‘It will be far too expensive.’ Even to her own ears Jenna knew her voice sounded acid and defensive.
She expected James to argue with her, but instead he simply closed the book and shrugged, saying coolly, ‘Well, you know best, Jenna.’ He turned to Lucy and smiled down at her in a way that for some reason made Jenna’s heart ache.
‘I’m going in to York this morning—how about you and Sarah coming with me?’
‘Great!’
The house felt empty without them, and although Jenna tried to concentrate on the work she was doing for the renovation of the older parts of the house she found she could not.
James had already engaged an architect to design the conservatory-cum-swimming-pool that he wanted, and his plans had been presented the previous week. They were very well done Jenna had to admit, and the conservatory as he conceived it would fit admirably into the design of the house. As James had suggested, he had designed a building that was, in effect, a replica of a traditional Georgian orangery. Jenna suspected that James had gone into York to see the architect and approve his plans, and although one half of her was relieved that he hadn’t suggested she go with him, another…
Moving restlessly around the room she asked herself what was the matter with her. The only place she and James communicated was in bed, and that was a form of communication she bitterly resented. For the rest of the time he was coolly indifferent towards her, apart from those brief and disturbing flashes she had of a smouldering anger that seemed to lurk dangerously beneath his surface calm.
* * *
Saturday seemed to come round all too soon. Jenna’s conscience would not allow her to forget that she had deliberately gone behind James’s back in arranging to have dinner with Graham. Irrationally she blamed him for this irregularity in her own behaviour. If he had not made her so bitterly resentful and angry she would never have agreed to have dinner with Graham at all. But she had agreed, and some stubborn streak inside her insisted that she go through with it.
Uneasily she pushed aside the troubling knowledge that Graham was already far more emotionally involved with her than she had realised. She had been made very aware of that the morning she rang him to accept his invitation. She had thought he realised that there could only be friendship between them, and perhaps a light-hearted flirtation.
A dangerous thrill of excitement raced through her blood as she forced herself to accept the fact that G
raham was probably thinking more in terms of an affair than a flirtation. Part of her instinctively and fastidiously drew back from such a commitment and yet, wouldn’t it set her free from the powerful sexual hold James had over her if she could discover that another man could arouse her?
She liked Graham, liked him very much; she was flattered by his attention and admiration and had even wondered what it would be like to be kissed by him. Therefore she was hardly indifferent to him. Even so, an affair?
But it need not come to that, and if she stopped seeing Graham now, James would think that once again he had won. She told herself stubbornly that that was not going to happen. Graham was her friend and she was going to go on seeing him and to hell with what James thought—and to hell with the consequences!
As chance would have it James was out when she dressed for her date. Having showered and donned fresh underwear—one of the pretty silk sets James had provided for her trousseau—she sat down to put on her make-up.
Lucy came in while she was doing so, and asked curiously, ‘Where are you going? James never said you were going out tonight.’
Jenna carefully smoothed taupe shadow on to her eyelids. ‘No, we’re not. At least, I’m not going out with James.’
‘Oh.’ Lucy looked disturbed, and Jenna gave her a rather forced smile. ‘It’s just a business dinner. I shan’t be back late. What are you and Sarah going to do?’
‘Watch the new Indiana Jones video,’ Lucy told her with relish, ‘and then play our new tapes. That’s one good thing about living here, we can play our records just as loud as we like!’
‘You’ll end up deaf by the time you’re forty,’ Jenna told her wryly, standing up and opening her wardrobe doors.
She had decided to wear a misty, lavender-hued floral dress in finely pleated cotton muslin, with a matching short-sleeved casual jacket that fastened at the waist with knotted ties.
She put it on, feeling the cool, silky slide of the fragile fabric against her legs.
‘Wow! That looks great,’ Lucy told her admiringly. ‘When did you buy it?’
James had bought it for her—he had handed it to her one evening after he had been in London. Jenna had never worn it before, and it gave her a heady feeling of recklessness tinged spicily with guilt to wear it now.
‘James bought it for me,’ she told her niece, glancing at her watch. ‘Look, I’m going to be late, if I don’t go now. Make sure that you and Sarah have a proper supper, there’s plenty of food in the fridge.’
As Jenna picked up her bag and slipped on delicate white mules Lucy bent to kiss her cheek.
She had changed so much in the last couple of months, no longer a resentful moody enemy, but a teasing, happy teenager slowly blossoming into womanhood. If for no other reason she ought to be grateful to James for what he had done for Lucy, Jenna told herself, and then quickly checked the thought. She wasn’t going to weaken now. She was determined that James was going to learn that he could not lay down the law and tell her who she could and could not see.
She had arranged to meet Graham at his home. He had a small flat above his antique shop, and as she walked round to the rear entrance that led to it, a stormcloud of butterflies fluttered painfully in her stomach.
‘On time as usual.’ Graham had the door open before she even knocked. He had obviously just showered, and his hair was still damp, his white shirt open at the throat revealing a muscular chest. The butterflies in Jenna’s stomach fluttered harder, and she carefully averted her gaze. ‘Your husband didn’t mind your dining with me tonight then?’
Avoiding his eyes, Jenna shrugged. ‘James does not have the right to dictate to me how I run my life,’ she told him coolly. ‘I’m a grown woman, not a child.’