Читать книгу: «One Night with a Regency Lord», страница 7

The carriage had been ordered to the door immediately after breakfast and very soon they were bowling along Bath’s main thoroughfare. Brielle’s destination was the small but elegant shop of a highly talented young modiste. She had heard on the grapevine that this new seamstress had the originality and skill of many a more expensive establishment. She had a very clear idea of what would suit her granddaughter, something in the French style, she thought, beautifully cut and simply adorned, to flatter the young woman’s budding figure.

It seemed to Amelie that the next few hours were spent in a fantasy of fashion. There were outfits for every occasion: braided, embroidered, some adorned with knots of ribbon, others with spangled rosettes and silver fringes. Walking dresses, riding costumes, day toilettes and ball gowns floated past on a wave of elegance.

She tried hard to keep her feet on the ground, worrying about the mounting cost and how she could ever repay her grandmother even a fraction of the staggering bill for this dazzling wardrobe. Frantically she tried to catch sight of the price tags as the dresses were brought forwards for her inspection. An evening gown in sea-green tulle made her gasp as she gazed in wonder at her reflection in the mirror. She could hardly recognise the modish and graceful young woman looking back at her.

‘How much did you say this gown was?’ she asked the seamstress tentatively.

‘That is one of our newest creations, mademoiselle, and made from the finest silk tulle. A very reasonable hundred guineas. It suits mademoiselle to perfection.’

Shocked by the price, Amelie began reluctantly to take off the charming creation when the modiste, catching a minatory look from Brielle, coughed apologetically and decided that she had made a mistake.

‘Of course, for such a beautiful young lady we can come to an agreeable arrangement, I’m sure. You will wear the dress with a distinction that will bring honour to our small salon and build our reputation.’

After that Amelie gave up trying to keep count of the ever-increasing total. It was all way beyond anything she could ever have afforded from her allowance. The colours and fabrics flew past her eyes like a moving kaleidoscope. To the pile of dresses were added furtrimmed pelisses, tiny pearl-stitched slippers, long white leather gloves and a Norwich silk shawl, all apparently necessities for a protracted stay in Bath. By the time they left the salon, the carriage was brimming with boxes and packages and had to be sent back to Laura Place while they made their way to Milsom Street to pay a call on Brielle’s favourite milliner.

Amelie, who owned precisely two hats, was amazed by the information that she would need no fewer than six if she were to grace the Bath social scene successfully. One extraordinary confection followed another as Madame Charcot laid before them the finest of her wares. Amelie’s London Season had been notable for its modesty. Lord Silverdale had neither the money nor the wish to expend large sums on his daughter’s coming-out and expected her natural beauty to be sufficient to win a husband. An old acquaintance of his youth had acted as chaperone and since she also had a daughter to launch, she’d shown little interest in her new protégée or her clothes. Amelie had chosen almost single-handedly the restricted wardrobe her father had permitted for the three months of her London Season. Now Brielle, with her highly developed fashion sense, was intent on giving as much enjoyment as possible to her granddaughter.

Seated amidst a tower of hat boxes, waiting for the carriage to return, she revealed that she’d been busy first thing that morning putting together a guest list for a small evening party the following day.

‘It will be more comfortable for you to meet a few people before going into society properly,’ her grandmother explained.

Amelie made haste to reassure her, ‘I won’t be uncomfortable, Grandmama, not with you by my side.’

‘That’s as may be. I’m an old woman now. You need to meet younger people. It will be just a small, informal party. Nothing too overwhelming. But when we go the Pump Room or the Assembly Rooms, you’ll already know a few faces.’

Amelie wasn’t so sure. She’d expected to live quietly in Bath, but it was evident from the morning’s shopping that this was not what Brielle had in mind. She was grateful for her grandmother’s unstinting kindness and she would try her best to conform. She had little desire to socialise, but that was something best left unsaid.

Like her granddaughter, Brielle decided on silence. It had been difficult to conjure up interesting guests at such short notice, but she’d felt it essential to introduce Amelie as swiftly as possible to many of those she would see in the coming weeks. She was intent on establishing the notion that her granddaughter’s stay had been planned for a considerable time and that Amelie would be paying a protracted visit. That way she would limit any damage that rumour might do.

