by Sara Craven
If Hugh proposed tonight as her mother was sure he intended, then she’d accept. Turn Austin’s birthday into a double celebration.
She turned away from the mirror and waltzed out into the gallery, the dress held against her.
‘I’ll have my hair up tonight,’ she announced. ‘But you’ll have to imagine the rest of it.’
She checked, her hand flying to her mouth in sudden embarrassment. She hadn’t heard him arrive but there was a last-minute customer just the same.
There was a man’s tall figure standing beside Nell near the cash desk.
God, she thought with vexation, snatching the dress away as if it were stinging her and throwing it over her arm. What an idiot I must look.
Flushing deeply, she said, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise anyone else was here.’
‘Don’t apologise.’ The deep voice was husky with amusement. ‘I wouldn’t have missed the performance for the world.’
Poised for retreat, Lydie felt instead as if she’d suddenly been turned to stone. She felt her lips parting in a silent gasp, her green eyes widening endlessly as he moved without haste towards her.
The overhead light shining directly on him showed thick, faintly curling dark hair and a lean, tanned face, against which his grey eyes were as cold and hard as a winter sky.
‘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 ther
e 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.
