Deceit

by Fayrene Preston

  She had known he would come. In a way, she’d been waiting.

  And where he was, there was danger for her.

  With pulses racing, she met his gaze squarely. “What took you so long?”

  He smiled. “SwanSea is a pretty big place, and by the time I got downstairs, there was no sign of you.”

  That’s how she’d wanted it. She’d struck out blindly, away from the people, away from him. She’d walked across rolling green meadows dotted by wild aster and goldenrod. Bluebirds and blackbirds had swooped above her, darting between tall pines and majestic firs. At one point, two white-tailed deer darted across her path. She’d been enchanted by everything she saw, but she hadn’t remained at any one place for longer than a few minutes. Leonora’s crypt had been the only sight that had enticed her to come closer, to linger.

  She should have kept moving.

  “So how did you find me?”

  “I looked in the most isolated places.”

  A nod acknowledged his discernment.

  “So what do you find so sad?” he repeated.

  “The fact that Leonora Deverell died at such a young age.”

  “It happened over ninety years ago, Liana. ”

  “I don’t care how long ago it happened, it’s still sad. Leonora had a little boy and a husband who loved her very much.” All the things she as a young girl had once yearned for, but had had to face that she would never have.

  “How do you know her husband loved her?” he asked with amusement.

  She shrugged and conceded, “It’s an assumption.”

  “Based on what?” When she didn’t answer, he went on, “I’m not trying to get into an argument with you, Liana. I’m just really interested in what has given you the idea that a man you never knew loved his wife.”

  She was sure his reasons for asking were argumentative, but in this instance, she didn’t care. Perhaps if she put her feelings into words, it would help her understand why she was so drawn to this forlorn, forgotten place. “Well, first of all, Leonora was the first Deverell to die after SwanSea was built, so Edward had a choice of where he could locate the family cemetery. He placed her crypt as far away as possible from the house so that he wouldn’t have to see it and be reminded of his pain.”

  “I don’t know many people who would place a cemetery where they could look out the windows of their house and see it,” he said dryly. “It’s just too depressing.”

  “Maybe. But look where the rest of the family plots are. ” With a wave of her hand, she indicated a larger, more impressive crypt and several tall, elaborately carved gravestones placed some distance away. “He kept Leonora’s apart. ”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Because he thought her so special?”

  “I think so. ”

  “Then, why is his crypt bigger than hers?”

  “Her death was unexpected. The workmen would have had to throw this up literally almost overnight.” She poked at the base of the crypt with her toe. “See? The masonry is crumbling. Shoddy workmanship. And look at this.” She reached for the big heavy lock on the two doors and tugged. “This is almost rusted through. A good tug would break it.”

  “Why are you so interested in this place?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, equally baffled. “SwanSea has such a unique character and atmosphere to it. I sensed sadness in the gazebo, and here I sense tragedy.” Her head turned in the direction of the house, though she couldn’t see it. “There have been times of shadows as well as times of sunlight here.”

  His amusement took on an edge of fascination. “Are you normally so sensitive to places?”

  She shrugged. “I can’t remember another place affecting me as much. It’s almost as if I were familiar with SwanSea before I ever came here.” He gazed at her, baffled. “I would never have thought you such a romantic. ”

  “A romantic?” She shook her head. “I’m definitely not.” The two most important men in her life—her father and Richard—had seen to that. They had extinguished all traces of the starry-eyed dreams in her and in return had brought her immeasurable heartache. She glanced back at the crypt and the markings on it. “Leonora. It’s a pretty name, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, but then so is Liana.”

  He trailed his fingers down her cheek. The touch was so light, she barely felt it, yet small frissons of heat coursed through her, causing equal parts pain and pleasure. How on earth could she have gotten so caught up with the life of a long dead woman, she wondered suddenly, when her own life demanded such energy and effort from her?

  “I looked up the name Liana once,” he said. “It’s from a French word meaning to bind, to wrap around—you know, sort of like a creeping vine that strangles the life out of something. I remember thinking at the time how appropriate the name was for you.”

  Color flushed her skin. He just wouldn’t let up. “My mother chose my name. She was French and died when I was very young. ”

  “I didn’t know that. But then if I tossed everything I don’t know about you into the Seine, the river would flood Paris.”

  She had begun to feel an oppressive weight, and it had nothing to do with the cemetery. With no particular direction in mind, she began to walk, and he fell in beside her.

  “Is your father alive?” he asked.

  “No, he’s dead now too.” What irony, she thought, that he didn’t know. But then again, what did it matter? She was all alone, and that was the way she liked it. She didn’t want to be bound to anyone ever again. Most of all, she didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else’s pain. She glanced at him. He’d obviously learned his own protective defenses, and they appeared quite formidable. There didn’t look to be a soft, unprotected place in him. She would be willing to bet that he allowed nothing to affect him emotionally.

  They had both learned well. How very pathetic. Suddenly she wondered if he had anyone close to him. “What about your parents? I don’t believe you ever mentioned them. ”

  “They’re alive and happily retired. ”

  “Retired from what?”

