A Grand Illusion

by Maura McGiveny

  His lip curled. 'Well, I guess I know where I stand with you, don't I?' His jaw hardened. 'No, Jennifer, I didn't intend to humiliate you. You do it easily enough all by yourself. Moira DuMont is a client and the reservation was for her and Bill Hallor, the vice-president of our company, in case you've forgotten him. That's the only explanation you'll get from me—and it's the last time I make one.'

  Her heart lurched with a pang of regret. Yesterday could have been beautiful if only she hadn't misjudged him so completely. How many other times had she done the same thing? The silence stood between them, thinning, lengthening, and then her voice faltered, 'I'm sorry—'

  'I'm sorry too, Jennifer, more than you'll ever know.' Royce sighed, running a hand through his hair, then straightened his shoulders and lifted his head with resigned acceptance. 'Now I suggest you get up and get dressed and go downstairs to see how our son is doing. I don't expect you at the office today. You'll have enough to do just trying to settle Robbie in here.' As she watched him walk away, she knew the gap between them had widened to a deep yawning chasm of misunderstanding. If only she hadn't jumped to conclusions. If only she hadn't been so ready to believe the worst of him. If only she hadn't been so blindly, stubbornly proud…

  CHAPTER NINE

  When Jenna left the bedroom, everything was hushed and still along the upper hallway. A mixture of awe and trepidation made her steps falter as she started down the curving staircase. How was she going to apologise to her new family without making more of a fool of herself? Her feet sank noiselessly into the oyster shell carpeting centred on each wide step of pale, gold-veined marble. She gulped nervously, brushing sweaty hands down the sides of her simple blue cotton dress, forcing herself to keep moving.

  There was a dull ache behind her eyes, but that was the least of her worries. With each step she took, she lost a little more of her self-containment. This house was in a world far removed from her. With her imagination working overtime, she pictured all the other women in the Drummond family who had descended this staircase in the past, and something inside her shrivelled. What was she doing here? She was out of her depth. She was plain and gauche and awkwardly inexperienced. Tension was written all over her as she hesitated nervously on the bottom stair.

  The front hall was round and vast, with a sparkling crystal chandelier dripping from the ceiling on a gossamer thin gold cable, the late morning sun striking its prisms to cast rainbow puddles on the shining marble floor.

  Several open doorways led in different directions and to her left, she glimpsed a huge room filled with golden sunshine and elegant chairs and sofas and tables arranged in comfortable groups around a commanding marble fireplace. A gold-toned Oriental rug was on the floor and slim, green-gold drapes with matching valances at the tall windows. On the far side of the room were French doors opening on to a stone terrace and beyond that to a rose garden in full bloom.

  The room was empty now, but she pictured the people who most probably had been in here last night: gorgeous women in costly gowns sipping sherry, handsome men in velvet dinner jackets drinking—what? She was so unrefined she didn't even know what men drank in the evenings. She was sure it wasn't the beer her father preferred when he was alive.

  'Hi, Jennifer,' a bubbly voice behind her broke into her thoughts, scattering them in a thousand different directions. 'I'm Susan. I don't expect you remember me from last night?'

  She turned stiffly, taking a deep breath in an effort to find an aloof composure. But the sight of Royce's sister shattered it at once and she felt herself gaping.

  Susan was tall and slender, with a short cap of curly black hair hugging her face, and her bright blue eyes were sparkling with mischief. She wore a disreputable pair of jeans and a blazing red T-shirt and her laugh was rich and full. 'I can't thank you enough for marrying Royce,' she said, coming straight to the point. 'I know you were forced into it, but we just couldn't let someone as down-to-earth as you are get away!'

  Jenna kept staring, incredulously. She had expected Royce's sister to be a younger version of her mother and just as sophisticated, but Susan's open, friendly manner completely threw her. She was a very young, unaffected seventeen-year-old whose welcome was warm and genuine.

