Sweet Lies

‘You know damn well it’s not a case of that…’ he ground out, but his words faded as a shadow fell across the table. His anger evaporated immediately, to be replaced by a brilliant smile.

‘Thanks, Luke,’ he said, taking the glass and placing it in front of Megan, who was carefully avoiding his eyes. ‘I think I’d best mix with some other guests,’ Darrow went on, pushing himself away from the table and pausing for a moment, till Megan was forced to look up and confront his grim expression.

A frown marred Megan’s usual smooth brow. She was annoyed at how smoothly he had managed to change his fa

de and direct his anger only at her.

‘I’ll see you later.’ He smiled at both of them, but Megan could see another message clearly in his eyes, that warned her that he was determined to finish their talk.

‘We’ll be leaving shortly. We are both tired with the travelling,’ Megan offered as an explanation, determined to go back to the safety of her cosy lodge.

His grin widened, showing a flash of white predatory teeth that made Megan inwardly wince.

‘We have a dinner-date, don’t we?’

‘Come on, Mum,’ agreed Luke. ‘It’s our first night. Besides, me and this lad from Manchester are in contest on one of the games and I can’t let him think I’ve run away from the challenge. Can I?’ His eyes danced with devilment and he struggled to control the teasing smile that tugged at his lips. He was obviously aware of the tension between his mother and Darrow and was delighting in it.

‘Later, then. You did agree to dinner, didn’t you?’ Darrow smiled. The threat of confrontation was only noticeable to Megan, and she forced herself to nod in agreement while mentally she had already decided she would leave at once.

She watched him move with ease, carefully gliding from group to group with a naturalness that she envied. She had never recovered from her mother’s criticism—even now it took all her will-power to combat her inner feelings of insecurity and present a confident fa

de. She was determined that her son would never feel the sense of worthlessness she had had to suffer. He was about to face up to adolescence—never an easy time—and to find out now that Darrow was his real father would have terrible repercussions.

The die was cast. The secret she had kept so long must remain deep within her heart. She had to protect her only son from anything that might make him feel rejected or unloved. Megan knew just how painful that could be.

Her mind drifted back to her unhappy childhood and the most memorable of the many arguments she had had with her mother.

‘He doesn’t care for you,’ her mother had informed her briskly as she sorted through a stack of papers, not even bothering to look at her distressed daughter. ‘He just feels sorry for you. It’s a pity, that’s all,’ she had continued, casting a brief look of disgust at her daughter’s pale, sad face.

‘He does care,’ Megan had replied, her voice barely audible and lacking conviction.

‘Don’t be so pathetic,’ she had scoffed, tossing the papers to one side and standing up in front of her daughter, ready for battle.

‘I’m not—’

‘Of course you are. It’s no good looking at me like that; you know I’m right,’ her mother had said confidently, charging on, careless of her daughter’s feelings. ‘I don’t know why you’re so dependent on him. Stand on your own two feet. I had to. I fought all the way on my own and so should you.’

‘I’m not going to be on my own. Darrow will come back,’ Megan had protested, her conviction fading against her mother’s onslaught.

‘Grow up, Megan. Out of sight, out of mind.’ She had lifted Megan’s hair between her fingers in despair. ‘A little dowdy thing like you can hardly compete against those American beauties he’ll be meeting.’

‘He’ll be back,’ Megan had cried in utter frustration.

‘Well, don’t hold your breath. Your father never made an appearance, did he?’ she had tossed at her as she marched away, and Megan had known, as usual, that she was a disappointment to her mother, that she could never be as strong as her. And surprisingly that still hurt.

CHAPTER THREE

MEGAN quickly finished her drink and began her search for Luke. She ignored all his protests, insisting that they should leave immediately. They had both reached the door before Darrow’s voice resounded in the empty hall.

