Illusion of Love

by Patricia Lake

  She must tell him today. She would go and find him now. It was stupid and cruelly pointless to delay any longer. For his sake, as well as her own, it had to be now.

  She got to her feet, pushing back her hair. She had left Dean downstairs after lunch with the excuse that she was going to rest for an hour or two. She swallowed nervously as she left her room, walking quickly downstairs and pushing open the lounge door before her nerve broke.

  The room was empty except for Wayne, talking on the telephone. He looked up at her, smiling, and she lifted her hand, shaking her head to indicate that she did not want to interrupt, before silently withdrawing.

  She wandered through the other downstairs rooms, finding them all empty, and with a puzzled frown, she returned to the lounge, to find Wayne replacing the receiver as she walked in.

  'Hi,' he said brightly. 'I'm having a drink. Want one?' He strolled over to the cabinet where the drinks were kept, pouring himelf a large measure of gin.

  'Have you seen Dean?' Stephanie asked casually, staring past him out of the windows, where dark clouds raced low over the whistling trees.

  Wayne looked away, avoiding her eyes, she realised. 'He drove Carina up to town after lunch,' he revealed lightly. 'I don't think they're back yet.'

  'London?'

  Wayne nodded, and she digested the news with dismay. Somehow she had known that Dean was with Carina. Wayne was watching her now, and she consciously pulled herself together. 'Oh, I see. Well, in that case, I will have a drink. Sherry please.'

  She had to act normally. She felt too vulnerable to open any of her feelings to Wayne.

  'Sure.' He sounded glad to have something to do as he turned back to the cabinet. 'That was Luke on the phone,' he said, as he handed her a glass, and they both sat down.

  'Really?' Stephanie could feel her heart beating uncomfortably, a hot colour staining her cheeks.

  'He'll be back tomorrow for the solicitor's meeting. He asked about you,' Wayne told her with a searching glance.

  'About me?' she echoed inanely, lowering her eyes.

  'Yes, about you,' Wayne smiled slyly. 'You interest him a lot from what I can gather.'

  Stephanie's face burned. 'Don't be silly!'

  'Is it silly? I wonder. . . .'

  'Wayne please——' She knew he was only teasing her,

  but she felt utterly embarrassed, her stomach churning at the very thought of Luke asking about her.

  'I told him that you were fine, dashing around the countryside with your fiance, having the time of your life,' Wayne continued with satisfaction, ignoring her plea.

  Stephanie glared at him. 'You enjoy playing games with people, don't you?'

  He laughed. 'Of course I do,' he admitted with honest charm. 'Don't you?'

  'It's not something I indulge in,' she told him, disarmed by his smiling frankness.

  'You ought to, you're far too serious.' He slanted her a teasing sidelong glance.

  'I've got a lot on my mind——'

  'Luke?' He hazarded too perceptively.

  'No, not Luke,' Stephanie replied quickly, but her darkening eyes and nervous hands gave her away. 'Why on earth should I be thinking of Luke?'

  'You're no good at lying either,' he said unrepent- antly, his gaze narrowing over the glass he held to his lips. 'There's definitely something going on between you two—I haven't figured it out yet, but I will.'

  'You seem to forget that I'm engaged to Dean,' she reminded him stiffly, amazed at how meaningless the words sounded.

  'Are you telling me,' he mocked in reply, 'or reminding yourself?'

  She couldn't get annoyed with 'him, however much she wanted to.

  'You've got it all wrong,' she told him with an expensively calm smile.

  'Tell me how it is, then.'

  'It's not really any of your business, is it?' she retorted sweetly.

  'No,' Wayne conceded, unabashed. 'But it makes life around here a lot more interesting.' He got lazily to his feet. 'Another drink?'

  Stephanie hesitated. Dean was out with Carina and Luke was away. She had nothing better to do, her only alternatives the cold rainy weather, or her room. 'Yes, thank you.'

  'I really don't blame you, you know. I've seen the effect Luke has on women.' Wayne handed her a refilled glass and sat down again.

  'A womaniser?' Stephanie queried with grudging interest.

