Sweet Lies

‘I see.’

Megan didn’t want to probe any deeper. For some reason the thought of him caring for someone else hurt her more deeply than she was prepared to admit, even to herself.

‘Your marriage was happy?’ he commented, his voice strained but cool, and Megan felt the familiar panic that rose in her chest whenever her marriage was mentioned. She kept her lids lowered over her startled eyes to prevent him from seeing the truth she knew would be shining there.

‘Yes, very,’ she told him, hoping, for some reason, that he would be hurt by her words. As she cast a covert glance at his face she saw a flicker of emotion there, but she knew it was pure fantasy to imagine it was jealousy.

‘It must have been very hard to lose someone you loved,’ he said, with such deep understanding that Megan felt a momentary guilt at her deceit.

‘It was,’ she admitted truthfully, but it was not Karl she was thinking of.

‘How did your son react?’ he asked, his voice strangely soft and soothing, and Megan glanced up, surprised by his interest.

‘He never knew his father,’ she said quickly, her eyes darting to his. It wasn’t a lie. She would do everything in her power to ensure that Luke never knew the truth. It would be far too painful for both of them. Megan had never told Luke that Karl was his father—it was one lie she had known she couldn’t live with—but she had not denied it either. Luke had grown up with the idea that his father was dead, and though Megan had longed to tell the truth she was afraid of the emotional damage it might cause.

‘He doesn’t look like you. Does he take after his father?’ he asked, picking up a tiny, delicate blini topped with smoked salmon. It was a casual enough question, but Megan cursed the emotion his query was stirring within her.

‘As he grows older, he looks more like his father,’ she confessed.

She wanted to tell him about his son, longed to tell him, but she knew she couldn’t. The web of lies she had carefully spun for Luke must remain intact. She would not allow her child to feel the pain of rejection she had been subjected to. He reached out, wrapping his strong, warm hand over hers, squeezing it gently.

‘I’m sorry. It must be hard for you.’

‘No, I’m just being silly,’ she said quickly, fully aware of the heat from his hand that was slowly permeating her body. She felt her heart race at his familiar touch and she stared at his hand, looking at the dark mat of hairs that criss-crossed his hand with intensity. She was so sensitive to him that it frightened her. For once, after so many years, she felt alive again, every nerve in her body tingling with anticipation.

‘My Meg, my poor Meg,’ he crooned softly, stroking his slender fingers across her gently trembling hand. Her response was a soft, almost soundless laugh as she withdrew her hand from his. She was afraid of the sharp tug of attraction he was arousing in her and the intimate use of their childhood name for her.

‘Poor!’ She laughed hollowly. ‘No, Darrow, my days of poverty are over.’

His eyes narrowed as he studied her, his expression hardening to granite.

‘You’re still poor Megan. You always will be till you learn true values.’ He bit out the words, his anger spilling out in the bitter blue-blackness of his eyes.

‘I know this, Darrow. It’s easy to appreciate the finer things in life when you don’t have to worry about the basics. I’ve struggled to achieve what I have now, and believe me there is no dignity in poverty. So don’t preach to me about being poor in spirit till you have experienced it for yourself,’ she threw back at him, hating his condescending attitude.

‘What a change. I never saw you as a material girl,’ he jeered, shocked by the change in her. ‘I thought it odd that you were unable to make it to your mother’s funeral. You’re obviously able to come now. No doubt it was the will that brought you back.’

Megan was about to protest her innocence, but her words died on her lips. She could not reveal the real reason why she had missed the funeral as just then Luke returned.

‘Hello, Luke. Did you win?’ she asked, realising immediately that she did not have his attention.

‘You do everything, don’t you?’ he asked Darrow with obvious enthusiasm. ‘I’ve been talking to Suzie.’ Megan saw the light of admiration glowing in her son’s eyes and sighed inwardly. The last thing she needed was a bad case of hero-worship; the situation was difficult enough as it was.

