LITMIR.BIZ

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course, but when he’s having a bad day …’ She shook her head.

      ‘You’re a saint. Do you know that?’ Jenny told her fondly as she got up and gave her a loving hug.

       CHAPTER THREE

      ‘… MADDY WAS SAYING that when she and Max went to dinner with Olivia and Caspar, Olivia was … Jon, you aren’t listening to a word I’m saying,’ Jenny protested.

      ‘Sorry, Jen. What was that?’ Jon apologised, giving his wife a penitent look.

      ‘I was just trying to talk to you about how concerned both Maddy and I are about Olivia and Caspar,’ Jenny told him mock sternly and then sighed and asked him more gently, ‘What is it, Jon? What’s wrong?’

      ‘Nothing,’ he denied swiftly, too swiftly in Jenny’s wifely opinion.

      ‘Yes, there is,’ she insisted. ‘Tell me.’

      ‘It’s David,’ Jon admitted with reluctance. ‘I just can’t stop thinking about him. I don’t want to. Heaven knows I’ve got a hundred other things I ought to be thinking about—at least—but no matter how hard I try to keep him out, he keeps coming into my mind.’

      Because she understood and loved him, instead of allowing him to see her curiosity by demanding further details, she simply smiled and said nonchalantly, ‘Oh, I expect it’s just because we’ve been talking about him recently.’

      ‘Mmm … that’s what I thought,’ Jon agreed in relief. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked as Jenny suddenly got up out of her armchair and hurried towards the sitting-room door.

      ‘Oh, I just remembered that I need to give Katie a ring. She was saying the other day that she had no idea what to get her mother-in-law for her birthday and I saw the very thing for her in the shop, the prettiest Dresden inkstand.’

      The antiques shop in Haslewich, which had originally been owned and run by Jenny and her partner, Guy Cooke, but which was now owned solely by Guy and run by one of his cousins, Didi, was a favourite stopping-off point for Jenny whenever she went into town. Still, Jon couldn’t help giving a faint, pained male sigh of incomprehension and bewilderment at his wife’s sudden and to him inexplicable need to speak with their daughter right in the middle of a discussion about something else.

      ‘I thought you wanted to talk to me about Olivia and Caspar,’ Jon complained.

      ‘Yes. I did … I do,’ Jenny agreed. ‘But you know what I’m like. If I don’t ring Katie now and tell her about the inkstand, I’ll probably forget.’

      Jon blinked a little in surprise at this disarming statement since, as he had good cause to know, Jenny never forgot anything. She could, he often privately thought, have masterminded the provisioning and deployment of an army were she called upon to do so, so excellent was her grasp on all the many different threads of her life. Still, who was he as a mere male, a mere husband, to question the intricate thought patterns of a master tactician?

      ‘Katie?’ Jenny answered her daughter’s hello as she picked up the telephone receiver. ‘Do you ever find that Louise sometimes pops into your thoughts, sometimes when you don’t really expect her to be there?’

      ‘As though she’s trying to get in touch with me, you mean?’ Katie responded to her mother’s question with immediate insight. ‘It did happen, especially when we were younger and she wanted to borrow money off me.’ She laughed before saying more seriously, ‘Yes, I do get her in my thoughts. Why do you ask?’

      ‘Oh, it’s nothing, not really. Oh, and by the way, I saw the ideal present for Seb’s mother in the shop the other day. It—’

      ‘—the antique inkstand. I’ve already bought it for her,’ Katie told her mother triumphantly. ‘I was in town myself this afternoon and the moment I saw it I knew she’d love it. I bumped into Maddy, as well. She said something about consulting a herbalist to see if she could do anything to help Gramps.’

      ‘Mmm … she was telling me all about it earlier,’ Jenny said.

      ‘It isn’t a herbalist he really needs,’ Katie told her sadly. ‘It’s a magician, someone who can wave a wand and bring Uncle David back for him. Speaking of which, this herbalist of Maddy’s wouldn’t be the woman who’s moved into Foxdean, would it? She was in the health-food shop when I went in the other day. Very attractive. Tall, dark-haired, with the most amazingly piercing blue eyes, and despite her casual clothes she had that unmistakable look of elegance about her—if you know what I mean. After she had gone, Didi told me that she’s related to Lord Astlegh, a second cousin or something.’

      ‘Well, Guy will know. He’s very close to Lord Astlegh and he goes over to Fitzburgh Place pretty regularly. Foxdean. It’s very brave of her to have moved in there.’

      ‘Because of the ghost? Oh, come on, Ma, you don’t believe in that, do you?’

      ‘No, of course not. What I meant was that she was brave to move in there because of the state of the house. Look, I must go. Your father will be waiting for his supper. We’ll be seeing you on Sunday, though, won’t we?’

      ‘You certainly will. Seb says that nothing would stop him from eating one of your Sunday lunches.’

      After replacing the receiver, Jenny went over to the fridge, opened it and removed some of her home-made pâté. Jon loved cheese and pickles with fresh, crusty bread for his supper, but it gave him the most dreadful indigestion. He would complain about being given the pâté instead, of course, but he would still enjoy it.

      Was it a sign that they were becoming old that the very predictability of her husband’s reactions was something she found reassuring and comforting as well as amusing rather than boring or irritating? If so, then as far as she was concerned, it was a definite plus point. The heady excitement that accompanied the early stages of being in love might have been denied to her and Jon for a variety of complex reasons that were now past history, but Jenny felt she had been more than compensated for its absence by the deep and richly joyous loving contentment and companionship they now shared. And for her, sex, too, was something that had improved and become infinitely more pleasurable in these past few years.

      It now seemed odd to think that she had once envied David and Tania their outwardly so perfect marriage, feeling that everyone who knew them must pity Jon because his plain, dull wife in no way matched up to the exciting glamour attached to being married to an ex-model.

      Quietly, she picked up the supper tray and headed for the sitting room, the new fitted carpets they had splashed out on the previous autumn muffling the sound of her footsteps as she pushed open the door.

      Jon was standing with his back towards her, studying one of the photographs she kept on the small antique bureau. Silently, Jenny watched him.

      The photograph was one that had been taken on the night of David and Jon’s shared fiftieth birthday party. Jenny forgot who had taken it, but it had caught David and Jon in mid-conversation with one another and conveyed a closeness that in reality had not existed, a rapport that for some reason made them look even more physically alike than they actually were.

      Although he rarely spoke about it to her now, Jenny knew just how much David’s disloyalty and dishonesty had distressed Jon.

      ‘If my father knew what Ruth and I were doing by covering up for David, he would be shocked senseless,’ Jon had sadly said to Jenny at the time his brother’s fraud came to light.

      Jenny had said nothing. If David had committed a murder, Ben would have expected and even demanded that Jon claim the crime was his to spare David any punishment.

      ‘If you didn’t let Ruth pay back the money, could you ever forgive yourself?’ Jenny had asked him.

      The bleak smile he had given her had supplied the answer. Jon was the

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