For Better For Worse. PENNY JORDAN

shuddered tensely, desperately trying to block off her self-destructive thoughts, to channel the threatening power of what she was feeling in less lethal directions, to remind herself that she was Nick’s wife.

      And the only way she had of reinforcing the view the outside world had to hold of her relationship with Adam, of reinforcing to Adam that he need never ever fear that she would seek to humiliate herself in such a way again, by repeating that idiotic, crazy behaviour of the past, was to treat him with the coldness and distance behind which she had learned to hide her true feelings.

      Even when they did not have an audience. After all, it was even more important that Adam did not guess the truth than it was that no one else did.

      What was left of her pride, a poor thin-skinned affair, she had somehow managed to patch together, but it could never be wholly mended or trusted, and would certainly never be strong enough to sustain any real blows against it.

      ‘Is that really what you think I would do, Fern?’

      The harshness in his voice hurt her almost physically. She wanted to flinch back from it, to cry out in protest, but stoically she refused to let herself.

      Physically Adam might not have that charmed, almost boyish look of youth which made Nick so attractive, but there was something about him in his maturity which appealed even more strongly to her feminine senses now than it had done when they had been younger.

      There was a sensuality, a sexuality about Adam which, although covert and subtle rather than something which he himself was aware of and deliberately flaunted, had an effect on her that made her so aware of herself as a woman—aware of herself and aware of her need for him—that just standing here, what should have been a perfectly ludicrously safe distance away from him, was enough to raise the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck and send a frisson of aching desire twisting painfully through her body.

      Adam had a masculinity, a maleness which no woman could possibly ignore, she acknowledged tautly. Even now, with her brain and her body screaming warnings of danger to her, she was intensely aware of it and of him.

      Aware of it and achingly, desperately envious of the woman, the girl on whom it was bestowed.

      Once she had thought she had been that girl, but Nick had questioned her, laughing at her as he asked her almost incredulously if she had really believed that Adam was attracted to her.

      ‘Has he ever made love to you?’ he had asked her, and she had shaken her head, wincing as Nick had shrugged and announced bluntly, ‘Well, there you are, then. If he had wanted you… really wanted you, he would have done so. I want you, Fern,’ he had added huskily. ‘I want you very, very much.’

      She shivered slightly, forcing herself back to the present and to Adam’s question.

      ‘You’re a businessman,’ she responded tiredly.

      ‘I’m an architect,’ he contradicted her flatly.

      ‘But you are here,’ Fern pointed out, flushing slightly as she heard the anger edging up under his voice. ‘Something must have brought you.’

      ‘You’re here too,’ Adam retaliated coolly. ‘What brought you?’

      Somehow Fern managed to swallow down the hard, hurting ball of tears which had locked in her throat. It was always like this when they met, their voices full of painful anger, her body stiff and tense with the effort of rejecting and controlling what she was really feeling, the indifference, the distance she forced herself to display taking so much out of her that she already knew that the moment he had gone she would be reduced to a trembling, shivering wreck, totally unable to do so much as put one foot properly in front of the other; that she would spend hours and not minutes trying to stop herself from reliving the past, from wishing… wanting…

      ‘You’re here,’ he had said. Tension crawled along her spine and into her nerve-endings. Did he think she had known he would be here… that she had followed him here… that she might… ?

      ‘I wanted to see the garden, before you destroy it…’

      Try as she might, she could not keep the pain out of her voice. She turned to face him, her chin tilting, the sunlight catching her hair so that for a moment she seemed so ethereally a part of her surroundings that Adam found himself holding his breath, afraid almost to breathe as he watched her, mentally reclothing her in soft greens and yellows, the colours, the fabrics flowing and harmonious, enhancing the feminine suppleness of her body, highlighting the almost fawnlike quality of her features, so delicate that they were cruelly swamped by the dullness of the clothes she was actually wearing. Only her hair… Her hair…

      Abruptly he looked away from her. She was Nick’s wife and she loved him, although how she…

      As she watched him, Fern wondered what he would say if she told him that she had seen the brochure he had been carrying.

      Pain flooded through her. It seemed unfairly cruel of fate that it should be Adam of all people who threatened the existence of somewhere that had come to mean so much to her… a solace… a refuge… a sanctuary…

      From what? From life? From herself? From her marriage? Tiredly she knew that she wouldn’t challenge him… just as she couldn’t challenge Nick about Venice?

      ‘I… I must go. Nick… Nick is… will be expecting me. He… he’s leaving for London and…’

      Without finishing her sentence she ducked her head to one side and hurriedly started to skirt a wide circle around him, heading back towards the path, sensing that he was watching her but knowing that she dared not look back at him.

      Adam! She could feel the heavy, dreary feeling of despair starting to settle over her as she half ran and half stumbled back down the path. Her body was trembling and she felt icy cold even though at the same time her face felt as though it was burningly hot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was finding it difficult to breathe properly.

      Too late now to wish she had gone straight home… to wish she had not given in to the temptation to go to Broughton House and in doing so inadvertently and so very, very dangerously and painfully she now risked opening the Pandora’s box into which she had tried to lock away all her memories and thoughts of Adam.

       CHAPTER SIX

      ZOE woke up slowly and reluctantly, subconsciously aware of something unpleasant waiting for her, something she didn’t really want to recognise. It hovered threateningly, oppressing her, making her want to resort to the childhood tactic of squeezing her eyes closed and refusing to acknowledge that she was actually awake.

      She rolled over in the bed, instinctively seeking the empty space which had held Ben’s body.

      The bed felt cold and empty. It was gone ten o’clock. Ben would have been up at four to get to the markets early.

      His original training had encompassed not only the preparation and cooking of food, but also the importance of its purchase; of knowing the difference between good fresh food and that which was sub-standard.

      Her shift didn’t start until two, and after their late night the previous evening she would have been grateful to Ben for not disturbing her had it not been for the row they had had last night.

      Or, rather, the row she had tried to have.

      She had known that he was still awake when she got into bed—his body had been too rigid, too tense for sleep—but he had kept his back to her, refusing to turn round, refusing even to acknowledge that she was justified in her anger against him.

      It wasn’t so much his attitude towards his sister’s pregnancy, although that had shocked her. What had hurt her most of all had been his emotional rejection of her, his refusal to acknowledge that she might possibly be able to understand how he was feeling; his use against her of the barrier of ‘class’, which