Marriage Reclaimed. Sara Craven

paused. ‘But that’s enough about me. Tell me about you. Was that your husband who passed us the other afternoon? He looked rather fierce.’

      ‘His father died last month,’ Joanna said quietly. ‘It’s not a particularly joyous time—for either of us.’

      ‘God, I’m sorry.’ He looked genuinely remorseful.

      ‘You weren’t to know.’

      ‘Have you been married long?’

      Hardly at all, thought Joanna. Aloud, she said, ‘Three years, but Gabriel’s been away much of the time. He has a very successful investment company.’

      ‘And you don’t accompany him on his travels?’ The blue eyes sharpened. ‘How can he let you out of his sight?’

      Joanna looked down at her glass. ‘We have an arrangement that works,’ she said. She forced a smile. ‘I’m getting hungry. Shall we go and see what the wine bar has to offer?’

      They reached it down a flight of stone steps. It was a long room, with a polished wooden floor and a low ceiling. One wall was taken up with wine racks, and a blackboard displayed the day’s menu, which seemed to specialise in seafood.

      Joanna decided on sea bass, with scallops wrapped in bacon to start, while Paul chose game terrine, followed by steak.

      He wanted to order two bottles of wine, one white and one red, to complement their respective meals, but Joanna hastily dissuaded him, saying firmly that one glass of the house white would suffice for her.

      He seemed disposed to argue the point, so she excused herself and went to the women’s cloakroom.

      She looked reasonable, she thought, viewing herself critically in the big mirror above the basin. Not glamorous or exciting, but reasonable. She was wearing a flared black skirt, with the new cream silk shirt, and a patchwork waistcoat in jewel colours.

      I seem like someone about to have dinner with an attractive man, she thought detachedly. That’s if you don’t look too deeply into my eyes. And as long as he doesn’t expect too much.

      I ought to have watched Cynthia, of course. Observed the body language. Practised that husky note she puts into her voice.

      Although Paul Gordon might then think she was marginally interested in him, and that simply wasn’t the case.

      Except that he puzzled her slightly, she amended inwardly. He claimed to be a struggling writer, yet while his shabby clothes bore out his claim, his wallet was brand-new, and stuffed with money.

      And the dogs, she remembered suddenly, hadn’t liked him.

      She gave herself a wry glance as she turned away. Was she simply inventing a mystery to get her through what could prove to be a sticky evening? Very probably. Well, she would eat her dinner, thank him nicely, and make sure their paths didn’t cross again.

      When she got back to the table the wine had been served, and the waitress was just bringing their first courses.

      It was easier once the food arrived. It was good, so it could be praised, and reference made to likes and dislikes, and other meals enjoyed elsewhere. Far safer topics than any further interrogation over the state of her marriage.

      The main course had been brought, and the vegetable dishes were being placed on the table, when the outer door opened, bringing in a sudden gust of cold air.

      Joanna glanced up casually, then stiffened in incredulity as Gabriel came into view. Eyes widening, she watched him slip off his overcoat and hang it on the rack by the entrance before walking across to the bar. Judging by his reception, he was clearly a regular and valued customer.

      Of all the gin joints in all the world, she thought dismally. Although he had to eat somewhere when he wasn’t at the Manor, she supposed, and Cynthia was certainly no cook.

      ‘Is something wrong?’ Paul leaned towards her attentively.

      She shrugged. ‘It seems my husband has decided to dine here tonight as well.’

      ‘Oh.’ His head turned sharply in the direction of the bar. ‘Is this going to be a problem for you?’

      ‘Not in the least.’ She gestured at her plate. ‘This sea bass is delicious.’

      ‘He’s seen us,’ Paul muttered. ‘He’s coming across.’

      He was already beside them. ‘Joanna—what a delightful surprise.’ His drawl was pronounced. ‘Won’t you introduce me to your companion?’

      She acquiesced reluctantly, making them known to each other in a small wooden voice.

      ‘Won’t you join us?’ Paul asked expansively.

      ‘Thank you, no. I’m expecting a guest myself.’ He looked down at Joanna. ‘You didn’t tell me you were dining out tonight, darling?’

      ‘That’s because I didn’t know. It—was a last-minute thing. Paul happened to be passing the shop, and we found we were both at a loose end.’

      And why was she embarking on this string of explanations, as if she needed to justify herself, when Cynthia would no doubt be arriving in the next few minutes?

      Perhaps it was because of the undercurrent of anger that she sensed in his cool, almost languid tone.

      But what the hell did he have to be angry about, anyway? she wondered, deliberately needling herself. She was the one with the right to be mad. The right to get her own back.

      ‘At a loose end?’ Gabriel sounded meditative. The smile he directed at them both was charming. ‘A dangerous situation for a wife to be in. Maybe I should make sure that your every moment is fully occupied in future, my sweet.’

      Joanna’s fork clattered on her plate. She kept her voice level. ‘But for that you’d have to be around far more often than you are, Gabriel. And you know how boring that would get.’

      She picked up her glass and drank, hoping the cool wine would assuage the burn in her throat.

      ‘Then I’d have to make sure it was worth the sacrifice.’ Gabriel’s voice was light, but there was a note in it which sent a shiver across her nerve-endings. ‘Enjoy what’s left of your meal, both of you.’ And, with a nod, he walked away back to the bar.

      ‘Oh, dear,’ Paul commented, sotto voce. ‘I think you could be in trouble, Mrs Verne.’

      ‘Nonsense.’ Joanna spoke stoutly, helping herself to more broccoli. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that Gabriel was using the public telephone at the end of the bar. Warning Cynthia to delay her arrival, no doubt, until they had completed their meal and departed.

      She found herself wondering, vengefully, if it was possible to make a pudding and a pot of coffee last until the wine bar closed.

      But Gabriel would soon see through that ploy, and extricate himself with another phone call. And it would also mean several more hours in Paul’s company, a prospect which she didn’t particularly relish, although she’d have been hard put to it to say why.

      He was clearly exerting himself to be pleasant. In his own book, she supposed, he hadn’t put a foot wrong. Yet there was just—something which didn’t gel.

      He was almost too smooth. His answers seemed too pat, as if he’d done a crash course in the responses she’d find acceptable. And that was ridiculous.

      I’m the problem, she thought, putting down her knife and fork with regret. Maybe this is how the dating game works, and I’m just not used to it.

      ‘Is that all you’re going to eat?’ He looked at her plate with concern.

      ‘I’m not as hungry as I thought.’ She forced a smile. ‘Do you think we could get the bill and go, please?’

      ‘Yes, of course.’ Paul signalled to the waitress.

      In