Indecent Marriage (Bright River) Read online

  “And we’ll have a complete inventory of the assets ready by Friday,” Ransom was saying. “I’d like for us to get together then to go over the list and the estimates for the machine repairs. How does that sound to you, Jessica?”

  “All right,” she said, thinking that she would get the whole thing over with today if she could.

  “Here’s a copy of the file, as you requested,” Ransom added, handing Jack a manila folder. “You can have your people look it over and get back to me with any questions, but I think you’ll find that everything is in order. Jessica, do you have something to add?”

  “No.”

  Jack glanced at her. “May I give you a lift anywhere?” he asked neutrally.

  “No, thank you. I have a car.” He must have known she would never go with him; the offer was for Ransom’s benefit.

  “I’ll see both of you on Friday, then,” Jack said in parting and shook hands again with Ransom, nodding in Jessica’s direction. She didn’t breathe easily until he had left the room.

  “Quite a personable young man,” Ransom commented, pleased with the proceedings. “I think this is going to work out very well.”

  Speak for yourself, Jessica thought darkly. She got to her feet and said, “Will there be much of anything left over for me to hold things together?”

  Ransom sighed. “I can’t promise that, Jessica, we’ll have to see what Chabrol does when the final inventory is in. As I said, his takeover bid was just preliminary, and these figures can change by a substantial margin when you take into account goodwill for the wholesalers and the amount of unfinished product on hand. We’ll just have to wait and hope for the best.”

  Jessica nodded dismally, thinking that her fate was now in the hands of the last person on earth who would wish her well. She saw it as irony; to Jack it must seem like poetic justice.

  As she headed for the door Ransom said, “I’ll call you to set up the meeting. And try not to worry. I’ll do my best for you, and this Chabrol seems like a decent sort. I think the final resolution will be fair.”

  He could not know how little that observation comforted her, but she appreciated his good intentions. “Thanks, Jason. For everything.”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  Jessica paused outside his office door and asked his secretary if she could use the restroom. The young woman pointed to the appropriate door. Jessica slipped inside the little cubicle and leaned against the wall. It was a relief to be unobserved, to let the mask of composure slip. She glanced in the mirror over the sink, wondering what Jack had thought of her. He had said she was still beautiful, and she tried to achieve a clinical detachment as she surveyed her features in the glass.

  Her blonde hair had been long in high school, almost to her waist, and he had loved to play with the gossamer strands. It was shorter now, shoulder length, but the almond shaped green eyes, small straight nose, and wide mouth looked the same. She had the pale prettiness of her Danish mother, and once when she and Jack had gone for a midnight walk he’d called her his ange d’argent, his silver angel, because her skin and hair had looked silver in the moonlight.

  Jessica’s eyes filled, and she allowed herself the luxury of tears. The silver angel was tarnished now, and no amount of polish could ever make her shine again in Jack Chabrol’s eyes.

  Oh, how she had loved him. She would never love anybody like that again, not as long as she lived. The all-consuming passion of innocence awakened, of youth blossoming into adulthood, happened only once, and she had lost it forever, to her abiding regret.

  She blinked and wiped her eyes with a tissue she’d retrieved from the bottom of her purse. When she felt composed enough to drive, she emerged from the bathroom to the puzzled stare of the secretary, who doubtless thought she had been knitting an afghan in there. Jessica glided past her with as much dignity as she could muster, emerging into the October sunshine with relief. She took several deep breaths of the fragrant air, redolent of wood smoke and the fallen apples on Lawson’s lawn, and felt better.

  She headed for her car, resigned to her fate. She would deal with this because she had to, and then return to the life she had interrupted. Jack Chabrol was part of her past.

  Somehow, she must find a way to keep him there.

  * * * *

  Jack pulled into the parking space with his name on it and shut off the engine of his car. Before him loomed the impressive expanse of his offices, modern, sparkling with chrome and glass, built on a strip of farmland he had purchased on the outskirts of town. It was the latest, in fact the only, addition to Bright River’s economic growth in recent years. His advisers had all told him to build elsewhere, in a more prosperous locale, especially since the bulk of his business came from the industrial towns farther north. But Jack had insisted on returning to the scene of his youth, creating before the staring eyes of the townspeople this monument, the palpable evidence of his success. Today it looked back at him, blank and featureless, small comfort after the trauma of the interview he’d just experienced.

  Jack leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes, seeing again the expression on Jessica’s face, a mixture of apprehension and innate pride. She’d looked as if she knew she deserved anything he might do to her, but was going to face it without a whimper. All this time, he’d thought he would want to strike her, or shout at her, do something to make her pay for the cold pain that had lain in his breast for a decade like a rock. But at the sight of her, the gut-wrenching desire had returned, the relentless yearning that had made him defy her father and convention to possess her. So he’d taken refuge in icy politeness, conducting a business deal with the one woman he had never been able to forget.

