The Marriage Truce. Sara Craven

mentioned it in passing.’

      ‘I see.’ She hesitated. ‘What about you? Are you—planning any kind of vacation?’

      He smiled faintly. ‘For me, as ever, a holiday is simply to stop travelling.’

      But you did stop—when you married me. You said you’d finished with that kind of life. The thought forced itself upon her before she could prevent it.

      ‘But I suppose I’ll go back to the house in Brittany,’ he went on. ‘Apparently the last lot of tenants weren’t the most careful in the world, and it needs some work.’

      ‘You’ve been renting out Les Roches?’ The place where we spent our honeymoon? ‘I—I didn’t know.’

      Ross shrugged. ‘Houses shouldn’t be left empty, or the heart goes out of them.’

      Jenna examined a fleck on her thumbnail. ‘You’ve never considered selling it?’

      ‘No.’ The response was crisp and instant. ‘It’s always been a family home.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘And one day I intend to have a family there.’

      She had not seen that coming, and she felt as if she’d been punched in the solar plexus. There was an odd roaring in her ears, and when she parted her lips to say something—anything—no sound would come.

      The arrival of the coffee saved her. By the time the cups had been placed on the table, and cream and sugar brought, she was able to speak again. To cover, she hoped, the momentary hiatus.

      ‘My God.’ She even managed a little laugh. ‘Is the rolling stone coming to rest at last?’

      ‘It would seem so.’ His mouth twisted. ‘As they all do—eventually.’

      ‘I thought you might prove to be the exception.’ She could only hope the lightness in her tone was convincing. ‘What’s caused the change of heart?’

      ‘I became ill.’ His gaze met hers. ‘And, as you know, I’m not used to that. It made me think. Perhaps—adjust my priorities.’ He was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘Also, there is—someone in my life. Someone important.’ He shrugged. ‘What can I say?’

      ‘There’s nothing that needs to be said.’ Stunned as she was, somehow she found the words. Made her lips utter them without faltering. ‘After all, we’re both—free agents. When—when’s the happy day?’

      ‘Nothing’s been decided yet. It is still a little too soon for her. She’s been married before as well, and there are adjustments to be made.’

      ‘Well,’ she said, smiling resolutely, ‘naturally you’ll want to be sure—this time.’

      ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I will.’ His brows lifted. ‘You’re—very understanding.’

      She murmured something and looked down at the table. The compliment was undeserved, and she knew it. She understood nothing. Under her façade of composure she was seething with questions that she would not—could not ask him.

      Do I know her? being the foremost. To be followed by, Is it Lisa Weston? And, if not, why not? What happened to the woman for whom you ended our marriage? And, Did you tire of her, too, in the end? The words were tumbling over themselves in her mind, demanding answers.

      But these were places she dared not go. Because once the questions started she might not be able to stop them.

      And the inner ice she relied on might crack, and all the pain—all the loss—might come pouring out at last. Betraying her utterly.

      Revealing to him, once and for all, how deeply he had wounded her.

      And revealing, most damagingly of all, that she still bled—still grieved in spite of the two years’ total separation between them.

      And if he ever suspected the healing process in her had not begun, he might ask himself why. And she could not risk that particular humiliation, she thought breathlessly, or any other.

      Aware that the silence between them was lengthening, she looked up and smiled brightly at him across the table.

      His own glance was hooded, meditative. ‘And what about you, Jenna? Is there someone for you?’

      ‘No one that special.’ She lifted a nonchalant shoulder. ‘But I’m enjoying playing the field. I never really did that before.’

      ‘No,’ he said. He drank some coffee, grimaced and put down his cup. ‘This place serves the worst coffee in the world.’

      ‘You’ve said that every time we’ve been here.’ The words were out before she could stop them. They were loaded with shared memory. And just when she needed to make him think the past was a closed book, she thought, biting her lip.

      ‘That could be because it’s always true.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Maybe it’s time to bring our demonstration of ex-marital harmony to an end.’

      ‘Yes—yes, of course.’ She made a business of picking up her bag, watching from under her lashes as he walked to the counter to pay the bill, smiling at plump Mrs Trewin and saying something that made her bridle girlishly.

      But that was Ross, she told herself stonily. He could use charm like a weapon, and it was something to which his new lady would have to accustom herself.

      However, she couldn’t get over the astonishing change just a few hours had wrought in him.

      He looked, she thought wonderingly, as if he’d woken, refreshed, from a deep sleep. He was still too thin, of course, but the lines of his face looked sharper, more dynamic this morning, and the old glint was back in his eyes—sexy, humorous, and as devastating as ever.

      Perhaps he was looking for closure, too, wanting to go into his new relationship without baggage from the past to slow him down.

      And that, of course, was what she should be seeking, too. Had always told herself that she was striving to attain.

      Christy’s wedding was supposed to be a step on the path to her own regeneration. She had known ever since she received the invitation that she would have to be strong to cope with all the implications and resonances of the occasion. But that had been before the bombshell of Ross’s presence had been exploded, and all that had happened since.

      Culminating in the revelations of the past half-hour.

      And now, she knew, she was going to need every single weapon in her armoury of self-protection to get her unscathed through the next few days, let alone the eternity to come. And she was frightened.

      She walked ahead of him out on to the cobbles, and stood for a moment, shading her eyes, looking at the familiar mix of fishing boats and sailing craft in the harbour, thankful to have something else to focus on.

      Ross came to stand beside her. ‘You must miss this place—the sea—very much. Do you think you will ever come back?’

      ‘It was a wonderful place to spend my childhood.’ She kept her voice steady. ‘But I’m grown-up now, and my life is—elsewhere.’

      ‘London?’ His mouth twisted. ‘Even when we lived there together I was never convinced it was the right place for you.’

      ‘Perhaps it wasn’t the environment,’ she said tautly, ‘but other factors that were wrong. Anyway, I’d prefer not to discuss it.’ She squared her shoulders. ‘My car’s over there. Do you want a lift back to Thirza’s?’

      He said slowly. ‘That would be kind. But are you sure you wish to do this?’

      She didn’t look at him. ‘We may as well keep the charade going to the bitter end.’

      There was still a breeze, but it was turning into a perfect spring day. The clouds were high and broken, and the sun was hot and bright on Jenna’s newly shorn head as they walked along the quayside. She slipped off the quilted gilet she was