  “My father owned a drugstore in Chicago. He worked hard all his life, but never could seem to get anywhere. ”

  “Did it ever occur to you that the one drugstore might be all he wanted?”

  He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and bent his head, studying the ground in front of him as they walked. “Just lately it has.”

  “But you were unable to understand that when you were younger?”

  “I’m still not sure I do entirely. I seem to be driven to acquire. Businesses. Art.” He cut his eyes to her. “Other things.”

  “Do you think this drive stems from the fact that your father owned only one drugstore?”

  He hesitated. “Partly.” Then he added, “I’ve bought my parents a place in Florida. They’re content.” He seemed to shrug, then his head came up and he looked at her. “So why aren’t you working today? Did you wake up with a headache?”

  “Yes,” she said, deciding to let him think she had a hangover. It was easier to go with his perception of her than fight it. All at once, a sense of desolation swamped her. The sad ending to Leonora’s promising young life. Richard’s festering hatred. Her own interminable sadness. It was all too much.

  Abruptly, she changed directions and headed back toward the house. With Richard doggedly following her footsteps as he seemed bent on doing, she thought grimly, it would be better to be around people. Hopefully he would soon lose interest in her. Maybe he would even come to understand that it would be better for him to put their past behind him. As she had.

  Sure, Liana. Sure.

  She didn’t believe for a minute that Richard had lost interest in her, Liana reflected the next morning. It was more as if he had put her on hold while he spent the afternoon playing golf. But he had been in the dining room last night, again with his attractive assistant, Margaret, and he had watched her every bit as intently as he had the night before. This time she coped without the
champagne.

  And now this morning, as early as it was, a crowd of people had gathered on the front steps of SwanSea, the first site of the day’s shooting. Liana, dressed in a wrapper, sat before a makeshift table while Rosalyn laid out makeup, combs, and brushes.

  Usually by this time in a day’s shoot, her concentration was firmly in place. This morning, though, her thoughts were scattered. Leonora and her lonely resting place still bothered her and she didn’t know why.

  She chided herself. What a foolish thing to get upset about. She was being far too impressionable, too open to sentiment. It wasn’t like her, and she needed to put a stop to it immediately.

  She glanced up at the impressive facade of SwanSea. There was no doubt that it was magnificent, but she couldn’t help wondering how Leonora had felt about SwanSea as a home. Living in a small, cozy house as she did, she would have a hard time viewing such a huge place as a home. Had it been just as overwhelming to Leonora as a seventeen-year-old bride? All at once she remembered another Leonora..

  “Which dress is first, love?” Rosalyn asked her.

  “What? Oh, the gold.”

  “I saw that one,” Rosalyn said, reaching for the pot of foundation. “It's gorgeous, but then all the gowns are. I’ve overheard several ladies plotting their strategies for the auction. ”

  Liana smiled. “It should be interesting.” Rosalyn applied a light base of foundation to Liana’s cheeks, then a cream rouge. “You think we’ll see any cat fights?”

  “Here? No way. SwanSea is much too dignified.” Rosalyn made a sound halfway between a snort and a laugh. “Listen, sweetie, women and their love of beautiful clothes are the same no matter where they are. You mark my words. It’s going to get down and dirty at the auction, and I for one can’t wait. ” She broke the seal on a new jar of loose powder and screwed open the top, then she dipped a puff into the powder and held it toward Liana’s face.

  But Liana turned toward Sara, who was sauntering up to them.

  “Clay’s ready for you, Liana. ”

  Liana smiled. “Thanks, Sara. I won’t be much longer.”

  Rosalyn peered at her own image in the mirror. “We’re leaving her hair straight for this shot,” she said to Sara and idly dusted a sprinkling of powder over her own face. “All I have to do is brush it.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell Clay. You know what? He’s in a good mood. He should take more days off. If you call taking pictures of me a day off.”

  Rosalyn laughed. “Sounds like a busman’s holiday to me.”

  “And for you, it doesn’t sound like a day off,” Liana said. “Besides, I thought you didn’t like to have your picture taken. ”

  “I don’t, but it was all in fun. I even got to wear some of your designer gowns.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I was very careful with them.” “Sara, you don’t have to reassure me. They’re not my gowns.”

  Suddenly Rosalyn made a sound of pain, dropped the puff, and clutched at her face.

  Liana looked up at her. “Rosalyn, what’s wrong?” “My face,” she gasped. “It bums!”

  Alarmed, Liana jumped up and guided Rosalyn into the chair. Even as she did, she could see red blisters rising on Rosalyn’s face. “My Lord, she must be having some sort of allergic reaction. Sara, go see if there’s a doctor registered. ”

  “It’s the powder,” Rosalyn cried.

  “Try not to touch yourself.” Liana glanced frantically around and spied two ladies standing nearby. “Quick, run into the hotel and tell them we need cold, wet cloths immediately.”

  Steve came rushing up. “Sara yelled that something's wrong with Rosalyn as she raced by. What is it?”

  Liana took one look at the worsening blisters on Rosalyn’s face. "God, Steve, go call an ambulance. Now!”

