This Man's Magic

by Stephanie Wyatt

  'But you're designing for Luc,' Bianca objected. 'You can't just walk out on him. Oh, I don't understand any of this.' There was a pause and she sounded hurt as she said, 'I thought we were friends, Sorrel.'

  It was just another hurt to add to the load she was carrying around with her. Sorrel would have loved to have Bianca for a friend. Even more, she would have loved to have her as a sister.

  'I'm sorry,' she said over the aching lump in her throat, and because she couldn't bear to prolong this, 'Be happy, Bianca…' She managed to replace the receiver before her voice broke.

  After staring into space for some time, Sorrel searched around until she found the business card Seth Dewis had thrust upon her with his offer of work in America. Perhaps that was the answer, a new start in fresh surroundings, where there was nothing to remind her of Luc. Oh, she didn't expect to forget him; in the short time she had known and loved him he had somehow made himself part of the tissues of her body and the cells of her brain. But away from London, away from the apartment where his ghost haunted her, there might come a time when she could remember only the good things, the happiness they had shared, without the hurtful memory of his contempt at their bitter parting.

  A little over a week later, Sorrel had it all in hand. Despite both Tammy's and Charlie's worried protests, she had given notice to the landlord that she was vacating her apartment and workshop and her flight to America was booked for the following day. She had so far not actually contacted Seth Dewis, having cautiously decided she would spend some time in New York before finally committing herself to work there. But even if she found New York wasn't for her after all, a return to Wapping was out of the question.

  She had spoken to her father who had touchingly showed his regret at her decision, and had telephoned her mother, who had seemed indifferent. The things she wanted to keep—her books and LPs, the two pictures Charlie had painted, her collection of pottery and glass—had been crated and were now in storage until she decided where her new home would be. Tammy and the rest of her friends at the craft centre had been invited to help themselves to any of her other possessions and what remained would be left for the new tenant. Now all she had to see to was her packing.

  Dressed in her oldest jeans and an out of shape T-shirt that she intended to leave with the rubbish, she began to empty her dresser. One suitcase was full when her entry-phone buzzed. Wondering who it could be at four o'clock on a Sunday afternoon, she hurried down the spiral staircase to answer it.

  'Sorrel?' The disembodied voice was instantly recognisable and Sorrel's heart gave a sickening lurch before starting to hammer against her ribs. She was hearing things, she had to be!

  'Sorrel!' As if annoyed by her silence the voice was more urgent. 'It's Luc. Let me in, I have to talk to you.'

  Shaking, she leaned against the wall for support, the longing to see him just once more warring against her fear of being hurt again. What new accusation did he want to throw at her? And why now? If only he had left it one more day…

  'We—we have nothing further to say to each other, Luc,' she managed to get out croakily. 'Please go away.'

  'No,' the tinny voice came back uncompromisingly. 'Now be a sensible girl and let me in. I'll only stand here and lean on the buzzer if you don't.'

  Her finger hovered on the button that would release the lock, unbearably tempted. But it would solve nothing to see him again. She was beginning, painfully, to get herself together again. Seeing him would only put her back to square one.

  'I don't want to see you.' Her voice was high and strained as she fought with herself. 'I can't. Please… come back tomorrow.' She replaced the receiver, watching it with a dreadful fascination as her body sagged and slid down the wall until she came to rest in a hunched heap. It buzzed again, like an angry hornet. Once, twice, three times, and then was blessedly silent. And still she stayed huddled on the floor, her arms wound tightly round her bent legs, until the silence lengthened and she let her head droop slowly to rest on her knees.

  He had gone. Dully, she dragged herself to her feet and went back to the bedroom to continue with her packing. Refusing to let herself regret sending him away she swept the clothes hanging in her wardrobe on to the bed and began to fold them methodically into the second suitcase. Only when she came to the dress Hywel had made her for the dress show and the clothes she had bought in Luc's company for the pre-publicity did her hands falter. They were going to be reminders of things she would rather forget, yet somehow she couldn't bring herself to leave them behind.

  She decided she could put them away when she reached New York, until such time as she could bear to wear them again.

