Semi-Detached Marriage
Sally Wentworth
CHAPTER ONE
There was a queue at the check-out at the supermarket, and Cassandra Ventris tapped her foot impatiently as she waited her turn. Come on, get a move on, can't you? But the woman at the head of the line was fussily packing her groceries neatly into her shopping bags as if she had all the time in the world, whereas Cassie had to get home and cook the main course for tonight's dinner party as well as do the table and get herself ready before seven thirty.
She glanced again at her watch; it was almost six now.
If that darned woman at the front didn't get a move on she'd still be arranging the table when the guests arrived.
She'd meant to do it his morning, of course, but there hadn't been time. No matter how organised she was, there still never seemed to be time. At last the woman was paying and. moving away, and Cassie gave a sigh of relief as the other two people in front of her got quickly through and she was able to empty her own wire basket and hastily pack the things in a couple of plastic bags.
Outside the supermarket the February winds made her shiver and she pulled her coat close around her, feeling the cold even more after the warmth of the shop. Luckily she only had to walk a few hundred yards to the flat and she hurried along, a tall, slim figure in her belted black coat and high-heeled boots, the winds teasing out tendrils of chestnut hair from the neat, upswept style she'd worn to work.
The flat was on the second floor of a largish block in St John's Wood. From the outside the building didn't look very attractive, but the flats were large and airy, there was ample parking and a small square of grass and trees outside, and, most important of all, it was conveniently situated on the outskirts of central London within walking distance of an Underground station. Cassie didn't bother with the lift but hurried up the two flights of stairs, trying to carry the shopping and fumble for the bunch of keys in her bag at the same time. She found them, but had to put down the shopping bags outside the door while she picked out the right one. There were letters on the mat behind the door, but beyond stooping to pick them up and put them on the hall table she ignored them; they would have to wait.
`Simon?' She called her husband's name in the faint hope that he might have got home early, but the flat was silent, there was no answering call. She hurried to the kitchen, dropping her coat on a chair on the way, and hurriedly began to prepare the main course, rolling out a piece of ready-made pastry in which to wrap the fillet of beef, putting it in the oven and getting the vegetables ready to put on later. The first course and the dessert were to be cold, and she'd cheated and bought them already made the day before. It wasn't that she couldn't cook; she'd learnt the basics at school and had taken an evening class course on continental cookery when she and Simon had got engaged, but there just wasn't the time to mess about with long complicated recipes. And besides, the practical side of her rebelled at spending hours preparing a dish that would be eaten in about twenty minutes with nothing left to show for it but a pile of washing up that would take another hour to clear. Or at least it would done if she hadn't insisted that they lash out on a dish-washer soon after they'd moved in.
With the meat cooking, Cassie was able to give her attention to the rest of the flat. At least it was clean and tidy, she could be sure that Mrs. Payne, their cleaning woman, had seen to that. Although she had rather eccentric ideas about punctuality and was not above helping herself to a drop of gin to keep out the cold or the heat, depending on the season, she was an energetic worker and was indispensable in the smooth running of their lives. Not that Cassie ever saw her very much, because she had always left for work beforeMrs. Payne arrived and didn't get home until after she'd gone. She was just an invisible good fairy who came twice a week and left notes in prominent places if she needed anything—an arrangement that worked very well so long as the gin didn't run out.
The flat was carpeted throughout in deep-pile creamy white and had very modern furniture. The walls, too, were painted white, but one whole wall in the living room was given over to bookshelves and racks of records, and there were several pictures on the walls and lots of brightly coloured and oddly-shaped cushions on the long, low settee. There was also a big red leather chesterfield which Cassie didn't particularly like but which Simon had insisted on bringing from his parents’ home. It was quite old and rather scratched, and there were scuff marks on one arm because Simon always put his feet up on it while he was watching television.
There were two bedrooms with a bathroom in between, a kitchen and hall, as well as the like big living room which had the dining table at the far end set into a bay formed by the windows overlooking the square of garden.
