Act Of Betrayal. Sara Craven
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pretty one’ and she’d been ‘the quiet one’ which she supposed was a kind way of saying ‘the plain one’.
She supposed her parents had thought her beautiful. But since then—only one other person …
She bit into the softness of her lower lip, relishing the pain, if only it would help to quell the deeper pain inside her.
All this time, she thought, she’d been struggling to put her life back together again, to reconcile herself to the fact that Jason would never be part of it again. All this time—and, it seemed—all for nothing.
Divorce was like surgery, she thought wearily. And while the operation had been a complete success, the patient, apparently, had not recovered.
She gave a swift shiver, and stood up determinedly. What a triumph for Jason if he could only know how completely she’d been thrown by his sudden reappearance and its implications. But he must never know, she told herself. He’d said their paths were bound to cross, but that was not necessarily so. They could operate on parallel lines, and never meet.
In the meantime, she could get out of this drinks party Celia had arranged, by ‘phoning Alan and asking if they could meet in Burngate. He would be disappointed, she supposed, as she went over to her wardrobe and scanned along the hanging rail for something to wear, but under the circumstances that couldn’t be helped.
None of the garments hanging there were particularly spectacular, she thought with a little mental shrug. They were what Celia disparagingly called ‘background clothes’, neutral in colour and design—part of her recovery camouflage. Yet now she was conscious of a vague dissatisfaction as she selected a silky grey crêpe, with full sleeves and a deeply slashed crossover bodice, and draped it across a chair while she went into her tiny adjoining bathroom to shower and wash her hair.
Usually, she blow-dried her hair, then used a hot brush to curve the ends underneath, and around her face, but as she hadn’t managed the trim she needed, she decided she would wear her hair up for a change.
She was experimenting, twisting the silky strands into various styles, when she heard sounds of departure from downstairs, and a car engine starting up in the drive.
She rose, and trod barefoot across the carpet to her window and looked out from the shelter of the curtain. Inevitably, he was driving the Jaguar which had occupied her space in the car park. If she’d decided to park in the drive, instead of taking the car round to the garages at the back, she would have seen it, recognised it—maybe even been warned.
She watched him drive away towards the town, then turned back to her dressing table with a little sigh. He would be back.
It occurred to her that she ought to warn Mrs Fraser that she wouldn’t be there for dinner. She didn’t want to add a charge of thoughtlessness to the crime sheet against her. And she could ’phone Alan at the same time.
The first errand was simple enough, but the second was more tricky. The ‘phone rang and rang, but there was no answer. She groaned silently as she replaced the receiver. She would have to try later.
When she got back to her room, Celia was stretched on the bed waiting for her. She was smiling, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and malice.
‘Well, sweetie, you’re quite a dark horse aren’t you—but rather silly to think you could ever keep such a delectable man all to yourself. It was just as well I was still in Switzerland while it was all going on, or I might have tried to steal him myself. And he wouldn’t have got away from me so easily.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘He could hardly believe we were cousins.’
Laura picked up her comb again, forcing suddenly nerveless fingers back to their former task. She said tonelessly, ‘Well, he wouldn’t be the first to find it amazing that we’re related.’
‘That’s true,’ Celia agreed limpidly. ‘But he’s by far the most interesting to date.’ She stretched like a little cat. ‘Poor Laura. It was being rather optimistic, sweetie, to think you could ever hold his interest for long.’
Laura’s fingers gripped the edge of the dressing table. She was used to Celia, she thought, inured to the kind of jibes she excelled at, but for the first time she was tempted to rake her nails down that lovely, contemptuous face.
She said with no particular expression, ‘Well, I didn’t labour under that particular misapprehension for very long.’
Celia giggled. ‘No, indeed. It can’t be many men who are unfaithful to their wives during the first year of marriage. Your little honeymoon didn’t last long at all.’ She paused, her eyes fixed almost avidly on Laura’s mirrored reflection. ‘And did you really not know about the Tristan Construction connection? Don’t you think the whole thing’s quite fascinating?’
Laura shrugged, carelessly she hoped. ‘It’s hardly any of my concern. We’re divorced—remember?’
‘How could I forget?’ Celia sounded gloating. ‘And I’m glad you had the sense to let him go without a struggle, Laura. It’s never very dignified fighting a battle you simply aren’t capable of winning.’
Laura dug a last hairpin viciously into the top-knot she’d created, almost transfixing her scalp in the process. ‘Frankly, I don’t think that aspect ever occurred to me.’ She was surprised to realise this was the truth. She’d been too hurt, too shattered by Jason’s infidelity to want to do anything but crawl away and lick the wounds he’d inflicted. To somehow learn to endure the blow she’d suffered to her new-found, fragile confidence in her womanhood.
‘It would have occurred to me,’ Celia said complacently. ‘And I think—yes, I really do think I’d have fought tooth and nail—and won. But that’s the difference between us, isn’t it, sweetie?’
‘One of them, certainly,’ Laura returned. Dissatisfied, she pulled the pins out of her tawny hair and let it spill round her face again.
‘So, I can take it you won’t start fighting now?’ Celia lifted a hand and studied its perfectly manicured nails.
‘I don’t think I understand.’ Laura picked up her jar of moisturiser and began to apply it sparingly to her face and throat.
‘Then think.’ Celia’s voice sounded almost strident suddenly. ‘He doesn’t belong to you anymore, as you’ve just admitted. In fact it’s a moot point whether he ever actually belonged to you at all, even if you did wangle a wedding ring out of him. So, I take it you’ll have no real objection if I have him instead now?’
Laura’s mouth felt so dry, she felt as if her lips might crack open and bleed as she forced the words between them. ‘No, I’ve no reason, and certainly no right to object, but I should warn you your father may well feel very differently. He never liked Jason or approved of him, and I don’t think he’ll care for the fact that you’ve invited him here this evening.’
Celia smiled. ‘He may not have liked the penniless artist who married his little niece for her money, then—done her wrong, as the saying is. But the Jason Wingard who’s now the managing director of a big, successful firm like Tristan Construction is a very different proposition. He’s no fortune hunter now to be shown the door, but an extremely eligible, and incredibly sexy man.’
‘Perhaps.’ Laura could hardly believe how calm she sounded, how collected, when emotionally she felt ravaged. ‘But I still doubt if your father will see it like that, no matter how rich Jason may be now.’
‘If you think for one moment that Daddy would let any personal feelings stand in the way of business, then you don’t know him,’ Celia told her coolly. ‘You told me yourself how important this contract is, and like a dutiful daughter I intend to spare no effort to make sure that Caswells gets this contract, along with any other goodies Tristan Construction might care to throw our way. Your ex-husband was telling me, when you so thoughtlessly interrupted us, that they’re heavily committed to private housing over the next few years, as well as the local projects. And housing estates mean show houses—completely furnished, including carpets.’