Marriage Under Suspicion (12 page)

virtually finished? That his own life held a secret love, too? A love he could no longer

resist?

She took a deep, steadying breath. Whatever Ryan might or might not mean, it seemed

that, for the immediate future, he intended life to go on as usual.

And that's what I must do, she thought. Take things one day at a time. However

impossible that is.

She got to her feet, and went to the phone.

'Louie?' she said lightly. 'We'll be delighted to have dinner on Saturday. Looking forward

to it.'

Kate drew the brush through her hair, and allowed the shining strands to curve gently

forwards around her face.

She had taken great care with her appearance for tonight's dinner party. As she'd had a

free day, she'd booked herself in at a beauty salon for a top-to-toe pampering, including a

body massage with aromatherapy oil.

The ideal thing for stress, she told herself. And it was undoubtedly tension which had

caused the continuing bouts of nausea which had gone on plaguing her this week. Well,

they couldn't be allowed to go on any more. She needed to be on top form, physically and

mentally, if she was to convince Ryan that their marriage was worth saving.

After her gaffe over Penny Barnes, she'd made a valiant attempt to convince herself that

her suspicions and fears were totally unfounded, and that the anonymous letter had been a

piece of casual spite from some sad person with no life of their own.

And, on the surface, things appeared normal. She and Ryan shared a roof and, edgily, a

bed, met briefly at breakfast and talked about their respective days over the evening meal

which Kate made a point of being there to prepare.

But, while Ryan had been unswervingly kind and concerned during her recurring bouts of

nausea, she was uneasily aware just the same that there was no real intimacy between

them. That he seemed as far away as ever in other respects. Their conversation touched

no depths and even the laughter rang hollow.

Once we walked towards each other, she thought. Now we seem to be constantly

tiptoeing round, avoiding no-go areas.

Was this what happened in all marriages? she wondered painfully. Did everybody wake

one morning and find that the burning impetus which had once sent them into each

other's arms had cooled into a pale memory?

Not that she was sure she'd have been able to respond whole-heartedly even if he had

reached for her, she realised, grimacing. Having to interrupt your love-making in order to

dash off and be sick was about the unsexiest scenario possible.

But neither did she want to reach a stage where sharing a bed with him was simply a

habit. If that happened, then the gulf between them was probably unbridgeable.

But I don't feel like that, she argued. I still want him so much, yet I'm scared to make the

first move in case he turns me down again.

With hindsight, she bitterly regretted the destruction of the letter. Far better to have

shown it to him, and risked the agony of his guilt, than attempt to live with this

continuing uncertainty.

At least, she thought, I would have known...

And Ryan was busy, of course, she reminded herself, preparing the notes for his seminar,

as well as making the slight changes to his latest script that Penny had suggested.

Both Quentin and Penny were full of enthusiasm for the book, predicting it would be his

top seller yet, and the contract that was being drawn up reflected this.

Kate had been embarrassed to find the time and place of each meeting with agent and

publisher elaborately circled in red on the phone pad.

Altogether, it had been a strange week, with a sudden influx of enquiries at work—

enough to fill their schedule to the end of the year and beyond.

Once she'd have been thrilled. Now, for the first time, the success of the company wasn't

her major priority.

Louie seemed preoccupied too. Maybe the prospect of Neil's departure had affected her

more deeply than she'd bargained for, Kate mused without particular conviction. Or

perhaps she was considering ways and means of winning over the man she really loved.

She stood up, viewing herself critically in the mirror. The dress she'd chosen wasn't new,

but it was one that Ryan had always liked, unashamedly sexy in soft black crepe, with a

deep neckline, and a wraparound skirt which fastened on one hip with its own sash.

Her stockings were black too, as was the sinuous new lingerie she'd treated herself to.

She'd shadowed her eyes and applied blusher with meticulous care, and her mouth

glowed like some scented, mysterious rose.

And if this doesn't work I'll give up, she thought as she turned away to pick up her bag.

Except that she wouldn't do any such thing. She would fight and go on fighting to keep

Ryan with every breath in her body until all hope was gone. And beyond.

She felt ridiculously self-conscious as she went downstairs.

Ryan was on the phone, talking to the organiser of the seminar. 'I should be with you

around lunchtime,' he was saying. 'We can go over the final details then. Cheers.'

He replaced the receiver, and turned. As he caught sight of her, she saw his eyes widen—

become suddenly intent. Felt the air between them shiver with awareness, and something

more.

Her breasts strained against the silk which confined them. A deep quiver of need ran

down her body to her loins.

Her voice shook slightly. 'How do I look?'

The last time she'd worn this dress, she'd asked the same question, spinning round on one

high-heeled foot, her eyes, her voice, her entire body language teasing and provocative.

'Do I look good?' she'd prompted, with all the confidence of sexual power.

'Good enough to eat,' he'd told her huskily. He'd crossed the room to her, his hands

loosening the sash of the dress and sliding beneath it to find the warm, moist core of her,

while his mouth took leisurely toll of hers. He'd kissed her throat, pushing away the deep

V of her neckline with his lips so that he could explore her breasts.

They'd been due at a book-launch party for another of Quentin's authors, and they'd been

hideously late. Her whole being bloomed with the memory of it.

Remember too, she cried out to him, silently, pleadingly. Remember how it always was

between us. How it can be again.

He said slowly, 'You look—breathtaking.' His eyes touched her, lingering on the shape of

her breasts, the subtle lines of her thighs beneath the clinging crepe. Then he turned his

glance, instead, on his watch. 'And the cab I ordered should be downstairs.'