  He shrugged. 'He was pretty wild when he was younger, and of course, we all read the newspaper stories, but—no, I wouldn't call him a womaniser. He certainly doesn't abuse the power he seems to have over members of the fair sex.' There was a slight edge of envy, in Wayne's voice, and Stephanie smiled, curious to know more.

  'I suppose wealth and power are always attractive,' she said casually.

  'I guess so. Luke has worked long and hard for his empire, though. Nobody handed it to him on a plate,'

  'Tell me,' Stephanie prompted, unable to conceal her interest any longer. Wayne smiled, his eyes glinting with mischief.

  'Well, he travelled round the world after he finished university. He was away for years, nobody heard a word from him, and when he finally got back to England, we learned that he owned a hotel in the

  Caribbean—he'd actually won it in a poker game, would you believe it? He'd changed too, he was harder, more cynical—I guess that's what world travel does for you. And from then on, he started working, building up his empire, and that's about it.'

  He swallowed back his drink, and Stephanie digested the information with wonder. For some reason, it didn't surprise her that Luke had won his first hotel in a poker game. His recklessness frightened her, yet at the same time excited her. Dean's recklessness at the gaming tables only ever made her feel anxious and sick. Another comparison, something she found herself doing all the time now. Luke always won, and she hated herself for it.

  'I hear that Luke will be getting married soon,' she remarked, because saying the words brought the truth of them home.

  'That's news to me.' Wayne sat up eagerly. 'Who's the lucky girl?'

  Stephanie frowned at him. He was joking. 'Carina said.. ..' She began uncomfortably, remembering with sudden horror that it had been a confidence, a confidence that she shouldn't be breaking. But she didn't get the chance to finish the sentence.

  Wayne laughed incredulously. 'Luke and Carina? You're joking!'

  Stephanie shook her head. 'No, I thought you were. I got the impression from Carina that . . . that it was all arranged.' Her heart twisted as she spoke the words. She could picture Carina in Luke's arms, and it hurt like mad.

  'You must have got it wrong,' said Wayne, still genuinely amused, still shaking with laughter.

  Stephanie doubted it. Perhaps nobody had bothered to tell Wayne. She still believed Carina, even though he seemed so adamant.

  'Sounds like wishful thinking to me,' he said with a wide grin.

  Stephanie shrugged and said, 'Carina sounded very sure.'

  'Have you asked Luke?'

  Her face burned. 'Of course not,' she said hurriedly. 'It's nothing to do with me.'

  Wayne's silence and the knowing look he cast her was infuriating. Both heard the slam of the front door and Carina's bright laughter. Stephanie felt her body stiffening as the couple entered the room. Dean looked guilty, she saw with surprise, his eyes veering away from hers.

  'Where have you two been until this late hour?' Wayne asked lazily.

  'You know very well. I had some shopping to do,' Carina informed him sweetly, dumping a dozen bags bearing the names of exclusive London shops on one of the sofas. 'Dean very kindly drove me up to town. I hope you don't mind me borrowing your fiance for the afternoon, Stephanie.' Without saying so, she managed to give the impression of friendly intimacy between herself and Stephanie's fiance.

  'Very cosy,' Wayne remarked, watching her.

  Carina smiled like a satisfied cat. 'If you've got nothing better to do, darling, you can fix Dean and me a drink.' She sat down, elegantly kicking off her high- heeled shoes.
'I'm exhausted!'

  Stephanie watched Wayne following instructions and mixing drinks for Carina and Dean.

  'I had some business to attend to,' Dean told her, sitting down next to her.

  He was explaining himself, she realised with dismay. She smiled at him, not knowing what to say, wishing that he hadn't said anything at all.

  There was a curiously heavy atmosphere over

  dinner that evening. Stephanie watched Rose's sour face as the housekeeper served the food and wished she hadn't bothered to come down. Even Wayne seemed unusually subdued.

  Carina was brilliantly beautiful, of course, gently flirting with both men. Dean responded as though he could not help himself, his face flushed with dull red colour whenever his eyes briefly met Stephanie's. She watched him with amazement and a deep feeling of sadness. He looked guilty, like a man caught doing something he was ashamed of. She didn't understand him. He was a stranger to her, and as time passed, she too became subdued, squashed by the atmosphere around the table, greatly relieved when the meal was finished and they could retire to the open freedom of the lounge.

