This Man's Magic

by Stephanie Wyatt

  'He's asked to see me, Tam,' she burst out, her voice shaking with excitement. 'Lucas Amory. He wants to see me this afternoon!'

  'That's great, Sorrel!' Tammy straightened up from the large table cluttered with fragments of brightly coloured glass and strips of lead. If Charlie had to struggle to make any money from his painting, Tammy's stained glass work was in great demand, some of it already installed in venues as varied as a cathedral, the conservatory in a minor stately home and a London gaming club. 'But then I knew he would, once he'd seen those designs of yours, and your friend's introduction would make sure of that.'

  Out of consideration for her father, Sorrel had still not revealed to her friends her relationship to the man who had supplied that all-important introduction.

  'You're home and dry, darling,' Tammy crowed. 'Now, what are you going to wear?'

  Sorrel burst out laughing. 'A raincoat, of course. Have you looked outside today?' 'February fill dyke' was living up to its name; the rain had been slashing down all morning swelling the grey, turgid river that swept past the building. 'Does it matter? I'm hoping to interest Lucas Amory in my designs, not give him designs on me!' Then at the expression on her face she promised quickly, 'It's all right, I'll change into a clean pair of jeans.'

  'You will not!' Tammy declared forthrightly. 'And of course it matters. Oh, I know it's your designs he'll be buying, but if you're going right to the top, you're going to have to promote yourself. Sorrel Valentine, designer extraordinaire! Come on, let's take a look at your wardrobe.'

  Calling to Kit, the glass engraver who had the adjoining workshop, that they would be in Sorrel's apartment if either of them were wanted, Tammy hustled her out through the rear door and up the three flights of stairs.

  'You wouldn't have any of your delicious quiche going begging, would you?' Tammy asked hopefully flopping down to recover her breath on one of the long sofas. Smiling, Sorrel cut her a slice and added it to the coffee tray she was preparing. 'Well, it is nearly lunchtime,' Tammy excused herself as Sorrel put the tray on the table between them. 'Aren't you having any?'

  'You're kidding! The way the butterflies in my stomach are behaving right now?' Sorrel grimaced.

  Tammy licked the last crumbs from her fingers. 'Oh, darling, he's only a man.'

  'Huh?'

  'Lucas Amory. That's who you've got butterflies about, isn't it? I'll give you a tip, love. Every time you find yourself feeling in awe of him think of him paring his toenails.'

  Sorrel gave a muffled snort of laughter.

  'And it it's some haughty bitch being snotty with me, I imagine her—' Tammy broke off, grinning.

  'No, perhaps I shouldn't sully your innocent ears with that one. What have you got to be nervous about, anyway? Lucas Amory's the lucky one to be getting the offer of your designs, and don't you forget it, my girl. Come on now, let's decide what you're wearing. What about that silk suit I bullied you into buying from Solly Green?' Solly was one of her numerous friends, an East End clothing manufacturer who supplied West End boutiques charging three or four times the price he could be beaten down to by a resourceful Tammy. 'I've never seen you wearing it yet.'

  'Because I've never found the right occasion,' Sorrel retorted, leading the way up the spiral staircase. 'And if you haven't noticed, it's still raining cats and dogs out there.'

  'So?' Tammy opened the wardrobe and riffled among the hangers until she found what she was looking for, the matt black, heavy silk skirt and jacket. 'You have an umbrella, don't you? And you'll take a taxi door to door. Oh, yes you will…' she added threateningly as Sorrel was about to protest. 'If you can't afford it, I'll pay for it myself. First impressions count.'

  It was like being swept along by a tornado. 'All right,' Sorrel found herself acquiescing weakly. 'Though I pay for my own cab.' It always gave her an uncomfortable feeling whenever Tammy and Charlie assumed she was as hard up as they were. Would they think differently about her if they knew she was actually a wealthy woman? It wasn't a question she'd ever dared put to the test.

  Tammy took over, sweeping down to the kitchen to press the suit while Sorrel had a bath, blowdrying her freshly washed hair into a riot of gleaming russet curls falling to her shoulders, and bullying her into rather heavier make-up than she usually preferred, and Sorrel went along with it with tolerant amusement. Only when she was being helped into the black silk jacket that went with the hip-hugging skirt slit to the knee did she begin to have misgivings.

