Act of Betrayal (8 page)

quiet.' As she hadn't uttered a word since they left the house,

this was hardly very perceptive, but Laura resisted the impulse

to snap as much back at him. He went on rather anxiously, ' I

hope you didn't mind my inviting your cousin and her friend to

this opening with us. It was just—well, he seems pretty much of

a man of the world, and if the restaurant is any good, he could

spread the word among his company executives. After all, Tristan

Construction are going to be moving in very soon

now—practically taking over, in fact.' Laura winced. 'Will the

town ever survive it?' she asked rather ironically. Alan looked

surprised. 'But it's a marvellous thing for everyone. More

building, increased trade—benefits all round.' She shrugged,

'Then that's all that needs to be said.' Her voice sounded high,

and just a little strident, and he gave her an uneasy sideways

glance. He could see the evening going wrong before his eyes, she

thought with swift compunction, and tried to make amends. 'I'm

sorry—I'm just a little uptight. It's been quite a day, one way

and another. But I'm sure itis going to be a lovely evening,' she

added gently. 'What's this restaurant called?' 'The Petronelle.'

On sure ground again, Alan launched eagerly into a resume of what

details he knew about it, and this safely occupied the remainder

of the journey.

The Petronelle was already half-full when they arrived, and a

photographer from The Echo was moving among the tables, taking

pictures. Laura looked around her, feigning an interest in the

decor to avoid Jason's cynical gaze, but in spite of herself, she

found her interest being caught. Someone had obviously worked

very hard, complementing the soft glow of the panelled walls with

lots of greenery, and good quality pastel table linen. If the

food was as good, she thought critically, then the Petronelle

should be a success. Her eyes widened as she saw the girl in the

Liberty print dress who was advancing to welcome them, and show

them to their table. Regardless of the fact that Alan was in the

middle of I introducing himself as The Echo correspondent, she |

said, 'Bethany? Is it really you?' The girl swung round, her

brows lifting, a delighted grin spreading across her face. 'Laura

Caswell, by all that's wonderful. How on earth do you come to be

here?' 'Actually, she came with me,' Alan said a mite huffily.

Bethany turned back to him at once. 'Then please accept my

undying gratitude. We were at cookery school together, and then

for no good reason, we lost touch. What in the world happened to

you, Laura? You got your diploma and—vanished.' 'It's a long

story.' Laura was uneasily aware of Jason, standing close behind

her. 'But what about you? You were planning to find a millionaire

with a yacht and feed him cholesterol as you cruised the Bahamas.

Burngate is a long way from Nassau.' 'Don't I know it? I started

work in a London hotel on my way to the docks, and ended by

marrying the chef.' Bethany's smile held tenderness. 'He's in the

kitchen at this moment, praying. We have a lot riding on the

success of this place.' She took Laura's hands and squeezed them.

'This evening's going to be hell, and I'm going to be run off my

feet, or at least I hope so, but promise me you won't vanish

again. For one thing, I want you to meet Mike.' She signalled to

one of the mobcapped waitresses. 'Champagne, Jenny, please.'

'Well, well,' Celia said as they took their seats. 'This seems to

be your day for being reunited with old friends, doesn't it

sweetie?' Her tone dripped honey. Alan said rather disagreeably,

'So this place belongs to friends of yours. She seems very young

to be running her own business.' Laura said calmly, 'But I can

promise she's had a training in catering second to none. Bethany

did the whole course, not the year's diploma which I took.

Anyway, why don't we have our meal before we start passing

judgment?' Alan flushed slightly as he picked up his menu, and

Laura sighed inwardly as she studied hers. It wasn't his fault

that the evening wasn't going as he expected. She had no appetite

at all, but for Bethany's sake she had to make an effort, so she

chose melon, followed by a dish of chicken breasts cooked in

cream and white wine. Jason chose beef in burgundy, and Celia

opted for Sole Veronique after some pretty dithering, and appeals

to everyone else to help her make up her mind. Alan, rather to

Laura's amusement, chose all the most difficult dishes on the

menu. Look, she wanted to say to him,"ybo're doing a piece for

the local paper, not a test meal for the Good Food Guide. They

drank the new restaurant's health in champagne, and then Alan

agonised over the wine list to an extent which Laura found

embarrassing. He was obviously out to establish himself as a

connoisseur in Celia and Jason's eyes, she realised ruefully, and

was failing miserably. She saw her cousin send Jason a covert

glance of contemptuous amusement, and cringed inwardly. But the

food, when it came, was perfectly cooked and expertly presented,

and the wines Alan had so ponderously chosen complemented it

well, she had to admit, wishing at the same time that he was

drinking less of it himself. His comments on his food were

appreciative but over-loud, and he was making ostentatious notes

on the corner of his menu. She began to wonder uneasily just how

much whisky he'd consumed at the cocktail party. Her uncle, she

knew, tended to pour with a lavish hand, and had taught Celia to

do the same. She hoped he would refuse the inevitable cognacs

they were offered with their coffee, and was frankly dismayed

when he accepted not just the first offer, but the, second,

especially when she saw the swift glance Jason sent him, and the

faint mordant twist of his mouth. All through the meal, she'd

been aware of him sitting opposite to her—conscious that he was

watching her, the grey eyes flicking restlessly from her face to

her throat and shoulders, half-revealed by the low neckline of

the smoky dress, then down to the glimpse it afforded of the

shadowy cleft between her breasts. She was as physically aware of

him, as if he'd been touching her with his hands instead of his

eyes. She watched, as if hypnotised, the way the lean brown

fingers cupped the brandy goblet, and knew, the breath thickening

in her throat, that he was deliberately trying to evoke other

more intimate memories. For Jason, lovemaking had been yet

another art form to be explored, Laura thought with an

uncomfortable twist of the heart. He'd been so unhurried with her

at first, so patient with her initial shyness, knowing, she

supposed bitterly, remembering his earlier taunt, that his

patience would be rewarded. Eventually she'd learned to relax

completely in his arms, to take as well as give, to trust him . .

