Smokescreen Marriage. Sara Craven

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      There was no lock on her bedroom door, and one dodgy bolt on the bathroom. With nowhere to run, Kate decided to stand her ground.

      ‘How dare you.’ Her face was burning as she glared at him. ‘Get out of here, before I call the police.’

      ‘To do what?’ Mick asked coolly. ‘Have I ever struck you—or molested you in any way, agapi mou, that you did not welcome?’ He watched the colour suddenly deepen in her shocked face, and nodded sardonically. ‘Besides, all police are reluctant to intervene in domestic disputes. So, why don’t you sit down and dry your hair while you listen to what I have to say?’

      He paused, then held out his hand. ‘Unless you would like me to dry it for you,’ he added softly. ‘As I used to.’

      Kate swallowed convulsively, and shook her head, not trusting her voice.

      It wasn’t fair, she raged inwardly. It wasn’t right for him to remind her of all the small, tender intimacies they’d once shared.

      The way she’d sat between his knees as he blow-dried her hair, combing it gently with his fingers, letting the soft strands drift in the current of warm air.

      And how her efforts to perform the same service for him had always been thwarted, as he loosened the sash on her robe, and drew the folds slowly apart, pressing tiny sensuous kisses on her naked body as she stood, flushed and breathless, in front of him. Until her attempt at hairdressing was forgotten in the sweet urgency of the moment.

      Oh, she did not need to remember that.

      Her cotton housecoat was long-sleeved and full-skirted, buttoned chastely to the throat, but she was still blazingly aware that she was naked under it—and that he knew it too, and was enjoying her discomfort.

      The room seemed suddenly to have shrunk. His presence dominated it, physically and emotionally. Invaded her space in the worst way. Dried her throat and made her legs shake under her.

      Even as she turned away and walked across to the dining table, every detail of him was etched on her mind, as if she’d touched him with her fingers.

      Yet she did not have to do that—to remember.

      She knew that the black curling hair was brushed back from his face with careless elegance. That his dark eyes were brilliant, but watchful beneath their heavy lids, or that the cool, firm mouth held a hint of sensuality in the slight fullness of the lower lip.

      It was a proud face, strong and uncompromising, but when he smiled, its charm had twisted the heart in her body.

      He was formally dressed, the charcoal business suit accentuating the tall, lean body which moved with such arrogant grace. His olive skin looked very dark against the immaculate white shirt. His tie was silk, and there were discreet gold links in his cuffs matching the narrow bracelet on his watch and, she noticed with a sudden painful thud of her heart, the plain band on the third finger of his right hand.

      The ring which matched hers, inscribed inside with their names and the date, which she had slipped on to his finger on their wedding day…

      How could he still be wearing it? How could he be such a hypocrite? she asked herself numbly.

      He said, ‘Aren’t you going to ask me to sit down—offer me some coffee?’

      ‘You’re not a guest,’ Kate said, keeping her voice level with an effort. ‘And this is not a social call.’ She frowned. ‘How did you get in, anyway?’

      ‘A charming lady on the ground floor.’ He paused. ‘She seemed pleased you were having a visitor.’

      Mrs Thursgood, Kate thought, grinding her teeth. Who normally guarded the front door like Cerberus at the gates of Hell.

      She said, ‘She allows her imagination to run away with her sometimes.’

      She loosened the towel that was swathed round her head, and her damp hair tumbled on to her shoulders. Then she switched on the drier, and picked up the brush.

      Mick stood by the old-fashioned fireplace watching every movement, his whole body very still, except for a muscle flickering at the side of his mouth.

      He said at last, ‘You’ve received Ismene’s invitation.’ His tone was abrupt, and it was a statement rather than a question.

      ‘It came today.’

      ‘So you haven’t had time to reply.’

      ‘It won’t take much time,’ Kate said shortly. ‘Naturally, I shan’t be going.’

      ‘Ah,’ Mick said gently. ‘But that is what I came to discuss with you. It would mean a great deal to my sister to have you present, so I hope you will reconsider.’

      Kate switched off the drier and stared at him, pushing her hair back from her face. ‘That’s impossible.’

      ‘I hope not. Ismene has missed you very badly, and this is a special time for her.’ He paused. ‘I would regard your attendance as a favour.’

      Kate gasped. ‘And that’s supposed to make all the difference?’ she demanded furiously.

      ‘I thought it might.’ He leaned an arm on the mantelshelf, looking hatefully assured and relaxed. ‘In fact, I believed we might exchange favours.’

      There was an uncertain silence, then Kate said, ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘You want a simple, consensual divorce.’ He smiled at her. ‘Which you can have—at a price.’

      There was another tingling silence.

      She said, ‘And if the price is too high?’

      He shrugged. ‘Then I refuse to consent, and we let the legal process run its course.’ He added casually, ‘I understand it can take several years.’

      ‘That’s—blackmail.’ Her voice shook.

      ‘Is it?’ he said. ‘But perhaps I do not agree that our marriage has “irretrievably broken down” as you allege in that document.’

      ‘But you must. It has.’ Kate drew a deep breath. ‘And you’re bluffing. I know you are. You don’t wish to stay married any more than I do.’

      His mouth twisted. ‘You’re mistaken, agapi mou. I am in no particular hurry to be free.’

      No, she thought, with a stab of anguish. Not while your father is still alive, and Victorine is nominally his…

      She said slowly, ‘So I have to attend Ismene’s wedding if I want a quick divorce.’

      ‘Is it really such a hardship? Kefalonia is very beautiful in September.’

      ‘Kefalonia is beautiful all the year round.’ Her tone was curt. ‘It’s only some of the people there who make it ugly.’

      ‘A word of advice, pedhi mou.’ His smile was mirthless. ‘It is better to win an opponent over than to antagonise him.’

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