Читать книгу Deceived - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 8

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.

But that hadn’t been enough for Debra.

Because it should have been Jon next in line—Jon, the golden, the beautiful, the favoured child. Lydie hadn’t needed to be told this. She’d always existed in her brother’s shadow, but she loved him enough not to mind, admiring the good looks and talent he himself took so much for granted.

And yet Marius had been Austin’s heir, who would fill his shoes at Greystones and eventually take over the running of the mill. No alternative had been even considered—at least, not then.

It had not been all plain sailing between Austin and Marius either. Austin had taken the mill which his great-grandfather had founded and built it into an amazing success. The Benco Mill was Thornshaugh’s biggest employer, and the steadiest.

Marius, however, had wanted to move away from the autocratic, paternalistic style of management to greater worker participation. He’d fought too for the latest machinery and office systems to be installed. He’d introduced a private health scheme and ordered a complete overhaul of the firm’s social club, ensuring that it was a comfortable venue for the whole family.

There had invariably been furious arguments but they’d always been resolved. In spite of his protests that ‘what was good enough for my father should be good enough for anyone’ Austin had recognised that no business could stand still and had given ground, albeit grudgingly.

He’d even begun to talk of retirement ...

And then, not long after Austin’s sixtieth birthday party, there’d been that final, terminal, furiously bitter quarrel, and Marius had gone, as if into thin air, his room stripped of his clothes and belongings, his destination a mystery. It hadn’t even been known if he’d travelled alone.

And Austin, his normally ruddy complexion suddenly grey, had made it dogmatically clear that the matter would end there.

It had been a nine days’ wonder in Thornshaugh, only superseded by the shock of Austin’s sudden collapse. Life had become a chaos of ambulance sirens, doctors’ hushed voices and endless telephone calls of enquiry.

In the middle of it all, Lydie had tried to comfort her mother as she’d waited to be admitted to see her husband in Intensive Care.

Debra had turned on her. ‘This is his fault.’ Her voice had risen, cracking. ‘Your precious Marius. This is what he’s done. He’s a murderer. You dare mention him again...’

Lydie had never dared after that. Austin had been very ill and her worry over him had had to take precedence over her own grinding pain and bewilderment—her crying need to make sense of what had happened.

She drew a quivering sigh, and lifted her head from the steering wheel, gazing ahead of her with unseeing eyes.

‘Are y’all right, Miss Hatton?’ The security man appeared beside the car, peering curiously at her. ‘Only I was going to lock up the yard, like ’

‘Yes, Bernie.’ Lydie started her engine. ‘You do that.’ She backed up with extra care because she was shaking inside, and headed home.

Greystones Park was a hive of activity. The gardener was fastening up the last loop of fairy lights in the trees along the drive as Lydie passed, and there were caterers’ and florists’ vans everywhere.

She put the car away and slipped through the side-door and up to her room.

As she opened the door, Debra Benedict wheeled round from the window. ‘Where have you been?’ Her voice was accusing. She was wearing a black silk kimono sprinkled with flowers and was puffing nervously at a cigarette. ‘Didn’t that girl give you my message? Dear God, Lydie, have you the least idea what’s happened?’

‘Yes.’ Lydie paused warily. ‘I know. Marius has turned up.’

‘You know? You mean he’s been in touch with you—you were aware of what was planned?’ Debra’s voice lifted in furious incredulity.

‘Of course not. He came into the gallery just before we closed,’ Lydie said flatly. ‘I thought I was seeing things.’

Debra’s laugh held a hint of hysteria. ‘Unfortunately, my dear, he’s all too bloody real.’

‘Does Austin know yet?’

Debra drew unevenly on her cigarette. ‘Know? It’s all his doing. He’s invited him here—to his birthday party—without a single word to me—to anyone.’ This time her laugh was angry. ‘Simply told me this afternoon there’d be an extra guest. Just as if my opinion, my feelings didn’t count. God knows how long he’s been hatching this,’ she added venomously.

‘But isn’t it for the best?’ Lydie ventured. ‘He’s Austin’s only relative after all.’

