This Man's Magic

by Stephanie Wyatt

  'When 'e stands to lose 'is reputation as a businessman?' Charlie questioned, and Lucas inclined his head in ironic thanks.

  'Oh, he's going to do that all right,' Sorrel muttered under her breath, but Charlie was already asking, 'You say you didn't look at Sorrel's designs yourself?

  'That's right.' He glared at Sorrel. 'I've always steered clear of anything shady.'

  Sorrel's temper was rising again but Charlie pursued his train of though tenaciously. 'But somebody must've looked at 'em, and liked 'em enough to make copies.'

  'Now we are getting into the realms of fantasy,' Lucas said irritably. 'I can vouch for all my staff. None of them are dishonest.'

  'Neither's Sorrel.' Charlie heaved himself to his feet and joined her at the desk. 'You see, I know these designs are the ones Sorrel brought to you that day, so if you're denyin' any other explanation you're as good as sayin' you're the rogue as snitched 'em.'

  'We're just going round in circles.' Lucas too got to his feet.

  'Please, just bear with me a bit longer.' Charlie raised a placating hand. 'Would you mind telling me who, on your staff, claims credit for these designs?'

  For a moment it seemed he wasn't going to answer, then, 'My head of design,' he said stiffly.

  Sorrel let out a long breath. 'Miss Killingley!' It made sense that the woman would do as her boss asked, and thinking about it, someone in the design department would have to be in on the theft.

  'And would she 'ave been present when you read that letter from Sorrel's father?' Charlie pressed.

  'She was there when I read the letter purporting to be from Mr Valentine, yes,' Lucas agreed stiffly.

  'So she'd know as Sorrel 'ad been discredited,' Charlie mused. 'A factor that'd make it a lot less of a risk to get the designs copied an' pass 'em off as 'er own. Possible, don't you think?'

  'Possible, but highly improbable,' Sorrel interjected. 'He's in it right up to his neck, Charlie. The pair of them have probably done it before. But they'll be sorry they tried it on with me.'

  'Threatening me, Sorrel?' Lucas looked down at her from his greater height, one eyebrow lifted sardonically, and the air fairly sizzled between.

  'It's Miss Valentine to you,' she snarled, 'And you bet your sweet life I am. First thing in the morning I'm getting in touch with my solicitor. Nobody pirates my work with impunity. I'll make your reputation stink!'

  'Your solicitor? I doubt the neighbourhood legal aid office opens on Sunday,' he said insultingly, but Sorrel only smiled, thinking of the high-powered Mr Forster and his swish chambers in Lincoln's Inn Fields, whose percentage from the investments he handled for her put quite a bit of jam on his bread. She didn't think she would have any trouble talking to him on a Sunday. And as he knew all the facts concerning her parentage, she wouldn't have any difficulty convincing him of the seriousness of her charge of piracy against Lucas Amory.

  'Perhaps you should find yourself a good solicitor at that,' he advised in such a hatefully superior manner that Sorrel longed to hit him. 'Because first thing in the morning I shall be putting the whole thing in the hands of the police.'

  'Mr Amory, I'm sure that won't be necessary—'

  Charlie once again tried to play the peace-maker, but Sorrel had the bit between her teeth.

  'You do that, Mr Amory.' Moving quickly she swept the disputed designs into the top drawer, locked it, and much to Lucas Amory's surprise, handed him the key. 'Just to make sure the evidence is where it should be when the police came to investigate,' she taunted. 'And my solicitor will see to it the police get equal co-operation from Amoroso.'

  For a few moments he looked nonplussed, but quickly recovered. 'Very well, and now I'm going home.' His chin jutted challengingly at Charlie who was hovering between him and the door, still making placating noises. 'Are you going to stop me?'

  'Sorrel…' Charlie made one last attempt.

  She waved a dismissive hand. 'Let him go, Charlie. My solicitor will know where to find him.'

  She watched as, his back stiff with anger, Lucas Amory strode out of her apartment.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  'Sorrel, I don't think you should've done that,' Charlie said worriedly. 'Threatened 'im with the law, I mean. You know Tammy an' me'll vouch that they are your designs, but are they goin' to take our word against Lucas Amory's?'