  'Tammy, I can't wear this without a blouse underneath. It's not decent!'

  'And ruin the effect?' Tammy was scandalised. 'Of course it's decent—just.' She had done up two of the buttons that cinched the jacket in at the waist, leaving the top one undone to reveal a lot of cleavage and the soft swell of the upper part of Sorrel's creamy breasts. 'If you've got it—flaunt it,' Tammy grinned, wielding the perfume spray and enveloping Sorrel in a cloud of Balmain's Ivoire. 'It's a marvellous background for your wares.'

  She clasped on the necklace and bangle worked in two shades of gold and handed the matching ear-rings to Sorrel to fix herself, jewellery borrowed from stock, for, as Tammy insisted with irrefutable logic, 'Today you're a walking showcase for your designs and craftsmanship.'

  A walking showcase for something, Sorrel thought, surveying her mirror image with incredulity.

  'My God! With your figure you look good in an old sack, but I never realised till now you're one very sexy lady!'

  Tammy's comment echoed Sorrel's unease. What with the slit in her clinging skirt and the button of the jacket left undone, she felt dangerously exposed. Ignoring Tammy's anguished protests, she firmly did up the remaining button.

  Her appearance still bothered her, as if she was dressed up inside someone else's skin as she stepped from the minicab outside the Amoroso offices. But rather comfortingly the doorman was still just as stolid when this time she was able to tell him she had an appointment, nor did the blonde secretary raise so much as an eyebrow when she told Sorrel Mr Amory hadn't got back from lunch yet and invited her to take a seat.

  Here was none of the old world graciousness of her father's office. Lucas Amory went in for modernity: a grey mixture wall-to-wall carpet, pearl-grey walls and the sleek, uncluttered lines of Scandinavian furniture. And of course there were photographs—covering the whole of one wall—of some of the world's most beautiful women displaying Amoroso jewellery.

  There was plenty of time—a full fifteen minutes—for Sorrel to take stock of her surroundings before the outer door opened. But the first person to walk through was female, quite the loveliest girl Sorrel had ever seen, jet-black hair falling around a piquant, high cheekboned face with a flawless olive complexion, the corners of the red-lipped mouth still upturned in a smile that was echoed in the slumberous dark eyes.

  Sorrel recognised at once the Italian model, Bianca Fratelli, but it was the man who followed her in, his arm protectively around her shoulders, who drew irresistibly Sorrel's gaze. Dark and dangerous was her instant impression. Dark jacket fitting superbly across broad shoulders, dark trousers encasing long legs. Dark hair as black as night against the silver wings at his temples, black eyebrows and lashes framing black, indolently gleaming eyes, and all thrown into relief by a teak-tanned skin. Younger looking than those silver wings in the hair suggested, not strictly handsome taken feature by feature; high, wide cheekbones, a forceful chin, lines slashing from a rather beaky nose to a beautifully chiselled mouth as he smiled down at the girl at his side.

  The photographs she had seen had shown a good-looking man, but they had not shown his almost visible aura of male sexuality, and it struck Sorrel now like a blow in the solar plexus.

  Ignoring her as they walked in, she had time to think how alike they were, both with their dark, Italianate looks. They might almost have been brother and sister—or father and daughter, for the young model couldn't be more than eighteen or nineteen.

  And then those black eyes were fixed on Sorrel herself, with none of the indo
lent pleasure with which he had been regarding his companion. An inward shiver ran through her, and she found herself on her feet with no recollection of how she got there.

  'Ah! Miss… Valentine?' His voice was deep and gravelly. 'I'm so sorry to keep you waiting.'

  It was a politely conventional apology, but offered with such a blatant lack of sincerity that Sorrel's hackles rose, though she gave no sign of it as, safe behind her defensive mask she returned smoothly, 'That's quite all right. It was good of you to see me, Mr Amory.'

  'I hope you continue to think so, Miss… Valentine.' His second hesitation over her name was somehow un-nerving, but nowhere near as un-nerving as the open sexual appraisal he was now subjecting her to, his dark eyes sweeping over her from the top of her russet head to her slender ankles and narrow feet, lingering speculatively over her rounded hips and what she still felt was too much exposed of her breasts. Colour burned in her cheeks, and she cursed herself for letting Tammy talk her into wearing this outfit, wishing she was safely encased in the wool suit she had worn for the interview with her father.

