Façade

by Jessica Steele

  Façade

  By

  Jessica Steele

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  FAÇADE

  Although it was eight years now since Ellis Galbraith had so cruelly rejected her, Sorrel had never really got over it. Now they had met again. Ellis had destroyed her life once; dared she risk letting him do it a second time?

  Books you will enjoy

  by

  JESSICA STEELE

  TOMORROW—COME SOON

  For six years Devon had been a cripple—and when she found a surgeon who was able to cure her, her joy knew no bounds. Until she discovered how it had all been achieved—and learned the price that the formidable Grant Harrington was demanding.

  IMPRUDENT CHALLENGE

  Her parents' marriage, Kelsey had always thought, was one of those that had been 'made in heaven'—so she was appalled when, on a visit to her father in Japan, she discovered that they were on the verge of breaking up. And it rather looked as if the only thing that could save their marriage was Kelsey herself marrying the objectionable Serle Falconer. Even for her parents' sake, could she do it?

  RUTHLESS IN ALL

  Whisked off into the Welsh mountains, without so much as a by-your-leave, by the overpowering Blane Hunter, Arden had plenty of time to reflect—and plenty of time to fall in love with him too. But it soon became painfully obvious that the only woman in Blane's life was, and always would be, his dead wife Delcine. How could Arden ever fight her memory?

  BOND OF VENGEANCE

  Pleased though she was when her dear mother remarried, Keely could have done without her disagreeable new stepbrother Tarrant Varley. All she could do, she decided, was to keep out of his way as much as possible. But Tarrant was going to play a more dramatic part in her life than she could possibly have foreseen…

  First published 1984

  Australian copyright 1984

  Philippine copyright 1984

  This edition 1984

  © Jessica Steele 1984

  ISBN 0 263 74831 6

  CHAPTER ONE

  A poised, sophisticated woman stared back from her bedroom mirror. Sorrel was well pleased with her reflection; it had been hard won.

  Downstairs Roderick Drury had announced his arrival. She let him wait—sophisticated women, she had learned, did not rush to any man's bidding.

  She checked the perfection of her make-up, her hands smoothing the elegant skirt to the well cut suit she had on. But a warmth, that had no part in her new image, was to trip her up as she thought of the man who had made it possible for her to have the expensive apartment that went with her recently acquired expensive clothes.

  Dear old Mr Ollerenshaw, she thought, recalling that she had been the only one to fight back tears at his funeral. She, apparently, the old one to regret the passing of the worn old ex-scrap metal merchant who had been far more wealthy than she had ever realised.

  Warmth went from her as that thought was followed by the memory of the fuss his daughter had kicked up when she had learned the contents of his will. That Cynthia Armitage had inherited the greater part of his fortune had been neither here nor there when Cynthia had gone for her. Indeed, so livid had her employer been that she had screeched a whole volley of spiteful invective at her before she had pitched Sorrel out on her ear.

  Had it not been for Mr Ollerenshaw's specific wish that she 'live a little', his message that she had more than earned a good time, and the gentle but not to be denied blackmail of, 'I shall not rest peacefully in my grave should you refuse my gift,' then Sorrel would happily have told Cynthia that she did not want a penny of the amount he had left her.

  Not that the money would have then gone to Cynthia anyway. For, as clever in his will as he had been in the investments that had made him his fortune, Albert Ollerenshaw had stated that if Sorrel turned down what to her was a massive gift, then the money was not to go to Cynthia, but, of all things, into research into the mating habits of the common fieldmouse.

  Only the fact that it might prove costly to have her dead father certified as of unsound mind had prevented Cynthia from going along that course, Sorrel knew.

  But he hadn't been potty. Neglected by his daughter, certainly, for all they lived in the same house, but his mind had been sharp to the end. She should know; she had been with him when he had died while Cynthia was out somewhere living it up.

  Sorrel reached for her overnight case on the bed, determined then that she was not going to give another thought to Cynthia Armitage. But her breath caught, as with the thought that Cynthia Armitage need not think that she had the sole rights to sacking her on the spot, she was reminded that it had been done before. Eight years ago, to be precise—though of course that didn't hurt any more.

  Locking her flat behind her, Sorrel took the lift in the smart block down to the ground floor. Her sophisticated exterior allowed a smile to her mouth but not to her eyes as, not apologising for keeping Roderick Drury waiting, she greeted him coolly:

  'On time as usual.'

  'And as usual, you look stunning,' returned the twenty-nine-year-old lawyer, who would like to have rushed their relationship, but wisely, having once been put very firmly in his place, now appeared content to let things go along at the pace Sorrel would allow.

  Seated beside him as he negotiated the car out of London and headed it towards the Kent countryside, Sorrel had not missed the way his eyes had lit up when he had seen her. And other thoughts she did not want; thoughts that maybe Rod had more than a passing interest in her gave her some moments' irritation.