  'Oh, they won't take Mr Amory's word.' Sorrel began to smile. 'Not once they find that letter from my father was absolutely genuine, and…' her smile widened into a grin of pure glee '… that I can prove the designs are mine.'

  'You can prove it? 'ow, for pity's sake?'

  'Charlie, think. I started working on those designs last winter, right? And I made some prototypes, the first of which I gave to my sister for Christmas. Christmas, Charlie, so it has last year's date letter on the hallmark, proving without a shadow of a doubt it was made months before Lucas Amory claims I stole his designs.'

  Charlie started to chuckle, and moments later they were laughing so hard they had to cling together for support.

  'But why the 'ell didn't you floor 'im with that while 'e was 'ere?' Charlie demanded when he had breath enough to speak. 'I'd've loved to see 'is face when 'e 'ad to back-track on those accusations of 'is.'

  Sorrel sobered quickly. 'So would I, Charlie, and I still hope to. But it's only my originals that are safely locked in that drawer. Lucas Amory still has the copies he took and he's planning to put them into production. I need the law on my side to put a stop to his gallop. Apart from that…' her mouth twitched upward '… I thought the higher I let that self-righteous male chauvinist climb, the further he'd have to fall.'

  'Yes, I noticed the air fairly crackled between you,' Charlie said thoughtfully. 'It'll be interestin' to see what develops once the pair of you 'ave ironed this tangle out.'

  Sorrel stared. 'What are you on about, Charlie? Once this is sorted out, if he's not in gaol then I hope I never set eyes on him again.'

  'Come on, darlin'.' He put a great arm around her shoulders. 'This is Charlie, remember? I saw the way 'e was eyein' you when you weren't gettin' up 'is nose. And don't try to tell me you didn't find 'im a tasty morsel, either.'

  'A tasty morsel! That crook? That arrogant, nasty-minded, womanising, devious… I can't find anything bad enough to describe him. I'd have to be starving before I found him tasty!'

  Charlie started to laugh. ' "The lady doth protest too much, methinks…" and all that.'

  He was still laughing when Tammy burst in breathlessly. 'I did see him leaving, didn't I? Lucas Amory? What's happened? Something has or he wouldn't have stayed all this time. Does he want your—'

  Sorrel groaned. 'You tell her, Charlie. I couldn't bear to go over it all again. All I want is my bed.'

  She urged them through the door, Tammy still asking questions. Minutes later she was tucked under her duvet, exhaustion closing her eyelids. But for all that she had every reason to distrust and dislike Lucas Amory, in the last few moments before sleep overwhelmed her, she found herself remembering the feel of his mouth against her skin as he had kissed her hand.

  Sorrel woke the next morning with the crusading determination to call her solicitor at the earliest possible moment. The sooner she set retribution in motion for Mr Lucas bloody Amory the better, she told herself savagely. But somewhere deep down in her consciousness she was aware that she needed to keep fuelling her indignation. If she kept reminding herself how dangerous and unscrupulous he was, it was easier to deny the attraction Charlie had charged her with last night.

  Throwing back the duvet, she shrugged on her robe and, barefoot, skipped lightly down the spiral staircase to the kitchen where she put on a large pot of coffee. The weak March sunlight filtering through the sea-green curtains made her sitting-room appear as mysterious as an underwater cavern, and the analogy suddenly made her think of the shapes and textures of sea creatures and coral as an idea for a new range of jewellery. She grinned to herself as she crossed to the three large windows, flinging back the curt
ains to let in the sun. As upsetting as the bitter battle with Lucas Amory had been last night, it seemed to have unlocked some secret spring inside herself and the ideas were beginning to flow.

  Standing as she did every morning at her window, she gazed out on to the slow-moving river. This morning it was in a playful mood, the sunlight catching each facet the brisk easterly wind broke on the surface, giving the impression of glittering fish scales. And once again her creative imagination stirred, mentally converting what her eyes were seeing into the possibilities for a piece of jewellery. The next moment she was at her drawing-board, her pencil moving swiftly as she began to capture her ideas on paper. The coffee percolator had been plopping and gasping for some time before it impinged on her senses.

