An Unbroken Marriage. PENNY JORDAN

India said tonelessly. She was beyond feeling; beyond anything, apart from trying to come to terms with what was happening to her.

      ‘Yes, the lure of a possible TV designing contract. That was why you agreed to come, of course.’ For a moment India was too stupefied to speak, and then all at once she found her voice, questions tumbling over one another.

      ‘What is this? Where’s Melisande? Where are you taking me?’

      ‘Which shall I answer first?’ he mused sardonically. ‘This, my dear India, is a form of—shall I call it retribution? A theatrical word to use, perhaps; justice is more how I think of it. As to Melisande,’ he continued, before India could question his first statement, ‘to the best of my knowledge at this very moment she’s in California. Now as to your third question, which was, I believe, “Where are you taking me?” he mimicked her own half furious, half fearful tones to perfection, much to India’s chagrin, ‘I’m taking you to a cottage I own in Dorset, where you and I shall spend the weekend together, returning to London on Monday morning, when I shall deposit you at your salon, having very publicly escorted you inside.

      ‘Tomorrow morning I shall ring your efficient secretary from the cottage, and explain to her that you’ll be late for work on Monday, and why…’ His eyes gleamed in the darkness and it seemed to India, completely unable to believe what she was hearing, that there was Satanic madness in that dark grey gleam.

      ‘Being the inestimable character that she is, she will naturally leap to the most appropriate conclusions, and before the week is out, my dear India, it should even have reached the ears of that doting boy-friend of yours that you and I have, to put it colloquially, become “very good friends”.’

      ‘But why? I don’t understand! You don’t like me. You don’t…’

      ‘Desire you?’ He was mocking her openly, but beneath the mockery India sensed a dangerous anger held in check. ‘No, I don’t desire you.’

      ‘Then why?’ India demanded helplessly, running through in her mind all the possible explanations for his totally irrational behaviour. Could it be an elaborate joke? She glanced doubtfully at the iron cast of his profile, the hard jaw, and set mouth.

      ‘Try Melford Taylor,’ the hatefully controlled voice drawled above her ear, ‘or better still, try Melford’s unfortunate wife—my cousin. Oh yes,’ he agreed when she turned dismayed eyes towards him, ‘Alison is most definitely my cousin. Her parents were the only stable family I knew after my own divorced; they practically brought me up. Alison was like a sister to me—in fact I was the one to introduce her to Melford. I’m even godfather to his two sons. You did know about them: about the fact that your lover had children by another woman—his wife?’ he demanded with a savagery that found India totally unprepared after the controlled calm of his earlier statements.