Dark Paradise (2 page)

She supposed it would be the easiest thing in the world to walk across as they were leaving and say hello, and gauge what was going on from Alison's reaction, but she knew she wouldn't do it. She couldn't risk seeing a look of guilt on her sister-in-law's face, although Matt Lincoln would no doubt find the situation amusing in the extreme.

She could remember reading an article in a magazine quoting him as castigating what he termed 'Suburban morality' for concerning itself too much with trivial sins, and closing its eyes to the deeper crimes against humanity being perpetrated somewhere in the world each day.

Probably Matt Lincoln would regard the seduction of someone else's wife as a very trivial sin, she thought stormily.

'Is something wrong?' Clive's tone was worried. 'You look as if you're about to plunge that knife into someone!'

She forced a laugh. 'Well, I promise it isn't you, Clive. I'm afraid I'm just poor company today.'

'You're never that,' he said warmly. 'Is something bothering you? Can I help?'

She said, 'It's a family matter,' and determinedly changed the subject. The dreaded Felicity's latest book was a slight departure from her usual style, and Kate was wondering how far Clive expected the jacket and illustrations to reflect this. It was a good ploy and occupied them for the rest of lunch. The next time Kate allowed her glance to slide towards the other table, it was to note with relief that it was unoccupied. Alison and her companion had departed—perhaps to go their separate ways, or perhaps not.

Clive said ruefully, 'All we've done is talk about work, and that's the last thing I intended.' He squeezed her hand. 'Perhaps I should wait for a time when I can count on all your attention.'

He wanted to call a taxi for her, but she refused, saying she felt like walking.

It was a beautiful day, crisply autumnal, reminding her of horse-chestnut trees and bonfires. Alison and Jon had been married on a day just like this, she recalled, and the sun had been so warm that the guests had spilled out on to the terrace and lawns of the riverside hotel where the reception was being held.

Kate had been chief bridesmaid, in a topaz crepe dress with a high ruffled neck, her curling chestnut hair drawn into a casually pretty topknot. She didn't outshine the bride—Alison managed to look ethereal and radiant in her white silk organza—but she looked and felt good, and Jon's unattached friends buzzed round her like flies round a honeypot. After Jon and Alison had left for Paris, there was going to be a family dinner that evening, and Jon's best man, a friend since their schooldays, was escorting her in the traditional manner, and she declined all the other offers with smiling charm.

And all the time she was intensely aware that she was under surveillance.

If Kate was providing a centre of attention for the men, then Matt Lincoln was the same and more for the women. He was the celebrity guest, and it could only be a matter of time before someone actually asked him for an autograph, Kate thought cynically. Wherever he went there was an adoring group like satellite moons round a planet, but she supposed that wasn't altogether his fault. Even without the glamour imposed by television, Matt Lincoln was formidable, exuding a vibrantly masculine aura. No one with blood in her veins could have overlooked him even for a moment, and Kate was annoyed to find how often her own eyes were straying in his direction.

'For God's sake,' she adjured herself irritably, 'haven't you learned your lesson?'

And to make matters worse, each time she looked at him, it was to discover that he was watching her, a half smile playing about his lips as if he had discerned her inner struggle and was amused by it.

So she did her best to ignore him, and pretend that the buzz of talk and laughter around him did not exist, although she couldn't help but be aware of the almost electric excitement his presence engendered. But he was bound to leave soon, she told herself. A suburban wedding couldn't hold his interest or confine the air of restless energy which characterised him for very much longer.

Not for the first time, she wondered why he had accepted the invitation. The dinner service he had bought as a wedding present was displayed with the other gifts, so no other gesture was necessary. Alison's parents had issued the invitations, of course, and had been cock-a-hoop when he had accepted, but Kate knew that Jon had not been pleased, although he'd said nothing in the light of Alison's jubilation.

She had watched her stepbrother watching Matt kiss the bride, seen the rigidity of his features, and her heart had ached for him. Matt had been in Venezuela until the previous day, and had dashed back specially, she heard Alison's mother smugly proclaiming to a coterie of her friends.

'Why did he bother?' she asked herself savagely.

She had avoided him, and the inevitable introductions, since the reception began. She had no wish to become one of the admiring throng, she told herself, although even her mother who was not easily impressed had been won over, she noticed.

