Keeping Luke's Secret

Thirty-seven years old, obviously handsome, having won several Oscars for various screenplays he had written, Luke Richmond was very successful in his own right. A man, in fact—on the surface, at least!—that anyone would be proud to call their son.

Except that no man ever had…

Star of the screen and theatre for over fifty years, Rachel Richmond had never married, neither had she ever named the man who had fathered the baby son she’d given birth to thirty-seven years ago.

At the time, the mid-sixties, the fact that the actress had been an unmarried mother had threatened to abruptly end Rachel Richmond’s acting career, where morality in the screen icons had still been expected, if not demanded, by the multimillion-pound studios.

But Rachel Richmond had remained adamantly single, sweetly silent, instead choosing to take her baby son with her everywhere she’d gone, becoming overnight the epitome of the perfect mother, the whole world seeming to take her, and her baby, to their hearts.

Speculation as to the baby’s father had continued intermittently over the years, but in the face of the actress’s indomitable silence it had remained exactly that—speculation.

Looking at him now, Leonie wondered how Luke Richmond had coped with the speculation throughout his life concerning his paternity. Or if, in fact, it was speculation to him… Surely his mother, as Luke reached maturity, would have confided his paternity to him, at least?

If she had, he had remained as close-mouthed about it as his mother had always been!

Leonie drew in a determined breath. ‘I really think there has been some sort of confusion as to my presence here, Mr Richmond,’ she tried again. ‘You see—’

‘I believe I, at least, have made myself more than clear, Dr Winston,’ he cut in coldly. ‘I’m sure you’re a very capable biographer. In fact, I know you are,’ he added with a frown. ‘I read your book on Leo Winston,’ he explained at her puzzled look.

Leonie blinked in surprise; she wouldn’t have thought the subject of her book one that would interest this man. ‘It wasn’t a hard book to write,’ she answered ruefully. ‘He’s my grandfather,’ she explained wryly.

Luke Richmond gave a brief inclination of his head. ‘So I believe. But he was also one of the best-kept secrets of the English government during the years of the Second World War.’

‘Yes…’ Leonie confirmed slowly. He had read the book!

‘My mother read the book before passing it on to me; she thought your grandfather’s story might make a good screenplay,’ Luke Richmond drawled as Leonie still looked puzzled by his interest.

Knowing her grandfather, he would be horrified at the mere thought of such a thing!

‘My grandfather prefers to be known for his ability as a historian rather than anything else that he may or may not have done in his earlier years,’ she hastily assured the screenwriter.

‘A genuine twentieth-century Scarlet Pimpernel,’ Luke Richmond continued thoughtfully. ‘Although, on reflection, I decided the storyline was probably a bit hackneyed,’ he added with cool dismissal.

If he was meaning to be deliberately insulting, then he was succeeding. Which was precisely the reason Leonie refused to give him the satisfaction of responding to the insult!

‘“On reflection”?’ she prompted dryly, glancing distractedly down at her wrist-watch. This man was right about his mother’s tardiness; Rachel Richmond was now almost fifteen minutes late for their appointment.

He gave an abrupt inclination of his dark head. ‘Your grandfather convinced me it would be in no one’s interest—least of all his!—if I were to write his story for the big screen. Besides,’ Luke Richmond added with the slightest show of humour in those cold green eyes, ‘we couldn’t agree on the man who could play the part of your grandfather.’

Leonie frowned at this disclosure; until this moment she’d had no idea this man had ever met her grandfather, let alone progressed any further than that. Her grandfather had certainly never mentioned it…

‘I think my grandfather may have been being deliberately obstructive.’ She shrugged narrow shoulders ruefully.

The screenwriter looked at her coolly. ‘A family trait, perhaps?’ he drawled insultingly.

Leonie drew in a sharp breath. She really had no idea what she had done to alienate this man—probably nothing, she reasoned; the man seemed to have a natural antagonism!—but it was certainly time it stopped.

‘Mr Richmond—’

‘My dear Leonie—I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting!’ Rachel Richmond chose that moment to sweep into the room like a breath of fresh air, literally seeming to brighten up the room with her presence.

Rachel also, Leonie acknowledged admiringly, totally belied her seventy-odd years in a figure-hugging green dress, her blonde hair swept back from her beautiful unlined face in a casual shoulder-length style.

‘And Luke, too.’ The actress moved to kiss her son warmly on the cheek. ‘How wonderful!’ She turned back to Leonie. ‘Why, my dear, you’re perfectly lovely,’ she exclaimed warmly, reaching out to grasp both Leonie’s hands into her own slender ones.

