Act of Betrayal (2 page)

that had been the only time she'd come near breaking point, on

the surface at least. There had been no communication between

Jason and herself none at all, and she'd been thankful for it

thankful there was no need for maintenance payments or property

settlements. 'A clean break' her uncle had called it, and that

was what it had been. Only it was more like a cut than a break an

amputation, where the aching continued long after the severance

had healed. So why had Jason chosen to probe the wound again?

Because that was what he was doing. True, he could not have

expected to find her at the works, but he must know that news of

his reappearance would get back to her sooner or later. Surely it

wasn't his intention to torment her by turning up in her life at

intervals, when least expected? That would be too cruel, she

thought numbly, but after all, Jason specialised in cruelty.

Wasn't she only too aware of that? She could serve the lunch and

rum That was the easy bit. The hard part would come later Closing

him out of her mind, as she thought she'd succeeded in doing

already, refusing to allow herself any more fruitless

speculations about the reasons for his presence at the works, or

his intentions. A l l her cookery school training was needed, as

the moment approached when the meal would be served.

Laura found herself wishing she'd not made it so easy for

herself"that she'd decided to splurge with some complicated dish

which needed every atom of concentration of which she was

capable. She was on edge all the time, keyed up for the sound of

voices, even though she knew it was doubtful whether they would

penetrate so far. Quite deliberately, the kitchen had been

planned at a discreet distance from the board's dining room, and

she was thankful for this as never before, because as soon as the

food was served she could leave the way she had come, with no-one

being any the wiser. She was just frying the croutons for the

soup when the waitresses arrived, and as Laura poured the

fragrant soup into the two matching tureens, she wondered if they

knew who was waiting to be served in the dining room—if word

had got around somehow? She hoped not. They were excellent

workers, but she knew from past experience that they loved a good

gossip, and she had no wish to be the butt of any sidelong

glances, or murmured remarks. But, she reminded herself, she was

probably being over-sensitive. It was doubtful whether more than

the merest handful of people at Caswells knew she had been

married, let alone her former husband's name. She'd got married

in London, after all, not locally, and most of her brief married

life had been spent in the capital too. 'Well, they've got good

appetites, I ' ll say that for them.' One of the girls came back

with the first batch of used plates. 'AH except Mr Martin, that

is,' she added. 'He hardly touched a drop of his soup.' She gave

Laura a confidential wink. 'And they're not the usual collection

of stuffed shirts either. There's one there I could fancy

myself.' Laura's heart jerked uneasily, but all she said was, 'Be

careful of the casserole dishes. They're very hot.' 'They look a

real treat.' The girl began to load the bowls of croquette

potatoes, green beans, buttered baby carrots and creamed broccoli

on to her tray. Laura smiled non-committally, and began to stack

the soup plates into the dish washer. Like most good cooks, she

enjoyed having her efforts praised, and savoured, but not today.

Today, she just wanted this particular lunch over and done with

so she could make good her escape. She wandered about restlessly,

measuring coffee into the filter machine, filling cream jugs and

sugar basins, endlessly arranging and re-arranging a dish of home

made petits fours. The meal was only a prelude, she knew. Her

uncle had often declared that the real business was done over

coffee, brandy and a good cigar afterwards when everyone was

relaxed and replete, and Laura made sure always that the coffee

was strong, aromatic and plentiful, just as he liked it. She was

chafing inwardly, wanting to serve the dessert and the cheese.

Once that was done, she could go. The girls could manage anything

that remained, between them. The kitchen window was open and she

had the extractor fan in operation, but she could still feel

beads of perspiration on her forehead. For heaven's sake, she

adjured herself sharply, calm down. It's awkward and

embarrassing, but it isn't the end of the world. But it was once,

a sly voice whispered in her mind, when you realised the kind of

mart you had married. When it all came crashing down round your

naive, idealistic ears. That was the end of the world—or it

seemed so. But she was older now. Three years older, and three

years wiser, please God. She wasn't a stupid trusting child any

more and she supposed she had Jason to thank for that.

And she also had him to thank for the fact that these

kitchen walls seemed to be closing in on her like a prison. She

was almost counting the tiles, when the girls came bustling back.

'There's a funny atmosphere in there,' one of them informed her,

jerking a head in the direction of the | dining room. 'Important

meeting is it?' 'AH orders are important these days.' Laura

scraped the pheasant bones into the waste disposal. There were J

enough rumours flying round Caswells already about the company's

difficulties, without her adding to them; but it was no secret

the sales department had had long faces for months. Uncle Martin

had great hopes of I Tristan Construction—until now. She saw

the waitresses back to the dining room with their final loads,

and relaxed slightly. It was nearly j over. The coffee was

filling the room with its fragrance, when she heard the slight

squeak of the kitchen door as it opened. Without looking round,

she said, 'I'm going now, but I've left everything else ready.'

'So I see,' Jason remarked. 'You're a domestic paragon, my sweet,

but then you always were.' Laura had been reaching for her bag.