  She had to tell him, she thought, as she drank her coffee and watched Carina capturing his attention again. She had to tell him tonight. But the opportunity did not present itself until she was on her way to her bedroom. Dean walked beside her in silence. He had not really spoken to her all evening, she realised, without surprise.

  They stopped at her bedroom door. He wanted her " to go inside and shut the door. He wanted to be rid of her—she could read that in his closed face and she could tell that he was trying to hide it. She felt confused and miserable.

  'Dean, what's the matter?' she asked gently.

  He smiled, his eyes carefully secretive. She had seen that look before. She had seen it when he had been about to gamble for high stakes and he thought she didn't know about it. 'What could be the matter?' he parried lightly.

  'I want to talk to you,' she said quickly, before her courage failed her.

  'What is it?' He seemed impatient.

  Stephanie bit her lip, staring down the long landing. 'It would be better if we went inside,' she said, indicating her room.

  Dean glanced down at his watch. 'Look, honey, can't it wait until tomorrow? I'm bushed!'

  He didn't want to be bothered, she thought miserably. 'It is important,' she pressed, staring up at him.

  He frowned heavily. 'We'll have breakfast together— you can talk as much as you like then,' he promised, ignoring her plea.

  'Dean ' She felt desperate. Why wouldn't he

  talk to her now? She couldn't believe he was as tired as he claimed. His eyes were very bright, very alert, his body tense, impatient. He was lying. He was avoiding arry confrontation with her. Perhaps he knew what she was going to say to him. Perhaps he wanted to put it off for as long as possible. She suddenly felt guilty for doubting him, for thinking such awful things.

  'Dean ' She said his name again, a sort of plea

  for forgiveness. 'I. . . .'

  'Tomorrow,' he cut in firmly, then briefly kissed her mouth, before opening the door of her bedroom and gently pushing her inside.

  Defeated, Stephanie let herself remain silent as the door closed and she was left alone in the darkness.

  That was that, she thought dully, when she knew Dean had gone. He had not wanted to talk, so they had not talked. How many times had that happened? How many times had she accepted his decisions without question?

  She was crying, she realised suddenly, lifting her hand to her cheek, her fingers coming away wet with tears. If only she hadn't come to England! A little voice in her head reminded her that she would have found out that she and Dean were incompatible sooner or later, even if she had stayed at home. Better to find out before they were married. It was not much consolation, though.

  She paced the room, drying her eyes. It was all such a mess, and she felt so restless and so worried that she knew she would not sleep. She had to speak to Dean. She stood in front of the mirror and brushed her hair, staring at her own wide-eyed reflection. She would go to his room, she would force him to listen. She left her bedroom quietly, her stomach knotted with apprehension as she crept along the silent landing to his room.

  The light was on, she could see the faint crack of brightness beneath the door. Taking a deep breath, she knocked quietly, praying that he would not be annoyed. She would make him listen because they had to get everything sorted out—for both their sakes.

  She waited for a minute. There was no answer. She knocked again, wondering if he had already fallen asleep, shocked to find that she was actually trembling, with the fierceness of her concentration on what she was doing. He must be there, she thought, her hand closing on the doorknob, turning it slowly, unsure that she should enter the room without being invited. But the door was swinging open and she quickly stepped inside, where the sight that met her eyes, trapped the breath in her throat, making her gasp.

  On the large luxurious bed lay Dean and Carina, wrapped in each other's arms, making love.

  Stephanie stared, paralysed with shock for a moment, unable to move a muscle. She felt sure she was trapped in some terrible nightmare. Dean and Carina? She couldn't believe it. Carina was going to marry Luke and Dean. ... No wonder he had been so anxious to get rid of her this evening. No wonder he had not wanted to talk. And she had imagined that he had known what she wanted to talk about. She was such a fool!

  She must have made some noise, because she saw Dean freeze, and Carina opened her eyes, the cool pale depths becoming amused as they met Stephanie's.