  It was a ludicrous turn of events, but he had himself to thank for that. He’d dedicated the past four years of his life to ruining George Portman, and now he was on the very brink of accomplishing that feat. When it became clear that Jesse would be involved, he’d wanted to see her, talk to her again. He had returned to Bright River two years earlier half hoping to find her there, but had learned that she’d never come back, even though her father and sister still lived in the big house overlooking the river. His sister, Lalage, had heard from Jean Portman that Jesse was divorced, but working in Europe and unlikely to visit the family home. Jack had left the matter there, unwilling to demonstrate a show of interest, but his disappointment at not being able to impress her with his new status was deep and bitter. Now he had his chance; she was back and in trouble. The poor boy had the rich girl at his mercy, the long sought triumph was about to be his.

  The need to hurt her was so strong that it ran through his body like a toxin in his blood. Once Jesse had matched his passion with hers, swearing eternal loyalty and undying devotion. Until she’d disappeared without a word—to marry another man.

  Jack sighed and opened the door, turning his mind to the meeting that awaited him inside: contract negotiations with his drivers. It would be difficult to concentrate, but he was grateful for the distraction. Until the session was over he wouldn’t have to think about Jesse again.

  * * * *

  Jessica parked in the driveway of her father’s house, deciding to leave her luggage in the trunk of the car until later. She had gone to Ransom’s office directly from the airport. Now she let herself in with her old key, dull with disuse. Jean was at school, and Jessica prowled the silent halls alone, looking into the rooms on the first floor, changed minimally since she had last seen them. The cherry antiques and bric-a-brac George Portman had inherited from his father furnished the house in a durable style not subject to the whims of fashion. Jessica climbed the central staircase slowly, noticing that the third step creaked, as it always had, and then paused on the landing, looking at the closed door of her room at the end of the hall.

  Biting her trembling lower lip, Jessica crossed the Oriental runner on the hardwood floor, faded and worn now with the passage of many feet, and pushed open the paneled oak door.

  The room assaulted her with memo
ries, and she almost felt like covering her ears, so real and insistent were the voices she heard: her father’s, Jean’s first grade babble, and in the background, fading but still discernible, the soft murmur of her mother. Visually, everything was the same as she had left it. The chintz curtains and spread, the canopy on the four-poster, even the window seat upholstered in the same flowered fabric remained unchanged. There she had sat and dreamed her adolescent dreams, looking over the rooftops toward the ribbon of the river. The site of the house, on a height above the town, had been chosen for its view. When sitting at the top of the house in this curtained bower, she had felt mistress of all she surveyed.

  Jessica shook her head sadly, knowing how wrong she had been. That last winter, when she was four months shy of her eighteenth birthday, everything had fallen apart. She had left this room and this house, and until today she had not returned.

  She went to the window and crept onto the seat, folding her legs under her and leaning her head against the frame. What would I give to change the past? she wondered. To go back to that year and do everything over again, make it come out right this time? She closed her eyes and gave in to the rush of memory, so long suppressed. Like the flood from a bursting dam it washed over her and engulfed her.

  Chapter 2

  Jessica was ten when her sister, Jean, was born. Her mother died shortly after having the baby, and George Portman soon discovered that he could not care for two children by himself. He hired a nanny for Jean and sent Jessica to boarding school, which left him free to pursue the consuming interest of his life: running his business. Jessica remained away, except for brief vacations, even spending summers at camp, until she developed mononucleosis during her sophomore year of high school. At first she was treated for flu in the infirmary, but when she did not improve, the headmistress called in a specialist who diagnosed the problem. Concerned about the long-term nature of the illness, the doctor felt that Jessica should probably go home to recuperate. The principal passed this recommendation on to Jessica’s father, who sent for his daughter.

  Portman engaged a nurse to care for her, and all through that spring and summer Jessica languished in bed, forbidden to do anything other than read and watch television. The treatment consisted of little more than rest and proper diet, and once she felt better she became restless, eager to get up and resume her life. She studied at home and took make-up exams to complete her courses. By August blood tests indicated that her red blood cells had returned to a normal level, and she was pronounced fit to resume her education.

  But George Portman was convinced that her previous school had neglected Jessica’s health and decided to keep her at home. He enrolled her in the Bright River Regional High School, where she began her junior year in the fall.

  For the first time in her life Jessica was exposed to the atmosphere of a co-educational public school. The transition from the uniformed young ladies of her boarding school past to the denim clad students who surrounded her now was a thrilling and heady experience. She was accustomed to being in class with girls, even if they dressed and behaved quite differently, but the boys! She couldn’t get used to their size, their voices, their constantly felt masculine presence. They seemed to be everywhere, large and muscular with coltish bodies and shining, shaggy hair, talking and laughing, lounging indolently in doorways and watching her with covetous, curious eyes.

  Was it because she was George Portman’s daughter that she drew so much attention? She thought so, not realizing that most of them didn’t know who she was, but were attracted to the new, pretty blonde in their midst. When she was identified, sometimes she was resented, as the children of mill hands comprised a large portion of the student body. But as time passed, her natural, unassuming personality caused those who might have held her parentage against her to forget about it, and Jessica began to blend in and adjust.

