An extra long chapter to make up for my sporadic updates! Much love x
Chapter 14
Mark twirled his mobile in his hand, absently flipping it over and over after trying and failing to get in touch with Jenny for at least the tenth time. She was an hour late, which was neither an unusual nor an irregular occurrence, but now it was getting to be supremely irritating. He knew she was a busy woman; heck, they were both busy career-minded people. But before she had gotten this bloody new job, she had always called if she was running late, full of apologies and pacifying words. Now however, she would just saunter in with a quick insincere 'I'm sorry', to which he would nod, and hold his tongue. But sitting in a busy restaurant alone, with the waitresses shooting him sympathetic looks every now and then as though he had been stood up, he was beginning to feel mighty sick of living like this. She was his wife; well, in practice at least. And he should not be the one waiting around for her all the time. It just wasn't becoming of a wife to behave like this, and something certainly had to change.
He slouched back in his chair, all etiquette forgotten as he descended deeper into his mood. The last few weeks, he had noticed a significant change in her. She seemed a lot more cheerful than usual; even when she was doing something mundane such as loading the dishwasher, she did so with a grin on her face. Once he even heard her singing in the shower for goodness sake. He had no idea what had caused her elevation in mood, but at first he had been willing to take full credit for it, assuming that whatever troubles had been going on between them were now well and truly over. However, he was quickly informed otherwise when, despite the fact that she was extremely pleasant company, she was still reluctant to be so much as hugged by him. Every time he leant in and kissed her, she'd turn her head quickly so that his lips pecked her cheek instead. And every time he put his arm round her in bed, he felt her freeze before abruptly shrinking away from him, as though he was a stranger. And it was really beginning to get on his nerves.
A waiter materialised by his side and picked up the bottle of wine from the table, to which Mark nodded to indicate he could top him up. As he watched the red liquid slosh into the glass, his thoughts drifted back to when he and Jenny first met, and the high hopes he had had for the two of them.
x x x
Mark stood at the bar with his two old school friends chatting away next to him, his eyes searching the crowd as necked back the last mouthful of his wine. He was bored; he had not problem admitting that. This was the fourth wedding he had been forced to attend this year under the pretence of family obligation, and so dutifully, he had bought a new tailored suit and signed his name to his parents card, despite the fact that he barely even knew the happy couple; all's he really knew about them was that their parents were very important in his own parents social circle, and not attending would be as bad as putting two fingers up to the whole processional.
The meaningless alcohol-fuelled political debate his two friends were engaged in did nothing to entice him; too busy was he at eyeing up every bit of skirt that passed nearby. That was one of the only good things about these repetitive events – they were an ideal place to meet women. However, he couldn't help but notice that a lot of the women there looked vaguely familiar to him, and judging by the dirty looks he was getting off a few of them, it was probably because they were all somewhat drunken notches on his bedpost. That was another problem about these sorts of functions – it was the same bloody people every time, making sleeping with a girl and not calling her again rather awkward.
Mark accepted another drink off his rowdy friends and turned to search the crowd again. He spotted his parents nattering away with another middle-aged couple at the other side of the room, then a few more familiar faces that he had been forced to grow up alongside through these sorts of events. Then, his eyes fell upon a face that he didn't recognise, and he double-took slightly. She was a stunning brunette who looked in her mid-twenties, although it seemed that her skilfully applied make-up was intended to hide her youth. As he studied her further, he noticed with an excited squirm that the rest of her was just as pleasing to the eye as that beautiful face; her red dress stretched tight around her, hugging every curve, and her legs were very shapely, and supremely desirable.
"Now her I'll have to try," Mark spoke aloud to his friends, gesturing over to the mesmerising woman, who looked deep in conversation with a friend.
They both looked round, following his eye line.
"Which one?" Gregory asked curiously.
"The brunette," Mark replied, nodding over to her again. "Sweet virginal face, tight red dress - "
"Wow," Mitchell interjected, his eyes widening as they fell on her. "Nice rack."