This morning while her granddaughter slept, she’d cast her mind swiftly over the people she might invite who would not be offended by the very short notice. Celine Charpentier, of course, a fellow émigrée and friend since the time they’d both left France for exile. Celine would support her in whatever plan she was hatching, Brielle knew. Then Major Radcliffe was a genial soul, always ready to add his bonhomie to any party. Unfortunately she would have to invite Miss Scarsdale. Letitia Scarsdale was a permanent fixture at all her parties, a difficult neighbour who had constantly to be placated.

But one particular guest would more than earn his place. Brielle had high hopes of him. Sir Peregrine Latham was well known in Bath, a handsome man and delightful companion. Perry Latham was no country bumpkin, either. He preferred a quieter pace of life, dividing his time between the Bath mansion and his Somerset estate, but he visited London regularly and was not devoid of town bronze. He was well into his thirties now and, gossip had it, the victim of a sad history. The story went that he had lost his fiancée when he was a very young man and had never recovered from the blow. Nevertheless, Brielle reckoned he might be persuaded to think again by the sight of her enchanting granddaughter.

The following day brought with it another whirl of activity. The hairdresser called early to trim Amelie’s chestnut locks into submission. Her shining curls were artlessly twisted into a knot on the top of her head and then allowed to cascade down the sides of her face in loose ringlets. Before she had time to properly admire this transformation, it was the turn of the dressmaker. Hours the previous evening had been spent thumbing through the latest editions of La Belle Assemblée to decide on suitable styles. Now for several uncomfortable hours she was draped with muslin and stuck with pins. The dressmaker, she was told, would make her gowns for wearing at home when no one of any importance was expected. She began to wonder when she would ever have time to don even half of the wardrobe she’d so suddenly acquired.

Shortly before their guests arrived that evening, Brielle appeared with a pearl necklace and earrings that had belonged to Amelie’s mother. They were the perfect accompaniment to the simple pink crêpe-de-Chine gown she’d chosen for her first party.

‘Wear them for Louise,’ her grandmother said with a catch in her voice, the closest she would ever come to expressing the pain she still felt.

Now that the evening was here, Amelie determined to take pleasure in it, if only for Brielle’s sake. It was true that the guests assembled in the elegant drawing room were something of a motley crowd, but they were evidently all well-wishers. All except Lady Lampeter, who had two very plain daughters of Amelie’s age and who was furious to discover that her acceptance of such a late invitation had been pointless. Not even the fondest of mamas could expect the Lampeter girls to compete with Amelie’s beauty.

‘Claudia Lampeter will come at short notice,’ Brielle had confidently predicted to Celine. ‘She has a mountain to climb with those girls of hers. One has spots and the other a sad figure. She will take them anywhere in the hope of finding a marriageable man.’

Knowing nothing of her grandmother’s wiles, Amelie remained serene and unruffled as she made her way slowly around the mingling guests. Moving from one chattering group to another, she attracted admiring looks from around the room and Brielle was happy to see that in company her granddaughter was both modest and assured.

‘She does you credit,’ Celine remarked. ‘A beautiful and unaffected girl.’

The Major took a long pinch of snuff and gave his considered opinion. ‘With those looks and that charm she will take Bath by storm.’

As the evening proceeded, Amelie began to appreciate the gentle rhythm of Bath social life. The great society gatherings of her London Season had been a strain, but here she felt soothed. Even the man she imagined had been invited to partner her was unexceptional.

‘And how do you like Bath, Miss Silverdale?’ Perry Latham began as an opening gambit.

He had been stunned by the beauty of this young woman and was eager to see whether her intelligence matched her looks.

‘So far, Sir Peregrine, I’ve seen only the inside of dress shops, but I’m sure I shall enjoy it immensely.’

‘And Bath will enjoy you, too,’ he rejoined gallantly. ‘Can we hope to see you at the Pump Room shortly?’

‘Indeed, yes. I understand my grandmother is planning our first visit tomorrow.’

‘Excellent. I’ll make sure I attend. I’m afraid you may well find the town a little dull. You will see many of the same faces there as are here tonight.’

‘I shan’t mind that. I find familiarity comforting.’

‘I’m not sure you’ll continue to think so after you’ve met the same set of people a dozen times.’

Privately, Amelie thought that was more than likely, looking around at the less-than-stimulating collection of people gathered there. She couldn’t stop herself smiling at the thought of what Gareth would make of the company. ‘An assortment of gargoyles,’ she could hear him say. One of the older women, the scrawny Miss Scars-dale, bore an uncanny resemblance to Mrs Skinner.

