hell with it, she thought recklessly. Since the night of Jago’s betrayal, she’d lived a kind of half-life. Perhaps it was only right that his return should signal her emergence from her self-imposed chrysalis—proclaiming to the world at large, as well as himself, that she no longer carried even the flicker of a torch for him.
She’d been a fool to react like that to his call, she told herself angrily. She should have been civil but indifferent, instead of letting him know he could still get under her skin. Well, she would know better at their next encounter—if there was one.
Martin’s expression when she admitted him to the flat was evidence, if she needed it, that her change of image was a success. And it reminded her too of how little thought she’d given to her appearance over the past couple of years.
‘The new me,’ she explained. ‘Do you approve?’
‘I’m not sure if “approve” is the word I’m looking for,’ Martin said carefully. ‘May I kiss you, or will it spoil your make-up?’
Ashley went readily into his arms. She was accustomed to the light embraces they exchanged on meeting and parting, and when Martin deliberately prolonged and deepened the kiss, she made no demur. Perhaps it wasn’t just the outer shell she needed to change, she thought, submitting passively to the ardent pressure of his mouth on hers.
She waited for some answering surge in her own blood, but it didn’t happen. Probably she was still too tired and caught off-balance by the past twenty-four hours to be able to conjure up much of a response, she excused herself, as they left for the Club.
It was already quite crowded when they arrived. Martin had booked a corner table, away from the dance floor where a three-piece band played quietly.
‘The usual wide choice, I see,’ he said wryly, handing her a menu. ‘Steak, steak, scampi or steak.’
Ashley smiled at him. ‘And I keep telling you that’s the height of sophistication in this neck of the woods,’ she teased.
‘So you do,’ he muttered. ‘What’s it to be, then?’
‘Melon, please, followed by a fillet steak rare to medium, and a side salad.’
‘And I’ll have the same,’ Martin told the waiter. His hand reached for Ashley’s across the table. ‘We never seem to ask for anything else. Maybe we should make it a standing order.’
‘Maybe,’ Ashley returned neutrally. She returned the pressure of his fingers, but his words troubled her, seeming to signal a permanence she wasn’t ready for. She was relieved when the conversation took a less personal turn. Martin was engaged in litigation work, and he gave a droll description of some of the cases he’d been defending while she way away.
Ashley leaned back in her chair, enjoying the fragrance of the white wine she had asked for as an aperitif, her eyes idly scanning the room as she did so.
‘And when the magistrate asked if he had anything to say, the idiot came back with “But the car always stalls if I drive at less than sixty, Your Worship”,’ Martin was saying, then his voice sharpened. ‘Ashley, what is it? Are you all right?’
Her whole body had tensed, and she could feel the blood draining from her face. Standing in the doorway, looking round the room, was Jago Marrick.
Her first, instinctive thought was how little he had changed in the intervening years. The breach between them had left no mark on him as it had on her, but then why should it? she asked herself bitterly. No doubt he’d regretted the loss of Landons, but he was a success in his own right as Silas had always predicted. Ashley had been nothing more to him than a means to an end.
But it was unfair, she thought, digging her nails into the palms of her hands, that his physical appeal should not have diminished. Outwardly, he was still the man she’d fallen so helplessly in love with.
The lean, graceful body, the lightly curling brown hair, still worn rather longer than convention demanded, the cool, incisive lines of nose, mouth and jaw, had lost none of their impact, thrusting her into sudden unwelcome turmoil.
With a superlative effort she fought for control.
‘It’s all right,’ she said, forcing a little laugh, and inwardly thankful for the comparative seclusion of their table. ‘I—I’m jet-lagged still, I suppose. Perhaps I should have had a quiet evening at home.’
‘Well, you still can,’ Martin assured her promptly. ‘When we’ve eaten, I’ll drive you back.’ He smiled at her. ‘Some cosseting’s what you need.’
She doubted whether she needed anything he had in mind but now was not the time to be talking about that. She felt suddenly like an animal, caught in a snare with the hunter drawing closer …
Get a grip on yourself, she adjured herself, silently and savagely. So he’s here. It’s a public place, and he has as much right to use it as you. But there’s nothing he can do to you any more—nothing …
Martin said with a faint groan, ‘Oh, hell! One of the firm’s most important clients has just come in, and he’s heading this way. I shall have to be civil at least.’
Ashley knew with a sense of sick inevitability who it would be, and nerved herself, her hands clenching into fists in her lap, her face schooled to impassivity.
‘Good evening, Witham.’ Jago stopped beside their table. She made herself look up, her face stretched into a polite smile which felt like a grimace. He wasn’t alone, she saw. Erica was beside him, ethereal in black chiffon, clinging to his arm. The grieving widow’s first public appearance, Ashley decided ironically.
Jago was looking at her now, his brows lifting with faint cynicism as he assimilated her appearance.
‘Ashley,’ he said softly. ‘What a charming surprise.’
‘You know each other?’ asked Martin. ‘I was just about to introduce you.’
‘No need,’ Jago assured him. ‘Ashley and I are old—acquaintances, aren’t we, darling?’
‘You could say that,’ she said shortly. She looked past him to Erica. ‘Please accept my condolences on your sad loss, Mrs Marrick.’
‘Such a terrible shock,’ Erica sighed delicately. ‘But life must go on. That’s what dear Giles would have wanted.’
Remembering the big, bluff man with his booming laugh, Ashley thought this was probably true. At any rate, it absolved Erica from most of the conventions of mourning, she decided cynically.
‘Won’t you join us?’ Martin offered, to Ashley’s horror.
‘We’d be delighted,’ Jago said smoothly, and she had to bite back a gasp of sheer anguish. But nothing could be done; a waiter was already hurrying to lay two extra covers. Ashley’s sole consolation was that Erica seemed no better pleased by the situation than she was herself, judging by the expression she had seen fleetingly cross the widow’s lovely face, and the way her fingers were curving possessively on Jago’s sleeve.
Well, everyone looks for consolation in their own way, she told herself, and turned an artificially radiant smile on Martin.
The