"Hmm," Mark agreed whole-heartedly.
"I've never seen her before," Mitchell said, looking the woman up and down.
"Me neither," Mark shrugged, taking another gulp of his wine. "I wonder who she is?"
"I think she's John and Felicity Lewis's daughter," Gregory replied unexpectedly.
"Really?" Mark pushed, snapping his head round in surprise. His parents had socialised in the same circles as the Lewis's since he could remember, but he certainly had no memory of laying eyes on this woman in his life.
"Yes," Gregory nodded confidently with a small smile.
"Then why have I never met her before?" Mark questioned.
Gregory shrugged, seemingly not as interested in figuring out the mystery as Mark was. "Maybe she just doesn't like coming to these things?" he suggested. "I mean, we're all only here to pacify the parental units aren't we?"
Mark set his half-empty drink down on the bar, before adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. "Well I think it's about time I went over and introduced myself, don't you?"
They both sniggered, knowing the reputation he had for pulling before the entrées had even been passed out. He smiled back before making his way through the throngs of people, his eyes firmly fixed on his target. When he reached her, she was laughing at something her friend had said, one hand over her mouth and the other resting on the other girls arm.
"Hi," Mark said to her, speaking loudly over the party noise.
The woman stopped laughing, although the echo of a smile remained on her red lips as she turned to him, looking him up and down.
"Hi," she said back in a resonantly posh voice, although her tone was very cool and officious.
Then, to his utter shock, she turned back to her friend and carried on their conversation, completely ignoring his presence as though he was nothing more than a statue in the background. Mark hesitated slightly, completely blind-sided – he had never once been blown off by a woman before.
"Excuse me?" he tried again, his pulse racing unusually.
She turned back to him again, looking rather aspirated. "Yes?" she asked in a force-calm voice. "Can we help you with something?"
"I'd settle for your name?" he pushed with a smile.
"I can't fathom what knowing my name would do for you," she replied acidly, giving him a very cold look. "Now, if you don't mind, we were in the middle of conversation."
She looked at him expectantly, as though she thought he would accept defeat and walk away. She clearly didn't know him very well. He smiled, before fixing his attention on her average-looking friend.
"And what's your name?" he asked her, not really caring about the answer, but needing to maintain some sort of proper pretence.
"Olivia," the woman replied with a half-glance at her friend.
"Well Olivia, could I perhaps have a second alone with your charming friend here?" he asked politely, ensuring that his eyes were pleading. "I promise I won't keep her from you for long."
Olivia hesitated for a second, looking between the two of them awkwardly, before she reluctantly turned and disappeared off into the crowd of mulling guests.
"So if you won't tell me your name, will you at least let me buy you a drink?" he asked his soon-to-be conquest.
She gestured at the almost full white wine in her hand and shook her head. "Someone already beat you to it," she said in a bored voice.
"Oh, so I've got competition have I?" he asked, flashing his most disarming smile.
She however seemed unfazed by it. "No," she retorted immediately. "Because that would imply that you had a chance in hell with me, which you certainly have not."
"Oh really?" he laughed, finding this woman more and more intriguing by the second. "And whys that?"
She looked back again, her gaze travelling up and down him. "Because you are not my type in the slightest," she stated brazenly.
He laughed again, as he leant towards her slightly. "I'm everyone's type love."
"Well I hope you and 'everyone' will be very happy together," she said icily. "Now if you'll excuse me - " she half turned as though to walk away, but before she could . . .
"Jennifer, there you are," the voice of Felicity Lewis said from behind him. "I was wondering where you had got to."
Jennifer! Mark thought to himself triumphantly. Of course, he had heard people talking about her in passing. Jennifer Lewis - that was it!
"I'm sorry Mrs Lewis," Mark piped up, putting on his sweetest smile. "I was monopolising all of her time."
"Oh Mark!" Felicity exclaimed, resting her hand on his arm. "I didn't see you there. You're looking very handsome tonight."
"If I am, it pales in comparison to how radiant you are looking," he qualified.