  'We were so afraid he'd marry some fashion-plate who'd expect us to be formal all the time and drape herself in mink and diamonds and want to be waited on hand and foot and eat caviar and drink champagne all day. When Royce began telling us about this paragon of a secretary he had, who was just as ordinary as we are, I'm afraid we badgered him into proposing. Forgive us, will you?' She blinked brightly, not at all contrite. 'You won't have to lift a finger. We'll do everything we can to show our gratitude.' She dropped a sisterly arm on Jenna's shoulders, turning her towards the French doors. 'Mother's out here with Robbie. Oh, it's so good to have a baby around the house!'

  Jenna was at a loss. Her head was spinning with the generosity of her sister-in-law. Not one word of reproach had been uttered. She was chattering away, making Jenna feel at ease and at home. It was so different from what she had anticipated.

  'Ah, there you are, girls.' Mrs Drummond was sitting on a wrought iron patio chair with Robbie in her lap as they stepped on to the terrace. 'Robbie and I have been getting acquainted.' She smiled warmly, hugging him before handing him to Jenna.

  He gurgled contentedly in his grandmother's arms, and Jenna felt a sudden rush of moisture sting her eyes. 'Mrs Drummond, about last night…'

  'Now, now, you don't have to explain a thing.' She waved away the attempt at an apology. 'And don't go feeling embarrassed either, my dear. Royce explained it all. It's the most natural thing in the world to be sick if you're too nervous to eat anything all day long. We're just glad you're all right this morning. And do call me Olivia. We're family now.'

  'Tell her about Robbie spitting up all over Royce,' Susan laughed, wrinkling her nose at the baby and making him giggle.

  A smug, satisfied look crossed Mrs Drummond's face. 'That was the best thing that could have happened. Susan had just finished bathing Robbie and asked Royce to hold him while she went for his diapers.' Her smile widened to a grin. 'And just as he took him, Robbie lost his dinner all over Royce's shirt.'

  'Oh no!' Jenna could just imagine his reaction.

  'I wish you could have seen it,' Susan laughed, enjoying it again in the telling. 'For one shocked instant he just stood there. Then he started laughing so hard tears rolled down his face. He said you'd done the same thing to him barely fifteen minutes before and maybe it was some kind of omen!'

  Jenna wanted to die of embarrassment, but Mrs Drummond was laughing so hard, she had to smile.

  'That's not all,' Susan chuckled. 'He turned right around and insisted on bathing Robbie again—all by himself! And he even took his temperature to make sure there was nothing more wrong with him than just an upset stomach.'

  Jenna stood stock still, her eyes widening with wonder. She never would have believed it of Royce. All her preconceived ideas about her playboy employer—her playboy husband—were not proving true.

  Mrs Drummond must have seen her scepticism turn to bewilderment and she rubbed her hands together. 'Now he's had a taste of being a real father! I knew you'd be good for him, Jennifer.' She got to her feet briskly and started into the house. 'Come along, dear. We'll show you what we've done to accommodate Robbie and then see about getting you some breakfast. I imagine you're hungry by now. Royce has already gone to the office and told me he's given you the day off. I've made some plans for us this afternoon if you're feeling up to it.'

  Her matter-of-fact briskness was soothing and put Jenna at ease, and she was content to follow wherever she led, trying not to make a fool of herself by gaping too much at the magnificent rooms.

  'I don't doubt that you'll feel a bit overwhelmed at first,' she said gently, 'but I want you to remember one thing: this is a home first, a house second. There are things here, some costly, some merely beautiful and kept for sentimental reasons, but it's the peopl
e here who are most important. If you never lose sight of that fact, my dear, you'll be all right.'

  'You've been so kind to me, Mrs Drummond— all of you have—I don't deserve it.'

  'My dear, you must try to get over that feeling of selfconsciousness and inferiority. We're no different than any other of your friends. It just won't do any more. You've got to realise you're Mrs Royce Drummond now, and that's quite a feather in our caps, believe me. When I think of some of the women I've seen him with…' She shuddered delicately. 'Anyway, will you put yourself in my hands for the next few hours?'

  Jenna's voice was soft and shy. 'I can learn so much from you, Mrs—Olivia. I'd be foolish to refuse.'

  If she had realised what her mother-in-law had in mind, her pride would have forced her to refuse. Expecting to be introduced to the housekeeper, Mrs MacPherson, and the other daily help she had noticed on her swift tour or perhaps lectured on how to keep such a huge home running smoothly, she was shocked when, instead, Adam, Zachary, Ryan and Susan burst into the breakfast room and announced that since Jenna had finished eating, the chauffeur was ready any time she was.

