Jack couldn’t wait any longer; his ache was as painful as the one he had created in her, and they could only be assuaged in each other. When he moved over Jessica, she wound herself around him sinuously, desperate for union. This time she would not be disappointed. He lifted her hips and entered her, and Jessica’s head fell back, her eyes closing. Her skin was misted with a fine dew, and the scent of her, the feel of her, inflamed him as he thrust and thrust again, claiming what had always been his. She moved her head blindly to kiss him, and when their lips met he tasted the salt of their desire on her mouth. She was beautiful; he would bury himself in her forever. Jessica thought for one fleeting instant that the wait had been worth it to get to this moment, and then she couldn’t think anymore, powerless in the grip of the tide that carried them both to completion.
When it was over, she curled against him, snuggling into his arms. But he pulled away, disentangling himself from her grasp, and she felt him get up and leave the bed. Lost in her dreamy lassitude, Jessica fell back on the pillows and waited for his return, his sweat drying on her skin.
It was a long while before she would admit to herself that he was not coming back. At first she thought he had gone to the bathroom or to get a drink, and well past the time when she should have realized that she was kidding herself, she clung to the idea. But when the room grew chill and the faint depression in the sheet where he had lain was no longer visible, she accepted the truth.
Of course. His was the perfect reprisal. He was treating her the way he thought she had treated him, like a prostitute. Hadn’t she said the same to Maddy? And you didn’t cuddle with a prostitute. You didn’t sleep the night with a whore. You satisfied your appetite and you left.
Jessica almost got up and went after him. But she had some measure of pride remaining, and it finally won as she turned over in the vast, empty bed and pulled the crisp linen sheet up to her chin. If he could leave her after what they had just shared, he was colder than even she had suspected. She closed her eyes and, for the first night of many to follow, cried herself to sleep.
* * * *
In the morning Jessica was awakened by the sound of the bedroom door closing. She had slept fitfully and was alert at once, realizing that Jack had shut the door from the outside.
She got up and slipped on her robe, brushing her hair back from her face with her hands. She emerged to find Jack standing in the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee, fully dressed.
“Where are you going?” she asked quietly.
“To the office,” he replied shortly, avoiding her gaze. He looked as though he hadn’t slept much either; there were deep shadows under his eyes, and the skin there looked bruised and tender.
“On Saturday?” she asked.
“I have contract negotiations with my drivers and we have to make the deadline.”
“I see. Let me fix breakfast for you,” she said, moving to join him.
“No, thanks,” he said, and she stopped. “I’ll have something sent in at work. That’s what I usually do.” He turned to put his cup in the sink and spotted the silver bucket on the dining table. He walked over to inspect it and said to her, “When did this arrive?”
“Last night while you were in the shower. Maddy sent it.”
He nodded slowly and then shrugged slightly, as if to say,“What does it matter?” Such gestures were for other people, for happy brides.
She saw that he was picking up a stack of bills from the kitchen counter.
“There’s about five hundred here,” he said, showing her the money and putting it down again. “I thought you might need groceries or something.”
“Five hundred dollars for groceries?” she said, staring at him.
“Well, I figured you would want some other...stuff,” he replied, gesturing vaguely. Then, curtly, “I don’t want you bothering me at work.”
“I have no intention of bothering you,” she replied, stung.
“You can keep that rental car for now,” he went on, not meeting her eyes. “We’ll get something for you as soon as I have the chance. And if the housekeeper calls—her name is Mrs. Jenkins—you can tell her when you want her to come and what you want her to do. I’ve been leaving her pretty much on her own but you might have different ideas.”
“All right,” Jessica murmured. She didn’t even know he had a housekeeper. But then he must; the place was well cared for, and he obviously didn’t have the time or the inclination to do it himself.
“I’ll send a truck over to the house to get the rest of your things whenever you want,” he added.
“I have enough to last until Monday.”
“What are you doing about your job?” he asked suddenly, and she saw that for the first time that morning he was looking directly at her.
“I told them that I would be resigning my position in Italy. The U.S. manager said that there was always something for me in the Boston office if I wanted it.”
“Letting me know you’re keeping your hand in?” he asked softly, watching her intently.
“Just answering your question,” Jessica replied, turning away.
She heard him move toward the door, and when she realized that he was leaving she spun around to face him, calling out,“When will you be home?”
“I don’t know. These things can be settled quickly or drag on forever.”
“Can you call me?”
He studied her, his dark eyes looking lighter in the morning sun. “I doubt it,” he said flatly, and left.
Jessica stood in the middle of the living room, wondering what to do. It had been an unconventional wedding night, and the morning after had left a lot to be desired. But if she thought about it, what it could have been, should have been, with Jack, she would start to cry again, and she was heartily sick of her own misery. She decided to do something constructive, and the first order of business was to bring some life and cheerfulness to the sterile surroundings.
She went to the windows on the far wall and pulled open the drapes to flood the room with light. As she turned away she caught sight of the guest bedroom, which she hadn’t really examined. She paused in the doorway, taking in the hastily resettled spread on the bed, Jack’s cuff links and dress shirt on the brassbound trunk at its foot. He had left her to spend the night alone in this room, surrounded by the perfectly coordinated pictures and lamps. He knew her so well, with the instinctive knowledge that time doesn’t alter and circumstance doesn’t change. That single act would signal to her the whole tenor of their coming relationship, and she now knew, as Jean would say, what the story was.