  After three cups of strong coffee and a bowl of muesli and fruit, she soaked in a scented bath. Not even for her would Mr Forster welcome being disturbed so early on a Sunday morning, but with the confidence that he would by willing to see her, even on his day of rest, she dressed carefully, choosing a fine wool dress in her favourite bronze-green, the fabric so soft it clung flatteringly to her figure before flaring into fullness round her knees. Her thick mane of russet hair she swept high and smooth, restraining the curl to a few tendrils around her face, a style that was both businesslike and elegant, as well as having the advantage of displaying her dramatic ear-rings —discs of gold fringed with fine chain, each chain tipped with a tiny diamond. Her make-up she kept light as she preferred, but dramatised her eyes with bronze shadow and lengthened her lashes with mascara.

  High-heeled bronze shoes completed the ensemble, and Sorrel surveyed the unfamiliar image with an even more pronounced gleam of self-mockery. Very different from her usual uniform of jeans and sweat shirt, but she knew her expensive lawyer would feel more comfortable with this Sorrel Valentine. Her glance slid sideways to the portrait Charlie had painted of her. It was a head and shoulders portrait, but he had painted her face—the face she turned to the world with its expression of tolerant amusement—as a hand-held mask, lifted a little away to reveal the same features but bearing the expression of a lost, lonely, frightened child. She grimaced wryly, her finery suddenly seeming the sham it was, only glad the dapper Mr Forster would never see through her with the percipience that was Charlie's.

  At ten-thirty she judged she could contact Mr Forster without dragging him from his slumbers, only to have his answering machine tell her he was away on a long weekend but hoped to be back Monday night. There was nothing she could do but leave the message asking for an appointment first thing on Tuesday morning, and try to contain her frustration.

  Work seemed the best antidote, and she had once more immersed herself at her drawing-board when the entry-phone buzzed imperiously. Absent-mindedly she went to ask the identity of her visitor.

  'Lucas Amory,' a voice returned tinnily, and Sorrel's heart gave a sudden jerk. This was it, then. He had returned with police reinforcements and she couldn't reach her solicitor before tomorrow night.

  Pressing the button to release the lock downstairs, she instructed him to see the door was fastened again before he came up, then after a moment's hesitation, dialled Charlie's number.

  He answered sleepily, snapping abruptly awake when Sorrel said, 'Lucas Amory's back, Charlie. I've just let him in.'

  His expletive singed her ears. ' 'as 'e brought the law?'

  'He didn't say, but I should think it's likely.'

  'Whatever, Tammy an' me'll be over.' He hung up noisily.

  But when Sorrel opened her front door it was to see Lucas Amory standing there alone. Today there was no suggestion of the dark-suited businessman she had first met, nor of the formality of last night. He was wearing light-coloured slacks and a fawn blouson jacket of a soft suede her fingers itched to touch. And even casually dressed he lost none of his forceful attraction.

  Again her heart picked up an uneven beat, and to cover this uncomfortable reaction she made a play of looking behind him, asking, sardonically, 'Where are they? Your cohorts of police?'

  He stepped forward, forcing her to retreat. 'As little in evidence as your solicitor,' he said, surveying her empty apartment.

  'Unfortunately, my solicitor is a devotee of the country weekend,' she retorted wryly, watching his eyebrows rise.

  'You have tried to contact him then?' His tone implied his belief that a solicitor was a figment of her imagination.

  'Oh, indeed I have. And I've left a message for him to see me as soon as he gets back.' She watched his eyebrows climb higher still. 'So if you haven't come to have me thrown into gaol forthwith, can I hope you've had second thoughts and have come to confess your piracy?'

  'Lady, you have style.' He smiled, showing white, even teeth, his dark eyes gleaming in appreciation, a smile that again made Sorrel's heart behave most erratically. 'But no, having no sins to confess—at least not the one you're referring to. Where's the boyfriend this morning?' Disconcertingly he switched the topic.

  'As Charlie told you last night, he's Tammy's man. And they'll both be here in a minute,' she added.

  'OK, we'll wait.' He walked over to the high windows and looked out, then turned back to survey the room. 'It's amazing what you've done with this place. I like it.'

  'Why, thank you, Mr Amory.' Her mocking brown eyes told him she didn't give a damn for his opinion and he smiled again as if that amused him.

