This Man's Magic

by Stephanie Wyatt

  It was enough to galvanise her into action. Drop-ping the bracelet into a drawer and locking it, she said, 'Have I got time to change?'

  Smothering his smile of satisfaction Luc said, 'No, you don't, and anyway…' His gaze travelled over her long, jean-clad legs to the soft swell of her breasts beneath the bias stripes of the hand-knitted mohair sweater. 'You look delicious enough already.'

  'Now for the apology,' Luc said when they were in the car and immediately embroiled in the slow-moving traffic. 'Looking at it from my point of view, you must admit your sudden appearance with that letter was very suspicious, when in all the years I've known Felix, I never had a hint of a previous marriage, let alone a daughter. But having said that, I could have checked your credentials, even while Felix was in Barbados, before laying into you and calling you names. I'm sorry for that, and I'm even more sorry for the distress I caused you yesterday. It must have been most unpleasant and hurtful, having your dirty linen washed in public, and then to be thrown out of your father's house.'

  It was a handsome apology, surprisingly perceptive, and it weakened Sorrel's defences. 'I walked out, if you remember; I wasn't thrown.' Her sherry-brown eyes were wry. 'And I think Marcia was more distressed by the dirty linen washed than I was.'

  He was shaking his head. 'I just had no idea of the situation. And when you didn't even recognise the house…'

  'Well, of course I didn't, because I'd never been there.' At his look of incredulity she explained, 'I'm not quite sure where we lived while my parents were married, but it wasn't far from Regent's Park Zoo. I was only six when they split up, you see.'

  'And naturally you stayed with your mother,' he added thoughtfully.

  'No, I went to live in Kent with my godmother, and didn't see either of my parents for the next three years.' she corrected him.

  They were waiting at traffic lights and he shot her a horrified glance. 'Not at all?

  She shook her head. 'I can't say I remember missing them. I'd never seen a great deal of them anyway, and then I had Ellie.' Her mouth curved in a reminiscent smile, remembering the pretty house near Canterbury with its sprawling wild garden and the fun it had been with Ellie, the laughter and affection, the time Ellie—her father's cousin and a maiden lady of independent means—had always had for her. 'They were certainly the happiest days of my life. But then Ellie became ill.' Her smiled faded. 'She went into hospital and I was sent to boarding school. I never saw her again, wasn't even told she'd died until after the funeral.'

  She was silent for a few moments, remembering her childish grief. 'After that, my school holidays were divided between Thorley and London, but by then Mother was a stranger, living in a big house I always found scary, with a husband I was shy with and a baby—Julia—of whom I was horribly jealous.'

  'And your father must have remarried and started his second family by then,' Luc commented.

  Yes, but I didn't realise it for a long time.' He looked puzzled and she explained, 'The part of my holidays I spent in London I always stayed with Fred Mullins and his family. Fred was—still is—my father's security man. I liked that, far better than staying at Thorley. He had two children, older than me, but they never minded me tagging along. In fact, on the days my father came to take me out, I would much rather have stayed playing with them. Ungrateful of me, I know. I quite liked the visits to the zoo, but it wasn't for several years that I could appreciate the art galleries and museums.' Her wryly cynical smile gleamed like shy sunshine. 'Father wasn't very inspired at thinking up entertainment for a little girl.'

  Luc eased the car forward a few yards at a time along Cannon Street, appalled at what he was hearing. If he had bothered to search for a motive for the actions of the girl he'd first taken for an audacious confidence trickster, he supposed he would have put it down to a materially deprived childhood. In fact her childhood and adolescence had been well cushioned materially, the deprivation being something far more important—the love and security that should be every child's by right. 'Didn't your father ever take his sons along on those outings?' he asked. 'Or were they still too young?'

  'I told you, I didn't know for a long time he'd even married again,' she said quietly. 'I've still never met his sons.'

  'You've never met Justin and Dominic!' he exclaimed incredulously. 'Why not, for heaven's sake? They are your brothers.'

