Hot Surrender

Sancha looked at Zoe. 'Now do you see what I mean?'

'I see your husband has two standards—one for you and one for other women. And if I were you I wouldn't be pleased about that! Unless you have the harem mentality,' Zoe tartly said. 'Look, are we going to this party or not?'

'Temper, temper,' Mark said, laughing.

'What do you mean, harem mentality?' Sancha asked indignantly.

Without answering Zoe switched off the hall light, closed her front door and stalked, head held high, to their car.

'I understand what Mark means,' her sister said, following. 'I wouldn't want other women staring at him, either.'

'Jealousy is childish,' Zoe said, getting into the car.

'Oh, of course, you wouldn't be jealous if you saw your man with someone else!' Sancha snapped.

'No, I'd just dump him and walk away without a backward glance.'

'That's what you always do anyway!'

'If you two keep squabbling you won't enjoy the party,' Mark told them as he got behind the wheel.

Zoe had just remembered that last year Mark had been involved with someone else, and Sancha had been very hurt, jealous, unhappy, but had refused to leave him, had fought like a tiger for her marriage. How could I forget that? Zoe asked herself. How stupid can you be? She couldn't apologise, either, in front of Mark, so she lapsed into silence and stared out of the window as he drove off, along the lane, back to the main road, where he drove across into another lane which led to the village of Rookby, half a dozen miles away. After driving along the main street, lined on each side by small pastel-washed cottages in terraces, with a few older buildings scattered between them, a lurching black and white Tudor house, a couple of white-plastered, bow-fronted eighteenth-century houses, Mark turned left by the old church.

That was medieval, with a rather squat bell tower and stone and flint walls, surrounded by a green sea of grass lapping at old gravestones. The lane wandered on for five minutes until they reached some tall, white gates. Mark spun through them and slowly proceeded up a wide drive fringed by silver birch trees which gleamed strangely, like slender ghosts, in the light of tall black-painted lamps set at intervals. Suddenly through the trees they saw the house, a square black shape against the starry sky, windows glinting at them.

'Is that his house?' Sancha gasped. 'It looks huge.'

'No, but it is quite large—six bedrooms, a stable block behind it—and it's early Georgian, built around 1760,' Mark told her. 'It was very run-down when Connel bought it, needed a new roof, a lot of replastering, central heating put in. It was damp in some of the rooms. It took him about a year to put it all right, and for the last year he's been having it redecorated, inside and out; Connel got in a very classy firm who did the lot, found furniture, chose colour schemes, advised on carpets. He didn't have time to do all that himself. But now it's finished and he's pleased with the way the place looks— hence the party, this is a sort of house-warming.'

Sancha sighed wistfully. I'd love to live in a place like this!'

'So would I,' Mark dryly said. 'But I'm afraid I'm not in Connel's income bracket, love, so unless you divorce me and marry Connel, you never will.'

'I'll think about it,' Sancha said, giggling. To own a house like this he must be very rich.'

'Very,' Mark said, sliding a glance at Zoe over his shoulder. 'You're very quiet, Zoe. Seeing Connel in a new light, are you?'

'I was thinking about the work involved in running a place as big as this,' she coolly said. 'All those rooms to keep clean!'

'Connel has a housekeeper who cooks for him, several part-time cleaners, and a gardener.'

Staring, as they came closer and she could see the house more clearly, the rows of pedimented windows, the high-pitched red roof, the elegance of the structure, Zoe said, 'His wife would spend hours every day just organising the staff I'

Mark gave her another wry look, brows lifting. 'Determined not to be impressed, Zoe?'

A little angry colour stole into her face, but she was saved the necessity of replying because he was just pulling up outside the facade of the house in a large parking bay to the side of the front door. There was only just room for their car; a couple of dozen cars were parked echelon-style already.

This was obviously quite a large party, thought Zoe, as she and Sancha got out. While Mark was locking his car Zoe whispered to her sister, 'Sorry I snapped earlier.'

She got a wry, sideways smile. 'That's okay, I forgive you. I always do, don't I? Are you nervous, Zo?'

'Nervous?'

'About seeing Connel again?'

'Of course not!' She flushed crossly, but knew her sister had come close to the truth—she was edgy about seeing Connel.

He had had a dangerous effect on her. It was hard to admit that, especially as she had no idea how to cope with her feelings.