office, so she couldn’t run, no matter how much she might want to.

      Not that there was any logic in that, she castigated herself scornfully. There was no reason why she and Jago should not meet in a perfectly civilised manner. She’d got over that heartbreaking, desperate, adolescent love for him a long time ago. He couldn’t hurt her again, so what was she afraid of?

      The million-dollar question, Ashley thought ironically.

      She bit her lip savagely. As a future wife for a man like Jago Marrick, she’d been a disaster, but as Silas’ successor, she thought she had enjoyed a modest success. She had felt desperately isolated at first in her new eminence, but she had listened carefully, and made full use of all the experience and expertise which had been offered.

      She sighed. Yet in spite of all her efforts, the board still didn’t trust her, or have any real confidence in her, and all her buried insecurities were burrowing to the surface, nagging and gnawing at her mind. She was not quite twenty-two, after all, and not very old to be doing battle for her share of the market place—a fact of which Marshalls were clearly well aware. Their board obviously regarded the present takeover attempt as no contest, and if she was honest, she could see little way of stopping them.

      If it was any other company, she thought ruefully. But stories of Marshalls’ shoddy dealings and poor workmanship were rife in the industry, and they had already brought a libel action against a well-known satirical magazine which had lambasted them over a new shopping centre, threatened with structural collapse. They had won their case on a technicality, but with derisory damages.

      Yet they were still wealthy enough, and endowed with sufficient clout to be bidding for Landons. They knew that their only chance of success was appealing to the inherent greed of human nature. And shareholders, in this respect, were just as human as anyone else.

      The sudden trill of the phone beside the bed startled her, and she stared at it resentfully, wishing she’d had the foresight to disconnect it. She waited for the caller to get tired of waiting, and ring off, but it didn’t happen. Few people knew she was back, she thought, so perhaps it was Henry calling to apprise her of some new development. And it was clear he wasn’t giving up, so she lifted the receiver.

      ‘Hello,’ she said grudgingly.

      ‘So you are back.’ Jago’s voice, low, sardonic, and totally unmistakable. ‘I presumed old Henry would have pushed the panic button by now.’

      ‘I think you have the wrong number,’ she said wildly. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about …’

      ‘Yes, you do, Ash, so don’t play games. According to the hints and rumours in the financial columns, Landons have a serious problem. I think we should talk.’

      ‘Well, I don’t.’ In spite of herself, her voice sounded ragged, his deliberate diminution of her name rousing memories she would rather have denied. ‘I don’t need your help.’

      ‘I thought three years might have matured you, Ash,’ he jibed at her. ‘But it seems you’re still the same prickly schoolgirl, nursing your hurt pride. And for that, you’re prepared to see Landons go down the drain. You amaze me!’

      ‘That isn’t true,’ she said stiffly. ‘If you have any helpful suggestions, then you should get in touch with Henry. I’m sure he’d be glad to hear from you.’

      ‘Although you’re not.’ Jago gave a low laugh. ‘Well, I suppose that was too much to expect under the circumstances. But you will be hearing from me, Ash, and sooner than you think. I had the greatest admiration for Silas, and I’m not prepared to see his company go to the wall for the sake of past differences between the two of us.’

      ‘I like “past differences”,’ Ashley said contemptuously. ‘It’s a good blanket term to cover your mercenary agreement with my father, and your flagrant infidelity!’

      ‘Oh, it covers a damned sight more than that,’ he said pleasantly. ‘But I’m glad you approve. It’s a start anyway. I’ll be seeing you, then.’ The line disconnected briskly.

      He had never, Ashley thought, as she replaced her own receiver, been one for prolonged farewells.

      She sat up, nervously hitching up her towel, as though Jago was in the room with her, his tawny hazel eyes observing her state of disarray with that overt sensuality which had so disturbed her during their brief, ill-fated relationship.

      He’d called her a prickly schoolgirl, and she supposed he had a certain amount of justification, remembering how she had nervously shied away from any physical advances he’d made to her. Not even the fact that she had fallen head over heels in love with him had been able to mitigate her panic-stricken recoil from any real intimacy between them during their engagement.

      And if she had been frightened by the unknown passions she had sensed were tightly leashed in his lean male body, then she had been utterly terrified by the wild unbidden reaction of her own innocent flesh to his lightest touch. And there was no one to help her understand or cope with these new and overwhelming sensations. The sex education lessons at her school had described the mechanics, but said nothing about the emotions which should accompany such experiences, and Ashley’s housemistress had given muddled, embarrassed talks about the problems inherent in ‘leading men on’, quoting current rape statistics, and advising ‘keeping oneself decent for marriage’.

      And Silas’ values, she had discovered when she had nerved herself to mention the topic to him, were equally rigid. Purity was what a man looked for in his future wife, he had told her flatly, and she could learn anything she needed to know from her husband when the time came.

      When Jago held her close, she felt totally confused, her body at war with her mind, which insisted that such an intensity of emotion must be wrong, even in some way abnormal.

      Eventually, it seemed easier to keep Jago at arms’ length. Or at any rate simpler, she amended hastily, because it had never been easy.

      She had supposed naïvely that Silas was right, and that once they were married everything would be different. That wearing Jago’s ring, having the right to call herself his wife, would bring about some fundamental sea-change in her. Only she had never had the opportunity to find out.

      The wedding had only been a few weeks away when she had finally found out the truth about the kind of man she was marrying. She hadn’t seen Jago for several days, not since they’d spent an evening at the theatre together. Afterwards, he had suggested she go back to his flat with him for a nightcap, and she had shrunk immediately. It was altogether too secluded and intimate an environment for her to cope with, feeling as she did, and she’d heard herself babbling some feeble excuse. That Jago had recognised it as such was evident, although he had said nothing. But his mouth had tightened, and he had driven her home with almost exaggerated care, depositing her on her doorstep with chilly courtesy, not even bothering to bestow the most chaste of goodnight kisses.

      Ashley told herself he was being unreasonable, and that she wasn’t going to be the first to make amends, but as time passed without a word from him, her need for reassurance got the better of her pride, and she tried to telephone him. When there was no reply from the flat, she told herself he was probably staying at the Manor, as Giles liked him to do from time to time.

      But when she drove out to the Manor that evening, she found