Deanna flings out an arm and hits the ‘off’ switch. The buzzer sounds shockingly loud at this early hour. She peers at the clock. Its luminous digital numbers display 3:30 a.m. She lies still for a moment and gathers her thoughts before throwing back the duvet and walking to the en-suite. The glare of the light is unflattering and her skin looks pasty in the mirror. Dark circles smudge beneath her eyes. She stares at her body. Still trim, it could belong to a twenty-year-old and her breasts, though small, are perfectly shaped, despite her having had four children. Thank God for good genes!
Deanna turns on the cold tap and brushes her teeth. It will be OK, she tells herself. Once she’s in London, immersed in her role as stage manager, life will fall into place, but it’s important she does this now. She needs to leave her mark if that Cornish girl is still the threat she fears she may be. Replacing her toothbrush in its holder, Deanna looks herself in the eye before walking back into the bedroom. Unhooking her long silk dressing gown from the back of the door, she puts it on and ties the belt loosely around her waist. The material feels cool and sensuous against her skin. Opening the bedroom door, she checks that none of the boys are about and quickly crosses the hallway. As she opens the door to the guest suite, she’s surprised to find the light on.
On edge and anxious at what may unfold during the coming days, Oliver has slept fitfully. Depression has taken advantage and moved in to claim him at his most vulnerable. What have their lives come to? Is there any way forward for him and Deanna? They’ve brought four children into the world, so his work is done. Is there any point in him continuing? Would they not be far better off without him? It would be so easy to finish it all. The release from the constant battle with himself is too tempting; it would be so welcome. But what would that do to Jamie? His son is why he returned. Would he ever recover from losing his dad, or would he remember what he’d done and, in years to come, be tempted to do the same? He cannot do that to the boy. Oliver buries his head in his hands. The pain is unbearable. He knows it’s his old adversary making him think this way, but the voice feels so real.
As the door opens he looks up, and husband and wife hold each other’s gaze.
Without saying a word, Deanna unties the belt around her waist and allows the dressing gown to gape open. As she walks slowly towards the bed she offers a glimpse of well-honed leg before seductively sliding the gown from her shoulders. She lets it fall to the floor, confident in the body she so painstakingly maintains, and, without taking her eyes off her husband, climbs into bed beside him.
‘What are you doing, Deanna?’ Oliver asks.
‘Shhh, Ollie. Don’t talk.’ She leans in and kisses him.
Oliver closes his eyes. Exhausted through depression and lack of sleep, he feels like shit, and he has to be up early for the journey to Cornwall.
Deanna draws back and gazes at Oliver. He was always good-looking, but now – in his mid-forties – he has grown into those looks. She knows they make an impressive couple.
Oliver opens his eyes. Deanna smiles.
‘Dee, I have to get up soon.’
‘I know, Ollie. Just lie back and enjoy.’
Straddling him, she starts to move rhythmically.
Oliver’s hands close on her hips. ‘I’m so tired, I’m not sure I’ll be able to perform.’
‘Relax. This is my gift to you.’ Deanna kisses him again.
Trailing feather-light kisses down her husband’s neck and chest, she works her way teasingly down his body before disappearing beneath the duvet. She’s determined to give him something to remember her by while he’s in Cornwall.
As Oliver’s body responds to the tantalising flick of his wife’s tongue, he grabs hold of the bedstead. Stirred on by Deanna’s actions, his breathing turns ragged and his muscles grow taut, nerve endings tingling, as he succumbs to the sensations coursing through his body.
With her hot mouth around him, Deanna brings her husband ever closer to the brink.
Oliver raises the duvet. ‘Dee, I can’t hold back much longer,’ he says, his voice hoarse.
Still she doesn’t stop. As he finds his release, Oliver gently cups his hands either side of his wife’s head.
Deanna gazes up at her husband, pleased with herself. She still has control over him. Since his return from Cornwall, if she’s honest, even though he has remained at the family home, the spectre of Cara in their marriage torments her. She always knew Jamie was her husband’s Achilles heel and if she hadn’t used their youngest son as a bargaining tool that summer, her life could have been destroyed.
‘You choose your moments well,’ Oliver says softly.
Deanna emerges from beneath the duvet. Lying at his side, she props herself on one elbow. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I came to bed shattered, and now I’m exhausted!’ Oliver arches one eyebrow.
Deanna smiles. Good. If she’s exhausted him, he will remember why. ‘What time do you plan to leave?’
He glances at the clock on the bedside table. ‘In about an hour.’
‘That’s early,’ she says, resting her head on his chest. ‘When will you be back?’
‘Monday, possibly Tuesday,’ he says, stroking her hair.
If there’s a property worth considering, I may stay longer for a second viewing.
As Deanna listens to the gradual slowing of her husband’s heart rate, her fingers trail idly through the hairs on his chest. The tension that has built between them seems to have disappeared. She can almost imagine they are in the first flush of marriage. Why can’t it be like that again? She closes her eyes.
Don’t weaken your resolve, her inner voice says. Never forget that appalling actress in L.A. – and you were pregnant with Samantha at the time, too! How could he? And what does he get up to when he’s away filming? Just how many women has he lain with post-sex, stroking their hair? Four children you’ve given him…
Insecurities settle upon Deanna like a thick blanket.
And never, ever forget his admission of love for Cara. She’s seen for herself how he was with her – carefree; without demons. It shook her to the core. He and the Cornish girl looked so right together, as if they were meant for each other. No, Pins’ advice is sound. She must live life for herself. She will not play second fiddle to some woman who must surely have taken on a goddess-like status in her husband’s mind. Abruptly, Deanna moves away from Oliver and climbs out of bed.
Oliver opens his eyes in surprise. He thought they were enjoying a peaceful moment together, increasingly rare these days. ‘Deanna?’
His wife pauses at the bedroom door. If only she could turn back the clock, but there’s no point in wishing. She has to get on with her life. ‘You’d better get some sleep if you’re leaving so early,’ she says, slipping from the room.
*
As Oliver steers the Harley out of the garage, the gravel crunches noisily beneath its wheels. He gazes up at the substantial house cloaked in darkness, its chimneys silhouetted against the cool light of an almost full moon. Beyond is the blue-black of the forest, and from its depths an eerie screech of an owl travels on the breeze. Being so close to London, the tranquil and still atmosphere encompassing Hunter’s Moon always surprises him. It feels like a secret; so much beauty close to urbanisation. They were lucky to find this secluded property so early on in their marriage, one that has provided them with a haven in which to raise the children. But, now, Deanna seems hell-bent on destroying the family set-up and moving to the city. Is she so desperate for change? Oliver clenches his jaw. As he walks the bike towards the opening electric gates he considers her visit to his room and wonders at her behaviour. It is so out of character.
Once through the gates and away from the house, Oliver straddles the bike. He smiles as he feels its solid weight beneath him. He’s looking forward to hitting the open road again. It’s been so long. Taking the Harley is the quickest way to get to the Lizard and at this time of the morning the roads should be traffic-free. He’s arranged to meet Zennor at her offices in Falmouth and hopes to be there by 9 a.m. They have a lot to pack in.
It’s the first time he’s headed west since his return from Cornwall the September before last and Oliver is acutely aware of intense excitement building deep in his belly. He grimaces. How cruel! It’s what heading west represents to him. This time, however, the excitement is misplaced. Cara will not be waiting for him with open arms. As he fires the ignition, the motorbike leaps into life with a throaty roar. Taking one last look at the sleeping household, Oliver flicks on the headlights and rides along the track towards the parish lane.