Jessica sighed. She had to make the best of it, and she would. She turned her back on the guest room and looked around, examining the possibilities. They were extensive. Jack hadn’t done anything to enhance the basic plan, but Jessica had a few ideas. The kitchen had a bay window that she could fill with plants. There was a small enclosed terrace off the dining room, heated and glassed in, like a greenhouse. It was concealed by floor-length drapes when they were drawn across the sliding doors. She opened them and resolved to rearrange the white wicker furnishings and use the little room, as Jack obviously didn’t. It could be charming, and she would make it so. They could also use some bookshelves…
Her brain spinning with plans, Jessica took a shower and dressed to go out, concentrating on the things she could change. She couldn’t change Jack, but she could adapt to him, and she was about to try.
She spent the day shopping and returned to the apartment around five o’clock. There was no message on Jack’s machine, so he hadn’t called, and she set about displaying her purchases: fresh flowers for the dining room and terrace, hanging pots of ferns, coleus, and impatiens for the kitchen window, candles for the table. She straightened the rooms and looked around for dishes. There was a set of standard stoneware in the cabinets above the stove, but on impulse she opened the hinged doors at the bottom of the bleached oak hutch. She found several sealed boxes, which proved to contain a set of china with matching long-stemmed glasses, candlesticks and napery. Delighted, Jessica put the items to use, arranging a vase of hothouse carnations in the center of the dining table and setting two places with Jack’s stored finery. As she was walking toward the bedroom to change her clothes, she had an idea and went to the telephone. She dialed Jack’s office and waited an eternity for someone to answer it at the other end. She was just about to hang up when a man lifted the receiver and barked into it, “Yeah?”
“Uh, this is...Mrs. Chabrol. I’d like to know when my husband will be finished for the evening.”
“Jessica, is that you?” the man said.
Jessica recognized the voice of Jack’s office manager and said gratefully, “Yes, it is. I was just wondering when to plan dinner. I haven’t heard from Jack all day.”
“You mean he didn’t call you? I don’t know what’s wrong with that guy. I’ll have to remind him that he’s married now. We’re due to break up around five-thirty, so you can expect him home by six, I guess.”
“Thank you very much,” Jessica said, and broke the connection. Any information the office manager had would have come from Jack. He could have called her if he’d wanted to, but he had purposely avoided extending her that courtesy.
For just a moment her resolve faltered. Why was she doing all of this, when he was clearly determined to be unaffected by it? But then she continued her progress across the room, squaring her shoulders. Having pleasant surroundings would make her feel better, and that was reason enough to complete her plans.
By five minutes to six everything was ready. The salad was made, ready to be tossed and dressed, the steaks were in the broiler, and the bottle of red wine Jessica has bought was standing in the champagne bucket, on ice. She was glancing in the hall mirror, checking her hair, when Jack walked through the door. He stopped short, taking in the set table, tapers burning in the china holders, the flowers and the plants. He glanced at Jessica, who was wearing a pair of peach lounge pajamas Maddy had given her as a wedding present, her hair on top of her head, tendrils trailing onto her cheeks and neck. He slipped out of his jacket and loosened his tie, coming farther into the apartment, looking around him.
“Dinner will be ready in five minutes,” Jessica said, walking past him into the kitchen.
He said nothing, seemingly taken aback, as if unable to assimilate what she had done.
“Do you like it?” she asked.
He went to the table and picked up a dinner plate. “Did you buy the dishes today?” he asked, breaking his silence.
Jessica turned to stare at him. “Jack, they were in a box in the dining room hutch. All that stuff was. The willow pattern matches the wallpaper in here, see?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said vaguely. “I remember the decorator saying something about dishes.”
“It’s more than dishes. It’s imported Danish porcelain. Did you forget it was there?”
“I guess so. I haven’t exactly been doing a lot of entertaining,” he replied dryly.
“Sit down and I’ll get the salad,” Jessica directed.
“I’m not hungry,” he announced.
Jessica’s steps faltered. “You’re not going to eat?”
“No. And I didn’t appreciate that call to my office. If I’d wanted you to know when I was coming back I would have told you. This is exactly the sort of scene I was hoping to avoid.”
For a moment Jessica hesitated, wondering how to handle his rudeness. Then she made a decision not to let him see that it affected her. She methodically scraped his salad into the disposal and threw out the steaks. Then she blew out the candles and sat down to eat her salad.
He watched her, his arms folded, his expression inscrutable.
“Is that all you’re having?” he finally asked.
“Yes.”
“You should eat more,” he said gruffly. “You’re too thin.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to know you find me so unattractive.”
He made a sound of impatience. “I meant only that you could gain some weight.”
“Oh, what do you care if I starve to death!” Jessica burst out, throwing down her fork as the telephone rang.
They stared at each other as it continued to ring.
“It may be the shop steward,” Jack finally said wearily, turning toward the phone. “He told me that if the men reached a decision he would call me tonight.”
“I’ll get it,” Jessica said, hopping up and beating him to it. It might be Jean or Maddy, and she preferred to handle either one of them herself.
“Hello?” she said, watching Jack.
There was a pause at the other end of the line, and then a woman’s voice said, “Hello? Is this Jack Chabrol’s number?”
“Yes, it is. Who is this?”
“Daphne Lewis,” came the proprietary, almost annoyed response. “Who are you?”
Jessica reflected a moment, and then said, “Hang on, please, I’ll get Jack for you.”
He looked up at the mention of his name, and Jessica extended the receiver to him. “Daphne Lewis,” she said.
His eyes held hers for a long moment, and then he took the phone. Jessica walked into the bedroom and shut the door.
Several minutes later Jack knocked on it.
“Come in,” Jessica called.
He entered and looked at the bed where she was perched, hugging a pillow.