Love's Only Deception

by Carole Mortimer

  She only half listened to the start of the meeting, finding all the technical talk boring in the extreme. She would certainly never make a businesswoman!

  ‘And now we come to the subject of expansion,’ Sir Charles beamed at them all. ‘I don’t think there’s any need to discuss it further, we all know how we’re going to vote.’

  ‘Callie?’ Logan prompted.

  ‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘So am I,’ he nodded to his uncle.

  ‘Would it be simpler to say who is for or who is against?’ Sir Charles boomed.

  Both Callie and Logan remained silent, and she could see the older man’s confidence begin to waver.

  ‘Caroline?’ he questioned sharply.

  ‘Finish the vote, Charles,’ Logan instructed, his steady gaze never leaving Callie’s face.

  ‘But Caroline—’

  ‘Against,’ Logan said firmly.

  ‘Against,’ Callie echoed.

  The reactions about her were instantaneous—Sir Charles’ voice raised in protest, Logan’s smile of approval. She had known Sir Charles wouldn’t like her decision, but she had known there was no other one she could make.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Sir Charles was babbling, taken completely by surprise. ‘Caroline, you can’t mean this!’

  She stood up to leave. ‘I do,’ she said firmly. ‘If you want to know why, I’m sure Bill will be only too glad to discuss it with you.’

  ‘Of course.’ Bill instantly recognised her cry for help.

  ‘Sir Charles—Mr Carrington,’ she nodded distantly to both of them, a coolly composed figure—on the outside at least—as she left the office and walked out to the lift.

  She knew she looked very businesslike in her black suit and tan coloured blouse, a tan clutch-bag in her hand. And yet it was all a pose, below the knee-length skirt her legs were knocking together.

  ‘Callie?’

  Logan caught up with her as she stepped into the lift, pressing the button for the ground floor.

  Callie was very conscious of him in the close proximity of the small lift, the way the dark grey suit was tailored on him, the cufflinks she had bought him in the cuffs of the white shirt he wore, his dark hair resting low down on his collar.

  He turned to look at her. ‘Why?’

  She shrugged, making no effort to look as if she didn’t know what he was talking about. ‘It wouldn’t have been in the company’s best interests,’ she said stiltedly, wondering if the lift was ever going to reach the ground floor.

  ‘Very commendable,’ he drawled. ‘Now the real reason? I would have bet everything I have that you would side with Charles, just to spite me.’

  ‘To spite you, yes.’ Her eyes flashed, the moment of revelation upon her; this game had gone on long enough. ‘But it wasn’t what my stepfather wanted.’ She looked at him with unwavering eyes as she saw him pale. ‘No, Jeff wouldn’t have approved of expanding Spencer Plastics. You told me that yourself, and for once I believe you.’ She stepped out into the reception area and hurried towards the double glass doors, feeling as if her legs were made of stone, each step an effort.

  CHAPTER NINE

  LOGAN kept up with her step for step. ‘Callie!’ His hand was on her arm as they stepped out on to the pavement. ‘For God’s sake explain that last remark,’ he demanded tautly.

  She looked up at him with defiant eyes. ‘It’s quite simple, Logan. Contrary to what everyone thinks, Jeff was my stepfather, not my lover.’

  He shook his head dazedly. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘My mother was married to your uncle.’ Another thought occurred to her. ‘That makes me your step-cousin,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘But Charles was convinced Jeffrey was living with a woman called Caroline Day!’

  ‘He was—my mother. And she wasn’t Caroline Day when they lived together,’ she hailed a passing taxi, hardly able to believe her luck when it actually stopped, ‘she was Caroline Spencer,’ she told Logan as she climbed into the back of the taxi.

  ‘You can’t go like this,’ he frowned. ‘I haven’t finished talking to you.’

  ‘There’s nothing left to say.’

  ‘Callie—’

  ‘Where to, love?’ the driver turned to ask.

  ‘I—’

  ‘Callie, I want to talk to you,’ Logan said harshly.

  ‘I have nothing else to say,’ she told him distantly.

  ‘But—’

  ‘I can’t wait here for ever, love,’ the driver interrupted a second time. ‘I’m on a double yellow line.’

