Bittersweet Deception

by Liz Fielding

  ‘Damn him!’ she swore, and reached for her one serious business suit.

  * * *

  It was precisely eleven-thirty when she rang the front doorbell of Lady Maynard’s Belgravia house, and she was immediately shown into the drawing-room.

  ‘How good of you to come at such short notice, Miss Thornley.’ Lady Maynard, a tall, graceful figure, her fair hair somewhat faded, but her dark eyes still remarkably bright, extended a beringed had. ‘Please sit down.’ Kate perched sedately on the edge of an exquisite sofa and waited. ‘I’ll come straight to the point. I have a business proposition to put to you, Miss Thornley.’

  ‘A business proposition?’ she repeated faintly. Until that moment she had not realised how tense she had become, convinced that she would have to defend herself in the face of unjust criticism. In freelance catering, where she was invited into homes and offices, reputation was everything. ‘What kind of business proposition?’

  ‘I would like to engage your professional services exclusively, that is full-time, for the next six months.’ The woman raised a hand to stall Kate’s expected protest. ‘I have no doubt that your business in London is booming. You are a wonderful cook, and, more to the point, a splendid organiser. I can assure you that I have employed enough people who called themselves caterers to appreciate that.’ She paused. ‘Shall I go on? Please tell me if you are booked up so far ahead that I’m wasting my breath.’

  Kate, only too aware of the sharp reminder on her desk from the bank manager about the state of her overdraft and the way bookings had fallen in the past few months, particularly for lucrative business lunches as people tightened their belts, barely hesitated. ‘Please go on.’

  ‘Have you ever been to Norfolk, Miss Thornley?’

  ‘Norfolk?’ She shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘People say it’s flat and maybe it is, but the light is wonderful and it has enormous skies. I live between Norwich and the coast with my nephew. At Fullerton Hall.’ Her eyes were as sharp as needles. ‘Maybe you have heard of it?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘No.’

  Lady Maynard was not offended, but nodded as if rather pleased. ‘Well, it’s not so grand as Blickling, although it’s just as old.’ She took a booklet from the table beside her, a visitor’s guide, and handed it to Kate. ‘It’s being opened to the public very shortly.’

  Kate looked at the photograph on the front cover. It was very beautiful and, despite Lady Maynard’s remark, grand enough, with twin towers at each end of the fa$cLade and enormous brick chimneys, similar to those she had seen on a visit to Hampton Court. ‘It’s lovely.’ She looked up, somewhat at a loss, and said the first thing that came into her head. ‘Heating must be a bit of a problem.’

  ‘Yes, my dear, it is.’ Lady Maynard laughed. ‘I knew you would be just right for the job. You’re not the sort of girl to get carried away by the romance of working in an Elizabethan manor. You see the problems. That’s good.’

  ‘I’m sorry…?’

  ‘We have a sort of tearoom in the old coach house, which was perfectly adequate when we just opened the gardens once a month during the summer. But I’ve decided to use the Edwardian conservatory to provide somewhere rather more comfortable and offer a really special afternoon tea to tempt new visitors. Now, would you consider taking on the task of organising it, running it for the first season and training a local girl to take over from you?’

  * * *

  Under normal circumstances she would simply have turned it down, eager to concentrate on her own business. But these weren’t normal times. Sitting at her desk, going through the figures, Kate faced the hard truth that the six-month contract she had been offered would answer all her immediate worries.

  Particularly the problem of her sister’s school fees. She had been banking on a scholarship for this year, but it hadn’t happened.

  Kate felt again the sharp tug of compassion as Sam had thrown her arms about her and cried. ‘I did try, Kate. Really I did.’

  ‘I know, my love. It’s not a reflection on your dancing. They just feel…’ She didn’t continue. She didn’t need to. Samantha was only fourteen, but she had come to terms with what being deaf meant. And deep down she had to sympathise with the dance academy’s reaction. They had given her a place when others wouldn’t even audition her and they were delighted with her progress. But there were so many deserving, talented girls…

  It had all been there, tactfully concealed between the lines of the letter informing her that there could be no help with fees this year. With impaired hearing it would be that much harder for Sam. Beautiful, graceful, talented though she was, it was always going to be so much harder for her.