From beside him, he heard Jenny let out a harsh laugh that she quickly disguised as a cough, which Felicity either ignored her, or didn't hear.
"Oh you are as charming as I remember," she tittered, before looking around at her daughter. "Jennifer, I'm sure you remember Mark?"
"No," she replied abruptly, showing little interest in the conversation.
"Oh come on, you must do," her mother said, waving her 'no' away with a flurry of her hand. "You two have met quite a few times."
"How old was I?" Jennifer asked, with her eyebrows raised.
"About five or six," her mother shrugged, unconcerned that neither of them would be old enough to remember this so-called meeting. "Anyway, I didn't mean to interrupt," she added, looking at her daughter with meaningful eyes.
"Actually - " Jenny began to say, but Mark saw his opportunity, and quickly seized it.
"Actually, I was just about to try and drag your daughter up for a dance," he interrupted, flashing Jennifer a smile.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Actually - "
"Oh, well don't let me stop you," Felicity beamed, looking positively overjoyed as she shepherded her daughter over to Mark. "Go on, you two go and have fun."
Victoriously, Mark extended his hand to her, and with a grimace she eventually took it, although her grip on his was very slack, telling him that she'd rather be doing anything else. Not put off, he led her over to the dance floor and turned to face her.
"Well wasn't that convenient Jennifer?" he said to her smugly as he slid one hand around her waist to rest on her lower back, and held her hand tightly with the other.
"It's Jenny," she corrected him coldly as she reluctantly moved her hand to rest on his shoulder. "And I don't appreciate you manipulating my mother into thinking this is something more than it is."
"Oh?" he said as they began to waltz in time to the slow music. "I didn't realise you were so protective over her?"
"I'm not," she bit back, following his lead. "But if she thinks that you asked me out and I said no, I'll never hear the end of it."
"Well then you'll just have to go out with me then won't you?" he grinned, before he spun her lightly.
She laughed as their hands slid back into position. "Not a chance," she said as they moved together again.
"And why's that?" he pushed, completely unwilling to let this one go.
"Because you know my parents," she replied, looking up at him with big eyes; brown, he noticed for the first time.
"So?"
"I don't date anyone that my mother approves of," she smiled sweetly.
He smiled back, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of that silk dress under his fingers. "And why's that?"
"It's more fun that way," she informed him, raising an eyebrow.
He spun her again skilfully, and when she fell back into his arms, he took the opportunity to pull her considerably closer to him.
"I'll make you a deal?" he said quietly, speaking to her ear.
"What sort of deal?" she asked suspiciously, looking up at him with narrowed eyes.
"Well . . ." he began slowly, still leading the waltz as he quickly formulated an idea. "If I can guess what you do for a living, you've got to go out with me?" he decided, figuring that that would be pretty easy.
She laughed softly against his ear. "And if you can't?"
"Then I'll leave you alone for the rest of the night," he informed her, vaguely marvelling at how enthralled he had became with this woman in such a short space of time.
She paused, considering him for a second. "Okay," she conceded eventually. "That promise is too good to pass up."
He chuckled, finding her coolness towards him rather a turn on. "Right," he began, forcing his brain to focus on the task at hand. He studied her face for a moment, taking in everything about her, from her professional-looking make-up, to the way her hair was pulled back into an elegant style, with tendrils falling down softly and purposefully around her face. "Well, my first guess would be a psychologist, judging by the way your eyes aren't missing a movement I make. You study people as though you can read everything they're thinking from their body language - "
"Well it doesn't take Freud to work out what you're thinking right now," she interjected, her eyes twinkling. She was obviously referring to how close he had pulled her against him, although he was soothed by the fact that this time, she didn't seem to be complaining.
"But I don't think you're a psychologist," he concluded, considering her more closely. "You're too refined for that. But you know how people tick, and you certainly know how to wrap people round your little finger . . ."
"You're good at this," she remarked with a slight smile as they continued dancing.
