by Anne Mather
It was obvious his sister was enjoying her achievement. He could see her now in the middle of the room, surrounded by a group of newspaper columnists and admirers, holding forth about the difficulties faced by craftsmen in all fields of the arts. Luther Styles was beside her, and Reed observed that his sister’s arm was very firmly linked with that of her most noteworthy discovery. He frowned, wondering if Victoria really thought that Styles was interested in her. For himself, he had his doubts. In his opinion, the man was both arrogant and sycophantic, two adjectives which, in Styles’ case, were not mutually exclusive. Even as he watched, he saw the other man’s eyes straying to female forms of less generous proportions, but whenever Victoria spoke to him he was quick to hide his interest. Reed suspected he was only using Victoria, and he was very much afraid his sister was going to be hurt.
Still, he reflected wryly, surveying his empty glass with some resignation, it was really nothing to do with him. It wasn’t as if Victoria was a girl any more. She was a grown woman, only a couple of years younger than himself, and surely capable of making her own mistakes. He couldn’t be expected to watch out for her interests, as he had used to do when they were younger. He wasn’t her father, even though sometimes it had felt like it.
The trouble was, Victoria was totally inexperienced when it came to men. Because she had been only sixteen when their father and mother had died, and because of the circumstances of their parents’ deaths, he supposed, she had never had a normal adolescence. When she should have been having fun, making friends and going out to parties, she had spent her time at home, sewing and reading, and looking after the house. She had, in effect, taken over their mother’s role, and it was only when he’d married Diana that she had realised it couldn’t go on.
Reed sighed. Perhaps it was his fault, too. If he’d married someone who would have taken the trouble to make a friend of Victoria, things might have turned out differently. As it was, the two women had hated one another on sight, and, until Victoria had accepted defeat and moved away, the atmosphere in his home had been almost tangible.
Of course, she had spent several years working in the United States, travelling back and forth to London and Paris, and generally behaving as any young, liberated woman should. But when Diana walked out she hadn’t needed an invitation to pack up and come home, and Reed was very much afraid he had taken advantage of her good nature.
Even so, that was then, and this was now, and the last ten years had given her the confidence she had been lacking. And, he knew, Victoria herself would not welcome his interference in her affairs at this stage. So far as she was concerned, Luther Styles could do no wrong, and the idea that once he had achieved his ambitions he would drop her like the proverbial hot potato was not what she wanted to hear. She was totally convinced of the man’s integrity, and therefore anything Reed said was suspect.
In that respect, her attitude was much like that of their visitor’s, thought Reed now, exchanging his empty glass for a full one from a passing waiter. Jon’s latest girlfriend was definitely a prickly young creature, and it was becoming embarrassingly obvious that she had no time for him. He wondered why. Clearly, Jon hadn’t told her much about his background before bringing her here, and perhaps she resented the fact. But was that really any reason for her to treat him as if he were entirely to blame for her misconceptions? After all, he had done his utmost to make her feel at home, even if Victoria still regarded her in much the same light as she had regarded all of Jon’s previous girlfriends. But then, Victoria was biased. She still hadn’t got over the fact that Helen had a daughter—an illegitimate daughter, as she insisted on putting it.
However, the fact remained that Helen was not like any of the other females Jon had brought home. For one thing, it was obvious that he cared about her, more than he had cared for any of the others; and if nothing came of their relationship Reed suspected it would not be for want of effort on his son’s part.
Which made her attitude towards him all the more difficult to understand. Surely, if she did care about Jon she would try to cement her relationship with his family, not sabotage it. And yet, whenever Reed tried to initiate a conversation with her, she froze him off. It wasn’t so much anything she said as the way that she said it, showing him, in no uncertain manner, that she had no wish to be sociable with him.
Reed was puzzled. He couldn’t deny it. And intrigued. He was not a conceited man by any means, but he had not reached his present age without having been made aware that generally women enjoyed his company, and Helen’s behaviour was so uncharacteristic. He had watched her with Jon; he had seen how relaxed and enchanting she could be in his son’s company; and he was convinced that it was not natural for her to be brusque and stand-offish. No, that particular side of her character was reserved for him, and it was an unpalatable truth that the knowledge disturbed him.