  ‘Would you kindly stay out of this?’ Logan snapped viciously.

  ‘Pardon me for living,’ the man mumbled as he turned back in his seat.

  Logan shot him another impatient glance. ‘Callie, get out of there and we can go somewhere and talk.’

  ‘I told you, there’s nothing to talk about.’ She leant forward and gave the driver her address. ‘Goodbye, Logan.’ She gave him a cold look, and slammed the door in his face.

  ‘Whew!’ the driver chuckled as he moved the taxi out into the flow of traffic, glancing at Logan in his mirror. ‘Bit of a fiery one, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied woodenly, not in the mood for conversation.

  ‘Your husband?’

  ‘No,’ she shivered.

  ‘Then he’ll be back.’ He winked at her in his driving mirror. ‘He wouldn’t want to lose a looker like you!’

  An unwilling smile curved her lips. ‘Thank you.’

  But she knew Logan wouldn’t be back, that in the circumstances she didn’t want him back. Knowing Jeff was her stepfather might have changed things as far as Logan was concerned, but nothing had changed for her. Logan had used her; nothing could ever change that.

  Marilyn invited her in for a cup of tea once she got back. ‘I left poor Bill to cope with Sir Charles,’ Callie explained ruefully.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ her friend smiled. ‘After the put-down he got from Sir Charles the first time around he’s quite up to coping with him.’

  ‘I hope so.’ Callie sipped her tea, her hand trembling slightly—something Marilyn was quick to see.

  ‘Was it rough?’ she asked gently.

  She grimaced. ‘Not too bad.’ Except that last scene with Logan. And strangely that had given her no satisfaction. She had thought she would feel elated when she told him her true relationship to Jeff, but in reality it had changed nothing between them.

  ‘Was Sir Charles—Hey, was that your doorbell?’ Marilyn frowned.

  ‘I didn’t hear anything…’ she slowly replaced the cup in the saucer.

  ‘When you have a baby as active as Paul you become aware of every noise,’ Marilyn laughed. ‘There it was again. No, don’t move, I’ll go.’

  Callie had a terrible feeling, like Marilyn, that it was Logan. ‘If it’s him—’

  ‘I’ll tell him you aren’t back yet.’ Marilyn squeezed her arm reassuringly.

  ‘Thanks.’ She gave a grateful smile.

  She should have known Marilyn wasn’t strong enough to keep Logan out!

  He marched into the room a couple of seconds later, a harassed-looking Marilyn following behind him. ‘I want to talk to you, Callie,’ he rasped without preliminary. ‘Can we go to your flat, or would you rather talk here?’

  Marilyn looked totally bemused. ‘Oh, but—’

  ‘Your flat?’ Logan repeated harshly, with eyes only for Callie.

  ‘If you insist,’ she said stiffly, standing up. ‘I’m sorry about this, Marilyn.’

  Her friend shrugged acceptance of the situation. ‘Just call if you need me.’

  Logan’s mouth tightened. ‘I don’t intend harming Callie, just talking to her.’

  Marilyn returned his cold look in full measure. ‘In the past you haven’t seemed to know the difference.’

  He drew in an angry breath. ‘It’s been mutual,’ he ground out. ‘Callie?’ he prompted.

  She led the way
through to her flat, turning to face him as he closed the door behind them. ‘What do you have to say?’

  He sighed, shaking his head. ‘You must have realised the shock you gave me this afternoon about my uncle. We none of us had any idea he’d married, that he had a stepdaughter.’

  ‘That much has been obvious,’ she scorned.

  ‘How could we have any idea—’

  ‘How could you not?’ she snapped, her eyes flashing. ‘He was a wonderful man, a man with principles—how could you believe him capable of living with a girl of my age? How could you believe I would live with a man old enough to be my father, Logan—unless, as I now know, the love you once professed for me was a lie.’

  ‘That’s a lie!’ he ground out. ‘I still love you. Even when I believed you were my uncle’s mistress I still loved you, still love you.’

  The quiet intensity of his voice made her spin round. ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word!’

  ‘I know I love you enough to want to marry you.’ He met her angry gaze steadily.

  ‘Me—and the Spencer shares,’ she rasped, a bitter twist to her mouth.

