Marriage Under Suspicion by Sara Craven Read Free Book Online

cloakroom itself, being told very
    politely, to her relief that her niece could manage all by herself.
    She was waiting outside when she heard a faint ting from the hall phone, indicating that a
    receiver had just been replaced elsewhere in the house.
    She looked up, and saw Mrs Lassiter coming down the stairs, looking preoccupied.
    Kate thought, She's been making a phone call upstairs—where she wouldn't be
    overheard. To Ryan— to tell him I've arrived? But why should she? Unless, of course,
    Ryan didn't come down alone. And she instantly castigated herself for being not simply
    paranoid, but ridiculous.
    The Lassiters were kind parents, but quite conventional in their outlook. While Ryan
    remained married to herself, they would never encourage him to bring some other woman
    to meet them.
    She said quietly, 'Holly's in the cloakroom. I'd better get back to check up on Algy.'
    'Oh, please, dear.' Mrs Lassiter shook her head. 'The last time I left him alone, he ate a
    dozen jam tarts, and a cheese and onion flan.' She shuddered. 'I don't know which was
    worse—the crime or the consequences.'
    When Kate got back to the kitchen, Algy was sitting by the door, looking the picture of
    innocence. Only the crumbs still clinging to his heavy jowls gave him away.
    'You're a terrible thief,' Kate told him severely, noting thankfully that he'd only got away
    with a couple of the sausage rolls.
    'Thief,' echoed Tom, gleefully, as she sat down again beside him.
    Algy thumped his tail in agreement, then wandered over, dumping his chin on her knee
    so he could drool on to her taupe linen trousers.
    'Adding insult to injury.' She scratched the top of his head, and smoothed her hand down
    the long, velvety ears.
    Tom was getting restive, bored with his pastry, so, after a while, she took him into the
    garden, the basset padding loftily behind them.
    A wrought-iron table and chairs had been set under the shade of a tree. On the table was a
    tray containing a covered pitcher of home-made lemonade and some glasses, and under it
    was Thistle, panting gently. Nearby a rug had been spread on the lawn, with several toy
    cars and a plastic tub of Lego.
    Kate guided Tom towards these distractions, then sat at the table and poured herself some
    lemonade, hoping its freshness would dispel the scared, dry feeling in her throat.
    The sun was dappling down through the leaves, and the air was full of the scent of freshly
    cut grass. The murmur of traffic in the distance was almost drowned by the busy hum of
    bees at work in the herbaceous border.
    Almost in spite of herself, Kate found she was drawing a deep, satisfied breath, and
    lifting her face to the warmth as the peace of the garden worked its magic on her, and
    some of her inner tension began to dissipate.
    It wasn't how she'd normally choose to spend a Sunday, she thought drily, with two dogs
    snoring under her chair, and a very small boy playing motorways a few yards away, put it
    had its compensations.
    When Tom brought the Lego tub over to her, she thought he simply wanted it to be
    opened for him, but be tugged at her hand, making it vigorously clear that be expected
    her to join him on the grass.
    'No, Tom.' She detached herself gently. 'Go and play nicely.'
    But 'nicely' wasn't a word in his vocabulary. The round, solemn little face darkened
    ominously and he let out a thwarted roar.
    'He wants you to build him a garage,' said Holly, the faithful interpreter, appearing from
    nowhere.
    'Does he now?' Kate said grimly. She'd never actually touched a piece of Lego before,
    and trying to fit the various blocks into a recognisable shape under the critical gazes of
    Holly, Tom and both the dogs proved something of a trial.
    'It's all wobbly,' said Holly, when she'd finished. And it hasn't got a window. Why hasn't
    it?'
    'I'm just the builder,' said Kate. 'Blame the architect.'
    But Tom wasn't nearly so censorious. He sat and stared at it for a few minutes then
    treated Kate to another of his