  Mrs Drummond ignored Jenna's questioning frown and smiled at her children. 'You've made all the arrangements, then?'

  Susan nodded, mischief dancing in her eyes. 'Don't worry about Robbie this afternoon. He'll be in good hands.'

  'Are we going somewhere?' she asked quietly, surprised but at the same time wary.

  'Mother won't tell you,' Adam teased. 'It's a surprise.'

  'But—'

  'And don't let the idea of a chauffeur bother you,' Susan laughed. 'That was Ryan's touch. He has a friend whose father runs a limousine service and he talked him into putting on a uniform and running you downtown. I haven't got my driver's licence yet and we didn't want you to have to take the bus. Next month, though, I'll drive you anywhere!'

  Ryan blushed when Jenna thanked him. 'I'm still trying to be charming,' he said sheepishly.

  'You are, every one of you.' Her smile was warm as she followed her mother-in-law out to the car.

  But when they reached their destination, Jenna was chagrined. 'Mrs Drummond, I know you mean well, but—'

  'You've put yourself in my hands, remember?' She cut off her objections and forced her into the exclusive little beauty salon. 'We won't hear any, more about it. Trust me to know what I'm doing.' She turned to the owner of the salon who obviously had been waiting for them. 'Well, Antoine, here she is. What do you think?' She kept a heavy hand on Jenna's shoulder, silently commanding her to stand still.

  The tall man with a very pronounced French accent stood looking at Jenna critically, pursing his lips, lifting her hair. Then he smiled. 'We will make her beautiful!'

  Mrs Drummond nodded her assent. 'If anyone can bring out her good points, it's you, Antoine, Jennifer has grown up in the shadow of a glamorous sister, so she doesn't think there's anything there. I trust you'll convince her?'

  'Ah.' His voice was laced with gentle sympathy. 'Just leave everything to me.'

  'I have some shopping to do while you're with Antoine, my dear,' she turned briskly to Jenna. 'I'd listen to him if I were you. He's the best in the business.'

  For the next several hours Jenna was introduced to a world she had only heard about before. Antoine kept up a steady flow of encouragement, beginning with suggestions of hairstyles to suit her facial shape. Sometimes he did the work himself, with much hand-waving and busily snipping scissors, and sometimes he handed her over to one of his assistants. Asking her opinions, he weighed them objectively. He knew something of her lifestyle and offered his considerable wisdom, but always let the final decision be her own.

  Finally cut to a more manageable length, her hair was then lightly permed so soft waves would flatter her face and tumble about her shoulders. A conditioning rinse brought out dark red highlights she hadn't known were there. Her nails were manicured, her eyebrows plucked to a delicate arch, and she was taught how to use a contouring make-up base, eyeshadow, mascara, blusher and lipstick.

  But throughout the long afternoon, she didn't enjoy herself. She kept picturing her handsome husband and knew, no matter what she might try, she'd never be able to compete with the truly beautiful women in his life. This was all artifice. She was still the same person underneath.

  When they were finally done, Jenna caught sight of herself in a mirror and stared for long silent seconds. The woman staring back had eyes wide and brilliantly blue framed by thick dark lashes. Her skin was flawless, a translucent ivory oval surrounded by reddish-brown waves. Stepping closer to the mirror, she put out a tentative hand and touched the cool glass. 'It's really me!' she whispered, stunned, her heart expanding.

  Antoine blinked brightly. 'So many women have been conditioned to believe they are not beautiful. All it takes is knowing how to make the most of what you have and someone to believe in you.'

  She turned artlessly, looking him straight in the eye. 'Am I beautiful?'

  'You can see for yourself, Mrs Drummond. Mirrors don't lie.'

  Jenna looked back at herself and all at once her lips began to curve in a radiant smile. 'I am. Oh, I am!'

  He chuckled. 'This is but the beginning for you. Now you must find the confidence within yourself to continue. Beauty is more than a pretty face—it's a feeling. If you believe in yourself, value yourself, project a positive attitude, people will naturally be attracted to you. Come, we will find your mother-in-law.'

