Deceived

She conjured up his image in her mind with determination. Tall and even fairer than she was, with an easy smile, Hugh Wingate had been in the army, serving in the Falklands and latterly in the Gulf War. On his father’s death he’d resigned his commission and come home to look after the family estates. Debra had decided at once that the seventeenth-century Wingate Hall would make a perfect background for Lydie and had spent the previous year trying to bring it about.

Jon, Lydie thought drily, was not the only victim of their mother’s manipulative tactics.

But although Hugh had been more than co-operative Lydie had maintained a certain reserve, even though she enjoyed his company and shared a lot of his interests. Many successful marriages, she knew, had been based on far less.

But she wasn’t in love with Hugh and she knew it. His kisses, while agreeable, left her only faintly stirred, and she’d had not the slightest difficulty in resisting his urging her to carry their relationship to a more intimate level. If and when they became officially engaged, the pressure, she supposed, would increase, and she would have to surrender herself.

But maybe that was what she needed, she thought broodingly. Perhaps the only way to erase the past, and the pain, was to commit herself to another relationship. To begin her life as a woman all over again.

She stared at herself. It could be that she was never to know again the same wild intensity of feeling she’d experienced five years ago; that what she felt for Hugh was as good as it was going to get. Well, so be it. Hugh would never feel short-changed anyway, she vowed inwardly. She would make sure of that.

Security, she thought—that’s what matters above all. She could remember only too clearly the various cheap flats, the uncertainty of school holidays, the terrifying fluctuation of finances which had marked their childhood, could understand why Debra, her career in decline, her spectacular looks beginning to fade, had grabbed with both hands at the florid Edwardian comfort of Greystones and Austin’s unstinting devotion.

If Hugh proposed tonight as her mother was sure he intended, then she’d accept. Turn Austin’s birthday into a double celebration.

She turned away from the mirror and waltzed out into the gallery, the dress held against her.

‘I’ll have my hair up tonight,’ she announced. ‘But you’ll have to imagine the rest of it.’

She checked, her hand flying to her mouth in sudden embarrassment. She hadn’t heard him arrive but there was a last-minute customer just the same.

There was a man’s tall figure standing beside Nell near the cash desk.

God, she thought with vexation, snatching the dress away as if it were stinging her and throwing it over her arm. What an idiot I must look.

Flushing deeply, she said, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise anyone else was here.’

‘Don’t apologise.’ The deep voice was husky with amusement. ‘I wouldn’t have missed the performance for the world.’

Poised for retreat, Lydie felt instead as if she’d suddenly been turned to stone. She felt her lips parting in a silent gasp, her green eyes widening endlessly as he moved without haste towards her.

The overhead light shining directly on him showed thick, faintly curling dark hair and a lean, tanned face, against which his grey eyes were as cold and hard as a winter sky.

‘Cream and gold,’ Marius Benedict said softly. ‘Just like a madonna lily.’ And he smiled at her.

All the breath seemed to catch in her throat. Then she moved, swiftly, clumsily, her hand swinging up in front of her as if to ward him off. And a bowl with a vivid blue glaze went smashing to the floor.

‘Oh, no,’ Lydie wailed, and knelt to pick up the pieces.

‘Careful you don’t cut your hand.’ Nell rushed over to her. ‘And keep your dress off the floor. It’ll mark.’

‘I’m afraid I startled her,’ the deep voice said. ‘You must let me pay for the damage.’

‘These things happen.’ Nell was philosophical. She gave Lydie a swift hug. ‘You pop off home. I’ll clear up.’

‘All right,’ Lydie managed. She got stiffly to her feet, not convinced that her legs would support her.

‘Let me help.’ He walked forward, his hand reaching for her arm.

Lydie recoiled. ‘I can manage.’ Her voice sounded breathless—like a stranger’s.

He halted, his brows lifting. ‘Then can I at least offer you a lift?’

She swallowed. ‘Thank you, but I have my own car.’

‘Of course you have,’ he said softly. ‘How stupid of me. Then I’ll just—see you later.’

She could feel his eyes following her as she walked the endless distance back to the studio. She dragged the heavy curtain over the doorway with a rattle of protesting rings, wishing with all her heart that it were a door she could close—and lock. Then she stood, motionless, among the familiar scents of oil paints and turpentine, feeling like an alien in some strange and dangerous country. Her mouth was bone-dry, her heart pounding like a sledgehammer.

Marius, she thought. Marius back in Thornshaugh after five years of silence. It couldn’t be happening.

Only a few minutes ago she’d broken the taboo and said his name. And now here he was, as if she’d conjured him like a spirit from some vast and echoing limbo.

Speak of the devil, they said, and he’s bound to appear.

With feverish hands she bundled the dress back into its tissue wrapping. ‘Madonna lily’. The words throbbed in her head. She could never wear it now. Never even wanted to see it again,

There’d be something else in her wardrobe—the little black number she’d bought to have dinner with Hugh last week. She could dress that up, somehow. Her mind ran in feverish circles, trying to focus on trivialities and shut out the clamour in her brain.

What—what in the name of God could Marius be doing back here? Thornshaugh was barred to him, so what could he possibly hope to gain by simply—turning up like this?

Unless, of course, it wasn’t that simple at all.

Suddenly, it hurt to breathe.

‘See you later,’ he’d said. Not ‘see you around’. That could have real significance.

She glimpsed herself in the mirror again, and paused. She looked like death. Her face was white and her eyes twice their normal size.

What had he seen? she wondered suddenly. How had she changed? She’d shed every last trace of never very evident puppy fat a long time ago, and her fair hair had been skilfully highlighted, but apart from that there wasn’t much to separate her from the naive, trusting seventeen-year-old he’d betrayed and left behind.

He looked older than his thirty years, she thought, striving for objectivity. The lines beside his mouth seemed to be slashed deeper, but not, she decided, with laughter. His hair was overlong for Thornshaugh tastes. But then, that had always been a bone of contention with Austin...

She cut the memories right there, grabbing up her shoulder bag and turning to the door. Then the curtain was thrust back and Nell came in.

‘It’s all right, he’s gone,’ she said drily. ‘So that’s the prodigal nephew.’

Lydie ran her tongue over her dry lips. ‘What the hell’s he doing here?’

‘Buying that expensive stoneware plate we thought we’d never sell—apparently for a birthday present.’ Nell let that sink in. ‘You obviously weren’t expecting to see him.’

Lydie said hoarsely, ‘Never in this world.’

Nell grinned. ‘Your stepfather’s birthday seems to be turning into a surprise party.’

‘It can’t be true,’ Lydie said, half to herself. ‘There’s been no sign—no word for five whole years. Austin can’t be expecting him—surely he’d have said something to prepare us—warn us...?’

‘You’d think so,’ Nell agreed. ‘But communication doesn’t seem to be a Benedict strong point. Maybe Austin’s just ordered a fatted calf as the centrepiece of the buffet, leaving people to draw their own conclusions.’ She examined a fleck on one of her nails. ‘So—what will your mother have to say—and Jon?’