Deceit

by Fayrene Preston

  She gave a sigh, inaudible to all but the man beside her. “I’m sure all you have to do is ask, Jean-Paul.”

  She signaled to the hovering waiter, then leaned back in her chair as he whisked her plate away. “All right, Jean-Paul. I’ve eaten. You’ve eaten. You’ve given me your latest medical report. You’ve told me about your flight over on the Concorde, about the young girl you met and you think might be interesting to photograph. You’ve even told me about the small plane you rented to fly you from New York to here. Now, don’t you think it’s about time you tell me why you’re here?”

  He tossed his napkin onto the table and reached into the pocket of his black jacket for a long, slim cheroot and a gold lighter. Only after he had lit the cheroot and replaced the lighter did he answer her. “I am here because of you, cherie.” “Me? I don’t understand.”

  “Steve placed a call to me after you fell down the grand staircase. He seemed to think that the light could have been rigged to fall.”

  She rolled her shoulders uneasily. “I know. He told me, but the idea seemed so preposterous—” “I thought so, too. I thought so, that is, until he called me and told me about Rosalyn’s unfortunate reaction to the face powder. Except for a fluke, cherie, that powder would have been applied to your face.”

  “It was a strange allergic reaction. Chances are, if she had put it on my face, nothing would have happened.”

  He drew deeply on the cheroot, then exhaled a long stream of smoke. “Maybe you are right, maybe you are not. My guess is you are not.”

  She twisted in her seat. She should have been comforted by the fact that Jean-Paul was here and now she had someone to whom she could tell her fears. But she could only think about how furious Richard had been when he had seen Jean-Paul.

  “It was Steve’s call yesterday," he went on, “Informing me of your fall from the ladder, that finally sent me to DeGaulle to catch the first available Concorde to the United States.”

  “Steve shouldn’t have—”

  “Steve did absolutely the right thing. The only thing that would have been better Is if you, Liana, had called me yourself.”

  She fell silent.

  Through a veil of smoke, he studied her. “I have never seen you more radiant,” he said carefully. “I really hope you are going to tell me that Richard Zagan is not the cause.”

  “I’m afraid he is.”

  “Mon Dieu! Has he been here the whole time?” She nodded. “At first the tension between us was thick enough to cut with a knife. Then,” she shrugged, "things just exploded. ”

  “Exploded.” His face twisted with anger, and he savagely put out the cheroot in a crystal ashtray. “The question is—are you going to get caught In the fallout?”

  She met his gaze levelly. “Without a doubt.”

  “Then put an end to it, Liana. Put an end to it right now.”

  “It will end on its own soon enough.”

  He took in the set features of her face and sighed.

  “Then I guess while you are still radiant, I should photograph you.”

  “You’re not going to take the shoot over from Clay are you? Not when we’re so close to being finished.”

  “No, I’m not here to take over. But I will observe the final shoot today.”

  She shook her head. “You can't. It will shake Clay’s confidence.”

  He leaned forward and jabbed the table with a finger. “Who the hell cares about Clay’s confidence? What is important is that you remain safe.”

  “You can’t do it, Jean-Paul. You know you can’t. It wouldn’t bother you one iota if another photographer watched over your shoulder. But then there are only a handful of photographers in the world as good as you. Clay will come apart if he thinks you’re checking up on him. ”

  “I trained him. Liana. He has had me present in the studio many times before. ”

  “This is different. You trusted him enough to let him take this important assignment on his own, and he’s done a very good job. Let him finish it.”

  “Merde!” Jean-Paul flung himself back against the chair.

  She looked at him. “You know I’m right in this.”

  He held up a hand. “All right, all right. Maybe my presence will be enough to deter any more accidents. But, Liana, if I hear that so much as a hair on your head is harmed today, I will shut down not only the shoot, but this entire place. ”

  His concern drew a smile from her, her first since she had seen him. "You look tired. Why don’t you go up to your room and lie down?”