‘Don’t be a fool.’ Debra glared at her. ‘You think I’m going to go along with all this absurd “forgive and forget” routine? Start mouthing cliches about blood being thicker than water?’ She almost spat the words. ‘Let him walk back in here and—cheat Jon out of everything he’s worked for—slaving in that damned mill? Like hell I will. Austin must be going senile.’

‘That,’ Lydie told her levelly, ‘is a shameful remark.’

‘Don’t you dare preach at me.’ Debra lit another cigarette from the stub of the last one. ‘You don’t know what’s at stake here.’

‘Maybe I do at that.’ Lydie went over to the wardrobe and retrieved the black dress and the black court shoes with the spiky heels which went with it. ‘Jon may welcome Marius’s return. Have you considered that?’

‘No.’ Debra dismissed the possibility with contempt. ‘He knows exactly which side his bread is buttered. If Marius gets a foothold at Benco, Jon’s going to end up in some menial position or out of a job altogether.’

And Nell would be delighted, Lydie thought drily as she selected a fragile black teddy together with a suspender belt and stockings from her lingerie drawer and tossed them onto the bed. Although she’d probably prefer Jon to make the decision on his own behalf rather than be squeezed out, she mentally amended.

‘And what about me?’ Debra went on restively. ‘Next thing I know that beastly lawyer will be up here again, droning on about suitable provision and annuities. I’ll end my days in some ghastly private hotel on the south coast, watching the price of my shares with all the other widows, having to think twice about everything I spend. Just like the old days.’

Her mouth was trembling, her eyes almost blank.

Selfish she might be, mercenary she certainly was, but all the same Lydie felt a flicker of compassion for her. Mrs Benedict, chatelaine of Greystones Park, was the best part Debra had ever been offered, and she’d played it magnificently to a small but devoted audience.

But if anything happened to Austin the curtain would come down for her mother too. Unless Jon, not Marius, was confirmed as Austin’s heir...

She tried to make her tone light. ‘Don’t write Austin off so soon. He’s a tough old stick. He’ll probably outlive the lot of us.’

She paused. ‘And you don’t know yet—none of us do-exactly what this reconciliation means. It’s been five years, after all. Marius has another life now—maybe—other commitments.’ The words made her throat ache. A child, certainly, she thought. Maybe a wife too.

Aloud she went on, ‘He may not want to come back to Thornshaugh on a permanent basis.’

‘Don’t be a fool.’ Debra tossed her cigarette through the open window into the dusk-shaded shrubbery below. ‘Of course he does. Wouldn’t you?’

Lydie shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea what Marius thinks—or wants.’ Although I thought I knew once, God help me, she added silently.

Her mother’s mouth tightened to a slit. ‘Austin’s made him cancel his hotel reservation and move back here. Actually into his old room, if you please.’ She drove her clenched fist into the palm of her other hand. ‘I just cannot believe this is really happening. It’s like a nightmare. Austin was always so adamant—so totally determined. I thought we were rid of Marius for good.’

Lydie, winced inwardly. ‘He hasn’t given you a reason—any kind of explanation?’

‘His exact words were, “I’ve made a decision.”’ Debra’s laugh was metallic. ‘And Austin’s decisions, however arbitrary, are to be accepted without question.’

The only person who’d ever argued with him was Marius himself, Lydie thought.

She glanced at her watch. ‘I don’t think the situation will be helped by our being late for dinner,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m going to run my bath.’

‘My God, you’re cool,’ Debra said acidly. ‘Don’t you think it won’t affect you if Marius moves back and takes over. We’re all going to feel the draught, my lady.’

And with that she was gone.

Oh, it would affect her, Lydie thought drily a few minutes later as she tried to relax in the warm water, but certainly not in the way her mother thought.

Although there could be a problem over the gallery. Thornshaugh, with its steep, cobbled streets and well-preserved buildings left over from the Industrial Revolution, was attractive enough to form part of the itinerary of tourists drawn to Yorkshire’s West Riding by the Brontë Parsonage at Haworth or the Curry Trail at Bradford.

The gallery was situated on the first floor of a former Benco warehouse, sharing the premises with a popular boutique at ground level, a home bakery and various workshops occupied by woodcarvers, candlemakers and hand weavers.

