Deceived

Lydie moved an evasive shoulder. ‘An adolescent crush.’ She didn’t look at him. ‘Maybe I’ve come back for you.’ The words seemed to hammer in her brain, threatening her. ‘Water under the bridge,’ she threw defiantly at the sudden shiver whispering down her spine.

‘I hope for your sake that’s true. I can’t imagine that his wilderness years will have softened his attitude towards our side of the family.’

‘What about you?’

Jon’s lips tightened. ‘I’ve put in five years’ hard graft at that bloody mill. I don’t want someone else to have my place in the sun while I’m relegated to the sidelines—or worse,’ he added grimly.

Lydie put down her untouched glass. ‘You don’t think this would be a good time to make a complete break?’

He shot her an angry look. ‘You’ve been letting Nell brainwash you, darling. I’m staying where I am and fighting my corner. And you should do the same. Because if anything happens to Austin Marius will have us out of here before the coffin lid’s screwed down.’

Lydie found herself wincing at his crudeness. She said, half to herself, ‘I wonder where he’s been—all this time?’

‘Not letting the grass grow under his feet, that’s for sure. You should see the car he’s driving these days.’ He paused. ‘As a matter of interest, you didn’t persuade Nell to change her mind and come tonight?’

His tone was elaborately casual, and Lydie softened in spite of herself. ‘No, but I did try.’

‘Never mind,’ he said, with a shrug. ‘I’ll have to rely on Chivas Regal for company instead.’

The door opened and Debra Benedict came in. She was wearing a silver dress and there were amethysts around her throat and in her ears. She checked, looking round her.

‘Where are they?’ she asked sharply.

‘Presumably in the study, having another round of peace talks.’ Jon waved the decanter at her. ‘Drinkies?’

‘No, thank you, and you’ve had quite enough as well.’ Debra gave him a warning frown. ‘Don’t play into that man’s hands by getting drunk tonight, for heaven’s sake.’ She paused. ‘I’ll get Mrs Arnthwaite to announce dinner now.’

‘Thus killing numerous birds with one stone.’ Jon put the decanter down. ‘OK, Mama, I surrender.’

But I don’t, Lydie thought, lifting her chin. I can’t. I’m going to fight—and go on fighting. Because, whatever happens, I can’t let him anywhere near me again. I dare not.

Austin Benedict looked relaxed as he took his seat at the head of the table. Marius, seating himself opposite Lydie, appeared merely inscrutable.

‘Well, this is pleasant,’ Austin remarked, unfolding his napkin. ‘The calm before the storm. How many people are coming to this shindig afterwards, Deb?’

Mrs Benedict cleared her throat. ‘Over two hundred—if they all turn up.’

‘Oh, they’ll come.’ He nodded. ‘Even the ones who never intended to. Word soon gets round this valley, and they’ll all be here to see for themselves.’ He transferred his attention to Lydie. ‘That’s a sombre colour for a party, lass. This is a celebration, not a wake, and don’t you forget it.’

The warning note was unmistakable. So was the bottle of Krug, cooling on ice on the sideboard. Lydie felt Marius’s ironic gaze seek hers across the table and faint colour rose in her face.

Austin addressed himself to the company at large. ‘We present a united front tonight,’ he said abruptly. ‘What happened five years ago is no one’s business but our own. I want that clear.’ He swept the table with a fierce gaze. ‘No recriminations or prying into what’s over. We can’t call time back to alter things, so we look to the future. Right?’

‘As the future’s been mentioned,’ Jon said softly, ‘may I ask what office I’ll be occupying on Monday? When I left today I was sales director, but things seem to be changing so fast suddenly...’

Lydie swore under her breath. That’s not the way to handle it, you fool, she castigated him silently.

It was Marius who answered, his tone even. ‘You’ll have the same job. But I’d like a departmental report for the last six months on my desk by mid-week.’

‘Certainly.’ Jon sketched a parody of a salute. ‘And what desk precisely is that?’