  'Very nice, but I'm afraid the goods on display are not going to tempt me to overlook your deception, as I'm sure you were counting on,' he drawled derisively, both his tone and the direction of his gaze telling her he wasn't referring to her jewellery designs.

  Sorrel stared at him blankly, several emotions conflicting for supremacy; shock at the bizarre direction this interview had taken, outrage that he seemed to think she had engineered it in order to meet him, to offer herself as a candidate for his bed, embarrassment that he should have made such an insulting inference in front of his girlfriend and his secretary, bewilderment at his reference to her deception.

  Bewilderment superseded the rest. 'Deception, Mr Amory? I have no idea what you mean.'

  'Do you not?' Sorrel had had no idea until that moment that dark eyes could look so cold and wintry. 'I'm referring to your forgery, of course. You didn't really think you'd get away with it, did you?'

  'Forgery!' She was beginning to think she had been given the wrong scenario. Either that or she was having a nightmare and would wake up in a minute. 'You surely don't think I've copied my designs from someone else?'

  'We're talking about the letter, as you very well know,' Lucas Amory said coldly. 'Your so-called letter of introduction. An excellent forgery, I have to admit, and I'd love to know how you did it—'

  'But it isn't a forgery,' Sorrel broke in indignantly, 'I was there when my father—'

  'Your father!' he sneered. 'My dear Miss… Valentine—if that indeed is your name—if you'd done your research a little more thoroughly you'd know Felix Valentine is a very close friend of mine. I've known him for fifteen years or more, and his family, too.' He stepped closer, looming over her threateningly. 'Felix Valentine has two sons, boys I know very well. Sons, Miss Whoever-you-are. He has no daughter.'

  Sorrel closed her eyes. It just hadn't occurred to her that Lucas Amory would disbelieve her father's letter, and she doubted it had occurred to her father, either. So what should she do? She was tempted to tell him the full story, but she was only too aware there would be witnesses to the revelations she knew her father would prefer not to be disclosed, the openly curious secretary and the slightly more sympathetic-looking model.

  'Look, if you'd just telephone my father, he'll tell you—' she said desperately, and when Lucas Amory merely looked even more sardonic, she turned to the secretary. 'Please, just get my—Mr Valentine on the phone.'

  'Most convincing, Mystery Lady,' the hateful man mocked. 'I really do have to admire your nerve. But then you picked your time, didn't you? You must be aware that Felix Valentine is out of the country just now.'

  And would be for another four weeks, Sorrel thought with despair, only now remembering her father mentioning his forthcoming holiday in Barbados. 'Yes, I'd forgotten…' How could she possibly convince him now that she was telling the truth? For a few moments her thought processes seemed to seize up, and then she remembered that there was one other person who knew about the letter and its contents. 'My father's secretary!' she exclaimed. 'He dictated it to her. She will tell you it's genuine.'

  But this disclosure didn't have the hoped for effect. While the secretary looked uncertainly at her employer, he merely grinned wolfishly. 'But surely you know Mrs Oliphant always takes her holiday at the same time as your 'father'?'

  Sorrel's shoulders slumped as her last chance of proving the truth of her claim disappeared. So much for her hopes of her father's letter proving an 'open sesame'! She had been right in the past to value her independence. Relying on other people put you in their power, laid you open to humiliation and hurt. Well, it was a lesson well learned. She would rely solely on her own efforts in future, even if it took her whole lifetime to get where she wanted.

  'Well, if that's all you got me here for, Mr Amory, to accuse me of imposture…' She drew away from him, turning blindly towards the door.

  'Not so fast, Mystery Lady.' He gripped her shoulder to detain her. 'I have to remind you that forgery is a criminal offence. I think I should hand you over to the police.'

  It was the touch of his hand rather than his threat to call the police that finally brought her temper boiling over. Logic told her she couldn't really blame Lucas Amory for suspecting her story, not when he had known her father's family for so many years without hearing a whisper about any daughter. But he was playing with her like a cat with a mouse, positively enjoying her humiliation and impotence, and she hated him for that.

