The Marriage Bed. Helen Bianchin

caper dressing. ‘Delicious,’ she complimented. ‘Franz has excelled himself.’

      ‘Thank you, darling,’ Leon said gently. ‘Now, do mingle. You already know almost everyone. I’ll be back with you later.’

      She moved forward, conscious of the interest their presence aroused. It was definitely smile-time, and she greeted one fellow guest after another with innate charm, pausing to indulge in idle chatter before moving on.

      How long would it be before James made an entrance with Monique on one arm and Annaliese on the other? Ten, fifteen minutes?

      Twenty, Gabbi acknowledged when she caught sight of her father, caught his smile and returned it as he threaded his way through the throng of guests.

      ‘Hello, darling.’ He squeezed her hand, then turned to greet his son-in-law. ‘Benedict.’

      ‘Monique.’ Gabbi went through with the air-kiss routine. ‘Annaliese.’

      Her stepsister’s perfume was subtle. Her dress, however, was not. Black, it fitted Annaliese’s slender curves like a glove, the hemline revealing an almost obscene length of long, smooth thigh and highlighting the absence of a bra.

      There wasn’t a red-blooded man in the room whose eyes didn’t momentarily gleam with appreciation. Nor was there a woman in doubt of her man who didn’t fail to still the slither of alarm at the sight of this feline female on the prowl.

      Gabbi could have assured each and every one of them that their fears were unfounded. Benedict was the target, she the victim.

      ‘Have you seen anything you like?’

      To anyone overhearing the enquiry, it sounded remarkably genuine. Gabbi, infinitely more sensitive, recognised the innuendo in Annaliese’s voice and searched for it in Benedict’s reply.

      ‘Yes. One or two pieces have caught my interest.’

      ‘Are you going to buy?’ asked Monique, intrigued, yet able to portray dispassionate detachment.

      Gabbi doubted if James was aware of his stepdaughter’s machinations, or her collusion with his wife.

      ‘Possibly,’ Benedict enlightened her smoothly.

      ‘You must point them out to me,’ Annaliese purred in a voice filled with seductive promise.

      Gabbi wanted to hit her. For a wild second she envisaged the scene and drew satisfaction from a mental victory.

      ‘Numbers five and thirty-seven,’ Benedict was informing Annaliese.

      ‘Gabbi, why don’t you take Monique and Annaliese on a tour of the exhibits?’ James suggested. ‘I have something I’d like to discuss with Benedict.’

      Oh, my. Did her father realise he’d just thrown her to the lions?

      ‘The girls can go,’ Monique said sweetly. ‘I’ll have a word with Bertrice Osterman.’

      How opportune for one of the society doyennes to be within close proximity. Gabbi offered Annaliese a faint smile. ‘Shall we begin?’

      It took two minutes and something like twenty paces to reach Benedict’s first choice. ‘It leans towards the avant garde,’ Gabbi declared. ‘But it will brighten up one of the office walls.’

      ‘Cut the spiel, Gabbi,’ Annaliese said in bored tones. ‘These art exhibitions are the pits.’

      ‘But socially stimulating, wouldn’t you agree?’

      ‘Monique came along to be seen, and—’

      ‘So did you,’ Gabbi intercede quietly.

      ‘By Benedict.’

      She felt the breath catch in her throat, and willed her expression not to change.

      ‘Surely you didn’t doubt it, darling?’

      ‘I expected nothing less,’ she managed civilly.

      ‘Then we understand each other.’

      Gabbi extended a hand towards a row of paintings. ‘Shall we pretend to look at the other exhibits?’ She even managed a credible smile. ‘It will provide you with a topic of conversation.’

      Annaliese was, Gabbi conceded, a consummate actress. No one in the room would guess there was no love lost between the two stepsisters. And Gabbi hated participating in the facade.

      For fifteen minutes they wandered, paused and examined, before rejoining James and Benedict. Monique was nowhere in sight.

      ‘Wonderful choice, Benedict,’ Annaliese said in a deliberately throaty tone. ‘There’s a sculpture that would look incredible in the corner of your office. You must come and see it.’ She turned towards Gabbi. ‘It is quite spectacular, isn’t it, darling?’

      ‘Spectacular,’ Gabbi conceded, taking a fresh flute of champagne from the tray proffered by a waiter. She lifted the glass to her lips and took a pensive sip, then dared to raise her eyes to meet those of her husband. They were dark and faintly brooding, with just a tinge of latent humour. He was amused, damn him!

      ‘Then I shall have to take a look.’

      ‘Talk to James, darling, while I drag Benedict away.’

      It was a beautiful manoeuvre, Gabbi applauded silently as Annaliese drew Benedict across the room.

      ‘She’s grown into a very attractive girl,’ James said quietly, and Gabbi inclined her head.

      ‘Very attractive,’ she agreed solemnly.

      ‘Incredibly successful, too.’

      ‘Yes.’ She took a careful sip of champagne and steeled herself not to glance towards where Annaliese held Benedict’s attention.

      ‘I looked at those figures you submitted. They’re excellent.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she accepted, pleased at his praise.

      ‘You possess your mother’s integrity, her sense of style,’ he said gently. ‘I’m very proud of you, Gabbi. And of what you’ve achieved.’

      She brushed a quick kiss over his cheek. ‘I love you too.’

      ‘James.’

      Gabbi turned at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, smiled, and stood quietly as her father completed an introduction. A business associate who seemed intent on discussing the effects of an upcoming state election. With a murmured excuse, she left the two men to converse and began threading her way towards the opposite side of the room.

      There were quite a few people present whom she knew, and she paused to exchange greetings.

      A painting had caught her eye shortly after they’d arrived, and she wanted to take another look at it.

      ‘Gabbi.’

      ‘Francesca!’ Her smile was genuinely warm as she embraced the tall, svelte auburn-haired model. ‘It seems ages since I last saw you.’

      ‘Too long,’ Francesca agreed. ‘The catwalks were exhausting, and—’ she paused fractionally ‘—the family daunting.’

      ‘Do we get to talk about this over lunch?’

      Francesca’s smile was infectious. ‘Tomorrow?’

      ‘Love to,’ Gabbi agreed, and named a fashionable restaurant a short distance from the office. ‘Twelve-thirty?’

      ‘Done.’ Francesca took hold of her arm. ‘Do you particularly want to watch Annaliese’s attempt to snare Benedict?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Then let’s do the unexpected and examine the art exhibits for any hidden talent!’ An eyebrow arched in a sardonic gesture as she cast a glance at a nearby sculpture. ‘There has to be some, surely?’

      ‘It’s