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Zoe blindly shook her head. She could not believe Janet. She didn't want to, but as Janet rambled on she was filled with a certain dread.
'Don't get me wrong, I like Justin.' Janet fell back against the seat. 'He's ambitious; he could have stayed with our firm—become a top international lawyer, loads of money. But he preferred the establishment. He wants the prestige of the ermine. Already head of your late uncle's firm, he will be a faithful husband. He has no choice if he wants to make judge. You have nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. . .'
Deep inside Zoe something shattered—something rare and pure, an intrinsic part of her—her faith and love in her husband. She sat as though carved in stone, robbed of her pride and self-respect by the casual words of a drunken woman. She bit her lip to prevent the scream of anguish that was filling her head; she could almost hear the dull beat of her too trusting heart echoing in a black void.
'There you are, Janet. I've been looking all over for you.' Bob's voice intruded in the silence. His handsome, boyish face wreathed in smiles, he took the bottle from Janet's hand and placed it on the table, and, grabbing her arm, pulled her to her feet. 'You've had enough.'
Only then did he see Zoe.
'The party girl, having a breather.' He put a finger to his lips. 'Shh. We'll leave you to it.'
Bob's smiling face swam before her eyes, and she tried to smile. 'It's OK Bob; I just have to put my shoes on and I'll be back insid
e.'
The effort it took her to get the words out was more than she could stand. She slid her feet off the table and bent over, her head almost in her lap, more to hide the tears in her eyes than from any real desire to find her shoes.
She heard the other two depart, and her arms fell towards the floor, her hands shaking; she felt around in the semi-darkness for her sandals.
Slipping her feet back into the sandals, she stood up. The faint noise of the party filtered through her stunned brain. Her party. Her twenty-first, on the twenty-first. . . So much for lucky omens! If twenty-one was coming of age, she had come of age with a vengeance in the last ten minutes, she thought bitterly, dashing the tears from her cheeks with an angry, shaking hand.
Janet's revelation and all Zoe's niggling doubts and fears of the past few weeks coalesced into one absolute certainty: whatever reason Justin had for marrying her, it had not been love. . .
She straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath; she could hear her name being called. Now was not the time to give way to the pain gnawing at her heart. Instead she smoothed the soft silk of her dress down over her hips, adjusted the bodice and, with head held high, a smile plastered on her face, walked back into the garden-room.
'There you are, Zoe. I was looking all over for you.'
It was Wayne, thank God! Right at that minute she didn't think she could have faced Justin.
'Sorry to be a party-pooper, but I have to get back to London; I have a breakfast meeting in the morning. But I would like to arrange a meeting with you, Zoe. We have a lot to discuss—the trust, the transfer of the cash.
And I want to fly back Thursday; I must be at the studio on Friday.'
'Wayne, please.' The idea came to her in a flash. She glanced up into his tanned, attractive face. She could trust this man—that much she was sure of. She placed her hand on his arm, her wide blue eyes, unbeknown to her, betraying her pain and anguish. 'It was lovely to see you, but there's no need for us to meet in London. Don't transfer anything. I'll be in the States in a few days and I'll call you at the studio.'
'Zoe, what's wrong?' The Texan's tanned hand touched her shoulder in a gesture of comfort. 'You're shivering—something has upset you. I know I haven't seen you in years, but you can trust me; your parents were my friends. If anyone has hurt you, tell me, and I'll punch their lights out.'
His kindness and insight were almost her undoing. 'Please, Wayne, don't ask questions, and promise you won't mention any of this to. . .to—' she couldn't say his name '—to my husband.'
'You've got it, honey. I'll wait for your call.' And, bending down, he planted a swift kiss on her cheek. 'Chin up, kid. Remember your parents were great actors; you can do it.'
'Wayne, you're wonderful. Come on, I'll see you out.' And with her arm linked in his she made it to the hall and the front door. They said goodbye with another brief kiss, and she was just about to turn around when Justin's voice reached her.
'Zoe, darling, I was beginning to think I had lost you.'
You have, you bastard! Pain and rage almost blinded her, but she bit her tongue and said nothing, suffering Justin's hand on her arm as he turned her around.
'The Lord Chief Justice and his wife are about to leave; they want to say goodnight.'
'But of course. You can't afford to upset Justice Speak,' she said with biting sarcasm.
'Zoe. . .' Justin began.
'Lovely party.' Justice Speak strolled up, his wife clinging to his arm. 'Sorry to leave, but at our age we need our rest.' He chuckled.
'Thank you for coming, and for the wonderful present—I shall cherish it always,' Zoe responded politely, and she wasn't lying. She did love the exquisite gold miniature they had given her.
'Glad you like it, my dear. Your uncle Bertie advised me—rang me the week before he died and told me you loved art. Great friend, sorry to lose him.' The old man's voice was gruff. 'He was so proud of you, young woman, and so pleased he had got you and Justin together; he could die content.'
