Marriage By Deception. Sara Craven

it’s hardly Booker Prize stuff, angel. You’ve said so yourself.’

      ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But that doesn’t necessarily mean I want to hear it from anyone else.’

      ‘Come on, Ros.’ He looked like a small boy who’d been slapped—something she’d always found endearing in the past. ‘It was just a slip of the tongue. I didn’t really mean it. Janie makes me so irritated…’

      ‘Oddly enough, she feels the same about you.’ Ros leaned back in her chair, giving him a steady look.

      ‘Indeed?’ he said stiffly. ‘I fail to see why.’

      ‘Well don’t worry about it,’ she said. ‘From now on I’ll keep her vagaries strictly to myself.’

      ‘But I want you to feel you can confide in me,’ he protested. ‘I’m there for you, Ros. You know that.’ He swallowed. ‘I’m booked to go with the lads on a rugby tour next week, but I’ll cancel it if you want. If I can help with Janie.’

      Ros smiled involuntarily. ‘I appreciate the sacrifice, but it isn’t necessary. I think the two of you are better apart. And the rugby tour will do you good.’

      It will do us both good, was the secret, unbidden thought that came to her.

      He looked faintly relieved, and handed her the dessert menu. ‘I suppose you’ll have your usual crème caramel?’

      ‘No,’ she said crisply. ‘Tonight I’m having the Amaretto soufflé with clotted cream.’

      He laughed indulgently. ‘Living dangerously, darling?’

      ‘Yes,’ Ros said slowly. ‘I think maybe I will. From now on.’

      ‘Well, don’t change too much.’ He lowered his voice intimately. ‘Because I happen to think you’re perfect just as you are.’

      ‘How strange,’ she said. ‘Because I bore myself rigid.’

      She smiled angelically into his astonished eyes. ‘I’d like brandy with my coffee tonight, please. And, Colin, make it a double.’

      The days that followed were peaceful enough. Ros saw little of Janie, who was either working or at Pam’s house, but nothing more had been said about ‘Lonely in London’, so she could only hope that the younger girl had thought again.

      Colin departed on his rugby tour, still expressing his concern, and promising to phone her each evening.

      ‘There’s really no need,’ she’d protested, a touch wearily. ‘We’re not joined at the hip.’

      We’re not even engaged, the small, annoying voice in her head had added.

      ‘And I think we could both do with some space,’ she’d gone on carefully. ‘To help us get things into perspective.’

      ‘Good riddance,’ was Janie’s comment when she heard he’d departed. ‘So, while the cat’s away, is the mouse going to play?’

      ‘The mouse,’ Ros said drily, ‘is going to work. I’m behind schedule with the book.’

      ‘You mean you’re going to stay cooped up in that office all the time?’ Janie was incredulous.

      ‘It’s my coop, and I like it,’ Ros returned. ‘But I am going out later—to get my hair cut.’ She laughed at Janie’s disgusted look. ‘Face it, love. You’re the party girl, and I’m the sobering influence.’

      Janie gave her a long, slow stare. ‘You mean if a genie came out of a bottle and granted you three wishes there’s nothing about your life you’d change?’ She shook her head. ‘That’s so sad. You should seize your opportunities—like me.’

      ‘By replying to dodgy newspaper ads, no doubt,’ Ros said acidly. ‘Have you had a reply yet?’

      ‘No,’ Janie said cheerfully. ‘But I will.’ She glanced at her watch and gasped. ‘Crumbs, I’m due in the West End in half an hour. I must fly.’ And she was gone, in a waft of expensive perfume.

      Ros turned back to her computer screen, but found she was thinking about Janie’s three wishes rather than her story.

      More disturbingly, she was questioning whether any of the wishes would relate to Colin.

      A year ago I’d have had no doubts, she thought sombrely. And Colin is still practical, reliable and kind—all the things I liked when we met. And attractive too, she added, a mite defensively.

      He hasn’t changed, she thought. It’s me. I feel as if there’s nothing more about him to learn. That there are no surprises left. And I didn’t even know I wanted to be surprised.

      It was the same with the house, she realised, shocked. She hadn’t needed to do a thing to it. It looked and felt exactly the same as it had when Venetia Blake was alive, apart from some redecoration. But that had been her choice, she reminded herself.

      She found herself remembering what the will had said. ‘To my beloved granddaughter, Rosamund, my house in Gilshaw Street, and its contents, in the hope that she will use them properly.’

      I hope I’ve done so, she thought. I love the house, and the garden. So why do I feel so unsettled?

      And why am I so thankful that Colin’s miles away in the north of England?

      I’m lucky to have this house, she told herself fiercely. And lucky to have Colin, too. He’s a good man—a nice man. And I’m an ungrateful cow.

      Janie bounced into the kitchen that evening, triumphantly waving a letter. ‘It’s “Lonely in London”,’ she said excitedly. ‘He wants to meet me.’

      ‘I didn’t know you’d had any mail today.’

      ‘Actually I used Pam’s address,’ Janie said airily. ‘Covering my tracks until I’ve checked him out. Good idea, eh?’

      ‘Wonderful,’ Ros said with heavy irony. ‘And here’s an even better one—put that letter straight in the bin.’

      Janie tossed her head. ‘Nonsense. We’re getting together at Marcellino’s on Thursday evening and he’s going to be carrying a red rose. Isn’t that adorable?’

      ‘If you like a man who thinks in clichés,’ Ros returned coolly. She paused. ‘What about Martin?’

      Janie shrugged. ‘He’s called on my mobile a couple of times. He wants us to meet.’

      ‘What did you say?’

      ‘That I was getting my life in place and wanted no distraction.’ Janie gave a cat-like smile. ‘He was hanging round outside the store tonight, but I dodged him.’

      ‘I just hope you know what you’re doing.’

      ‘I know exactly. Now all I have to do is write back to “Lonely in London” telling him I’ll see him at eight—and pick out what to wear. I’ve decided to go on being “Looking for Love” until we’ve had our date.’ She paused for breath, and took a long, surprised look at Ros. ‘Hey—what have you done to your hair?’

      ‘I said I was having it cut.’ Ros touched it self-consciously. But it hadn’t stopped at a trim. There’d been something about the way the stylist had said, ‘Your usual, Miss Craig?’ that had touched a nerve.

      ‘No,’ she’d said. ‘I’d like something totally different.’ And had emerged, dazed, two hours later, with her hair deftly layered and highlighted.

      ‘It’s really cool. I love it.’ Janie whistled admiringly. ‘There’s hope for you yet, Ros.’

      She vanished upstairs, and Ros began peeling the vegetables for dinner with a heavy frown.

      This is all bad news, she thought. Janie may be using an alias, but Pam’s address is real, and in an upmarket area. And