After the son’s icy contempt, this woman’s obvious pleasure in meeting her took Leonie aback slightly. Although there was no doubting the other woman’s warmth was totally genuine; her green eyes sparkled with pleasure, the smile that had been charming theatre- and cinema-goers for over fifty years completely enfolding Leonie in its beaming ray.

Although describing her as ‘perfectly lovely’ was a slight exaggeration, Leonie felt. In her heeled shoes, she easily towered over the older woman by at least six inches, her appearance completely businesslike in a tailored grey suit and white blouse, her blonde hair kept conveniently short, washed in the shower every morning and simply left to dry in curling wisps. Her looks weren’t exactly impressive either: grey eyes, pert nose, curving lips, and a determinedly pointed chin.

In fact, she looked exactly what she was: a historian, like her grandfather.

‘Thank you,’ Leonie dryly accepted the compliment, very aware of Luke Richmond’s contemptuous smile even as she inwardly admitted to being slightly uncomfortable at the effusiveness of the actress’s greeting. In fact, she wasn’t sure she didn’t almost prefer Luke Richmond’s coldness. Almost…

‘I think you should release Dr Winston’s hands now, Rachel,’ Luke Richmond drawled derisively. ‘You’re obviously embarrassing her,’ he added with a mocking lift of those dark brows in Leonie’s direction.

She flushed resentfully. ‘Not at all,’ she told him hardly before turning back to his mother. The woman he appeared to address as Rachel… ‘Your son seems to be under the impression that I’m intruding—’

‘It isn’t just an impression,’ he cut in harshly, that brief, mocking humour fading as abruptly as it had appeared. ‘It’s a fact!’

‘Really, Luke.’ His mother turned to him in mild rebuke, finally releasing Leonie’s hands as she did so. ‘Leonie won’t understand your sense of humour yet, darling.’ She gave him an indulgent smile.

‘Sense of humour’! Did this man have a sense of humour? Only an indulgent mother, Leonie was sure, could possibly think so.

‘I think you’re wrong there, Rachel.’ Luke Richmond’s cold gaze didn’t waver from the paleness of Leonie’s face as he answered his mother. ‘I believe Dr Winston understands me only too well,’ he added challengingly.

Oh, she understood him, all right—he was just completely wrong in his obvious conclusions concerning her presence in his mother’s home.

She turned back to the older woman. ‘Miss Richmond—’

‘Please do call me Rachel,’ the actress instantly invited, still smiling warmly. ‘Luke, darling, did you ask Janet to organise some tea for us all?’ She arched blonde brows at her son.

His mouth tightened grimly. ‘No—’

‘Then do so, darling,’ his mother interrupted imperiously before turning back to smile at Leonie once again. ‘Leonie, I’m sure you would like a stroll in the garden while we wait for our tea.’ Without waiting for an answer she linked her arm with Leonie’s and led the way out the French windows into the sunlit garden. ‘I do so want you to tell me all about yourself, my dear,’ she encouraged interestedly. ‘I’ve never met a female historian before. It must be so exhilarating to excel in such a male-dominated subject. Exactly what…?’

Leonie was only half listening to the older woman as she chattered on, seemingly not really requiring an answer to her questions. At least, Leonie didn’t give her any. She was too distracted by the furious expression she had seen on Luke Richmond’s face as the two women walked outside into the garden. It was more than obvious to her that if he could have forcibly removed her from the house without upsetting his mother, then he would have done so.

‘It really is lovely to meet you, my dear.’ Rachel Richmond squeezed her arm in delight, green eyes glowing as she smiled. ‘I did so enjoy your last book.’

‘My first book,’ Leonie corrected dryly. ‘But also my last,’ she added ruefully. ‘You see—’

‘Oh, I do so hope not, Leonie—I may call you Leonie, I hope?’ Rachel Richmond prompted belatedly, a slight frown marring the actress’s otherwise smoothly creamy brow.

‘Of course,’ she accepted dismissively. ‘But, Miss Richmond—’

‘And you really must call me Rachel,’ the older woman invited again lightly. ‘Everybody does. Even Luke,’ she added affectionately.

A fact Leonie had already noted—and found strangely odd. And, in truth, she wasn’t sure she could use such a familiarity herself. This woman was an icon of the theatre and cinema, still able to command the interest of a crowd whenever she chose to make a public appearance, still able to draw a full audience night after night on the rare occasions she agreed to appear on the stage. As Leonie was finding, her personality was just as commanding in the flesh…