Сара Крейвен – Deceived (страница 1)
Cover “Marius, why have you come back like this?” About the Author What others have said about Sara Craven: Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN Endpage Copyright
“Marius, why have you come back like this?”
His mouth curled in the smile she’d always hated. The smile that mocked without amusement. That did not reach the wariness of his eyes.
He said softly, “Because I received an invitation. An offer I couldn’t refuse.”
“But what do you want?” Lydie’s voice almost cracked in desperation.
“Ah.” Marius was silent for a moment.
“That, I think, remains to be seen.” His gaze met hers in a challenge, like a blow.
“Maybe I’ve come back for you.”
SARA CRAVEN was born in South Devon, England, and grew up surrounded by books, in a house by the sea. After leaving grammar school, she worked as a local journalist, covering everything from flower shows to murders. She started writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from writing, her passions include films, music, cooking and eating in good restaurants. She now lives in Somerset.
What others have said about Sara Craven:
TOWER OF SHADOWS:
“Ms. Craven does a magnificent job with this daring story of an obsessive love that destroys all it touches....”
—Romantic Times
THUNDER ON THE REEF:
“Sara Craven plays a powerful game of cat and mouse with readers in this fascinating web of deception, mystery and passion....”
—Romantic Times
DARK APOLLO:
“Sara Craven’s latest effort sizzles with sensual tension and dialogue.”
—Romantic Times
Deceived
Sara Craven
CHAPTER ONE
LYDIE went up the stairs to the gallery two at a time, the plastic dress carrier bumping against her legs as she ran.
As she pushed open the door, Nell, her partner, turned with an interrogative smile from the ceramics display she was dusting. ‘Well?’
Lydie flourished the pastel-striped carrier. ‘Mission accomplished.’
‘And at the eleventh hour by the sound of it.’ Nell paused. ‘Your mother’s telephoned three times in the past hour, each call more agitated than the last.’
‘Austin’s birthday party always affects her like this.’ Lydie wrinkled her nose. ‘I expect the caterers have brought the wrong-shaped canapes.’
‘Actually, it sounded rather more serious than that,’ said Nell. ‘She was in such a state, she actually forgot to snub me. Maybe you’d better ring her.’
Lydie shook her head. ‘The crisis can wait till I get home, by which time it will probably be over,’ she said drily. ‘Sometimes Mama finds the role of Mrs Austin Benedict rather cramping, so when the chance of injecting some extra drama comes along she plays it for all she’s worth’
‘Well, you know her better than I do,’ Nell said lightly. She nodded at the carrier. ‘Going to show me your costume for tonight’s mammoth production?’
Lydie hesitated. ‘I’ve got an even better idea. Change your mind and come to the party as my guest,’ she urged.
Nell shook her head. ‘Can’t be done, love.’
‘But how the hell are you and Jon going to make up your quarrel if you don’t see each other?’ Lydie demanded on a note of exasperation.
‘We haven’t quarrelled,’ Nell said patiently. ‘We’ve just put our engagement on hold while Jon decides what to do with his life.’
‘In other words, he’s to give up his job at Benco Mill.’ Lydie’s face sobered. ‘I don’t know if that’s possible, Nell.’
‘I think it has to be,’ Nell said gently. She was a tall girl with a serene face and brown hair gathered into a thick plait. ‘He’s an artist, Lydie. He doesn’t belong at Benco and you know it.’
Lydie bit her lip. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I know it. But you don’t realise the pressure he’s under...’
‘Oh, but I do,’ Nell said quietly. ‘None better. But Jon’s got to decide whether to fight it or let himself be dragged into some dead-end future where he’ll never be happy or fulfilled.’ Her smile was small and wintry. ‘And if he settles for that he’s not the man for me.’
There was an unhappy silence.
In the eighteen months since they’d started the gallery together Lydie had realised more and more the quiet strength of will which existed behind Nell’s laid-back manner. She’d been delighted when she and Jon had begun seeing each other. Jon had dated a lot of girls in his time, none of them seriously. Now, for the first time, Lydie had seen her brother’s fickle attention focused and concentrated, watched him mature and grow as never before under Nell’s calm tutelage.
