Free Marriage Under Suspicion by Sara Craven

side, and to her own surprise fell deeply and dreamlessly asleep.

CHAPTER FIVE
    When she awoke, it was morning, but there was nothing about the way the light fell
    across the bedroom floor which told her it was much later than usual. A glance at her
    clock confirmed this.
    'Oh, God.' She pushed back the covers, and almost fell out of bed, grabbing her robe. She
    launched herself down the stairs.
    Ryan was standing by one of the living-room windows, coffee mug in hand. He turned as
    she hurtled into view, his brows lifting.
    'What's the rush?'
    'I'm horrendously late,' Kate threw over her shoulder as she went into the kitchen. 'I must
    have slept through the alarm.'
    'Actually, I turned it off.' He followed, and stood watching as she flicked the switch to re-
    boil the kettle, threw a tea bag into a beaker, and began to hack at a lemon. 'Here, let me
    do that.' He strolled forward and took the knife from her hand.
    'Why?'
    'Because you're still half asleep, and I don't want you to cut your wrist instead of the
    lemon.' His mouth twisted ironically. 'Besides, bleeding all over the units could damage
    our property values.'
    'Not that,' Kate dismissed impatiently. 'Why did you turn off my alarm?'
    'You seemed to need your sleep.' Ryan added the lemon slice to the tea bag, and covered
    both with boiling water. 'And, as you were sick yesterday, I thought you might want to
    take today off, anyway.'
    Her heart skipped a beat. 'Do you think I should?' 'I'd say that's your decision.' He turned
    and gave her a long look. 'You know how you feel.'
    'Mmm.' She fidgeted with a spoon, glancing at him sideways, from under her lashes. 'But
    don't you prefer the flat to yourself when you're working?'
    'Actually, I shan't be here.' Ryan discarded the tea bag, and handed her the fragrant-
    smelling beaker, which could have contained dishwater for all her interest in it.
    'I see.' Kate made an elaborate business of taking a cautious sip. 'Doing anything
    interesting?'
    Trying to sound pleasantly casual, when she wanted to knock him to the floor and torture
    the truth out of him with lighted cigarettes, was not easy, she decided grimly.
    'This and that.' He rinsed out his empty mug, and stood it in the drying-rack.
    Did this bitch realise what a house-trained paragon she was getting? Kate wondered
    furiously.
    'Later on I'm having lunch with my editor,' he went on.
    'Oh.' Kate relaxed ever so slightly. He wouldn't stray very far with Joe Hartley, who'd
    been his editor ever since he joined Chatsworth Blair. Joe was a relaxed, humorous,
    razor-witted guy, with a wife he adored. Ryan needn't think he'd find any sympathy in
    that quarter. Joe would be far more likely to bawl him out, to make him see what he was
    throwing away.
    ‘That's terrific,' she continued, with genuine warmth. 'How is old Joe?'
    Ryan paused. Then, 'He's fine.'
    Kate thought she detected an odd note in his voice, and looked at him swiftly, but he
    looked calm, even slightly smiling, and this emboldened her.
    'Tell you what,' she said. 'I'm not doing anything for lunch today. Why don't I join you?
    It's ages since I've seen him.'
    'Not this time, darling,' Ryan said pleasantly. 'It's a strictly editorial lunch. I'm handing
    over the first draft of the new book, and we'll be discussing that rather than social
    niceties. And you know how bored you get with literary chat.'
    Kate flushed, and took another sip of lemon tea. 'That's not true,' she protested. 'I take
    enormous interest in your work.'
    'Yes, when it's wearing a jacket and on sale in Harrods.' His smile took any sting from the
    words. 'But you're not too enamoured by all the mysterious processes that get the words
    on to the paper. Admit it.'
    'Perhaps not,' she said slowly. 'But that's because they take you away from me.'
    It wasn't what she'd meant to say at all. She hadn't even been aware of the thought
    formulating.
    'I'm here, Kate.' Ryan's voice was soft, and oddly intense. 'I've always been here. Writing
    is a