  Fifteen minutes later. Liana was watching the ambulance with Rosalyn in it roar off. “I need to be there for her,” she said to no one in particular. “I’d better get dressed.”

  “Just a minute.” Steve restrained her with a hand on her arm. “I heard you tell the paramedics that she’d had an allergic reaction to face powder. What exactly happened?”

  “I’d like to know that myself,” Richard said, coming up to them.

  Her already distressed state was worsened by the sight of Richard. Intellectually, she knew that he was staying here at SwanSea. She was even on the alert against a sudden appearance by him. But she still couldn’t get used to him—the flesh and blood presence of the man.

  “I’d like to hear the story again, myself,” Clay said, joining them.

  Agitated and anxious to be with Rosalyn, Liana gazed at the three men around her. “I’ve already told you. She had an allergic reaction to the face powder. ”

  Clay walked to the table behind them and picked up the still open jar. The paramedics had peeled off the label that listed the ingredients and had taken it with them. “Is this what she normally uses?”

  "Yes, except normally she uses it on me, not on herself.”

  “Had she put any on you yet?” Richard asked, scrutinizing her face with narrowed eyes.

  “No, she was just about to.” “What about when we last worked day before yesterday?” Steve asked. “Did she use it on you then?”

  “No,” she said, exasperation and impatience giving the word emphasis. “It was a new jar. She had just broken the seal.”

  "Could it have been tampered with in some way?” Richard asked.

  “I don’t see how,” Clay answered, eyeing the seal that still lay on the table.

  “And I don’t see why,” Liana said. “Look, it was an allergic reaction, plain and simple. Sometimes it just happens.”

  “Maybe something went wrong at the factory with the batch,” Steve said.

  Clay nodded. “I know a chemist I can send this to for an analysis. I’ll take it into town right now and get it off to him. ”

  “Fine. Do what you want. But I’m going to the hospital and see about Rosalyn.”

  Richard caught up with her just inside the massive front doors of SwanSea and grabbed her upper arm. “Wait a minute. You shouldn’t go just yet. ”

  She looked down at his hand on her arm, and he immediately released her. “Rosalyn is my friend, Richard. We’ve worked together for quite some time, and I want to be there for her.”

  “I understand that, but I also can see how shaken you are.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself. “It was an awful thing to watch happen.”

  “It would have been even worse to have it happen to you.”

  “Hearing that isn’t helping me, Richard.”

  “Okay, okay. All I’m saying is that you should give yourself some time before you drive into town.”

  She had thought all hope long dead in her, but she found herself saying, “It almost sounds as if you’re concerned about me. ”

  He stiffened; his voice mocked. “I just want to make sure you stay in one piece until we go to bed together. ”

  Anger and hurt whipped color into her cheeks. “It’s not going to happen.”

  “It has to, Liana.”

  She felt a cold shiver that affected her like heat. “Look, believe whatever you like, but I have to see about Rosalyn now.’”

  “Then, I’ll let you go. For now.”

  Five

  The designer gown arched through the air, a beautiful streamer of shiny sequins and orange and gold chiffon.

  Sara caught the gown, her eyes wide with astonishment.

  Liana’s mouth twisted wryly, knowing what the younger girl was thinking. Anything less than careful handling for such a gown would be called sacrilege by some. “Sorry. Clay took so long with that last shot. I’d begun to feel like the dress was plastered to me. I had to get it off. I didn’t harm it, did I?”

  After a brief inspection of the gown, Sara shook her head. “The gown’s fine.” She began to fold the one-of-a-kind creation with tissue paper. “Clay’s been hell on wheels the last two da
ys, hasn’t he?” she asked, darting a glance at Liana.

  “He’s just trying to do the best possible work he can.” Why was she defending him, she wondered as she reached for her jeans and a T-shirt. Clay had been almost unbearable to work with, pushing her and everyone else to the limit.

  With the breakneck speed she had learned backstage at runway shows, she threw on her clothes. She wanted to get away from SwanSea. Nothing had gone right since she had been here, but then in all fairness, she had only herself to blame, not SwanSea. She had let imagination and emotions rule, and as a result, she’d had control over almost nothing that had happened.

  She could pack up and go home, she thought for the one hundredth time, and as always, she discarded the idea. There was something keeping her here, and it was time to admit to herself that it was something that went beyond her feeling of responsibility for the assignment.

  The obvious answer was Richard, but unable to cope with the volatile repercussions of that particular idea, she rejected it. Suddenly the image of the small concrete burial house on that windswept hill came to her. How very odd, she thought. Was she losing her mind?

  “I can understand Clay trying to do a super job,” Sara was saying, “but nothing any of us has done has been good enough for him.”

  It was true, Liana reflected. Under normal circumstances, she could have coped, but these circumstances were anything but normal. The past two days had been hard on her, both physically and mentally. She had tried time after time to retreat into her mind, but all her usual blocking devices had proved useless. Too many hands had touched her. Too many people had stared.

  Today, it had reached the point that if Clay had told her to strike one more pose or to smile one more time, she would have cracked. As it was, she was hanging on to her composure by a thread.

  With cream and tissue, she wiped off every last bit of makeup, then quickly ran a brush through her hair.