Illusion of Love

by Patricia Lake

  Illusion of Love

  Patricia Lake

  Luke Baroda had charisma, power and wealth—and he had told Stephanie, 'I want you, and I always get what I want.' But wouldn't he only throw her aside once he had got what he wanted? And anyway, he knew she was already engaged—to Dean Sangster. Why didn't he just go away and leave her alone?

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the Author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the Author, and all

  the incidents are pure invention. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written

  permission of the publisher. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  First published 1984 Australian copyright 1984 ' Philippine copyright 1984 This edition 1984

  © Patricia Lake 1984

  ISBN o 263 74565 1

  CHAPTER ONE

  STEPHANIE walked along the pale beach lost in thought. The letter that had arrived in the morning post lay folded carefully in the pocket of her jeans.

  Around her stretched the arc of sand, still cool beneath her bare feet, though it would be unbearably hot in a few hours' time. And at the edge of the beach the tall palm trees hissed quietly in the faint early morning breeze, shading the haphazard row of brightly-painted beach houses that always looked as though they were creeping towards the ocean.

  She walked slowly, her face serious, frowning, deep in thought, hardly conscious of the beauty of her surroundings.

  She walked along the beach every morning. It was the best time, cool and empty, the salty smell of the water and the clean air clearing her mind. Running into infinity at her side, the ocean usually had the power to calm her, the water a cool clear green as it licked up the sand, stretching darker to the azure horizon. Not today, it seemed.

  It was three months since her father's funeral. She could not think of him without painful sadness, and now this letter from her half-sister Carina posed problems and demanded decisions that she was in no mood to tackle.

  A jogger, tall and tanned, shot past her, shouting a friendly greeting. She watched his retreating back, wondering if she knew him. He looked vaguely familiar.

  She sighed and stared up to the cloudless sky. This tiny island was a tropical paradise and it promised another hot day. Contrarily, Stephanie longed for coolness—sometimes you could have too much of a good thing. I must pull myself together, she thought, and pushed the blonde silk of her hair back over her shoulders. Who could moan, living in a place such as this?

  She walked briskly back towards the beach house, her expression determined, and ten minutes later was sitting by the open windows, drinking coffee and rereading Carina's letter.

  'You're up early.' Connie's husky voice brought Stephanie out of her reverie and she turned to smile at the girl who shared the rented beach house with her.

  'I have to go to England,' she said, without preamble. 'I've had a letter from Carina.'

  'You're going today?' Connie poured herself some coffee and yawned.

  'No,' Stephanie laughed. 'Not today.'

  'No problem, then,' Connie said practically, and sat down, closing her eyes.

  Stephanie sighed again. Connie was right; there was no problem at all, no reason for her bleak mood.

  'Okay, what's the matter?' Connie was watching her now, the coffee having brought her back to life.

  'Oh, I don't know.' Stephanie got restlessly to her feet, moving across the room, unable to pin down her feelings. 'I feel miserable and unsettled. This letter . ..' She shrugged, breaking off. 'I don't know.'

  'Why do you have to go to England, anyway?' -

  'Some legal business, my father's estate, the will . . .' Stephanie said vaguely. 'The letter is over there—read it.'

  Connie reached for it, her eyes skimming the brief delicate writing. 'Why don't you want to go?' she asked curiously. 'Don't you get on with her?'

  'I haven't seen her for ten years, I was only eleven when we left England. I don't suppose we will get on though,' Stephanie said pessimistically. 'We always were miles apart.'

  Carina had been eighteen when Stephanie's mother and father had divorced. Stephanie and her mother had left England for this small, French-controlled Pacific island of Moahu, where her mother had distant relatives, almost immediately after the much-publicised, bitterly-contested divorce came through. Carina, the child of a previous marriage, had stayed behind with her father. Even at eighteen, she had been cold and very beautiful, the age difference and a certain amount of jealousy between the two girls always keeping them distant.

  It had been a strange, distressing -time that Stephanie could still remember vividly, and during the past ten years she had heard nothing from Carina or her father.

  Against her mother's wishes, she had written regularly to her father, but had received no reply to any of her letters, only impersonal cards and presents at Christmas and birthdays.

  Her mother had died when Stephanie was sixteen. She had known that her mother's solicitors had informed her father, and she had hoped that he would want to see her. No invitation was forthcoming, however, her only reply being a solicitor's letter informing her of a legal settlement made by her father.

  And that had convinced her once and for all that he did not care. He had expelled Stephanie and her mother from his life completely, as though they did not exist. He did not want his sixteen-year-old daughter, only his sense of responsibility forced him to ensure that she was financially comfortable. For Stephanie it had been a savage blow, one that had left her deeply hurt and, although she had fought against it, faintly bitter.

  Luckily she had been taken in by her mother's relatives; Dean had insisted on that.

  They were second cousins. He was eight years older than her and they had grown up together. Now they were engaged and he was waiting for her to name the wedding day. He was the one man who cared for her, who had looked after her since she was a child. The years had bound them together. Dean had always comforted her and Stephanie had always loved him.