  Dean slowly turned his head and saw her, and she could see dismay etched on every line of his flushed face. The eye contact between them seemed to bring Stephanie to her senses, and she turned on her heel and fled the room, running blindly along the thickly carpeted corridor, to her own bedroom.

  Dean's shocked face was still imprinted on her mind's eye, and the total unexpected shock of what she had just witnessed numbed her brain. She wanted to feel something real—she wanted to feel something that would crack open the blank shell that was holding her thoughts prisoner. She wanted to be able to scream or cry or show any sort of reaction, but instead she found herself no more sentient than a china doll. She felt nothing—nothing at all.

  Perhaps subconsciously, she had known the moment she saw Carina and Dean together, the day he arrived. There had been something between them even then, a look, an atmosphere, a communication.

  She walked slowly over to the door and locked it, turning the heavy gold key—the first time she had done so since arriving here. She didn't want to be disturbed. She needed some time to think—to try and think, anyway. Her thoughts were chaotic, whirling around in useless circles, her only vision that of Carina and Dean, their naked bodies twisting together on the silken bed, the smooth brown skin of Dean's back.

  Again there was no jealousy, no misery that he had cheated her with Carina. There was only shock and a numb acceptance and a vague curiosity as to why he had ever asked her to marry him.

  She walked over to the long windows and opened them, watching the thin lace curtains drifting up as the wind roared in. She lit a cigarette and for the hundredth time regretted the loss of her childlike innocence. The world was a hard place. Perhaps only people like Luke and Carina and Dean survived, while she.... She half-smiled, she still believed in true love and fidelity.

  Luke would have made love to her despite the fact that he knew she was engaged to Dean. No, that was unfair. It was he who had drawn back the day they had picnicked by the stream.

  She drew deeply on her cigarette. Why on earth was she thinking of Luke, anyway, at a time like this?

  She didn't hear the tapping on her door at fir^t. Then as it grew louder and more persistent, she realised that it wasn't the wind or anything else outside. She heard Dean's urgent voice, whispering her name. She shivered, not wanting to talk to him. She moved towards the door.

  'Go away,' she said quietly.

 
; 'Stephanie, let me in.' His voice was low and impatient. She couldn't imagine why he had left his bed. There was nothing he could say.

  'I don't want to let you in,' she said flatly, leaning back against the hard door, eyes closed. 'Go away.' She heard him swearing under his breath and his anger confused and frightened her.

  'Stephanie, open this damned door, I want to talk to you!' His voice softened then, becoming low and persuasive. 'Come on, honey, give me a chance to explain.'

  Stephanie almost smiled at that. 'There's nothing to explain,' she told him quietly. 'I'm tired. I'll see you tomorrow.' She knew she was being awkward, but she couldn't have opened the door to save her life.

  The situation was reversed, she thought sadly. Now Dean wanted to talk and she was refusing. It gave her no satisfaction, and she wasn't being deliberately unco-operative; she just felt raw and confused. If she let Dean in now, he would confuse her even more, brushing aside her questions, her uncertainties, pretending that everything was explainable.

  He was still trying to persuade her, but she was not listening. 'We'll talk tomorrow,' she repeated when there was silence.

  Dean swore again, but she knew that he was defeated, that he had given up and was going to his room. Carina would not have been pleased at his leaving her.

  When she was sure he had gone, Stephanie collapsed weakly on to the bed, suddenly very tired. She sat staring blindly into thin air for long moments, before mechanically washing and undressing and climbing into bed.

  Strangely, her last thought as she fell into the deep dreamless sleep of the exhausted was that she wished Luke was home.

  Dean was waiting for her when she went down to breakfast the following morning. It looked arranged, she thought wryly, as she went into the dining room. Perhaps he had asked Carina and Wayne to keep out of the way. For some reason, she felt embarrassed, unwilling to face him, the episode the night before standing between them like a brick wall, blocking out all real communication.

  He was sitting at the table reading a newspaper, his fair hair still wet from the shower. He looked up at Stephanie as she came in, his eyes careful and faintly guilty.