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What had happened to that easy friendship that once had existed between them? Did love automatically kill friendship, or was it that friendship was quite simply no longer enough?
She was just about to make lunch when Jon walked into the kitchen and announced that he was going out.
‘I’m meeting Harry in Cambridge,’ he told her, ‘I shan’t be very long.’
She offered to drive him in, but he shook his head. ‘It’s okay, I’ve already booked a taxi.’
Sophy turned away, hoping he would not see the hurt pain she knew was in her eyes, and she thought she had succeeded until she heard him say raggedly, ‘Sophy, I...’ She turned round and saw the hand he had extended towards her as though he wanted to touch her, fall back to his side, his expression grimly unreadable, as he left his sentence unfinished.
There was such an air of constraint about him that even a complete stranger must have been aware of it, Sophy thought miserably as she watched his taxi drive away. What was causing it? Her? Their relationship?
She had some work to do for Jon—bills to send out and correspondence to attend to, but although her fingers moved deftly enough over the keys of her typewriter, her mind was not really on what she was doing.
When the doorbell rang she started up in surprise, her heart thudding nervously. She was not expecting anyone and after Chris’s visit yesterday she felt acutely nervous, her mouth dry and her palms sticky. The bell rang again and she forced herself to get to her feet and walk to the front door.
Keeping the safety catch on, she opened it fractionally.
A tall, dark-haired woman stood there, her back to the door, one high-heeled, sandalled foot tapping imperiously, scarlet nails drumming impatiently against a cream leather shoulder bag.
Water-straight black hair fell to her shoulders in a satin sheet, her arms and legs were deeply tanned and the perfection of her slim body was provocatively revealed in a vibrant red cotton sheath dress that clung to her curves.
As Sophy opened the door she turned her head, slanting faintly almond-shaped, brown eyes surveying Sophy with arrogant disdain. Her face was as beautifully tanned as her body, her mouth painted the same rich scarlet as her dress. The car she had arrived in was parked across the drive, as though it had been stopped in a hurry.
‘You are Jon’s wife?’
Sophy felt her heart sink as she caught the challenging ring in the American-accented voice.
‘Yes. Yes, I am.’
‘Good. We have to talk.’ She stepped closer to the door, and Sophy automatically released the chain, stepping back.
‘I’m afraid I don’t know you...’ she began, fascinated as well as slightly repelled by the sneering curl of the full mouth as the other woman mocked.
‘I cannot believe that. I’m sure Jon must have mentioned me to you. I am Lillian Banks. Jon and I are lovers.’
Sophy recognised the name immediately but distantly, all her powers of concentration focused on her visitor’s final statement.
This was the woman whose pool Jon had used when he was in Nassau. The woman Mary-Beth had described to her as rather unbalanced...as almost obsessive about Jon.
‘Lovers?’ Her tongue felt thick and clumsy, making it difficult for her to form the words. ‘I...’
‘You are shocked. I can see.’ Slim shoulders shrugged. ‘I knew how it would be, but I told Jon it was better that you knew. He is a gentle man and would not wish to cause anyone pain.’ She shrugged again. ‘He has married you because of his responsibilities of course but from the moment we met both of us knew—’
‘You’re lying.’
The scarlet mouth smiled.
‘Why don’t we sit down comfortably and discuss this as adults?’
Sophy could not understand how Mary-Beth could ever have thought of this woman as being anything other than completely self-possessed and in control. Like a robot she found herself leading the way to the sitting room, doing what she was instructed to do.
‘I know this must be a shock to you but these things do happen. Jon and I knew the moment we met. We have so much in common. His work...our feelings about so many things. You may not believe this—’ she looked sideways at Sophy and then smiled secretively, the almond eyes veiled by thick dark lashes as though she were gloating over something very special and private ‘—but it was several days before Jon and I even went to bed together. We had so much to talk about.’ She laughed, and then looked at Sophy again, adding softly, ‘Of course when we did go to bed, I knew immediately how it would be.’ She moistened her lips with her tongue, and Sophy felt acutely sick, imagining that full mouth clinging to Jon’s, touching his body.
