Love's Only Deception

by Carole Mortimer

  It was her mother who lay there so serene, shown through the eyes of the man who had loved her, who had married her, even though they had both known she was dying. Jeff had been married to her mother, had been her stepfather, and when her mother had finally died six months ago Jeff had seemed to lose the will to live too. Oh, not that Callie thought for one moment he had deliberately killed himself, he just hadn’t wanted to live, wanted only to join her mother.

  Her mother had been very like her to look at, but there had been lines of pain in her mother’s face that made her seem older than her years. But Jeff had loved her unfailingly, had never ceased to hope that a cure could be found for her before it was too late, insisting on taking her to specialist after specialist at first, until, like her mother, he had become resigned to her death.

  When he had first come into their lives almost six years ago her mother had tried to repulse him, had been deliberately hurtful at times, but Jeff had remained adamant about wanting to marry her, and had more or less camped on their doorstep. Finally her mother had relented enough to allow him to spend time with them. But it still wasn’t enough for Jeff—he wanted marriage, and nothing else would satisfy him. Her mother had been so confused, she had wanted to marry him, and yet didn’t think it fair that Jeff should be marrying a woman who was dying. In desperation she had finally asked Callie what she should do, and Callie’s reply had been unreserved.

  The three and a half years her mother had been married to Jeff had been some of the happiest for them all, some of the saddest too. It became a game to Jeff to think up new ways to entertain her mother, especially towards the end when she was bedridden.

  Jeff’s family had obviously never been told about the marriage, and wouldn’t know that it had been another Caroline Day, her mother, who had been the woman Jeff loved, the woman he lived with, the woman he married.

  But they would pay for their degradation of a love that had been so pure and beautiful that Jeff and her mother might have been teenagers loving for the first time. And Logan would pay the most.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  Callie swung round at the sound of his voice, knocking the stand in front of her, the sculpture of her mother falling, as if in slow motion, towards the floor. But it never made contact; Logan’s reflexes were quicker than her own as he caught the sculpture inches from the ground.

  ‘I knocked,’ he told her abruptly, looking closely at the figure in his hand, ‘but you didn’t hear me.’

  ‘No.’ She snatched the sculpture out of his hand and put it back on the stand. Then she stood up, running her hands down her denim-clad thighs. ‘What do you want?’ she asked coldly.

  His eyes were narrowed to grey slits; he was wearing a sheepskin jacket over a sweater in the cold of the day, looking big and powerful, droplets of melting snow in the darkness of his hair. Callie noticed everything about him at a glance, feeling a familiar stirring of her senses, a feeling that she instantly dampened.

  He moved to stand beside the sculpture. ‘I came to see if I might not have misjudged you,’ he murmured slowly, seemingly mesmerised by the sculpture of her mother. ‘I don’t think I have.’ His eyes were raised accusingly.

  Callie looked at the sculpture too, seeing what Logan must see—a sculpture of herself! Jeff had shown her mother as she was to him, still beautiful, with none of the suffering etched into her face. That Logan saw the sculpture as being her, Callie, she had no doubt.

  ‘Good, isn’t it?’ She looked tauntingly up at Logan.

  ‘Very,’ he agreed tightly. ‘Very lifelike.’ One of his hands moved suggestively over the uptilting breasts.

  ‘Stop that!’ Callie angrily slapped his hand away. ‘How dare you?’ She glared up at him with tear-filled eyes.

  His mouth twisted. ‘Considering I’ve touched the real thing I’m surprised at your outrage,’ he taunted.

  ‘You may have touched the real thing, Mr Carrington,’ she told him haughtily, ‘but you never touched the real me.’

  ‘Didn’t I?’ he challenged sceptically.

  ‘No,’ she stood her ground. ‘When you’ve been loved by an expert an amateur can only ever be second-best.’

  ‘Is that so?’ His eyes glittered dangerously.

  ‘Yes.’ She gave him a considering look. ‘You look very like Jeff in some ways, you know.’

  She hadn’t realised it before, but he did in fact have a look of his uncle about him—the same thick dark hair, a powerfully built physique, piercing eyes, although in Jeff they had been a deep blue. There was even a similarity about the features, although in pure good looks Logan had the advantage.

