Tags:
thriller,
Suspense,
Romance,
Manipulation,
Deception,
sexual,
seduction,
Betrayal,
infidelity,
sensuous,
tuscany
body, or by any other tangible delight. It simply signaled the excitement that rose within Peter at work, when in his element. She saw it when he punched his fist in the air at the news of some big client success, or when he was seized by some great idea, some solution. And now the young brunette saw it, and perhaps thought it to be much more than it was.
Isobel framed herself in the study door, an imposing figure in her riding pants, knee high boots, and hard hat. She stood legs apart, with her hands on hips, still clutching her riding crop, the very picture of the lady of the manor. The young woman stood up and introduced herself, her eyes glowing with opportunism, her lipstick a bright, heavy red. She was perhaps three inches shorter than Isobel, and the older woman looked down without bending her head, wishing to assert her authority. Rachel did not shrink from Isobel’s gaze, but held it with, it seemed to the older woman, a distinct lacking of due deference.
“We’re just going through a presentation,” she said, in explanation for her languid proximity to Peter. “For the meeting in Paris.”
“I will leave you to it then,” said Isobel with some aloofness. She looked across to Peter. “I’m taking a shower.”
Isobel was in the kitchen when Rachel approached her again. Not to be outdone by the assistant, Isobel had applied her own make-up more thoroughly and carefully than normal, and, as she swiveled to receive the young woman, her beauty appeared more graceful than before.
“Peter would like a coffee,” said Rachel, her voice powerful and demanding beneath a guise of submission.
Isobel looked her straight in the eye; a tray with crockery was already sitting ready. “The cups are there,” she said, nodding towards the tray, “and the coffee machine is behind you. Anyone can work it. And make me one too… please.”
“It’s a beautiful kitchen,” said Rachel as she went about her new duties. “I love the marble.”
“It’s granite,” said Isobel. And forget any idea you’ll ever inherit it, she thought.
As Rachel went on a crash course in coffee machines, Isobel weighed the girl up, noticing the trim figure so easily maintained with the advantage of youth, and resenting her for that advantage. She’d seen Rachel’s type before at Peter’s office — overdressed and over made-up for a mere delivery errand. She was pleasant and well-spoken enough and, if she played her hand well, in two years she would probably have her claws into some sad senior partner and, soon thereafter, her feet in his kitchen. But it wouldn’t be this one, Isobel was sure of that.
“Simon’s here!” shouted Isobel, as she saw the black Mercedes coming down the lane. She followed Rachel back to the study as the new maid delivered the coffee. Peter was already gathering up his papers.
“We’ll finish the presentation on the train,” said Peter. Rachel flashed a defiant look at Isobel, and as she took in the red valise by the table, it dawned on her that Rachel was going with him to Paris. She watched them leave, elbow to elbow, before separating and disappearing behind the rear blinds of the sleek black limousine. She stood and watched as the car pulled away, imagining them in eager conversation, their bodies leant in to each other across the thick armrest, and as the image played in her mind, she was unsure how to feel.
At seven that evening the phone rang, it was Peter. “The client wants to go to dinner, so I’m going to stay over.” Peter never asked permission on such matters, and she never expected it of him.
“But you haven’t got any things with you.”
“That’s ok. Rachel has popped out to get me a few bits and pieces.”
“Ok, well call me when you set off for home tomorrow.”
She hung up and dropped the phone onto the bed; stray feathers shot upwards from the duvet. One landed on the invitation and she brushed it aside with all her doubts, reaching for a pen with fire in her
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