‘You smile.’ Perry Latham had been watching her closely. ‘You see, Miss Silverdale, you’re already beginning to have doubts about Bath society.’

‘No, Sir Peregrine. I was smiling at how very pleasant it is to be among friends.’

Diplomatic as well as intelligent and beautiful, he thought, already half-smitten with this entrancing princess who had appeared so suddenly in his world.

‘Please call me Perry. I hope you will count me as one of those friends.’

The last guest departed well before eleven. She wasn’t sorry that Bath inhabitants seemed to keep early hours. The party had been convivial and undemanding, but it had still cost an effort to play the role expected of her.

‘I saw you talking to Perry Latham,’ her grandmother remarked casually. ‘He’s a good-looking fellow, don’t you think?’

‘Very presentable.’

‘A thorough gentleman, too.’

‘Indeed, yes.’

‘And not without town bronze,’ Brielle pursued.

Amelie smiled warmly back at her. ‘He’s a veritable pattern card of all the virtues,’ she replied laughingly, while her thoughts roved dangerously elsewhere.

Chapter Seven

The next morning dawned fair, a perfect day Brielle declared for her granddaughter’s first visit to the Pump Room. Amelie felt little enthusiasm, but knew that her grandmother had been delighted by the success of yesterday’s small party and was now eager to introduce her to wider Bath society.

Brielle did not take the famous waters, which she privately considered disgusting, but many of her friends drank a daily glass for a variety of complaints, imagined or otherwise. And she made sure that she attended the Pump Room regularly as a way of keeping in touch with what was going on in Bath. It was said that a morning spent there would vouchsafe the visitor all the current gossip of the town.

The room they entered was spacious with a wall of tall windows giving on to carefully tended lawns. A richly moulded azure ceiling was hung with ornate chandeliers glittering with light even on this bright morning. Small golden chairs were positioned around the edges of the room or marshalled by visitors into friendship or family circles. The salon emanated wealth and leisure, capturing the essence of Bath as a town of affluence and pleasure.

Almost immediately they spotted Celine Charpentier, who had just procured a glass of water from the pumper and was busy wending her way through knots of people deep in conversation. Brielle began to follow in her wake, zigzagging to avoid the couples who slowly paraded around the room, arm in arm, intent on seeing and being seen. Amelie was acutely conscious of the many pairs of eyes staring at her, some curious, some measuring and some frankly admiring. She gave thanks for the familiar faces already gathered at the far end of the room. As her grandmother had predicted, it was comforting to recognise acquaintances among a sea of unknowns. Perry Latham’s sunny smile beamed across at her.

But before they could greet Brielle’s friends, they were intercepted by a very thin, very richly clad figure. Amelie caught her breath—the man bowing profusely before her grandmother was none other than Rufus Glyde! He had returned not to London, but to Bath. He must have suspected that she would eventually find her way here.

‘Lady St Clair,’ he purred, ‘my most humble apologies for intruding, but allow me to say how delighted I am to see that your granddaughter has been safely restored to you.’

Brielle nodded briefly and went to move on, but Glyde was intent on detaining them.

‘My lady, if I could beg you for a few minutes of your time … I wish to tender my heartfelt regrets for any misunderstanding that may have occurred when we last met.’

‘I am not aware of any misunderstanding, monsieur,‘ Brielle said stiffly.

‘I mean only that my motives for seeking your charming granddaughter were not clear and I fear I may have been misinterpreted.’

‘Believe me, I understand perfectly your wish to pursue my granddaughter and since we are being frank, I will tell you now that your pursuit is unwelcome. Miss Silverdale stays with me for the foreseeable future. I am now responsible for her welfare.’

Amelie felt a glow of satisfaction. Surely that would get rid of him for good.

‘Naturally I am more than pleased that Miss Silver-dale has found sanctuary with a beloved relative. It is right and proper that she should do so.’ Glyde’s voice was smoothly persistent. ‘My pursuit, as you term it, was a wish only to be of assistance to a young woman I had reason to believe was happy to become my wife.’

Unsure of precisely what Miles Silverdale had promised, Brielle was forced to concede the point.

Emboldened, he continued, ‘Now that the position is clear to me, Miss Silverdale may rest assured that I will in no way incommode her in the future. Indeed, I would like to wish her very well whatever that future may be.’

