Marriage Under Suspicion (5 page)

as she expected. 'I worked longer than I intended, and then I got interested in something

on television. You know how it is.'

She said, gently reproachful, 'You could have woken me—when you came upstairs.'

'You were sleeping like a baby. I didn't have the heart.' He took a pitcher of fresh orange

juice from the refrigerator, and poured her a glass. 'Your morning tonic, madam.'

'I can think of a far better pick-me-up than that.' Kate spoke huskily, meeting his glance,

knowing that he liked seeing her like this, flushed and tousled from sleep. She adjusted

the strap of her nightgown, letting her hands linger momentarily on her breasts. 'Why

don't we have—breakfast in bed?'

'I told you why last night.' He sounded faintly amused. 'As soon as I've drunk my coffee,

I'm off to Whitmead.'

'You've been invited to lunch.' She heard a pettish note in her voice, and tried to sound

more beguiling. It surely won't take all morning for you to drive there.'

'Dad wants me to help him with some fencing.'

'Oh.' Kate straightened. 'And that naturally takes precedence over your wife?'

'It does today.' He set the glass of orange juice down on the worktop. 'You seem to have

forgotten that you weren't even going to be here.'

He paused. 'Tell me, Kate, if the wedding had gone ahead, and I'd asked you particularly

to come with me today, would that have taken precedence over the usual mopping-up

operations?'

'That's not fair,' she protested. 'A wedding—or any kind of party—is entirely different. I

set it up beforehand, and supervised the clearing-up afterwards. I don't have a choice in

this. It's work.'

He shrugged. 'On the other hand, it could simply be a question of priorities. And today

mine have been decided for me.'

He pushed the slice of toast to one side, untouched, and went to the door and turned to

her, his hands reaching for her wrists, pinioning her suddenly against the wall.

Kate gasped, half in indignation, half in excitement, as she twisted against his

imprisoning grasp in an unavailing attempt to free herself.

Ryan's hazel eyes were unsmiling but intent as they looked into hers, watching her pupils

dilate in anticipation, in the beginnings of an arousal she was powerless to control.

He leaned forward and kissed her slowly, almost insolently, his teeth grazing her lip, his

tongue gliding against hers like heated silk.

Her response was immediate. Her mouth moved against his, sweetly, greedily. She lifted

the hands which clasped hers, and placed them on her breasts.

She thought, exultantly, He's mine. His leg parted her thighs, pressing the satin of her

gown against the moist satin of her body in a deliberate, tantalising friction which forced

a tormented moan from her throat.

She wanted him so fiercely that it hurt. She needed to feel him sheathed inside her—to be

taken, there and then, against the wall, or on the floor. She wanted to see his cool, ironic

control shattered in tiny pieces. To possess him, to know that he was as driven and

desperate as she was herself.

Even when he stepped back, his breathing hurried and harsh, she thought she'd won.

She hooked her fingers under the straps of her gown, and pulled them down, letting the

folds of satin slide down her body, and cascade around her bare feet. She waited, her

nakedness a challenge, her body heated and ready for his invasion.

And saw him smile at her.

'Goodbye, darling,' he said softly. 'Don't ever think I wasn't tempted.'

He turned, and walked away from her towards the main door.

For a second, she was too shocked to move or speak. Then sheer outrage rescued her.

'Bastard,' she hurled after him, chokingly. 'Don't you dare walk out on me.'

But Ryan's only response was to blow her one mocking kiss as he left.

Kate closed down her computer, and switched off the power, sitting for a moment and

staring at the blank screen. She could only hope that what she'd stored over the past hour

made some kind of sense, but she guaranteed nothing.

For once, her mind had not been on the job in hand.

Instead, she'd found herself going over and over again the events of the past twenty-four

hours, as if she were trapped on some weary treadmill.

And the inescapable and unpalatable fact facing her was that, leaving aside whether or

not Ryan was actually having an affair, her own relationship with him seemed to have

reached some kind of watershed.

Even now, she still could not quite believe the coolness of his rejection. Burned to think

how he'd watched her offer herself, then walked away. How he'd left her standing there,

naked, and ridiculous.

He'd spoken of temptation, but he'd found her attempted seduction all too easy to resist,

she thought bitterly.

It was also clear he'd had not the slightest intention of taking her to Whitmead, even if

she'd declared herself available.

Of course, I did say that hell would freeze over before I set foot in the place again, Kate

remembered uneasily. But it was said in the heat of the moment. We were having a row

for God's sake. He must know I didn't mean it.

Her mother-in-law's kindly probing about their intention to start a family must really have

caught her on the raw, she thought, frowning. Because she'd had some unkind things to

say about refusing to turn into a bloody baby farm like Sally, too.

Yet she liked her sister-in-law, and was fond of four-year-old Holly and eighteen-month-

old Tom. But Sally, like her husband, had been a successful corporate accountant before

she became a full-time mother, and Kate could only think, what a waste of a good brain,

each time she saw her coping patiently with her lively toddlers.

Not that Sally had ever indicted by word or gesture that she wasn't totally happy with her

new life. On the contrary.

And Ryan's right, Kate thought, grimacing. It was the life we had planned when we got

married. The baby, the house in the country, the dogs—the whole bit.

Only our plan had to change, when Ryan risked everything by changing his career. I

simply had to work to give us some security, in case his gamble didn't pay off.

And now that my business is working well too I can't afford to pull out for family

reasons. For one thing, it wouldn't be fair to Louie.

She paused. This was the moment when she usually added defensively, Besides—there's

plenty of time ahead of us for all that.

Only it had suddenly occurred to her that perhaps this was no longer true.

