by Sara Craven
‘Not for me.’ He subsided onto a chair. ‘I could do with a real drink.’
‘You smell as if you’ve already had one,’ Lydie said curtly.
He gave her a subdued glare. ‘For God’s sake, Lydie. My life is already in ruins. I don’t need the heavy-sister act.’
‘Then perhaps you’d better tell me exactly what’s been going on during the past twenty-four hours.’
‘What did Nell say?’ He sounded wary.
‘She wasn’t making a great deal of sense.’ Lydie frowned. ‘But I gathered there was some ghastly mess involving money.’ She paused. ‘Jon—I have to ask this—is it going to be a police matter?’
‘Police?’ he uttered explosively. ‘Of course not. What the hell do you take me for?’
‘At the moment, I’m not sure. Certainly a fool, possibly worse,’ she hit back. ‘I want the truth, Jon, and I want it now. I’ve had all the lies I can take.’
He didn’t look at her. ‘We’d had such a wonderful day,’ he said in a muffled voice. ‘We—we’d really missed each other. In the evening we were going out for a drink, only Nell said she was expecting a visitor—a local artist whose work you’d been handling, but who was leaving the area and wanted to collect her unsold stuff.’
Lydie felt as if cold fingers had touched the back of her neck. She said, ‘Go on.’
He said, ‘I was in here when I heard the doorbell chime, and then Nell talking to someone.’
He ran his tongue round his lips. His voice was hoarse. ‘I went out—and she was standing there. Lydie, it was like a bad dream. I’d never expected to see her again—never wanted to—yet here she was.’
He shook his head dazedly. ‘I knew she painted, of course, because that was how it all started—with me running into her up on the moors while I was home for the Easter vac—but I hadn’t the least idea she’d returned.’
There was almost a note of self-pity in his voice. ‘Why the hell did she have to come back? She was paid to stay away. And why did she choose this place to sell her bloody paintings? Of all the filthy, lousy luck...’ He buried his head in his hands.
‘Oh, dear God.’ Lydie barely breathed the words through stiff lips. ‘You’re talking about Darrell Corbin.’
‘Of course I am.’ He looked up at her, his eyes haunted. ‘It was hideous. I couldn’t think straight—didn’t know what to say—what to do. Darrell was standing there like some figure of Nemesis, with Nell—my Nell—looking at the pair of us. Putting two and two together and coming up with all the right answers.’
‘Darrell Corbin had your baby,’ Lydie whispered. ‘And you paid her to go away so that you could put the blame on Marius. It—it’s unbelievable—monstrous.’
‘It wasn’t my idea,’ Jon said defensively. ‘It was Mama’s. Old man Corbin came steaming up to the house to see Austin and blow the whistle on me, only he got Mother instead, and she persuaded him to do a deal. A lump sum for Darrell and a regular allowance payable to Percy, in return for pointing the finger at Marius and then keeping out of the way.’ His mouth twisted. ‘That was in the days when life with Austin was practically a blank cheque.
‘Originally, Mama wanted Darrell to have an abortion, but she refused point-blank. However, she did eventually agree to move away. And she’d no idea about the deal Mama had made with her father. At least, not then. She believed the money was from me—a kind of kiss-off payment—so she probably wasn’t too sorry to go.’
‘No,’ Lydie said levelly, ‘I can imagine.’
‘And Mama picked the right man in Corbin. He was always short of cash, and Marius had sacked him from the mill for boozing on the night shift anyway, so he was looking to get his own back.’
He gave her a shamefaced glance. ‘He repeated to Austin exactly what Mama had told him to say, and all hell broke loose. The rest you know.’
‘Yes,’ Lydie said quietly, her heart like a stone. ‘Only too well.’
‘Come off it, Lydie. Don’t play the innocent. You must have been in on this too at some point.’ Jon sounded almost resentful. ‘Darrell said you’d been to see her. I suppose Mama found out somehow that she was around again and sent you with another pay-off.’
‘Then you’re wrong,’ Lydie flung at him. ‘Actually, I took her a cheque for the pictures we’d sold here.’ She gave a small, savage laugh. ‘But she thought the same as you. No wonder she threw it back in my face.’ She paused, frowning. ‘She can’t have known, though, that you and Nell were involved—not until yesterday.’