  She knew all about this smart set she had joined six months ago. Years of living in the same house with Cynthia and her weak, pathetic husband Leslie had shown her that, while they might have affairs by the dozen, hearts were not hurt on either side. But while she had not the smallest intention of having an affair with Rod Drury, or any other man for that matter, if Rod looked at her with the same eager light in his eyes many more times, then without doubt, she would soon be telling him that she wasn't going to see him any more.

  'Your parents do know that…' She halted. Rod turning his fair head to look at her made her aware that her sophisticated exterior was in danger of slipping. But, having started, she summoned up a cool smile and made herself continue. 'Your parents are aware that there's no special significance in my spending a night in your home, aren't they?'

  Rod gave her a warm smile, and turned his attention back to his driving. 'Relax, Sorrel,' he told her easily. 'I'm always taking girls home.'

  Her fears calmed, Sorrel turned her head to stare out of the window, not sure she wanted him to know that she had been a little uptight back there for a moment.

  By the time he had driven the car round a wide drive and had pulled up in front of a large house fronted by perfectly manicured lawns, she had herself in hand again, her manner detached as she stood with Rod waiting to be introduced to the two people who had come out into the June sunshine to greet them.

  Moira and Neville Drury were nice people, she discovered, with a passion for horses. With a promise to show her the stables, Sorrel refraining from telling them that she did not ride, the four of them went indoors.

  'You'll want to freshen up after your journey, I expect,' suggested Moira as they went along the hall. 'I'll get one of the maids to show you your room.'

  'Thank you,' Sorrel replied pleasantly, and promising to join them for tea shortly, she went with the maid, aware that had she let the more natural Sorrel Maitland come through, then possibly Moira Dru
ry would have shown her to her room personally.

  But she did not want warmer contact with anyone. She had learned the hard way that if one was to survive, one had to keep one's warmer feelings hidden. Years ago she had been a warm impulsive person, in love with life, sunny-natured, in love with…

  She turned her attention to unpacking the few things she had brought with her, wondering why she should suddenly think of him. He'd been out of her life for years now!

  It didn't hurt any longer, she repeated firmly. And anyway, if years of seeing the superficial way Cynthia and Leslie Armitage had gone on while she had looked after their two children—not to mention the whole hive of drones who drifted in and out—wasn't enough to teach her the fickleness of love, then her own unrequited love when she had been sure her love had been returned, added to what she had seen, had surely taught her a thing or two.

  She still hated to face the way she had thrown herself at the man she had thought meant marriage when, loving him, she had been prepared to do anything he asked of her. Though she no longer blushed at the memory, devils were at her heels as she remembered how at seventeen her offer of her virginity had been turned down. She'd made very sure no man had ever got that close to her again.

  'I hope I haven't kept you waiting,' she apologised, a slight thawing in her manner as she entered the drawing room. That thawing was due, she knew, to her trying to eject thoughts that even now, eight years on, would still occasionally return to haunt her.

  Talk over the tea-cups was the superficial sort which Sorrel could cope with quite easily. Her nanny duties had often included standing in for a short while when Cynthia Armitage, who was never on time for anything, carried on getting ready upstairs.

  As she listened to Rod's father telling him about some house locally which had been on the market and had recently been purchased by a business associate of his, Sorrel's thoughts slid away from their conversation. Her mind flitted back to Cynthia's father, and how it had been only on account of old Mr Ollerenshaw that she had stayed so long in that job. For with nobody seeming to care whether he lived or died, how could she leave even though she often wanted to?

  She had been determined to leave the last time Leslie Armitage had made another of his furtive passes at her. But with Albert Ollerenshaw so shaky on his feet towards the end, she had taken one look at the frail old man and had seen that if she wasn't there to pick him up and get him to bed the next time he fell down, then nobody else would bother.

  Her thoughts drifted on to how, when she had come back from taking her two charges, the precocious Arabella and more lovable younger brother Benjamin out for a walk one day, she had returned to find the house full of noisy people, with the old man cold and unable to get up from the upstairs landing where he had fallen an hour before. When she had been able to make herself heard, neither Cynthia nor Leslie had been in the least troubled with what she had told them; it had been left to her to call a doctor. And left to her had been the nursing of him, Cynthia looking scandalised at the thought of spending good money on a nursing home or having a nurse in when Sorrel looked to be quite capable of taking care of her two offspring and her father. 'Live a little,' old Mr Ollerenshaw had said in his will…

  Sorrel wiped the gentle smile off her face as her thoughts left Albert Ollerenshaw and she came back to her surroundings to hear that the new neighbour, apparently, was coming to dinner that night. Sorrel was pleased about that—it made it less as though she was someone special whom Rod had brought down to meet his folks.

  'Would you like to see the stables?' The question, with an apologetic look to his mother who had made the original offer, had come from Rod.

  'Very much,' replied Sorrel, unhurriedly getting to her feet.

  Rod, she was soon seeing, had inherited his parents' love of horses. And she found herself warming to him more than she had done when, leaving her side, he went over to his favourite grey, and, forgetful that she was there, began crooning baby talk. His smile when he turned and saw her watching was more than a shade selfconscious.

