The Valentine Child. JACQUELINE BAIRDЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Justin’s skin darkened with colour. ‘There was no need to kiss the man.’

      ‘Why, I do believe you’re jealous!’ Zoë teased. She was stupidly hurt to discover after all these years that the cards had not come from Justin, but she was determined not to show it.

      ‘It’s that damned dress,’ Justin bent down to murmur in her ear. ‘Every time you reach up, I have palpitations in case you pop out the top.’

      She glanced up, her eyes clashing with his. His show of possession was flattering, and she laughed out loud, her humour restored. To the people watching, the stern barrister’s responding laughter came as something of a shock.

      For the rest of the introductions Zoë relaxed easily in her husband’s hold, until she felt Justin tense, his fingers tightening imperceptibly on her waist. She shot him a sidelong glance; his rugged features were set in an impassive mask. She looked back to the couple in front of her. She knew the man, Bob Oliver, a junior partner in the law firm; her glance shifted to his red-headed companion, and immediately she knew the reason for Justin’s sudden tension. Janet Ord had been his companion at Zoë’s eighteenth birthday…

      ‘Bob and Janet, how nice to see you again; it must be three years.’ She tried to lighten the atmosphere. She was Justin’s wife and she wanted to show him that she was adult enough to realise that it was only to be expected that eventually she would bump into one of his old girlfriends. The law, and those who pursued it in England, comprised quite an insular community.

      ‘Good to see you, Bob—Janet.’

      She heard Justin’s voice, cool and clipped, and wondered at the unmistakable frostiness in his tone. But at that moment the busload of friends from Magnum Advertising arrived, and she forgot all about Justin’s peculiar reticence with his junior partner and Janet. A few hours later she was to remember and wonder how she could have been such a fool…

      She looked around the crowded room, her blue eyes shining like stars. The party was going brilliantly; the caterers had done a superb job on the buffet and the large formal dining-room was subjected to a constant stream of guests. In the small ballroom, opened for the first time in years for the occasion, an enthusiastic quintet played a good mixture of popular and rock music.

      ‘Quite a triumph,’ Justin murmured, turning her into his arms and grinning down at her. ‘Though I should be angry with you. You never mentioned the pipsqueak Nigel was one of your guests.’