  ‘You might even have liked him,’ she added thoughtfully.

  ‘I doubt it,’ Logan snapped, frowning suddenly. ‘This work looks familiar.’ He picked up another of the sculptures, an old man bowed down by years of hard work. ‘Thornton, right?’

  ‘Right,’ she acknowledged tightly.

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘So my uncle hasn’t been the only man in your life,’ he said accusingly.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Callie snapped. ‘Jeff Thornton was your uncle!’

  His eyes widened. ‘My uncle did this?’ He carefully replaced the sculpture on its stand.

  ‘Yes.’ She moved pointedly to the door, waiting for him to leave.

  Logan took the hint, following her through to the lounge. ‘I had no idea my uncle was so talented.’

  ‘You knew nothing about him at all, so why should you know that?’ she scorned.

  ‘Did you pose for that sculpture?’ he demanded to know, not answering her question.

  ‘No,’ she told him truthfully.

  ‘Then he did it from memory. Is it for sale?’ he rasped.

  Callie paled, seeing his intention. ‘Not for all the money you possess!’ Her tone was vehement.

  His mouth twisted. ‘I wasn’t going to offer that much. And I doubt you need it. I believe my uncle left you quite a rich young woman?’

  ‘Yes,’ she confirmed tightly.

  ‘It was a good idea to keep on with your job, to continue living here, otherwise I might have become suspicious.’

  ‘And it was a good idea of yours not to let me meet any of your family,’ she derided. ‘I would have been suspicious.’

  Logan sighed. ‘I thought we’d dropped the act.’

  ‘I have—you haven’t!’

  ‘I’m not going to stand by and see you get control of Spencer Plastics!’

  ‘The same applies to you.’

  ‘God, this is ridiculous—’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ she said tightly. ‘I thought we’d agreed that the next time we met would be at the shareholders’ meeting?’

  ‘When you will no doubt back Uncle Charles’ plans to expand the company,’ he snapped impatiently.

  She shrugged. ‘I may do.’

  ‘Then you’ll have nothing. Spencer Plastics can’t handle the expansion he proposes.’

  Callie was sure Logan knew a lot more about business matters than she did, but surely Sir Charles knew what was best for his own company?

  ‘My uncle Jeffrey opposed it,’ Logan put in softly.

  Her eyes widened. ‘Jeff did?’

  ‘Yes. It came up at the last shareholders’ meeting—’

  ‘Which Jeff attended?’ she frowned.

  ‘No. He always had Seymour act for him. And he opposed it on his behalf.’

  ‘Because Jeff didn’t believe in capitalism,’ she said instantly.

  ‘And you do?’

  ‘No…’

  ‘Then you’ll oppose it too?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She was becoming agitated now. ‘I have to discuss it with Sir Charles.’

  ‘And Donald?’ he rasped.

  ‘Probably,’ she nodded haughtily.

  ‘Don’t you think I would make you a better husband?’

  The colour came and went in her cheeks. ‘No. I doubt you would make any w
oman a good husband,’ she added bitchily.

  ‘Maybe I should just become your lover?’

  ‘Before or after I marry Donald?’ Callie answered with a calm she was far from feeling.

  She knew now that not all Logan’s behaviour in the last few weeks had been a lie; his desire to possess her was still a tangible thing, his eyes were darkened with passion. Well, he was out of luck if he thought she would seriously consider an affair with him!

  ‘That depends on when the wedding is to be,’ he said grimly. ‘Oh, soon, I think,’ she said stiltedly, wondering if this situation could possibly get any worse. She had thought Logan had hurt her all he could, but these stab wounds were deeper than before

  ‘Then I’ll wait until after the wedding.’

  ‘And if I don’t want you?’

  ‘Are you saying you don’t?’ he derided.

  ‘Yes,’ she told him defiantly.

  ‘I could easily show you differently.’

  ‘You could try!’

  Logan’s eyes were narrowed. ‘You would like that, wouldn’t you?’ he taunted.

