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added defensively, Besides—there's
    plenty of time ahead of us for all that.
    Only it had suddenly occurred to her that perhaps this was no longer true.
    Ryan, she thought. Ryan and another woman. Could it be true after all? Was this the
    reason behind his frankly dismissive attitude towards her?
    After all, she only assumed he was in the flat working when she wasn't there. He could be
    anywhere— and with—anyone.
    She felt as if someone had taken her by the throat, and was slowly tightening his grip.
    The champagne glasses, she thought, leaning back in her chair. Why didn't I ask him
    about them? They'd have been the ideal excuse for a little probing.
    The perfect time for a few teasing questions would have been after lovemaking, she told
    herself, with a sigh, when they were lying relaxed and fulfilled in each other's arms.
    Only—it hadn't happened. And, if there was someone else, it might never happen again.
    For the first time, she made herself face that unnerving possibility.
    Never to touch him, she thought numbly. Never to feel his hands working their unique
    magic on her ecstatic skin. Never to welcome him into her body as the other half of
    herself in their own rapturous spiral to completion.
    From the beginning of their relationship, Kate had found him a wonderful lover, intuitive,
    tender and exciting. Under his guidance, she'd explored the heights and depths of her own
    sexuality.
    Even during the rocky moments that afflicted any new marriage, they'd always been
    united in bed, turning to each other passionately and without reserve, using their mutual
    desire to comfort and to heal.
    But last night, and this morning, the talisman had failed to work. And she was frightened
    as well as humiliated.
    Was that why Ryan had elected to go to Whitmead alone—to break the news to his
    family that he was ending his marriage? Could that be the reason some sixth sense had
    warned her that he didn't want her along?
    And was she simply going to sit back and let it happen?
    No, she thought. I'm bloody well not.
    She took a frowning look at her watch. If she set off at once, she could be at Whitmead in
    time for lunch, and also, presumably, for any announcement that was going to be made.
    So, they weren't expecting her, but the Lassiters' open-house policy would surely still
    apply to their daughter-in-law, wryly she thought, her mouth twisting.
    It was a warm, sunlit day, and although traffic out of London was relatively heavy most
    of it was making for the coast. Kate headed inland for Surrey.
    The Old Rectory was on the outskirts of the village, next to the parish church, a pleasant
    red-brick house, surrounded by a rambling garden, and a tall hedge.
    The obvious thing to do was drive in through the gate, and park on the gravelled area
    which faced the front door, but for reasons she couldn't explain Kate decided to leave her
    car in a layby a short distance away, and arrive at the house on foot.
    As she got nearer, she found her footsteps slowing, and she turned up the narrow lane
    which led to the side gate. As usual, all the doors and windows of the house were open,
    and Kate stepped on to the verge, keeping close to the hedge. She wanted, she realised
    uncomfortably, to see the lie of the land, before she, herself, was seen.
    She paused suddenly, aware that something wasn't right.
    She bent, parting the twigs of the beech hedge with urgent fingers, and peering through
    the curling leaves. Parked in front of the house, she saw Mrs Lassiter's Mini, and the
    elderly Jaguar that was her husband's pride and joy. Next to them was Ben and Sally's
    estate car, as expected. But there was no sign of Ryan's Mercedes anywhere.
    My God, she thought, he's not here. He told me he was coming to Whitmead just to put
    me off. He's somewhere else—seeing someone else.
    She straightened hurriedly, feeling sick, wincing as the beech twigs tangled in her hair,
    then froze as an excited yapping started up on the other side of the hedge,