The heavy silence of the study was a poor comfort to Eric. He stood in front of the large window, looking out at the darkening sky, but his mind was not on the weather. A thought, ugly and persistent, kept flashing into his mind—Anne's venomous words from the night before: "George Pembroke has been going to your private residence, without your knowledge, ever since Delia moved in."
It was a lie, he knew. A desperate, clumsy lie from a spurned woman. And yet, the image it conjured, of George anywhere near Delia, made a muscle in his jaw clench. He let out a long, weary sigh. Trust was a fragile thing, and Anne had tried her best in an attempt to shatter it.