  'I never thought to tell you to bring your riding things,' he apologised to cover his embarrassment. 'Though I'm sure we can fix you up with some…'

  'I don't ride,' Sorrel replied, honest with him suddenly where recently she had rather taken to giving evasive answers.

  She waited for his appalled look, and warmed to him some more when he grinned, and said, 'I'm sorry. We horse-lovers rather take it for granted that everybody rides, don't we?' She smiled, and that light she didn't want appeared in his eyes again. 'I'd love to teach you if you'd care…' he began.

  'No, thanks,' she said a touch sharply, and turned away.

  In her room, she was pensive as she dressed ready for dinner. Her dress was an elegant full-length rose crepe creation, sleeveless and with a square neck, but for the first time she was feeling no pleasure in having something lovely to wear.

  It had been a mistake to come on this visit, she thought. Rod had been hurt by the change in her manner; and his hurt had showed. And the trouble was, she could not try and put it right by being warmer to him at dinner, because that would make him think that she was more interested in him than she was.

  Thank goodness there would be other people at dinner. With the new neighbour there, and most likely his wife, Rod's parents were less likely to notice that their son was feeling bruised that his guest was not all over him.

  Dinner was at eight, but in 'living a little'; in trying out the life she had only witnessed from an employee's standpoint, where Sorrel might keep an escort waiting for her, the roots of her strict upbringing were too deeply laid for her to keep a whole household waiting should she be late in going down to dinner.

  At a quarter to eight, her thick light brown hair with its natural streaks of light gold done up in a classical knot, Sorrel left her room.

  With calm and confidence she opened the drawing room door. A tall slim man with his back to her was in conversation with Rod and his parents when she went in. She saw the man make some kind of movement at Rod's welcoming, 'Sorrel!' and guessed he had politely turned to be introduced. But as Rod came towards her so her attention was distracted from the man she thought must be the new neighbour, for, temporarily blocking her view of the fellow dinner guest, Rod was standing in front of her.

  'How beautiful you are,' was his greeting, to make her feel a mixture of being glad that he was over his hurt, and irritation that the eager light was there in his eyes again. But although she did not like it when he took hold of her hand, the next second Sorrel was never more glad to have something to hold on to. For quite without warning, as he remembered his manners, so he smiled, 'Come and meet Ellis Galbraith.'

  With a roaring in her ears, Sorrel gripped tightly on to the hand that held hers. All thought of Rod Drury went from her head then—and every other thought. Just that name Ellis Galbraith gave her a violent need to hare back up to her room. Desperately then did she need to have some time in which to compose herself.

  But Sorrel was to find that she had no time in which to get herself together. For Rod had moved to the side of her and was taking her up to the man who had moved on Rod's welcoming cry of 'Sorrel!'

  That Ellis Galbraith had received something of a surprise too was obvious from the look that seemed to say he could hardly believe his eyes that the sophisticated female facing him bore no resemblance to the white-faced seventeen-year-old, her hair flowing down her back, who had stood crushed before him eight years ago.

  It was thanks to her knowing she looked good in her fashionable dress, thanks to all she had seen and heard in the past eight years, that Sorrel was able to get through the next five minutes. She thanked whoever else there was to thank, too, that no one could see beyond her outer covering to the quivering mess she was inside. Even her guardian angel was pulling out all the stops, she thought, for her voice was well modulated, and just this side of cool as Sorrel extended her hand to the terrific-looking man whom the last eight years appeared to have lef
t no other mark than the few strands of silver in his night-dark hair, and a line or two on a face she would know anywhere.

  'Rod has just said he'll introduce us,' she smiled, 'but there's no need, is there?' And while her senses took another battering as a firm hand came out and he shook hands with her, 'How are you these days?' she asked with another cool smile.

  'You know each other?' Rod broke in before Ellis Galbraith had done anything but look steadily into her unsmiling green eyes. 'Everybody's heard of Ellis, I know,' Rod was going on, 'but I didn't know you knew him.'

  The last thing Sorrel wanted was that any of them should know a thing of what had gone on between her and Ellis. She still bore the scars that she had once worked for him, had once fallen heart and soul in love with him, and for her pains, had once been instantly dismissed by him.

  'We used to live near each other in Wiltshire at one time, didn't we?' she said, her smile still cool, her legs weak as she waited for his reply.

  'Many moons ago.' His voice was the same as she remembered, deep, rich, as now he was rich, though he hadn't always been as wealthy as the papers reported he was today. But his eyes were still on her, his hand was still holding hers, and when she was sure he didn't give a damn who knew that she had in those early days of him getting started been his Girl Friday, he was not letting anyone listening know what a fool she had made of herself over him. 'You're as lovely as ever you were, Sorrel,' he said smoothly, his eyes flicking down to her left hand, and back sharply to her face. 'What's happened to you since the last time we met?'

  That he could refer to that scene that had all but finished her off without so much as batting an eyelid gave Sorrel's stiffening the kick it needed.