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entered the apartment with his arm round her waist and their bodies touching, but once in the drawing room Marianne purposely seated herself on a blue brocade chair rather than on the sofa, her hands neatly together in her lap and her back straight.
    Zeke poured them both a brandy from the gracious cocktail cabinet in one corner of the room, his face faintly amused as he took in her posture.
    ‘Thank you.’ Her voice was prim as she accepted the heavy crystal brandy glass from him, and she swilled the dark golden contents around for a moment before taking a small sip.
    ‘So?’ He seated himself on the sofa opposite her after taking off his suit jacket and slinging it on a chair, undoingthe first few buttons of his shirt and loosening his tie as he settled back comfortably in the seat. ‘Talk, my sweet. Talk.’
    ‘My sweet’. It wasn’t so very different from ‘sweetie’, was it? Marianne thought, Liliana’s condescending manner in the forefront of her mind as she stared back into the dark, handsome face opposite her. They both thought she was someone to be patronised in their different ways.
    The thought made her voice brittle as she said, ‘I can’t carry on living as we are, Zeke, you must realise that.’
    ‘Why?’ It was cool and even but not aggressive.
    ‘Because I don’t like it, for a start,’ she said bravely, her determination slightly aided by the Dutch courage she had imbibed throughout the meal.
    ‘This little talk couldn’t have something to do with the fact that you’ve spent most of the day with Pat and most of the evening with an equally formidable woman, could it?’ Zeke asked with insufferable pleasantness. ‘Both of whom regard men as infinitely lesser beings?’
    ‘No, it couldn’t,’ she snapped back quickly. ‘And they don’t, anyway.’
    ‘They do from where I’m standing.’
    ‘Then you must be standing in the wrong place.’ Oh, this wasn’t going at all as she had planned, Marianne told herself silently as she watched his face darken. ‘Look, Zeke—’ she took a deep breath and forced her voice down an octave or two ‘—I’m a grown woman and perfectly able to determine what I think without any help from Pat or Wendy. You must have realised things haven’t been good between us for some months now?’
    ‘The hell I have!’ he said with controlled grimness.
    How selfish men could be. As she looked into the breathtakingly attractive face frowning at her Marianne’s heart was thumping at the confrontation. He had effectively ignored her cries for help—both verbal and silent—for months now, wrapped up in his little empire as always. He had been quite happy for her to remain isolated and frustrated as long as his world ticked on as normal. She had been here in her position as the perfect wife as far as he was concerned, cooking his dinner, entertaining his friends and business colleagues, putting his interests before her own and—because she loved him so much—waiting patiently for him to start making a few decisions on things that affected them .
    Maybe it would have been different if they had had children? Her heart gave a pang as it always did when she thought of babies, Zeke’s babies. And then again it might have been worse. Perhaps she had to face the fact that there was something integrally wrong in this marriage. Anyway, whatever else, she had been patient long enough.
    ‘Are you still upset because I gave the contract to Liliana?’ Zeke asked now, a softer note in his voice. ‘Marianne, I needed the best person for that particular job—it’s very important to me—and Liliana is the best interior designer around. That’s all there is to it.’
    No, that wasn’t all there was to it, she thought painfully. Oh, why couldn’t he see ?
    ‘Liliana is just a part of it, that’s all,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s much more than that.’
    ‘What, exactly?’ He leant forward as he spoke, and even at this crucial moment her senses leapt at the