The Yuletide Child by Charlotte Lamb (latest ebook reader TXT) 📕

for a long, long time. She couldn’t believe what she had just heard; the words swirled around in her head. ‘Darling’ Suzy had called Ross, in that sultry, intimate voice, and talked about seeing him tonight in York. Hadn’t Ross said that Alan wouldn’t be at this conference? He was staying on duty so that there was someone covering this area of the forest.

That day, last autumn, when she’d seen Suzy and Ross together in the forest, she had told herself there could be a perfectly innocent reason for their being together, thatshe was crazy to jump to conclusions. But this time there couldn’t be any mistake. She wasn’t imagining that phone call or the way Suzy had talked, or what she had said. Suzy hadn’t wanted Alan to hear her; she couldn’t leave yet in case he guessed what was going on!

Slowly Dylan switched off the mobile phone and laid it down. When did they meet? Where did they meet? Obviously somewhere nearby—Ross hadn’t been away since their honeymoon. But he was often out all day and long into the night.

There was only one place where he could have a secret rendezvous—hidden deep among the trees where Ross spent a great deal of his working hours. Her teeth grating, Dylan thought of the small wooden hut where Ross kept many of his tools and instruments; she herself had met Ross there many times in the warmer months, taken him sandwiches and a flask of fresh coffee and stayed to talk for half an hour. Once or twice they had made love there on a low cot bed Ross used on the rare occasions when he had to work all night out in the forest on research projects.

That must be where he met Suzy. How long had it been going on? And how serious was it? Dylan dropped her head into her hands, pressed her palms to her hot, aching eyes. No wonder Ross hadn’t touched her for weeks. No wonder he had refused to take her with him. He’d said wives couldn’t go. The truth was, he was taking Suzy.

But how could he do that without it getting back to Alan? Was Suzy going to sneak into the hotel and keep out of sight? Would they have room service in their room instead of going down to dinner, and then make love all night? In the morning Ross would rejoin his colleagues and while they were in their final session ofdiscussions Suzy would creep out and drive home to an unsuspecting Alan.

Dylan put a hand to her mouth, bit down on her fingers in a spasm of jealousy, to stop herself screaming. The thought of Ross with another woman was agony. She couldn’t bear it.

How could he do this to her? He had left her alone here, frightened and miserable, while he was with that blonde harpy. Poor Alan. He didn’t deserve what Suzy was doing to him. He adored his wife, thought she was wonderful. And all the time...

Rage flared inside her. Well, she wasn’t putting up with it! She was going, leaving Ross. And she wouldn’t be back.

Not giving herself time to calm down, she picked up the mobile phone and dialled her sister’s number. Jenny was out, no doubt doing last-minute Christmas shopping with her two little boys, but her answer-machine was switched on, so Dylan left a message on it.

‘Jen, I’m coming to stay for Christmas—leaving right away.’ she looked at her watch. Amazingly, only half an hour had passed since she’d sunk down here for a rest and a light snack lunch. It seemed an eternity.

Her voice husky, she went on, ‘It’s one o‘clock. I should get to the Lake District by about four. See you then. I’ll be alone. Ross isn’t coming with me. I’ll explain when I get there.’

Jenny had invited them to spend Christmas with her, but Dylan had wanted to spend those special days alone with Ross. The irony struck her forcibly as she slowly plodded back upstairs.

It didn’t take her long to pack. She left a note for Ross.

Suzy rang you on your mobile. I know all about it now, Ross. I’m going to Jenny. Don’t bother to come after me. We’re finished.

She dropped her wedding ring on top of the note. Her marriage was over. Barely a year—and it was over!

She refused to cry. She wasn’t breaking down again; he wasn’t worth it.

Her car was in the garage; the sight of it both saddened and comforted her. Michael had covered it with such enormous, exquisite flowers in metallic, vivid colours, pink and blue and yellow, with huge green leaves.

People stared when she drove into the village, but the little car was still in very good condition. Ross had offered to buy her a new car but she wouldn’t part with her flower wagon for anything. It was her last real link with her old life, with ballet and all her friends. None of them were great letter-writers. At first they had rung her occasionally, but it was months since she had heard from any of them. Michael had sent her a postcard from New York a week ago. He and the company were on the last leg of their tour and he was looking forward to opening there soon. Ross had seen the card on the kitchen table, picked it up and read it, scowling. He was still jealous. He wanted her to forget all about the life she had once led. It was alien to him; he had had no part of it.

‘Is he still writing to you?’ he had asked her, looking up with laser-bright eyes.

‘That’s the first I’ve heard from him in months.’

‘How’s he getting on with his new partner? She looks pretty sexy.’

‘I think Michael’s happy with her.’ She didn’t tell himthat Michael had rung her the morning after the first night of this new ballet. It had been rapturously received, but Michael had not been entirely happy with Sasha’s performance.

‘She hasn’t