  ‘Will I have to leave?’ Sam’s voice had quivered slightly. Kate knew if her answer had been yes, her young sister would have taken it bravely. But she had already had to take so much in her short life and she deserved her chance. More than deserved it.

  Instead Kate had held her by the shoulders, looked her straight in the face and made her a promise. ‘You won’t have to leave, my love. It would have been great to have had some of your fees paid, but we’ll manage.’ How, she didn’t know. But manage they would, even if she had to take in washing. Her sister’s brilliant smile was reward enough.

  She glanced around her now. She hadn’t told her sister about the offer she had received for the flat from her neighbour whose sister wanted to live close by. Until now there had been no point. And it would be a wrench to part with the home they had shared for three years. But with Sam away at dance school for more than half the year, it was ridiculous to keep it. They could manage with something much smaller.

  And if she took the job at Fullerton Hall, she would have no expenses for at least six months. Breathing space. The first in a long time. And time to decide on the way forward. She wouldn’t be losing touch entirely. She would still have her column in the London Evening Mail. Maybe she would even have a little time to think about the cookery book she had been collecting ideas for ever since she could remember. She picked up the telephone. There was no point in keeping Lady Maynard waiting for her answer. She would go to Norfolk as soon as Sam’s Easter holidays were over.

  * * *

  It was their last night in the flat. Sam was already packed for school and, apart from essentials that she couldn’t manage without, her own belongings were boxed up to be stored with their furniture.

  Kate had cooked a special dinner and now they were draped lazily over the sofa, while Sam zapped through the televison channels looking for something interesting. She paused on a chat-show and for a moment there was a close-up of the host, laughing at something his guest had said. Then the camera panned and suddenly his face was there, in front of her. Jason Warwick. And every nerve-ending jerked to attention.

  It was two weeks since the dinner party but almost instinctively her hand flew to her lips. Then he smiled, not as he had smiled at her, but with warmth and humour, and she gave a soft groan of anguish.

  The man had held her for a few brief moments, but in that time he seemed to have imprinted himself somehow on to the surface of her skin. Even remote, untouchable like this, her body vibrated to him, and if she put out a hand she must surely be able to push back the thick dark lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead…

  Sam said something, but she barely heard; her eyes were fixed upon the screen, wondering that so brief an encounter could unleash such powerful emotions. Emotions she had locked firmly away when she had taken on the responsibility of providing for her sister. When David had issued his ultimatum and it seemed that her life had come to an end.

  He hadn’t been like Jason Warwick. David was fair, blue-eyed with an almost irresistible charm. Almost. But when it hadn’t worked, that last evening they spent together, when teasing and tender kisses wouldn’t move her, she had seen a different side of him. The cold, hard practical man. And she had learned her lesson well. All her love was reserved for Sam these days. They had each other, an
d while her sister needed her that would be enough.

  And practical David had turned his blue eyes and his charm in another direction and was married within the year to a girl with parents who could provide financial support for his business, and no burdensome younger sister whose passion for dancing drained away every spare penny. A younger sister who could dance like an angel but whose hearing had been gradually deteriorating since the car accident that had killed their parents.

  That had been three years ago, and no one had been able to reach her since. Until a bored, cynical man, with the reputation for breaking the heart of any girl foolish enough to let him, had decided to teach her a lesson and kissed her until, like some latter-day fairy-tale prince, he had brought every frozen emotion painfully back to life. She shivered a little. She had never liked fairy-tales.

  Kate’s grey eyes narrowed as she regarded her tormentor. ‘Do you think he practises his smile in front of a mirror?’ she wondered out loud, her mockery a desperate attempt to destroy his power to disturb her. ‘You know, Sam, like a dancer limbering up at the bar? Twenty smiles suitable for old ladies.’ She tried on a patronising smile to amuse her sister. ‘Twenty serious expressions enlivened by a twitch of the mouth, like so. Twenty…’ She blinked angry with herself for allowing him to get under her skin, but not quite able to resist watching him. Then she coloured self-consciously at her sister’s knowing smirk.

