Dangerous Deceiver

For a long moment their gazes locked, hers not even defiant, she hoped, yet she was momentarily puzzled by the tinge of scepticism she thought she saw in his; then it was gone and she wondered if she’d imagined it.

But he said abruptly, ‘So that part of it was always true?’ And there was no mistaking the cold disgust in his eyes now.

‘Of course. Did you ever doubt it?’ Martha asked sweetly, despite the strange mixture of hurt and the feeling that she was tumbling down a mine-shaft—by her own hand but unable to stop herself. ‘Perhaps I was a bit...rough in those days. Is that what made you have doubts? Well, I’m much, much more experienced now, Mr Macquarie. Would you like a demonstration?’

He relaxed all of a sudden. ‘No, thank you, Miss Winters. I think I could live without it. No,’ he mused. ‘What activated certain doubts was the sometimes undoubted genuineness of your—rages. But I guess we’re all wrong from time to time. Does my aunt know how you operate?’ he asked drily.

I’ve gone too far—I’ve done it again! Martha found herself thinking dully as she coloured a little. Why does this man do this to me? Then she stood up abruptly, swung her hair defiantly and said equally drily, ‘No. In fact I’ve turned over a new leaf. Now I’ve got this far it would be silly to...well, I guess you know what I mean.’

‘Acquire a sleazy reputation?’ he suggested softly.

‘Yes,’ she said shortly, but couldn’t prevent herself from shooting him one brief, blazing glance.

His lips twisted. ‘Well, I hope you succeed. And I hope you don’t find it too difficult to live without,’ he added, standing up himself.

Martha knew exactly what he meant as his gaze drifted up and down her again as if he could see beneath the blue crêpe and the coffee silk and she was reminded with deadly accuracy how it felt to have his hands on her body, but he didn’t leave a thing to chance. He moved towards her and stopped only inches away so that she was assailed by everything about him that she’d always found so tormentingly attractive: his height and the width of his shoulders; the slight tang of a lemony aftershave and the sheer male smell; the hard planes and angles of his fit, lean body that she’d secretly so admired. And she recalled the rapture of being kissed and held by him and how her heart had beaten and her skin shivered of its own accord, how her nerves had leapt...

She swallowed as she tried to gaze up unaffectedly into his eyes and remembered that he’d always been more than a match for her, and not only physically. She remembered, too, how he’d looked into her eyes, often after a passionate embrace, with that assessing, clever amusement lurking in the greeny depths of his and that wry, ironic twist to his lips and just sometimes with a more deadly kind of mockery.

She opened her mouth, desperate for something to say to break the unbearable tension of the moment, but he spoke first. ‘Live without sex, I mean,’ he murmured, and smiled as she trembled suddenly. ‘It should be interesting, Martha, to see how you cope. And I suppose one can’t altogether blame you for working your way up the ladder on your back when there are places on your body where your skin is like silk and there are curves and hollows so well arranged and designed, so erotic and sensitive, it’s...’ he paused ‘...almost a crime to find that you haven’t got the heart and soul to go with them. But——’

‘Get out,’ she whispered, rigid and white to the lips.

‘Just going. Good luck...’

‘Look, Madame, I apologise for walking out of your party but if you want to sack me for it that’s fine with me.’

Yvette Minter threw up her hands. She was wearing a colourful, stiffened-silk dressing-gown and she’d descended the area steps and knocked Martha up only moments ago. It was the morning after the party, a Sunday morning, and about nine o‘clock. ‘Why did I know you would say something like that to me?’ she demanded in clearly aggrieved tones. ‘Can you not even offer me a cup of coffee at this horrendous hour of the day?’

Martha shrugged and turned to the stove where a percolator was bubbling gently. ‘If you like.’ She poured two mugs.

Madame glanced at Martha’s bent head during this process but uncharacteristically said nothing for a time as she sat down and arranged the rich folds of her gown around her.

‘There.’ Martha pushed a mug across the table and after a brief hesitation sat down herself.

‘Merci.’ Madame smiled faintly and pursed her lips.

This caused Martha to wonder what was coming and it was as if Madame guessed her thoughts, because she said lightly, ‘I was just thinking—such a difference! Last night you were all fire and elegance; today you are like a teenage girl.’