  Sorrel shrugged. 'That's not a fact Marcia likes to be reminded of, and Father doesn't like to upset her. It's understandable, I suppose. His first marriage was a disaster, while this one, as far as I know, is happy. I can't blame him for not wanting to rock the boat.'

  They were sweeping round St Paul's Cathedral now and into Newgate Street, speeding up over the Viaduct but getting snarled up again as they approached Holborn Circus and the turning into Hatton Garden. 'Well, I can!' Luc said forcefully, shocked at this new perspective of his long-time friends. 'You're his daughter, for God's sake! I don't understand him at all, or Marcia's attitude towards you for that matter.'

  Sorrel found his championing of her both surprising and heart-warming. 'There are reasons, Luc' After a moment's hesitation she went on to sketch in the story her father had told her some weeks before. 'I suppose Marcia always saw it as a betrayal, something she doesn't like to be reminded of, hence her aversion to me.'

  Luc considered her reasoning, then rejected it. 'I don't buy that. Marcia's an adult, a mature, sophisticated woman. I see neither reason nor logic in bearing a grudge for so many years, certainly not against you, who've done nothing to hurt her.'

  What he was saying was true, but emotions were not susceptible to either reason or logic. And Sorrel was beginning to feel a stirring of alarm. It wouldn't help her already shaky relationship with her father if he felt she had turned Luc against him. 'Please, Luc,' she said hurriedly, as the car drew to a halt outside the Amoroso building. 'Don't make a big thing of it. After all, they're your friends, while I'm just… a chance acquaintance.'

  He made no reply but his mouth was set in a grim line as he helped her out before tossing his keys to the doorman. As they travelled up in the lift Sorrel regretted having told him so much. Indeed, she couldn't think how she had come to talk to him about it at all. She never had before, not even to Tammy and Charlie. Sneaking a sideways glance at his still grim expression that gave no clue to what he was thinking, it occurred to her he might see her confidences as a bid for his sympathy in the coming confrontation. The suspicion appalled her and stiffened her pride. She would show him she didn't need his sympathy. She was not the one on trial. By the time the lift doors opened she was walking tall, the light of battle in her eyes.

  So it was an anticlimax to find, when Luc ushered her into his outer office, only the blonde secretary waiting.

  'Where's Miss Killingley?' Luc barked, ignoring the fact that he was nearly half an hour late.

  'Oh, she was here, Mr Amory.' The flustered secretary rose to her feet. 'But when you were—'

  'Get her,' he rapped, opening the door into his private office and motioning Sorrel inside.

  The decor was as modern as the outer office, but surprisingly spartan for a man she had judged to be fond of his creature comforts, a huge desk dominating the room, a capacious chair suitable for a man of his size behind it and only two others, neither of which looking as if they encouraged lounging. No pictures or even photographs of Amoroso products on the walls, just charts and a huge wall planner which seemed to show where not only Luc himself but all other key members of his staff should be at any one time. An office for working in, with no distractions.

  The only apparent concession to comfort was a coffee-maker standing on a table against one wall, its pot full and keeping warm on a hotplate. Luc immediately made for it, pouring two cups and handing her one as he indicated one of the chairs drawn up in front of the desk. Sorrel was pleased to see how steady her hand was as she took it. Luc must have noticed too, for he said, 'You're not nervous.'

  'I have no reason to be,' she retorted with a comp
osure that didn't waver one iota as he subjected her to his darkly searching scrutiny.

  'Why do I get the feeling you know something I don't? he asked softly, but before she could think up a reply there was a tap at the door and Miss Killingley walked in.

  'I'm sorry I didn't wait, Luc,' she gushed. 'But not knowing how long you were going to be delayed…' Her voice died away and her eager-to-please expression faded as she saw and recognised Sorrel.

  'You very sensibly got on with some work,' Luc finished for her. 'It's I who should be apologising for being so late. You've met Miss Valentine, haven't you? Will you have some coffee before we sort out this unfortunate muddle?' He filled another cup. 'Do sit down, Eve.'

  The woman who had blanched on seeing Sorrel, recovered quickly at her boss's friendly welcome. Taking the cup of coffee, she perched on the edge of the other chair. 'Muddle, Luc?' She gave a strained laugh. 'You're being kind if you're referring to my criminal negligence in leaving those photocopies of the new range lying around.'

