The Marriage Takeover

Seeing his dignity had been wounded, she began, ‘I’m sorry, I—’

But he was going on, ‘When I found it was empty, and there was no sign of you, I began to wonder where the devil you’d got to.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, ‘but I—’

She broke off as, having passed Alan his vermouth, Lang Dalton came and sat down again beside her.

‘There’s no need for Cassandra to apologize,’ he said coolly, obviously having overheard the low-toned conversation. ‘The fault was mine. I asked her to have a private drink with me…’

Alan looked startled.

‘I wanted to sound her out about something before I spoke to you. In the event I didn’t get round to it.’

His brown eyes holding a hint of anxiety, Alan asked, ‘What did you want to speak to me about?’

‘As we’ll be dining shortly, I’d prefer to leave any business discussions until later,’ Lang Dalton told him. He continued decidedly, ‘I make it a rule never to talk shop at the table—whether or not there are other guests present.’

As though picking up a cue, Alan remarked, ‘I haven’t seen any of the other guests around… But perhaps they’re not arriving until tomorrow?’

‘On this occasion there are no other guests. I decided to dispense with the social side and concentrate on the business in hand.’

As he finished speaking, Manuel appeared and announced that dinner was served.

‘Shall we go in?’ Lang got to his feet and waited courteously for Cassandra to lead the way.

The long, polished dining table looked a picture, with fine napkins, cut glass, and a centre-piece of fresh flowers.

It was set for three.

As their host moved to the head of the table and seated Cassandra on his right, Alan queried politely, ‘Your wife isn’t dining with us?’

Lang glanced at him and, the muscles in his jaw tightening, made no reply.

Obviously nonplussed by the other man’s silence, Alan pursued, ‘Perhaps we’ll have the pleasure of meeting her tomorrow?’

‘That isn’t likely.’ His expression a mixture of cold fury and naked pain, Lang added curtly, ‘My wife died nearly six months ago. Surely you knew that?’

Thrown into confusion, Alan stammered, ‘N-no… I— I’m sorry… I had no idea.’

Sitting still and silent, Cassandra could only feel bitterly sorry for him, and angry that Lang Dalton had allowed him to make such a blunder.

A black-coated butler appeared and began to serve melon boats with a compote of chilled summer fruits.

In a strained silence, and never having felt less like eating, she picked up her spoon and began to eat. After a while, glancing up unwarily, she encountered her host’s intent gaze.

Cassandra’s eyes instantly dropped, but not before he’d read in them anger and resentment and an unspoken accusation.

Speaking expressly to her, as though Alan weren’t even present, he said with a hint of steel, ‘You appear to blame me for the…er…faux pas?’

Refusing to be intimidated, she answered quietly, ‘I do.’

‘Well, that’s honest, if not particularly prudent. May I enquire why?’

Knowing she had nothing to lose, she lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. ‘While we were on our way here I asked Alan what you were like…’

Without looking at him she was aware that Alan was sitting transfixed, while, one blond brow raised, Lang waited.

‘He said you were known to have principles, and to be scrupulously fair… If that’s true, I think you’ll admit it would have been rather more ethical on your part, and prevented any such mistake, if you’d mentioned your wife’s death earlier.’

There was dead silence for perhaps ten seconds, before Lang Dalton admitted soberly, ‘You’re quite right, of course.’

Turning to Alan, he added, ‘Please accept my apologies. At first I presumed that it wasn’t a genuine blunder, merely a rather clumsy attempt to conceal the fact that you knew about Nina’s death and the circumstances.’

Then to Cassandra he said, ‘In my own defence I must say that in spite of strenuous efforts to keep things hushed up I could hardly believe the story hadn’t leaked out…’

He stopped speaking as a maid appeared and began to clear away the dishes, while the butler produced the next course.

Lang Dalton was a surprising man, Cassandra thought; despite his arbitrary manner and his undoubted arrogance, he’d been big enough not only to admit a fault, but to apologize.

And clearly Alan’s assessment of him as being hard and lacking in emotion was a false one. Judging by that look of stark pain, he’d loved his wife very much, and was still devastated by her death.

Nina—he’d called her Nina—must have been quite young, much too young to die, and in what appeared to have been tragic and singular circumstances.

Circumstances that had obviously caused tongues to wag. From Lang Dalton’s reaction it seemed clear that he’d been the victim of some vicious gossip, which had left him angry and embittered, suspicious of the most innocent remark.

She could only feel sorry for him.

Having served them from a seafood platter and filled the long-stemmed glasses with a fine white wine from the Napa Valley, at a nod from his master, the butler departed.

When they were once more alone, their host remarked a shade drily, ‘Now, as I’ve made light conversation virtually impossible, I think I’ll break my own rule and get down to business, and the reason I invited you both here.

‘George Irvine, who worked for my father before me, is retiring at the end of next month, so I need a new head of West Coast Finances…’

Looking as if he couldn’t believe his ears, Alan echoed, ‘A new head of West Coast Finances?’

‘And before I begin to make a decision I wanted to know how your fiancée would take to the idea of moving to the States. Sometimes there are family commitments…’

Alan said quickly, ‘My parents died last year, so I’ve no family. Neither has Cass…or at least none who are close.’

Lang Dalton gave him a cool glance, and went on, ‘The finance department is based at Seguro House in Los Angeles, where the two main problems are traffic and smog.

‘Some people love LA, others dislike it intensely. Despite its glamorous Hollywood image, my wife hated it. That’s why I transferred my administrative centre to San Francisco…

‘I understand you’re getting married shortly, and how a wife feels about her husband’s job, and its location, can make a great deal of difference to—’

His voice thick and eager, Alan broke in, ‘I’m quite sure Cass would love to live in LA. Wouldn’t you, darling?’

‘I would prefer Cassandra to make up her own mind,’ Lang said repressively. ‘The States Western Seaboard is a long way from England, and it isn’t easy to leave a country one’s always regarded as home.’