  She smiled now as she thought of him, gazing down at the huge, brilliant sapphire ring on her wedding finger. 'It matches your beautiful eyes,' he had told her with a smile.

  'Ten years is a long time, I guess,' Connie said thoughtfully, staring at her friend.

  'I'll have to go, though,' Stephanie said with another sigh. 'Let's hope it won't take too long to sort out.' She looked at the clock on the table. 'You're going to be late, you know.'

  Connie jumped to her feet, her wild red hair glinting in the sunlight. 'Oh God, I can't afford to be late again!' she wailed, and disappeared into the bedroom in panic.

  Connie worked in one of the new hotel blocks on Moahu, which was fast becoming a chic international resort. She and Stephanie had been friends since their schooldays at the island convent school. Connie was American, her family brought to the island by her father's engineering work. She was tall and slim with a red-haired beauty and a hard edge to her personality that gave her a calm, philosophical view of the world.

  Stephanie, on the other hand, was vulnerable, very sensitive and frankly envious of Connie's carefree attitude to life.

  Connie left ten minutes later, whirling from the be
ach house, the door slamming behind her. Smiling, Stephanie poured herself more coffee and stared out over the hazy ocean, glad that she did not have to work today.

  She worked part-time, as a secretary to a novelist, Bertha Channing, who was at present travelling through India and not expected back for some months. The job suited her perfectly, as her employer's frequent travelling gave Stephanie the time to paint, her first love.

  She painted landscapes for money. They sold well to the richer tourists. And for herself, she painted portraits, of friends, pictures of her favourite places on the island. She knew without conceit that she was good—very talented, but today, she was in no mood for painting, for anything.

  She still felt apprehensive about visiting England, although she did not know why. Her father's rejection still hurt her, and she was still afraid to examine that pain too closely. Perhaps that was the cause of her unrest.

  And there was Carina—how would she greet Stephanie after all these years? The letter was hardly affectionate, hardly welcoming. Stephanie understood now that Carina had been jealous of her, of her mother. The older girl had been afraid that her special position in her father's affections would be usurped by his new wife and their daughter. Looking back with the insight she now possessed, Stephanie could see that her father, not deliberately, of course, had been uncaring of Carina's fears.

  It was obvious that Carina had felt an outsider, which explained her coldness, her jealousy. But understanding the situation did not make it any easier to cope with, and Stephanie had no idea how her half- sister would receive her.

  She cleared away the coffee cups, tidied the beach house, then sunbathed without enthusiasm, her mind ticking over the whole time, until it was time to meet Dean for lunch. He owned a casino in the town, and she drove along the coast road in her white sports car, the breeze tangling her fine blonde hair, for once not noticing the beauty of her surroundings.

  She stopped at a red light, her eyes fixed blindly on the lush palm trees, the profusion of hibiscus flowers, still thinking. Perhaps Dean would go with her to England. She would ask him over lunch.

  As the plan formed in her mind, she was suddenly aware of somebody watching her. The awareness was so strong that the hair prickled on the back of her neck. She absently turned her head. There was a long black car beside hers, waiting for the lights to change. Her eyes met those of the man in the car and their glances locked with a strange ferocity.

  His eyes were green, warm, with a lazy, sensual charm that caught Stephanie's breath. She stared at him, blind to everything else. She couldn't look away. Her heart seemed to have stopped beating, she realised in panic, relieved when she felt it starting to pound heavily. She felt as though she was drowning in the warm depths of those green eyes, her mind suddenly blank, her own eyes wide and innocent. There was a shock reverberating through her body as she understood the invitation, the powerful magnetism of this stranger's charm. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. She had never looked at a man and experienced such awareness of herself, of him.

  A loud, impatient car horn behind her brought her to her senses. The lights were green. Stephanie broke the eye contact, hot colour flushing her cheeks as she released the handbrake and shot the car forward.

  What on earth was the matter with her? She was used to men staring at her, used to blatant invitations from insistent strangers. She knew without conceit that she was beautiful, her hair long, pale and shining, her face perfect and delicately-boned, her curved body tanned and attractive.

  This man had been different, though. She had known that despite her lack of experience. There had been a sureness in his eyes, a self-assurance, a promise.

  She tried to remember his face, but she had looked only into his eyes, a vague impression of lean dark features and a hard mouth, all that remained in her memory.

  An unimportant incident that had lasted only a few seconds—that's all it was, she told herself sternly. But the images remained as she drove along the sundrenched coast, images of those warm green eyes that had held hers so effortlessly. And she couldn't help wondering who he was, even though she longed to shake the incident from her mind. It was too disturbing to be so affected by a total stranger. She was engaged to Dean; she should not even be looking at any other man.

  Impatient with her own foolishness, she screeched the car to a halt outside the casino and walked quickly inside.

