by Sara Craven
Greystones Park was a hive of activity. The gardener was fastening up the last loop of fairy lights in the trees along the drive as Lydie passed, and there were caterers’ and florists’ vans everywhere.
She put the car away and slipped through the side-door and up to her room.
As she opened the door, Debra Benedict wheeled round from the window. ‘Where have you been?’ Her voice was accusing. She was wearing a black silk kimono sprinkled with flowers and was puffing nervously at a cigarette. ‘Didn’t that girl give you my message? Dear God, Lydie, have you the least idea what’s happened?’
‘Yes.’ Lydie paused warily. ‘I know. Marius has turned up.’
‘You know? You mean he’s been in touch with you—you were aware of what was planned?’ Debra’s voice lifted in furious incredulity.
‘Of course not. He came into the gallery just before we closed,’ Lydie said flatly. ‘I thought I was seeing things.’
Debra’s laugh held a hint of hysteria. ‘Unfortunately, my dear, he’s all too bloody real.’
‘Does Austin know yet?’
Debra drew unevenly on her cigarette. ‘Know? It’s all his doing. He’s invited him here—to his birthday party—without a single word to me—to anyone.’ This time her laugh was angry. ‘Simply told me this afternoon there’d be an extra guest. Just as if my opinion, my feelings didn’t count. God knows how long he’s been hatching this,’ she added venomously.
‘But isn’t it for the best?’ Lydie ventured. ‘He’s Austin’s only relative after all.’
‘Don’t be a fool.’ Debra glared at her. ‘You think I’m going to go along with all this absurd “forgive and forget” routine? Start mouthing cliches about blood being thicker than water?’ She almost spat the words. ‘Let him walk back in here and—cheat Jon out of everything he’s worked for—slaving in that damned mill? Like hell I will. Austin must be going senile.’
‘That,’ Lydie told her levelly, ‘is a shameful remark.’
‘Don’t you dare preach at me.’ Debra lit another cigarette from the stub of the last one. ‘You don’t know what’s at stake here.’
‘Maybe I do at that.’ Lydie went over to the wardrobe and retrieved the black dress and the black court shoes with the spiky heels which went with it. ‘Jon may welcome Marius’s return. Have you considered that?’
‘No.’ Debra dismissed the possibility with contempt. ‘He knows exactly which side his bread is buttered. If Marius gets a foothold at Benco, Jon’s going to end up in some menial position or out of a job altogether.’
And Nell would be delighted, Lydie thought drily as she selected a fragile black teddy together with a suspender belt and stockings from her lingerie drawer and tossed them onto the bed. Although she’d probably prefer Jon to make the decision on his own behalf rather than be squeezed out, she mentally amended.
‘And what about me?’ Debra went on restively. ‘Next thing I know that beastly lawyer will be up here again, droning on about suitable provision and annuities. I’ll end my days in some ghastly private hotel on the south coast, watching the price of my shares with all the other widows, having to think twice about everything I spend. Just like the old days.’
Her mouth was trembling, her eyes almost blank.
Selfish she might be, mercenary she certainly was, but all the same Lydie felt a flicker of compassion for her. Mrs Benedict, chatelaine of Greystones Park, was the best part Debra had ever been offered, and she’d played it magnificently to a small but devoted audience.
But if anything happened to Austin the curtain would come down for her mother too. Unless Jon, not Marius, was confirmed as Austin’s heir...
She tried to make her tone light. ‘Don’t write Austin off so soon. He’s a tough old stick. He’ll probably outlive the lot of us.’
She paused. ‘And you don’t know yet—none of us do-exactly what this reconciliation means. It’s been five years, after all. Marius has another life now—maybe—other commitments.’ The words made her throat ache. A child, certainly, she thought. Maybe a wife too.
Aloud she went on, ‘He may not want to come back to Thornshaugh on a permanent basis.’
‘Don’t be a fool.’ Debra tossed her cigarette through the open window into the dusk-shaded shrubbery below. ‘Of course he does. Wouldn’t you?’
