Athan stilled. ‘Does an unhappy marriage excuse bad behaviour?’ He knew there was nothing audible in his voice other than dispassionate enquiry. His mouth, however, had tightened. However insightful she might be about Chekov, it didn’t blind him to the fact that she was still in the dock about the way she chose to live her private life.
‘Sometimes, perhaps,’ Marisa said slowly. ‘The second sister, Masha, wouldn’t have had an affair if she’d been happily married, would she?’
‘And that exonerates her, does it?’
Now the edge was audible in his voice, and Marisa looked across at him.
‘I think it depends on each individual situation,’ she said.
There was a shadow in her eyes as she spoke, and Athan did not miss it.
So, was that what she was telling herself? he thought. That Ian Randall was unhappily married, so that gave him—and her—carte blanche to have an affair?
‘Do you think Masha’s husband was right to forgive her?’ His question was blunt.
‘Well, divorce was probably impossible in those days, wasn’t it? He would just have to make the best of things, I guess.’
Athan reached for his wine. ‘Ah, yes, divorce—a very convenient option.’
Marisa looked at him. ‘But not one that’s always taken,’ she said.
She looked away again. This wasn’t a subject she wanted to discuss. It was too close, too painful, and the arrival of their main course was a welcome interruption.
As the waiters departed she picked up her knife and fork and said, deliberately seeking a new topic, ‘What brings you to London?’
Her voice was bright and enquiring. Glancing at her, realising she was deliberately steering him away from a subject that was obviously too close to the bone for her, Athan momentarily wondered how she would react if he told her the truth: I’m here to stop you having an adulterous affair with Ian Randall … my brother-in-law.
Instead, of course, he responded in a similar vein to her conversational opening.
‘Unlike the three sisters, I travel extensively for my work. I’m primarily based in Athens, but the company is international and travel goes with the ticket.’
A wistful look entered her eyes. ‘That must be wonderful,’ she said.
He gave a mordant smile. ‘It can get tedious,’ he answered. ‘One airport is very much like another in the end—and offices are very similar wherever in the world they are.’
‘Yes, I suppose it palls after a while.’
He looked at her speculatively. ‘Why don’t you try it some time—travel? If you’ll excuse me saying so, you have the means to do so, don’t you?’
Living in a Holland Park flat as she did, wearing the expensive closthes she did, it was a reasonable assumption for him to make—assuming, of course, he didn’t know that she was not a free agent and that her accommodation and wardrobe were provided by a lover who was London-based and would want to keep his mistress close by and not gadding about abroad.
Her response confirmed that assessment of her situation.
A hesitant expression flitted across her face. ‘Oh, it would be a bit difficult at the moment. But, yes, perhaps one day—it would be wonderful to see other countries.’
‘What would be your first choice?’ he asked. An idea was forming in his mind, but he needed more information first.
She glanced out of the window at the wintry rain that had started to descend through the streetlights.
‘Anywhere with a tropical beach!’ she said with a laugh.
He gave a light, answering laugh. ‘Yes, I can see the appeal.’
She looked at him. ‘You must be used to hot weather?’
‘Contrary to popular opinion, Athens can have very cold weather sometimes,’ he said wryly. ‘At this time of year you’d need to go a lot further south to find any warmth, let alone tropical beaches.’
Even as he spoke his mind was racing ahead. Would it be feasible, what he’d just thought of? It would take some reorganisation, but it could certainly be done. Best of all, a cold, cynical part of his brain told him, it would be something she could not lie about afterwards. If he had to he could demonstrably prove to Ian that the woman he wanted to make his mistress had preferred another man to him.