  He rubbed his hand across his eyes. “I hate to admit it, but I think I’ll have to do exactly that. This virus hasn’t completely left my system yet.” She stood, walked around the table, and kissed his cheek. “Get some rest. I’ll see you this evening.”

  The dark clouds that gathered on the horizon during the afternoon set the mood for Clay, Liana, and the rest of the crew, and when the thunder, lightning, and rain came, the stormy atmosphere seemed right.

  Even though Jean-Paul was as good as his word and did not show up at the conservatory where they were shooting, the knowledge that he had arrived was enough to affect everyone. Clay’s nerves were evident in every order he gave, and his tension spread to the rest of the crew.

  As for herself, Liana’s strain increased by the minute. Richard’s advice was always in the back of her mind. But how could she be on guard against the unexpected? And how could she tolerate the thought that there was someone who actually wanted to hurt her? By late afternoon, she had reached the point where she jumped every time anyone spoke to her.

  She could attribute two of the accidents to herself, she decided. If she hadn’t lost her concentration, she wouldn’t have fallen down the stairs; and if she hadn’t been driving so fast, she would have seen the debris. That left the ladder and the face powder. Wood rotted, it was as simple as that. And as for the powder, they would have to wait for the chemical analysis to determine what had gone wrong with it.

  She loved Jean-Paul, but she wished with all her heart he hadn’t come. She wanted these last hours with Richard to be spent happily, not in anger.

  By the end of the afternoon, when Clay called, “That’s all until tonight,” Liana was more than ready to stop. She was tired, irritated, jittery, and unable to endure one more trauma, whether it be a touch or a loud voice.

  She ducked behind the changing screen and quickly put on flats, taupe slacks, and a bright red cotton, short-sleeved sweater. The rain had slackened to a fine mist, and she had every intention of taking a walk. But when she emerged, Richard was waiting for her, and one look told her he was still as angry as he had been that morning.

  His eyes glinted like ice crystals. “I really didn’t expect to see you here.”

  His sarcasm had the same effect on her as the sound of nails on a chalkboard. “Where did you think I’d be?”

  “With Savion, of course. After all, the two of you have been apart almost two weeks. I supposed he would want some private time with you. At the very least, I thought he would be here.”

  “Well, you were wrong on both counts, weren’t you? Does that tell you anything?”

  “What should it tell me?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. How about that your suspicions regarding Jean-Paul and me are wrong, in fact, have always been wrong?”

  “Who has suspicions?” he asked harshly. “I have hard, cold knowledge, sweetheart. Remember? I was there when you went from my bed to his in one very short afternoon.”

  “I did no such thing!”

  He stepped closer, invading and taking control of the air she was trying to pull into her lungs.

  “Are you denying that you lived with Savion?” In her peripheral vision she caught a glimpse of Sara and Clay, unabashedly eaves-dropping, but she was too upset for their presence to matter. “Yes, Richard, I did live with him. He took me in when I had no other place to go.”

  “Excuse me? What was wrong with where you’d been staying?”

  “You
were there. And I’ve already told you why I had to leave.”

  “Yeah. Right. Because you had fallen in love with me. I almost have that part straight. What still bothers me—only a little, you understand—is why, loving me as you say you did, you became Savion’s lover.”

  “Dammit, I was never Jean-Paul’s lover! I’ve told you that time and again.”

  “Then, dammit, why can’t I believe you?”

  “Because you’re a fool!"

  He raised his hand, and she instinctively recoiled, unsure whether he meant to strike her or caress her. Either act at this moment would have been intolerable to her. Suddenly he turned and walked swiftly from the conservatory.

  The overwhelming need to escape seized her— she wanted to go somewhere, anywhere that was quiet, isolated, peaceful. She wheeled and ran out the back door of the conservatory.

  It was growing darker, but she struck out across the grounds.