" . . . The way you've done your make-up gives off the impression that you're used to dealing with people on a daily basis, but you prefer to keep the real you hidden from them," he continued, using every ounce of the one psychology class he had taken at Oxford to his advantage. "You use make-up like a mask to conceal your true identity - "
"So your next guess is Wonder Woman?" she said, looking up at him with an amused expression.
"And finally, the way you're trying to resist me tells me your incredibly busy and don't think you have time for a relationship," he guessed. "The way you feel comfortable talking down to men means that you're a very powerful woman, but you're youth and the fact you try and hide it tells me that your employed as the face of a company. So I reckon you're in Public Relations?"
She smiled ruefully, her hand still gently resting around his neck. "Well deduced Sherlock," she remarked, and despite her emotional detachment, she actually looked rather impressed.
"Thank you," he smiled, feeling elated. "So now you have to go out with me?"
"Not so fast," she said quickly as the music changed to another slow tune. "It's only fair that you let me have a go at guessing your occupation."
He laughed as he span her out again, before spinning her back into him. "Terms?" he asked, holding her flush against him.
"Hmm . . ." she said as they fell back into a gentle rhythm again. "If I can guess it, you back off. And if I can't, you can pick me up tomorrow at seven?"
"Deal," he said quickly, unwilling to pass up on such an opportunity.
She beamed at him. "Right . . ." she began slowly, her eyes flickering across his face. "Well first of all, the way you carry yourself along with your false sense of self-importance means that you're an Eton boy through and through."
Correct. Damn, she was also very good at this.
"You attended a top university – Oxford I'm guessing," she continued, again correctly. "You're young, but you give off the air of someone who works hard. However, you're not happy with your job. You like the money and the flash cars, and the prestige of your position, but deep down, you wish you could just leave it all behind and go travelling. So to make up for it, you bed a multitude of woman to give you a taste of what you had when you were at university – when you didn't have any responsibility. You were shocked when I turned you down, telling me you're used to getting through life by your looks, and you do not like hearing the word 'no'. You have a lot of people working beneath you, but because of your lack of freedom and your general restlessness, you aren't quite the boss of yourself. Therefore, Eton boy, I would say that you're a Marketing Director, aspiring to be Managing Director before you're forty."
Mark gapped at her, completely and utterly floored.
"Am I right?" she pushed, but by the smug look on her face, she knew the answer to that already.
He sighed, still holding on tight to her swaying hips. "Yes," he replied reluctantly.
She chuckled triumphantly before leaning forward and resting her cheek against his, causing his heart to flutter in his chest. "It was nice to meet you, Eton boy," she whispered into his ear, before planting a teasing kiss on his cheek.
So entranced was he that he only registered the loss of her touch when she had long since pulled away, and was already making her way to her group of friends through the swelling crowd. He was still watching her go when his friends crashed around him, slapping him on the back joyously.
"She turned you down?" Mitchell laughed questioningly, sounding overjoyed at the prospect that the legendary Mark Banks may be losing his touch.
Mark brought himself out of his dream-like state. "That gentleman," he began, pointing off in the direction that Jenny had gone, "is the woman I'm going to marry one day."
x x x
The memory cut hard into him as he wrenched his attention back on the newly filled glass of wine in front of him. After their first meeting of course, he had all but stalked her; sending her flowers, cards and presents, willing her to change her mind. Eventually, to his complete joy, she gave up and agreed to go out on one date with him. That date rapidly turned into several, and before they both knew it, they were head-over-heels in love with each other. He sighed as he picked up his glass, taking a rather large gulp. Why couldn't they get back to how it was before this new job of hers? She was being so distant with him . . . so cold . . . if he didn't know any better, he'd say she was having an affair. But that was ridiculous – she just wouldn't do that. He would be lying if he said that he hadn't slipped on a few occasions and slept with another woman, but that had mostly happened when he was away on business, and so Jen was completely oblivious. These encounters had always been with nameless women, and of course they had meant nothing, but Jenny was a hell of a lot different to him. She had more self-control than he did. Indeed, she had control over all aspects of her life, so she would never allow herself to slip like that. It just wasn't who she was. Still, he couldn't deny that something was going on. And so help him God, he needed to find out what, or else he couldn't see them making it to the altar at all.
