A Passionate Affair: The Passionate Husband / The Italian's Passion / A Latin Passion

Now, as Nicki said carefully, ‘We can do lunch another day if you’d rather, Marsha?’ she suddenly felt enormously guilty.

‘No, not at all.’ She forced a smile. ‘And I’m sorry for being like a bear with a sore head all morning. Come on, let’s go now—and if we’re late back, who cares?’

‘Fighting talk.’ Nicki grinned at her.

To make up for her reluctance, Marsha decided to treat Nicki to lunch at Lyndons—a plush little restaurant a short taxi ride away. Once they had arrived, and were seated at a table for two with an open bottle of wine between them, Marsha relaxed back in her seat with a long sigh. ‘Wine in the lunch hour,’ she said ruefully. ‘I’m slipping, and dragging you down with me.’

‘Drag away,’ Nicki said with relish as she took a hefty swig at her glass. ‘And don’t worry about the Baxter story. Everyone knows it’s a good one and that Penelope is just having one of her turns.’

‘It’s the reason for the turn that’s bothering me more than the story,’ Marsha said soberly.

‘Him?’ Nicki was nothing if not intuitive.

Marsha nodded. Suddenly she found herself telling Nicki all of it—something she hadn’t planned to do at all. She even related her upbringing in the children’s home, the two failed attempts at being adopted, which had occurred mainly because she had been convinced her mother would come back for her, her inability to make close friends after her best friend at the home had been adopted and had never contacted her again—the whole story. This between mouthfuls of smoked salmon salad with potato rosti and horseradish cream, followed by lemon chicken and wild rice with courgette strips and peppers. She finished as they were waiting for the dessert menu.

‘Wow…’ Nicki had shaken her head at regular intervals throughout the account. Now she astounded Marsha by leaning over the table and hugging her with such genuine warmth and sympathy it brought tears to Marsha’s eyes. ‘And you’re still only twenty-seven.’

Nicki hadn’t meant to be funny. Whether it was the other girl’s face, which was so concerned it was comedic, or the amazed note in Nicki’s voice, or yet again the half-bottle of wine, Marsha wasn’t sure, but she was relieved to find herself laughing rather than crying. ‘I feel decades older,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘Especially today. I was just getting my life back and he has to turn up again.’

‘Some men are like that,’ Nicki said, with her vast knowledge of just one. ‘Especially when they look as good as he does. They think they just have to snap their fingers and women fall into their lap like ripe plums.’

‘He doesn’t even have to snap his fingers,’ Marsha said truthfully.

Dessert was a wonderful caramelised lemon and orange tart, which they followed with coffee and the restaurant’s special homemade truffles. By the time Marsha paid the bill, she knew she had found a wealth of affection and friendliness in the other woman.

She had never had a sister, she reflected as the two of them walked out into the bright sunny afternoon, but if she had she could imagine her being just like Nicki.

It was as they were riding back in the taxi that Nicki said thoughtfully, ‘You are absolutely positive that this person who told you about Tanya and said there had been others couldn’t have had an ulterior motive for lying?’

Marsha nodded. It was the same thought which had occurred to her more than once since last night, but each time she had known she was clutching at straws. She didn’t know why she had not told Nicki it was Taylor’s sister who had informed on him—it was the only thing she had kept back. Perhaps it was because she had promised Susan she wouldn’t divulge her name to Taylor, although there was no chance of Nicki ever telling him.

‘You don’t have to say a name, but was it a woman?’ When Marsha nodded again, Nicki frowned. ‘Having seen the man, I’d say there could be an element of doubt there, then.’

Marsha dragged in a deep breath and expelled it resignedly. She’d have to tell her or Nicki would be like a dog with a bone. ‘It was his sister, Susan,’ she said quietly. ‘And she adores him and he, her. So, no motive.’

Nicki glanced at her, her frown deepening. She said nothing, but suggested volumes.

‘What?’ Marsha stared at the other woman.

‘You’ve never lived in a family environment so you might have an idealised view of siblings,’ Nicki said flatly. ‘Believe me, being a sister or a brother doesn’t automatically qualify you for instant sainthood. There’s all sorts of undercurrents in the human psyche, and siblings can bring out the worst in other siblings. When I got a 2.1 at uni, and my sister got a 2.2 two years later, she didn’t speak to me for six months.’

‘We’re talking marriage break-up here, Nicki. Not someone being miffed because of a grade in a degree.’

‘Oh, believe me, I could tell you worse stories. Not about my sister,’ Nicki added hurriedly, as latent loyalty kicked in, ‘but rivalry and jealousy can be at their most intense in families.’

