The Token Wife. Sara Craven

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      ‘In here, it is.’ Lou added a dash of Cointreau. ‘I can’t speak for the rest of the house.’

      Marian stared at her. She was elegant in amethyst jersey, with pearls at her throat and in her ears, and her blonde hair was drawn back into an elaborate chignon. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

      ‘I met Ellie’s intended,’ Lou returned. She paused. ‘Are you really going to let her marry him?’

      Marian’s brows lifted haughtily. ‘I think that is a decision that we can safely leave to them.’

      ‘I don’t agree.’ Lou met her gaze calmly and directly. ‘I think it’s like handing a lamb over to a tiger.’

      ‘What a dramatic turn of phrase,’ her stepmother said mockingly. ‘Perhaps you should be writing melodramas for your little village group.’

      ‘Better melodrama than tragedy,’ Lou said curtly. ‘Marian, she’s not in his league. You must see that.’

      ‘I see that she’s marrying a very successful man, who will soon be chairman of Perrins Bank,’ Marian retorted.

      ‘So you’re not pretending she loves him.’

      Marian laughed. ‘Oh, I think she’ll find it very easy to love him—in the ways that matter to a man. After all, she’ll have an expert teacher.’ She paused. ‘Are you quite sure, Lou, dear, that you’re not just a tiny bit jealous?

      ‘No,’ Lou said steadily. ‘Because I have a man that I can love in all the ways there are. Not just those that happen in the bedroom.’

      ‘You’re really a little prude, aren’t you?’ Marian drawled. ‘I’m sure you and David will suit each other admirably.’ She glanced at her diamond watch. ‘Are you leaving yourself enough time to change?’

      ‘I’m going to a village-hall rehearsal, not Glyndebourne.’ Lou tasted her sauce, and nodded with satisfaction.

      ‘But you can’t serve the dinner in jeans and an old sweater.’

      ‘I’ve no intention of serving it at all,’ Lou retorted curtly. ‘I said I’d cook, and that’s it. You and Ellie can manage the rest between you—unless, of course, you want Alex Fabian to end up with a lap full of mushroom soup,’ she added menacingly. ‘No? I thought not. And I presume you know how to load the dishwasher as well,’ she called after her stepmother as Marian flounced out.

      A minor victory, she thought, but what did that matter when the war was already lost?

      Up in her room, she went across to the window to close the curtains against the gathering twilight, and paused, alerted by a movement in the shrubbery below her. To her surprise, she saw it was Ellie, pacing up and down, and talking on her cell-phone.

      What on earth is she doing out there? Lou asked herself in bewilderment. ‘I’d have thought Marian would have had her chained to Alex Fabian’s wrist by now.’

      She was about to rap on the window—attract Ellie’s attention—then held back. Even in the poor light, she could see that her stepsister looked strained. Every gesture, every restless movement betrayed her agitation.

      Maybe she’s decided she can’t go through with it, she thought. But who is she talking to? The Samaritans?

      She went back to the bed and began shaking out the dresses, folding them with care and placing them in large carriers.

      On her way out to the car she would have a word with Ellie, she decided. Tell her that she, at least, was on her side.

      But when she got outside, there was no one about. As she went past the dining-room window she glanced in, and saw Ellie sitting next to Alex Fabian at the candlelit table, talking and laughing as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

      The Samaritans must do a wonderful job, Lou thought with a resigned sigh, and went to her rehearsal.

      The carrier bags were seized on joyfully by the female cast members and taken off to the women’s dressing room. Lou found a chair and sat down to watch while she waited for David to arrive. He didn’t act in any of the village productions but he helped with scenery and lighting, and he was coming to discuss the design of the set with Ray, the producer.

      Lou hadn’t attended any rehearsals for a couple of weeks, and she was amazed to find what progress they’d made. Even Ray who was also playing Noël Coward, was far better than she’d expected.

      Then the girls came back in the evening dresses she’d brought, and paraded them on stage for Ray to make a final choice, and it was only when she was re-packing the rejected ones that she realised how late it was getting.

      ‘Where on earth is David?’ she asked Ray.

      For a moment he looked blank, then, ‘Oh, he phoned earlier, just before you got here, love. Said something had cropped up, and he couldn’t make it.’

      Lou frowned. ‘He didn’t call me.’

      ‘He probably took it for granted I’d tell you,’ Ray said peaceably. ‘Which I now have.’

      ‘He didn’t say what the problem was?’

      ‘No,’ Ray admitted. ‘But I expect his mother’s thrown another wobbly. He’d hardly want that generally known.’ He paused. ‘You haven’t got any tailcoats or top hats in that loft of yours, by any chance?’

      She forced a smile. ‘I didn’t notice any, but I’ll have a good look tomorrow.’

      She took the long route back to Virginia Cottage, going through the square, but David’s house was all in darkness, so she drove on without stopping.

      Perhaps Ray had been quite right about his mother, she thought. And once David had managed to get her calm again, he’d decided to have an early night. Well, she couldn’t blame him for that, and nor would she.

      But all the same, it was disappointing not to have seen him, and she wished very much that he’d rung her to explain. No doubt he’d ring in the morning, and they’d arrange to spend the day together then.

      To her surprise, all the lights were out at Virginia Cottage too. She’d expected to find a party going on, but perhaps there was nothing to celebrate after all.

      She parked at the rear, beside the low, sleek sports car that looked so alien in the cobbled yard, and went in through the back door. Her immediate intention was to make herself a hot drink, but that was before she saw the state the kitchen was in.

      Clearly Marian had decided the dishwasher was unknown territory after all, she thought grimly, because all the plates, cutlery, dishes and pans used for the meal were piled haphazardly on every surface.

      She was half tempted to leave them there, except for the knowledge that they would still be waiting for her in the morning, and she hated that.

      David is quite right, she thought, smouldering. They do use me. But this is the last time.

      She filled the kettle and set it to boil, then began the dreary task of rinsing the crockery, and putting it in the dishwasher.

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