Marriage Under Suspicion

MARRIAGE UNDER SUSPICION

Sara Craven

"Your husband loves another woman" The note was signed "A Friend"

but no friend would ever to that to another woman. Could it be True? Was Kate Lassiter's

marriage falling apart? She still loved her husband. Ryan, still thrilled at his touch , but

how long was it since they'd last made love?

This, Kate decided, as she crossed the deserted hotel lounge, had quite definitely been the

morning from hell.

She sank into a chair by the window, easing off her elegant black court shoes under the

shelter of the table, and discreetly massaging the ball of one aching foot against the calf

of her other leg.

Outside on the sunlit lawn, the pretty pink and white striped marquee, with its distinctive

octagonal shape, was being swiftly and efficiently dismantled.

Kate, recalling how many hours and telephone calls had been required to track it down,

surveyed the operation with genuine regret.

Elsewhere in the hotel, all preparation on the carefully chosen menu for two hundred and

fifty people had ceased; the champagne was being returned to the cellar, together with the

claret and the Chablis and phones were buzzing as disappointed guests were told their

presence would not be required after all.

Kate sighed soundlessly, and opened the file in front of her, running a finger down a

hastily assembled check list. Setting up a wedding was a long and complicated business.

Cancelling it on the day itself was almost as complex, and probably twice as hectic.

Damn Davina Brent, she thought irritably, scanning through the invoices from her sub-

contractors. Why couldn't she have decided a month—a week—even yesterday—that she

didn't want to go through with it?

Quite apart from the drama and upset of the last few hours, she would also have saved her

distraught family some massive but unavoidable bills.

It was the first time since Kate and Louie, her friend from college days, had started

Special Occasions that a bride had actually cried off on her wedding morning. In fact, in

the three years that they'd been functioning, they'd had remarkably few hiccups, organis-

ing other people's parties, receptions and special events.

And certainly there'd been no prior hint that the beautiful Davina was likely to throw such

a spectacular last-minute wobbly. During the preliminary discussions that Kate had had

with her, and her unfortunate husband-not-to-be, and, indeed, ever since, she'd seemed

very much in love.

But then, thought Kate with an inward shrug, how could you tell what went on in other

peoples' lives— or heads?

For a moment, she was very still, aware of an odd shiver tingling down her spine. A

goose walking over my grave, she thought. Or an angel passing over.

And jumped, as a glass was placed on the table in front of her. A martini, if she was any

judge, and served just as she liked it, very dry, very cold, and with a twist of lemon. Only,

she hadn't ordered it.

'There must be some mistake,' she began, turning in her chair to face the waiter. Instead

she found herself looking up into the unsmiling face of Peter Henderson, the erstwhile

best man, now casually clad in jeans and sweater.

'No mistake at all.' His voice was terse. 'You look as if you need a drink. I know I do.' He

indicated the whisky glass he was holding.

'Thanks for the thought.' Kate accorded him a brief, formal smile. 'But I make a rule—no

alcohol while I'm working.'

He grimaced. 'I thought, under the circumstances, you'd be off duty by now.'

Kate gestured at the open file. ‘There are still a few loose ends to tie up.'

'May I join you, or will I be getting in the way?'

'Of course not. Sit down—please.' Kate searched around under the table with a

stockinged foot for her discarded shoes.

'Allow me.' Peter Henderson went down on one knee, and deftly replaced the errant

footwear before seating himself in an adjoining chair.

'Thank you.' Kate was aware of a faint, vexed flush warming her face.

'No problem.' He surveyed her, his expression openly appreciative of the dark blonde

hair, drawn sleekly back from her face, and the slender figure set off by her elegant

raspberry-pink suit, and black silk shirt. He reached across the table, touching his glass to

hers.

'What shall we drink to?' he asked lightly. 'Love and happiness?'

'Under the circumstances, that could be something of a minefield,' Kate said drily. 'Let's

stick to something brief and uncomplicated like "Cheers."' She paused. 'How is your

brother?'

His mouth tightened. 'Not good. Shattered, in fact.'

'I can believe it.' Kate hesitated again. 'I—I'm so sorry.'

He gave a slight shrug. 'Maybe it's all for the best. If one has genuine misgivings, a clean

break now could be preferable to a messy divorce later, when children could be involved,

and real damage done.'

'I suppose so,' Kate agreed slowly. 'But they seemed so genuinely well-suited. Did he

have any idea she was having second thoughts?'

'I imagine any problems would be simply attributed to bridal nerves.' He looked at the

narrow gleam of platinum on her wedding finger. 'A pitfall you apparently managed to

avoid.'

She said lightly, 'Goodness, it's so long ago, I can hardly remember.'

'Not that long, surely, unless you were a child bride.'

'Oh, please.' Kate sent him an ironic look, aware that she'd flushed again. 'It was actually

five years.'

'A lifetime.' He sounded amused. 'Any regrets?'

'None at all,' Kate returned sedately. 'We're very happy. Extremely so,' she added,

wondering why she'd needed the extra emphasis.

'Any children?'

She was aware, once again, of his blue eyes assessing her trim figure.

'Not yet. We're both busy establishing our careers.'

She picked up the waiting martini, and sipped it after all, relishing its forceful chill

against her dry throat. 'In Ryan's case a change of career,' she added.

'Something you don't approve of?'

'On the contrary.' Kate stiffened. 'What makes you think that?'

