Well, she would make it otherwise. Jon loved Alison, and their marriage deserved a chance which it wouldn’t have if the pernicious influence of someone like Matt Lincoln was allowed to take hold.
Drew Wakefield, she thought bitterly. Matt Lincoln. Birds of a feather, pursuing their destructive way through other people’s lives, uncaring of the chaos they left behind.
Only this time—somehow—she wasn’t going to allow it to happen. Scandal and bitterness weren’t going to ruin her family’s lives, she vowed silently, not if she could help it.
She thought savagely, ‘To hell with you, Matt Lincoln!’ then shivered suddenly as if a cold hand had brushed against her in warning.
CHAPTER TWO (#u8c4f8b0b-78e4-57bb-9471-f3d846108295)
‘MATT LINCOLN’S address?’ Felix stared at her in amazement. ‘What on earth do you want that for?’
Kate moved her shoulders evasively. ‘Do you think you can get it for me?’
‘I daresay I can. It’ll be on file somewhere at the office, and if not, Lorna Bryce from Features was involved with him for a while. She’d know,’ said Felix. ‘But wouldn’t it be easier just to call National Television?’
‘Perhaps,’ Kate’s voice was noncommittal. ‘I’m hoping it won’t be necessary to call him at all.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ Felix said a mite caustically. ‘Leave him to the Lornas of this world, darling. He’s out of your league.’
‘Don’t be so rude, Felix,’ Maria, who was crocheting by the fire, interrupted placidly. ‘Kate’s a lovely girl.’
‘Have I ever denied it?’ Felix gestured dramatically. ‘So why throw her to the lions?’ He grinned at Kate. ‘Or do you like living dangerously, after all, and if so, what are you doing with boring old Clive?’
‘You’re a nosy swine,’ his wife said in amiable condemnation. Her eyes shrewdly noted Kate’s obvious embarrassment. ‘I’m sure Kate knows what she’s doing.’
Do I? Kate wondered dismally.
She had spent a miserable restless night trying and failing to decide on a particular course of action, and had wasted a working day too through her inability to concentrate properly.
All she knew was that some sort of confrontation was inevitable. Simply telling Jon what she had seen and letting him sort it out at whatever cost would be an unbearably sneaky thing to do, she thought. And seeking out Matt Lincoln at the television centre through layers of protective commissionaires and secretaries didn’t appeal to her either. Her courage would have dwindled long before she reached him.
Her request to Felix to find out his home address—his telephone number was, naturally enough, exdirectory—had been made on the spur of the moment. And she wouldn’t use it. It was purely something to be held in reserve, because first thing tomorrow she was going to talk to Alison.
It wasn’t a prospect she welcomed. She had been Alison’s chief bridesmaid, but that had been as a matter of form, she thought wryly, and hadn’t prompted any real intimacy between them. Nor had they become any closer since. She had tried, but apart from the fact they seemed to have little in common, she had always sensed a slight reserve about her sister-in-law.
And after tomorrow, I suppose I’ll be lucky if she ever speaks to me again, she told herself ruefully.
Every metre of the following day’s bus and tube journey to the modern estate where Jon and Alison lived, she kept telling herself she didn’t have to go through with it, that she could always turn back and allow whatever was going to happen to go right ahead without any interference from her.
The houses were attractively terraced, built on three sides of a square overlooking a lawned area with shrubs and a striking piece of modern sculpture. The individual gardens in front of the houses were more relaxed, several holding a scatter of children’s toys, but the overall impression was one of quiet because most of the houses were occupied by working couples.
It occurred to Kate, not for the first time, that Alison might not find it merely quiet, but lonely during the daytime with the neighbouring wives out at jobs, or absorbed in their young families.
Perhaps she couldn’t altogether be blamed for wanting to resume her career. Housework, shopping and decorating could hardly fill all her time, Kate thought with sudden compassion.
As she walked up the path, the front door opened, and Alison appeared, smiling rather warily. ‘Surprise, surprise!’
‘We all missed you the other night,’ said Kate. ‘I thought I’d come and see how you were.’ She saw Alison look puzzled, and elaborated, ‘Your headache.’
‘Oh, that.’ Alison stood back to allow Kate past her into the house. ‘It wasn’t serious, just annoying.’
‘I thought from what Jon said it was a migraine at the very least.’
‘He exaggerates,’ Alison shrugged. ‘Sit down and I’ll bring some coffee.’
‘You must have known I was coming,’ Kate joked, unfastening her jacket.
Alison’s smile was wintry. ‘I did. I watched you walk all the way round the central lawn. Do you know you’re the only person who’s come into the close this morning?’
Kate could believe it. While Alison was busy in the kitchen she glanced round the sitting room. It was immaculate as always, the furnishings and curtains looking brand-new, fresh flowers on the coffee table in front of the hearth, and a faint smell of lavender wax in the air.
She waited until her sister-in-law had set down the tray and poured the coffee, then she said, trying to sound casual, ‘Jon says you’re thinking of getting a job.’
The spoon Alison was using clattered into the saucer. She said, ‘That’s right.’ There was a brief pause, then she said, ‘As a matter of fact I might be getting my old job back.’
Kate stirred her coffee. ‘With National Television?’
‘With Matt Lincoln,’ Alison said quickly and flatly.
‘Oh,’ said Kate, rather helplessly.
‘It came right out of the blue,’ Alison went on, a faint colour stealing into her face. ‘Apparently none of the girls who’ve been working for him since I left have been the slightest bit of good. And he has an important assignment coming up in a couple of weeks—in the Caribbean. He wants me to go with him.’
Kate drew a deep breath. ‘He does? And what did you say?’
‘I told him I’d think about it.’ There was a note almost of smugness in Alison’s voice. ‘What do you think about that?’
Kate shrugged. ‘What’s more to the point—what is Jon going to think about it?’
‘Jon will just have to get used to the idea.’ Alison’s flush deepened. ‘After all, marriage these days isn’t a terminal condition. There is supposed to be life afterwards. And I’m going to go out of my skull if I have to spend many more days looking out of that window, watching people walk round the close!’ She managed a little laugh.
Kate swallowed, ‘Yes, I can understand that. But—but I thought it was your idea to give up your job when you got married.’
‘It was, but I must have been insane,’ Alison said with sudden sharpness. ‘I suppose I thought …’ She stopped. ‘Well, that doesn’t matter. One of the few benefits of being shut up alone here all day is that it gives you time to think, to realise what a fool you’ve been.’ She took a breath. ‘I should never have left Matt in the first place.’
Kate didn’t like the sound of that. It implied that there had been more to their relationship than work.
‘But we both realise it was a mistake,’ Alison continued. ‘And this Caribbean trip will be a good chance to make sure that we’re—still on the same wavelength.’
Kate drank some coffee. ‘Isn’t the method rather a drastic one?’ she enquired pleasantly.
It was Alison’s turn to shrug. ‘Perhaps. But Jon has his career. Why shouldn’t I be allowed mine?’ She paused. ‘I thought you of all people would understand, Kate. After all, you have your flat, your work, your independence. Don’t tell me you’re dying to give it all up for a flowered pinny the moment your publisher man pops the question!’
There were undercurrents here beneath the mockery which Kate did not feel capable of fathoming.
She said, ‘No, I can’t say that. But on the other hand, I’m not sure I’d be contemplating a trip abroad with another man before my first anniversary either.’
Alison’s giggle jarred. ‘What a fuddy-duddy you are, after all, Kate! Haven’t you ever heard of open marriage? It’s far more interesting than the sort of prison most men want to shut you up in.’