In summer it was pleasant too look out at the trees and you could almost imagine you were out in the country if it wasn't for the hum of the traffic, but now Cassie pulled the heavy velvet curtains shut and turned on all the lights while she put the mats and cutlery on the glass topped table.
While she worked she played back the cassette on the answer-phone, listening to the messages. There was one from a local firm with an estimate for new fitted wardrobes in the main bedroom, and another in her mother's terse voice issuing an invitation cum command to visit them on her father's birthday. Cassie smiled when she heard it; her mother hated speaking to the answer-phone machine and it had taken ages before she'd been persuaded not to ring off and keep trying until she found them at home. But then she'd realised how useful it could be when she wanted Cassie to do something she might not want to without being able to argue back, and had consented to use the device. A third call was from her dentist confirming the time of an appointment, and then Simon's familiar voice, crisp and authoritative, even though hurried: `I'm sorry, darling, but something's cropped up and I may be later getting home than I'd hoped. Should be able to make it, though, if all goes well; I'll phone you if I can't, of course. Don't forget to put the wine to chill, if I'm not there on time. 'Bye, darling. See you.'
Cassie's brows drew into a frown of annoyance. Not again! Lately it seemed as though every time they made arrangements to entertain or to go out Simon was kept late at the office. Still, as he'd pointed out, she'd known when she married him that his job as troubleshooter for a large industrial concern would be very demanding, keeping him late to try and solve problems over the phone or, if there was an emergency, sending him almost anywhere in the world at a moment's notice. And just now his company was having some trouble with a new oil terminal they were building in Scotland, and Simon had his hands full trying to deal with it. The clock in the hall struck the hour and Cassie hurriedly checked on the roast before going into the bathroom for a quick shower, turning the radio on so that she could listen to the music on Radio Two. She dressed and made up again quickly, brushing her long chestnut hair and arranging it with deft, practiced hands by parting it in the middle and taking a lock back from either side and fastening it at the back, like a girl in a Pre-Raphaelite painting. A long-sleeved crushed velvet dress in deep red and soft, delicate make-up that emphasised her eyes increased the illusion, but Cassie only wasted a second on a critical look at herself in the mirror before hurrying back to the kitchen to put an apron over her dress while she did the vegetables and put the wine to cool.
As she did so she beard Simon's key in the lock and he called out to her as he hurried through to the bedroom. Cassie glanced at the clock on the cooker seven twenty-five. With any luck the guests would be a few minutes late and she would have enough time to arrange the flowers she'd bought on the way home.
She had just finished and placed the centrepiece on the table when the bell rang. Taking off the apron, she threw it into the kitchen, took a last glance at herself in the mirror in the ha
ll as she smoothed her dress, then opened the door with a serene, welcoming smile, as if she had had all the time in the world.
The first couple to arrive were Sue and Christopher Martin, as Cassie had guessed they would be. They hadn't been to the flat before as Sue had only begun too work at Marriott & Brown's, the big London department store where Cassie was a fashion buyer, a few months ago, although their friendship had developed straight away. Also the couple were younger and were newly married, so weren't sure enough of themselves to arrive more than a few minutes late.
Cassie took their coats and led them into the sittingroom, accepting the pot plant they'd brought for her and their compliments on the room with genuine pleasure. She had met Christopher Martin only once before, at the store's annual Christmas party, and he seemed nice enough, quite good-looking and about her own age of twenty-four.
`What would you like to drink?'
`Have you got gin and tonic?'
`Yes, of course. How about you, Christopher?'
'Oh, make it Chris, please. Christopher always sounds like something from a child's nursery song: you know, "Christopher Robin went down with Alice" or something. Hardly my scene at all. I can't think why my mother chose the name. I always wanted to change it, but everyone insists on making me stick to it.'
