Love's Only Deception

‘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 would 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.

‘Certainly. Goodnight, Caroline.’

She returned the politeness, but she had the feeling that the night was going to be far from good. There had been too much talk of Jeff today for the nightmares not to return.

She awoke in a state of panic in the early hours of the morning, a fine sheen of perspiration on her brow, her hands clenching and unclenching at her side. God, she thought, would she ever lose the guilt, the knowledge that Jeff had been picking her up from work, as her own car was in the garage being serviced, that he wouldn’t have been driving down that particular road at that particular time if it hadn’t been for her.

She had waited outside her office building for over half an hour, deciding that Jeff must have become immersed in his work and forgotten about her. He often did that, and it was no hardship to her to get the bus. It was only when she arrived home and found a policeman waiting for her that she realised she wouldn’t be able to tease Jeff about his bad memory, that she would never be able to tease him again …

She went down to breakfast the next morning pale and heavy-eyed, and the lemon trousers and blouse she wore made her appear paler than ever.

Only Donald was in the breakfast-room when she went in to have her coffee; the thought of food was unpalatable to her. He stood up to pull her chair out for her, once again wearing well-cut trousers and a contrasting Norfolk jacket. ‘Mother always has breakfast in her bedroom,’ he excused her absence. ‘And Father is out riding.’

Callie’s eyebrows rose. ‘You have horses?’ She could at least talk to Donald, feeling only relief at his parents’ absence, knowing that they still hadn’t discussed the real reason she was here, that before she left this afternoon the question of her business involvement with this family would have to be talked about in more detail. And she was dreading it, knowing their resentment was justified.

‘We have stables out at the back of the house,’ Donald answered her. ‘You wouldn’t have been able to see them yesterday when you arrived. Do you ride?’

‘Only in cars,’ she answered teasingly.

Donald obviously lacked a sense of humour, and took her seriously. ‘Then I’ll take you out for a drive this morning.’

‘Oh no, really—–’

‘I insist. Mother won’t leave her room until almost lunch-time anyway, and I have no idea when Father will be back.’

He seemed to genuinely want to take her, and so with some reluctance she agreed, going upstairs to collect her jacket before going outside to meet him. He had driven the Jaguar up in front of the house and came round to open the door for her.

Berkshire really was a beautiful county. A lot of it still owned by the Crown, and what wasn’t was mainly owned by people almost as rich. Some of the houses they passed were magnificent, although the Spencers’ was still the most beautiful she had seen.

They stopped for a drink in a pub, greeted by several of Donald’s friends, all of them as upper-crust as Donald himself. No doubt ‘Mother’ wouldn’t approve of anyone who wasn’t, in fact Callie felt sure she wouldn’t.

That was why it came as something of a surprise to her when Donald asked if he could take her out one night. ‘I work for Spencer head office in town,’ he explained. ‘So it would be a simple matter to call for you one evening.’

‘Yes, but then you would have the long drive back—–’

‘The family has an apartment in town, I often use it.’

Now what did she say? Donald Spencer appeared to be pleasant enough, a little insipid for her tastes, but otherwise nice. But he didn’t appeal to her, blond men never had for some reason, and after living with Jeff the last four years, loving every moment of it, it was going to take a special man to interest her. Donald wasn’t that man.

‘I’m really not sure—–’

‘Just dinner, Caroline,’ he encouraged, his hand covering hers.

What harm could dinner do? ‘All right, Donald,’ she agreed reluctantly. ‘I’ll leave you my number and you can call me.’

‘And you’ll come out with me?’

‘Yes.’ She looked at her wrist-watch. ‘Now I think we should be getting back, I wouldn’t want to upset your mother by being late for lunch.’

Callie was able to eat her lunch, the traditional roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, safe in the knowledge that in an hour or two she would be able to leave. The sooner the better as far as she was concerned. Sir Charles and Lady Spencer had been overly polite during lunch, and she knew that the talk they had brought her here for couldn’t be far off.