‘I think it’s a little too cold to eat al fresco,’ his velvet voice taunted, and Megan swung round, uncharmed by the amused grin on his face. She exhaled slowly before glancing up and giving him a half-hearted smile. She ran her fingers through her hair, unconsciously curling its already natural wave. His grin widened still further as he recognised the familiar gesture of nervousness.

‘We’re tired. It’s been a long day.’ Her cheeks turned pink as she spoke, but her voice was firm despite the white lie.

‘Who’s this “we”?’ objected Luke instantly, flashing her a look of discontent. ‘I was on a roll, in Dracula’s castle,’ he complained, ignoring the grim expression on Megan’s face as she glared at him.

‘That’s settled, then,’ agreed Darrow, beaming a smile at Luke for his help in what Megan was convinced was a conspiracy against her. ‘Try typing in PQRS, then go through the second door and…’

Megan was totally confounded by the code but knew it was something to do with the computer game. Her heart shrivelled a little inside her. She had tried numerous times to get to grips with the new game technology but had always failed miserably, and she knew it was an important part of Luke’s life that she was unable to share. She felt excluded. A cold sense of loss swept over her; she had never had to share Luke before and it hurt.

‘And?’ demanded Luke, unable to bear waiting.

‘One hundred extra lives. And if you can’t get to level five now you never will,’ laughed Darrow, rubbing Luke’s head in a natural gesture of affection, and Megan was stunned when instead of shying away Luke stretched up his neck, like a cat wanting further strokes.

‘PQRS,’ repeated Luke.

‘You got it.’ Darrow smiled as Luke ran off without so much as saying goodbye to Megan.

She tried to pretend she didn’t care but she did, very much. The relationship between her and Luke was very intense—she had showered him with all her love from the moment he had been handed to her. That moment was branded on her mind.

‘Well done, he’s a lovely little boy,’ the nurse had gushed as he’d placed the tiny bundle of life into her open, eager arms.

‘My son,’ Megan had whispered in his ear as she’d held him close to her breast. She had inhaled the warm, sweet smell of him, forgetting all her feelings of fatigue. She was now fully awake, alert to every little nuance of her son. ‘Thank you,’ she had breathed, clasping her child even tighter, mentally swearing that no one would ever come between them.

A shiver of apprehension ran the length of her spine when she thought of the consequences that could develop if Luke ever knew the truth. Darrow turned to face Megan, arching his arm so that she could link hers into his, but Megan was not taken in by the easy charm that had fooled her all those years ago. Her eyes flicked to his arm but she hesitated, still unsure of the strength of her resolve.

‘Come on, Meggie,’ he cajoled, his eyebrows arched in a challenging look which he knew she would be unable to resist.

‘Lead the way.’ She nodded bravely, knowing full well she was walking straight into the jaws of hell.

‘Relax,’ laughed Darrow, drawing out her chair and noting the strained expression on her face. ‘It’s not such an ordeal, is it?’ he questioned lightly, but there was a definite undercurrent to his tone that Megan alone was sensitive to. She looked at him cautiously, her heart skipping a beat as she caught the stray scent of him.

‘Yes, it is,’ she confessed, then, noting the mocking rise of his eyebrows in horror, she hurriedly explained, ‘No, no—it’s not you,’ she began, ‘it’s the whole thing…’ Her voice faded away as her embarrassment grew still further. Her cheeks took on a rosy glow as he stared at her, willing her to continue, and enjoying her discomfort.

‘The whole thing?’ he prompted.

‘Going out to dinner. It’s like…’

‘A dinner-date,’ Darrow offered with a teasing lilt to his voice, and he picked up his white linen napkin and flicked it open. His action drew Megan’s eyes and she looked at his long, slender fingers, perfectly manicured, and for a fleeting moment she longed to reach out and touch them, to have her hand locked in his as it would have been all those years ago, she thought painfully.

‘A date.’ She repeated the words softly, struggling to fight an inner desire to allow herself to remember their first date. She felt that nervous again, and wondered how he felt. ‘It’s been so long since I’ve had a date,’ she admitted ruefully, with a half-hearted smile.