The Deception Trap

by Ann Charlton

  And as if it wasn’t enough that she had Ashe lording it over her and Joel smugly planning her downfall, Teressa received another letter from Tony. The good news was that he had received a transfer offer to a Melbourne football club for next season. The team manager, Tony and another player would be flying to Melbourne soon to discuss the offer. Soon, he said.

  The bad news was that he might fly up to Sydney to see her.

  ‘Oh, Lord,’ she muttered. That was all she needed.

  But maybe Tony would be so sidetracked by matters in Melbourne that he wouldn't come. His letter was rather fuller of football than frustration this time.

  On Monday morning Ashe’s home help opened the tower door for her.

  ‘Val Briers,’ she introduced herself, and kept up a steady flow of chat that reminded Teressa of Thelma Richards. ‘I’ve been cleaning up after Ashe for three years. Now that he’s moved, I have a bit of a journey to get here, but it's worth it. There aren’t too many men like him around.’

  ‘No' Teressa said doubtfully. Before they got upstairs to the tower room study, Val had established herself as another of Ashe’s devotees. She and Thelma would get along just fine. Apparently Ashe had just found Val’s youngest son a job. She dwelt on it happily.

  ‘Len’s had no luck at all finding work and he was getting very morose. As soon as he gets his commercial licence he’ll drive for Graham.’ Graham was her husband, an independent long-distance hauler. ‘This job Ashe got him with Universal has given him a real boost in the meantime.’

  ‘Universal?’ said Teressa. Surely Thelma’s new, willing offsider was named Len? ‘I know Mrs Richards who runs it.’

  Val was instantly anxious to know if Mrs Richards was happy with Len.

  ‘Very,’ she assured her, seeing Ashe come to his study door from the corner of her eye. ‘She told me he was a nice boy and very willing.’

  Val went away cheerfully and, as Ashe closed the study door behind them, they heard the sound of the vacuum cleaner and the treble notes of her singing.

  Teressa looked at him in silence. He wore the canvas jeans again and a vee-necked shirt that displayed his chest hair and the medallion on the chain. For a man who was prepared to stoop to blackmail he certainly seemed to spread a lot of happiness around. Thelma, Len, Val—

  ‘Mrs Richards only has one reservation about Len,’ she said as she realised she was staring. ‘He wears a bracelet, and Thelma feels that real men don’t wear jewellery.’ Her eyes dropped to his gold neckchain.

  Ashe grinned. ‘Will you tell?’

  Teressa shook her head, turned to put her leather bag down near the typewriter. ‘No. As I said, I wouldn’t want to be the one who disillusions her.’ She looked around at his thoughtful face. ‘But I daresay, given time, she’ll find out for herself.’

  His smile was wry. ‘Will she?’

  ‘I think you can count on that.’

  And she thought he said, ‘I hope so.’

  Val brought up a tray of coffee at eleven. Off-key strains of ‘Love me Tender’ wafted back up the stairs as she went again.

  ‘How come you didn’t ask Val to work that weekend at Deception?’ asked Teressa. .

  ‘She couldn’t leave her husband. He was m hospital.’ Teressa poured the coffee and set a cup on Ashe’s desk. She sat down and gazed out at Lavender Bay and beyond as she drank. Gulls cried near the window. If anything they sounded slightly more tuneful than Val Briers, whose thin treble could still be heard.

  ‘She’s a Presley fan,’ Ashe remarked.

  ‘I noticed,’ Teressa smiled.

  Downstairs Val’s voice swelled into the finale of ‘Blue Hawaii’. She was shaking one of the rugs, if the powerful vibrato of those piercing last notes was anything to judge by. The seagulls fell Silent. Teressa looked at Ashe and they both laughed.

  ‘How about some more coffee?’ he asked, and as she refilled his cup, ‘Tell me—that accident with Reg Stretton. Was that for real or did you do it to sabotage my hospitality?’

  ‘He did pinch me.’

  ‘You offered to show me the mark,’ he reminded her, looking at her hips. ‘I wish I’d looked.’

  ‘Reg Stretton was a “toucher”. He’d been rather too friendly a couple of times before and when he pinched me 1 was furious. But 1 could have saved the cream.

  He seemed amused. ‘Hmmm. It was only justice, 1 suppose. He didn’t, 1 imagine, try anything again.’

  ‘No.’