But at an intimate gathering like a wedding reception, she couldn't hope to keep out of his way for ever.

She was chatting to Simon, the best man, when she became suddenly aware that he was beside them. She was immediately irritated by Simon's deference, stopping in mid-sentence to turn to Matt Lincoln.

'Can I get you another drink, Mr Lincoln?'

'No, thanks.' Matt Lincoln shook his head, smiling. 'Jet-lag and alcohol don't mix too well.' He nodded towards the adjoining room where a small band had been playing softly during the reception. 'But some gentle exercise could be just what I need.' He looked down at Kate. 'We haven't actually met, but I'm sure this is our dance.'

The tenor of the music had changed, she realised as she took in what he had said. The energetic disco beat had changed to a slower dreamy rhythm, and people were moving closer, holding each other as they danced.

He would expect to put his arms round her, she realised, a kind of sick panic rising inside her at the prospect.

Her voice sounded thick as she said, 'I don't want to dance, Mr Lincoln. Why don't you ask one of your devoted fans? I'm sure any one of them would be only too delighted.'

The blue eyes narrowed slightly but he was still smiling. 'I can't really debate that without sounding like a slob. But the point doesn't arise, because the fact is I've asked
you
—Miss er…'

'Marston,' Simon supplied helpfully. 'Kate Marston.'

'Kate,' Matt Lincoln repeated musingly. 'A nice old-fashioned name.'

She said hotly, 'Please don't patronise me, Mr Lincoln. I'm not the subject of one of your programmes. And here's another fact, as you're so keen on them—I'm turning down your invitation.'

She'd never been so. deliberately rude to anyone in her life, and she was aware of Simon gaping.

For a long moment, Matt Lincoln stood looking at her as she felt the betrayal of embarrassed colour rising in her cheeks, then he said coolly, 'I beg your pardon for having annoyed you.' And turned away.

'My God,' Simon said helplessly. 'That was a bit strong, wasn't it?'

Kate lifted her chin defiantly, crushing down an unexpected feeling of shame. 'I don't think any lasting damage has been done—not to an ego like his!'

Simon was looking at her as if she was a stranger who had suddenly developed horns and a tail. 'But he only wanted to dance with you, Kate. Hell's bells, you couldn't have cut him off more sharply if he'd made a heavy pass!'

'Well, I find his conviction that he's God's gift to women a bit strong too,' Kate retorted. 'Men like that are an abomination. One smile, an invitation to dance—and they expect you to—to roll over and beg!'

'Well—roll over anyway,' said Simon with a mock leer. 'I didn't know you were such a feminist, Kate.'

'I'm not,- she said shortly. 'But he—his whole approach—reminded me of—of someone I used to know.'

'Did you give him a hard time too?' Kate wondered if the alarm she heard in Simon's voice was altogether feigned.

She gave him a placatory smile. 'No.' She glanced round. 'I think Alison's ready to go up and change. I'd better help her.'

'Fine,' Simon agreed, and she realised ruefully as she left the room in Alison's wake that he was probably regretting that he had to spend the evening with her. And she wasn't altogether sure she could blame him.

By the time they came downstairs again, Matt Lincoln had left, to Alison's momentary pouting disappointment. Kate could only feel relief. She had almost been tempted to remain upstairs packing away the discarded wedding dress and tidying up generally rather than face him again.

She had imagined he had passed out of her life for ever. Now, it seemed, he was back with a vengeance.

Her steps began to slow. She had been walking aimlessly in no particular direction, or so she had thought. Now, as the glass and concrete block of the National Television building reared up in front of her, she wasn't so sure.

Was this what they called a Freudian slip? she asked herself wryly.

She stood staring up at the building, hating the way all those windows seemed to stare back like so many blank eyes, then gave herself a swift mental shake. She was doing no earthly good drifting round London, worrying about something for which there might be a perfectly innocent explanation.

The best thing she could do was go back to the studio and get on with her own work, her own life.

In other words, mind her own business.