Lydie shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea what Marius thinks—or wants.’ Although I thought I knew once, God help me, she added silently.
Her mother’s mouth tightened to a slit. ‘Austin’s made him cancel his hotel reservation and move back here. Actually into his old room, if you please.’ She drove her clenched fist into the palm of her other hand. ‘I just cannot believe this is really happening. It’s like a nightmare. Austin was always so adamant—so totally determined. I thought we were rid of Marius for good.’
Lydie, winced inwardly. ‘He hasn’t given you a reason—any kind of explanation?’
‘His exact words were, “I’ve made a decision.”’ Debra’s laugh was metallic. ‘And Austin’s decisions, however arbitrary, are to be accepted without question.’
The only person who’d ever argued with him was Marius himself, Lydie thought.
She glanced at her watch. ‘I don’t think the situation will be helped by our being late for dinner,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m going to run my bath.’
‘My God, you’re cool,’ Debra said acidly. ‘Don’t you think it won’t affect you if Marius moves back and takes over. We’re all going to feel the draught, my lady.’
And with that she was gone.
Oh, it would affect her, Lydie thought drily a few minutes later as she tried to relax in the warm water, but certainly not in the way her mother thought.
Although there could be a problem over the gallery. Thornshaugh, with its steep, cobbled streets and well-preserved buildings left over from the Industrial Revolution, was attractive enough to form part of the itinerary of tourists drawn to Yorkshire’s West Riding by the Brontë Parsonage at Haworth or the Curry Trail at Bradford.
The gallery was situated on the first floor of a former Benco warehouse, sharing the premises with a popular boutique at ground level, a home bakery and various workshops occupied by woodcarvers, candlemakers and hand weavers.
They sold mainly paintings, prints and pottery by local artists and craftsmen, including Nell herself. And, although Lydie and Nell had refused to sell souvenirs, they’d made sure they stocked the kind of small, unusual but inexpensive items which tourists would want as mementoes or gifts, and these went like hot cakes.
When the bank had looked down its nose and talked about the recession, Lydie had turned instead to her stepfather for the initial loan to finance the enterprise. And, to Debra’s thinly veiled chagrin, he’d agreed to put up the money.
The gallery was managing to keep its head above water mainly because Lydie didn’t draw a full salary yet. Not that she needed to, because she lived at Greystones and Austin insisted on making her an allowance, firmly steamrollering over her objections.
Another of his decisions, Lydie thought ruefully. But she compromised by spending as frugally as possible, although the dress still abandoned in its carrier in the back of her car had been an exception to that self-imposed rule. And perhaps she’d be able to return it anyway.
Now she found herself wishing that she’d stuck to her guns, managed on whatever pittance she could have drawn from the company.
She dried herself and put on her underwear, drawing the stockings slowly over her smooth legs, remembering another time five years ago when she’d dressed for Austin’s birthday party with her heart performing strange, shaky somersaults inside.
She’d been allowed home from school specially, and had spent every penny she’d saved on a new dress that time too.
The one she’d wanted then had also been black—with spangles, she thought; sleek as a second skin. Black was the colour of sophistication; she’d wanted to show Marius that she wasn’t a child any longer but a woman, ready—
eager for love.
Her hand faltered slightly with the blusher she was applying.
But the boutique owner had tactfully steered her away from that and into a much simpler model in jade-green, almost the same colour as her eyes.
Now she paid minute attention to them with shadow and liner, accentuating their shape and lustre, according the same attention to detail to the colour she painted onto her mouth. Tonight the mask had to be perfect. Impenetrable.
Five years ago, her face had been highlighted by an inner brilliance, with little need for cosmetics. The tiny bodice with its shoestring straps had flattered the sweet flare of her breasts, and the short, full skirt had swirled enticingly. She’d held it out in both hands and turned slowly in front of the mirror, imagining herself dancing in Marius’s arms. Seeing the smile in his eyes when she told him she loved him. Hearing the tenderness in his voice when he told her he felt the same...
Lydie stood up abruptly, reaching for the black dress, and zipped herself into it, smoothing it over her hips. Black, she thought; the colour of mourning. For the death of faith and innocence. The ending of a girl’s dream.