His thoughts were stopped when he caught sight of Jenny making her way over to him, looking flushed as though she had been in a hurry.
"I'm sorry I'm late sweetheart," she said in a strained voice as she reached him, bending over and kissing him swiftly on the cheek.
As she did so, Mark caught the sharp scent of a man's aftershave on her neck, and immediately, his stomach contorted with absolute shock. No . . . she couldn't be . . . she wouldn't . . .
"I got hauled into a meeting at the last minute," she explained, still sounding breathless as she took a seat opposite him. "And traffic was appalling getting here."
He watched her, still unable to control his racing heart.
Calm down, he thought to himself, there could be a perfectly innocent explanation, just like there had been with my work collar and my mother's perfume. It doesn't necessarily mean she's cheating . . .
"You look positively glowing," he remarked, referring to the general luminance that surrounded her.
She gave him a rather strained smile as the waiter appeared to pour her a wine. "Thank you," she said to the young man as he set her glass back down.
He nodded with a smile and retreated, leaving them quite alone again.
"Is it hot in here?" she asked in an uneven voice, fanning her face with her hand.
Mark shrugged, still studying every movement she made. "I feel fine. It's probably because you had to rush here."
She nodded in agreement as she took a sip of her wine.
"It'll be nice when you can finally give up that demanding job," Mark commented as he drank his own drink, testing her.
She snapped her head up, giving his a very strange look. "What are you talking about?" she demanded.
"Well you can't seriously expect to keep working after we're married?" he continued, anticipating her reaction.
"And why not?" she gaped, her eyes wide with surprise.
"Because you'll be a corporate wife," he explained, being partially truthful in his reasoning. "If you continue working, it'll look like I can't provide for you. It'd be embarrassing for you, and for me. And besides, you'll be too busy planning functions and looking after the kids to be able to go to work."
"Please tell me you're joking?" she asked in incredulity, looking completely blindsided.
"No," he answered simply, as he picked up his menu. "I think I feel like a steak tonight," he added, tactfully changing the subject.
"Hang on a minute," she hissed, snatching the menu away from his face. "Let me make something perfectly clear – there is no way I'm giving up my job. Not for anything."
"Well if you want to work, you can get a part time job doing something," he shrugged. "That way, it's a compromise."
"No Mark!" she snapped, looking extremely angry at his piece of news. "I'm happy at the job I'm in now. And if you want me to give it up, then you can go to hell."
"What's so special about this job, hmm?" he demanded, leaning forward so that other people wouldn't hear his raised voice. "Why are you so reluctant to leave it?"
She didn't answer, but instead sat back, glaring at him. Although behind the depths of those brown eyes, he saw a flicker of fear there – as though she knew he was getting close to a possessively guarded secret. Oh God, it was someone from her work she was seeing . . .
"Let's just order shall we?" she said coldly, picking up her menu.
"Fine," he said with a sniff as he snatched his own up off the table.
They ate their meal in a suffocating silence, so toxic that Mark actually struggled to chew his steak. He barely concentrated on what he was putting into his mouth, so absorbed was he at trying to figure out what the hell he should do now. When he asked for the bill, Jenny thankfully excused herself to go to the bathroom, giving Mark a very welcomed slot of time alone. He watched her go, ensuring she was out of ear-shot before he fished inside his jacket pocket for his mobile. He dialled and held the phone up to his ear, still desperately hoping he was wrong about the whole thing . . .
"Hello?" the voice of one of Mark's best friends said.
"Hi Pete, it's Mark," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I'm just calling to see if you've still got the number for that Private Detective you told me about?"
"Um . . . I think so, why?" Pete asked, sounding taken aback.
"I think someone's been playing me for a fool," Mark replied cryptically, his eyes trained on the bathroom door to ensure that Jen wouldn't overhear. "And I need to find out, one way or another."