. She clattered her coffee cup back into its saucer with a

shaking hand. It was the betrayal of that trust she had to

remember, not the warmth, the laughter, and the fierce mutual

passion which had preceded it. With something like panic, she

touched Alan's arm. 'It's getting late. I think we should be

going.' 'What's the hurry?' His words were slurred, she realised

with irritation, aware of Celia's derisive smile. She found

herself wondering again exactly how much he'd had to drink all

evening. Jason said smoothly, ' I f you're tired, Laura, we can

drive you home.' 'No need for that,' Alan said with a certain

asperity. 'She's my guest,' he added with laboured dignity. 'And

i f she wants to go home—then we will.' Laura fumbled with her

wrap, hotly embarrassed. She hung back deliberately as the others

made their way to the door, hoping they would be gone by the time

she reached the street. On her way out, she was waylaid by

Bethany, who gave her a swift hug. 'You're invited to the post

mortem tomorrow morning,' she whispered. 'Coffee about eleven.

Come to the side door.' Laura nodded, forcing a smile. 'I'll be

there. And the meal was fantastic, Beth. I don't think you have a

thing to worry about.' Bethany smiled crossing her fingers, then

turned to greet another departing group who also had praise to

lavish. Laura was drawn into the conversation too, and it was

some minutes before she could detach herself. But when she

emerged from the restaurant, she found with a sinking heart that

all three of them were waiting for her, Celia tapping her foot

impatiently. Laura could see at once that something was wrong.

Alan was leaning against the side of his car. He was very pale

suddenly, and there were beads of sweat on his face. She groaned

inwardly. Jason said grimly. 'He isn't fit to drive. The fresh a

a | has knocked him out.' T have a licence. I can manage,' Laura

said with a confidence she was far from feeling. 'That,' Jason

said silkily, ' I doubt. Unless your diploma course included a

section on dealing with drunks. And what about the terms of his

car insurance and yours, for that matter. Are you covered to

drive for him, because if not the consequences could be serious

if you were stopped, or had an accident?' Laura was silent. She

hadn't thought of that. At last, she said, 'There's a taxi rank

in the square. We'll use that.' ' I f you can persuade them to

take you.' Jason shrugged powerful shoulders. 'Passengers in his

condition are not exactly popular.' She glared at him. 'Then you

think of something.' ' I already have,' he said. T i l take you

both in my car.' Celia who had been listening petulantly to the

conversation, broke in, alarmed. 'Oh, but Jason, you can't. Your

lovely car—supposing he was—ill?' He gave her a level look.

'That's a risk I ' l l have to take. But if the possibility

upsets you, then I ' l l hire one of those taxis for you

instead.' Celia's face went blank, as she realised she had

outmanoeuvred herself. Her voice became a little shrill. 'But why

should our evening be spoiled, because Laura's—admirer can't

hold his drink? It's quite ridiculous. And, after all, Laura did

say she could cope...'

'Laura,' Jason said softly, 'is extremely capable, but I'm sure,

under the circumstances, your father would wish her to have

proper assistance. Particularly,' he added, 'as I suspect most of

the damage was done under your roof earlier. Those were very

large whiskies you were pouring for him.' Celia shrugged

delicately. 'He could have refused.' Jason smiled down into her

sulky face. 'He was so dazzled by you that he'd probably have

drunk hemlock, if you'd offered it, and who can blame him?' He

brushed her cheek with his hand, drawing a reluctant smile from

her. 'That's better. And the evening doesn't have to end here.

Laura and I will deliver the patient safely, then join you for

coffee. Will that do?' She laughed up at him. 'Mr Wingard, you

think of everything. I ' l l have the coffee waiting.' It was

mortifying, having to wait in the street while Jason took Celia

to the taxi rank. Alan was looking more ghastly with every moment

that passed, and when she finally persuaded him to stop hanging

on to the Mini and walk the few yards down Burngate to where

Jason's Jaguar was parked, he was decidedly unsteady on his legs.

She was almost thankful when Jason reappeared round the corner

from the square, covering the distance which separated them with

his long, lithe stride. 'I'm sorry about this.' It almost killed

her to say it. He said shortly, 'So am I , ' and that seemed to

cover the subject. It wasn't easy, persuading Alan toâ€‍

get into the Jaguar. He exhibited sudden symptoms of

independence, insisting that he could drive, and wanted his own

car. 'And presumably a licence to drive it with,' Jason said

pleasantly. 'There's a police car not a hundred yards away. I

imagine you'd be stopped before you'd got half that distance.'

Alan subsided into the passenger seat, grumbling