  A brisk rap on her front door had her jumping, but when it was followed by Tammy's familiar 'Cooee…' she relaxed, leaning over the gallery to call, 'The door's on the latch, Tam, come in.' She started down the spiral staircase as she heard the door open and close. 'I've nearly finished my packing. Would you ask Charlie if he'll carry the bags down to the cab for me tomorrow—' Her words were cut off with a strangled cry as she turned the last spiral and saw, not Tammy, but Luc standing in the entrance to her hallway.

  Her eyes devoured him; the long, muscular legs and narrow hips, the broad, powerful shoulders that the casual denims he was wearing only seemed to emphasise, the square chin with its hint of dark stubble, the strong planes of his face with those slashing lines from nose to mouth that were surely more deeply etched, the short, dark hair with its sprinkling of silver, its texture still remembered by her fingertips, and for those first few seconds her joy at seeing him flared like a blowtorch, and seemed momentarily to find a response in his dark eyes. But of course she had to be mistaken about that.

  She clutched the central newel post to steady herself as she said tartly, 'Resorting to trickery now, Luc? It must have been convincing, the tale you spun to Tammy, for her to let you in here.'

  'Yes, she left me in no doubt as to her opinion of me, and she took some talking round, but I was prepared to resort to anything short of murder to see you.' His eyes impaled her.

  'Well, now you're here, perhaps you'll tell me what was so important.'

  His gaze never shifted. 'Aren't you going to ask me to sit down?'

  Already his voice, the force of his personality, was weaving his special magic about her. Trying to resist it she said sharply. 'You won't be staying long enough, and as you can see, I'm busy.'

  At last he turned his head to gaze round her denuded sitting-room, and she was able to move as far as the one remaining sofa, carefully keeping the bulk of it between them. 'You're leaving here?' he asked sharply.

  'Tomorrow. I'm booked on a flight to New York.' Fascinated, she saw him close his eyes, watched the movement of his throat as he swallowed.

  'You're not going anywhere,' he said harshly, his eyes snapping open to stare at her belligerently.

  'It's all arranged. Seth Dewis tried to persuade me at the Showing to go over there to design for him, but I turned him down.' She spoke quickly and nervously, trying to counteract the pull of his command. 'Later, it didn't seem such a bad idea after all, and you didn't want to hold me to my contract.'

  'And that's why you told me to come back tomorrow, knowing you'd be gone?' He seemed to be labouring under some strong emotion, but whether it was anger or something else she couldn't be sure. She nodded nervously but he made no reply, bowing his head and seeming to contemplate the carpet, so it was a surprise when he suddenly raised it again and shot out, 'You said you didn't want to see me, yet your face when I walked in told a different story.'

  'I—' It was Sorrel's turn to hang her head, knowing that those first few shocked seconds had revealed too much of her feelings, and apprehensive of what he might read in her face now. 'I was afraid to see you,' she said in a low voice. 'And who could blame me after what happened the last time?'

  'So why didn't you tell me the truth, the last time?' he asked silkily, and her head came up as if he had jerked the strings, her eyes widening in shock.
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br />   'Who told you? Bianca?' The question was out before she had time to think, and the flare of triumph in Luc's eyes made her realise how betraying it was.

  'I haven't seen Bianca. I've spent most of the time since I walked out of here with my mother.' He began to advance towards her.

  Sorrel's grip on the back of the sofa tightened, but she stood her ground. 'How—how is she?'

  He shrugged. 'Still shocked. Until today she refused to talk about it, except to ask me if it was true. All I could get out of her was, "She said she was your sister—that model, Bianca Fratelli." Well, under the circumstances you must admit it was damning. But today she suddenly asked me, "That nice girl, the one who designed the jewellery, she won't tell anyone, will she? Because she heard, too." It was like a kick in the gut, the first intimation that I'd got it all wrong, so I made her sit down and tell me exactly what had happened.'

  He was close now, too close, but Sorrel had left it too late and was incapable of moving. He took her by the shoulders, turning her to face him. 'So why didn't you tell me I was wrong when I accused you, Sorrel?' he asked quietly.

  She licked lips that felt as if they were cracking under the tension. 'As I remember, you'd already made up your mind I was guilty. You were so furious I didn't get a chance to open my mouth.'

