A Perfect Marriage (13 page)

"There's a new girl, Sophie," the receptionist said helpfully. "She's come to us from another salon, very experienced."

"Yes, all right." Celine wrenched her mind back to the business at hand.

Sophie seemed young to have so much experience, but then, Celine reflected, police officers and ministers tended to look young these days, too.

  
 
Perhaps because she was new to the salon, Sophie appeared to have plenty of time. She suggested a colour rinse. "Just to liven it up a bit, give it some amber lights." And when Celine described her usual style, explaining that a cut was way overdue, Sophie demurred. "It's just at the awkward stage, I know, but if you let it grow a bit more, we could really do things with your hair. Give you a body wave and restyle it-look, I'll show you a picture."

In the end Celine put herself in Sophie's hands. The hairdresser snipped a little here and there, shaped the dark brown mass and blow-waved it into a graceful, swinging shape with a chestnut shine. "There," she said, "that'll keep it nice for a while. A few more weeks and you'll be able to put it up if you like. I can show you lots of ways of doing it that would suit your face."

Celine left the salon feeling if not a new woman, at least a renovated one. When she put on the new dress that evening, she was careful not to disturb the hairstyle.

It was the first party she'd been to without Max. She felt odd walking into the house alone, but Sharon welcomed her and introduced her to everyone as "our clever decorator," and no one seemed to find it in the least unusual that she was without a partner.

She wasn't the only one, anyway. One man was so interested in her ideas about the decor that Sharon urged her to take him on a guided tour of the whole house and show him what she'd done with it.

He was tall, with greying hair and a pleasant, intelligent face, and she saw him glance surreptitiously at her wedding ring, but he made no comment on it. He walked at her side without touching her, and asked sensible questions. In answer to her eventual query, he said, "I've just acquired an old house. It needs some work, and I'm looking for ideas."

They were coming out of the master bedroom as Sharon passed them to answer a peal of the doorbell. "Did Celine show you how she did the curtains?" she queried in passing, reaching for the door handle.

"Yes, very nice." He put a light hand on Celine's waist, allowing her to precede him into the passageway.

Just as she did so Sharon swung open the front door to reveal Max standing on the step.

Involuntarily, Celine came to a dead stop, and the man behind her almost stood on her heel. She felt his body brush
hers,
and his hand slid about her waist as he instinctively tried to steady himself without actually cannoning into her.

"Sorry," they both murmured, and exchanged the embarrassed, forgiving smiles that the small incident demanded.

Sharon said rather loudly, "Max. Lovely of you to come," and cast an anxious look at Celine as she ushered him in.

Celine couldn't retreat now, it would look too pointed. Instead she gave him a stiff smile as she edged away from the other man and said, "Hello, Max."

"This is Roland Jackson," Sharon said hastily, waving towards her companion. "Max Archer."

Roland held out a hand, and after a tiny pause Max took it in his, nodding curtly.

Sharon tucked a hand into Max's arm to lead him towards the lounge. "Celine's been showing Roland what she's done with the house," she said brightly as Max's gaze flickered sideways to the bedroom doorway.

"Archer?" Roland queried, his eyes going from Max to Celine and back again.

Max said, "Celine is my wife."

Startled, Celine looked at him, finding his eyes as glacial as his courtroom opponents might have. Technically it was true, of course. She still wore his ring. Perhaps Max, like her, shrank from making explanations to a stranger.

"I see." Roland obviously didn't quite, but he also obviously knew this wasn't the time to question any further.

They were entering the lounge now, and Sharon went into hostess mode, making sure everyone knew Max.

"Can I get you a drink?" Roland enquired while Max was busy greeting the other guests.

"Thank you." Celine smiled gratefully at him.
"Gin and lime, please."
She could do with one. She was profoundly thankful that Max had not brought Kate with him.

She crossed the room, getting as far away from Max as she could, and was deep in conversation with one of the women when Roland handed her a glass. "Thanks." She smiled at him again, and he stayed and joined in the discussion.

