Act Of Betrayal. Sara Craven
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had no idea there had ever been a Laura Wingard. It had never seemed necessary to tell him, but now it occurred to her that she was going to have to, and she wondered how he would react.
He said suddenly, ‘Where do you go to, Laura?’
Her eyes flicked questioningly to his face. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m not even sure myself. It’s just sometimes when we’re together, you seem to—vanish—somewhere inside yourself. It makes me wonder.’ He laughed rather awkwardly. ‘Perhaps it’s just that I’m not very exhilarating company.’
Her glance held compunction. Obviously, he needed reassurance too. ‘It certainly isn’t that,’ she said gently. ‘I don’t think I even realise I’m doing it.’
There was a pause, then he said, ‘If you’ve got problems, it can help sometimes to share them.’ He sounded tentative, unsure, as if aware he was offering himself in a new role, and she was grateful, even if she couldn’t be sure it was what she wanted from him.
She drank down her coffee, and rose. ‘If we’re going on the town, then I’d better do something about my appearance. I don’t want to put my fellow revellers off their food.’
‘You’d never do that,’ he protested.
She knew that he wanted to kiss her, and she made herself yield as he took her in his arms, hoping that the touch of his lips would turn her to fire, totally erasing the memory of that other devastating kiss.
Oh, Alan, forgive me, she thought remorsefully, as her hands slid up to clasp his shoulders in the simulation of passion. She felt his arms tighten round her in response, his mouth move on hers with growing confidence. Laura closed her eyes, waiting, praying for the alchemy to happen. After all, he was young, he was attractive in a quiet way, and she wanted to want him. She wanted another man to kindle the deep flame in her body which Jason had always lit so effortlessly.
Since their parting, she’d been in a kind of limbo, leading a half-life, but now she wanted to be whole again, and Alan could be the man to make her so.
But once again, there were no miracles. The kiss was pleasant, but it ignited no fierce, answering excitement within her, and it was a relief when he let her go—reluctantly, but without initiating any further intimacies.
There was tenderness in his face when he looked at her, and a slight triumph as well, which she supposed was understandable. She’d never invited caresses in the past, and she’d always been the first to draw back.
He said huskily, ‘Well, I’ll see you later then,’ and Laura tried not flinch at the new possessive note in his voice.
She said steadily, ‘I’m looking forward to it,’ and wished with all her heart that it could be true.
Celia was nowhere to be seen when she got back to the house, her lounger in the garden unoccupied, a discarded magazine tossed on the grass beside it, and an empty jug which had once contained orange juice still reposing with its used glass on a wrought iron table nearby. Laura put the lounger away in the summer-house, and carried the other things across the lawn towards the house.
She was almost at the french windows which opened into the drawing room, when she heard Celia laughing, the low throaty chuckle which meant there was a man about.
Her cousin was entertaining one of her numerous boyfriends, Laura decided resignedly. If it was Greg Arnold, she could only hope he would save his more risque stories until she was out of the room.
She was almost tempted to retrace her steps, and go in by the kitchen entrance, but she told herself forcefully not to be so silly.
She was actually inside the room, with retreat impossible, when she saw the man sharing the wide sofa with Celia was Jason.
‘Hello, sweetie,’ Celia flashed her a smile. She’d thrown on the shirt which matched her sunbathing gear, but she still managed to look alluringly undressed. She waved a hand at Jason. ‘I gather introductions aren’t necessary.’ She giggled. ‘What an amazing surprise for you both. I always understood Laura’s ex-husband was a struggling artist, and now he turns up as a tycoon. You sly thing, Laura, keeping it all to yourself like this.’
Before Laura could speak, Jason intervened smoothly. ‘She can hardly be held responsible for not telling you I was the boss of Tristan Construction. She didn’t know it herself until a few hours ago.’
‘So it was all your little secret?’ Celia’s eyes fastened limpidly on his face. ‘Perhaps you should have told her. You might both still be living in connubial bliss.’
‘I doubt that.’ His lips smiled, but the words bit. ‘In any case, I’m sure there are far more interesting subjects to discuss than my past matrimonial difficulties.’
Celia pouted a little. ‘Are there any current ones?’
‘No.’ He didn’t look at Laura at all. ‘So far, I’ve decided not to risk another dip in the troubled waters of marriage.’ He looked at her ringless left hand. ‘It seems like a view we share.’
Celia shrugged gracefully. ‘I was engaged—once, but to be honest I find the whole concept of marriage the teeniest bit cramping and old-fashioned, even though the divorce laws have made things easier.’
Laura listened with a sense of incredulity. Easier, she thought helplessly. Easier? Was that really how Celia regarded those few brief moments in court which tore apart flesh and sinew and emotion?
She said in a small wooden voice, ‘Well, if you’ll excuse me I’ll just take these things to the kitchen.’
‘And while you’re there, sweetie, you might see about some tea for us.’ Celia’s tone was casual, but the words, putting Laura in a position of subservience was quite deliberate.
Hot outrage rose in Laura’s throat. She was sorely tempted to yell, ‘Get your own damned tea,’ and brain Celia with the empty jug for good measure, but she exercised an almost superhuman restraint.
She returned coolly, ‘Of course.’ She looked at Jason, lifting her brows enquiringly, ‘Milk or lemon?’
His mouth twisted. She saw a glimmer of anger deep down. ‘You mean you don’t remember?’ he asked silkily. ‘I think lemon on such a warm day—don’t you?’
It didn’t make a particle of difference what she thought, Laura told herself as she left the room. She had no intention of sharing the tea with them, and watching Celia exercise her blatant wiles on Jason.
The kitchen was full of delicious baking smells, and Mrs Fraser, looking harassed was removing a tray from the oven.
‘Miss Celia wants tea,’ Laura said rinsing the jug and glass under the tap. ‘But you seem to have your hands full already.’
Mrs Fraser snorted ungraciously. ‘A drinks party—and at the last moment—expecting cheese straws and canapés to appear from thin air.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Laura walked warily. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘I can cope, thank you.’ The older woman’s voice was ungracious but Laura was used to that. ‘Although——’ she paused. ‘Well, you could get a tea tray ready, and save me the job.’
Laura’s heart sank. She’d hoped to deliver the message and escape upstairs to her room. But being allowed to make any contribution was a concession, she thought drily. She’d never been the housekeeper’s favourite as a child, but since her return, the woman’s attitude had been practically hostile.
So, she filled the kettle and set it to boil, while she laid a tray with cups and saucers under Mrs Fraser’s critical eye.
‘You could have knocked me down with a feather when I saw who was at the door,’ the housekeeper volunteered at last, producing a tin of homemade biscuits from a cupboard and handing them to Laura. ‘Looks more affluent than he did in the old days,’ she added, with another snort.