  ‘Damn the shares—’

  ‘Damn them, Logan?’ she scorned. ‘When you were willing to go to such lengths to get them? Oh no, Logan, we won’t damn them—at least, I won’t. If it weren’t for them I may never have met you. And if I hadn’t met you I would never have known the disillusionment of trusting you with my love—’

  ‘Callie—’

  ‘Would you please leave,’ she told him stiltedly. ‘I never want to see you again.’

  For a moment Logan looked as if he would continue the argument, then he sighed. ‘All right, Callie, I’ll go. But I’ll be back, I promise you that.’

  ‘If that means as much as the other promises you made me then I know I’ll never see you again,’ she scoffed, to hide the pain he wouldn’t let die.

  His eyes’ darkened. ‘This promise is as sincere as the others I made you.’ He pulled her into his arms, kissing her with unreserved passion, a dark flush to his cheeks when he at last released her. ‘I love you, Callie. I hope one day I’ll be able to make you believe that.’

  ‘Maybe if you gave up your shares in Spencer Plastics,’ she taunted.

  ‘Or you gave up yours,’ he said softly. ‘Think about that, Callie.’

  It took her several minutes after his departure to regain her composure, knowing that Marilyn would have heard Logan leave and would be curious about his reason for being here.

  Bill was already home when she returned next door, looking none the worse for his talks with Sir Charles.

  ‘How did it go?’ she smiled.

  ‘How do you think?’ he said dryly. ‘Sir Charles was absolutely furious about the way you voted. He seemed to think he could have expected more loyalty from his future daughter-in-law,’ he added teasingly.

  ‘He doesn’t still believe that?’ she gasped.

  ‘He does,’ Bill grinned. ‘Some men never know when to accept defeat.’

  ‘No…’ Marilyn looked questioningly at Callie. ‘Has Mr Carrington gone?’

  Bill’s eyes widened. ‘He’s been here?’

  ‘Just now,’ his wife nodded.

  ‘I had a feeling he’d followed you, Callie.’ He grimaced. ‘Would I be speaking out of turn if I say I liked him?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘No,’ Callie smiled at her friend’s vehemence. ‘He’s a very likeable man.’

  More than likeable, but she hoped she wouldn’t have to see him again. Much as she hated to admit it, she had once again responded to his kisses.

  She had a completely unexpected guest the next day—Cicely Carrington. Callie couldn’t conceal her puzzlement when she saw the woman. Surely Logan hadn’t involved his mother? Then she noticed the bandage on Cicely Carrington’s left ankle. ‘Logan didn’t tell me you’d hurt your ankle,’ she sighed her consternation. ‘Please come in and sit down,’ she invited without hesitation. Whatever reason the other woman had for being here, she liked her. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she offered.

  ‘Only if it’s no trouble.’ The elderly woman sank gratefully into a chair.

  ‘Not at all,’ and Callie escaped into the kitchen.

  She had no idea why Cicely Carrington had come here today, but if, as she suspected, it was on Logan’s behalf, then she didn’t want to know. She liked the woman, but even so, Logan was a subject she didn’t want to discuss with anyone.

  But Mrs Carrington was in no hurry to get to the point of her visit, and accepted her cup of tea with one of her sweet smiles. ‘This is a lovely flat,’ she said warmly. ‘Jeffrey was always very artistic—did he help decorate the flat?’

  Callie smiled, remembering the fun they had had. Jeffrey might have been artistic, but when it came to practical things like wallpapering he was completely hopeless. She and her mother had been in hysterics by the time it was finished. Jeff had shut himself away in his studio for a week, to do ‘some real work,’ he said. It had been a standing joke in the family for months afterwards.

  ‘Yes, he helped,’ she told the other woman. ‘Under protest. I’m afraid sculpture was his real art.’

  ‘Yes, Logan told me how clever he was. Logan knows about these things,’ she added without conceit for her son.

  Callie remembered the way he had instantly recognised the work in the studio as being Thornton. ‘Yes,’ she acknowledged softly.

  ‘I’m so sorry I haven’t called earlier,’ Mrs Carrington apologised as she accepted her cup of tea. ‘It was so silly of me to fall over as I did.’