  'At first, perhaps. But as I remember it, I later asked—begged you to defend yourself, to give me some extenuating circumstances, but you still kept silent.'

  He wasn't holding her tightly but his nearness, the warmth of his hands through her thin T-shirt bemused her, making it impossible to think. She slid away from him, moving to the window. 'I—I told you it was an accident,' she said thinly, 'and it was. I didn't know your mother had followed me, and Hywel and Bianca were quarrelling.' She spun round to face him again, adding pleadingly, 'You mustn't blame Bianca, Luc. She might have chosen a better time and place, but you'd told me the truth, and… and she loves him. They're going to be married.'

  Luc let out a long breath. 'So you kept silent to protect Bianca. What I still don't understand is why you thought she needed your protection.'

  Sorrel looked at him helplessly, 'I knew you'd be angry with her, that it could have caused a rift between you, even though Bianca would have been horrified if she'd known she'd been overheard.'

  'It didn't matter that I was angry with you? That it caused the worst kind of rift between us?

  She closed her eyes, remembering again his vicious, slashing words. 'She's your sister,' she said dully. 'The relationship is important to both of you. I was merely your mistress, and expendable.'

  Astonishingly he looked angry. 'You don't really believe that garbage? My God, do you think that was all we shared?'

  She took refuge behind her familiar mask of mockery, though there was little amusement and somehow the pain showed through. 'Oh, I know it, Luc. You spelled it out for me and I remember every syllable. "What a fool I was to trust you," you said. "And for what? To gain a few weeks' access to your body"!'

  A surge of red stained the skin stretched tightly over his cheekbones. 'I was angry. Damn you, I was hurting, and I wanted to lash out and hurt you back. I said a lot of things I didn't mean.'

  Oh, he had hurt her all right, she thought, shuddering, and though he might regret his savagery now, he had meant every word.

  He moved silently, taking her hands, his touch gentle though he refused to release her when she tried to pull away. 'I think I went a little mad, but I'm sorry, so very sorry for causing you even a moment's pain. Will you forgive me?' As he spoke his fingers caressed the tender skin of her wrist where the pulse pounded and his dark eyes were oddly uncertain.

  Hadn't she lived through this fantasy night after night? Luc coming back to her remorseful, repentant, begging her forgiveness? Begging for her love—except he hadn't gone that far. Even so it was very sweet, and with her heart responding to his plea she couldn't deny him absolution. 'I never blamed you for jumping to the conclusions you did,' she said softly, 'so there's nothing to forgive.'

  He gave a long sigh, enfolding her in his arms, and it was more than Sorrel could do to withstand the inherent supplication as her own arms crept round his waist. He kissed her temple, his mouth moving on to explore every feature as if relearning them. 'You're more generous than I deserve,' he said against her lips, then his mouth captured them with a gentle tenderness that broke though the armour of her defences more surely than greedy passion could have done.

  It was what her heart and soul had craved for through the frantically filled days and the long, lonely nights, and she responded with a hunger that had him groaning and actually trembling against her. His kiss deepened and she clung to him as if he was her last hope of salvation.

  'Oh, I've missed this so, my darling. I've hated you, cursed you, longed for you all these weeks…' He might have been speaking her own thoughts as he held her in a convulsive grip.

  'I know… I know…' she responded achingly.

  He kissed her again, and this time there was an element of triumph in it. 'So now you can forget this nonsense about flying off to America tomorrow,' he said when he raised his head, and Sorrel tumbled down from her fluffy white cloud.

  The bareness of her sitting-room underlined her dilemma as she opened her eyes, 'I—it's too late to change things now. I don't have a home any more. The new tenants take over next week.'

  'That doesn't matter.' He swept her objection aside confidently. 'You can move in with me until—' He broke off, frowning, as she began to shake her head.

  Until he could find a little love nest to install her in? she wondered. 'No!' She wriggled out of his seducing arms, 'I—it's all arranged. I have to go.'