  The chat-show host smiled slyly at his guest. ‘Come on now, Jay,’ he urged with his deceptively mild Irish lilt. ‘Own up. You don’t really expect to find a woman these days who’s prepared to conform to your oft-vaunted ideals?’

  The camera closed in on him. How it loved the moulded bones of his face, she thought, as he raked long fingers through that unruly lock of hair. He regarded his inquisitor intently.

  ‘I have never made a secret,’ he said, with perfect seriousness, ‘of my belief that women have two functions in life. One is in the kitchen. The other in bed.’ The camera switched to the audience as it roared its approval, the men in agreement, the women apparently in hope. He acknowledged them with a slight bow. ‘As you see, they don’t object to either occupation.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ Kate said faintly. She felt suddenly quite sick.

  ‘Which do you consider the most important, Jay?’ his host prompted with devilish glee.

  Jason Warwick’s face split to reveal a row of strong, white teeth. ‘I find the two combine quite naturally.’ He looked straight into the camera and Kate felt his eyes were focussed only on her and she moaned softly. ‘There seems to be an affinity between food and sex…’

  There was a sudden stillness in the studio. The Irishman cleared his throat. ‘Are you telling us that you’ve found a woman who can cook?’ Getting no immediate answer, he added wickedly, ‘As well?’ He glanced at the audience, milking the laughter. ‘It must be serious, then?’

  A flash of irritation crossed Jason Warwick’s face, but he quickly recovered himself, lounging back in his chair, a quixotic smile firmly in place. ‘Serious? My dear fellow, when have I ever been serious about anything?’

  The other man laughed. ‘Not about women, that’s for sure. Are you going to tell us who she is?’ Kate, white-faced, held her breath.

  ‘No.’ In close-up she could see the fine line etched into his cheek that might have creased when he smiled. He wasn’t smiling now. ‘She knows who she is. Don’t you, Kate?’

  Kate made a small sound in the back of her throat and Sam screamed with laughter. ‘Kate Thornley, I do believe you’ve been keeping secrets. Did the gorgeous Jason Warwick creep up behind you when you were up to your elbows in the dishwater? Is that why you can’t take your eyes off him?’

  Aware that her face had gone a sickly, betraying white, she rubbed her cheeks. The teasing remark had been just a little too close to the truth for comfort. ‘I don’t wash up, Sam. People who can afford to hire me have machines to wash the dishes.’ She forced a smile. ‘Isn’t it time you were in bed? It’ll be a long day tomorrow.’

  Sam disappeared into the kitchen for some milk and Kate turned once more to stare at the screen. Why had he done that? Used her name? It left her feeling exposed. She stood up and snapped the off button. She would be glad to get away to Norfolk. Flat and peaceful, and two hundred miles away from Jason Warwick.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE soft burble of the alarm woke her instantly and Kate lay quite still, for a moment uncertain where she was. Then, remembering, she flung back the cover and leapt from her bed. The room was as pretty in the early sunlight as it had been welcoming in lamplight, with its delicate cream and pink wallpaper and ivory lace floor-length curtains.

  She pushed them back now and stared once more across the park to the serene vista of a lake and beyond it, on a slight rise, a small Grecian temple. Fullerton Hall was all so much larger than she had imagined, so much grander, and yet not the least bit daunting.

  Her first impression had been of warm brick, flowers and, despite the carved stone beasts that defended the footbridge to the entrance, of welcome as the house had smiled at her, rose-pink in the dying sunshine of a fine April evening. It had quite taken her breath away.

  She flexed her toes against the thick carpet, stretched and luxuriated in the simple pleasure of a hot shower without for once having to worry about the electricity bill. Then, dressed in jeans, a soft cream shirt and a fine rose sweater that reflected a blush on to her pale translucent skin, she found her way down the back stairs to the kitchen. It was warm and comfortable but Kate didn’t linger, eager instead to explore the gardens nearest to the house before beginning work.

