Deceived

Lydie swallowed. ‘I—don’t know. At least—Jon won’t mind. He and Marius got on, I think. And Jon was at university when the big row blew up. He—we were both stunned when we found out Marius had—just—gone like that,’ she added with difficulty.

‘At the very least,’ Nell commented caustically.

Lydie looked at the floor. ‘You can’t imagine what it was like,’ she said huskily. ‘Austin was in Intensive Care and Mother was having one fit of hysterics after another and blaming Marius for everything.’

And he did vanish, she thought, without a trace. Without one word of goodbye. With no excuse or explanation from that day to this.

‘So you just went with the flow.’ Nell was silent for a moment. ‘Well, he’s certainly prospered in his absence. As well as the plate, he insisted on paying for that bowl you broke—in cash. He was wearing a platinum watch too,’ she added, as if that settled the matter.

Lydie forced a wan smile. ‘Good.’

Nell gave her a questioning look, then shrugged. ‘Well, you’d better run along and join the celebrations—if that’s really the word I’m looking for.’

Maybe, Lydie thought grimly, I’ll just keep running.

She had a parking space in the yard behind the gallery building. She tossed the dress carrier into the rear of her Corsa, then slid into the driving seat. She crossed her arms limply on the steering wheel and bent forward, hiding her face against them.

For almost five long years she’d tried to forget—to put the whole agonising memory out of her mind. Now, it seemed, she had no choice but to remember—Marius.

CHAPTER TWO

‘MADONNA lily’.

The words echoed inside her skull like the beat of a hammer.

She had, of course, never expected to see him again.

At first she’d waited, hoping, praying, in spite of what he’d done, for some contact—some message. But the weeks had stretched into months and there had been only silence.

Marius had gone, leaving her behind, and nothing that had happened between them, nothing that had been said or done, had made the slightest difference to his decision.

That was what she’d slowly learned to live with during five endless years—that he hadn’t even cared enough to be faithful.

What a fool, she thought rawly. What a blind, trusting idiot.

She’d been eleven when they’d first met, a gawky, bewildered child trying to come to terms with the sudden overwhelming change in her circumstances.

One day she’d been an unhappy boarder in a second-rate school outside London, the next she’d been whisked up to the north of England in a Rolls-Royce driven by a gruff, grey-haired man who wore expensive suits and smoked cigars, and whom her mother had introduced as ‘Your new stepfather, darling. Austin—’ she’d turned to him, smiling brilliantly ‘—do you want Lydie to call you Daddy or Uncle?’

‘Neither.’ The fierce eyes had softened as they’d looked at the small, wan face. ‘You can call me Austin, lass. Most other people do.’

Greystones Park, seen for the first time under heavy skies and driving rain, had seemed oppressive—even threatening.

Jon wasn’t there—he was staying at his current school until he’d finished the examinations he was taking—and she felt totally isolated and friendless. Her mother and stepfather were too wrapped up in each other to spare her much attention, and she was left very much to the mercies of Mrs Arnthwaite, the housekeeper, who had not taken kindly to having a new mistress of the house foisted on her.

Mrs Arnthwaite knew better than to let her discontent show to her employer, and his new wife, but she let Lydie bear the brunt of it in numerous little unkindnesses.

Lydie was told curtly to ‘get out of the road’ so many times that she began to feel as if there wasn’t a corner in any of the numerous rooms where she could take refuge even for a moment.

So much so that, coming along the landing one day, she heard the housekeeper approaching and promptly shot through the nearest door, straight under the bed which stood conveniently handy.

Hidden by the valance in the dusty dark, she waited silently until, overwhelmed by loneliness, she cried herself to sleep.

When she woke up there was a light in the room and someone was moving around. She tried to keep still, because if it was Mrs Arnthwaite she’d be in more trouble. But the dust under the bed was tickling her nose, and eventually she gave vent to an uncontrollable sneeze.

Someone lifted the valance. A male voice said, ‘What the hell...?’ and Lydie was hauled out unceremoniously.

She sat on the carpet and looked up at him. He was very tall, was her first thought, with legs that seemed to go on for ever. She was used to good-looking men, but the dark face looking down at her was more striking than conventionally handsome. The lines of his mouth, cheekbones and jaw were sharply delineated and his nose was like a beak. More a tough guy, she thought, categorising him in the only way she knew, than a romantic lead.

She knew who it must be. Austin had spoken a lot about his nephew, Marius, who was away at Oxford working for his finals, but who’d be home on his first free weekend to meet his new aunt, and she could count on it.

And this, of course, was his room. Lydie had been told so when they had been shown round the first day. She’d also got the impression that it was some kind of holy ground. And now she’d been discovered trespassing there. She couldn’t begin to imagine what would happen to her.

But when she dared to look at him he didn’t seem all that angry. In fact, he seemed to be having trouble keeping his face straight.

‘What were you doing under there?’ he asked.

‘There was nowhere else to go,’ she said. ‘I—I fell asleep. I’m sorry.’

‘You will be when you get downstairs,’ he said drily. ‘You missed your tea and got put on report. Austin’s starting to talk about dragging the river for you.’

‘Are they very cross?’ she asked with apprehension.

‘More worried than angry. Come on; I’ll go down with you and you can make your peace.’ He helped her up, his eyes narrowing as he studied the grimy streaks of woe visible on her face. ‘We’d better clean you up first.’ He opened the door to his private bathroom and pushed her gently inside, standing over her while she washed her face and hands.

‘Here.’ He tossed her a towel. It smelled faintly of cologne—the same harsh, rather musky scent she’d noticed as he’d picked her up from the floor. It suited him far better than some of the more florid scents her mother’s leading men used, she thought, burying her face in the towel, breathing in luxuriously.

‘Thank you,’ she said politely as she handed it back. She looked up at him, letting her eyes widen and the corner of her mouth curve upwards slightly as she’d seen Debra do so many times. And saw his brows snap together.

‘You’re far too young for tricks like that.’ He tapped the tip of her nose with a finger, his mouth twisting. ‘One charmer in the family is quite enough to be going on with.’

It sounded almost like a joke, but she sensed that it wasn’t really meant to be funny. She found herself wondering with an intuition beyond her years whether Marius Benedict really welcomed his uncle’s marriage and the unlooked-for expansion of the family group.

Downstairs, Marius shrugged off the inevitable recriminations over her disappearance, saying easily that she’d made herself a secret den and fallen asleep in it.

‘A den?’ Debra repeated, as if the word needed translation. ‘But where?’

Watching him, Lydie saw that his cool smile didn’t reach his eyes. He said quite gently, ‘If I told you that, it wouldn’t be a secret any longer.’ Then he looked at Lydie and his smile warmed into a reassuring grin.

From that moment she’d been his slave.

Looking back over the years, Lydie could see wryly what a nuisance the unstinting adoration of a small girl must have been to him. But if he’d been irritated he’d never let it show, treating her generally with an amused if slightly distant kindness.

As she’d grown older, and more perceptive, she’d become aware of his reserve—that almost tangible barrier that divided him from the rest of the world. She’d wondered sometimes if his being an orphan had created it. After losing both parents he’d had no softening female influence in his life, unless you counted Mrs Arnthwaite, which Lydie privately thought was impossible.

And Debra’s invasion had made things worse, not better. Lydie had realised that quite early on. Sensed the underlying tensions, and her mother’s simmering, barely concealed resentment of the young man who’d been her husband’s main priority for so many years.

She came first with him now; that went without saying. Austin’s pride in her was enormous, and he indulged her to the hilt.