  ‘No—’

  ‘Little liar!’ he growled. ‘It’s over four months since my uncle died, you must be getting frustrated by now.’

  Callie only just bit back her angry retort, refusing to rise to his obvious insult. ‘There’s always Donald,’ she drawled.

  Logan’s expression was contemptuous. ‘If you like to take the initiative.’

  ‘Donald learns fast.’

  ‘He would have to.’

  Once again she had to hold back an angry retort. Had she really thought herself in love with this man? It seemed incredible now.

  ‘If you’ve said all you came to say…’ she said pointedly.

  His gaze swept the flat—and her. ‘And seen all I want to see,’ he nodded.

  ‘Then would you please leave?’

  ‘Gladly,’ he drawled.

  ‘Take these with you.’ She thrust his Christmas gifts at him.

  He ignored them. ‘I don’t want them.’

  ‘Neither do I!’

  ‘Then give them away,’ he shrugged, buttoning his jacket against the snow that had been falling since early morning, then pausing at the door to look down at her with darkened eyes. ‘You know where to find me if you decide Donald isn’t man enough for you.’

  Callie leant weakly against the door. ‘Will you just go?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll go,’ he scowled, his hands rough as he pulled her towards him. ‘But I’ll make sure you don’t sleep tonight either!’ He ground his mouth down on hers, bending the fragility of her body into his as he ruthlessly plundered a response from her. When he at last raised his head Callie’s legs felt boneless, so much so she had to cling to him for support. ‘Yes,’ Logan said with satisfaction, ‘I think your night may be spent as sleeplessly as mine have been lately.’ He put her away from him.

  Callie regained control with effort, licking her lips to make sure they were still intact, feeling numbed from the force of Logan’s. ‘A guilty conscience has a way of doing that,’ she told him vaguely.

  ‘You should know,’ came his parting shot.

  She slowly closed the door as she heard the descent of the lift, leaning weakly back against the door to steady her nerves. Logan had been the last person she had expected to see today, to see ever again except in a business capacity. And the suddenness of seeing him had made her say things she would rather have left unsaid.

  She moved to the telephone and dialled quickly, before she had time to change her mind. ‘Donald Spencer, please,’ she requested once the butler had answered the telephone. ‘Donald? Call—Caroline here,’ she amended. ‘How about that meeting you suggested? Dinner tomorrow? Lovely,’ she answered with false brightness, all gaiety leaving her once she had rung off.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘GOOD God, talk about the morning after…!’ Mike eyed Callie mockingly the next day; the office was open once more, to her relief. Another day alone in her flat and she would have gone insane! ‘I needn’t ask if you had a good Christmas,’ he teased.

  ‘No,’ she answered quietly, knowing she had never spent such a miserable time in her life as the last four days.

  But she kept up the pretence all morning, only baulking when Mike asked if there were no boy-friend for lunch today.

  ‘I thought this was it,’ he teased her.

  ‘No,’ she evaded his eyes. ‘It didn’t work out.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘It’s all right, Mike,’ she told him brightly. ‘I’m seeing someone else tonight.’

  ‘Off with the old, on with the new?’

  ‘That’s right,’ she laughed, hoping Mike wouldn’t catch its rather hollow ring. He didn’t seem to, and the rest of the day passed in a rush of work that she was grateful for.

  Her heart leapt with pleasure when she got home later that night to find Marilyn and Bill back in their flat.

  ‘I thought you were going to be away for months!’ She hugged Paul to her, at once feeling better; his innocence was the balm she needed for her wounds.

  Marilyn grimaced. ‘Bill couldn’t stand it any longer. Anyway, Dad’s made a fantastic recovery. And I must say it’s nice to be back in our own home.’

  ‘It’s good to have you back.’

  Her friend frowned. ‘Do I sense a little too much enthusiasm?’

  Callie sighed, letting Paul climb down to play with his toys. ‘You could do,’ she admitted, knowing she couldn’t bottle up the pain much longer. And Marilyn and Bill had been her friends for such a long time.

  ‘Logan?’ Marilyn prompted softly.

  ‘Logan?’ Bill echoed sharply as he came through from the kitchen.