He swallowed a mouthful of vintage champagne without really tasting it, and expelled his breath on an impatient sigh. The trouble was, there was something about her that was vaguely familiar. Not that he imagined they had ever met before. He was too old to play with that particular line. But, nevertheless, the more she goaded him, the more compelling the feeling became, and sometimes it was difficult to sustain a calm indifference.
Of course, her association with Victoria was little better—but Reed knew that was more Victoria’s fault than hers. His sister was still smarting over the way he had spoken to her the night Jon and Helen arrived, and consequently she was in no mood to make things easier, for any of them. Besides, she had been involved in finalising the arrangements for the opening of the gallery, and her main concern had been in ensuring that Reed kept his promise about asking Jon not to attend.
And he had, Reed acknowledged now, remembering that conversation with his son without enthusiasm. Reed had never considered it to be a particularly good idea, and Jon’s attitude had endorsed that opinion.
‘What’s the matter?’ Jon had asked sarcastically. ‘Is the V.W. afraid I’ll steal her thunder? Isn’t she—big enough to stand the competition?’
‘In a manner of speaking,’ Reed had said, realising there was little point in denying the truth. ‘And when you speak of your aunt in that derogatory manner, can you wonder?’
Jon had sighed. ‘Well—she makes me so mad! I get the feeling sometimes that I’m a visitor in my own home. It’s only because you never do anything to oppose her that she doesn’t do the same to you.’
‘That’s enough.’ Reed could only let his son go so far. ‘If you’re regarded as a visitor here, it’s your own fault. We only see you when you want something, be it cash, a new car, or accommodation for your girlfriends. Can you wonder your aunt gets impatient with you? She cares about you, Jon, but you don’t even notice.’
‘Well, OK.’ For once, Jon had been prepared to concede the truth of this statement, and his father had scarcely recovered from this anomaly when he added, ‘Maybe you have a point. Maybe I have treated this place like a hotel in recent years, but maybe that’s going to change.’
‘To change?’ Reed’s response had been wary.
‘Yes.’ Jon seemed to consider his words. ‘I’m thinking of leaving the group, as a matter of fact. I’ve had it with living my life out of suitcases, playing gigs in places you’d rather not know. Since—well, since I met Helen, I’ve been thinking of spending more time writing music, rather than performing it. Getting a permanent base. Maybe settling down.’
‘Here?’ Reed had enquired faintly, strangely reluctant to voice the question, but Jon had not been reluctant to answer.
‘Could be,’ he had replied, without any hesitation. ‘So maybe Aunt Vee ought to get used to me being around. And if she has a problem with that, then maybe she ought to make other arrangements.’
Still, so far Jon had respected his wishes, Reed reflected wryly. His own fears that Jon might gatecrash the party had not been realised, and Victoria should have nothing to complain about. And as for Helen—
�
�Now, Reed, what are you doing hiding yourself away over here?’
Reed’s reverie was abruptly severed by the teasing voice of a brittle, pretty woman in her thirties whose startling cleavage revealed a generous display of white flesh. Sliding possessive fingers over his sleeve, she allowed her hip to brush against his, her scarlet lips parting to expose a seductive tip of tongue.
Reed straightened from the lounging position he had been adopting, and in so doing put what he hoped looked like an inadvertent amount of space between them. ‘Hello, Amanda,’ he responded pleasantly, making a conscious effort to be sociable. ‘Where’s Harry? Don’t tell me he’s let you out of his sight.’
Amanda Austin’s expression momentarily faltered. ‘As if you cared,’ she retorted, barely audibly, revealing she had not been unaware of his discreet withdrawal. And then, ‘Oh—Harry’s about somewhere. Isn’t he always? But tell me, where’s that sexy son of yours? I hear he’s back on the island.’