She took a long look at herself. Her hair was drawn up into a sleek topknot, with only a few random tendrils softening the line around the nape of her neck and her ears. She had disguised the real shadows around her eyes and painted on a smile. Who could ask for anything more? she wondered with irony.
She opened the door and stepped into the passage just as Marius emerged from his own room a few yards away. Lydie kept a hand behind her, holding the handle of her bedroom door, feeling the hard metal bite into her flesh, letting one pain combat another as she absorbed the bitter familiarity of him in a dinner jacket and black tie. Formal evening clothes had always suited him, accentuating the width of his shoulders and the leanness of his hips.
That other night, long ago, she’d watched, breathless with a new, secret excitement, as he’d walked towards her, wanting only to run to him, to feel his arms closing around her.
Now her mouth was dry and she felt deadly cold as she recognised the distance that hurt and betrayal had imposed between them.
‘Good evening, Madonna Lily.’ His brows lifted as his glance examined her. ‘Or should I call you Black Orchid tonight?’
‘Neither.’
‘No?’ He affected a sigh. ‘Yet there was a time...’
‘A time long past.’ She managed to control the faint tremor in her voice.
‘How strange,’ he said slowly, ‘that you should think so, when to me it feels like yesterday.’
Lydie lifted her chin. She said rawly, ‘Marius—for God’s sake—what are you doing here? Why have you come back like this?’
His mouth curled in the smile she’d always hated. The smile that mocked without amusement. That did not reach the wariness in his eyes.
He said softly, ‘Because I received an invitation. An offer I couldn’t refuse.’
‘But what do you want?’ Her voice almost cracked in desperation.
‘Ah.’ Marius was silent for a moment. ‘That, I think, remains to be seen, Madonna Lily.’ His gaze met hers in a challenge like a blow. ‘Maybe I’ve come back for you’
Her head went back with shock, and she felt her mouth frame the word no. Then she turned and headed blindly for the stairs, the jeer of his laughter following her like a shadow.
CHAPTER THREE
LYDIE didn’t wait to see if Marius was following. She headed straight for the drawing room, hesitating momentarily at the door while she dragged together the rags of her composure.
Did he really think that he could walk back into this house—back into her life—as if the past five silent years meant nothing? As if he’d never been away?
She’d been young then, and vulnerable. But now she had her future planned, her emotions under control. And Marius had no part in her life. That was the only certainty in a reeling world.
The sooner I’m out of this house, she thought grimly, the better.
She pushed open the door and went into the room.
Jon was there alone, decanter in hand.
‘His, doll.’ His smile was forced. ‘Welcome to the family reunion, and you’re more than welcome, believe me.’ He squinted at the measure of whisky he’d just poured into his glass. ‘I wonder what other grisly surprises are in store for us?’
Lydie. said with constraint, ‘I thought you liked Marius.’
‘Like the rest of us, I suspect I never knew him.’ He sounded reflective as he poured her usual dry sherry. ‘Although that’s an omission we’ll all have ample opportunity to repair from now on.’ He handed her her glass then drank some whisky. ‘Our mama is fit to be tied, of course.’
Lydie nodded. ‘I’ve seen her.’ She paused. ‘I think she’s overreacting.’
‘Or just overacting.’ Jon reached for the decanter again. ‘But you can’t blame her for being shocked. For once she looked at her hand and failed to find Austin twined round her little finger. That makes him unpredictable, and therefore dangerous.’
Lydie twisted the stern of the crystal glass in her fingers. She said, ‘She’s always blamed Marius—the quarrel—for Austin’s heart attack.’
Jon laughed derisively. ‘That’s only part of it. She and Marius were at odds from the start, ever since she started treating her marriage like a pools win.’ He waved his glass around. ‘This house, for starters. She had it completely done over—got rid of all the family stuff that had been here for generations. Marius, apparently, found this clean sweep slightly insensitive.’
‘I didn’t realise that,’ Lydie said slowly. ‘I knew there’d been changes, of course.’