‘Whatever do you mean, Luke?’ She laughed as he drew up a chair between them and picked up three different canapés, ignoring Megan’s disapproving frown with customary ease. He popped two immediately in his mouth, nodding in approval and swallowing quickly in order to explain.

‘River-rafting, abseiling, canoeing, skiing.’ He paused to pick up another canapé and Megan gave his hand a sharp tap. Luke flashed Darrow a grin, and the easy bond that seemed to have sprung between them pierced Megan’s heart.

‘You don’t mind, do you?’ he asked, hardly waiting for Darrow to answer.

‘No not all. Help yourself.’

Luke’s grin broadened at his words; he was clearly delighting in the camaraderie.

‘I’d love to try everything. Do you instruct, Mr…?’

‘Darrow. Everyone calls me Darrow.’

‘Darrow,’ repeated Luke, enjoying the adult approach Darrow was taking with him. Megan twisted the stem of her wine glass, trying to remain indifferent to their close proximity and easy conversation. She watched them both with nervous expectation, a chill spiralling down her spine as she caught the close scrutiny Darrow was subjecting Luke to. His dark eyes were assessing Luke very closely indeed, and a tremor of apprehension vibrated through her body.

‘Luke, fetch me another glass of wine, would you?’ she asked. She had sounded abrupt and for a moment Luke looked confused, though he immediately responded by taking up her empty glass.

‘I guess you two want to talk alone,’ he said, making an exaggerated wink as he looked at Darrow, whose face broke out into a wide smile. Megan felt a warm flush of pink cover her cheeks and her eyes darted quickly from Luke to Darrow as a denial leapt swiftly to her lips.

‘No, not at all.’

For a few moments after Luke had left silence fell between them. Megan glanced up, a wave of nausea seeping over her as she watched Darrow’s eyes follow Luke’s disappearing body. At last he had noticed, seen a trace of himself in the boy, and the thought flooded her with a mixture of feelings—delight and despair.

‘I don’t think he’ll be able to do all the activities,’ he informed her crisply, turning his attention back to her, and Megan immediately tensed. Afraid to look at him, Megan stared down at the table, stroking her fingers restlessly over a drip-mat.

‘We are booked in for over a fortnight. Ample time, I would have thought…’ she began, her voice strangely breathless as she awaited his condemnation of her keeping his son to herself.

‘It wasn’t the time factor I was referring to.’

There was a note of challenge in his voice that drew her gaze back to his, and his expression showed a smooth, worldly wisdom.

‘Then what?’ demanded Megan, suddenly defensive, her nerves tensing at his poker-faced expression which warned her that more was to come.

‘He just doesn’t look well enough,’ he said matter-of-factly, but Megan sensed a criticism in his tone and her own feelings of insecurity immediately surfaced. She so desperately wanted him to be well. It was so very difficult being a one-parent family, trying hard to be both mother and father. She had tried to encourage him towards sporting activities but his enforced rest period had left him a little weaker than usual.

‘Looks can be deceptive,’ she retorted, angry with herself that he was evoking in her such a sense of over-protectiveness.

‘I’m not suggesting he doesn’t try some of the activities out, but—’

‘I think I’m the best judge of what my son is capable of,’ Megan cut in, furious by his lack of natural response to his own son, angered that he could not see himself mirrored in Luke’s frame, waiting to grow into a strong, capable man.

‘Oh, God, you’re not one of those pushy mothers who insist on over-compensating for the lack of a father?’ He grinned, unaware of the depth of pain he was causing her or how near the truth he might have touched.

‘It’s not a case of that. I just think you’re making an incorrect judgement merely because of his looks,’ she countered. The tone of conversation was swiftly changing to one of confrontation but she felt as if she was on a roller-coaster, thundering down a track, out of control.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Why on earth should I do that?’ he demanded, and Megan instantly tensed as his dark eyes narrowed on her. Megan felt her face redden as she realised that it was her own sensitivity to the situation that was causing the problem. She was reading far too much into his words.