Not that it had been roses all the way, she admitted wryly. Nell was gifted and hard-working, and between the pair of them the gallery was managing to pay its way, but her friend had neither the money nor the social background to make her a suitable wife for Debra Benedict’s son. As her mother had made clear from their first meeting.
‘That dreadful girl, wandering around like some kind of hippy,’ had been her icy verdict. ‘If you had to start a business at all, Lydie, couldn’t you have found someone at least presentable as your partner?’
‘Nell asked me to go into the gallery with her, not the other way round,’ Lydie had reminded her levelly.
‘It’s all the fault of that art college,’ Mrs Benedict had gone on fretfully. ‘I knew it was a mistake to let you go there.’
It was probably true, Lydie acknowledged ruefully. Jon should have been the one to receive the formal art training, and she should have taken the degree in business studies to which he’d been harnessed. Except that there would have been no job for her at the mill at the end of it. And, at the time, she’d snatched at art training as she would have at anything that took her away from Greystones Park and its memories.
Her stepfather, Austin Benedict, was an old-fashioned man, patriarchal and autocratic where his business was concerned. No matter what legislation might have been passed in the last twenty years, no woman had ever held an executive position at Benco. And Lydie, it had been made clear, was certainly not going to be the first.
The gallery he saw as an indulgence, something to amuse her until she married. It hadn’t been easy to convince him that for Nell and herself it was an investment—something they were determined to make into a commercial success.
‘I need to justify my existence,’ she’d tried to explain.
‘You’re my stepdaughter.’ He’d glared at her from under his heavy brows. ‘Round here, that’s justification enough.’
Lydie’s mother, Debra Hatton, had reached a crossroads in her acting career when she’d met Austin Benedict. She’d never been in the top flight, in spite of her sultry beauty and distinctive husky voice. She’d been offered only minor film roles, and her theatre career had been on the lightweight side too. She’d had more success with television, landing a role as a neurotic vamp in an early-evening soap, but the meaty parts she’d coveted were being offered more and more to younger women.
She’d been touring in a successful West End comedy when she’d been invited to open a fête in aid of the church restoration fund at Austin Benedict’s home, Greystones Park.
She’d accepted reluctantly for the sake of the fee—a woman with two teenage children couldn’t afford to be too choosy—but it had turned out to be the wisest decision of her life.
Austin, a childless widower for some years, had never shown the slightest disposition to marry again. But Debra Hatton’s wide eyes and slightly ravaged looks had produced a devastating effect on him.
And Debra, looking round at the middle-class solidity of Greystones Park, had seen an end to the struggle and the constant pretence, a finish to the humiliation of having to move out of the limelight and settle for supporting roles, playing women of her own age, or even older. Because to Austin, she’d realised, she would always be the leading lady.
But she didn’t brook rivals lightly, Lydie thought ruefully, especially where her beloved Jon was concerned. He was the apple of her eye, the centre of her universe, and probably not even a wealthy heiress would have fulfilled her expectations where he was concerned.
And Nell, in her handmade silver jewellery and Indian cotton skirts, didn’t even reach first base.
Now Lydie said soberly, ‘Nell—he’s terribly miserable without you.’
Nell shook her head again. ‘No, his basic unhappiness goes far deeper than that,’ she said. ‘His whole life is out of kilter. He’s a square peg in a round hole, trying all the time to be something he’s not—live up to standards he wasn’t responsible for setting. And he knows he’s the heir apparent too,’ she added grimly. ‘And it’s crucifying him.’
She sighed. ‘Oh, why hasn’t your stepfather got some convenient male relative to take over from him?’
Lydie looked at the floor. ‘He did have once,’ she said slowly. ‘A nephew.’
Nell stared at her. ‘A nephew?’ she repeated, her voice sharp with disbelief. ‘I’ve never heard him mentioned before.’