Ryan, she thought. Ryan and another woman. Could it be true after all? Was this the

reason behind his frankly dismissive attitude towards her?

After all, she only assumed he was in the flat working when she wasn't there. He could be

anywhere— and with—anyone.

She felt as if someone had taken her by the throat, and was slowly tightening his grip.

The champagne glasses, she thought, leaning back in her chair. Why didn't I ask him

about them? They'd have been the ideal excuse for a little probing.

The perfect time for a few teasing questions would have been after lovemaking, she told

herself, with a sigh, when they were lying relaxed and fulfilled in each other's arms.

Only—it hadn't happened. And, if there was someone else, it might never happen again.

For the first time, she made herself face that unnerving possibility.

Never to touch him, she thought numbly. Never to feel his hands working their unique

magic on her ecstatic skin. Never to welcome him into her body as the other half of

herself in their own rapturous spiral to completion.

From the beginning of their relationship, Kate had found him a wonderful lover, intuitive,

tender and exciting. Under his guidance, she'd explored the heights and depths of her own

sexuality.

Even during the rocky moments that afflicted any new marriage, they'd always been

united in bed, turning to each other passionately and without reserve, using their mutual

desire to comfort and to heal.

But last night, and this morning, the talisman had failed to work. And she was frightened

as well as humiliated.

Was that why Ryan had elected to go to Whitmead alone—to break the news to his

family that he was ending his marriage? Could that be the reason some sixth sense had

warned her that he didn't want her along?

And was she simply going to sit back and let it happen?

No, she thought. I'm bloody well not.

She took a frowning look at her watch. If she set off at once, she could be at Whitmead in

time for lunch, and also, presumably, for any announcement that was going to be made.

So, they weren't expecting her, but the Lassiters' open-house policy would surely still

apply to their daughter-in-law, wryly she thought, her mouth twisting.

It was a warm, sunlit day, and although traffic out of London was relatively heavy most

of it was making for the coast. Kate headed inland for Surrey.

The Old Rectory was on the outskirts of the village, next to the parish church, a pleasant

red-brick house, surrounded by a rambling garden, and a tall hedge.

The obvious thing to do was drive in through the gate, and park on the gravelled area

which faced the front door, but for reasons she couldn't explain Kate decided to leave her

car in a layby a short distance away, and arrive at the house on foot.

As she got nearer, she found her footsteps slowing, and she turned up the narrow lane

which led to the side gate. As usual, all the doors and windows of the house were open,

and Kate stepped on to the verge, keeping close to the hedge. She wanted, she realised

uncomfortably, to see the lie of the land, before she, herself, was seen.

She paused suddenly, aware that something wasn't right.

She bent, parting the twigs of the beech hedge with urgent fingers, and peering through

the curling leaves. Parked in front of the house, she saw Mrs Lassiter's Mini, and the

elderly Jaguar that was her husband's pride and joy. Next to them was Ben and Sally's

estate car, as expected. But there was no sign of Ryan's Mercedes anywhere.

My God, she thought, he's not here. He told me he was coming to Whitmead just to put

me off. He's somewhere else—seeing someone else.

She straightened hurriedly, feeling sick, wincing as the beech twigs tangled in her hair,

then froze as an excited yapping started up on the other side of the hedge, followed by a

deeper, more persistent barking.

She'd forgotten about the all-hearing ears of Thistle the Cairn terrier, and Algernon the

basset-hound. So much for secrecy, she thought bitterly. She'd better make a dash for it,

back to her car before the dogs alerted someone in the house.

'Why are you hiding in the hedge, Aunty Kate?'

With a stifled groan, Kate glanced towards the side gate, almost scalping herself as she

turned her head, to see Holly standing on the bottom bar peering over at her.

'I'm not hiding,' she returned mendaciously, painfully disentangling herself. 'I—I thought

I heard a cat crying, and went to look.'

'Algy doesn't 'low cats,' Holly informed her austerely.

'Then I must have been mistaken.' Kate forced a smile, rubbing her head. 'It doesn't

matter.'

'Are you coming to lunch?' Holly asked.

'I—think so.' Offhand, Kate could see no way of getting out of it, as Holly was sure to

report her presence as soon as she got back to the house. But, in Ryan's absence, what

possible excuse could she give for being there?'

'Does Grandma know?'

'Not yet.' Kate unlatched the gate, steadying Holly as she let it swing open. 'Let's go and

tell her.'

With Holly scampering beside her, and the dogs at their heels, she wept across the lawn

and round to the back of the house.

As she'd expected, she found Mary Lassiter occupied in the kitchen, surrounded by a

plethora of delicious smells, and enjoying the company of her younger grandchild, who

was totally absorbed in a greyish piece of pastry that he was modelling into various

shapes.

'Kate?' Mrs Lassiter's indulgent smile faded slightly as her daughter-in-law entered, to be

replaced, fleetingly, by a look of apprehension. 'What—what a nice surprise,' she added

weakly. 'I gathered from Ryan that work was keeping you in London.'

'I managed to get through it quite quickly.' Kate was conscious that this was the most

muted welcome she'd ever received at Whitmead. 'So here I am,' she went on with

spurious brightness. 'I—I hope it's not inconvenient.'

'No, oh, no,' Mrs Lassiter assured her without any particular conviction. She cast a

harassed glance at the kitchen clock. 'Ryan's driven the others into the village to collect

the papers, and buy some more wine.'

'Oh.' Kate felt almost weak-kneed with relief. 'I was wondering what had happened to

him.'

'I expect they'll call in at the Crown, if you want to go after them.' Mary Lassiter frowned.