The Millionaire's Christmas Wife. HELEN BROOKS
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‘No, you’re right; it isn’t.’
Taken aback, she stared at him. She had expected him to argue, not agree with her. Ridiculously, it hurt. Recovering herself, she said weakly, ‘There you are, then.’
‘Where we are is the restaurant.’ The cab drew up outside a brightly lit, glass-and-chrome type building as Jay spoke, the doorman standing outside and a glimpse of the swish interior convincing Miriam it was one of those places where the menu would be devoid of anything so crass as the price. ‘I hope you’re hungry. I’ve been here a couple of times since it opened in the summer and the food’s great.’
Wondering who’d partnered him, Miriam said brightly, ‘I’m starving,’ knowing she’d have to force every morsel down over the lump in her throat. Over the last months she’d just about got the hang of training her mind to stop picturing Jay with other women but tonight it was beyond her.
Jay helped her out of the cab and paid the driver, taking her elbow as he escorted her into the sumptuous confines of the restaurant. Immediately the maÎtre d’hÔtel was there, greeting Jay with a deferential warmth and leading them into a small lounge dotted with comfy leather sofas and low tables filled with nibbles as though they were royalty. Presenting them with two embossed menus which were works of art in themselves, he took their order for drinks and glided away.
Miriam looked down at her menu. It was in French and—thankfully—English. She’d been right, she thought dryly. There wasn’t a price to be seen and the choice was staggering.
‘See anything you fancy?’ Jay drawled a minute or two later as though they were in some backstreet cafÉ. They both knew if anyone couldn’t choose out of the incredible dishes on offer they didn’t deserve to be sitting there.
Miriam didn’t want to reveal how impressed she was. ‘I think so,’ she answered in like vein. ‘I’ll have the ginger-marinated salmon for starters and then tournedos of beef with wild mushrooms and orangespiced armagnac plums.’
The wine waiter returned with their cocktails. Miriam had no idea what the sapphire martini she’d ordered would taste like but it had sounded elegant. She took a tentative sip. It was delicious. The Parfait d’Amour at the bottom of the glass was very blue and the slightly spicy Bombay Sapphire gin gave the cocktail a real kick. Warning herself it was probably very potent, she put the glass down. She needed to keep a clear head tonight; she definitely couldn’t afford to be anything less than one hundred per cent compos mentis.
Jay surveyed her over his Manhattan. ‘Not to your taste?’
‘On the contrary,’ she said politely, ‘it’s lovely.’ She had forgotten what it was like to be with Jay, to be wined and dined and cosseted.
No, she hadn’t, she corrected herself in the next breath. That was silly. Shutting out such memories had been part of the self-survival technique, that was all. She hadn’t been able to afford to let the recollection of the good times—and there had been plenty—weaken her resolve.
Forcing her voice into neutral, Miriam tried not to let him see how he was affecting her. ‘How’s Jayne?’
‘Is that a social nicety or are you really interested?’
That was unfair. Miriam’s soft brown eyes darkened. From the day Jay had introduced her to his sister the two women had got on like a house on fire. Jay’s parents had been killed ten years ago, when he was twenty-five and Jayne was sixteen. They’d been touring the States and had been involved in a freak accident when a car had left the road, mounted the pavement and killed them both instantly. Jayne had been staying with Jay while their parents were abroad and had continued to live with him until she had married a few months before Miriam and Jay had met.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Jay said evenly. ‘You’ve only made the effort to speak to her once or twice since we split up, so it’s a fair question.’
‘I didn’t think it was fair to put Jayne in a position where she might have to take sides.’ This was perfectly true. ‘She thinks the world of you.’
‘Meaning the side she would have taken would have been yours?’
Miriam wasn’t going to be intimidated by the edge to his voice. ‘I wasn’t the one caught cavorting with someone else,’ she pointed out coolly.
‘Cavorting?’ He seemed amused by her choice of word, the dark expression on his face clearing. ‘Miriam, puppies cavort. Or very young children.’
She saw nothing funny in this. ‘I obviously have a different slant on adultery from you.’
‘You’re still set on believing what you want to believe.’
‘Want to believe?’ Coolness went out of the window. ‘Don’t you try and turn this round on me, Jay.’
The immaculate waiter who was to take their order appeared at the table and Miriam curbed her frustration. Dredging up a smile, she gave her choice of dishes and Jay followed with his. Once they were alone again, he said quietly, ‘Jayne’s just had it confirmed she’s pregnant, as it happens. They’re over the moon.’
‘That’s wonderful.’ Briefly their differences were forgotten. ‘I’m so pleased for her.’
‘Will you call her and tell her that yourself?’
Their eyes met and held. ‘I—I don’t want to upset her.’
‘You won’t,’ Jay said firmly.
Panic gripped her, squeezing her voice box so her words emerged tight and high when she said, ‘Jay, there has to be a cut-off point, you know that as well as I do. Neither of us needs complications…’ That hadn’t sounded right. ‘I don’t want to cause difficulties in your family.’
‘You’re my family, Miriam. Haven’t you realised that yet? Damn it, no one else—not even Jayne—impinges on us.’
For a second she drowned in the golden sea of his eyes, letting his words wash over her. She wanted to believe him more than anything else in the world, but she couldn’t.
Icy cold reality crashed in a wave over her head. ‘Jay, it’s over.’
‘Never in a hundred years.’ He leaned forward, his body warmth enveloping her as she sat rigid and still. ‘You’re my wife; I’ve never felt about any woman the way I feel about you.’
‘It’s a pity you didn’t think about that before you got involved with Belinda.’
For a long moment his eyes assessed her, then she saw him breathe out slowly. ‘For such a soft, gentle little thing you’ve got a will of iron, haven’t you?’ he murmured wryly. ‘But you won’t win this one, Miriam. And do you know why? Because, at the very bottom of you, you don’t want to win. You know as well as I do that we were meant to be together.’
She looked into the hard, handsome face. He was deadly serious. The strong planes of his jaw, the determined thrust to his chin were evidence that he meant every word. Almost imperceptibly, she held herself straighter. ‘Don’t tell me what I want and don’t want,’ she said very clearly.
She saw the flash of surprise in his eyes. ‘Can you deny it?’
She wanted to shout at him, to pour all the hurt and anger and betrayal over his head in a bitter, acidic flood of hate, but that would be playing straight into his hands. She wouldn’t let him see how she was hurting; she’d rather walk on hot coals. And she wouldn’t make a scene, much as she would have loved to throw the rest of her cocktail into his face and march out of the restaurant.
Miriam took a deep breath. ‘I want a divorce,’ she said expressionlessly. ‘That’s the only reason I’ve come here tonight. You can believe me or choose to think there’s still something between us—it doesn’t matter in the long run.’
The words hung between them before falling like pieces