‘He’s been like mother and father to her all her life,’ Marsha argued vehemently. ‘She worships the ground he walks on. Even her husband has to take second place to Taylor.’

‘Really?’ Nicki wrinkled her nose. ‘Unhealthy.’

‘And she was great to me from day one. She was even my maid of honour.’

‘Doesn’t mean a thing,’ Nicki stated evenly. ‘Now, I’m not saying she lied, Marsha, but it’s not impossible. Nothing is. At least consider the possibility.’

‘Why?’ said Marsha, and her brows came together in a perplexed frown at the other girl’s doggedness.

‘Because you still love him,’ Nicki said very quietly.

‘And being brought up as you were means there’s a whole chunk of experience missing, and that makes you vulnerable.’

‘Don’t say I’m insecure,’ Marsha warned fiercely.

‘The word will never pass my lips.’

The rest of the day passed in a whirl of trying to catch up on what she’d missed in the morning as she sat and fumed at Penelope’s cavalier treatment of her work. By seven o’clock everyone she normally worked with had gone, and the headache—which the wine had not improved at lunchtime and which she had kept at bay all afternoon with medication—was now a persistent drumming, sending hot flashes of pain into her brain.

When she emerged from the building into the warm June evening she winced as bright sunlight met her eyes, but a search of her handbag revealed she had left her sunglasses at home. Wonderful. The day had just got better and better and looked as if it was going to end on a high note, she thought darkly, the noise of the traffic seeming to roar through her aching head.

‘Do you always work this late?’

Her pulse gave a mighty leap and she caught her breath, turning her head to see Taylor standing a yard or so to her right. He was dressed in black jeans and a short-sleeved shirt the colour of his eyes, and he looked wonderful. He smiled at her surprise, his strong white teeth a contrast to his tanned skin.

She thought about her answer for a second or two, instead of coming out with her first response of, What are you doing here? And, considering the headache and the sort of day she’d had, she was rather pleased with the coolness of her voice when she said, ‘You should know, surely, with little Miss Private Detective keeping you up to date?’

‘Ow.’ The devastating smile turned into a grin in which there wasn’t a trace of remorse. ‘I should have expected that one.’

And he needn’t try his charm on her either! He was going to get a nice juicy contract, courtesy of a plainly besotted Penelope, and she was going to get a couple of weeks of frustration, trying to dig up more data when everyone knew all avenues had been exhausted and it wasn’t necessary anyway. A shaft of white-hot pain shot through her head and exploded out of her eyes, causing her to visibly wince.

‘What’s wrong?’ The grin had vanished and his voice was soft and deep as he took her arm, drawing her out of the way of other pedestrians and shielding her with his body as they stood at the side of the building.

‘Don’t.’ She shook off his hand, refusing the physical contact. ‘It’s just a headache, that’s all.’

He took in her white face and the blue shadows of exhaustion under her eyes. ‘How did the meeting go?’ he asked quietly.

‘Great.’ She stared straight at him. ‘Penelope accused me of slackness and implied I wasn’t up to the job in front of everyone when she knows full well the story’s a hot one. A none too subtle punishment for yesterday. Consequently the story’s on hold for a couple of weeks.’

‘That’s not the end of the world, is it?’

This from a man who had to have everything flowing like clockwork in his work, down to the last ‘i’ being dotted the second he demanded it. ‘Right now, yes, it is,’ she said flatly. ‘Not that I would expect you to understand for a minute. Your girlfriend is a nasty piece of work, and I resent being made to look a fool simply because I’m your wife—not that that will be the case for much longer.’

His expression altered as he absorbed her words. ‘One, Penelope is not my girlfriend. Two, I understand your frustration perfectly. Three, you need a bath, then a light supper, followed by some medication to knock you out, and a cool dark room to sleep the effects off. Agreed?’

It sounded wonderful, but she wasn’t about to tell him she didn’t have the luxury of a bath in her tiny shower room, or that her fridge boasted nothing more than a wilting lettuce and half a carton of cottage cheese which had probably passed its sell-by date. ‘Quite.’ She nodded carefully. She wasn’t too sure her head wouldn’t fall off with any vigorous movement. ‘So if you’ll excuse me I’ll be off home.’

‘You don’t intend to walk, feeling like you do?’

Not with Taylor in tow. ‘I’m going to get a taxi,’ she said tersely, his statement about Penelope a massive question mark in her mind. She needed to be somewhere quiet and think.

‘No need.’ He smiled sunnily. ‘My car’s parked over there. I can have you home in two jiffs.’