  Sorrel watched closely, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, while Luc gave his designer a wryly understanding smile and walked round to sit behind the desk. It wasn't that she was any less confident of being able to prove her ownership of the designs, it was that only now, seeing him showing Miss Killingley such support and partisanship, did she realise that for some time—probably since yesterday morning—she had unconsciously acquitted him of having a hand in stealing them. Now, suddenly she was not so sure, and the disappointment in him was wrenching.

  Elbows resting on the chair arms, his fingers steepled, he said judiciously, 'The purpose of this meeting is to decide just where the criminality lies. On the one hand we have a set of designs that you, Eve, claim is your work, and on the other hand an identical set of designs which Miss Valentine insists is hers, moreover, that they are the ones she brought here last month for my consideration and which I—foolishly as it turns out—declined to look at. Now Miss Valentine claims you did look at them, Eve, so perhaps you will describe them to me.'

  'I—well yes I did look at them—briefly. But it was some weeks ago and I don't know that I remember—' Eve Killingley floundered.

  Luc leaned forward. 'Bear with me, Eve. If I'm to get to the bottom of this little plot I need to know all the details.'

  Stumblingly Eve began to describe necklaces and bracelet, rings and ear-rings, like nothing Sorrel had ever put her name to. 'As I told you on the phone yesterday, Luc, there was nothing original about any of it, nothing that would stick in the memory.'

  'Odd then, that there was nothing remotely like what you describe in the work I saw at Sorrel's studio,' Luc said reflectively, and Sorrel's eyes narrowed, her heart giving a perceptible lift.

  'Well, I've admitted my memory isn't infallible.' Eve's tongue flicked out to moisten her lips, and then she rushed into the attack. 'All I do know for sure is that that set of photocopies hasn't been seen since Miss Valentine was last in my office. Or is she denying she was ever alone in there?' She flung that last challenge straight at Sorrel.

  'Miss Valentine?' Luc looked at her questioningly. 'Do you have anything to say in your defence?'

  'I don't deny I was alone in Miss Killingley's office for about five minutes while I waited for the return of my designs,' Sorrel said quietly. 'But I saw no photocopies. In fact, if any copying was done, it was by Miss Killingley over the three days my work was in her possession.'

  'You can't possibly believe that!' Eve appealed to Luc. 'The word of someone who tried to bring herself to your notice with a forged letter?'

  'And if it wasn't forged?' Luc asked gently.

  'Well, of course it was. I was there when you said so, and you've known Mr Valentine long enough to know he has no daughter.'

  'Long enough, but not well enough it seems. I was wrong, Eve.' His voice was still soft but there was an underlying hint of steel. 'Sorrel is Felix Valentine's daughter by an early marriage I didn't know about.'

  Eve Killingley opened and closed her mouth several times without finding her voice and perspiration beaded her upper lip.

  'I suggest, Eve, that you recognised the quality of Miss Valentine's work—a quality that has been lacking in your own work, as I've had cause to comment—'

  Luc went on inexorably. 'And that when I made that regrettable mistake in disbelieving Miss Valentine's credentials, you saw your opportunity to make copies of her designs and to pass them off as your own. I suggest that it was only yesterday when I telephoned you that you thought up those conveniently missing photocopies.'

  'No… no, it's not true… none of it. They are my designs,' Eve claimed wildly. 'Even if she is Felix Valentine's daughter it doesn't mean she's above stealing.' At the open contempt in his face she pleaded tearfully, 'Luc, I've given ten years of my life to this company. Are you going to take her word against mine?'

  Luc stood up, looking so forbidding even Sorrel quailed, though she was beginning to understand that his soft approach, rather than proving his complicity, had been to lull Eve Killingley into feeling safe before he went in for the kill. 'Eve.' He leaned over the now cowering woman. 'Sorrel can prove they are her original designs.'

  'Oh God!' Her face crumpled like tissue paper. 'I knew I shouldn't have done it. Only with you threatening to replace me… Well, you know how I'm placed, with Mother so ill. How could I tell her I'd lost my job? Oh God! I shall have to now, shan't I?' She began to sob noisily.