The studio was one large attic room of a tall Edwardian house. It had windows on two sides and a skylight, and Kate loved it. There was another attic across the narrow passage, and this she used as a bedsitter, sharing the bathroom on the floor below with the family who owned the house, Felix who was a newspaper photographer, his wife Maria and their two children. It was an arrangement that suited them all.

As Kate unlocked the front door and went in, Maria's voice called from the kitchen, 'How was the drunken lunch?'

Kate put her head round the kitchen door. 'Remarkably sober,' she said. 'Something smells wonderful.'

Maria grimaced. 'Not really.' She waved a spoon. 'Just an ordinary little meat sauce to go with spaghetti—it being the end of the month and all—but I think you'll be amused by its precocity. Want to join us, or are you too full of caviare and champagne?'

'I'd love to,' Kate said regretfully, and meant it, because Maria was generally an inspired cook even with the most average ingredients. 'But I thought I would go home this evening. It's been some time since I saw them all.'

'Fine,' Maria said amiably. She gave Kate a narrow look. 'There's nothing wrong, is there?'

'Of course not,' Kate achieved a laugh. 'I do go home occasionally, you know!'

'I didn't mean that. I just thought you looked a bit fraught, that's all,' said Maria, stirring her sauce, and lowering the flame beneath the pan.

'Oh,' Kate pulled a face, cursing her landlady's perspicacity. 'It's just this new book—there could be problems. Nothing that I can't handle, of course.'

'Of course,' Maria agreed. 'Well, enjoy yourself this evening.'

Kate's mother was delighted to get her phone call. 'Darling, how marvellous! Jon and Alison are coming over too. It'll be a real family party.'

'Yes, won't it?' Kate agreed. She replaced her receiver slowly. She had intended to do some subtle probing, now it seemed she was going to be able to see them together and judge the state of their relationship for herself.

And probably Alison would be bubbling over with the story of her wonderful lunch, she told herself forcefully.

Her stepfather greeted her at the door with a warm hug.

'You've lost weight, my girl.' He held her at arms' length and stared at her critically.

Kate wrinkled her nose at him. 'That's what you always say. I only wish it was true.'

'Well, at least you'll get a decent meal inside you tonight,' he said triumphantly. 'Steak and kidney pie and all the trimmings. How's work going? Any interesting commissions?'

He poured sherry, and they took it into the kitchen and talked to Kate's mother as she bustled around, putting the last touches to the meal. She was a woman who had always found her fulfilment in caring for her family, and they'd often teased her about it, calling her 'an endangered species', which she accepted with unruffled calm.

Watching her, seeing her pleasure in the preparations she was making, Kate found herself thinking, 'Oh, let everything be all right! She and Dad love Jon. They're so proud of him. If anything went wrong in his marriage, they'd be so hurt, so bewildered.'

They heard his car pull on to the drive at the side of the house, and presently he came in. He was smiling and carrying a bunch of flowers for his stepmother, but Kate thought he looked tired.

He said ruefully, 'I'm on my own, I'm afraid. Ally sends love and apologies, but she's going to have an early night. She's got a splitting headache.'

'Oh.' Mrs Herbert looked downcast. 'I wonder what's caused that?'

Hangover? Kate supplied silently. Guilty conscience? Or had they had a blazing row, perhaps?

'Hi, love,' Jon bent and kissed her cheek. 'Anything exciting in your life?'

She shrugged. 'Depends on your view of excitement.' Keeping her voice casual, she added, 'I had lunch at Peré Nicolas today.'

Jon whistled appreciatively. 'Very impressive! I hope you weren't paying.'

'Oh, Kate!' her mother wailed. 'Then you won't want another big meal. What am I going to do with all this pie?'

'I'm starving,' Kate assured her. 'No restaurant food could ever compare with yours, you know that.'

She would eat the dinner in front of her if it killed her, she promised herself. And it probably would, because she'd been counting on Jon saying something on the lines of 'Now there's a coincidence. Alison was lunching there too.' Whereas it was evident that he knew nothing at all about Alison's midday activities. Oh hell, she thought. Hell and damnation!

She finished everything on her plate with a struggle, and it was no consolation to note that Jon didn't have much of an appetite either. He talked cheerfully about the office, making them laugh with his story of a client who was always house-hunting, then finding some fatal flaw with the property of his dreams just before the contracts were due to be signed.