‘Yes, Jon’s back,’ Reed conceded, welcoming the diversion. ‘But he’s not here tonight. He—er—this isn’t exactly his sort of thing.’
‘No, I heard he’d brought a rather juicy female with him,’ responded Amanda drily. ‘Is she really that bad?’
Reed sighed. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Sure you do.’ Amanda gazed up at him challengingly. ‘I guess old Victoria refused to let him show her up again. So—what’s this woman like? Is she loud—or wall-eyed—or what?’
Reed turned his head aside, wishing Amanda would find someone else to talk to. In spite of her antipathy towards him, he had no desire to discuss Helen with Amanda or anyone else, and he was thinking of making some wholly unforgivable remark, which would sever their connection—for this evening at least—when his eyes were drawn to a small disturbance that was taking place by the door. There seemed to be an argument going on between the security men Victoria had hired for the evening and someone else who was trying to gain entrance, and even as he hazarded a guess at what it might be his companion uttered a gurgling laugh.
‘Oh, darling,’ she exclaimed, grabbing his arm. ‘Do you see what I see? It looks like I’m going to find out for myself.’
Reed shook off her restraining hold without really being aware of it, covering the crowded space between where he had been standing and the door without a second thought. Jon, he thought frustratedly, handing his empty glass to a curious waiter. He should have known better than to be smug. When had his son ever taken his advice?
By the time he arrived at the door, Jon, and the young woman who was with him, had already been admitted. Clearly someone else had recognised him, and who was going to prevent the owner of the gallery’s nephew from attending its opening?
‘Hi, Dad!’
Jon’s greeting was only faintly defensive, and, as there were plenty of people milling around to hear their conversation, Reed had, perforce, to be civil.
‘Jon,’ he acknowledged, his eyes meeting those of his son with rather less civility. ‘Helen.’ His gaze moved to the young woman at his son’s side with only slightly more warmth. ‘What made you decide to come? I thought this wasn’t quite your scene.’
‘It was Helen’s idea,’ replied Jon carelessly, and although Helen looked a little shocked at this announcement she didn’t contradict him. ‘She used to work in a gallery in London, didn’t you, love? And when I told her about this bash, she couldn’t wait to see it.’
Reed was aware that Victoria had now noticed what was going on, and he didn’t need to see her furious face to know that she would blame him for letting it happen. Already, one or two of the newspaper people were drifting over to hear what was happening, and it wouldn’t be long before they, too, realised who Jon was.
Forcing back a desire to leave them all to fight it out between them, Reed turned to Helen. ‘You—worked in a gallery?’ he echoed absently, while his mind laboured furiously, trying to find some way of salvaging the situation. ‘Um—Victoria worked in London for a time. Perhaps she would know of it.’
‘I shouldn’t think so.’ As usual, Helen’s voice was stiff when she spoke to him. ‘I—er—I only worked there a couple of evenings, to—to help a friend out.’ She licked her lips, and avoiding his gaze she looked beyond him to the paintings that lined the walls of the gallery. ‘Jon—shall we look around? I—I’m sure your father is too busy to chat to us right now.’
Reed’s brow creased. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Helen always treated him like a leper, he would have suspected she was nervous. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps he made her nervous. It would be reassuring to think it was something as innocent as that, and not just his own personality.
‘Hey, aren’t you Jon Roberts?’
A girl who didn’t look much older than Jon himself, and who reputedly wrote for one of the fringe magazines, was staring at him now, and Reed groaned as the inevitable happened. One by one, the journalists, scenting a controversial twist to their stories, left Victoria talking to herself and surrounded her nephew instead.
‘How long are you staying on the island, Jon?’ one of the men asked.
‘I hear there’s a new album,’ someone else intervened.
‘Do you want to give us a quote about the latest drug-abuse figures?’ added another. ‘Is it true that your drummer, Ricky Ellis, was arrested in Denmark for smuggling cocaine?’
‘Oh, God!’
