Love's Only Deception

by Carole Mortimer

  Callie was curious about Donald Spencer, wondering what was so terrible about him that James Seymour disliked him. Maybe he grew his hair too long, that was sure to annoy the balding lawyer.

  ‘Jeffrey was alone in the car at the time of the accident, I believe,’ Lady Spencer interrupted her thoughts.

  Pain flickered across her face before she could control it. ‘Yes, he was alone.’ Fun-loving Jeff, who was never alone, who hated to be alone, had been trapped in his car for over an hour before he died; the rescuers had been unable to get to him in time to save him, and his chest had been crushed so that he drowned in his own blood. Callie shuddered with the horror of it. The way Jeff had died often came back to haunt her in horrific nightmares. ‘All alone,’ she repeated harshly.

  ‘I—’

  The doors swung open and Sir Charles came in, a younger version of himself at his side. Callie looked at Donald Spencer with interest, seeing the youthful handsomeness that had once been Sir Charles’, the only difference being that Donald’s hair was as fair as her own, and there was perhaps a certain weakness about the chin that wasn’t present in the father.

  But neither of these men bore any resemblance to Jeff, Jeff of the laughing blue eyes, the unruly dark hair, denims and a casual shirt his usual attire.

  Donald Spencer was dressed as formally as his father, and he looked as if he were never dressed any other way. Did no one ever relax in this family?

  ‘This is my son Donald,’ Sir Charles told her needlessly.

  A frown creased her brow. Why was it she had the feeling there should have been a fanfare attached to that announcement?

  Donald was looking at her with stunned eyes. ‘You aren’t what I was expecting,’ he blurted out, and received a scowl from his father, a warning look from his mother, and a ruddy hue coloured his cheeks as he muttered an apology.

  So she had been right about the weakness about the chin. Donald Spencer was nowhere near as self-confident as his parents. She instantly felt a sympathy for him. ‘You aren’t what I was expecting either,’ she smiled.

  ‘Did Uncle Jeffrey talk about us, then?’ he wanted to know.

  How could she say never? She had had no idea Jeff even had a nephew, let alone who Charlie was. How Sir Charles must have hated being called that. And how Jeff would have loved to taunt him with it! Jeff had loved to tease, had a warped sense of humour that she shared, a sense of humour she hoped was going to get her through this.

  ‘Sometimes,’ she compromised.

  ‘But you never felt impelled to meet any of his family?’ once again it was Lady Spencer who asked the probing question.

  Callie sensed reprimand, and bristled resentfully. ‘As you never felt compelled,’ she returned waspishly.

  The other woman’s mouth twisted mockingly. ‘You are hardly family, Caroline,’ she drawled insultingly.

  Callie blanched, the shaft going home. ‘No, I’m not, am I?’ she said stiffly.

  Lady Spencer looked down her haughty nose at her. ‘You see, we feel—’

  ‘Tea, my dear,’ Sir Charles interrupted as the maid wheeled in the tea-trolley, almost thankful for the interruption, it appeared to Callie.

  ‘Please sit down, Miss Day,’ Lady Spencer invited graciously as she took charge of the silver teapot. ‘Cream or lemon?’ she looked up to enquire.

  A spark of rebellion entered Callie’s eyes, the gold flecks instantly more noticeable. It was obvious that this family thought she was something rather unpleasant that had momentarily entered their lives, and that they also expected her not to even have the social graces.

  ‘Is it fresh lemon?’ she asked coldly.

  Her hostess looked affronted. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then I’ll have lemon,’ she accepted abruptly, moving back from her perched position on the edge of the chair to lean back against the soft leather, so that Lady Spencer had to bend forward to give her the steaming cup of tea. ‘Thank you.’ Her tone was still curt.

  ‘Sandwich, Miss Day?’ Donald Spencer held out a plate to her, tiny squares of bread arranged invitingly on the delicate china. ‘These are salmon, and these cucumber,’ he pointed out.

  Of course, what else? ‘Thanks.’ She took two of the tiny sandwiches, wondering if she was actually supposed to eat them. No one really lived like this, did they? It was so unreal, so—so pompous.