  ‘Yes,’ Callie sighed. ‘You may as well know the man I—the man I thought I loved was Logan Carrington.’

  Marilyn still looked puzzled, but Bill wasn’t quite so mystified. ‘Carrington Cosmetics?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Carrington shares in Spencer Plastics?’

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded miserably.

  ‘The rotten, lousy—’

  ‘Remember Paul!’ she cautioned lightly.

  Marilyn still looked completely in the dark. ‘You’ve lost me, I’m afraid.’

  Callie played on the floor with Paul while Bill explained to her friend.

  ‘That’s terrible,’ Marilyn exclaimed in a shocked voice. ‘He actually—He made you fall in love with him on purpose?’ she gasped.

  Callie nodded again. ‘It seems that when it comes to business the Spencers and Logan have no holds barred.’

  ‘Would you like me to go and give him a black eye for you?’ Bill offered grimly.

  It was very protective of him, very loyal, but she had an idea that, masculine as Bill was, Logan wouldn’t be the one who had the black eye. ‘I don’t think so,’ she laughed. ‘Anyway, I’ve got my own back, I’m going out with his cousin tonight.’

  ‘But isn’t he as bad?’ Marilyn frowned.

  ‘But more harmless,’ she smiled. ‘Donald is just henpecked by his parents. Talking of which… Bill, someone mentioned expanding Spencer Plastics.’ She gave him a querying look.

  He shook his head. ‘Not a good idea.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Not in this financial climate. They would need a loan for the expansion, a loan with high interest rates, and probably little return for the next five years. If you’ve read the report—’

  ‘I have,’ she assured him.

  ‘Then you’ll know that at the moment they’re making a substantial profit.’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘With the expansion most of the profit would go to pay up the loan, there’d be nothing left for the shareholders. What is it?’ he asked as he saw her grimace.

  ‘Logan said something along the same lines.’

  ‘Did he? Well, he’s right. Of course, you’re all rich enough to take such a loss, in the millionaire class,’ he added teasingly. ‘But there’s no guarantee that you�
��ll see a profit, even at the end of five years.’

  ‘So no expansion?’

  ‘I wouldn’t advise it, no.’

  ‘Damn,’ Callie muttered.

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Logan didn’t advise it either,’ she revealed reluctantly.

  ‘And you don’t want to agree with him,’ Bill nodded understandingly.

  ‘No. I’ve also agreed to meet Sir Charles to discuss it over the weekend.’

  ‘Well, I can’t see any harm in discussing it. He may have a different idea for expansion from the one I’ve outlined. I doubt it, but it can’t do any harm to talk to him.’

  ‘Okay.’ Callie stood up. ‘I have to go and get ready for my date with Donald now. He may be an idiot,’ she added ruefully, ‘but at least now he’s an honest idiot.’

  ‘That’s something!’ Marilyn laughed.

  Not even to Bill and Marilyn, her best and closest friends, had she been able to reveal the deep hurt she felt over the misinterpretation of Jeff and her mother’s love for each other. That was somehow too personal to reveal to anyone.

  Donald proved to be quite pleasant company later that evening, acting more naturally now that he didn’t have the pretence of having to fall madly in love with her. Callie surprisingly enjoyed her evening with him, and found him to be very shy for his age, ridiculously eager to please, and quite lighthearted away from the dominating influence of his parents.

  ‘My parents would like you to come to the family New Year party,’ he told her on the drive back to her home.

  She instantly stiffened. ‘Will Logan be there?’

  ‘He could be.’

  She drew in a ragged breath. ‘Then I think I’d rather not.’

  ‘Oh, do come, Caroline,’ he encouraged. ‘Logan rarely comes to family parties, he doesn’t really enjoy them. In fact, when I got back on Christmas Day he was rolling drunk. My mother was deeply shocked!’

  She could imagine Lady Spencer had been. And the reason for Logan’s drunken state was easily explained; his carefully laid plans had gone completely awry.

  ‘My father thought you could have your little chat then,’ Donald added, as if she couldn’t possibly go against a suggestion his father had made.