  Sorrel stared down at her clasped hands rather than witness her collapse, hating to feel she was responsible, however indirectly. She knew it was illogical when Eve Killingley had accused her, had possibly even been prepared to press a prosecution, but Sorrel could only feel sorry for her now.

  She heard a click and looked up sharply as she heard Luc say into the intercom, 'Alison, will you come in, please?' Surely he wasn't going to expose the poor woman in front of the secretary! But when the girl appeared he merely instructed her to take Miss Killingley to the ladies' room and mop her up, adding, 'I'll talk to her again later, when she's calmed down.'

  There was a heavy silence after the door had closed behind the two women, then Luc said, 'I'm sorry, that was… nasty.'

  'Was it true what she said? That you were threatening to replace her?' Sorrel asked.

  He sighed. 'Ten years ago Eve was full of ideas. I had no hesitation in putting her in charge of the department when her predecessor moved on. But the last couple of years… She still runs the department competently but the ideas had dried up. Yes, I did threaten to replace her, but only because I thought it might prove a spur.'

  'And is it true about her mother being sick?' she pressed.

  Frowning, he began to prowl the room. 'Her mother did suffer a stroke, about two years ago as it happens. But Eve has someone to care for her while she's at work.'

  'But all the time she's not working, she must be nursing her mother herself,' Sorrel suggested. 'All her leisure time. Enough of a drain to sap her creative energy, I'd think. And she can have little opportunity to do as I do, take time to study the past in museums, keep up with other designers' work and watch the trends.'

  He stopped his prowling to stand over her, staring as if she was some species he wasn't familiar with. 'You can feel sympathy for her? After what she tried to do to you?'

  Sorrel refused to be intimidated by his looming presence. 'I can see what a temptation a foolproof method of impressing you might have been,' she said quietly.

  He subsided to perch on the corner of his desk, still too close for Sorrel's comfort. 'Can you, now! You're very good at understanding the motives of others, even when they're trying to hurt you. Tell me, Sorrel, has anyone ever tried to understand you?'

  A betraying colour crept into her cheeks. 'I don't know what you mean,' she said evasively, then to give his thoughts another direction, 'Why did you tell Eve I could prove those designs were mine? I'd never made any such claim to you.'

  'No, you didn't, did you? I wonder why not?' He surveyed her thou
ghtfully when she didn't answer. 'OK, first you weren't in the least worried when I threatened you with the police. Then you were prepared to set a very expensive lawyer on to me, not to mention that you were ready and eager to confront Eve. You were so confident, there had to be something. Was I right?'

  'Oh, you were right.' A smile curved her mouth and her bright eyes mocked him.

  'Going to tell me?' he coaxed, his own eyes showing amusement.

  'That pendant, the one you recognised on Julia?' She tilted her head questioningly but he still looked blank. 'I gave it to her last Christmas. It was one of my first experiments when I got the idea for the range. The hallmark bears last year's date letter, so couldn't possibly have been made since I was supposed to have stolen the designs.'

  He threw back his head and gave such a bellow of laughter the light fittings rattled. 'My God! I deserve to have my pride ground in the dust for missing such an obvious point. And just when did you remember that crucial fact yourself, may I ask?'

  'Oh, about half-way through our slanging match on Saturday night.' Sorrel was having difficulty controlling her own twitching lips. 'Just before you threatened me with the police, to be precise.'

  'You little bitch!' But the epithet was spoken softly, almost as an endearment, occasioning a sudden surge in Sorrel's pulse rate. 'So why didn't you face me with that fact then? Put an end to the argument?'

  Sorrel sobered quickly, remembering how threatened she'd felt. 'And have you get to Julia first and destroy the evidence? You'd just kidnapped me, don't forget, forced your way into my home, claimed my designs as yours and were accusing me of stealing them, so it didn't seem to me you'd have any scruples about protecting yourself. Besides, I was furious. I wanted you to fall even deeper into the pit you'd dug for yourself before I buried you.'