‘The managing director’s,’ said Austin. ‘I’m continuing as chairman only from now on. The board’s been informed.’

Lydie stole a look at her mother. All the natural colour had faded from her face, leaving two harsh streaks of blusher high on her cheekbones. For a moment Lydie tensed, thinking that Debra was going to explode, then, with a palpable effort, her mother reached out and rang the small handbell for Mrs Arnthwaite to bring in the soup.

It was, Lydie thought, the worst dinner she’d ever sat through. Even the glory of the champagne couldn’t lift her spirits. As she pushed the food round her plate, she felt as if she was drowning in undercurrents, suffocated by the silence of her mother and brother.

Marius chatted equably to his uncle on safely neutral topics—Yorkshire’s performance in the county cricket championship, enquiries about former friends and acquaintances—but Lydie wasn’t fooled.

Across the expanse of crystal, silverware and flowers-Austin’s favourite white roses arranged in a bowl—she could feel his awareness of her, like the touch of his hand on her naked skin. She was conscious of his gaze resting on her, as if willing her to lift her eyes and return his scrutiny.

Don’t look at him, she adjured herself frantically. Pretend the chair is still empty.

Her heart was hammering violently. She wanted to get to her feet, sweep away the flowers and every other artificial barrier and scream at him, Who was she? Where is she now? If you had her, why did you take me? Was she better in bed than I was? All the teeming questions that had plagued her like a recurring fever, and which she could never ask, of course.

Water under the bridge, she’d told Jon, and it had to be true. They weren’t the same people any more. She was no longer a trusting child, driven beyond reason by her first love. She’d grown up fast in a school of anguished and bitter betrayal. She was old enough and wise enough now to recognise danger when she saw it, and take avoiding action.

And, whatever Marius had been before, their previous confrontation warned her that he was a hazard now, not merely to herself but to all of them.

She risked a covert glance at him from under her lashes and found him watching her quite openly, the firm lips twisting in a mixture of mockery and triumph as their eyes met—clashed.

You see? he seemed to be telling her. I won in the end. All I had to do was wait.

And that, Lydie thought furiously, waving away the Peaches Cardinal that Mrs Arnthwaite was offering, was my first mistake tonight. My first—and my last.

Guests began arriving for the party an hour later. An enormous marquee had been erected on the rear lawn, with a floor laid for dancing, and the small band was already tuning up. The buffet had been set out in the conservatory, which also housed one of the bars.

It was the usual gargantuan spread—like an orgy scene from an old Hollywood epic, Lydie thought wryly, viewing the rich dark ribs of beef and the golden-brown turkeys jostling for position next to honey-roast hams and poached salmon glazed in aspic and cucumber. And that was quite apart from the mousses, pates, vol-au-vents and vast array of salads.

No one had ever actually fallen in the swimming pool and drowned from overeating but there could always be a first time.

Her mouth ached from smiling, and she dodged and evaded so many questions about Marius’s sudden reappearance that she felt like a heavyweight champion’s sparring partner.

Hugh Wingate was among the first to arrive. Guilt sent her hurtling into his arms as she realised she hadn’t given him a single thought up to that moment.

‘I’d have been here even sooner if I’d known that was going to be my reception,’ he told her throatily. He paused. ‘I hear Austin’s had a surprise present.’

Lydie forced a smile. ‘It’s tonight’s sole topic of conversation—quite naturally, I suppose.’

‘Maybe we can give them something else to chatter about.’

He was going to propose to her. For a moment her mind went blank with relief. It was the lifeline she needed. It was safety—sanity in a reeling world.

But was it what she really wanted? asked a small, tormenting voice in her head.

I’ll worry about that later, she thought, and turned to greet some more arrivals.

Austin’s birthday parties traditionally began with a waltz, preceded by a few words of welcome. This year, thought Lydie, you could have heard a pin drop. She glanced at Jon, her brows snapping together. In spite of their mother’s admonitions, he was clearly halfway to being plastered already.