‘Or do I blame your bitch of a wife?’ Charlie, still dressed as though he was ready to browbeat his minions on the board of directors, considered the sheet of pink vellum in silence. Dark, commanding yet ominously affable, he looked like a man who always got his own way and never backed down from a challenge. Megan had passed his BMW as she walked up the driveway and she thought the sleek yet functional vehicle was strongly reminiscent of the attractive and imposing Mr Grafton. Beside the sink, coolly preparing vegetables for their dinner, Rhona Grafton turned to face their visitor. Her shoulders stiffened. The tension briefly turned her model good looks into something stilted and unnatural. With the back of her hand she wiped a stray brunette curl from her forehead. It immediately returned to her brow but she pretended not to notice. The razor-sharp paring knife remained in her clenched fist, like an unvoiced threat. Her ice-blue eyes regarded Megan with frosty hostility. ‘That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?