  She had been in the school for almost a month and had made a friend, when something happened to change her life. The friend was Madeline Conway, whose father ran the delivery service for Portman Mills. Jessica had known Madeline previously, from some company picnics and Christmas parties she’d attended, but when the girls discovered they were in the same homeroom their acquaintance ripened and they became close. Maddy, as she was called, was outgoing and chatty, Jessica’s unofficial tour guide. When Jessica had a question or wanted to inquire about some procedure or regulation, Maddy was sure to know the answer.

  One day at the beginning of their lunch period, Maddy and Jessica were standing at the latter’s locker when Jessica felt a pair of eyes on her. The staring persisted while she put her books on the shelves, until she finally became uncomfortable enough to turn and look. She met the gaze of a tall, broad shouldered dark boy in a senior letterman’s jacket. Instead of turning away, flustered at being caught, he continued to look at her steadily, completely unruffled by her awareness of him.

  Jessica glanced away, but then was drawn back to him. He was still looking, his serious, thoughtful expression oddly mature and definitely unnerving. They remained that way, locked in silent communication across the crowded corridor, until another student touched the boy’s shoulder and he turned. Jessica looked back at Maddy,who was observing the scene with interest.

  “What was that about?” she asked Jessica, nodding toward the dark boy, who was now walking off after casting a departing glance over his shoulder.

  “That guy was staring at me,” Jessica replied.

  Maddy smiled slyly. “Don’t you know who that is?”

  Jessica shook her head, slamming her locker door closed with a bang.

  “Only the bad actor of the football team, that’s who,” Maddy said with relish, obviously enjoying her role of knowledgeable informant. “Jack Chabrol. His real name is Jacques—don’t you love it? He’s a senior and his family is from Canada, you know, the French speaking province. He has this terrific accent, you should hear him. They just moved here about three years ago. There’s a sister in ninth and a bunch of little kids running around. He lives in that old brick tenement down by the river.”

  “Too bad you don’t know anything about him,” Jessica commented dryly.

  “Hey, I make it my business to find out these things. I’m surprised you weren’t aware of him. His parents work in your dad’s factory.”

  That gave Jessica a moment’s pause. Her father was notorious for using cheap immigrant labor, and apparently the Chabrols were part of his underpaid work force.

  “He’s suspended from the team right now,” Maddy rambled on, “but he’ll be reinstated soon. The coach needs him too much to bench him for long. He had a fight with the captain, Jeff Thompson, when Jeff tossed off some remark about his family.”

  “His family?”

  “Yeah, Jeff was making fun of the way they talk, or something.”

  “Oh,” Jessica said thoughtfully.

  “Cute, isn’t he?” Maddy asked, nudging Jessica in the ribs.

  “I didn’t notice,” Jessica sniffed, but her barely suppressed smile gave her away.

  “Hah,” Maddy said derisively. “You’d have to be dead not to notice, and at last check you were very much alive.”

  “I will be dead if I flunk this trig quiz,” Jessica said, deliberately changing the subject.

  “I got a fifty on the last one,” Maddy said gloomily. “At this rate I’ll be thirty-five before I graduate from high school.”

  Jessica continued the conversation about the upcoming test, but her mind was on the encounter that had just taken place. Whether she would admit it to her friend or not, she knew that from now on, as she passed through the corridors of Bright River High, she would be looking for a certain face in the crowd.

  On the following afternoon, Jessica was sitting in last period study when Jack Chabrol sauntered through the double doors of the auditorium. He flashed a hall pass at the monitor, Miss Chambers, who barely glanced at it and waved him toward the sea of students. Last period was an “open” study hall, which meant that it was
a catchall for those kids who weren’t scheduled for a class. People wandered freely in and out of it, frequently excused for student council meetings, team practices and other activities. Jessica watched, her heart beating faster, as Jack approached and slipped into the empty seat behind her.

  “Hi,” he said into her ear, as Miss Chambers shifted a stack of papers on her desk and bent her head again.

  When Jessica didn’t answer he added, “I saw you in the hall at lunch yesterday.”

  Miss Chambers continued to scribble, so Jessica turned her head and whispered, “You’ve never been in this study before.”

  “That’s true. I have a standing excuse for football practice, but I’m suspended from the team for a while.”

  Maddy was right about his accent. When he said, “That’s true,” the first word came out as “Zat’s,” and Jessica thought it was delightful.

  “So,” he went on. “You’re new, aren’t you? I would have remembered you from last year.”

  “I transferred in from private school in September.”

  Miss Chambers looked up and sent them both the death ray. Jessica dropped her eyes to her book.

  Silence reigned for several minutes, and then a folded note dropped over Jessica’s shoulder and onto her desk. She shoved it under her hand until Miss Chambers was completely absorbed, and then opened it to read: “Meet me by the flagpole after the last bell. I’ll wait.”

  Jessica shifted in her seat and looked at Jack fully for the first time. At close range his brown eyes were flecked with gold, and he had a small scar, long ago faded to white, at the base of his chin, just below the cleft. She nodded, and he smiled.

  That was the beginning.