quietly, 'I suggest we try them once, and see how it goes.'
She looked up to find Louie giving her a narrow over the top of her glasses.
'You look, my dear, as if you've been washed, wrung out, and drip-dried.' She winked,
naughtily. ‘Sleepless night, you lucky girl?'
Kate flushed slightly. 'No, nothing like that,' she said with constraint. You couldn't be
further from the truth, she added silently, suppressing a wince.
She forced a smile. 'Actually, I think I spent too long in the sun yesterday, and it's given
me a slight headache.'
Louie looked surprised. 'I thought you were the original lizard. Drape you over a rock,
and let you sizzle gently all day.'
'Not any more, apparently,' Kate returned, transferring her attention determinedly back to
her work.
But Louie lingered. 'Are you sure you're all right?' she persisted. 'You look like a woman
with problems.'
Silently, Kate damned her friend's perception. She was sorely tempted to pour out the
whole story, starting with the anonymous letter, but something held her back, warning her
that once the genie had escaped from the bottle it would never be possible to confine it
again. That a confidence, once given, could never be retracted, and that a time might
come when she would wish every word unsaid.
If there was a crisis in her marriage, it was something she should deal with alone—unless
it reached a stage where it was impossible to hide the truth any longer.
If Ryan left her, for example, she thought, feeling slow pain twist inside her.
She pulled an exaggerated face. 'Can't fool you, babe. I put myself through Sunday lunch
with the in-laws yesterday. I'm still recovering.'
Louie frowned. 'I thought you liked them.'
'I do—really. But that doesn't stop me feeling like an outsider looking in when I’m in
their company for any length of time.' Kate was astonished at the depth of feeling in her
voice. She was conscious of the previous day, hanging over her like a shadow. And the
previous night.
'Does Ryan know how you feel?'
Kate shrugged defensively. 'Ryan and I seem to be having slight communication
problems at the moment.' She managed a brittle laugh. 'I gather these are normal, and that
all the best marriages have them.'
'Well, you certainly have one of the best marriages,' Louie told her levelly. 'So you
should know. But I'd make sure it's only a temporary hiccup.'
And, with another, more admonitory pat, she departed.
As the door closed behind her, Kate slumped back in her high-backed leather chair,
twisting her pen restlessly in her fingers.
It was good advice, she thought, if only it was possible to take it. But how could she
communicate with someone who'd apparently surrounded himself with a wall of glass,
leaving her to batter herself against it fruitlessly, time after time?
It wasn't as if he'd quarrelled with her, or even been dismissive. He hadn't told her that
she'd had no business to follow him, or made any hurtful remark, for that matter. He'd
simply been, in some strange way—unreachable.
She wished with all her heart that she hadn't gone down to Whitmead after all. The whole
day had been an unmitigated disaster. The food, as usual, had been delicious, but Kate
had felt she was chewing cardboard and sawdust. And there were so many awk-
wardnesses and embarrassed silences that she'd almost lost count. Once, as she'd entered
the sitting room, she'd interrupted a low-voiced conversation between Mrs Lassiter and
Sally which had ceased abruptly the moment she'd appeared.
As if they all knew something that I didn't—and certainly weren't prepared to discuss it in
front of me, she told herself miserably.
As indeed they might have been, she had to admit. Ryan was close to his parents and
always had been. He wouldn't have her misgivings about sharing his problems.
Perhaps if her own mother were near at hand, instead of living in Spain with her second
husband, she would do the same.
Kate bit her lip. No, she
She looked up to find Louie giving her a narrow over the top of her glasses.
'You look, my dear, as if you've been washed, wrung out, and drip-dried.' She winked,
naughtily. ‘Sleepless night, you lucky girl?'
Kate flushed slightly. 'No, nothing like that,' she said with constraint. You couldn't be
further from the truth, she added silently, suppressing a wince.
She forced a smile. 'Actually, I think I spent too long in the sun yesterday, and it's given
me a slight headache.'
Louie looked surprised. 'I thought you were the original lizard. Drape you over a rock,
and let you sizzle gently all day.'
'Not any more, apparently,' Kate returned, transferring her attention determinedly back to
her work.
But Louie lingered. 'Are you sure you're all right?' she persisted. 'You look like a woman
with problems.'
Silently, Kate damned her friend's perception. She was sorely tempted to pour out the
whole story, starting with the anonymous letter, but something held her back, warning her
that once the genie had escaped from the bottle it would never be possible to confine it
again. That a confidence, once given, could never be retracted, and that a time might
come when she would wish every word unsaid.
If there was a crisis in her marriage, it was something she should deal with alone—unless
it reached a stage where it was impossible to hide the truth any longer.
If Ryan left her, for example, she thought, feeling slow pain twist inside her.
She pulled an exaggerated face. 'Can't fool you, babe. I put myself through Sunday lunch
with the in-laws yesterday. I'm still recovering.'
Louie frowned. 'I thought you liked them.'
'I do—really. But that doesn't stop me feeling like an outsider looking in when I’m in
their company for any length of time.' Kate was astonished at the depth of feeling in her
voice. She was conscious of the previous day, hanging over her like a shadow. And the
previous night.
'Does Ryan know how you feel?'
Kate shrugged defensively. 'Ryan and I seem to be having slight communication
problems at the moment.' She managed a brittle laugh. 'I gather these are normal, and that
all the best marriages have them.'
'Well, you certainly have one of the best marriages,' Louie told her levelly. 'So you
should know. But I'd make sure it's only a temporary hiccup.'
And, with another, more admonitory pat, she departed.
As the door closed behind her, Kate slumped back in her high-backed leather chair,
twisting her pen restlessly in her fingers.
It was good advice, she thought, if only it was possible to take it. But how could she
communicate with someone who'd apparently surrounded himself with a wall of glass,
leaving her to batter herself against it fruitlessly, time after time?
It wasn't as if he'd quarrelled with her, or even been dismissive. He hadn't told her that
she'd had no business to follow him, or made any hurtful remark, for that matter. He'd
simply been, in some strange way—unreachable.
She wished with all her heart that she hadn't gone down to Whitmead after all. The whole
day had been an unmitigated disaster. The food, as usual, had been delicious, but Kate
had felt she was chewing cardboard and sawdust. And there were so many awk-
wardnesses and embarrassed silences that she'd almost lost count. Once, as she'd entered
the sitting room, she'd interrupted a low-voiced conversation between Mrs Lassiter and
Sally which had ceased abruptly the moment she'd appeared.
As if they all knew something that I didn't—and certainly weren't prepared to discuss it in
front of me, she told herself miserably.
As indeed they might have been, she had to admit. Ryan was close to his parents and
always had been. He wouldn't have her misgivings about sharing his problems.
Perhaps if her own mother were near at hand, instead of living in Spain with her second
husband, she would do the same.
Kate bit her lip. No, she
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