Marriage Under Suspicion. Sara Craven

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      What’s the matter with me? she thought, swallowing. I’m an adult woman. I’ve been chatted up before, plenty of times. Why should this be any different?

      With what she recognised was a deliberate effort, she retrieved her black briefcase from the floor beside her, snapped open its locks, and put away the file with an air of finality.

      As she got to her feet, she gave Peter Henderson a brief, noncommittal smile.

      ‘Well, thanks for the drink. Now I must really get on.’

      ‘Must you?’ He pushed back his own chair, and rose. ‘I was hoping, once you were free of your business cares, that we might have dinner together.’ He paused. ‘I’ve decided to stay on here tonight after all.’

      ‘And I’ve decided to make the earliest possible start back to London.’ Kate’s tone was more curt than she’d intended.

      ‘Running away, Miss Dunstan?’ Peter Henderson’s smile was engaging and unabashed. He glanced down at the card he was holding. ‘Or may I call you Kate?’

      ‘If you wish.’ Her own glance was pointedly at her watch. ‘Although I can’t see why you should wish to. Unless you do decide to throw a party one of these days, we’re unlikely to meet again. Even if Andrew and Davina get together again, I doubt they’ll hire our services a second time.’

      Peter Henderson smiled at her. ‘I remain an optimist,’ he said. ‘In all sorts of ways.’

      He paused. ‘And believe me—Mrs Lassiter—’ he stressed the name almost mockingly ‘—if and when I decide to party, you will be the first to know.’

      Kate felt suddenly as if her own parting smile had been painted on, as wide and foolish as a clown’s.

      She said quietly, ‘Goodbye, Mr Henderson,’ and walked away, out of the hotel lounge, without looking back.

      

      She made her way straight to the powder room, glad to find it deserted. She closed the door behind her, and leaned on it for a moment, angrily aware that her breathing was flurried. Hoping too that her exit had been as dignified and final as she’d intended.

      But I couldn’t guarantee it, she thought, pulling a face. And he was probably well aware of it, damn him.

      She walked to the row of basins, smoothed back her already immaculate hair, added another unnecessary coating of colour to her mouth, then washed her hands—a symbolic gesture which forced a reluctant laugh from her.

      Admit it, Kate, she adjured her bright-eyed reflection, half guilty, half amused. Just for a moment there, you were actually tempted.

      After all, Ryan isn’t expecting you back until tomorrow. And it was only an invitation to dinner. Who would know if you’d accepted—and where would have been the harm anyway? Your marriage is rock-solid—isn’t it?

      For a moment, she was very still, conjuring up Ryan’s image in her mind, until he seemed to be standing beside her, tall, loose-limbed, nose and chin assertively marked in a thin face that would always be attractive rather than handsome.

      So real, she realised wonderingly, that she could almost smell the slightly harsh, totally male scent of the cologne he used. So sexy, in a cool, understated way, that her whole body clenched in sudden, unexpected excitement.

      His long legs and narrow hips were encased in faded denim, his collarless shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, and the sleeves rolled back over muscular forearms. Working gear—and a far cry from the dark City suits he’d worn when they first met. But the changes in Ryan went far deeper than mere surface appearance. And if she was honest, this had been one of the aspects of his new life which had troubled her most.

      As usual, one strand of his silky mid-brown hair was straying untidily across his forehead. But, less usually, the hazel eyes were narrowed almost questioningly, and the mobile mouth wasn’t slanted with its usual amusement.

      She was being watched, she thought slowly, by a cool, sexy stranger. With the accent on the cool.

      Or she was simply transferring her guilt She rallied herself with a slight shrug, acknowledging Ryan’s reaction if he ever discovered she’d been tempted, even for a second, to accept Peter Henderson’s invitation.

      She closed her eyes, dismissing the image, wiping the whole incident. It had been a brief glitch on the smooth tenor of her life, not to be considered again.

      Aloud, she said, ‘It’s time I went home.’

      She used the public telephone in the foyer to call their flat. The answering machine was on, indicating that Ryan was working.

      She said lightly, ‘Hi, darling. The wedding’s off, and I’ll be back as soon as I can make it. Why don’t we eat out tonight—my treat? See if you can get a table at Chez Berthe.’

      She called at Reception on her way out to tell them she was leaving, and check that the cancellation hadn’t brought any unexpected hitches.

      ‘Everything’s fine,’ the girl assured her. ‘It’s just such a shame. None of us can remember it ever happening before.’

      ‘I hope it doesn’t set a trend,’ Kate said drily as she turned away.

      ‘Oh, one minute, Miss Dunstan.’ The receptionist halted her. ‘I almost forgot.’ Her expression was suddenly conspiratorial—almost sly. ‘This was left for you.’

      She handed over an envelope, inscribed ‘Ms Kate Dunstan’ in bold handwriting.

      ‘Thanks,’ Kate said coolly, and thrust it into her bag, silently cursing the other woman’s overt curiosity. It was important to leave the place on a business footing, she thought, pinning on a smile that was pleasant but formal.

      ‘I can’t foresee any further problems,’ she said briskly, ‘but if something does crop up you can contact me at the office or on my mobile.’

      She waited until she was in her car before she opened the envelope. It was Peter Henderson’s business card, but he’d scrawled his private number across the back of it.

      And underneath he’d written, ‘I told you I was an optimist.’

      Kate’s mouth tightened. She was sorely tempted to tear the card up and dump it in a waste bin, except there wasn’t one handy. She’d get rid of it later, she decided, slotting the card into the back of her wallet. After she’d added him to the client file list in the office computer, of course, she amended. That would neutralise him. Reduce him to a business contact. Innocent, and potentially useful. End of story.

      Traffic was miraculously light, and she didn’t hang about, finding herself at home almost before she’d dared hope, parking next to Ryan’s Mercedes in the underground car park which served the development where their flat was sited.

      It was the top floor of what had once been a large warehouse, overlooking the river. In addition to a superb living area, which also contained the galley kitchen, a bathroom, and the room which Ryan used as his office, there was a wide gallery up a flight of wooden steps housing their bedroom, and a private bathroom. The floors were pale, sanded wood, the ceilings were high and vaulted, and every СКАЧАТЬ