With a gesture of frustration at his sister, Reed drew back from the group of reporters around his son. There was nothing he could do now, he realised, lifting his shoulders at Victoria’s expression. But, later on, Jon was going to feel the sharp edge of his tongue. For heaven’s sake, he had asked him to stay away. What the hell was Jon playing at? Pretending it was all Helen’s fault just wasn’t going to do it.
‘It’s my fault really.’ As Reed was raking weary fingers through his hair, he became aware that the young woman in question was not sharing Jon’s limelight. Instead, she was standing beside him, and looking decidedly anxious. ‘It is my fault,’ she insisted, as her words captured his attention. ‘But I didn’t realise what was going on. I thought it was just another exhibition. But it’s not, is it? Your sister—that is, Victoria—she’s involved, isn’t she?’
It was the first time she had spoken to him without any obvious animosity, thought Reed objectively, looking at her with faintly guarded eyes. So, nervousness was not her problem, he deduced with a frown. Whatever, the present situation had evidently aroused some latent sense of responsibility.
‘You mean, it was your idea to come here, but you didn’t know it was the opening night?’ he enquired evenly, and Helen nodded. A becoming trace of colour had entered her cheeks as he spoke, and Reed found himself thinking what an attractive girl she was. Until then, he realised, he had never really looked into her eyes, her usual attitude towards him not encouraging him to show an overt interest in her. Before this evening, he had regarded her with a certain amount of impatience, but now he noticed that her hair, which was loose for once, had a natural curl, and the artificial light caught streaks of red-gold in its thick strands and turned them to flame. She was wearing red, a colour which should have clashed badly with her hair, but somehow didn’t. She had worn red before, he thought, though when that occasion had been he couldn’t quite remember. Nevertheless, the silkily draped bodice and matching wide-legged trousers were undeniably controversial for someone of her colouring, and because the outfit emphasised the rounded swell of her breasts and the flattering length of her legs, Victoria would definitely not approve.
But he approved, Reed acknowledged to himself, half irritably, realising he was giving her far too much attention. If he wasn’t careful, some other shrewd eye would notice it, too, and he had no wish to be accused of ogling his son’s girlfriend. All the same, he was beginning to understand why Jon was so fascinated by her. She was a very feminine individual. And, although he had no way of knowing it, he was sure there were layers to this young woman that he was scarcely a
ware of.
‘This opening—it has something to do with your sister, hasn’t it?’ Helen was venturing now, and Reed had to concentrate to comprehend what she was saying. ‘Jon—well, Jon just said there was an exhibition in town.’ Her tongue circled her lips, and Reed felt a prickling of heat around his collar. ‘I had no idea what was involved, or that there’d be reporters, and—and everything.’
‘Didn’t you?’ Reed found he believed her. ‘Well—as you’ve guessed, this is Victoria’s big night. This is her baby, you see. This gallery—it’s hers. She wanted the opening to be a big success, and, to be honest, I asked Jon not to come.’
‘Oh, lord!’
Helen looked even more embarrassed at this, and to his astonishment Reed found himself making excuses for her. ‘It’s not your fault,’ he declared, deliberately ignoring Victoria’s frantic attempts to attract his attention. ‘You weren’t to know what was happening. Come on. I’ll buy you a drink and show you around, if you like. You might enjoy it.’
In the event, Reed suspected he enjoyed it as much, if not more, than Helen. Surprisingly, she proved to be quite knowledgeable about art, and artists, and her comments about the painters represented in the exhibition were both intelligent and constructive. They even found they had the same sense of humour, sharing a covert amusement over some painter’s interpretation of the human form. But when Reed remembered what Jon had said, and mentioned the London gallery where she had worked, Helen quickly clammed up. It was as if she had some reason to hide the fact that she had ever been involved in the art world, and Reed wondered if it was conceivable that she had known Victoria before she came to Bermuda.
But that didn’t make sense, he argued silently. If Victoria had done something to warrant Helen’s attitude towards the family, surely she would know about it. Nevertheless, Victoria did have a habit sometimes of rubbing people up the wrong way. Particularly junior members of staff, as Helen must have been when she was moonlighting.