  ‘We were talking about the accident, Caroline.’ Lady Spencer spoke again, looking at her enquiringly from beneath arched brows as Callie choked on her sandwich. ‘Donald, pat her on the back—gently!’ she instructed after the first painful thump landed in the middle of Callie’s back.

  ‘I’m all right,’ she choked as Donald went to hit her again, sitting on the arm of her chair to do so. She blinked back the tears and swallowed hard. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled.

  Lady Spencer nodded regally. ‘Donald, don’t sit on the arm of the chair like that,’ she said waspishly.

  He at once moved back to his own armchair. Just like an obedient child, Callie thought with a shake of her head. Donald must be about thirty, his late twenties at least, and yet he still seemed to live here with his parents, something she found unbelievable for a man. Perhaps he had a home of his own in London, was only here for the weekend as she was, although she doubted it. Donald had the look of a devoted son, too much so in her opinion.

  It had been the mention of Jeff’s accident that had sparked off her choking and coughing fit. Why did this woman persist in talking about it? Jeff was dead, no amount of talking could bring him back, as could no amount of crying, although when she was alone she couldn’t seem to stop the latter.

  Her head went back, her chin held at a proud angle. ‘We weren’t talking about the accident, Lady Spencer,’ she said distantly, ‘you were. I really have nothing to say about it. Jeff is dead, that’s all there is to say.’

  ‘Jeff is Jeffrey,’ Sir Charles told his family dryly.

  Callie’s eyes flashed. ‘I never knew him as anything other than Jeff.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t, my dear,’ he soothed. ‘Perhaps you would like to go to your room and rest, you look a little pale.’

  ‘The mourning colour always does that to blondes, darling,’ his wife told him in a bored voice.

  Callie flushed. ‘I didn’t wear this suit because I’m in mourning.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t,’ Lady Spencer said tartly. ‘We would hardly expect you to mourn for Jeffrey. He’s left you a very rich young woman, why should you mourn him?’

  ‘Susan—’

  ‘Perhaps I should go to my room.’ Callie stood up jerkily. ‘If you’ll excuse me…’

  ‘Donald, take Miss Day up to her room,’ Lady Spencer commanded irrritably.

  ‘Of course.’ He stood obediently to his feet, moving to open the door for her.

  Callie walked out without saying another word. She had expected opposition, even resentment from this family, but she hadn’t expected open dislike. But why hadn’t she? She was an intruder, a usurper. James Seymour had explained that the other sixty-two and a half per cent of Spencer Plastics was owned by the family—and Lady Spencer had already told her that she certainly wasn’t that!

  ‘Mother doesn’t always mean things the way they sound,’ Donald spoke suddenly at her side, more relaxed now that he was away from his parents’ domination.

  Callie looked at him with new eyes, seeing the rather pleasant features, the friendly blue eyes. And away from his parents he didn’t seem weak at all, his lighter personality was no longer overshadowed by them.

  But he didn’t know his mother very well if he really didn’t think she had meant that remark about Jeff leaving her a rich young woman. She was under no such illusions about Lady Spencer, she had meant every word exactly as it had been said—bitchily!

  But the truth couldn’t be denied, Jeff had left her very rich—if she dared to accept what James Seymour had told her about Jeff’s will. Up until today she really hadn’t thought it could be true, was sure they wou
ld find it was all a mistake, and yet now she had to believe it, the Spencers’ resentment had made it so. She needed time alone to adjust to this new sensation, to accept that she really was as rich as James Seymour had said she was.

  ‘I’m sure she doesn’t,’ she answered Donald blandly. ‘My coming here has been—a surprise to you all.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed truthfully. ‘It never occurred to us that Uncle Jeffrey would—Oh well, it’s done now.’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered huskily. ‘Yes, it’s done now.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean—’ His cheeks flooded with colour, made to look even worse on his normally pale cheeks.

  ‘I’m sure you didn’t,’ she squeezed his arm in sympathy. ‘Thank you for showing me to my room.’

  He smiled. ‘My pleasure,’ he pushed the bedroom door open before turning to her. ‘You really aren’t what we were expecting, you know.’

  Callie quirked an eyebrow, her curiosity aroused. ‘And just what were you expecting?’