  The kitchen door led to a small courtyard paved with bricks and brightened by tubs of early tulips. A hand pump next to a covered square brick wellhead had been recently painted black, as had the wrought-iron gate let into the old brick wall almost hidden by an ancient wistaria vine.

  Kate opened the gate and stepped down into the walled kitchen garden. Neat, well-raked gravel paths edged with low-growing herbs divided beds planted with early vegetable crops and tender salad plants being coaxed under cloches.

  She bent to crush a few leaves of lemon thyme between her fingers, breathing in the scent. ‘This,’ she told a watchful robin, ‘is going to be this cook’s paradise.’

  ‘Then perhaps you’d better be a little careful what you pick if you venture into the orchard.’

  Kate spun around, shock sending her pulse-rate into overdrive. Jason Warwick was standing in the gateway in the wall, and regarding her inscrutably down his long, not quite straight nose. For one brief moment she dwelt on the agreeable picture of an angry fist breaking it.

  ‘My name is not Eve, as you already know, and it’s the wrong time of year for apples,’ she declared vigorously as she rose, trying to ignore the athletic grace of his figure and the way his well-cut beige cord trousers clung to his hips. She concentrated on the safer area of his chest concealed under a soft wool shirt of a deeper shade. Then she averted her eyes. There was nothing safe about Jason Warwick, and it would be a grave mistake to think he was less deadly in casual clothes than in the black broadcloth and starched linen he had been wearing on their previous encounter.

  ‘Your name is of considerably less interest at this moment than why you’re trespassing in my garden,’ he replied evenly, but she was not deceived. He was angry.

  But he had met his match. ‘Your garden indeed! I’m not the one trespassing. You are. This house belongs to Lady Maynard.’

  ‘Does it, now?’ The touch of amusement that twisted his lips made her vaguely uneasy but, hands on hips, she stood her ground as he towered over her. ‘You’re nearly right. But since Tisha Maynard is my aunt and this is my home, I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that.’

  ‘You are Tisha’s nephew?’

  His eyes narrowed at her use of his aunt’s given name. ‘I don’t know what tale you’ve told my aunt to inveigle your way in here. Whatever it is, you’d better make your excuses and l
eave.’ He took a step forward and grasped her firmly by the arm. ‘Right now.’ He turned and began to walk back to the kitchen, his fingers digging into her flesh as she resisted.

  She ignored the pressure of his fingers on her arm, only fleetingly wondering why it was possible to dislike a man and everything he stood for yet still be aroused by him. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she said. But even as the words left her lips she knew it was too horribly possible that Jason Warwick was the nephew Lady Maynard had so casually mentioned, although she couldn’t understand how anyone could be casual about owning such an obnoxious relative. Perhaps that was the reason she hadn’t bothered to mention who he was.

  His face darkened as she dug her heels in. ‘Don’t make it worse by pretending not to know. What on earth do you think you’re doing here?’

  ‘Perhaps you should ask your aunt, Mr Warwick, before you start flinging accusations about.’ She pulled her arm free and tugged at her sweater, then wished she hadn’t as his eyes lingered on the outline of her breasts.

  ‘Oh, I’ve a fair idea what you want. But if you think because I kissed you once, you’ll be a welcome addition to my household, you are mistaken. This is my family home. I share it with my aunt. When I’m here, Kate, I sleep alone.’

  ‘You must be glad of the rest,’ she snapped back. ‘I certainly won’t be disturbing you. I had no idea you would be here.’

  He gave a short, unpleasant laugh. She knew he was tall. In the close confinement of Tisha Maynard’s kitchen, his height had commanded attention. But here, in the early-morning garden, there was something so physical about him that she instinctively stepped backwards. His hand shot out and caught her wrist, preventing her further retreat. ‘You expect me to believe that?’ His fingers tightened and he shook her slightly, like a naughty puppy. She couldn’t believe the gall of the man.