‘Look, I’m sure that Luke will be sensible enough to make his own choices,’ she said briefly, hoping to draw a close over that line of conversation. She didn’t want to talk about Luke; it was far too dangerous.

Darrow leant across the table, pushing to one side the half-empty platter of food in a gesture of annoyance. He flexed his shoulders as he drew closer and Megan again caught the teasing scent of his masculine aftershave.

‘How old is he?’ he snapped, staring across the table at her, his expression devoid of emotion.

Megan didn’t answer—couldn’t answer. She felt trapped, as if he had carefully laid the bait and like a fool she had fallen for it. She could hear her heart thudding painfully against her constricting chest and she dropped her gaze, unable to confront the steel in his eyes.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said airily, unaware of the huge sigh of relief that silently escaped Megan’s lips. ‘The fact remains that he has a dull complexion and his eyes look heavy-lidded. He looks unwell…’

Megan’s eyes flew to his, anger flaring in the cool green.

‘That’s not a criticism, Megan, merely an observation,’ he countered immediately, seeing her reaction but refusing to acknowledge it fully. He still wanted to make his point, regardless of how she felt about it. ‘I was scrawny myself at that age, but he looks tired and drawn,’ he admitted, which only served to twist the knife deeper into her unhealed heart. ‘To take on all the activities available would be asking for trouble. One needs to build up stamina over a period of time.’

‘I see,’ Megan replied, too quickly, though she did agree. She could see that what he was saying made sense but she knew Luke’s stubborn determination—a characteristic from his father, she mused. She was not prepared to ruin her chances of strengthening their relationship by refusing to allow him to do exactly what he wanted. It still hurt more deeply than she wanted to admit that she felt Luke was outgrowing her. Besides, she reassured herself, Luke was stronger than he appeared. Even the doctors had agreed with that, amazed at his quick recovery.

‘Do you?’ His voice was cold, cutting into her with icy precision. ‘I doubt that. You’re fit and healthy, busy running a health club, a sick child would hardly be an ideal advertisement.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ Megan shot back.

‘I think you’ve been either too busy to notice or deliberately blind to the fact…’ he began to explain, his voice cold and detached.

‘How dare you?’ stormed Megan, her surprise matched only by her anger at his unfair remarks.

‘I dare for this reason, Megan. I have a one hundred percent accident-free record here and I plan on keeping it that way,’ he snarled, gripping her wrist in a painful clasp. ‘I can’t afford parents who refuse to see their own offspring’s limitations, pushing them beyond their capabilities. It’s dangerous and unforgivable.’

A wave of righteous indignation swept through Megan’s body, heating her blood to boiling point. How dared he make assumptions about her and her relationship with Luke? He had no right, no right at all, she fumed inwardly, and yet knowing he did have some right only annoyed her even more.

‘If you’re suggesting that I’m pushing him you couldn’t be more wrong. Luke wants to take part—he’s very keen.’

‘Is he? He looks worn out to me. An activity holiday is the last thing he needs. Rest and relaxation would do him more good. For God’s sake, Megan, can’t you see it?’ he protested, fixing his eyes on her like a pair a darts.

‘Luke’s OK. He has a slim build but he’s strong,’ Megan countered, resenting his interference.

‘You’re blinkered, Megan. You refuse to see your son as he is,’ he growled at her, furious at her obstinacy.

‘I don’t think you know Luke well enough to make any comment,’ Megan told him in a glacier tone, the look on her face matching her icy voice.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Megan,’ he said dismissively, ignoring the expression on her face. ‘Your ambition is blinding you. I’m sorry, but he’s not going to live up to some bizarre ideal you have of him—he just hasn’t your physical strength,’ he told her firmly.

‘Well, we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?’ she retorted briskly, confident that Luke would show just how capable he was.

‘There’s no way I’m allowing him to over-stretch himself for your benefit. It could be extremely dangerous,’ he told her, his tone brooking no argument and his jaw set firmly.

