She was not surprised, rather relieved in fact, when after
dinner Joel announced that he had work to do and disappeared in the direction of his study.
Lissa went to bed early but it was gone one when Joel came up, walking into the bedroom so quietly, not switching on any of the lights, so that she was forced to the conclusion that he would prefer her to be asleep. Her heart ached with love and despair.
Tomorrow was another day, and somehow she must find the courage to face it—and Marisa Andrews.
CHAPTER EIGHT
NO ONE COULD ever have dressed for a dinner party with less enthusiasm, Lissa thought miserably as she brushed her hair. Joel was in their bathroom; she could hear him splashing about under the shower. Disturbing mental images of the lithe maleness of him tormented her, making her hands shake so much that she had to put down the brush. Her body now awakened to the pleasure of Joel’s lovemaking seemed to crave it with all the single minded intensity of an addict for his favourite drug. Whenever he was in the same room with her she ached with a tension that had nothing to do with tiredness or over-stretched nerves. It was humiliating that she should feel like this. How could she love and want him to this extent, especially when she knew that he cared little or nothing for her?
He came out of the bathroom while she was zipping up her dress. Out of the corner of her eye Lissa studied him, tiny shivers of awareness feathering down her spine as he shrugged off his robe and started getting dressed. Unlike her he seemed totally unselfconscious about his nudity; totally unaware of the dry-mouthed anguish with which she fought not to look at him because to look was to want to touch and to go on touching …
Her zipper stuck and she made a small impatient sound. Joel looked up and frowned, immediately perceiving what had happened.
‘Here let me.’ His voice was as cool as the touch of his fingers against her over-hearted skin. She could smell the clean male scent of him and she wanted nothing more than to turn round and be taken into his arms. The intensity of her own emotions overwhelmed her, making her tense her body against any such betrayal.
‘Relax.’ The cool bite in Joel’s voice chilled her. ‘I’m not about to rape you, if that’s what’s worrying you.’
Painful colour stung her skin as she caught the cynically bitter undertones to his voice. ‘I didn’t think you were.’
Her zip came free and slid smoothly upwards. Joel stepped away from her, turning his back on her as he continued dressing. He looked devastatingly masculine in the formality of his evening clothes, Lissa acknowledged miserably, watching covertly as he inserted gold links into his shirt cuffs, deftly snapping them closed.
‘Ready?’
His glance swept over her, dismissing her without comment, his indifference towards her so painful that her face felt stiff from the effort of trying to conceal her feelings from him.
They went downstairs together, Joel’s attitude towards her punctiliously correct as he handed her into the car.
As he started the engine he inserted a cassette into the tape deck, turning up the sound just loudly enough to make conversation difficult, effectively shutting her off from him, Lissa thought. He couldn’t have made it more plain if he had spelled it out for her, how uninterested in her he really was.
It took just under an hour for them to reach the Andrews’ house—a rather solid Victorian red-brick building on the outskirts of a small village. The gateposts and short drive were illuminated clearly enough for Lissa to have a brief glimpse of the edge of an immaculate lawn that somehow matched the mental picture she had already built up of Marisa Andrews—cool, immaculate, perfectly groomed.
Joel stopped the car and released his seat belt, Lissa doing the same. She was out of the car before he could help her, and he gave a rather grim smile as he waited for her to precede him up the shallow flight of stone steps.
The door was opened before they rang. ‘Joel, darling, I thought I recognised your car.’
Lissa recognised the smoothly feline feminine voice instantly. She could feel the tiny hairs on the surface of her skin prickling with atavistic dislike. ‘Do come in, both of you.’
As Lissa walked into the hall ahead of Joel she had ample opportunity to study their hostess, as Joel bent to kiss her cheek. Small, much smaller than herself, ash blonde hair cut to emphasise the delicacy of her features; she was everything that she herself was not Lissa recognised on a downward plunge of her heart. Although she suspected that her hostess must be somewhere in her early thirties, she could easily have passed for a woman of twenty-seven or eight. Although she tried not to, Lissa couldn’t help but be aware of the way Marisa’s fingers clung to Joel’s shoulder, as she prolonged his greeting kiss, neither could she miss the look of cold malevolence which her hostess directed towards her as she cooed with soft sweetness. ‘Joel darling, you’re neglecting your new wife. Do please introduce her to me.’
Grimly Lissa listened to Joel’s introductions, hating the tinklingly false laugh Marisa gave when she interrupted gaily, ‘Oh Joel, no need to be quite so formal. Joel and I have known one another for years,’ she told Lissa, directing a coquettish glance towards Joel. ‘You know darling, you’ve grown into such an impossibly handsome man, that I really think perhaps I should have married you and not Peter. But then handsome men always make difficult husbands, don’t they, Lissa? One always has to be on one’s guard in case one loses them to someone else, wouldn’t you agree Lissa? Far better I always think to be a handsome man’s mistress than his wife. So much more fun.’
Lissa managed a cool smile, knowing quite well that Marisa was trying her best to make her feel uncomfortable and outside the charmed circle she had so plainly drawn around Joel and herself.
‘Where’s Peter?’ Joel enquired easily. ‘I haven’t seen him for ages.’
‘Oh, he’s in the drawing room.’ Marisa pulled a face. ‘He’s watching some stuffy programme on high finance. It should be over soon. My husband’s a stockbroker,’ she explained to Lissa, ‘and sometimes I think he cares more about his stocks and shares than he does about me.’
‘Impossible,’ Joel replied smiling at her. ‘Or at least if he does, then he’s a fool.’
Lissa could feel the anger inside her, heating to a white-hot glow as she observed this interchange. Her nails were pressing so hard into the palms of her hands that they hurt.
The proprietorially flirtatious manner Marisa had adopted towards Joel set the tone for the whole evening, and Lissa had to grit her teeth and pretend not to notice the number of times her hostess excluded her from the conversation by referring to events which had happened in the past. She also had to pretend not to notice how often Marisa managed to touch Joel, or to draw his attention to her. To counteract her hostess’s rudeness, Lissa directed her attention towards Peter Andrews, who despite his rather solid appearance had a keen, rather dry wit, which he exercised to their mutual enjoyment.
‘Old Joel married,’ Peter murmured jovially when they had reached the coffee stage. He directed a brief grin towards his friend and added, ‘I was beginning to think I’d never see the day.’
‘Oh come on, darling, be practical,’ Marisa interrupted. ‘Naturally Joel had to marry. After all he has those children to think of now …’