They sold mainly paintings, prints and pottery by local artists and craftsmen, including Nell herself. And, although Lydie and Nell had refused to sell souvenirs, they’d made sure they stocked the kind of small, unusual but inexpensive items which tourists would want as mementoes or gifts, and these went like hot cakes.

When the bank had looked down its nose and talked about the recession, Lydie had turned instead to her stepfather for the initial loan to finance the enterprise. And, to Debra’s thinly veiled chagrin, he’d agreed to put up the money.

The gallery was managing to keep its head above water mainly because Lydie didn’t draw a full salary yet. Not that she needed to, because she lived at Greystones and Austin insisted on making her an allowance, firmly steamrollering over her objections.

Another of his decisions, Lydie thought ruefully. But she compromised by spending as frugally as possible, although the dress still abandoned in its carrier in the back of her car had been an exception to that self-imposed rule. And perhaps she’d be able to return it anyway.

Now she found herself wishing that she’d stuck to her guns, managed on whatever pittance she could have drawn from the company.

She dried herself and put on her underwear, drawing the stockings slowly over her smooth legs, remembering another time five years ago when she’d dressed for Austin’s birthday party with her heart performing strange, shaky somersaults inside.

She’d been allowed home from school specially, and had spent every penny she’d saved on a new dress that time too.

The one she’d wanted then had also been black—with spangles, she thought; sleek as a second skin. Black was the colour of sophistication; she’d wanted to show Marius that she wasn’t a child any longer but a woman, ready—eager for love.

Her hand faltered slightly with the blusher she was applying.

But the boutique owner had tactfully steered her away from that and into a much simpler model in jade-green, almost the same colour as her eyes.

Now she paid minute attention to them with shadow and liner, accentuating their shape and lustre, according the same attention to detail to the colour she painted onto her mouth. Tonight the mask had to be perfect. Impenetrable.

Five years ago, her face had been highlighted by an inner brilliance, with little need for cosmetics. The tiny bodice with its shoestring straps had flattered the sweet flare of her breasts, and the short, full skirt had swirled enticingly. She’d held it out in both hands and turned slowly in front of the mirror, imagining herself dancing in Marius’s arms. Seeing the smile in his eyes when she told him she loved him. Hearing the tenderness in his voice when he told her he felt the same...

Lydie stood up abruptly, reaching for the black dress, and zipped herself into it, smoothing it over her hips. Black, she thought; the colour of mourning. For the death of faith and innocence. The ending of a girl’s dream.

She took a long look at herself. Her hair was drawn up into a sleek topknot, with only a few random tendrils softening the line around the nape of her neck and her ears. She had disguised the real shadows around her eyes and painted on a smile. Who could ask for anything more? she wondered with irony.

She opened the door and stepped into the passage just as Marius emerged from his own room a few yards away. Lydie kept a hand behind her, holding the handle of her bedroom door, feeling the hard metal bite into her flesh, letting one pain combat another as she absorbed the bitter familiarity of him in a dinner jacket and black tie. Formal evening clothes had always suited him, accentuating the width of his shoulders and the leanness of his hips.

That other night, long ago, she’d watched, breathless with a new, secret excitement, as he’d walked towards her, wanting only to run to him, to feel his arms closing around her.

Now her mouth was dry and she felt deadly cold as she recognised the distance that hurt and betrayal had imposed between them.

‘Good evening, Madonna Lily.’ His brows lifted as his glance examined her. ‘Or should I call you Black Orchid tonight?’

‘Neither.’

‘No?’ He affected a sigh. ‘Yet there was a time...’

‘A time long past.’ She managed to control the faint tremor in her voice.

‘How strange,’ he said slowly, ‘that you should think so, when to me it feels like yesterday.’

Lydie lifted her chin. She said rawly, ‘Marius—for God’s sake—what are you doing here? 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 in his eyes.

He said softly, ‘Because I received an invitation. An offer I couldn’t refuse.’

‘But what do you want?’ Her voice almost cracked in desperation.

‘Ah.’ Marius was silent for a moment. ‘That, I think, remains to be seen, Madonna Lily.’ His gaze met hers in a challenge like a blow. ‘Maybe I’ve come back for you’

Her head went back with shock, and she felt her mouth frame the word no. Then she turned and headed blindly for the stairs, the jeer of his laughter following her like a shadow.