‘Perhaps Caroline would like to see the roses in the daylight, Donald,’ his mother suggested once they had retired to the drawing-room.

‘Would you?’ he asked eagerly.

Anything to get away from his parents. ‘I’ll love it,’ Callie nodded.

It really was a spectacular garden; many of the roses were still in bloom, their aroma heady, their colours a delight to the eye, as was their perfect shape.

Donald laughed when Callie asked if his mother tended the roses herself. ‘As far as gardens go my mother is a looker, not a doer. She prefers organising garden-parties, things like that,’ he added as if to make up for the slight he had given his mother.

‘I’m sure—–’

‘Telephone, Mr Donald.’ The butler had quietly appeared at their side.

A look of irritation crossed Donald’s face and he turned to look down at Callie. ‘I’m sorry about this, but I shouldn’t be long,’ he apologised.

‘I’ll be fine out here,’ she assured him.

In fact it was a relief to be on her own. She found the Spencer family, this whole situation, completely overwhelming. Maybe if she had been given the time to think about it she might even have found a way not to come here.

After about ten minutes, when Donald still hadn’t returned, she decided to go back into the house, the beauty of the garden being exhausted. As she approached the open french doors into the lounge she could hear the sound of Donald’s voice, and hesitated as she realised he was still on the telephone. Then she wasn’t hesitating at all, but was listening avidly; the burden of the conversation seeming to be about her!

‘Because of Caroline, darling,’ Donald was explaining. ‘You know I don’t prefer her to you. No, I don’t want to marry her, I want to marry you, but—No, don’t hang up,’ he begged in a panicked voice. ‘Darling, please, try to be reasonable. It just means we’ll have to wait a while. Until after the divorce. Well, I know it could take years, but—–’

Callie was no longer listening, but slumped down on to the garden seat. The reason Donald had been so nice to her this weekend was suddenly clear to her. They were actually intending to marry her off to him. And divorce them too!

Heavens, they must really want those shares badly. Any guilt she might have felt about Jeff leaving her the shares was now erased. People like the Spencers didn’t deserve to have anything that had been Jeff’s. She had come here willing to be polite to them because they were Jeff’s family, might even have been prepared to arrange for Sir Charles to take the shares off her. But not now.

She knew Donald didn’t have the deviousness, the intelligence to come up with an idea like this, it had to have been his parents’ plan. Besides, he was in love with someone else.

He had finished on the telephone now, hanging up hastily as his mother spoke to him.

‘Who was that?’ she demanded sharply.

‘Just a friend,’ he dismissed shakily.

‘Are you sure, Donald?’

‘Of course I am, Mother,’ he said nervously.

‘And where is Caroline?’

‘I left her in the garden when I came in to answer the telephone.’

‘And how are things going with her?’

‘Well—I hope.’

‘You only hope?’ his mother echoed scathingly. ‘You aren’t pushy enough, Donald,’ she tutted. ‘If she doesn’t like you I don’t know what your father will say—or what he will do,’ she added threateningly. ‘We really can’t have someone like that at Spencer Plastics.’

‘But you’re intending to make her my wife!’ Donald groaned.

‘Only for a short time, dear,’ his mother dismissed.

‘But—–’

‘Now don’t be tiresome, dear. Your father will be very pleased with you if you do this for him. And it won’t be for ever. You have to admit she’s prettier than you had imagined.’

‘Well … yes. But—–’

‘Really, Donald, you agreed to this when we discussed it earlier in the week. Now go and get Caroline. She’s been left alone too long.’

By the time Donald found her Callie had regained her composure. She was back in the rose garden so that he shouldn’t realise she had overheard his telephone call and his conversation with his mother. But she was able to look at them with new eyes, to see the greed in all their faces. No wonder they hadn’t wanted to discuss the shares—they didn’t need to, they intended getting their hands on them when she married Donald. Whoever had thought of such an idea must have a warped mind.

And to imagine she would actually fall for Donald, that was an insult to her intelligence!

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