  Turning, bringing her arm up sharply, she threw off his hand. 'Yes, you do that, Mr Amory, as long as you don't mind finishing up looking a fool. And if my father forgives you for dragging his name into the newspapers, I doubt very much if his wife will.'

  The young model suddenly crossed to his side, tugging at his arm and whispering in his ear. He frowned as he listened, then straightened, still looking sceptical. 'Miss Fratelli suggests you might be telling the truth and that there might be a good reason why you're never mentioned in Mr Valentine's family circle. That you are, in fact, Felix's illegitimate child?'

  Sorrel saw genuine sympathy in the girl's dark eyes, but Lucas Amory merely looked watchful, as if waiting to see if she would snatch at this way to get herself out of a tight corner. Damn this big, arrogant man who was so sure of himself, so certain he knew it all and couldn't possibly be wrong. Damn her father for forcing her into this false position and his wife who couldn't forget old grievances. Damn even the pretty model whose sympathy she hadn't asked for and didn't want. Drawing herself up she spat, 'No, I'm no bastard. I don't carry my birth certificate around to prove it and I no longer care whether you believe it or not, but I am the legitimate daughter of Felix Alexander Valentine. Now, about my designs, Mr Amory…'

  For some reason that last outburst had hit Lucas Amory where all other shafts had missed, and he looked furiously angry. 'You surely don't imagine I could still be interested in them, Miss Valentine,' he bit out. 'Amoroso would never dream of doing business with such a devious, conniving little cheat.'

  Her gleaming, sherry-coloured eyes mocked him but behind her mask she winced, each insult hitting like a stone. 'I was merely asking for the return of my property,' she said with spurious sweetness.

  'They're still with Miss Killingley, I presume,' he said distantly.

  'Thank you, you won't mind if I go and recover them then.' Her knees were shaking, but somehow she made it to the door, where she turned to face her adversary again, and the air seemed to crackle with antagonism. 'And when you do finally talk to my father—'

  'Oh, I shall certainly talk to Mr Valentine as soon as he returns,' he broke in savagely. 'I'm sure he'll be most interested to learn how his family is supposed to have grown overnight, and even more interested to discover how you managed to perpetrate your forgery. Don't think you've got away with this.'

  'Tell him,' Sorrel went on as if he hadn't interrupted, 'that I've changed my mind about offering my design
s to Amoroso. It's not a company I could ever feel comfortable to be associated with.'

  It was quite satisfying to have had the last word, but her anger dissipated quickly, and she was feeling physically sick by the time she found her way to Miss Killingley's office, only to find the door open but the room empty. She ought to go in search of the woman, she knew, but if she didn't sit down she was afraid she might pass out, so she pushed open the door and went in.

  She was still breathing deeply to quell her nausea several minutes later when Miss Killingley walked in. 'What are you doing here?' the woman demanded suspiciously. 'I thought Mr Amory had got rid of you.' She smiled with a certain smug reminiscence. 'He didn't take at all kindly to the deceit you practiced on him.'

  'I've only come to collect my designs, then Amoroso will be well rid of me,' Sorrel promised sardonically.

  'Oh, yes of course.' She reached into a drawer and took out Sorrel's portfolio, asking with surprising interest, 'These designs… What are you going to do with them now?'

  'Does it matter?' Sorrel asked wearily. And because she still felt sick and shaken by what had happened in Lucas Amory's office she added gloomily, 'Probably burn the lot.'

  CHAPTER THREE

  As the road curved over the brow of the hill, the house stood silhouetted against the dusk skyline, many windows illuminated. 'There it is,' Sorrel said. 'The entrance is down in the valley on the left.'

  The little van jerked as Tammy's foot lifted from the accelerator in surprise. ''That! My God, when you said Thorley Hall I thought you meant a village hall, not a ruddy great mansion!' Very little fazed Tammy but for once shock, astonishment, and above all curiosity, robbed her of breath. She had known Sorrel Valentine for five years now, and until a few days ago had assumed her to have no family. To discover she not only had a mother living but that she came from a background like this… 'What in hell are you doing living in Wapping when you have a home like this?' she demanded, even more curious to see Sorrel's face suddenly wiped clean of expression.