‘Of course the fact that they were lovers for a while five years ago might have swayed her agreement, added to which she still wants him…badly.’ Marianne’s voice was expressionless, with a flatness that spoke of deep hurt. ‘She had made that very clear to me several times when we’ve met socially.’
‘This was the cause of that row last night?’ Pat asked in sudden understanding.
Marianne nodded with a brittle smile. ‘Zeke thinks I’m being over-emotional,’ she said evenly. And this from the man who didn’t like her dancing with another male—even one of his friends—and who objected if he thought she was spending too long in conversation with any one man at the various social functions they attended.
‘And you’re sure you’re not?’ Pat probed gently.
Marianne’s lovely deep blue eyes took on a bleakness that was an answer in itself. ‘Oh, I’m sure, Pat,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m not the jealous type—’ unlike Zeke ‘—but Liliana has gone to great pains to let me know how much she hates me. Never in front of Zeke, of course, she’s all sweetness and light when he’s around, but she wants him back and she doesn’t care what she does to get him. She’s the master of innuendo and acid jibes coated in sugar towards her own sex, but the men just can’t see it. I don’t know one woman who is comfortable with her.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ Pat said drily.
In the first heady days of her marriage she hadn’t been threatened by Liliana de Giraud’s manoeuvrings, in fact she had even felt sorry for the other woman and had tentatively offered her the hand of friendship before Liliana’s covert hostility had made her aware she was likely to get it bitten off. So much for magnanimity, Marianne thought wretchedly, allowing herself one glance across the room and then wishing she hadn’t as she saw Zeke and Liliana’s heads close together. She had been innocent, far, far too innocent, when she had married Zeke.
She forced herself to eat all of her lunch with every appearance of enjoyment, and although she didn’t glance over at the other table again her heightened senses made her aware of each time Liliana looked their way.
By unspoken mutual consent she and Pat lingered over their liqueur coffees—Marianne hadn’t relished the thought of passing Zeke’s table on their way out—and so it was that Zeke left first. She acknowledged his raised hand of farewell with a nod and a cool smile, and then tensed as she saw Liliana reach up and speak in Zeke’s ear before beginning to make her way over.
‘Liliana’s coming.’
It was all she managed to say to Pat before the redhead came within earshot, and then in the next moment she was engulfed in a cloud of expensive, sultry perfume as Liliana bent to brush her cheek with cool lips, gushing, ‘Sweetie, how lovely to see you. We didn’t know you’d be lunching with your little friend today.’
‘Hallo, Liliana.’ Marianne was eternally grateful for the fortifying effects of the excellent meal—not to mention the wine and liqueur coffee—as she looked up into the redhead’s ice-blue eyes. ‘This is Pat, by the way. Pat, Liliana.’
The ‘little friend’ didn’t smile, neither did she bother to speak as she inclined her head, but the green eyes narrowed with such naked feline coldness that it actually seemed to take Liliana aback a little. She wasn’t used to such overt honesty.
‘I must dash.’ Liliana turned back to Marianne, her exquisitely creamy skin—which went with her vibrant hair—flushed from the effect of Pat’s scrutiny. ‘Zeke and I have heaps to discuss. We’re going to be tied up for days on this project, so you’ll have to be brave in doing without him, sweetie.’
‘Will I?’ Marianne called on all her father’s stoical, imperturbable genes and her mother’s poised, self-possessed ones as she smiled with a serenity she was far from feeling and said, ‘I’ll have to make sure we spoil each other when we’re together, then, won’t I, Liliana?’
The cruel, self-assured smile that had been hovering on the red-painted lips vanished for a second before it was immediately brought back into play, and Liliana slanted her almost colourless, opaque blue eyes at the two women as she said, ‘I mustn’t keep him waiting; patience has never been one of Zeke’s attributes,’ in a way that suggested the redhead was only too knowledgeable about the man in question.
‘What a truly horrible woman,’ Pat murmured as they watched the slim, elegant figure weave her way out of the restaurant. ‘She wants a good slap, if you ask me.’
‘Probably.’ The down-to-earth comment brought a reluctant smile to Marianne’s lips. ‘But she’s incredibly good at what she does and she knows it.’
‘I just bet she is.’ Pat’s sober words had a dual meaning, and the two women stared at each other in perfect understanding for a long moment before Marianne caught the young waiter’s eye and gestured that she wanted the bill.
CHAPTER TWO
MARIANNE got back to the apartment at six-thirty and the Mortons were due to arrive at seven. Zeke met her in the cream-and-grey hall, its immaculate walls devoid of any pictures that would deflect from the gracious lines of the curved moulding at the junction of the ceiling and wall, and he was angry. Very angry. As she had expected him to be.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ he bit out tightly, his mouth a thin line.
‘With Pat.’ She walked past him towards the bedroom, praying that the trembling in her stomach wouldn’t communicate itself in her voice.
She had made some serious decisions this afternoon—somehow seeing Pat again had crystallised so many things in such a short time—and she had to be calm and composed when she discussed them with Zeke. Anything less and he would accuse her of running on nothing but emotion again.
‘With Pat.’ Zeke was white with rage, his eyes charcoal with the temper he was trying to contain. ‘And you didn’t think to call and say you’d be late? It didn’t occur to you I might be worried something had happened to you?’
‘What?’ She swung round as she reached the walk-in wardrobe at the far end of the room and her eyes were wide with shock. It hadn’t occurred to her he would be worried, she realised with some dismay, merely that he would be angry she wasn’t waiting at home with his pre-dinner cocktail ready as usual and a welcoming smile on her lips.
‘It didn’t, did it?’ He had read the answer in her guilty face, and his voice had a harsh, gritty sound. ‘Dammit, Marianne, what’s the matter with you!’
‘Me?’ The resolve to remain equable and dispassionate was being put severely to the test.
‘Yes, you,’ he barked furiously. ‘We’ve got the Mortons arriving any moment and as far as I can see nothing is ready—’
‘I couldn’t care less about the Mortons!’ That was all that concerned him at heart, she told herself silently. He hadn’t really been worried about her, just his precious dinner party.