âTHEREâS A YOUNG lady to see you, Mrs Riordan.â
The housekeeper had emerged through the long windows at the back of the house and now stood looking at Rachel as she finished clipping a long-stemmed white rose and laid it in a trug at her feet.
Rachel straightened. She was neither in the mood nor dressed for visitors. The woman couldnât be someone she knew or Mrs Grady would have said so. She had to be either one of Jackâs clients or collecting for charity. In which case, why hadnât Mrs Grady dealt with it herself?
âDidnât you tell her that Mr Riordanâs not here?â she asked, deciding it must be one of Jackâs clients. How sheâd got his address, heaven knew, but then, Jack rarely abided by any of the rules that sheâd always been taught to obey.
âShe doesnât want to see Mr Riordan,â said Mrs Grady at once. âShe asked to speak to you, Mrs Riordan. She says her nameâs Karen Johnson. She seemed to think youâd know who she was.â
All the blood seemed to drain out of Rachelâs body at that moment. She felt both sick and dizzy. She might have lost her balance had it not been for the trellis close by that provided a convenient place to rest her trembling hand. But Mrs Grady knew her too well not to notice her sudden pallor, and, hurrying across the terrazzo tiles of the patio, she took Rachelâs arm in a reassuring grasp.
âThere now,â she said reprovingly. âI knew you shouldnât have been working out here in the hot sun without a hat. Youâve overdone it, havenât you? Come along inside and Iâll get you a nice cool glass of iced tea.â
âIâm all right, really.â Rachel could feel faint colour coming back into her face as she spoke. âUmâwhere is MissâMiss Johnson? Perhaps youâd better show her into the drawing room while I go and wash my hands.â
âNow, is that wise?â Mrs Grady had picked up the trug of roses, and with the familiarity of long service she gave her mistress a doubtful stare. Then, retaining her hold on Rachelâs arm, she urged her towards the house. âI can easily tell the young lady youâre not available. If itâs important, Iâm sure she can come back another day.â
Rachel was tempted. Unbearably tempted. But putting it off wasnât going to make it go away. All the same, she was stunned by the womanâs nerve in coming here. Had Jack put her up to this? Somehow, despite his faults, Rachel doubted even he would be that cruel.
âJust show her into the drawing room, Mrs Grady,â she said now, firmly putting all thought of changing her mind aside. âI wonât be long. You can serve us both some iced tea in the meantime.â Though whether she would be able to swallow anything in Karen Johnsonâs presence was uncertain.
Rachel took the back stairs to the upper floor, entering her bedroom with some relief. Despite what sheâd told Mrs Grady, she still felt a little unsteady, so she went into the adjoining bathroom and sluiced her hot face with cold water from the gold-plated taps.
The beauty of her surroundings went some way to calming her. This suite of roomsâsitting room, bedroom and bathroomâwas hers and hers alone, and although it was more extravagant than she could have wished, she couldnât deny it soothed her frazzled nerves.
That that woman should have the audacity to come here, she thought incredulously. And then, hard on the heels of that thought, Why on earth had she come? What could they possibly have to say to one another? She was Jackâs mistress; Rachel was Jackâs wife. Surely anything she had to say should be said to him?
She stared at her reflection in the long mirror above the vanity. God, she looked as shocked as she felt. Like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, she mused raggedly. With just as much sense of how to prevent the inevitable from happening.
But this wouldnât do. She couldnât let this woman come here and intimidate her in her own home. She was the mistress here, not Karen Johnson. If she had any sense sheâd send the woman packing without even hearing what she had to say.
But it was too late to be thinking that. Already Karen Johnson was in her drawing room, being served iced tea by her reluctant but unfailingly polite housekeeper. She couldnât keep her waiting. She shouldnât keep her waiting. She mustnât give the woman any reason to believe that she was too timid to confront her husbandâs whore.
Taking a deep breath, Rachel surveyed her appearance with a critical eye. It was a very warm day, and because she hadnât been expecting any visitors, sheâd chosen to wear pale green linen shorts and an aqua silk top. The top was loose and sleeveless, exposing the faint reddening of sunburn on her arms.
Should she change? Should she put on some make-up before meeting her guest? Perhaps some eyeshadow, she decided, shading her lids from beige to umber. And a brown-tinted lip gloss to complement the sun-streaked colours in her blond hair.