  ‘Oh, someone older, more—more—’

  ‘Sophisticated and money-grasping?’ she finished softly, walking into the bedroom and throwing her clutch-bag down on the bed, not even sparing a glance for the beautifully furnished room she was to sleep in tonight.

  ‘No—’

  She gave a tight smile. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t fall into the right category, Donald. Maybe I could work at it?’

  ‘No, please—’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she sat down heavily on the bed. ‘This meeting has been as trying for me as it has for you.’ She put a hand up to her aching temple. ‘Now I really would like to rest.’

  He took her hint to leave. ‘Dinner is at eight o’clock. Shall I call for you?’

  It would mean she didn’t have to walk into the midst of the lions’ den on her own. ‘I’d like that,’ she accepted gratefully.

  ‘Good,’ he said eagerly. ‘I’ll see you later, then.’

  Callie lay back on the bed once she was alone, staring up at the ornate ceiling. With Jeff at her side she might have got through this, alone she had no defences. But if Jeff had been alive she would never have come here, would never have been allowed through the doors! Oh, Jeff, what have you done to me? she groaned, turning her face into the pillow and crying for her loss.

  She must have actually fallen asleep, for the sun was just going down when she at last opened her eyes. She sat up groggily, pushing her hair from her eyes and looking around her dazedly. The curtains were still drawn back, the last of evening’s light fading. Jeff had always liked sunrise and sunset, they were his favourite times of day, and the two of them had often shared those times together.

  She hadn’t slept well since Jeff had died, had missed his presence in the flat, finding herself surrounded by the memories there. Maybe she should move, try to forget, and yet she had been loath to do that, to leave the memories behind. Maybe one day, when she was ready to let the memories go. But not yet, not yet…

  Her suit was badly creased after she had slept in it, and she hung it up in the wardrobe, seeing that the dress and trousers she had brought with her were already in there, her shoes laid out neatly on the floor, the empty suitcase beside them. A search of the dressing-table drawers found her clean underwear, silky pantyhose, pink lacy panties and matching bra, and she didn’t like the idea of some unknown person sorting through her more intimate clothing, it was like an invasion of her privacy. She had packed and unpacked her own clothing since she had been on a school trip when she was ten years old, and she didn’t like the fact that someone else had done it for her now. She had always been an independent, self-reliant person, and she doubted she would ever want that to change. Even if she was supposedly rich now! She wasn’t going to let any of this change her life, and she certainly didn’t intend to give up her private life to an army of servants.

  Her dress was a deep, rich brown velvet, making her eyes appear the same way, giving her skin a honey-tone, the halter-neckline showing a large expanse of her flesh, the straight style of the skirt showing her slender curves to advantage.

  When Donald knocked on the door for her she looked cool and attractive, and saw his eyes deepen in appreciation as his gaze ran from the top of her golden head to the tip of her tiny feet.

  He looked very handsome himself in a black dinner suit, his shirt snowy white, his short hair brushed neatly away from his face. He really was the most innocuous-looking individual, and Callie couldn’t for the life of her imagine what it was James Seymour disliked about him.

  The two older members of the Spencer family were already in the lounge when she entered with Donald. Lady Spencer’s peacock-blue full-length gown gave her a more regal look than before, and Sir Charles’ black dinner suit was as well cut as his son’s.

  Dinner was a very strained affair, with the four of them making polite conversation, no mention being made of the reason Callie was here. By the end of the meal her head ached with the effort of trying to enjoy the meal and look relaxed, when all she really wanted to do was get away from here, go back to London and forget she had eyer met Jeff’s snooty relatives. Maybe if his sister Cissy had been here things might have been easier; Jeff had always spoken of his sister with affection.

  Coffee in the lounge was even more of a strain; the conversation suddenly seemed to dry up completely.

  Callie put her cup back on the silver tray. ‘I—I think I’ll go to bed. I have a headache,’ she told them truthfully.

  ‘Nonsense,’ Lady Spencer said briskly. ‘Fresh air is the best cure for a headache. Donald, take Caroline for a walk in the garden.’

  Her eyes widened. Being alone with Donald Spencer was the last thing she had in mind for getting rid of the throb at her temples. ‘Perhaps a couple of aspirin…’ she began.