Her grandmother had begun to look a little more gratified and answered neutrally, ‘We thank you for your good wishes, sir, and for your reassurance.’

His thin lips arranged themselves into a tight smile, the sunken lines on either side of his mouth becoming more deeply etched. Amelie recoiled in distaste, but was forced to remain by her grandmother’s side.

‘In that case I hope that we may continue to enjoy a pleasant association. I had just begun a visit to friends here when I felt it necessary to interrupt my stay to search for Miss Silverdale. Now that the matter is happily concluded, I can look forward to enjoying the delights of Bath more thoroughly.’

‘I hope the town will live up to your expectations,’ Brielle murmured.

‘If not, I have always the pleasures of my country estate, which lies nearby, but I can’t imagine Bath will pall with two such charming ladies at the forefront of its society. I trust I am forgiven sufficiently to be included in your personal group of acquaintances.’

Brielle inclined her head slightly. ‘Naturally, we are bound to encounter each other on occasions, Sir Rufus.’

‘I look forward to meeting you and your granddaughter frequently. Bath is such a small society that I imagine that to be inevitable.’

Amelie had managed to put on a brave face during this interchange, but her heart plummeted at these words. She was sure they carried an implicit threat and, glancing up at his thin, white face, she saw the wolfish eyes staring out at her from behind the social mask. Her grandmother, though, seemed to sense nothing amiss and, with another bow in Glyde’s direction, moved towards her group of friends.

Glyde turned swiftly on his heel and left the Pump Room. Now that he was gone, she found her limbs were trembling and she had to fight to calm her breathing. His trite commonplaces had cloaked his true intent, she was sure. He had not given up his intention to marry her, whatever platitudes he mouthed to her grandmother. And Brielle appeared to have been completely taken in. With a sickening jolt Amelie realised that the sanctuary she’d sought and found with so much difficulty might now prove as dangerous as her London home. She could see Glyde’s strategy clearly. He would make sure that he was constantly in her grandmother’s company, presenting himself as a loyal and dependable friend. Gradually he would chip away at her grandmother’s suspicion until Brielle began to wonder why her granddaughter had taken such a dislike to him. There would be nowhere else for her to run and little by little she would be coerced into an appalling marriage.

Her grandmother was already deep in conversation with the Major, and she saw with dismay that Perry Latham had begun to walk towards her. Unable to face him immediately, she fled towards the entrance hall, intending to stand in the cool, fresh air until she regained her composure. Looking straight ahead, she moved swiftly towards her goal, barely noticing the figure standing in the shadow of the large palm trees that graced either side of the doorway.

In an instant Gareth Wendover stood before her. She had a fleeting glimpse of his muscular figure, clothed now in a perfectly fitting coat of blue superfine, his shapely legs encased in skin-tight pantaloons of the palest fawn. Hardly had she absorbed his new image, when he advanced menacingly towards her and grabbed her by the wrist.

‘You’ve evidently managed to acquire a very liberal employer since we met last,’ he snarled. ‘Such elegance, Amelie, such a taking coiffeure, but hardly fitting for a maidservant.’ He thundered out the last word, his lip curling with disdain.

‘Or a doxy, I imagine.’ Her retort was swift and equally angry.

His face shadowed and he let go of her arm. He should apologise, but he was damned if he would. She had utterly deceived him. The girl he saw before him, so beautiful he could devour her on the spot, was thoroughly false. She had lied and lied again to him.

‘May I enquire exactly who or what you are?’ His tone was scathing.

She replied with as much dignity as she could, ‘My name is Amelie Silverdale. My father is Lord Silverdale.’

‘Well, well, a poor little rich girl. Wasn’t being Miss Silverdale exciting enough for you? Did you get some shabby thrill from dressing up as your maid?’

‘There was no thrill. Disguising myself as a maid was the safest way to travel, or at least it would have been if I’d not been unlucky enough to meet you.’

‘Not that unlucky, as I recall. You might still be dangling on the end of a rope if it were not for me. Or were you hoping your friend Glyde would happen by and execute a magnificent rescue? Was it a stunt to reel in a reluctant suitor?’

‘How can you be so stupid! I was escaping from Rufus Glyde.’

‘Another fantasy? I’ve just seen with my own eyes on what familiar terms you stand with the man.’

