Free Marriage Under Suspicion by Sara Craven Page B

supposed to see, simply by running a pencil over the indentations in the
    next sheet of paper.
    Almost idly, as if acting outside her own volition, Kate picked up the pencil, and brushed
    the lead over the marks on the pad.
    'Amaryllis,' she read aloud, then paused, frowning.
    But that's the new restaurant that opened in Denbigh Street a week or two ago, she
    thought, puzzled. And Joe Hartley always takes Ryan to Scotts, because they both love
    fish. It's like a ritual for them.
    Slowly, she tore the sheet from the pad, and stowed it in her bag.
    Everything seemed to be changing, she thought, from the vitally important to the
    relatively trivial. She felt like a child, robbed of its security blanket, and she didn't like it.
    It was an edgy morning altogether. Kate was dreading an interrogation from Louie on
    how the previous evening had gone, but—perhaps fortunately—her partner was dealing
    with the crisis of a last-minute replacement for their favourite florist, who'd broken her
    wrist and would be unable to undertake the promised arrangements for a looming
    wedding.
    Kate completed a couple of quotations, dealt with a letter from a disgruntled client,
    convinced that inferior sherry had been served at his daughter's reception, and finalised
    the menu to be served at the celebration lunch for a venerable detective novelist's fiftieth
    book.
    But at the same time her mind was churning, reviewing everything that had happened,
    and finding little for her comfort.
    She was particularly concerned over Ryan's reason for turning down her company at
    lunch. Did he really think she was uninterested in his work? she wondered, chewing the
    end of an inoffensive pen.
    I don't altogether understand it, and I may resent it, she told herself honestly, but it
    doesn't bore me.
    But could this have driven the first wedge between them, and rendered him prey to this
    other relationship? she asked herself uneasily. Did 'X' sit at his feet, perhaps, reading
    every word and offering helpful critiques? Was this how she'd got to him?
    It was Debbie, the PA, putting her head round the door to ask if Kate wanted the usual
    sandwiches for lunch that brought her to an abrupt decision.
    'No, thanks, I'm going out. And could you bring in the folder with the reviews on new
    restaurants, Debs?'
    I'll go and join them, she thought. I've always got on with Joe, and we can have one of
    our mock flirtations—make Ryan see me as a woman again. And show him that I do care
    about what he does. I'll knock him sideways with my intelligent interest.
    She read what the critics had to say about the Amaryllis twice. No minimalist chic here, it
    seemed. 'Luscious French cooking, and decor to match,' was one quote. 'Lots of red
    velvet and discreetly intimate booths,' said another, adding, 'A kind of gastronomic
    bordello.'
    'Is it, indeed?' Kate muttered under her breath. It didn't sound the likeliest place to hand
    over a manuscript either. And it clearly called for something other than her neat but not
    gaudy office gear.
    Her favourite boutique came up with the very thing, a clinging jersey dress the color of
    warm honey, with a deep V-neckline, tiny sleeves and a skirt flaring from mid-thigh, and
    slashed for extra swing. Kate added bronze pumps and a matching clutch purse and
    bundled her workaday clothes into a carrier for collection later.
    She got the cab-driver to drop her at the end of Denbigh Street. As she walked slowly
    towards the restaurant, a workman painting a shop front whistled at her—a politically
    incorrect move on his part which, nevertheless, warmed the cockles of Kate's unhappy
    heart.
    The Amaryllis didn't simply protect the privacy of its clientele with red velvet. The
    smoked-glass windows were guarded by a small rainforest of green plants in vast ceramic
    tubs.

    Kate, under cover of reading the selection of fixed-price menus displayed outside, tried to
    make a preliminary reconnaissance by peering between the fronds, but had to give it