Martha grimaced down at the floral patterned leggings and voluminous T-shirt she wore. ‘So?’

‘That’s another thing—how many times you say, “So?” to me, like so.’

‘Sorry. I guess what I’m trying to say is this. If I’ve blown my chance, if I’ve disgraced myself thoroughly and you can’t see any hope of retrieving things and making me famous——’ there was a tinge of irony in her voice ‘—you only have to tell me straight.’

‘Martha,’ Madame reproved, ‘why are you so prickly?’

‘It’s the way I’m made, I guess.’ Martha shrugged.

‘OK, I believe you, but what makes you think you disgraced yourself last night? All you did was add a bit of spice and mystery to the image. Believe me, to walk out on Simon—even to want to, let alone to do it—is a gesture not many girls make.’

‘Then they should,’ Martha said before she could stop herself. ‘I’m sorry if he’s your nephew but he—’ She stopped abruptly.

‘Go on,’ Madame said, her black eyes fairly snapping with curiosity.

Martha bit her lip and thought, Shades of Jane...‘No—uh—well, the least said, the soonest mended, I’m sure. Unless he...’ She stopped and looked directly at the other woman.

‘He has said nothing. Nothing,’ Madame emphasised. ‘Well, beyond that he met you three years ago in Australia. He has left me totally in the dark in other words—which is extremely frustrating for a woman like me,’ she added with complete honesty. ‘Mind you, it’s not hard to guess that you two—er—had something going; the air nearly sizzled around you. What a shot in the eye for Sondra Grant.’ She sighed with obvious pleasure.

‘Who’s she?’

Madame opened her eyes very wide. ‘His fiancée—well, his unofficial fiancée—you didn’t know?’

‘I don’t know anything about him, other than that he can be an absolute——’

‘Then I will tell you.’ Madame sat forward eagerly, and took not the slightest notice of Martha’s protest. ‘He is the son of my late ’usband’s brother—in reality we bear the same name but I chose to use my maiden name for my business. Now you think it’s strange that I should have married a Scot? Not at all; the Macquaries ‘ave married French women often; the family is half French anyway because——’

‘I know about the liqueur,’ Martha said drily. ‘That’s how we met in Australia—at a cocktail party but serving liqueur instead.’

‘Ah!’ Madame looked suddenly enlightened then she became serious again. ‘But do you know that Simon has literally saved the family company from fading into oblivion and turned it into a highly profitable concern again? Because he is a brilliant businessman—dynamic. Why, without his advice even I wouldn’t be where I am today and—–’

‘Madame—’ Martha stood up ‘—I’m really not interested. I’m sorry—–’

‘So he was the one?’

‘The one what?’

‘Who ’urt you, Martha. Look—–’ Madame became angry at last ‘—don’t take me for a fool, Mees Winters!’

‘I’m not!’ Martha denied. ‘But he is your nephew—Oh, this is impossible,’ she whispered suddenly, and was horrified to find she had tears welling. Tears because she could see a new life she’d just begun to believe in shattering before her eyes.

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘What’s what got to do with it?’ Martha asked impatiently, dashing at her eyes with the back of her hand.

‘That he’s my nephew?’ Madame said with more of her old arrogance.

‘Everything, I should imagine. I hate him, he...despises me, and I couldn’t even begin to tell you how much. We could be tripping over each other all the time, but you obviously admire him tremendously and—–’

‘So you think I automatically take his side, Miss Martha?’

‘Yes!’

Madame stood up and arranged her robe regally around her. ‘Then you do not even begin to understand me, Martha Winters,’ she said chillingly. ‘I do not only design exquisite clothes but I am a very fine judge of character as well as human nature. I’m also a Frenchwoman through to my bones and as such I know a lot about men, so I would never dream of saying, This man is my nephew therefore he must be all honour and virtue. No. Instead I say to myself, This is a man, first and foremost, and we all know what bastards men can be sometimes—this is what I say!’

Martha stared at her then sat down abruptly, dropped her face into her hands and started to laugh a little wildly. ‘But you hardly know me from a bar of soap!’

‘True,’ Madame conceded. ‘But I like you. So, hate Simon if you wish to. It will not affect me. But it also might not deceive me entirely.’