‘Then your eyes tell you false. Sir Rufus has designs of his own. He wishes to ingratiate himself with my grandmother.’

‘For what purpose?’ he asked impatiently, pushing back the dark hair that had fallen across his brow.

‘I don’t see that it’s any business of yours.’

‘Really? You don’t consider your constant lies give me any reason to demand the truth from you?’

She bowed her head slightly and said in a voice he could hardly hear, ‘He wishes to marry me.’

‘And.?’

‘He hopes my grandmother will persuade me to agree.’

‘How much persuasion will that take, I wonder?’

‘I detest him,’ she burst out. ‘He’s a vicious and depraved man. He’s followed me here when I thought I was safe and is plotting against me still.’

‘He’s certainly vicious,’ Gareth said measuringly, ‘but why are you running from him? You’ve only to tell your father that he’s plaguing you and you’ll be free of his demands.’

‘I wish that were true, but my father has decided that Sir Rufus is the suitor he wishes me to accept.’

‘The last time I looked we were living in the nineteenth century. Forced marriages no longer happen. You must have given your consent or at least appeared to do so.’

‘I did not. I tell you I hate the man, but my father is adamant. I cannot speak of my family’s difficulties, but Glyde wields considerable power over us.’

Gareth considered this for a moment, his athletic figure reclining lazily against a carved pillar.

‘So you were the mistress who was being forced to marry for money? And your maid’s defiant independence a mere charade, I imagine.’

Amelie flushed, but said nothing.

‘And why go to so much trouble to deceive me? Why couldn’t you have told me the truth and asked for help? Didn’t you trust me?’

She swallowed uncomfortably. ‘I was worried you might react unthinkingly. You might have chased after him and caused an even greater scandal than there was already.’

‘Chased after him? With an injured ankle? You can do better than that.’ His tone hardened. ‘Wasn’t it rather that you thought I might use the situation to my own benefit?’

She blushed. That was precisely what she had thought, imagining if only in fancy that he might be capable of blackmail or kidnap.

He saw the telltale flush and concluded bitterly, ‘You didn’t trust me. Only now that I’ve exposed your deception are you willing to be honest.’

‘You shouldn’t judge me harshly. You can’t know what it feels like to be so besieged, without a friend in the world.’

He smiled crookedly. ‘Can’t I?’

‘It’s different for men—you make your own rules. A woman is always subject to others. Even a strong woman,’ she added.

‘You must have known I would stand your friend, yet you disappeared from the inn without a word.’

‘I had to—you treated me abominably.’

‘I regret my intemperance,’ he muttered unwillingly. ‘It was unfair, but Glyde provoked me and I knew you were lying.’

‘It was more than unfair. It was a vile insult—I wanted never to see you again.’

‘Nor I you.’

They stood facing each other, their figures tense, the air between them scorched by anger. Then quite suddenly his expression relaxed and he said lightly, ‘But here I am.’

‘And why exactly are you here? I thought you were going to Bristol—or was it London? It seems to me, Mr Wendover, that you also have some explaining to do.’

‘I have a particular friend in Bath. I wanted to say goodbye to him before I sail for France.’

She digested this news. ‘You never mentioned this friend before. In fact, you were adamant you had no friends.’

‘He slipped my mind.’

‘Or maybe he’s simply a figment of your imagination?’

‘Like Amelie, the maidservant, you mean? No, he exists all right. His name is Lucas Avery and I’m staying in his house.’

‘Even so, I’m not sure I believe you. Why suddenly do you wish to say goodbye? You weren’t intending to do so. You’d no plans to come to Bath.’

‘I’ve determined to quit England for good and since our little adventure brought me close by, it seemed right to say a final farewell.’

‘And that’s the truth?’

‘Not quite.’ She looked up into the blue eyes and their disturbing gaze. ‘I needed to see you again. I needed to say a proper goodbye to you.’

The warmth of his glance produced a feeling of breathless discomfort. She felt a flutter of panic—she must remember her doubts, she told herself, remember his insults, stay angry. She mustn’t allow herself to falter.

‘You’ve seen me now and said goodbye,’ she said tightly. ‘Let us end this chapter and wish each other good fortune.’