  Damn Richard! One way or the other he had dominated her entire adult life. It had to stop. The deceit of her father had altered and affected both of their lives. But Richard knew everything now. Why couldn’t he understand her side, see more clearly? Why couldn’t he love her?

  She had admitted her foolishness and her stupidity. Their only chance lay In his ability and willingness to let go of the past, but he refused. He seemed blocked about Jean-Paul.

  The mist should have cooled her anger. The fast pace she walked should have relieved some of her tension. But she found herself growing more and more agitated. In her mind, he was the one who was now being foolish and stupid.

  Some time later, she came to a stop in front of Leonora Deverell’s crypt and blinked. What on earth was she doing here? Through the increasing darkness, she stared at the letters that spelled Leonora’s name. Strangely, her mind went back in years and distance to Paris and another Leonora she had met about a year after she had left Richard. When she had told him that the Leonora she had known there had given up everything for love, he had said he didn’t believe in love.

  Still, he had shown concern for her safety last night. And today he had been jealous. Good heavens! Why hadn’t she seen it before? He was wildly jealous of Jean-Paul, even after all these years. He had to care!

  Hope once more sprang to life within her, but she tried to remain cautious. She had gone through so many highs and lows since she had been here at SwanSea, she wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

  But Richard had shown tenderness and concern for her. And time and again, he had made love to her as If starving for her. And he had displayed unreasonable jealousy. If those weren’t the signs of a man in love, what were? Even if he didn’t know it.

  She had to go to him. Somehow she had to get through his hurt and pride and reach his heart. She would go to him now.

  Something sharp struck the back of her head. Leonora’s name blurred in front of her eyes, and her knees buckled. She fell to the ground and heard an odd creaking sound of rusty hinges. Fighting against the darkness that threatened to suck her down into it, she tried to make sense of what was happening. But steel-muscled arms gripped her around the waist and dragged her across wet grass, up steps, into a building, finally leaning her against a concrete wall.

  Even as she heard the creaking sound again, she struggled to get up. But dizziness overcame her, and she lost her footing. Once more she was falling, and she couldn’t stop. She tumbled down a short series of steps, halting only when she struck the side of her head against the hard floor.

  Unconsciousness claimed her.

  And she didn’t hear the scraping of the heavy concrete urn as it was rolled in front of the crypt’s doors, sealing her in.

  Ten

  Clay smiled, feeling a huge sense of relief as he turned away from the crypt and started back to the hotel. At last, something he had done had worked. And in the end, it had been luck rather than elaborate planning that had helped him achieve the goal of putting Liana out of commission long enough to have Sara replace her as the model on this shoot.

  Knowing that his time was running out, he’d been racking his brain, trying to decide what he could do next. Jean-Paul's arrival had had him convinced he should abandon his plans. Then two things happened. During his quick visit with Savion this morning, he had seen that the great man wasn’t as well as he would like everyone to believe. Then Liana and Zagan had had that argument. Afterwards, Liana had been so upset, she hadn’t even noticed him following her. And luck had again been with him when she had gone to the cemetery, and he had happened to notice that with very little effort he could break the crypt’s rusty lock.

  He hadn’t really hurt her, of course. She was only stunned. She would spend an uncomfortable night, but that couldn’t be helped. By morning, if she hadn’t been found, he would “discover” her. She would be fine, just fine.

  Naturally it would have been better if one of the other little accidents he had planned for her had been successful. If she had broken an arm when she had fallen down the stairs, for instance, or if she had used the face powder and developed a rash, he would have had more of an opportunity to photograph Sara.

  Yet the ball was the culmination of SwanSea’s grand opening and that would work to his advantage. Once the shots he planned to take tonight were seen, he would be able to persuade the publications involved to use a greater number of them than those previously taken. He could even help matters along by exposing several rolls of film, thereby losing quite a few of Liana’s shots.

  Yes, that’s what he would do.

