The Ultimate Betrayal

His twisted smile seemed to mock her for some reason. ‘I managed,’ he said. ‘Shall we go then?’

Oh, let’s not bother! Rachel thought with silent resentment as she turned to walk out of the sitting-room door.

She sat stiffly beside him, watching his long fingers control the car as the BMW accelerated towards London. She rarely rode in this car because when they went out together it was usually as a family, and since it was her white Escort which had been fitted out with all the correct safety gear to take the children, that was the one they usually used. So she felt strange riding in the BMW—strange with everything, she acknowledged heavily, even herself.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked with little enthusiasm.

She felt his glance brush her and looked round at him in time to see his jaw tighten as he turned back to the road. He named a club-cum-restaurant that made her skin prickle with alarm. It was one of those well-known places which the rich and famous generally frequented. She’d always believed you needed a celebrity status to get into places like it. The fact that Daniel was tossing off the name as though it were nothing increased her mood of discomfort.

‘The food’s good,’ he was saying casually. ‘Good enough to tempt even the frailest appetites…’

Was that meant for her? It could have been, she conceded. She was well aware that her appetite had been sadly missing recently. But then food was a problem to swallow when you lived with a permanent lump in your throat.

‘You’ve been there before, then,’ she surmised.

‘Once or twice.’

With Lydia? She could not stop the thought from coming and, once there, it left her quiet and even more subdued for the rest of the journey.

If Daniel noticed he didn’t bother remarking on it, his own mood not much better than her own as he guided her into the foyer, where clever lighting enhanced the luxury of their surroundings.

‘Good evening, Mr Masterson.’ A short rotund man with a bald head and dark French eyes appeared like magic in front of them. He bowed politely to Rachel, who smiled jerkily in return.

‘Good evening, Claude,’ Daniel was saying in a familiar way which made Rachel grimace. ‘Good of you to fit us in at such short notice.’

Claude gave a typically European shrug. ‘You know how it is sir. Some people you always have room for. This way, please…’

Daniel’s hand came to her waist, his fingers settling in an intimate curve of her ribcage as he propelled her forwards. Trying not to look awed by the elegance of her surroundings, she looked around her as Claude took them through to a restaurant that was nothing like any restaurant she had ever been in before.

&nb

sp; On the other occasions when Daniel had taken her out it had usually been to one of the local places, Indian or Chinese or Italian, where he could wear a pair of his casual trousers and a polo shirt under his sports jacket, and she could wear something equally casual. They would lounge in their seats and share a meal and a bottle of wine with the relaxed intimacy of two people who felt comfortable in each other’s company. But here Rachel could not imagine daring to lounge in her seat. Just as she couldn’t imagine Daniel pinching a prawn off her plate if the mood took him, or herself leaning across the table to feed one to him, because she knew his insatiable love of prawns meant he would suck it greedily from her fingers.

The mood here did not encourage that kind of relaxed intimacy. In fact, she realised as the awe wore off to be replaced with something closely resembling contempt, she thought the place rather lacked atmosphere of any kind but the We-eat-here-because-it-is-fashionable-toeat-here kind.

‘You don’t like it.’ She glanced up to find Daniel watching her expression.

‘It all looks very—nice,’ she replied.

‘Nice,’ Daniel huffed out sardonically. ‘This happens to be one of the finest restaurants in London, and you call it—nice.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She looked at him. ‘Am I supposed to be suitably impressed?’

‘No.’ That nerve twitched in his jaw.

‘Or maybe I’m supposed to be impressed with your ability to get in here at short notice?’ she suggested. ‘Be careful, Daniel,’ she drawled, ‘or I might even begin to suspect that you’re trying to impress me.’

‘And that is just too ridiculous to contemplate, is it?’

She thought about that, her gaze drifting among the other tables where people sat in their elegant clothes with their elegant faces wearing elegant expressions. Then she looked back at Daniel.

‘Frankly, yes,’ she replied, her mouth taking on a selfderisive slant. ‘I thought we both knew that you’ve never had to do anything to impress me.’

He sighed impatiently. ‘Rachel. I didn’t bring you here to argue with you. I only wanted to—’

‘Give me a special treat?’ she suggested sardonically.

‘No!’ he denied. ‘I wanted to please you—please you!’ he repeated with a bitter-soft ferocity.