He said it rather brashly and Cassie wondered whether he did it to draw attention to himself or just to make himself appear older. 'Chris, then. What would you like?'
'Vodka, please.'
'Anything with it?'
No, just as it comes.'
Cassie moved to the drinks tray to pour it and handed it to Chris just as Simon came into the room, and immediately Christopher Martin seemed very young and gauche, an overgrown schoolboy by comparison.
Simon crossed to her side and slipped an arm roundher waist as he bent to kiss her, his eyes smiling down at her.
'Hi there.'
'Hi.'
He had changed into a dark blue velvet jacket that sat well on his broad shoulders and there was a matching bow tie at the neck of his crisp white shirt. He looked casual and yet elegant, and no one would have guessed that he had arrived home to shower and change only a quarter of an hour ago. Neither of the Martins had met him before, because he had been away at the time of the Christmas party, and it gave Cassie a smug little glow of satisfaction as she saw Sue's eyes widen as she took in his tall, athletic figure and the dark, saturnine handsomeness of his features. They had been married for three years and dating for almost a year before that, but Cassie still got that thrill of pleasure when she saw another woman's eyes light with envy or admiration on seeing him. She introduced him and went to get him a whisky and soda while he sat down in an armchair and talked to the Martins.
Cassie handed him his drink and perched on the arm of his chair. He leant back, his long legs stuck out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, completely at case. Cassie put a hand on his shoulder and he automatically lifted his free hand to cover hers, playing absently with her fingers while he drew
Chris Martin out to talk about his job. But even here he authority in his manner came through; Chris recognised it at once and spoke to him in a deferring tone, even though Simon was only about eight years older. 'And you?' Chris was asking him. 'What do you do?'
'Oh, I'm a general dogs body for the Mullaine Group. I have to try and sort out the problems with
oo their various subsidiary companies,' Simon answered lightly.
'Mullaine's I've heard of them. They've got interests all over the world, haven't they?'
'Yes,' Simon admitted, 'I get around quite a bit.' The bell rang, interrupting the conversation, and they both got up to welcome their last guests, Julia and John Russell, who were old friends, having been neighbours of Cassie's parents before her marriage. They were more Simon's age and John was almost as successful in his own line of business as Simon was. He had started his own textile manufacturing company soon after leaving university and, after some initial setbacks, had built it up into a thriving business that specialised in unusual fabrics for the up-market dress manufacturers. So, in a roundabout way, he and Cassie were both in the rag trade and often helped one another if they had the opportunity, John by letting Cassie know if he'd supplied material for garments he thought she might be interested in and Cassie by recommending
John to the manufacturers she bought from, an arrangement that had often been advantageous to both of them.
They sat down to dinner quite shortly afterwards, and Cassie was pleased to see that her guests seemed to get on well, John teasing Sue a little so that she laughed and flushed and Julia being gracious to Chris when she wasn't passing on the latest bits of scandal to Cassie. Simon, of course, was the perfect host, sitting at the other end of the table between Sue and Julia and making Sure that everyone's glasses were kept filled. The boeuf en croute was exactly right when Simon carved it, and Cassie was able to give an inaudible sigh of relief and really sit back and enjoy her guests' company, the last small nerve of tension relaxing, knowing now that nothing could go wrong. Not that this was what she thought of as a business dinner party, when they entertained the directors of Simon's firm, for example; no, this was merely for friends who wouldn't mind if the roast was a bit burnt, but even so-perhaps more so Cassie had tried hard to make everything perfect.
She sat back in her chair and looked at Simon, whose dark head was turned away as he spoke to Sue. Then, almost as if she had spoken his name aloud, he glanced up and caught her eye. He grinned, guessing her thoughts, and lifted his glass in a silent toast of congratulation. Even as he did so the phone rang and he laughed at the way she wrinkled up her nose in vexation before he excused himself and went to answer it on the extension in the bedroom.