  Olivia Drummond's face was glowing when she saw her. 'I knew it!' she breathed reverently, staring for long seconds.

  Warming to the praise, Jenna impulsively reached up and kissed her lightly on the cheek. 'How can I ever thank you?'

  'Seeing Royce's reaction to such beautiful results will be thanks enough,' she beamed. 'He doesn't know how lucky he is.'

  'That will be the real test, won't it?' she said softly, tingling with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.

  But Royce's reaction was totally unexpected.

  Jenna was standing beside Robbie's cot in the small nursery off their bedroom when he came home from work. A faint sound interrupted the soft lullaby she crooned and, stiffening, she turned to see him coming towards her.

  He had removed his jacket and tie and was unbuttoning his shirt when he stopped dead. His grey eyes were piercing when they rested on her deeply waving red-brown hair before skimming over her eyes with their thick, soot-smudged lashes and her flawless skin and faintly trembling mouth. She was wearing a new dress, an aquamarine vision of floating chiffon that hugged her tiny waist and whispered about her knees in soft folds.

  Without a word, he came closer and looked straight into her face intently, for long disturbing seconds, before raking over her figure in the new and obviously expensive dress. Something flickered in his eyes, but he blinked it away at once. Then he threw his head back and laughed. Laughed, long and hard.

  Jenna tried to look away, but he held her with his grim grey gaze so at variance with his mirthless laughter.

  'Whose idea was it?' he asked roughly, his mouth becoming a bleak, thin, twisting line.

  A hot wave of anger and mortification ran into her burning face. She started to turn, but he roughly gripped her chin with his strong fingers, raising it and forcing her to look straight into his eyes.

  'What am I supposed to do? See what a gorgeous wife I've got at home and forget all the other women in the world?'

  Unbearable hurt squeezed her heart before she gathered up her pride and stiffened the small length of her body. 'No, Royce. I know that's too much to ask. I did this for me, not for you.'

  'I don't believe it. This had to be something my mother dreamed up to make me fall in love with you. She's such a romantic!' His tone was heavy with disgust. 'I thought you had more sense! She's wasting her time, and so are you.'

  He didn't stay home for dinner that evening, much to the dismay of his family, and when he did come back much later, he moved his things with absolute finality to another bedroom on the op
posite side of the house.

  Adam became more openly protective after that, and Jenna expected her life to be untenable, but she was pleasantly surprised to find she was wrong. Whatever explanation Royce had made to his family, they accepted it and didn't interfere any more. Royce kept his distance and was indifferently polite to her both at home and in the office, and she found she could live with that.

  The only really awkward moments were when she came upon him unexpectedly caring for Robbie. He seemed a different person then, young and gentle and almost carefree, and it disconcerted her.

  Once, in the middle of the night, she thought she heard Robbie whimper softly. Instantly awake, she ran, stumbling, into the nursery and stopped dead when she saw Royce standing there in jeans and a flannel shirt, holding Robbie safely in his arms. She'd never seen him in anything but three-piece suits and ties and sports coats before. He suddenly looked so—so ordinary yet so vulnerable dressed this way, and she couldn't take her eyes off him.

  'Just a bad dream, I think,' he said quietly, his face and voice gentle. 'I'm sorry he woke you. I tried to quiet him before he did.'

  Jenna hovered in the doorway in a long white cotton nightgown, her feet bare, her hair a sleep-tangled mass on her shoulders. 'I thought I heard something, but I wasn't sure,' she gulped, not knowing whether to stay or retreat. It was a little late now to think about putting a robe on and she willed herself not to cross her arms protectively in front of her. He was her husband, after all. He had seen her in far less before.

  Slow colour began to creep into her face as the seconds ticked by.

  Royce regarded her in the stretching silence, his grim grey eyes fixed on her. Something came and went in them before he turned back to the baby now asleep in his arms. 'It's times like these that make me feel he's really mine,' he said in an oddly thick, almost choking voice.

  It's the same for me, Jenna wanted to tell him. But she couldn't. Her lips shook and her throat closed up. She managed a strangled whisper: 'He's your son, Royce, as much as he's mine.'