  ‘I had no idea you’d hurt your ankle,’ said Callie.

  ‘Just a sprain, dear,’ she confided. ‘I bruised my ego more than myself. I’m always telling Logan how independent I am, then I go and do something like this!’

  Callie had stiffened at the mention of Logan. ‘It could have happened to anyone—even him,’ she added hardly.

  Mrs Carrington smiled. ‘No, never Logan.’

  She was probably right, things like falling over in the snow didn’t happen to people like Logan. But she wished Mrs Carrington would get down to the purpose of this visit; it couldn’t just be a social call.

  ‘You’re wondering why I’m here, aren’t you?’ the elderly lady smiled kindly.

  ‘Well—yes.’

  ‘Well, as I said earlier, I would have come before, but I haven’t been out much since my fall. But something Logan told me when he got home yesterday compelled me to come and talk to you.’

  ‘Really?’ Callie said tightly.

  ‘Yes. I was so pleased to know that Jeffrey finally married the woman he loved. When Logan introduced you to me on Christmas Day I thought you looked familiar, but it was the name that fooled me. It never used to be Day, you see. And I’m not very good on faces,’ she gave Callie a vague look.

  Callie was totally bemused by this incomprehensible speech. If she didn’t know better she would have said Cicely Carrington had been drinking. Maybe she was high on pain-killers for her ankle? Whatever the reason, she wasn’t making much sense.

  ‘I see,’ she humoured her.

  ‘Yes.’ The other woman obviously thought she knew exactly what she was talking about. ‘After all, Callie Day is nothing like Caroline Addy, is it?’

  ‘No.’ Callie’s interest sharpened at the mention of her mother’s maiden name. Maybe Mrs Carrington wasn’t talking nonsense after all.

  The faded grey eyes were smiling kindly. ‘The first time I saw you it was like going back twenty-five years.’

  ‘It was?’ she frowned.

  ‘You don’t have the faintest idea what I’m talking about, do you?’ Cicely Carrington realised.

  ‘Er—no,’ Callie admitted.

  ‘Didn’t your mother and Jeff ever tell you?’

  She licked her lips nervously. ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘Oh dear,’ the other woman sighed. ‘I thought—Oh well, it’s just one more black mark against the family. And g
oodness knows we have enough of those where you’re concerned. One more isn’t going to make a great deal of difference.’

  Callie had butterflies in her stomach, sure that something momentous was going to be revealed to her. ‘Could you—could you just tell me?’ she requested huskily.

  ‘But of course, my dear. It was what I came here for, after all. Twenty-five years ago, when my brother Jeffrey was just twenty, and your mother only eighteen, she was spurned by the family as a possible wife for Jeffrey.’

  This information, so unexpected, hit Callie like a blow to the face. ‘You’re saying they knew each other before six years ago?’ she choked,

  The other woman nodded. ‘Before you were even born.’

  Callie sat down with a bump, very pale. ‘I—Could you tell me it all—please?’ she said jerkily.

  ‘Would you like me to get you some fresh tea?’ Mrs Carrington offered. ‘I’m afraid this has all been rather a shock for you.’

  Only because her mother and Jeff had never even hinted at knowing each other in the past. But it could explain the youthfulness of the sculpture, the way Jeff had been so determined to marry her mother this time, despite her illness.

  She accepted the cup of tea from Cicely Carrington, allowing her to fuss over her for several minutes before insisting she be told everything.

  ‘None of the Spencer family come out of this in a good light, I’m afraid,’ Mrs Carrington said regretfully. ‘Not even Jeffrey. But he was very young, and our father was even more dominating than Charles.’

  That was hard to imagine, but Callie prompted Mrs Carrington to tell her the rest.

  ‘Your mother was a maid at my parents’ house. I was already married and had Logan at the time. He would have been about ten, I suppose. I remember how he hero-worshipped Jeffrey.’

  ‘He was the sort of man heroes are made of,’ Callie said woodenly.

  ‘Yes, he was.’ Tears glistened in the faded grey eyes. ‘I wish I’d known of his death in time to come to the funeral. Logan said he died very soon after your mother?’

  ‘Three months.’

  ‘How terrible for you!’