Miranda Lee - The Wedding-Night Affair

‘It’s perfectly all right, Kathryn,’ she said nonchalantly. ‘I don’t mind. Mark’s a doctor,’ she directed, straight at Philip. ‘A surgeon. We met at a dinner party...oh, about six months ago. We’ve been dating ever since.’

Actually, it had only been three months. It just seemed like six. Mark had all the superficial qualities she found attractive in a man, being tall, dark-haired and good-looking, as well as well-read and intelligent. He was also more than adequate in bed.

But his vanity was beginning to grate and, even worse, he was starting to hint that it was time he settled down and passed on his ‘perfect’ genes. She’d been going to break with him this week, but now revised that decision. Mark was best kept around till Philip was safely married and out of her life once more.

Fiona felt confident she no longer loved Philip, but there was still an unfortunate chemistry there between them. She could feel it sparking away every time she looked at him. She suspected Philip could feel it too, and resented it as bitterly as she did. That was why he was taking pot-shots at her personal life.

‘So where did you meet Corinne?’ Fiona asked, deflecting the conversation away from her personal life and back onto Philip’s.

‘I can’t rightly remember. At some charity do she organised, I think.’

‘It sounds like she does a lot of charity work.’

‘She does.’

Which meant she didn’t have a real job. A rich man’s daughter, obviously. Well, what had she expected? Philip moved in those kinds of circles.

‘How old is she?’

‘Twenty-four.’

Just as she’d thought. Young. ‘Blonde?’

‘Uh-huh.’ Again, just as she’d thought. Philip had told her once how much he liked blonde hair.

‘Pretty, I’ve no doubt.’

‘Very.’

‘She’ll make a lovely bride,’ Kathryn joined in warmly. ‘It’s a pity her mother isn’t alive to see her. I went to school with her mother, would you believe? But she died when Corinne was a little girl. Corinne’s father is George Latham. He’s a state senator You might have heard of him?’

Who hadn’t? George Latham was not a shrinking violet, either in size or personality. He was also filthy rich. Or his family was. Yep, Fiona had this wedding tagged correctly. It would be society though and through Owen would be so pleased.

A sudden beeping had Philip standing up and fishing an extraordinarily small mobile phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, and, flipping it open, placed it to his ear. ‘Philip Forsythe,’ he said as he walked off to one side.

Both women picked up their coffee cups and began to sip, but Fiona could still hear Philip’s side of the conversation quite clearly.

‘That’s great... No, no, I wouldn’t mind at all, actually... All right, Corinne... See you soon, my darling.’

He walked swiftly back to the table, but stayed standing while he snapped the phone shut and slid it back into his pocket.

‘That was Corinne,’ he said. ‘She’s feeling a bit better and wants me to come over and babysit. I couldn’t really say no, given she’s leaving in a week or so. Sorry about lunch, Mother, but you and Fiona will still have a lovely time together, planning the wedding of the year.’

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