  ‘Not when you’ve been drinking wine,’ the other woman dismissed. ‘Fresh air, that’s what you need. Donald!’ she prompted her son sharply.

  He looked as reluctant as Callie felt! ‘I—Of course,’ he agreed instantly. ‘Caroline?’

  ‘It really is too chilly an evening—’

  ‘Get Caroline my jacket, Charles,’ Lady Spencer instructed her husband.

  Callie knew when she was defeated, and gave in gracefully to the dictates of her hostess. Lady Spencer appeared to her rather like a puppeteer, and when she pulled the strings they all jumped into action.

  Lady Spencer’s ‘jacket’ turned out to be a mink, and Callie felt revulsion for the article as Sir Charles slipped it about her shoulders. She had always hated the breeding and killing of animals just to provide a woman with the prestige of owning a fur coat, not even wanting to think how many mink had been killed to make up this jacket. It made her feel nauseous to wear it!

  She had been right, the evening was chill, and yet as soon as she could she took the jacket from about her shoulders, preferring to carry it than feel it against her skin.

  ‘You’ll catch a chill,’ Donald warned as they walked through the heavily scented rose garden at the side of the house, a single light illuminating their way.

  ‘I’m fine.’ She repressed a shiver, knowing he wouldn’t understand her aversion to the coat.

  ‘Headache going?’

  He sounded as if he really cared, and she smiled at him. ‘Yes, it’s going,’ which, miraculously, it was.

  ‘You’re very beautiful, Caroline,’ he remarked suddenly.

  The remark was as unexpected as it was surprising. This family, not one of them, had reason to like her, to even be polite to her, and yet Donald had gone out of his way to be nice to her. She liked him if only for that reason. ‘Thank you, Donald,’ she accepted huskily.

  ‘I can’t understand—’ He broke off, frowning his consternation.

  Callie gave a light laugh. ‘Can’t understand why you think I’m beautiful? Or is it something else you don’t understand?’ she looked at him curiously.

  ‘Something else,’ he muttered.

  ‘Like what?’ she teased.

  �
��I—Did you really care for Uncle Jeffrey?’

  She flushed. So they were back to the subject of Jeff and whether or not she was entitled to what he had chosen to leave her. ‘Yes, I cared for him,’ she said stiffly. ‘Very much, as it happens.’

  ‘You loved him?’

  ‘There was nothing not to love,’ she shrugged. ‘Did you ever meet him?’

  Donald shook his head. ‘I was only three when he left.’

  ‘And you’ve never seen any of his work?’

  ‘Work?’ Donald frowned. ‘What work?’

  Heavens, these people didn’t know Jeff had been a sculptor, that he could bring clay alive beneath his gentle fingertips! She had always thought Jeff the most uncomplicated, giving man she had ever known, and it came as a shock to her to find he had kept secrets from everyone.

  ‘Your uncle was Jeff Thornton.’

  Donald still looked puzzled. ‘Jeff who?’

  Callie sighed. ‘Jeff Thornton. He had a very successful exhibition of his sculptures about a year ago.’ It hadn’t exactly made him a fortune, as Jeff had joked, he wouldn’t get rich from it, but it had given his individual talent the recognition it deserved.

  The way that Jeff had struggled and slaved to get that exhibition made her respect and love for him deepen. With the money he had, his influential family, he could have commanded that exhibition. Instead he had chosen to assume a pseudonym, to get recognition on his own talent.

  Donald’s eyebrows rose. ‘I’m sure my parents didn’t know about that.’

  ‘That he was a sculptor, or that he was successful at it?’ she taunted.

  He flushed at the rebuke in her voice. ‘Both. I—You see, Uncle Jeffrey walked out years ago. None of us really knew what he was doing. The only contact we ever had from him was through our lawyer.’

  ‘James Seymour?’

  ‘You’ve met him, haven’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she nodded. ‘I’ve met him.’ She repressed a shiver. ‘Could we go back inside now?’

  ‘Of course,’ he was instantly solicitous. ‘How’s the headache?’

  ‘Gone;’ she lied, handing him the jacket as soon as they were inside the house. ‘Would you please excuse me to your parents, I’d like to go straight to bed.’ Before she collapsed with the strain of this weekend.