Сара Крейвен – Deceived (страница 3)

‘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?’

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.