'We could always send it away.' She felt the pulse leap in her throat, as she fought to

regain his attention. To fuel the desire she'd sensed in the sudden heat of his regard. To

build on this moment.

His brows lifted. 'We could,' he agreed. 'But that wouldn't be very polite to Louie, who's

expecting us, and who seems to need all the consideration we can muster right now.'

She'd already swallowed her pride. Now, disappointment left an equally bitter taste.

Her voice sounded brittle. 'You're right, of course. We'd better go. We don't want to be

late.'

She picked up her jacket and bag, and walked, head held high, to the door.

Trying to ignore the voice in her head, which whispered that it might already be too

late—for both of them.

It probably wasn't the worst dinner party she'd ever attended, Kate reflected afterwards.

But if not it ran a close second.

Louie had welcomed them extravagantly, her generous curves swathed in pillarbox-red,

which she'd accessorised with a determined smile that seemed to have been nailed there.

Maybe she'd suddenly discovered she was going to miss Neil more than she thought,

Kate had thought ruefully, pinning on her own delighted expression.

The food had been delicious as always, with chilled avocado soup preceding seafood

served with pasta in a thick, creamy sauce, enriched with cheese, and a fresh fruit salad to

follow.

Kate had made herself eat and praise, as if she didn't have a care in the world beyond the

next mouthful, wanting the almost hectic cheerfulness of her voice to drown out the

fierce drumming of her own heartbeat. The frightened questions spiralling in her mind.

Across the table, she'd watched Ryan covertly, endlessly from under her lashes, trying to

see beyond the cool mask, but failing. Searching for answers she could not find.

But then he'd barely offered an unprompted word for the duration of the meal.

Perhaps his silence indicated that he too realised they had reached some kind of

watershed in their relationship, Kate thought, agony twisting inside her.

And all the time, somehow, she'd gone on chatting and laughing. Asking Neil about his

new job. Teasing him about the exacting Saudi alcohol laws. Exclaiming over the leisure

facilities and fringe benefits at the complex where he'd be based.

She'd be lucky if she had any voice left tomorrow.

Yet, in spite of her efforts, the atmosphere round the table had borne all the hallmarks of

a wake.

Neil, too, had been much quieter than usual, his responses muted. Even his enthusiasm

for this new departure had seemed wan.

Yes, he'd agreed, it was all a step into the unknown.

'But against that you have to weigh the value of what you're leaving behind,' he added.

'And I realised it was no contest.'

There was a brief awkward silence, broken eventually by Louie collecting the plates

together.

It was almost a relief when, after coffee, he excused himself on the grounds he still had

packing to do.

'Not one of my better ideas,' said Louie, as Kate helped her load the dishwasher.

'Are you sure you want him to go?' Kate asked carefully.

Louie sighed. 'I've no strong feelings either way. I realised months ago that Neil was like

one of those dresses you keep hanging in the back of the wardrobe, because it might look

good if you lost a stone in weight and changed your hair colour.'

Kate winced. 'He seems to have regrets.'

'I think he signed the contract as a grand gesture to Helen, his ex.' Louie pulled a face.

'Hoping that the threat of his departure would bring her running back with tears of

remorse. Trouble is—she's moved on, and so should he. He's a genuinely nice guy, and

will make some woman a smashing husband.'

'But not you.'

Louie shook her head. 'Never in this world.'

Kate paused. 'Are you still thinking about this other man?' she asked gently.

Louie nodded jerkily, her eyes fixed on the floor. 'I keep wondering if I should have tried

harder. Actually made him choose. Then at least I'd have known...'

'Is it too late to find out?'

'I don't know.' Louie kept her gaze averted. 'Maybe I'm scared of rocking the boat. Of

coping with the consequences.'

'But if his marriage isn't working... If he's not happy, his wife wouldn't want to keep him

tied to her, surely.'

Louie's mouth twisted. 'Wouldn't she? Who's to say she's noticed that anything's wrong?

She may have put down any cracks in the relationship to normal wear and tear. And

maybe that's all it ever was anyway.'

Kate hesitated. 'Are there any children involved?'

'No.' Louie shook her head. 'I think that may have been a major part of the problem. He

wanted a family. She preferred a career.'

Kate bit her lip. 'Of course, you haven't heard her side of it.'

'As I've told myself repeatedly. Not that it helps, particularly.'

'So what are you going to do?'

Louie sighed harshly. 'Right now I'm going to clear the rest of the table, while you make

us some more extra-strong coffee.'

'But you're obviously going to think about it.' Kate put a comforting hand on Louie's rigid

shoulder.

'Yes,' Louie said quietly. 'I think I have to—whatever the cost.' She raised miserable eyes

and looked at Kate. 'Do you think I'm wrong?'

'I don't feel I can make any moral judgement about this,' Kate said gently. 'I-—I don't

know what I'd do in your place. But, whatever you decide, I'll be on your side.'

Louie gave her a taut little grimace of a smile and went out of the room.

Left to herself, Kate filled the coffee machine, and switched it on. Her spirits were heavy

as she rinsed the cups they'd been using, then placed them on a tray. It worried her that

she hadn't been aware of

Louie's problems at the time. Hadn't realised what the other woman had clearly been

suffering.

God, but I've become self-centred, she castigated herself.

And she couldn't make the excuse that she had troubles of her own because this affair had

clearly taken place long before her life had started to come apart at the seams.

She opened the fridge and studied the sparse contents. Louie was an impulse cook,

buying ingredients fresh, and using them instantly. She wasn't a store cupboard person, as