Marriage Under Suspicion (15 page)

some of the kind harmony of their life into her own troubled soul. But there was no reply.

Everyone had gone, it seemed. And only she was left.

She began to watch the time obsessively, calculating over and over again how long it

would take Ryan to reach his destination. How soon it would be possible for him to pick

up the phone and call her.

He'd said he would be there around lunchtime, from the snatch of conversation she'd

overheard. So she'd have to allow him some extra time to settle into his room. To do all

the usual social things. And then he'd call her—wouldn't he? Surely he wouldn't take her

parting remarks to him at their face value.

Yes, she'd been hurt and disappointed, but her reaction had been way over the top. He'd

know that, and make allowances, surely.

It was late afternoon before she was prepared to admit that her optimism was unfounded.

That there probably wasn't going to be any phone call.

'Right,' Kate said through gritted teeth. 'Then the mountain will go to Mohammed.'

She'd seen all the literature about the convention, so she knew the name of the old

country house in the Dales where he was staying. A simple call to Directory Enquiries

gave her the number.

'Allengarth Centre,' said a woman's friendly voice. 'How can I help you?'

'I'd like to speak to Ryan Lassiter, please.'

There was a short pause, then the voice said, 'I'm sorry, but he hasn't arrived yet.'

'But you were expecting him at lunchtime, weren't you?' Kate's voice sharpened with

anxiety.

The other laughed. 'Bless you, no. The convention starts with dinner tomorrow evening.

Mr and Mrs Lassiter are due here for that. Not before.'

Kate's throat felt suddenly paralysed. She said huskily, 'I'm sorry. I—I didn't realise Mrs

Lassiter was with him.'

'Oh, yes,' the woman said comfortably. 'He made that clear when he agreed to come. We

have a very nice suite for our principal guests when they bring a partner.' She paused.

'May I pass on a message when they arrive?'

'No, thank you.' Kate steadied herself with a supreme effort. 'It can wait.'

It took several moments for her to replace the receiver on its rest. Her hands didn't seem

to be coordinating with her brain.

No wonder he hadn't wanted her to go with him, she thought numbly. He had very

different plans. Beginning with a leisurely journey north, staying in one of the intimate

country pubs that he'd once enjoyed with her.

The Royal Oak at Stretton Hulme, she found herself remembering. That was Ryan's

favourite. And they'd be there by now, strolling along the path by the river, watching the

swans and the moorhens, before returning to the big first-floor room, with its four-poster

bed, and the adjoining old-fashioned bathroom with its tub that had plenty of room for

two...

She pressed her fist against her mouth, stifling the moan of pain that these images

evoked.

Surely—oh, please, God—Ryan wouldn't have taken her there. Not to a place which had

meant so much to them as a couple. Where they'd always vowed to return.

But then, what was one more betrayal amongst so many? she asked herself bitterly.

And last night had been the greatest—most searing betrayal of all.

How could he, in conscience, make love to her like that when he was planning to spend a

few illicit days with his mistress—that significant other who had shadowed every day of

her life for the past weeks?

Unless it was a farewell performance, of course. Something to remember him by.

And I sent him away, she thought with anguish. I practically gave him permission to

leave.

She was walking backwards and forwards, her arms wrapped round her body in

protection and support, her mind dazed—spinning.

And she had at least twenty-four endless hours to endure before she could even go up to

Yorkshire and confront them. If that was what she was going to do...

Yet what other choice did she have? She'd been made a fool of long enough. Now it was

time to fight back.

She couldn't bring herself to eat, but she needed something to dispel the inner chill, and

restore her strength. Eventually, she heated up a pan of tinned tomato soup—the ultimate

comfort food.

Nor could she bear to spend the night in their bed. Instead she found a spare quilt and

pillow, and made herself a makeshift nest on the sofa, where a sleeping pill eased her into

a restless, dream-laden sleep.

She awoke the next morning with a slight headache, and for a moment she was tempted

to ring the office and tell them she would not be in. The thought of facing Louie and

Debbie and having to pretend everything was all right made her stomach churn.

But the prospect of another day in the flat, pacing up and down, and tormenting herself

with images of

Ryan and his other woman, was equally unbearable, so, eventually, she swallowed some

paracetamol and, heavy-eyed, took a cab to work.

Debbie met her with a long face. 'Louie's not coming in,' she reported. 'There was a

message on the machine when I arrived saying she isn't well.'

Tell me about it, Kate said silently, and was immediately smitten with self-reproach.

After all, Louie had her problems too, she reminded herself sadly, and her sickness was

probably of the heart.

Determined, she plunged into the pile of work waiting for her, using it both as a palliative

and a shield against the darkness hovering always on the edge of her vision.

She waited until late afternoon, then phoned the Allengarth Centre again, and this time a

man answered.

'Good afternoon.' She kept her voice level. 'May I speak to Mrs Lassiter please?'

Her heart was thumping raggedly as she waited to be connected.

Then, 'I'm sorry, madam.' The man's voice again. 'There's no answer from their suite.'

'But they are there?' Her free hand was gripping the edge of the desk so tightly that her

knuckles stood out, stark and white.

'Mr Lassiter's name is in the register, madam. Will you try later? Or can I take a

message?'

'No,' Kate said quietly. 'No message.'

She told Debbie she was leaving early, and went round the corner to the florist. She had

to talk to someone or burst, and Louie seemed the obvious candidate. While the assistant

was wrapping her flowers, Kate popped next door to the off licence and bought some

wine as well. They could drown their sorrows together, she thought.

The street with its row of neat terraced houses was relatively quiet in the sunshine. Kate

paid off the cab, and walked up the path to the front door, exchanging a brief smile with

the woman next door, who was planting some tubs.