He did not reply, but took hold of her wrist again, this time with gentleness. Her heart turned a small somersault. Oblivious to the scandalised looks of people passing into the main room, he pulled her towards him and encircled her waist tightly. His mouth brushed her forehead and smoothed her hair. Crushed against his hard frame, she felt her body once more dissolve into the heat of his embrace. But it was over in a moment.

Breaking from her, Gareth took her hands and held them to his lips. ‘We are deceivers both, Amelie. In another world we would belong together.’

Through a hot veil of desire, she became aware of the whispering voices around her and blushed deeply. Quickly, she disentangled her hands.

‘I must go,’ she managed in a constricted voice. ‘My grandmother will be wondering where I am.’

And with that she turned and walked swiftly away.

Gareth made his way back to Lucas Avery’s house, his mind a battleground of conflicting thoughts. He’d gone to the Pump Room that morning in the slender hope of finding Amelie in attendance on the new mistress she might have acquired. When he saw her across the room, he could hardly believe his eyes: not the beautiful but simple maidservant that he’d come to know, but an elegant and modish creature, moving effortlessly in the highest circles.

Transformed she might be, but she was still the same girl who had stirred his senses so fervidly and anger over her deception fought with desire to possess her. Then Glyde had appeared and all his questions over their relationship were answered. It seemed that Amelie Silverdale was indeed a true daughter of Eve. She had lied and deceived as expertly as any of the harpies from his past. His anger had exploded into blind fury. And it was Glyde who crystallised a ferocious desire for revenge; he could have run the man through if he’d had a sword. And in the back, he thought grimly. Glyde’s ingratiating smiles announced clearly that Amelie was destined for him, a man he held in the deepest contempt. He’d been sickened by what he saw and was about to leave when Glyde had hurried from the room, unnoticing of Gareth standing silently in the shadows. When Amelie had followed suit, he’d been unable to stop himself confronting her.

But now it seemed he might have read the picture wrongly. According to Amelie she was escaping Rufus Glyde, not embracing him. Did he believe her? If she was in truth being pursued by the scoundrel, why hadn’t she confessed her troubles at the inn and enlisted his aid? In his heart he knew why not. She mistrusted him, mistrusted all men, and she was right to. He’d told her as many lies as she’d told him. If not lies, then omissions, and even now she was still ignorant of his true situation.

Lucas was at home when he knocked for admittance. From the moment he’d arrived in Bath, he’d been welcomed with open arms. His fear that Lord Avery would no longer be the friend he remembered had vanished with the first emotional clasp of their hands.

‘Did you enjoy an invigorating morning with the old tabbies?’ his friend greeted him gaily.

‘Not exactly. I didn’t make it into the Pump Room.’

‘Was it that daunting?’

‘It was singular, shall we say.’

And Gareth, who had briefly sketched for his friend the details of his stay at the George, told him of that morning’s meeting with Amelie and the very different circumstances he’d found her in.

‘But that’s wonderful,’ Lucas enthused.

‘How is that?’

‘A maidservant was an impossibility, but Lord Silverdale’s daughter will make the perfect partner for the Earl of Denville.’

‘Hold on a minute,’ said Gareth, only half-laughing. ‘You go too fast. For one thing I’ve no intention of playing the Earl of Denville and for another I’m not in the market to become leg-shackled.’

‘Tell me, why did you come to Bath? I’m quite sure it wasn’t just to meet your new godson! ‘

His friend maintained a discouraging silence, but Lucas persisted.

‘We may not have seen each other for the past seven years, Gareth, but I know you as myself. In fact, I may know you even better.’

‘I came to say a final goodbye, as you well know,’Gareth was goaded to respond. ‘And if Amelie Silverdale has crossed my path, that’s pure chance.’

‘Doing it much too brown!’ his friend said crudely. ‘You’ve just returned from the Pump Room—the Pump Room, for Heaven’s sake! Why ever else would you visit such a place?’

‘All right, I admit that I had it in mind to seek her out. I thought I’d make peace with her before I left. But that was before I realised I’d nothing to apologise for. She’s as much a jade as any other woman I’ve known.’

Lucas looked thoughtful and it was a while before he replied. ‘Do you know that when you speak of her, your eyes say something quite different?’

‘Do they say that she’s been thoroughly dishonest with me?’

‘I can understand your anger at being deceived, but you’re equally to blame. Have you confided your troubles to her?’ He looked searchingly at his companion. ‘No, I thought not. Neither of you has been entirely honest with the other.’