'The fact that you took a drink before you mentioned it.'

She laughed. 'You made a wrong connection, I'm afraid. The actual fact is that martinis

are my weakness in life.'

'The only one?'

'I try to limit them,' she said drily.

'Would calling me Peter be regarded as a weakness?'

She was suddenly conscious of a marginal shift in her body language—that she'd

relaxed—turned towards him. She straightened, giving him a cool look. 'An error of

judgement, possibly.'

She picked up her file, shuffling some papers. 'And not very businesslike,' she added

crisply.

'But your business isn't with me. Like you, I'm just trying to pick up the pieces.'

'In that case, shouldn't you be with your brother instead of me?'

'Andrew's with our parents. They're taking him home with them for a few days.' He

frowned at his glass. 'I don't know if that's a good thing, or a bad. My mother's inclined to

be rather emotional, and she's never been a fan of Davina's anyway. It might make any

rapprochement a bit difficult.'

Kate's brows lifted. 'You really think that could happen—in spite of everything?'

'Perhaps—if they're left to come round without too much interference on either side.' He

sighed. 'In fact I wouldn't be surprised if they just sloped off to a registry office one day,

and simply got married in front of a pair of witnesses off the street. Neither of them

wanted this kind of shindig in the first place. I wonder if it was the pressure of it all that

finally goaded Davina into flight?'

'I do hope not.' Kate swallowed the rest of her martini and put down the glass. 'Or I might

develop a guilt complex.'

'Blame both sets of parents,' he said succinctly. 'They were the ones coming up with

endless lists of people who simply had to be invited.'

They usually are,' Kate agreed. 'And I must admit I'd have hated it myself.'

'You mean you didn't have the bridal gown, the fleet of cars, and the cast of thousands—

when you're actually in the business?'

She smiled constrainedly. 'Ah, but I wasn't then. And we did exactly what you

recommended for Andrew and Davina. A registry office early in the morning, with two

witnesses.'

'Followed by unmitigated bliss?'

'I would never claim that.' Kate frowned. 'I wouldn't even want it. It sounds deadly dull.'

'So you and Mr Dunstan enjoy the occasional clash?'

She shrugged. 'Naturally. We're both individuals in a relationship which pre-supposes a

fair degree of togetherness, and all kinds of adjustments.' She paused. 'And it isn't Mr

Dunstan. That's my name. My husband's called Lassiter.'

His brows lifted. 'You mean you're married to Ryan Lassiter—the writer?'

Kate smiled. 'I do indeed. Are you one of his fans?'

'Actually, yes.' Peter Henderson seemed momentarily nonplussed. 'I started life as a City

broker myself, so I read Justified Risk as soon as it came out. I thought it was amazing—

that combination of big business and total chill. And the second book was just as good,

which doesn't always happen.'

'I'll tell him,' Kate said lightly. 'Fortunately a great many people share your opinion.'

'Is he working on a third book?'

She shook her head. 'On a fourth. The third's already in the pipeline for publication this

autumn.'

'I can't wait. And while he's pounding the keyboard you do this?' Peter Henderson

reached across and picked up one of her business cards which had slipped out of the file.

'And all under your own name too,' he added softly.

Kate shrugged again. 'We might have fallen on our faces. It seemed a good idea to keep

our individual enterprises totally separate.'

'But now you're flying high, surely?'

'Let's say we're holding our own in difficult trading times.' Kate closed her file. 'Please

keep the card, in case you have a celebration of your own to plan one of these days.' She

sent him a mischievous look. 'Maybe even a wedding reception.'

'God forbid.' He shuddered.

'You're against marriage?'

'Not for other people,' he returned. The blue eyes dwelt on her thoughtfully. 'Although I'd

have to make exceptions there too.'

Their glances locked—challenged—and to Kate's shock she was the first to look away.

What's the matter with me? she thought, swallowing. I'm an adult woman. I've been

chatted up before, plenty of times. Why should this be any different?

With what she recognised was a deliberate effort, she retrieved her black briefcase from

the floor beside her, snapped open its locks, and put away the file with an air of finality.

As she got to her feet, she gave Peter Henderson a brief, noncommittal smile.

'Well, thanks for the drink. Now I must really get on.'

'Must you?' He pushed back his own chair, and rose. 'I was hoping, once you were free of

your business calls, that we might have dinner together.' He paused. 'I've decided to stay

on here tonight after all.'

'And I've decided to make the earliest possible start back to London.' Kate's tone was

more curt than she'd intended.

'Running away, Miss Dunstan?' Peter Henderson's smile was engaging and unabashed.

He glanced down at the card he was holding. 'Or may I call you Kate?'

'If you wish.' Her own glance was pointedly at her watch. 'Although I can't see why you

should wish to. Unless you do decide to throw a party one of these days, we're unlikely to

meet again. Even if Andrew and Davina get together again, I doubt they'll hire our

services a second time.'

Peter Henderson smiled at her. 'I remain an optimist,' he said. 'In all sorts of ways.'

He paused. 'And believe me—Mrs Lassiter—' he stressed the name almost mockingly '—

if and when I decide to party, you will be the first to know.'

Kate felt suddenly as if her own parting smile had been painted on, as wide and foolish as

a clown's.

She said quietly, 'Goodbye, Mr Henderson,' and walked away, out of the hotel lounge,