‘She had no idea,’ Jon confirmed wretchedly. ‘Selling her work here was just a ghastly coincidence.’
‘What goes around comes around,’ Lydie said quietly. ‘You and Mama must have been crazy to think this would stay under wraps indefinitely.’ She sighed. ‘I suppose all we can do is pray Austin never finds out. Not that Mama deserves it, but—’
‘It’s too late for that,’ Jon muttered. ‘When Percy Corbin ended up in the hospice a few weeks ago, he asked Austin to visit him. I guess his conscience was troubling him, because he told him everything.’
‘Oh, no.’ Lydie stared at him, appalled. ‘No, that can’t be true.’
‘Why else do you think Austin brought Marius back like that?’ Jon demanded irritably. ‘As soon as they sent for me this morning, I knew I was for it.’
Lydie looked at him disdainfully. ‘I hope you’re not claiming wrongful dismissal.’
‘Hardly.’ Jon made a wry face. ‘Anyway, I haven’t actually been sacked—just severely demoted. Marius offered me a junior post in the design department—presumably so that I’ve no excuse for evading my child-support responsibilities,’ he added bitterly.
‘But what’s going to happen to Mama?’ Lydie’s voice was urgent.
Jon shrugged. ‘Who knows? Austin didn’t exactly take me into his confidence, but he was looking pretty grim.’
‘Aren’t you worried about her?’ Lydie demanded.
Jon set his jaw. ‘My only concern, frankly, is Nell.’ He shuddered. ‘God, Lydie, I’ve never seen her like that—so cold—so angry. She looked at me as if I’d just crawled out of a garbage bin. She said she never wanted to see me again.’
‘I know how she felt.’ Lydie’s voice bit. ‘Whatever Mama did, Jon, no matter how wrong it was, she did for you. She wanted you to have Benco Mill, and because of it she could have lost everything, including her marriage.’
Jon’s shoulders slumped. ‘I know,’ he admitted unhappily. ‘But there was nothing we could do. From the moment Marius came back we’ve been waiting for the axe to fall. Now that it’s happened, it’s almost a relief.’
‘And to hell with the innocent victims who happen to have got in the way.’ Lydie shivered, wrapping her arms round her body. ‘I think you’d better go, Jon. I need to think.’
‘All right,’ he acquiesced reluctantly, and got to his feet. ‘Tim Broughton’s putting me up for the time being. If—when Nell comes back, will you let me know?’
‘If that’s what she wants.’ Lydie walked with him to the gallery door, waiting to lock it behind him. ‘And only if.’
‘But I love her.’ He looked at her imploringly. ‘I can’t lose her, Lydie. I couldn’t bear it.’
Lydie hardened her heart. ‘Then it’s a pity you couldn’t be honest with her at least,’ she retorted. ‘And I wouldn’t count on a thing. Nell has integrity, brother, dear. Something you can’t even spell,’ she added scathingly to his retreating back.
Alone once more, she made herself tidy the gallery and count the day’s takings, ready for banking in the morning. But the totals kept coming out wrong, and eventually she pushed her paperwork aside and sat staring into space.
Work was no answer to the ache, the shivering, nauseous emptiness inside her.
She needed Marius—to warm her and make her complete again—and she could not have him. Their final parting had been made and there was no going back. She had to come to terms with that, however heartwrenching it might be.
/> He had come back for his revenge, and she was part of it—no more than that. And it was what she deserved.
Because she hadn’t trusted him sufficiently. Because she’d been too much of a coward to fight for him against the tissue of lies that had been woven around their relationship. Because she’d been afraid to demand the truth. Because she’d been all too easily deceived. She should have known, beyond reason, beyond all doubt, that the Marius she had grown up to love was incapable of that kind of treachery.
She thought, When he left, I should have followed him—to the ends of the earth, if necessary. All these years I’ve been accusing him of betraying me but I was the real Judas.
And then, desolately, It’s all my fault, and I deserve to lose him—but, dear God, it hurts so much. And tears, scalding and salt, filled her eyes and her mouth, and ran down the hands she pressed against her face.
She was grieving for Marius, and the death of the love she had helped to kill.