  Dean was in the offices, talking to Camil and another one of his men, smiling as he saw her. Stephanie smiled back, watching him as he dismissed the men and came towards her. He was tall and lithe and good-looking, his hair bleached by the sun, his smile lazy, carefree. She felt reassured by his familiarity, flinging her arms around his neck and kissing him.

  He responded urgently, pulling her against his body, his blue eyes heating as he looked down at her.

  'Pleased to see me, honey?' he asked teasingly.

  'Of course, I am,' she smiled, while those green eyes forced their image into her mind again, tormenting her, irritating her. 'And I'm ravenous!' She wondered at her own restless lie. 'Are you ready to take me to lunch?'

  'Sure, come on.' He slid his arm around her waist and they strolled out of the casino, across the narrow road to a favourite restaurant. They ordered fish, a local speciality, and rice. Stephanie found she could hardly touch the beautifully prepared food.

  Dean ordered wine and she drank more than usual, her small face becoming flushed as the meal wore on. Her own mood perplexed her. She watched Dean as though she had never seen him before. He meant everything to her. He was her brother, her father, her fiance. He had shaped her adolescent personality with his carefree charm, the drive that made him so successful. Yet as she watched him over the meal, she realised for the first time that she had always held part of herself back.

  They had not become lovers. Dean wanted her, he did not bother to disguise his desire for her, but he had never pushed her, and she would have had to have been pushed. She loved him, but there was no need burning inside her. She could wait until they were married.

  A frown pleated her smooth forehead. Was that how love was supposed to be? Shouldn't it be fierce and urgent? Again, those smiling green eyes insinuated themselves into her memory and she shook her head as though physically trying to dislodge the disturbing images. She loved Dean. She loved him.

  He was talking about the casino, she realised. She had not been listening, and she gave herself away.

  He smiled at her, indulgence in his eyes. 'You haven't been listening to a word I've said, have you?'

  Stephanie sipped her wine. 'Do you have a cigarette?' she countered sweetly.

  'Sure.' He lit one for her and placed it between her lips, the gesture intimate. 'What's the matter, honey? You've been in a daze all through lunch.'

  'I've had a letter from my half-sister. I have to go over to England to sort out some details of my father's estate with his solicitors,' she explained briefly.

  For just a second, she saw something in Dean's face, something strange, alien, then his eyes narrowed speculatively. 'You mean I may be engaged to an heiress?' There was laughter in his voice. He did not understand.

  'I don't want to go,' she told him earnestly.

  'Why not? Think of it as a holiday. Buy yourself some clothes in London—you'll need something for the wedding.' His eyes smiled, but beneath the smile she saw that urgency again, brought on by the thought of their wedding, an urgency she could not match within herself however hard she tried.

  'Will you come with me?' she asked quickly, seriously, hoping that he would see how important it was. He was flattered, his ego boosted by her need. She could see that as he reached across the table and took her hand in his.

  'I'm not sure I can spare the time right now, honey—you know how it is. When are you going?'

  'This week. I want to go as soon as possible, I don't want it hanging over me . ..'

  Dean already knew about her father and Carina. He must know how she felt, what it me
ant to her. Her dark blue eyes pleaded with him, but he wasn't even looking at her. He was thinking hard.

  'There's no way I can spare the time at the moment, Stephanie,' he finally said, regretfully. 'The word's out that Luke Baroda flew in yesterday. If he's thinking of buying in, I want to be here.'

  Stephanie wasn't listening. 'Dean——'

  'Look, are you expecting any trouble from Carina? Do you think she might contest the will?'

  'No, no, nothing like that.' Her voice was miserable. It seemed that his mind was made up; he couldn't spare the time. 'I just hoped you would come with me.'

  Dean lifted his shoulders. 'I'm sorry honey, it's a bad time, that's all. You go—enjoy yourself.'

  She nodded in silence. She supposed she was being unreasonable expecting him to drop everything at a moment's notice. He was, after all, a busy man and there was nothing in England that she could not handle herself.

  'No, I'm sorry.' She smiled suddenly. 'I know how rushed you are.'

  Dean relaxed, smiling back, his eyes intent on her beautiful face. 'You'll be back before you know it,' he said lightly, sounding dismissive to her over-sensitive ears.

  He kissed her passionately as they left the restaurant. 'Have dinner with me tonight. We can eat at the Casino,' he murmured against her cheek.

  Guilty at her own thoughts over lunch, Stephanie agreed immediately, 'Yes, I'd like that.'

  'I'll pick you up at eight.' He kissed her again and was gone.

  Stephanie stood by her car for a moment, wondering how to spend the rest of the afternoon. She knew the mood she was in meant that she would be unable to settle to anything, so she wandered around the shops, stopping mid-afternoon for a long, cool drink at a cafe on the beach, chatting to the owner's wife whom she knew well.

  It was a lazy, disorganised afternoon, and she walked for miles before driving home.

  Connie was at the beach house when she returned, her feet up, her eyes closed.

  'Finished for the day?' Stephanie asked sympathetically.