  Richard pulled the phone away from his ear and glared at it. Liana still wasn’t answering in her room. Either she hadn’t returned, or she was ignoring the messages he was leaving with the hotel operator. He slammed the phone back into its cradle.

  He supposed he couldn’t blame her if she was ignoring his messages. He had hurt her and made her angry, then stormed out of the conservatory.

  But that had been a little after six, and it was now nine-thirty. Where was she?

  He shouldn’t have argued with her, he reflected grimly, but just the thought of her and Savion made him deaf, dumb, and blind.

  He raked his fingers through his hair, disgusted with himself. A new idea had been steadily growing in him, the idea that he was dead wrong— about Liana and Savion being lovers, about allowing the bitterness of the past eleven years to interfere with the present and the future, and most importantly, about there not being any such thing as love.

  Dammit, he'd give her ten more minutes, then he was going to go looking for her.

  The pain . . . Liana moaned, her head throbbed; why didn’t it stop? Slowly and with great difficulty, she lifted her hand to her forehead and touched something sticky.

  She was tying on concrete, she realized, then shivered. Lord, she was cold. She needed to get off the floor. If only her head didn’t hurt so much.

  Time seemed to pass—she had no idea how much. But she was still on the floor, she noticed. She rolled over and bumped against something concrete ... a wall? No, because she could feel a comer biting into her shoulder. She levered herself into a sitting position and skimmed her hand upward, over concrete, then to wood. Wood? Her fingers found the upper edge of what seemed to be a large wooden box and curled over the top. Taking a grip, she tried to pull herself up. But the wood broke off and fell to the floor with a crash. She flinched at the loud noise and slumped back down, the dizziness and pain almost overwhelming.

  Where was she?

  Then she remembered. The sharp pain at the back of her head, Leonora’s name blurring in front of her eyes, someone dragging her into a building. She was in Leonora’s crypt! And she was leaning against the concrete slab on which Leonora’s coffin rested!

  A sob escaped her, but she quickly clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle it. Was the person who did this to her In here with her? Her heart slammed against her ribs at the thought, and a new kind of chill gripped her—the chill of terror.

  But she refused to give into the fea
r. She searched the darkness of the small burial house until she was assured that she was alone. Good. What now? Think, Liana. Think.

  It wasn’t pitch black, she realized. In fact, she could see a pale sliver of moonlight. The mist must have cleared. The doors! They must be ajar!

  It took her several tries before she was able to stand. She stumbled on the stairs, but finally made it to the source of the light.

  She pushed against the doors; they didn’t budge. Frantically, she pushed harder. Nothing. Something was blocking the doors.

  Tears filled her eyes and she slid down the door to the floor. She was entombed with Leonora Deverell.

  Propped against a pile of pillows, Jean-Paul glanced at his watch. Dammit, it was after ten. Why hadn't Liana called him? He had left message after message for her, yet he hadn’t heard from her. He knew for a fact the work had been over for hours.

  There was only one answer: she had to be with Zagan.

  With a muffled curse, he reached for a cheroot and lit it.

  He had never known what had happened eleven years ago between the two of them. He only knew, no matter what she said, that she hadn’t healed from their love affair. Sometimes when she thought he wasn’t looking, he would catch a brief glimpse of pain in her eyes. The bastard had better not hurt her again!

  Dammit, but this infection made him feel so powerless! He had come here to help her, and look at him! He had been reduced to leaving messages in between his naps. But what if something had happened to her?

  A knock sounded at the door, and hopeful that it was Liana, he sat up. “Come in.”

  “Thank you,” Richard said, walking in, his tone anything but polite.

  Jean-Paul’s black eyebrows drew together in a scowl. “What the hell do you want?”

  Richard’s gaze scanned the room, then came back to rest on Jean-Paul. “I want to know where Liana is.”

  With an insouciance he hoped would madden Zagan, Jean-Paul settled himself comfortably against the pillows and took a long draw on his cheroot. “Assuming I knew, do you think I would tell you?”