‘Oh, darling,’ she whispered in anguish. ‘Forgive me—please.’
And heard her words dissolve, unanswered, into the unrelenting silence surrounding her.
She cried for a long time, until she had no more tears to shed. She sat for a time feeling numb, shell-shocked, as if some bomb had erupted, leaving her among its wreckage.
Then, when she had regained sufficient composure, she picked up the phone and called Wheeldon Grange.
She’d lost her own love, she told herself bleakly, but it might still not be too late to save her mother’s relationship with Austin, or at least to warn her that her fragile world was about to come crashing down around her.
But when she asked for Debra she was told that Mrs Benedict had cancelled the rest of her stay and returned home. And, yes, her departure had been rather unexpected, but her husband had arrived to collect her.
‘Some domestic problem, I believe, Miss Hatton,’ added the smooth voice at the other end of the phone.
So that’s that, Lydie thought wearily, replacing the receiver.
She sat for a while, drumming her fingers restlessly on the table, wondering what she should do. But she knew the answer to that already. Debra was in trouble and needed her—or needed someone, she amended wryly as she splashed her face with water to remove the traces of her emotional trauma. No doubt she’d prefer Jon, but he was too wrapped up in his own problems to help his mother.
She had no idea what she was going to say—what kind of plea she could enter on Debra’s behalf. What possible excuse could you make to a man whose wife had told him so many monstrous lies?
How could she ever convince Austin that Debra deserved forgiveness at any level, let alone a second chance? And was it even true?
I simply don’t know, she thought. I only know I have to try.
She changed hurriedly into jeans and a sleeveless top, tied a sweater around her shoulders against the coolness of the evening, and grabbed up her bag and car keys.
It was twilight when she arrived at the house, but there were no lights on inside that she could see. Lydie ran up the steps and tried the door, finding it unlocked.
There was a deep hush everywhere. The drawing room and dining room were both deserted, she realised uneasily.
Lydie went quickly and quietly up the stairs. As she reached her mother’s door it opened and Mrs Arnthwaite emerged, carrying a bundle of dirty linen.
She gave a muffled squeak and dropped her burden. ‘Gracious heavens, Miss Lydie, you’re enough to frighten anyone out of their wits, creeping about like that. I thought you were off staying with friends.’
‘I was.’ Lydie swiftly buried her ringless hand in her jeans pocket. ‘But I needed to see my mother. Is she somewhere about?’
‘Indeed she isn’t, miss.’ The housekeeper sounded astonished. ‘Why, she left hours ago.’
Lydie swallowed. ‘I—see. Did she say when she was coming back?’ Or even if? she added silently.
‘No, miss, but she’ll be gone a while, judging by the amount of luggage I packed for her.’ Whatever Mrs Arnthwaite might have been thinking, her tone gave nothing away.
Lydie bit her lip. ‘Is—Mr Benedict at home?’
‘He’s in London with Mrs Benedict, Miss Lydie. They’re flying out to Spain tomorrow, I understand.’
‘Spain?’ Lydie echoed in bewilderment. ‘Isn’t that rather sudden?’
‘Planned as a nice surprise for Mrs Benedict,’ Mrs Arnthwaite confirmed sedately. ‘And genuinely touched she seemed too.’
‘I can imagine,’ Lydie returned untruthfully. In fact, none of it made any sense at all. She took a deep breath. ‘Is—is Marius about?’
‘He went out a bit ago and told me not to wait up for him tonight.’ Mrs Arnthwaite’s tone was faintly repressive. ‘I was sure you of all people would know where he was.’
‘Not necessarily.’ Lydie forced a smile. ‘Well—I’ll let you get on. I shall be at the gallery if anyone needs to contact me.’
‘Very good, Miss Lydie.’
Lydie drove slowly back to Thornshaugh, prey to thoughts that pecked at her like vultures. Marius seemed to have lost no time in starting his own healing process, she told herself wretchedly, and there were no prizes for guessing where he had gone or who he was with. Nadine might not have been his first choice all those years ago, but Lydie was certain that she would make sure she was his second.
She wasn’t used to the warehouse complex at night and the deserted malls seemed eerie and even menacing as she climbed the stairs to the gallery.
