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She shook her head. Could she possibly have been praying in some pathetic, hidden corner of her mind that Nick's affair might have ended during her absence? And that Vanessa Layton might even be gone—from the cottage, from the locality, from her life—never to trouble her again?
No. she thought, swallowing the lump in her throat. That had always been too much to hope for. And while Vanessa remained, she would always have priority with Nick, as Cally had learned in one bleak, agonising lesson on her wedding day. Even for twenty-four hours he'd been unable to pretend that his young bride took precedence over his mistress.
Vanessa had beckoned, and he'd gone running to her side, unable to keep away.
So now I'm the one who has to pretend, thought Cally, pain lancing her. I'm the one who must learn not to ask who was on the phone, or where he's been, or what time he'll be home. Because they're all no-go areas.
A year ago I ran, because I couldn't bear it. Because I knew the only way to survive was to learn to live without him. But now I don't have that choice any more.
She tensed as the drawing room door opened.
'I can't believe it—you've managed to get rid of the Black Widow,' Nick commented, sounding faintly amused. He came slowly across the room and dropped on to the sofa opposite, lounging against the cushions. 'Did you murder her? If so, remember to put a stake through her heart before the burial.' He looked at Cally, his eyes narrowing. 'What the hell did she want, anyway?'
'A carpenter,' Cally said quietly. 'Something about window catches.'
His mouth twisted. 'Of course. With Adele there's always something.' He paused. 'Was that all?'
'What else should there be?' Cally enquired coolly. She indicated the table. 'Would you like some tea?'
'I did have other plans,' he said silkily. 'But they can wait.' He paused, waiting while she poured and then mutely handed him his tea. 'So, what do you think of the house?'
'Unrecognisable.' She looked around her. 'Also terrific. What prompted such a total makeover?'
'Because it was like living in a mausoleum,' he said. He gave her a level look. 'I also thought seriously about selling it, but I was persuaded this was the better option. I suppose time will tell.'
There was another silence, then, 'Did you like the bedroom?' he asked suddenly. 'I seem to recall you once told me that blue was your favourite colour.'
'Yes.' She bit her lip. 'I'm surprised you remember.' Or even care...
He shrugged. 'I've had damned little else to do,' he returned. 'And you've just given me strong tea with no sugar, so your memory's working equally well.' He smiled at her. 'You're clearly going to be the perfect wife.'
'But only,' she said clearly, 'for as long as it takes.'
His smile of acknowledgement was ironic. He reached for a sandwich. 'Was that really all Adele wanted?' he probed, after a pause. 'She pushed the knife in when we arrived, so I'm surprised she didn't decide to—twist it a little.'
Cally drank some tea. What could she tell him that he'd believe, without mentioning Vanessa?
She said quietly, 'She referred to Grandfather's debts. The implication was that you'd brought me back in order to exact your own brand of repayment.' She replaced her cup and saucer on the table. 'I could hardly deny it' She lifted her chin. 'She's also worked out that I'm here to supply the next generation. I couldn't argue about that either.'
'I'm sorry,' Nick said abruptly.
'Why?' She shrugged. 'I should be used to her by now.'
'I'm sorry because I should have made sure she was out of the Hall well before our wedding.' His mouth twisted. 'But she wasn't easily dislodged. She even fought like a tigress to get me to appoint her as some kind of project manager. Boasted she'd have turned the place into a palace years ago if Ranald had given her the money. She'd even had plans drawn up for an indoor swimming pool at the rear, complete with a sauna and a Jacuzzi—and that was just for starters.
'Eventually I made it clear to her that I knew exactly the kind of background I wanted, and her creative input wouldn't be needed,' he added reflectively. 'Instead I turned her loose on the unfortunate Dower House.'
Cally took another look round, her brows lifting. 'You mean you did all this yourself?'
'I had help.' He hesitated. 'A—friend of mine used to be an interior designer.'
A friend of mine? A half-forgotten detail from Adele's story clawed suddenly at Cally's memory, telling her the friend's identity—as if she couldn't have guessed. My bedroom, she thought savagely. Oh, God, that beautiful room. Did she—did Vanessa Layton suggest the decor for that? If so, it was cynicism carried to the ultimate degree—to prepare a place for her lover to sleep with his wife.