He was gone for several minutes and Cassie raised her eyebrows questioningly when he came back, hoping that this wasn't another emergency, but he gave a slight shake of his head and she was able to relax and rum back to talk to John again.
It was late before anyone made a move to leave, after one in the morning, and Cassie was heartily grateful that tomorrow was Saturday and she wouldn't have to work. She felt comfortably warm and lazy from all the wine and good food. They stood at the door, Cassie kissing everyone goodbye and Simon kissing the girls and shaking hands with John and Chris as their guests reiterated their thanks. Then the door was closed and Cassie could yawn luxuriously, able now to show her tiredness.
'That went off very well, I think.' Simon put the chain on the door and walked into the living-room behind her.
'Mm.' Desultorily Cassie began to collect up glasses.
'Leave that till the morning.'
'It won't take long.'
He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. 'You heard me-leave it till tomorrow.' She recognised the note in his voice immediately and smiled a little as she put down the glasses and let him gently massage her shoulders.
'Mm, that's nice.'
He continued for a few minutes, his long fingers expertly relaxing her, making her feel soft and languorous, but then he stopped and gently pushing aside the curtain of her hair, bent and kissed her neck, travelling upwards to bite the lobe of her, ear. Cassie leaned back against him, eyes closed, lips parted as she sighed with pleasure.
'I think you wore that dress on purpose,' Simon murmured into her ear, his breath warm against her skin. 'You know it turns me on.'
She laughed softly. 'But, Simon, most of my dresses seem to turn you on.'
'Mm.' His lips explored the long, graceful curve of her neck and his hands had found her breasts. 'And your tight jeans, and bikinis, and those see through nightdresses you wear to tantalise me.'
Cassie turned to face him and put her arms round his neck. 'That seems to be everything I possess. 'Maybe it's just because you're in them, then.'
He lowered his head to kiss her and Cassie felt the familiar flame of sexuality begin to burn in her veins.
Her lips parted under his as she returned his kiss ardently
, eagerly. Simon's arms tightened and he pulled her close against him put a hand low on her hips, his breathing quickening when she moved voluptuously.
His voice thick, he said, 'Let's go to bed.' But Cassie decided to tease him a little. 'But the glasses…'
'To hell with the glasses!' He went to draw her to- wards the bedroom, but she pulled away. 'No, Simon, I really ought to rinse them now.' His eyes narrowed, but a second later he realised she was just playing a game and a devilish glint came into his dark eyes. 'Well, if you won't go to bed…' And he bore her down on to the deep softness of the carpet. 'Simon!' Cassie pretended to be shocked, but her whole body surged with excitement and anticipation. It was always like this, had been from the very start; he had only to kiss her and she wanted him, wanted to touch and be touched, to love and be loved, to lose herself in passionate abandon until they reached a dizzying climax of mutual ecstasy.
He tossed his jacket and tic on to the settee and lay down beside her, kissing her unhurriedly, but his hands and lips swiftly rousing her to passion as he murmured endearments in her ear. He always said the most wonderful things when he made love, his words exciting her almost as much as the things he did to her. She moaned as he fondled her, luxuriating in his lovemaking, but, as always the first time, impatient to be taken, wanting him now, now!
But tonight they were interrupted by the insistent bleep of the telephone, and Cassie groaned as he rolled off her.
'Damn that thing!' Simon swore as he sat up. 'Don't answer it,' Cassie pleaded, but Simon shook his head.
'Can't be done, love, I'm afraid. They know I'm here.'
He got up and crossed to lift the receiver, standing with his back to her while he talked. Cassie pulled herself up on to her knees and leant against the settee, straightening her hair and pushing it back over her shoulders while she listened to his end of the conversation.
From the sound of it, there was another emergency in Scotland.
Simon confirmed her guess as soon as he replaced the receiver. 'It's the oil terminal again, I'm afraid. And this time the trouble can't be solved over the phone; I'll have to go up there.'
Semi-Detached Marriage Page 1
