His empire frequently brought him to New York, and for the last few months he had been determinedly wooing her. It had been the previous year that he had telephoned her out of the blue. Before that their break had been total and, apart from the bizarre restaurant meeting, she had not seen or heard from him since his marriage. He had explained on the phone that he was in town and was lunching with an American writer he knew Jennifer had always admired. He wondered if she would like to join them.
Her warning mechanism sparked into action. None the less she hesitated before replying. He was quick.
‘Look Jennifer, I know it’s long over for us and I am not going to try to start it again, I promise you. I just thought that after all this time we could be friends and I know you would like to meet this guy.’
It was a cliché, but it worked. Probably because she wanted it to. Jennifer met the two men at The Russian Tea Rooms as instructed. The American writer was delightful and brilliant and Jennifer did indeed enjoy meeting him. Marcus was charm itself. But then he would be, wouldn’t he? He talked about his aristocratic young wife a lot, giving Jennifer just the odd sidelong glance to see how she was taking his remarks.
At the end of lunch he pecked her lightly on the cheek and said he would be back in New York soon and maybe they could go to the theatre or something. She walked alone back to her office, suddenly aware that she was vaguely disappointed that he hadn’t made a pass at her. She shook herself angrily. She was not going to fall into the Marcus Piddell trap again. He would never change. She knew for certain that, one way or another, further involvement with him would mean the end of the last of her self-esteem.
She was having an affair with a married lawyer at the time. The arrangement suited her perfectly. It wasn’t really an affair, certainly not a love affair, certainly not on her side. She wasn’t so sure about him. She would have to watch that. But so far so good. After Marcus and then Michael, with the guilt of that still heavy on her shoulders, it was going to be a long time before she was ready for emotional involvement again. Sometimes she thought she never would be.
And she would not think about sex with Marcus. She would not. Only of that last degrading night after which she had never wanted to see him again. Well, perhaps he had changed, but no, she would not even consider it. He would never change, would never lose his extreme sexuality, his brinkmanship. Anyway he was married. And she pitied his wife, or, if the truth be told, half pitied and half envied her. Enough. It was over between her and Marcus and would remain so.
Three weeks later Marcus called again. He had two tickets for a Broadway show. Would she like to go along? For old times’ sake, nothing more. He took her to supper afterwards at The River Cafe in Brooklyn, from which they could look across at the illuminated shape of Manhattan, then he took her home to her apartment in the chauffeur-driven limo which conveyed him around town nowadays. He was the perfect gentleman. From the foyer of her apartment block she watched his car leave, aware again of vague disappointment. This was ridiculous.
And so every two or three weeks Marcus would turn up and they would dine together or go to the theatre. They talked of his business empire. He appeared quite frank. Without embarrassment he discussed the suspicions voiced against him and dismissed it all as jealousy. He was convincing, as always.
Each time they met his manners were perfect. But there was no mistaking the longing in his eyes. She felt he was courting her, and she was right. Eventually one night he suddenly told her that he was divorcing his wife. Startled, she asked him why.
He shrugged his big shoulders. ‘It was another mistake,’ he said.
‘Is that all?’ she asked. ‘Simple as that? You make it sound like ordering the wrong meal in a restaurant.’
He shook his head. ‘Pamela wanted children. I thought I did too. Since seeing you again I have realised there is only one woman in the world I want to be the mother of my children.’
He looked at her directly. She did not want to meet his gaze.
‘I have changed, Jennifer,’ he said. ‘Sex isn’t everything any more. If I could relive one night of my life and do it differently it would be the night I lost you.’
She felt herself begin to melt. How was it that he could still do this to her?
‘I have always wanted to marry you. I still want to marry you,’ he continued.
Then he proposed to her. They were in his hotel suite. They were supposed to be going to the theatre. She bet he hadn’t even bought the tickets. It wasn’t going to be that easy, she thought, but she accepted that she was probably kidding herself.
‘You are married already, Marcus,’ she pointed out flatly.
‘I told you, we are getting divorced,’ he said.
‘You will never change,’ she said.
And her answer was no. No she would not marry him, even if he was free. He didn’t seem to listen. Typical Marcus. He was still staring at her, allowing his eyes to undress her.
‘I want you, Jennifer,’ he said. ‘And from now on it will be only you, I promise.’
She supposed it was inevitable. She allowed herself to be led into the bedroom. The sex was as extraordinary as ever; but he was more careful, more gentle, more affectionate. Maybe he had changed after all. Thankfully, he was just as exciting. He reduced her to a trembling wreck, unaware again of anything in the whole world except her own sexuality. Only he could drive her to those kind of extremes, only he could make her entire body shake with desire, only he could make her beg for more and more. It was just the same as it had always been, and she realised how much she had missed it.
The next night she went out with Marcus again. He said he had been on to his lawyers in London. They reckoned they could rush the divorce through in a couple of months, and that did not surprise her. His name pulled strings and he had the knack of getting his own way fast — she knew that. She was afraid and excited all over again. Damn Marcus Piddell. She feared she was going to have to give him one more chance. She wanted to believe so much that this time it would be all right, yet she tried very hard not to let him see how close she was to giving in.
Eventually she confessed to Anna that she was seeing Marcus again and even that he had asked her to marry him — but she insisted that she was determined to turn him down. Her best friend was not convinced. ‘Poor bloody Lady Pamela,’ Anna remarked caustically. ‘Never stood a bloody chance.’
‘Nonsense,’ maintained Jennifer. ‘If Marcus goes through with divorcing his wife it will be absolutely nothing to do with me. Seeing him occasionally is one thing, but I have no intention of ever making any kind of commitment to him again.’
Yet she was kidding herself, and she knew it, even though when Marcus returned to the UK she was still refusing to marry him, and continued to resist through two more of his flying visits.
Then, on one of her periodic trips to London, just weeks after his first proposal, he took her to dinner at The King’s Head, a little pub by the river in Wapping. It was unlike him to want to dine anywhere that was not excessively trendy, but he knew how she liked cosy pub restaurants and perhaps he was hoping that the romance of a waterside setting might influence her. Maybe sensing that she was near to agreeing to share her life with him again, he asked her once more if she would marry him. She gazed out of the window wondering idly if Marcus had arranged the stunning full moon as well as everything else, and somewhere in the distance she heard her own voice saying yes.