Max didn't come near her all night, although she was acutely aware of his every move. She knew when he went to the bar and got himself
a drink-three times-
and when he sat down or stood with a group near the fireplace, and who he was talking to. The whole evening was an exquisite form of torture.

At some stage Roland had drifted off, but later he came back to her and said, "Would you be interested in looking over my house sometime? I'd welcome some professional advice. And I'm impressed with what you've done here."

"I'd be happy to have a look." She could do with some work if she was not to be dependent on Max. And dependent she didn't want to be, if they were no longer husband and wife.

"Good." Smiling, Roland took a card from his pocket. "Could you phone me when you're not too busy, and we'll arrange a
time.
" He looked younger when he smiled.

Pleased at the prospect of another job, she gave him a friendly smile back. "Yes, I'll do that, thank you." She ought to have some cards made for
herself
, she reflected. It would have been more professional if she could have given him one.

Apparently he was leaving. "I ... couldn't give you a lift, could I?" he asked.

For the first time she considered that he might be attracted to her. Had he checked with their hostess and been told that she and Max were separated? "No, thanks," she said pleasantly. "I brought my own car. But it was nice of you to offer."

"I'll see you again, then," he said casually, and tossed a general "Good night" to all those nearby before going in search of his hosts.

Half an hour later Celine decided that she could leave without anyone concluding that she'd run off early. She said goodbye quietly to Sharon and Stephen and went out to her car. Only to find that it wouldn't start.

She tried it again and again,
then
rested it, counting off five minutes before turning the key once more. All it produced was a sickly whine.

As she tried yet again, the door opened and two people came out, while Sharon stood in the doorway to see them off.

"Having trouble?" The man stopped as they passed, and peered into the side window. "Can we help?"

Sharon came over.
"Celine?
Are you still here?"

Curbing an urge to snap, Celine said, "I'm afraid so. I think it's the starter. I had a new battery put in just a couple of weeks back."

"Didn't leave the lights on, did you?" the man asked helpfully.

"No," she said with calm courtesy. "I haven't left anything on."

"I'll get Stephen," Sharon offered.

"No, please! I'll come inside and call a taxi."

But no one was going to settle for that. The man was itching to get his hands on the motor, while his wife stood by looking resigned, and Sharon insisted that Stephen would ' either fix the problem or run Celine home, it was no trouble, really.

,
 
Someone else came to the open door of the house, and inside of three minutes Celine and the car were surrounded f by helpful males offering contradictory advice and suggestions.
tions
.

' Then
Max strolled into the small but growing knot of people and said, "I'll take Celine home, of course. We'll arrange for someone to pick up the car in the morning, Sharon. It's not blocking anyone's way there." And he

  
 
simply
took Celine's arm and put her into the passenger seat of his car and drove off.

"I could have got a taxi," she said after a few minutes. "I don't want to put you to this trouble."

"Don't be silly, Celine. It's no trouble." "It's out of your way."

"A few minutes," he said indifferently. "Don't fuss." "I'm not fussing!"

He glanced at her, perhaps surprised by the unusual note of asperity in her voice.

"I could easily have got a lift with someone else," she muttered.

"Stephen still has other guests."

"Roland Jackson offered to take me home earlier." "Know him well, do you?"

"I only met the man tonight."

"Then you wouldn't be stupid enough to accept his offer, I hope."

"He's a friend of the Chatswoods! I'm sure he's quite trustworthy."

"And I'm sure he thinks you're fair game."

"I beg your pardon?" Celine said frostily.

This time his swift look at her was definitely irritated. "He could hardly keep his hands off you-not that you seemed to be minding much. If you were trying to make me jealous it was a cheap trick."

For a moment she couldn't speak at all. Then she said between her teeth, "I was not trying to make you jealous! I didn't even expect you to be there tonight. And don't you dare accuse me of using cheap tricks." It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him if he preferred them coming from Kate, but that would make her sound like a jealous shrew.