‘Well, we wouldn’t want anything upsetting your precious record, would we?’ she goaded him, pain and frustration twisting her stomach. She paid no heed to the darkening of his eyes or the glitter of anger that flickered there. Like a wounded animal she just wanted to hit out, to hurt him as he was hurting her.

‘You know damn well it’s not a case of that…’ he ground out, but his words faded as a shadow fell across the table. His anger evaporated immediately, to be replaced by a brilliant smile.

‘Thanks, Luke,’ he said, taking the glass and placing it in front of Megan, who was carefully avoiding his eyes. ‘I think I’d best mix with some other guests,’ Darrow went on, pushing himself away from the table and pausing for a moment, till Megan was forced to look up and confront his grim expression.

A frown marred Megan’s usual smooth brow. She was annoyed at how smoothly he had managed to change his fa

de and direct his anger only at her.

‘I’ll see you later.’ He smiled at both of them, but Megan could see another message clearly in his eyes, that warned her that he was determined to finish their talk.

‘We’ll be leaving shortly. We are both tired with the travelling,’ Megan offered as an explanation, determined to go back to the safety of her cosy lodge.

His grin widened, showing a flash of white predatory teeth that made Megan inwardly wince.

‘We have a dinner-date, don’t we?’

‘Come on, Mum,’ agreed Luke. ‘It’s our first night. Besides, me and this lad from Manchester are in contest on one of the games and I can’t let him think I’ve run away from the challenge. Can I?’ His eyes danced with devilment and he struggled to control the teasing smile that tugged at his lips. He was obviously aware of the tension between his mother and Darrow and was delighting in it.

‘Later, then. You did agree to dinner, didn’t you?’ Darrow smiled. The threat of confrontation was only noticeable to Megan, and she forced herself to nod in agreement while mentally she had already decided she would leave at once.

She watched him move with ease, carefully gliding from group to group with a naturalness that she envied. She had never recovered from her mother’s criticism—even now it took all her will-power to combat her inner feelings of insecurity and present a confident fa

de. She was determined that her son would never feel the sense of worthlessness she had had to suffer. He was about to face up to adolescence—never an easy time—and to find out now that Darrow was his real father would have terrible repercussions.

The die was cast. The secret she had kept so long must remain deep within her heart. She had to protect her only son from anything that might make him feel rejected or unloved. Megan knew just how painful that could be.

Her mind drifted back to her unhappy childhood and the most memorable of the many arguments she had had with her mother.

‘He doesn’t care for you,’ her mother had informed her briskly as she sorted through a stack of papers, not even bothering to look at her distressed daughter. ‘He just feels sorry for you. It’s a pity, that’s all,’ she had continued, casting a brief look of disgust at her daughter’s pale, sad face.

‘He does care,’ Megan had replied, her voice barely audible and lacking conviction.

‘Don’t be so pathetic,’ she had scoffed, tossing the papers to one side and standing up in front of her daughter, ready for battle.

‘I’m not—’

‘Of course you are. It’s no good looking at me like that; you know I’m right,’ her mother had said confidently, charging on, careless of her daughter’s feelings. ‘I don’t know why you’re so dependent on him. Stand on your own two feet. I had to. I fought all the way on my own and so should you.’

‘I’m not going to be on my own. Darrow will come back,’ Megan had protested, her conviction fading against her mother’s onslaught.

‘Grow up, Megan. Out of sight, out of mind.’ She had lifted Megan’s hair between her fingers in despair. ‘A little dowdy thing like you can hardly compete against those American beauties he’ll be meeting.’

‘He’ll be back,’ Megan had cried in utter frustration.

‘Well, don’t hold your breath. Your father never made an appearance, did he?’ she had tossed at her as she marched away, and Megan had known, as usual, that she was a disappointment to her mother, that she could never be as strong as her. And surprisingly that still hurt.

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