Marriage Under Suspicion (4 page)

She put down her glass and went to him, sliding her arms round his waist, inhaling

luxuriously the familiar male scent of his skin.

'Well, I love our success.' She spoke with mock-defiance, smiling up at him. ‘And our

happiness even more. And, as a bonus, we get to spend, tomorrow together.' She traced

the open neck of his shirt with her forefingers. 'Sunday, sweet Sunday, all by ourselves.'

She lowered her voice temptingly. 'We can get up as late as we want. Walk in the park, or

stay in with the papers. Find somewhere new to have dinner. Just like we used to.'

He shook his head. 'Sorry, my love, not tomorrow. I'm going down to Whitmead to have

lunch with the family.'

'Oh?' Kate stiffened instantly. 'May I know when this was arranged?'

His voice was equable. 'My mother telephoned during the week.'

'You didn't mention it before.'

He gave her a meditative look. 'I didn't think you'd be particularly interested.'

He didn't add 'After the last time'. He didn't have to, Kate thought, wincing. The

implication was right there.

She made her tone placatory. 'Darling, I didn't mean the stupid things I said on the way

home. I— lost my temper. We both did.' She shook her head. 'I wish your mother could

just understand that if and when we start a family it will be our own personal decision,

taken when we're good and ready. And without any prompting.'

'It was just a casual remark, Kate. She didn't mean o interfere. Or start World War Three.'

He paused. "After all, when we first got married, a baby was very much on the cards.

And we made no secret of it.'

'Yes, but everything changed when you gave up your city job,' Kate protested. 'I had to

work while you established yourself as a writer. You know that.'

'I'm established now,' he said mildly.

'And so am I,' Kate reminded him. 'Which makes it more difficult now to find an

appropriate time. Something that will fit in with our career demands. Sorely your mother

must see that.' She hesitated. ‘And you remember what Jon and Carla Patterson were

telling us about the nanny situation the other night. They've had one disaster after

another.'

‘So it seems.' His voice was noncommittal.

Therefore it isn't something we can rush into,' she went on. 'And your mother has got

your sister's children to fuss over, after all,' she added with a touch of defensiveness.

'Undoubtedly,' he agreed. 'But I can't promise she won't drop any more hints.' His mouth

twisted slightly. 'I'm afraid we're just not a very reticent family.'

'Maybe not.' She pinned on a smile. 'So, does all this mean that I'm excluded from

tomorrow's invitation?'

'On the contrary,' he said quietly. 'Everyone would be delighted to see you, but I assumed

you'd be tied up at the office once you got back from Gloucestershire, and made your

excuses.'

'You're quite right of course,' she agreed colourlessly. She detached herself from him, and

turned away. 'I have got a load of paperwork to complete. So, next time, perhaps.'

'That might be best.'

Did she imagine it, or did he actually sound relieved?

My God, she thought, biting her lip. Am I really such a bitch?

She swung back towards him, smiling brightly. 'Shall we have some more wine?'

'I'd better not.' He sounded regretful. 'I need to keep a clear head.'

'You're not going to work tonight, surely?' Kate made no attempt to hide her

disappointment.

'I have some editing to do. It won't take long.'

Kate knelt on the sofa, reaching forward to take his hand. 'Couldn't it wait until the

morning?' Her voice was husky, almost wistful. 'I—I've missed you.'

He shook his head. 'I've got to make an early start to Whitmead. I need to get it done

now.' He disenaged his hand, then ran a finger down the curve of her cheek. 'I'll be as

quick as I can.'

'Is that a promise?' Kate drawled the words, look-mg up at him through her lashes.

'Behave.' He bent and dropped a swift kiss on top of her head. 'I'll see you later.' He

collected his briefcase and went into the office, closing the door behind him.

Kate stayed where she was for a moment, staring blankly in front of her, then she

collected the wine glasses and took them into the kitchen to rinse them out. She could see

her reflection in the window above the sink, pale-skinned, taut-mouthed, and wide-eyed.

She thought, with a sense of shock, I look—frightened.

And yet there had been nothing to be scared of— had there?

Admittedly, it hadn't been the ideal reunion under the circumstances. Ryan's reaction to

her unexpected turn hadn't been the one she'd hoped for. But then he was always

preoccupied when the book he was working on reached a certain stage. Ordinarily, she

couldn't have given it another thought.

But life was no longer ordinary. The anonymous letter had changed all that. Those seven

words had removed the certainties, and replaced them with doubts. And with the fear she

saw in her own eyes.

He'd been doing research, he'd said. But what kind of research would he dress up for?

And the meal he'd mentioned—had he eaten it alone?

Why didn't I ask him? Kate thought, twining a strand of hair round her finger in a gesture

left over from childhood. Why didn't I find out exactly where he'd been? Got him to name

the restaurant even?

Was it, maybe, because I didn't want to hear the answers? Because I was afraid to pursue

them?

She shivered, and turned away from the strained face confronting her in the glass.

Ryan might not have been overwhelmed to see her, but they were hardly newly-weds, for

heaven's sake. It didn't make him guilty of anything. And there was no real reason for

him to change his plans either. They were both adults with their own lives.

And she could well do without a family Sunday at Whitmead, she told herself, pulling a

face. The perfect roast, the home-grown vegetables, the seriously alcoholic trifle all

ordained beforehand, and produced without a hitch, even when extra guests turned up, as

they often did. The afternoon spent playing croquet or French cricket, or taking the dogs

for a walk, to build up an appetite for the equally sumptuous tea. The noisy games of

cards or Trivial Pursuit during the evening. It was all like a cliche of English country life.