Shock made her jerk nervously at the strap, and the bag fell,

disgorging its contents at her feet. For a moment, she stared

down at them blank-faced, as if she'd never seen them before,

then moving like an automaton, she turned to face him. He was

lounging in the doorway, hands thrust into the pockets of an

expensively cut dark suit. It occurred to her as she stared at

him that she'd never seen Jason in a suit before—not even on

their wedding day. He'd always dressed casually in the extremes-

denims and sweaters usually. This new conventionality was a

shock, until she looked more closely, and saw that the silk tie

had been loosened impatiently, and the top button of the pristine

white shirt left unbuttoned. The thick unruly mane of dark hair

had been trimmed, but not tamed, and still hung nearly to his

collar. The lines of the thin, clever, arrogant face were deeper

and more harsh, and the eyes which met hers were as bleak and

inimical as they had been at their last confrontation. No, she

thought. He might wear the trappings of convention, but

underneath he was still as dangerous as ever. He said silkily,

'Are you going to tell me I've changed?' ' I don't think it would

be true.' She was amazed to hear how normal her voice sounded.

'What are you doing here?' 'I'm here on business. Don't pretend

you didn't know.' His mouth curled sardonically. T saw all the

agitated fluttering when I walked in. And I don't need to ask why

you're here, of course. You're still a superlative cook, Laura,

even though kind Uncle Martin is reaping the benefit now instead

of me.' She went down on one knee, and began to shovel her things

back into her bag, her fingers clumsy with haste. 'You've missed

this.' Jason bent too and handed her a slender gilt scent spray.

'Thanks.' She almost snatched it from him. 'Relax, Laura.' There

was a note of warning in his voice, steely and implacable. 'Our

paths are bound to cross during the next few months, so the best

thing you can do is accept it.' ^. 'And if I'm not prepared to do

that?' She gave him a bitter look. T meant what I said,

Jason—that I never wanted to see you again. I still mean it. So

why are you tormenting me like this?' 'Had it been left to me,'

he said gently, T would not have come within a hundred miles of

this bloody place. But these are hard times, darling, and most

companies get work where they can and are glad of it. Tristans is

no exception. Under the circumstances, the risk of offending your

delicate sensibilities had to be discounted. I hope that precious

little ego of yours will survive?' She took a deep breath.

'So—it's all a coincidence. But the carpeting for all these

units you plan to build didn't have to come from Caswells. You

could have stayed away from here.' 'And we still might,' Jason

said bitingly. 'We have other firms to see besides this one. No

orders have been placed, or contracts signed—yet.' 'We shan't

be going on our knees to you.' The palms of her hands felt damp,

and she had to resist an impulse to run them betrayingly down her

skirt. 'Oh, I'm sure that goes for you, my sweet, and possibly

your uncle. But not his fellow directors. They're gratifyingly

eager to do business with us—even to the extent of rushing this

new wonder fibre of yours into production.' He looked round him

rather grimly. 'Perhaps you should come out of your cosy little

kitchen occasionally, and see what's happening in the real

world.' 'Thanks, but I think I know,' she said tautly. She had

her bag firmly gripped now, but he was still blocking her path.

'Will you excuse me please? I — I have to go . . . ' 'Why?' he

asked. 'We've confronted each other at last, and neither of us

has been turned to stone, so why run away?' 'I'm not running,'

she denied hastily. 'But I do have other things to do—a

hairdressing appointment for one . . . ' 'Ah.' His grey eyes gave

one swift disparaging glance at the tawny hair, pulled back from

her face and confined at the nape of her neck, for coolness and

ease while she was working, by an elastic band. 'It's time you

abandoned the schoolgirl look, Laura. You're a grown-up lady now.

Or doesn't marriage and divorce confer any kind of maturity?' He

ignored her infuriated gasp, and went on. 'But I'm sure you can

spare a moment or two from your crowded schedule to join us in

the boardroom for coffee. My colleagues want to congratulate you

on the meal.' 'That's kind of them, but I prefer to take it as

read.' Laura took another shaky breath. 'You say our paths have

to cross. Jason. Well I don't believe that's necessary at all. If

today could be cancelled, then I'd wipe it out without a second

thought.' 'Not very civilised of you, darling.' T don't feel

particularly civilised,' Laura snapped. 'And don't call me that.'

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. 'What would you prefer to be

called then? Mrs Wingard?' 'No.' The small sound was expelled

from her in a kind of agony. 'Not that—ever again. The first

thing I did when the decree was made final was revert to my

maiden name.' 'How said for you that it can only be in name,' he

said softly. He looked at her bare left hand. 'All traces of me

removed except one. Did you sell your ring for scrap?' T gave it

to Oxfam.' It was a lie. She'd considered that, but in the end,

she'd hidden it at the bottom of her trinket drawer. It was a

decision she hadn't been able to rationalise even at the time,

and the last thing she wanted was to have to think aboutit again

now. 'Very public spirited of you,' he approved sardonically, and

she felt a dull flush rise in her cheeks. 'What a pity you can't

dispose of me quite so easily.' ' I thought I had,' Laura said

shortly. She lifted her chin. 'I'd like to leave now please. And

I imagine those colleagues of yours will be starting to wonder

where you are.'

He grinned suddenly, and she felt tension break out all

over her like porcupine quills. 'I'm sure kind Uncle Martin will

enlighten them. He was even less pleased to see me than you are

if that's possible.' 'And that surprises you?' 'No,' Jason said.