She rang the bell, and waited, but there was no immediate reply.

Perhaps Louie really was physically ill, Kate thought, her brow creasing. She bent and

called through the letterbox.

'Louie, it's me. Are you all right? Please open the door.'

'I don't think she's there.' The neighbour's head popped over the fence. 'I saw her going

off in a taxi yesterday with a suitcase, and I haven't noticed her coming back.'

'You must be mistaken,' Kate said quickly. 'She's off sick. She rang to say so.'

'But I saw her.' The other .woman bridled slightly. 'Clear as I'm seeing you now.' She

paused. 'Maybe she's gone to a health farm,' she offered helpfully, then glanced at Kate

and frowned. 'You don't look so good yourself, either. You've gone really white. Not

going to faint, are you?'

No, Kate thought, biting her lip until she could taste blood. I'm not going to faint. Or

scream. Or weep.

Aloud, she said, 'I'm sorry to have missed her. But I think I can guess where she's gone.'

She thrust the roses and freesias she was carrying over the fence. 'Perhaps you'd like to

have these.'

'Well, that's kind.' The woman accepted the bouquet doubtfully. 'Are you quite sure you

don't want to keep them yourself?'

Kate's smile was like steel. 'They're not my favourite flowers.' Or not any more, certainly.

'Do you want me to tell her you called? When she comes back, that is,' the woman called

after her.

'No, thanks.' Kate kept walking. 'I expect I'll see her before you do.'

There was a coffee shop in the next street. She ordered herself a black coffee and took it

to a corner table. She needed a stimulant of some kind to alleviate the shock she'd just

received. And she needed, too, to sit down before she fell.

She sat, watching the dark, fragrant liquid cool, while her mind went over and over the

evidence. But no matter how she tried to load the equation she kept coming up with the

same terrible answer.

Louie, she thought sickly. Louie—and Ryan.

It explained so much, of course, she realised, forcing herself to examine some of the

conversations she'd had with both of them in the past week.

Remembering the dinner party. Coming into the room, and finding them together. The

look on Louie's face...

And she, fool that she was, standing up for Louie, and her forbidden love. Even

defending her.

Ryan had tried to warn her. She could see that now.

She also understood, too late, why he had made love to her. To allay her suspicions, she

thought, swallowing past the hard lump in her throat.

How they must have been laughing at her behind her back, she thought, anguished.

All desire to go to Yorkshire had left her. The last thing in the world she wanted was to

see them together, and be confronted with the final confirmation of all her worst

imaginings. Although she would have to face them some time.

Her husband. Her best friend. Her betrayers.

The coffee was bitter in her mouth but she swallowed it anyway, and left, thrusting the

unwanted bottle of wine into a rubbish bin on the pavement.

I can't think what to do, said the toneless voice in her head as she walked. I can't go back

to the flat-not yet. I have nothing—and no one... And I'm afraid to be alone.

They said the best place to hide was in a crowd, and that was what she would do. She'd

go up West. Have a meal, whether she wanted it or not. Catch a film.

Because she wasn't ready to decide on her real next step. At the moment, she was in

shock, but soon she would be angry, and she needed to deal with that before considering

what options remained to her.

I want to make Ryan sorry, she thought, her hands curling painfully into fists. I want to

see him suffer, as I am now—if that's possible. I—I want revenge.

She reached the junction with the main road, and paused, scanning the traffic for a

cruising black cab.

When a hand fell on her shoulder, she nearly yelled with frights, spinning round to face

the aggressor, her hand tightening on the strap of her bag.

'God, I'm sorry.' The would-be mugger spoke with penitence and real charm. 'I didn't

mean to startle you like that.' He paused. 'I don't suppose you remember me.'

'Yes,' Kate said slowly. 'I remember you very well. You're Peter Henderson.'

He nodded. 'The wedding that wasn't. But which is going to happen next week instead.'

He smiled. 'In a registry office with a few witnesses.'

'Just as you said,' Kate agreed with an effort. 'Well, I'm glad everything's worked out for

the best.'

'So what are you doing in this neck of the woods? It's a bit far from home base, isn't it?'

I went to visit a friend.' Kate paused. 'Only she isn't there any more.'

'Then her loss is my gain.' His face was hopeful. 'Any chance of us having a drink before

you dash devotedly home again?'

Kate looked up at him. She'd been aware of his attraction at their first meeting. Today,

his City clothes gave him extra distinction. And he was still interested in her.

It occurred to her with sudden, icy clarity how her revenge on Ryan could be achieved.

She stretched her dry lips into an approximation of a smile.

'Thank you.' She said quietly. 'I—I'd really like that.'

'Well, this is marvellous. Here's to happy meetings.' Peter Henderson raised his glass, and

Kate responded.

'I couldn't believe it when I saw you on that corner,' he went on. 'I called to you, but you

seemed to be in another world.'

'I'm sorry.' Kate traced the stem of her wine glass with a finger. 'I've got a lot on my mind

at the moment.'

He gave her a searching look. 'I really frightened you, didn't I? You still look a bit green

about the gills.'

A reluctant laugh broke from her. 'Aren't you the flatterer?'

'Are you sure you're all right?'

'I'm certain.' She looked round her at the crowded wine bar. 'This is a nice place.'

'It's always been a favourite of mine.' He paused, then said abruptly, 'I've thought about

you, you know. Wondered how you were getting along.'

Kate lowered her lashes. 'And I've thought about you.'

'Really?' He seemed so genuinely pleased that Kate felt a stab of conscience.

'And how's the famous writer?' he went on after another pause.