Oh, come on, she chided herself. That really is bitchy. You really don't want to go in case

Sally and Ben are there with the children, and comparisons are drawn. Be honest about it.

You don't want another row with Ryan on the drive back.

And she shouldn't be derogatory about Ryan's parents, even in thought, she added

ruefully. Because she liked them both—even if Mrs Lassiter's warmth, charm and

unbounded energy did make her feel slightly inadequate at times.

She simply wasn't used to the overt family affection, the candour about personal issues,

the lively arguments, and the casual but whole-hearted hospitality.

Her own upbringing, she thought, had been so very different.

With a silent sigh, Kate wandered back into the living area, and stood for a moment,

staring at the closed door to Ryan's office. There was nothing in the world to stop her

crossing the space that divided them, of course.

She could open that door, go into that room, and ask how much longer he was going to

be. She'd done it before, after all. And on more than one occasion she'd left her clothes on

the floor first.

But even as her mouth curved in a reminiscent smile she knew she would not be doing so

this evening.

When she'd gone to Ryan earlier, put her arm around him, he'd held her in return. But

there'd been no passion in his response. No kindling intimacy in his touch. Once, he

would have drawn her close against his body, found her mouth with his, his hands

rediscovering all the sweet, sensuous routes to their mutual desire.

She had never before offered herself, and been rejected.

Although it hadn't been a real rejection, she assured herself quickly. After all, he'd said

'Later', hadn't he?

But, although this was later, she knew she wasn't going to risk it. She would let him set

the parameters tonight.

She went up to the bedroom. In her lingerie drawer, she found the nightgown she'd

bought the previous month on an impulse, but not yet worn. She unwrapped the layers of

tissue and looked at it with satisfaction.

It was ivory satin, and classically simple, the bodice deeply slashed beneath shoestring

straps, the skirt cut cleverly to cling.

Seductive, she thought, without being obvious. And there would never be a better time to

try its effect.

She changed into it, brushed her hair loose over her shoulders, and added a breath of

Patou's Joy to her throat, wrists and breasts.

Then, leaving one shaded lamp burning, she lay down on top of the bed to wait for him.

And we'll just see if he makes that early start for Whitmead, she thought, smiling to

herself. Or if he'll have to ring his parents, and tell them he can't be there after all. Such a

shame.

It was the kind of situation that usually she'd revel in, but somehow she found it

impossible to relax—to think herself into the appropriate frame of mind.

She was planning to ravish her own husband. She wanted him to find her warm and

willing, not nerve-racked and clammy-skinned. She needed to feel anticipation, not

uncertainty.

She found she kept turning her head restively towards the stairs, every sense alert for a

sound, or sign of movement. But there was nothing. Ryan had said he wouldn't be long,

but the time seemed endless.

She remembered the deep breathing learned at her Yoga classes at college, and its

calming effect. She let herself sink into the mattress, counting silently to herself as she

inhaled, held the drawn breath then slowly released it.

Gradually, she felt her inner tension ease, but at the same time her eyelids began to grow

heavy.

Sleep, she thought drowsily. I mustn't go to sleep. I have to wait—wait for Ryan...

It was the cold that woke her eventually. She sat up with a shiver, one glance at the bed

beside her telling her that she was still alone. The numbers on the clock radio informed

her it was the early hours of the morning.

She slid off the bed, put on her robe and went downstairs.

Ryan was lying, fast asleep, on one of the sofas. Nearby the television still hummed

gently, its screen blank.

Kate turned off the power, before bending over her husband, shaking his shoulder gently.

'Ryan,' she whispered. 'Darling, you can't stay here. Come to bed—please.'

He muttered something unintelligible under his breath, but he didn't stir, not even when

she shook him again, harder.

She waited for a moment, then trailed slowly and defeatedly back to the gallery.

Even under the covers, the king-size bed felt frigid and unwelcoming.

She thought, So, he fell asleep in front of the television. It happens. It's no big deal.

And suddenly found that she wanted, very badly, to cry. Because it was a very big deal

indeed.

Kate opened unwilling eyes to discover broad daylight. She sat up slowly, propping

herself on an elbow, while she pushed her hair back from her face with her other hand,

and looked around her, dazed from a restless night punctuated by brief, disturbing

dreams.

The first thing she registered was that the pillow beside her was rumpled, and the quilt

had been thrown back, indicating that Ryan had spent at least part of the night with her.

Well, she thought, that was something—even if he hadn't bothered to wake her.

She swung her feet to the floor, and padded across to the bathroom. Ryan's damp towel

was hanging on the rail, and a pleasant aroma of cologne, toothpaste and soap pervaded

the moist air. But he had gone.

As she turned away, disappointed, a faint but persuasive scent of coffee invaded her

consciousness, and she followed it down to the kitchen.

Ryan was standing at the worktop, buttering a slice of toast. He was wearing faded chinos

with a plain white shirt. An elderly sweatshirt was draped round his shoulders, and his

hair was still damp from the shower.

Kate leaned against the door jamb and watched him.

Then she said, softly, 'Hi, there.'

‘Hi.' His smile was easy, widening as his eyes surveyed her. 'You look positively

delectable, Mrs Lassiter. I don't think I've seen that particular nightdress before.'

'You were meant to notice it last night.' Kate smiled back at him, pleasurably aware that

her nipples were hardening under his scrutiny, and clearly outlined under the cling of the

satin for his delectation.

'Sorry about that.' He didn't sound particularly repentant. Nor did he come across to her