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But Christa asked, ‘Now, tell me about this husband of yours. Thought you weren’t interested. He must be quite something to have made you change your mind. So when did it happen? My God! Is that thing your ring!’
Allie’s eyes flashed with temper. She didn’t care if her wedding ring looked as if it had come out of a Christmas cracker!
Fortunately for their future working relationship, Christa stemmed the cutting remarks all ready to spill off the end of Allie’s tongue by gripping her wrist with a red-taloned hand. ‘The hunk’s back. Ain’t love sweet! And, look, I do believe he’s writing out a cheque—don’t tell me it’s for services rendered! He doesn’t look as if he has to pay for it!’
Christa was outrageous. ‘Keep your voice down!’ Allie admonished with a giggle. No one could stay miffed with her for long. Then, twisting in her chair to find out what was so intriguing, she knew she wouldn’t be smiling again. Not for a long time.
Jethro was wearing a slate-grey suit, Savile Row’s finest, a million miles away from the one he’d worn to their wedding. His shirt was a crisp pale blue, his tie a sober slate and blue narrow stripe, his thick dark hair freshly barbered. His aura of power and supreme self-confidence was very evident.
She didn’t really mind if he’d chosen to spend her savings on improving his packaging; if he wanted to muscle in on the business world then it was probably a good idea. But she was damned if she wanted him to pass a chunk of it over to his—whatever she was!
Because that was obviously what he was doing. She saw him re-cap his pen, slide his chequebook back into an inner pocket, push the narrow slip of paper over the table and lift his hand to slide his fingers lovingly down Chloe’s adoring face.
Frozen with shock, Allie found he couldn’t look away. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, branding each action into her brain. When she saw the girl in red reach up to take that softly caressing hand, hold it tightly within her own, she felt sick.
Jethro had lied to her all along. He was definitely romantically involved with his rich friend’s sister. She was seeing the evidence with her own
wide, strained eyes, absorbing it with every tight, shallow breath she took. Which meant that—
She couldn’t bear to go into that, to face what those lies of his actually meant. Not now, not here. She would think about it later, when she felt calmer. She turned her back on them both just as her seafood salad was put in front of her.
The king prawns, the scallops, the strips of smoked salmon, the coating of sauce… She clutched at the sudden searing pain in her stomach. She was going to throw up; she knew she was…
‘Are you all right, darling?’ Christa’s concerned voice seemed to come at her in waves, from some far distant, misty place.
She mustn’t make an exhibition of herself in here. She mustn’t! If she sat here, very still, her back to the main part of the room, then Jethro wouldn’t notice her. His attention was all for the vibrant young woman in red, in any case.
But another hot stab of agony gripped tight in her stomach. She said through a painfully forced smile, ‘I’m fine. Just need to go to the loo. Excuse me.’
When she’d entered she’d noted a sign, garishly lit, saying ‘Dolls’, and she pushed herself to her feet now and headed in that direction, keeping her back to the body of the room. Deep within the mess of her emotions she did have some pride left. Jethro mustn’t see her, see her distress. When she asked him to explain himself she had to be in full control of herself.
Thankfully, she wasn’t sick. She locked herself into a cubicle and rested her hot forehead against the cool aqua wall tiles.
Jethro had lied to her. Everything she’d believed to be so beautiful in their marriage was nothing but a cynical untruth.
When he’d first talked about Chloe Abbot, his wealthy friend’s sister, feminine intuition had told her he was in love with the girl. Her guess that he’d married her, Allie, to get his hands on enough money to prove to his friend that he wasn’t a penniless no-hoper when, after the divorce, he was free again to marry Chloe, had been horribly correct.
Not that they’d need her brother’s approval, of course. But he wouldn’t want to alienate a man with all that money!
And the Studley inheritance came into it. The thought hit her like a dash of icy water. Had he been, in effect, warning her of what would happen when he’d accused her of being too trusting, of not insisting on a pre-nuptial agreement because without one he could take her for all he could get, claim half she owned when they divorced? In spite of what he’d said, the marriage would end when it suited him.
She stifled a sob, her aching heart telling her it couldn’t be true, clutching at straws. How could he have made love to her with such passion, such tenderness, if he was in love with another woman?
But she’d seen the two of them with her own eyes, hadn’t she? Had recognised the woman he was with, her brain reminded her cruelly. And he was a man, wasn’t he? A highly sensual man. He’d certainly picked up her sexual response to him, taunted her with it. Why shouldn’t he take advantage of her body while he was waiting for the deeds of Studley to fall into her hands?
She had to get a grip before she completely went to pieces, stop torturing herself with questions she couldn’t answer. Straightening her wilting spine, she told herself that she’d have the whole thing out with him tonight. He was taking her to dinner, supposedly—if he could tear himself away from Chloe Abbot. With a touch of cynicism she wondered if he would wear the grotty suit he’d worn earlier or that elegant slate-grey number.
The cynicism was healthy, she decided. It helped. Helped her when she exited the cubicle. Helped when she found Chloe drying her hands under the hot air.
Rinsing her own hands, Allie watched the other woman walk to the mirrored wall and said conversationally, ‘Do I know you from somewhere? Chloe Abbot, isn’t it?’
Chloe had a lovely smile. She glanced back into the mirror, raised her left hand to push her cloudy dark hair back from her face. A wide gold band glinted on her wedding finger.
She’s married! Allie thought with a stab of incredulity. Was Jethro poaching another man’s wife? When he’d talked so affectionately of his rich friend’s sister he hadn’t mentioned that she was married. Or did the scene she’d witnessed back in the restaurant have a viable explanation after all? Had she been thinking terrible things about him for no just reason? Her head began to spin.
‘No, I’d have remembered if we had met,’ the other woman said. Again the lovely smile. ‘And it’s Chloe Cole, not Abbot. Not a very euphonious moniker, but I’m stuck with it.’
It took all the backbone Allie possessed to march out of the room.