  'Why?' The anger and hurt in his harsh demand made her tremble. 'Why can't you stay with me? A moment ago—'

  'Because I couldn't go through these last few weeks again,' she said fiercely, the memory of what she had suffered too sharp to allow her to submit to the temptation he was dangling before her. He frowned and would have protested but she rushed on, 'I knew from the start there was no future for us, Luc. You made it quite clear that a serious commitment to any woman was to be avoided, and when you told me about your father I could understand why. You even told me bluntly you couldn't pretend to be in love with me.'

  There was a white ring of tension round his mouth. 'So why did you become my lover if you thought there was no future in it?' She shrank from the question but he answered it for her. 'Because you loved me!'

  Sorrel flinched, turning away from him. Well, of course, a man of his experience must have known. Lifting her chin she said distantly, 'I don't suppose for one moment I'm the first woman to fall in love with you, or the first to delude herself that an affair with you would be worth the pain when you moved on.' Her hands clenched at her sides as she gazed unseeingly out of the window. 'Only the pain was worse than anything I could have imagined. I'm over the worst now, and only a fool puts her hand into the same fire twice.'

  'Oh, you're a fool all right.' He spoke right behind her, his breath ruffling her hair as his arms slid round her. She stiffened but he brooked no resistance as he pulled her back against him. 'And I'm a fool too, for forgetting how… insecure you were—are.'

  'Luc… please…' she protested achingly as he began to turn her round, but he put a finger gently over her lips.

  'You've had your say, now let me have mine. The first record I can set straight is that I never, at any time, told you I couldn't pretend to be in love with you.'

  Sorrel opened her mouth to argue but the pressure of his fingers close it again. 'You maintained that I was surely not going to pretend I'd fallen in love with you on sight. I merely replied that I never pretend. Because the fact was I didn't have to. Oh, maybe it wasn't quite at first sight, but by the time that conversation took place, I knew I did indeed love you.'

  Sorrel suddenly became very still, as if even to breathe might shatter something very precious. 'You were right about the influence my father's behaviour had on
me, though,' he went on. 'I was chary of marriage. With his example before me I was determined to settle for nothing less than the one woman who was the other half of me.'

  Sorrel swallowed convulsively. He couldn't be saying what he seemed to be saying, could he? She didn't dare acknowledge that little spark of hope, in case she'd got it wrong.

  Seeing those doubts in her expressive face he shook her gently. 'You, you blind, infuriating, stupid woman. Just wanted you for your body, indeed! And to put that record straight it was your delectable body. You are the woman who is the other half of me. Surely my lovemaking told you so?'

  'I—' His hand still muffled her voice and she lifted it away, 'I know what it was like for me.' She blushed. 'But I couldn't imagine it was any different for you than what you'd experienced with countless women.'

  'Oh God!' He closed his eyes as if praying for patience. 'Haven't you understood yet that all those "countless" women I'm supposed to have bedded are a figment of the gossip writers' imaginations? All right, in thirty-six years I haven't lived the life of a monk, but since my salad days the women I've shared a physical relationship with could be counted on the fingers of one hand. They were good relationships and I suppose I hoped with each one that it would develop into something more, something I wouldn't want to let go. But it never did. Whereas with you, my darling, I knew very quickly, certainly as soon as we became lovers, that you were the one woman I wanted to be committed to for the rest of my life.'

  That little spark glimmered as her eyes searched his face, finding there only sincerity. But she was still afraid to believe. 'You—you never said… all the time we were together you never gave any indication that it was more than just another affair for you. And if you thought I… if you really loved me, why didn't you want me to meet your mother?'

  He shook his head at her. 'My dearest, darling girl, what do I have to do to convince you I love you quite desperately? In the first place I was under the misguided impression that my actions were speaking louder than words ever could, and I'd hardly have taken out a special licence for a precipitate wedding if I'd only been anticipating an affair, now would I?' Sorrel's breath caught in her throat and that glimmer of hope flared to burn bright and steady as he went on, 'As for not wanting you to meet my mother, I can't imagine what—' his eyes narrowed '—or who gave you that idea. I had every intention of introducing you as soon as I'd got rid of those Japanese buyers. I'd even got a table booked at Le Chateau for the three of us to have dinner, so she could get to know her prospective daughter-in-law.'