  'Our acquaintance might be a little… unconventional, but I think you could call me Luc.'

  Sorrel widened her eyes in counterfeit alarm. 'Oh, I wouldn't dare, not after being put so firmly in my place last night.'

  'I'm sorry you feel so… overawed by me,' he insinuated wickedly, enjoying her indignant flush. 'I'll just have to work on it, won't I?'

  'Before or after your attempt to have me wrongly convicted?' she retorted smartly, and he threw back his head and laughed.

  She found herself staring at the strong column of his throat, fascinated by his uninhibited laughter. This was a different man to the one who had been so scathing and insulting last night. Oh, he was still far too sure of himself, still too confident that he could arrange the world to suit himself, but she was in danger of actually finding him likeable.

  The surge of adrenalin which was the body's inbuilt method of dealing with danger had her moving restlessly to her drawing-board. 'I wish you'd tell me why you're here,' she complained. 'I have work to do.'

  'Isn't Sunday a day of rest and recreation?' he queried, coming to look over her shoulder. 'These weren't here last night.'

  'Us forgers and copyists don't have time to rest,' she retorted sarcastically. 'And no, they weren't here last night because I only got the idea this morning.'

  'This morning? It looks to me as if you didn't go to bed.' He flicked back over the pages she had covered, some of the sketches just a few rapidly drawn lines to capture an idea, some drawn in more detail with accompanying notes suggesting finishes or gemstones.

  'Only a couple of hours' work,' she dismissed.

  'I told you last night,' a voice said behind them, 'once the ideas start flowin', they ooze out of 'er pores.' Charlie, with Tammy tucked comfortably beneath one arm, had come in quietly.

  'You dirty, rotten skunk!' Tammy advanced towards her quarry like some vengeful Valkyrie. 'I'd never have landed Sorrel with you if I'd known. You're mad, making such accusations! Let me tell you, Sorrel's the straightest kid I know.' She stopped within inches of Luc, her bosom heaving, her expression promising retribution.

  'No fuzz?' Charlie questioned, an element of relief in his voice.

  'No police—yet,' Luc concurred.

  'Then you'll have come this morning to apologise to Sorrel,' Tammy stated, meeting him eye to eye.

  'Not so as you'd notice,' Sorrel muttered.

  'No, I haven't gone that far.' A fugitive amusement lurked in his eyes.

  'So why have you come?' Tammy was by no means ready to back off yet.

  'I wanted to discover Sorrel's reaction to a telephone conve
rsation I've had this morning with the head of my design department.' The amusement was gone and his voice was clipped.

  'Ah… the incorruptible Miss Killingley,' Charlie murmured.

  'As you say, the incorruptible Miss Killingley who was, quite naturally, horrified at the suggestion that she would ever be so unethical as to steal another designer's work.'

  'I'm sure she doesn't find it nearly so hard to believe the boss of Amoroso could be so unethical,' Sorrel said sourly.

  Disappointingly he refused to rise to her bait. 'And she was even more horrified when she had to admit her carelessness could have made it possible for you to steal copies of her designs,' he finished softly.

  'Indeed?' Knowing she had proof of her innocence enabled Sorrel to stay calm. 'I'd be interested to hear what story she came up with.'

  'First of all, she maintains the designs you brought in were quite unremarkable, derivative… lacking any originality.'

  Tammy exploded with disgust right under his nose. 'Sorrel's never produced an unoriginal piece of work in her life!'

  But Luc was watching Sorrel intently and took no notice of the interruption. 'She also maintains that, although she hadn't connected the disappearance of a set of photocopies of those now disputed designs with your visit to her office, she admits they had been left openly on her desk, and that you were alone in her office while you were waiting for the return of the designs I had just turned down.'

  'Then unless you're making it up, or you fed her the words to say, she's lying through her teeth.' Sorrel held her head proudly, her eyes fearless as they clashed with his.

  Neither Charlie nor Tammy spoke, as if understanding their opinions were superfluous in this battle of wills. And if Sorrel had the fugitive hope that the third of her suppositions was the correct one—that Miss Killingley was lying and that she was tricking Luc as surely as she was tricking Sorrel—she thrust it away. The battle was silent, neither giving an inch, the tension mounting until the very air between them seemed to quiver.