The first floor was a mass of shadows, and then one detached itself from the rest and became solid reality—a man’s figure advancing silently towards her.
She wanted to scream, but the muscles in her throat seemed suddenly paralysed.
‘At last,’ Marius’s voice said brusquely. ‘Where the hell have you been?’
‘You.’ Lydie almost sagged with relief. Then, aware that her heart had given an excited, treacherous leap, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, glaring at him. ‘What do you think you’re doing, lurking in doorways like some ghastly pervert?’
‘Don’t overreact, Lydie.’ His tone was sardonic. ‘You must have been expecting me.’
‘On the contrary,’ she snapped back. ‘I presumed you’d be obeying the dictates of your busy social life.’ The image of Nadine Winton hovered painfully on the edge of her mind.
‘That comes later,’ he said. ‘Right now we need to talk.’
She hung back. ‘We’ve already said all that’s necessary.’
‘We haven’t even begun,’ he contradicted her flatly. He took the bunch of keys from her indignant hand, unlocked the gallery door, pushed it open and flicked the light switch. He gave her a level look. ‘Will you walk in of your own accord, or shall I carry you?’
For a long moment their glances clashed, each measuring the strength of the other’s will, before Lydie decided that discretion was the better part of valour.
Head high, she stalked ahead of him to the studio—no mean feat when her legs were trembling under her.
She turned, feeling like an animal at bay with the hunter closing in, and found him standing in the doorway, looking around with critical appraisal, his eyes travelling from the living area, with its elderly, comfortable furniture, to Nell’s workspace, with its easel and neatly stacked canvases, and on to the big, curtained alcove and the wide bed under its patchwork quilt.
‘So this is the sanctuary,’ he remarked, half to himself.
She said curtly, ‘Yes.’ And because she needed something to occupy her and disguise the shakes she added, ‘Do you want some coffee?’
His brows lifted mockingly. ‘I’m glad you’ve decided to be civilised.’
‘Don’t count on it.’ She filled the kettle and switched it on.
‘Believe me, I count on nothing,’ Marius returned equably. He took the armchair, stretching long, denimclad legs out in front of him.
His presence made the studio seem sudden
ly smaller, even cramped. To cross from one side to the other would involve stepping over him, so Lydie decided to remain safely in the vicinity of the stove, busying herself with coffee-jar and beakers.
‘Where’s your partner?’ he enquired after a moment.
‘Away,’ Lydie said shortly. ‘Doing some heavy-duty thinking.’
‘I imagine she needs to,’ he said with faint grimness. ‘And what about you?’
‘I’ve already made a few decisions. When she returns I’m going to talk to her about selling the gallery.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s not the ideal time, probably, but at least I should be able to repay Austin’s loan, and Nell and I won’t be tied to Thornshaugh.’
‘Which is naturally important,’ he agreed with that silky note in his voice that she so much detested.
‘It is to me.’ She poured boiling water onto the granules and stirred them. ‘And may be to her.’
‘So where were you this evening?’ He took the proffered beaker with a brief word of thanks.
‘I went to Greystones.’ There was no point in prevaricating, she thought wearily. If she didn’t tell him, Mrs Arnthwaite would.
‘Then we must have passed each other on the road.’ There was an odd note in his voice, a sudden tension in the air, tingling along Lydie’s senses. ‘Why did you go there?’
She looked down at the stained and waxed floorboards. There was constraint in her tone. ‘I—thought my mother might need me.’
‘Of course.’ A definite edge this time. ‘Only the bird had flown. In fact, both birds.’
‘And to Spain, I understand.’ She tried to speak lightly. ‘Rather unexpected.’
He shrugged. ‘Austin wants to look at some properties out there.’ His mouth quirked slightly. ‘He intends to take his retirement very seriously. He wants a warm climate and golf on his doorstep every day.’
‘I see.’ She stared down at her coffee, her hands clasped tightly round the beaker. ‘And—my mother?’
‘She’ll have the local country club, tennis, bridge, the usual sangria set, no doubt.’ He paused. ‘And less opportunity to meddle.’ He looked at her with a slight frown. ‘Even with your unswerving loyalty to her, Lydie, you must see that things couldn’t go on as they were. That there had to be some kind of showdown.’
