‘But you don’t offer fidelity. In or out of marriage.’
He didn’t move, but she had the sensation he was suddenly standing much too close. ‘You want me to reiterate something you refuse to believe?’ he demanded silkily.
The air between them was electric. ‘Why bother?’ She held his gaze without fear. ‘We did that to death at the time. It achieved nothing then. I don’t see that it will now.’
His control was admirable, but his eyes were dark, almost chillingly still. ‘If I were to offer the same query following your return from a business dinner, your answer would be?’
She didn’t hesitate. ‘Get stuffed.’
‘An eloquent phrase.’
Katrina turned towards the sink and jettisoned the remains of her tea. ‘Forget polite.’ She rinsed the cup and placed it in the dishwasher. ‘Let’s just stick with good morning and goodnight.’
‘You think that will work?’
Why did she get the feeling he was at least one step ahead of her?
‘The alternative is a war zone.’
‘Battles won and lost?’
She gave him a long, considering look. ‘It’s not about whether you win or lose, but how you play the game.’
‘An interesting analogy.’
‘Isn’t it?’ She turned away from him and stepped towards the door. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Sleep well, pedhaki mou.’
His cynical drawl echoed in her mind as she ascended the stairs, and even in the relative safety of her bedroom the affectionate endearment recurred as a repetitive taunt.
Consequently sleep proved an elusive captive, until exhaustion overcame the many scenarios she plotted against him.
THERE was evidence Nicos had already eaten breakfast when Katrina entered the kitchen the next morning.
The aroma of freshly made coffee teased her nostrils, and she took down a cup and filled it from the cafetière, added sugar, slotted bread into the toaster, then sipped the excellent brew as she waited for the toast to pop.
A daily newspaper lay on the table, and she scanned the front-page headlines highlighting the latest criminal injustice, the fall of a major company, and touting plaudits for two councillors running in the upcoming elections.
When the toast was ready she spread it with conserve, topped her cup with coffee, then she pulled out a chair and dedicated fifteen minutes to acquiring an informative view of the day’s reported journalism.
Until she reached the social pages, and found herself looking at a photograph of her and Nicos. Taken, she confirmed on closer examination, at a social function not long after their marriage. The caption read, Together Again?
An unidentified source confirms Nicos and Katrina Kasoulis have reunited to satisfy a condition of Kevin Macbride’s (of Macbride) will. Fact or fallacy?
Anger rose, and a sibilant curse escaped from her lips.
Without pausing for thought she gathered up the pertinent page and went in search of her errant husband.
She found him in the study, seated at his desk, his attention focussed on the computer screen.
He glanced up as she entered, took one look at her expression, and pressed the save key.
‘Good morning.’
Katrina threw him a fulminating glare. ‘Have you seen this?’ She cast the newspaper page down onto the keyboard, and jabbed a finger at the caption.
Someone had been busy. Given her extended dysfunctional family, it narrowed the suspects down to four. Any one of whom would take delight in presenting such facts to the press.
‘You want to complain and request a retraction?’
She was so angry she could hardly speak. ‘What good would that do?’
‘None whatsoever.’
Suspicion clouded logic. ‘Were you responsible?’
Katrina saw his features harden and his eyes grow cold. ‘That doesn’t even qualify for an answer.’
‘Who, then?’
Nicos’s silence was eloquent, and her anger took on a new dimension.
‘I need to make a few phone calls. Then,’ she announced between clenched teeth, ‘I’m going out.’
‘I have an invitation to attend dinner this evening.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of stopping you.’
‘For both of us.’
‘You can go alone!’
‘An action that would cause speculation, surely?’ Nicos posed reasonably. ‘Given our very recent reconciliation?’
‘I have no intention of partnering you on the social circuit,’ Katrina vowed tersely.
‘Considering my attendance is minimal, it won’t be a hardship.’
‘And we haven’t reconciled. We’re merely sharing the same house!’
‘So we are,’ Nicos said with dangerous softness. ‘However, for the duration of one year we partner each other whenever the necessity should arise.’
‘That isn’t a condition of Kevin’s will.’
‘Consider it one of my own,’ he said hardily, and watched her green eyes fire with anger.
‘Don’t try to manipulate me,’ she warned as she moved to the door, adding as a parting shot, ‘I won’t stand for it.’
‘Be ready by six-fifteen,’ Nicos relayed silkily.
Katrina didn’t deign to answer, and barely restrained the temptation to slam the door behind her.
With carefully controlled movements she went upstairs, changed into tailored trousers, added a blouse, a jacket, slid her feet into heeled pumps, then collected her bag, caught up her car keys and went down to the garage.
Ten minutes later she drew to a halt adjacent a park, withdrew her cellphone, and made the first of several phone calls.
Whilst Andrea, Kevin’s second wife, coveted wealth and a luxurious lifestyle, was self-orientated to the point of selfishness, she didn’t possess a vicious bone in her body. Her daughter, Paula, by Andrea’s first marriage,