He looked sceptical. "You must have expected me. Sharon said you'd given her my phone number."

"I knew she was inviting you. Only I thought you'd have the consideration to stay away."

"And I thought you'd like me to pay you the compliment of coming to see what you'd done with the Chatswoods' house. I'm sorry if my presence upset you."

"It didn't upset me!" she denied hastily. "Sharon was embarrassed."

"Rubbish," Max said brusquely. "If she was embarrassed it was because you were practically in Roland Jackson's arms when I walked in."

Celine opened her mouth to deny it, to explain, and then thought better of it. She didn't owe Max explanations, not anymore. "If I was," she said, "it's no concern of yours."

"Of course it concerns me. I told you, I haven't stopped caring about you."

Oh, he cared, did he?
Some lukewarm emotion that was more insulting than if he'd said he hated her.
"I'm a free agent, Max," she said.
"Thanks to you.
At least I wasn't casting about before we separated!"

He drew to a halt for a red light, drumming his fingers on the wheel until the signal had changed, while Celine sat in seething silence. As the car glided off again, he said, "Then who is the new dress for?
And the hairstyle?"

"What?" The change of subject threw her for a moment. Who was it for? "It's for
myself
," she said.
"To make me feel-good."

"Advertising, are you?" The car picked up speed as his foot pressed down on the accelerator.

"What are you talking about?"

He looked at her again, this time casting a comprehensive eye over her entire body. "You're not an innocent, Celine. You must know damn well that dress makes you look available."

Celine was so astonished that she laughed. "You're being ridiculous! In any case, you have no right to comment on what I wear, or question my actions. And you're way over the speed limit!" she added.

He eased his foot off the accelerator, and a moment later she saw his lips curl at the corner. "Pots and kettles?" he

  
 
said
softly, slanting a brief look at her. "It's okay for you to comment on my driving, is it?"

"It's my life, too," she told him acidly. But she couldn't help smiling a little.

"You're right. I guess I overreacted," he said. "Maybe I've a possessive streak that I didn't know I had." He moved one hand from the wheel and found hers, holding it in a casual, companionable clasp. Celine stayed perfectly unmoving, almost not breathing, remembering the hundreds of times they'd sat hand in hand like this, feeling the warmth of his skin against hers, the hidden strength in the fingers about hers.

After a while he put his hand back on the wheel to go round a corner, and then drove the rest of the way in silence.

"You needn't get out," she said when he drew up at the door, but he did, anyway, coming round to help her from the car.

It was odd to come home with him and know that they weren't going into the house and up the stairs together. She said, "Would you like a cup of coffee?" And thought it sounded as though they were young again and had been on a date.

Max seemed to hesitate. Perhaps he felt awkward, too. "No," he said finally, "but thanks for asking." He bent and kissed her lightly on the mouth. It was totally nonsexual, just a friendly gesture, she warned herself, perhaps a sign of truce. Or even the result of long habit. "Good night,
Celine "

"Good night." He stayed by the car until she'd found her key and opened the door. When she'd stepped inside and turned, he was getting back into the driver's seat. As he started the engine she closed the door. She didn't think she could bear to watch him drive away.

Chapter
 
7

Upstairs, Celine switched on the bedroom light and crossed to the wardrobe, opening the door to examine
herself
in the full-length mirror fixed inside it.

Available?
She studied the dress. Certainly she seldom wore such daring necklines, but with her meagre endowment it was hardly indecent. And although the flowing cut and soft material made the most of her figure, it wasn't skintight. The dress was in no way a blatant come-on. She didn't think anyone could have accused her of being obvious.

Except Max.

Had he been jealous? The thought was enough to stir a faint excitement-a glimmer of hope.

He'd been annoyed, angry.
And had come close to accusing her of deliberately flaunting herself.
In fact he had been less his urbane, strictly controlled self than she'd seen him since their marriage. Except perhaps for the night he'd come home from the firm's Christmas party and almost dragged her into bed.