The Yuletide Child by Charlotte Lamb (books to read to increase intelligence TXT) 📗

front of the living room fire, she clasped the cup between her palms, staring into the flames, seeing it all again, like some slow-running film inside her head.

They had been so absorbed in each other that they hadn’t noticed her. Jealousy ached like a knife-wound, agonising, making her feverish and icy cold at one and the same time.

Suzy was beautiful, sophisticated, sexy—and she wasn’t pregnant. Dylan knew Ross found her body a turn-off these days. When they’d first met he had watched her all the time, his eyes passionate. Now herarely looked at her, and when he did he hurriedly looked away again.

Oh, God, she thought, tears in her eyes—what was she going to do? Confront him with it? Accuse him of having an affair with Suzy? But what if he wasn’t? What if it hadn’t yet developed that far? He would laugh at her, be angry with her—but, even worse, if it had never even occurred to him before she might put the idea into his head! She was certain it had occurred to Suzy, who was very obviously not happy with her own husband. Dylan hated hearing the other woman nag poor Alan, snipe at him, constantly run him down.

A shiver ran down her spine. Did Ross talk about her to Suzy? Did Suzy know they weren’t sleeping together, had separate rooms?

She couldn’t bear the idea. To stop herself thinking about it she went into the kitchen and made a casserole for dinner. When it was in the oven she went upstairs and had a long, warm bath, then lay down on her bed for an hour.

She was in the kitchen later that evening, checking on the dinner, when Ross got home and came into the house on a flurry of leaves and rough wind, his face flushed, hair ruffled.

‘What a miserable day! Winter’s really here now. I’m starving,’ he told her. ‘What’s for dinner? Can we have it early?’ He joined her and sniffed the air. ‘Smells of garlic—what’s cooking?’

‘Pot au Feu,’ she said, her voice sounding unbelievably normal. She didn’t know how she was managing to talk, let alone smile, but she did it. ‘Beef braised with vegetables for a couple of hours—it can be served whenever you like. Do you want dumplings in it?’

‘Yes, please—I’ll just wash and change out of my work clothes. Twenty minutes’ time?’

How polite he was, talking to her as if to a chance-met stranger! Their marriage had withered like the summer leaves; only the pale skeleton of it remained, and he behaved as if nothing was wrong. Dylan found it hard to believe they had ever been passionate lovers. Did love always wear out this quickly?

He kissed her lightly on the cheek. He smelt of winter, wind, pine; his skin was cool on her own. She had given up everything for him and now she didn’t know who she had married—who was he, this stranger she had thought was her husband? What did he really think, feel, want?

‘I won’t be long,’ he promised, smiling at her. The smile of the betrayer, she thought, watching him go out, biting her inner lip. She had never been so unhappy in her life, or so scared.

CHAPTER FIVE

THAT winter was the longest of her life—she began to think it would never end. Just before Christmas Ross told her he had to go away for a night. ‘I’m sorry, they sprang it on me out of the blue, but I have to go. This is a vital meeting; I must be there!’ Taking a clean shirt from the wardrobe, he began shrugging his broad shoulders into it.

Dylan swallowed, her throat moving convulsively as she watched him with a mixture of anger and helpless desire. Before he buttoned the crisp white linen of the shirt she could see his naked chest, a ruffle of dark hair, the gleam of smooth flesh. He was always vibrant with health, his body lean and fit and agile, and she felt clumsy and ugly.

They had not made love for weeks now and her body ached for him, yet at the same time she sometimes felt she hated him. It was all his fault she couldn’t stand to look into a mirror at the moment. The sight of her heavy, swollen body, those full, aching breasts, with their enlarged, dark-circled nipples, made her want to scream, especially when she remembered how she had looked a year ago.

Bitterness thickening her voice, she muttered, ‘I don’t want to be left alone here all night, Ross! Especially as tomorrow is Christmas Eve! How can you even think of leaving me alone at this time of year, miles from anywhere, with nobody to turn to if anything goes wrong?’

‘Nothing is going to go wrong! Why should it? I’llonly be away for one night, for heaven’s sake!’ He pulled dark brown cords up over his long, dark-haired legs, belted the waist and reached for a green sweater.

He wasn’t looking at her, though. He rarely did lately. He hadn’t really looked at her since the autumn turned to winter and her body changed so drastically. He couldn’t bear to see what was happening to her, any more than she could. Her body turned him off. That was why he rarely touched her any more. Who would fancy a woman who looked like a great pink balloon when she was naked? She fought against tears which were burning under her lids. Ross hated it if she cried. He wanted her to be as strong and down to earth as he was. Sometimes she wondered how it was possible to go on loving someone you knew did not love you.

But she was desperate not to be left alone here. ‘Ross, I’m really worried,’ she pleaded. ‘I don’t like the look of the sky and it’s so cold, even with the central heating on. I think it’s going to snow. If it does, and the phone lines go down the way they did during that last thunderstorm, I