‘You were too young to see what was going on. Apparently the business was having problems at the time but Mama was oblivious. And she resented the fact that Marius couldn’t also be brought to heel with a flutter of her eyelashes. Plus he was tactless enough to let her see he thought she’d exceeded her sell-by date.’
Lydie bit her lip. ‘Yes, I understood that at least.’
‘So, when Austin finally cancelled the blank cheque and made her an allowance instead, she blamed Marius.’ Jon held his glass up to the light, admiring the rich amber of the whisky. ‘Although I’d guess it was pressure from the accountants and the bank. However besotted Austin was, he wasn’t going to let her bankrupt him.’
He shook his head. ‘But with Marius banished to outer darkness Mama must have thought the gravy train would eventually be running on the old track again. Hence her distress at his return.’
‘But you’re not happy about it either.’
‘Are you?’ He gave her a searching look. ‘I recall you had it pretty bad for him at one time.’
Lydie moved an evasive shoulder. ‘An adolescent crush.’ She didn’t look at him. ‘Maybe I’ve come back for you.’ The words seemed to hammer in her brain, threatening her. ‘Water under the bridge,’ she threw defiantly at the sudden shiver whispering down her spine.
‘I hope for your sake that’s true. I can’t imagine that his wilderness years will have softened his attitude towards our side of the family.’
‘What about you?’
Jon’s lips tightened. ‘I’ve put in five years’ hard graft at that bloody mill. I don’t want someone else to have my place in the sun while I’m relegated to the sidelines—or worse,’ he added grimly.
Lydie put down her untouched glass. ‘You don’t think this would be a good time to make a complete break?’
He shot her an angry look. ‘You’ve been letting Nell brainwash you, darling. I’m staying where I am and fighting my corner. And you should do the same. Because if anything happens to Austin Marius will have us out of here before the coffin lid’s screwed down.’
Lydie found herself wincing at his crudeness. She said, half to herself, ‘I wonder where he’s been—all this time?’
‘Not letting the grass grow under his feet, that’s for sure. You should see the car he’s driving these days.’ He paused.
‘As a matter of interest, you didn’t persuade Nell to change her mind and come tonight?’
His tone was elaborately casual, and Lydie softened in spite of herself. ‘No, but I did try.’
‘Never mind,’ he said, with a shrug. ‘I’ll have to rely on Chivas Regal for company instead.’
The door opened and Debra Benedict came in. She was wearing a silver dress and there were amethysts around her throat and in her ears. She checked, looking round her.
‘Where are they?’ she asked sharply.
‘Presumably in the study, having another round of peace talks.’ Jon waved the decanter at her. ‘Drinkies?’
‘No, thank you, and you’ve had quite enough as well.’ Debra gave him a warning frown. ‘Don’t play into that man’s hands by getting drunk tonight, for heaven’s sake.’ She paused. ‘I’ll get Mrs Arnthwaite to announce dinner now.’
‘Thus killing numerous birds with one stone.’ Jon put the decanter down. ‘OK, Mama, I surrender.’
But I don’t, Lydie thought, lifting her chin. I can’t. I’m going to fight—and go on fighting. Because, whatever happens, I can’t let him anywhere near me again. I dare not.
Austin Benedict looked relaxed as he took his seat at the head of the table. Marius, seating himself opposite Lydie, appeared merely inscrutable.
‘Well, this is pleasant,’ Austin remarked, unfolding his napkin. ‘The calm before the storm. How many people are coming to this shindig afterwards, Deb?’
Mrs Benedict cleared her throat. ‘Over two hundred—if they all turn up.’
‘Oh, they’ll come.’ He nodded. ‘Even the ones who never intended to. Word soon gets round this valley, and they’ll all be here to see for themselves.’ He transferred his attention to Lydie. ‘That’s a sombre colour for a party, lass. This is a celebration, not a wake, and don’t you forget it.’
The warning note was unmistakable. So was the bottle of Krug, cooling on ice on the sideboard. Lydie felt Marius’s ironic gaze seek hers across the table and faint colour rose in her face.