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too, but I'd have had to wait longer.' He took a sip of tea, closing his
eyes. 'Mmm... delicious.'
They didn't hurry over the meal, and when they had finished cleared
the table and loaded the dishwasher together. Then Sancha sent Mark
into the sitting-room while she made coffee. When she went through
with it she found him glued to football again; this time the sports
news was on television and he wanted to know the result of the match
he had been watching earlier.
As soon as the news was over a film started, and they sat watching
that for a couple of hours, but Sancha hardly noticed what happened
in it; she was thinking about the night ahead. Each time she felt her
heart race and heat flood her body.
At,ten o'clock she got up. 'I think I'll have a bath before bedtime,' she
said, not meeting Mark's eyes.
'See you soon,' he said softly, and she almost ran out of the room.
She took her time over her bath, a long, slow soak in fragrantly
scented water, and took her time towelling herself dry, too. She
dropped a delicate white silk and lace nightdress over her head, and
over that a matching throat-to-toe robe, which foamed with lace.
After brushing her damp hair she used her favourite French perfume,
one Mark had chosen for her that Christmas.
He must be in their bedroom by now, she thought, opening the
bathroom door, but as she walked across the landing she heard Mark's
voice downstairs.
Sancha froze. Who was he talking to? Was there someone downstairs
with him, or was he on the phone? She leaned over the balustrade to
look down into the hall and felt her stomach turn over in shock and
pain.
Mark stood just below her with a woman in his arms. A woman with
blonde hair. Jacqui Farrar.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SANCHA was rooted to the spot for a few seconds, staring down at
them, almost wondering if she was seeing things. Surely this was a
nightmare, a bad dream. It couldn't really be happening. That woman
couldn't be here, in her house, wearing just a tiny dark red silk
dress more like a slip, actually- hanging from her bare shoulders
from tiny ribbonlike straps, the material skimming her body, the hem
way above her knees, showing lots of thigh. Sancha took in the way
the other woman's clinging arms clutched Mark's neck, her body
leaning against his while she kissed him passionately.
Sancha almost pinched herself to make sure she was awake. Maybe
she was fantasising this scene? She kept imagining Mark kissing this
other woman, maybe that was what she was doing now.
She closed her eyes, then looked again and they were still there,
below her, in the hall. The blonde girl was sobbing now. 'Oh, Mark...
you're making me so unhappy. You can't just dump me now not
now. I tion't believe you don't still love me.'
Huskily Mark said, 'Don't, Jacqui. Don't cry like that.' And his hands
closed on the girl's slender waist as iLto draw her even closer.
Sancha flinched; no, she wasn't imagining anything the pain of this
was far too real to be a dream, or even a nightmare.
The agony of facing reality made her head explode, as if a bomb had
gone off inside her. She ran down the stairs in a flurry of silk and lace,
almost tripping over the long skirts of her nightdress and robe, her
eyes burning with unshed tears and impotent rage.
Mark heard the sound of her running feet and pushed the blonde away
from him. He turned, his face flushed, with an expression of what
Sancha knew had to be guilt in his eyes.
She looked at him contemptuously. 'Yes, it's me and I've actually
caught you with her this time, haven't I? Did you think I was still in
my bath, or waiting for you in bed? No, you've been unlucky, Mark. I
saw her in your arms. I heard the two of you.'
'We'll talk when she's gone,' Mark said curtly, but she wasn't going to
let him talk her round. Not this time.
'How dare you?' she burst out, her voice shaking and hoarse. 'Right
under my nose! Kissing her, in my own home!' She swallowed, only
just keeping back her tears. 'Oh, how could you, Mark?'
'I wasn't kissing her!'
'I saw you!' He was still trying to he. That made her even angrier.
What a half-wit he must think her, if he hoped to make her doubt the
evidence of her own eyes!
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