  With a chuckle he lifted his coffee cup, ‘Let me have the typing you’ve done,’ he said. Teressa put the typed sheets on his desk.

  ‘Very professional,’ he nodded, running an eye over each page. ‘Do you know, I was sure you would make a deliberate mess of it to prove to me how wrong I was to bring you here.’

  ‘She looked over in dismay. ‘I was going to! Oh, darn it, I forgot!’

  So plaintive was she that Ashe roared with laughter, tilting his head back. Teressa smiled too. The humour of it and his enjoyment were irresistible.

  The afternoon raced. Teressa heard the hourly chimes of the grandfather clock but barely registered them.

  She was absorbed in the machinations of Ashe’s characters. Like his first book, this covered ground he knew well. The city, its money moves and power grabs-the conquerors and the conquered. Damien had had his turn at both roles, she thought sadly. At five o’clock Ashe stretched and called a halt.

  ‘I could do a couple more pages—’ she said.

  ‘No, that’s enough.’

  ‘It wouldn’t take long—’ she protested, and grinned sheepishly at his elaborate surprise at her diligence.

  ‘All right, 1 want to see what happens,’ she admitted. Ashe stared.

  ‘Are you kidding?’

  ‘No, really. I’m dying to know who is the financial backer and why Flynn is slyly getting his numbers before the next board meeting—’

  Ashe seemed gratified. ‘Of course,’ she added, ‘I didn’t understand all the words—’ But her reminder of Deception failed to annoy him this time.

  ‘I’ll explain the long words to you over dinner,’ he told her kindly. ‘You did bring a change of clothes?’

  It was the pink and silver dress that she’d brought.

  Somehow it seemed inevitable that she would one day wear this for Ashe-the way she had imagined it that crazy weekend. It was strapless and sleek, worn with high-heeled sandals and a simple circlet of silver at her neck. She pinned up her hair so that the silver streak dipped over one ear and was caught up again with a slide. When she went downstairs Ashe lowered a glass from his lips and surveyed her silently.

  ‘Very nice,’ he said. Teressa was irritated for some reason.

  ‘I considered greeting your guests in this at Deception,’ she told him.

  ‘What stopped you?’

  ‘Thelma Richards. I’d already involved her unwittingly, and 1 didn’t want to make any more trouble for her.’

  ‘Unwittingly? Surely you had your plans made when you drove down to Deception?’

  ‘The only plan 1 had was to call myself Teressa Hunter.’

  ‘Hunter?’ He raised his brows.

  ‘Yes, after your book. A private piece of irony. 1 forgot about the initials on my bag. When you pointed to them I went blank. “Richards” was a sort of desperation answer.’

  He laughed. ‘Then you got stuck with being Thelma’s daughter—no wonder you looked so startled when I talked about you being brought up with brothers !’

  Teressa remembered that. Remembered rushing downstairs after she’d seen him walking about naked.

  Her face pinked. Ashe laughed again. ‘It could have been worse,’ he said. ‘I might not have had a towel handy.’

  It might have been the wine or the ambience of the restaurant, but Teressa talked rather a lot that evening.

  About Ashe’s novel, mainly. Typing a manuscript, she’d found, was a whole lot more interesting than the temporary work she’d been doing.

  ‘So many q
uestions, Teressa—do they all have to do with my book?’ said Ashe.

  ‘What else should 1 ask you about?’

  His eyes flickered down. ‘That isn’t the question,’ he said cryptically.

  The band soothed with evergreens during the entree part of the evening-a little mild jazz with the main course, heavy on melody, light on rhythm-more drums with dessert—danceable Latin with liqueurs and coffee.

  ‘I remember Cecily saying that you used to play the drums once,’ Teressa said, watching the band.

  Ashe seemed surprised. ‘You recall that? I’d given it up long before 1 knew Cecily. When 1 was eighteen 1 fancied myself as another Ringo Starr. I was in a band… we were pretty awful.’ He shook his head in reminiscence and laughed. ‘They used to call me “Shirl”. '

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of my hair,’ he grinned, his eyes gleaming.

  ‘It goes very curly when it’s long. So— “Shirl” as in Shirley Temple.’

  ‘How long was it?’ she asked incredulously. ‘Shirl?’

  He patted one wide, impeccably tailored shoulder. ‘To here.’

  Teressa tossed back her head and laughed. ‘No, you’re kidding. Not the elegant Ashe Warwick!’

  ‘True.’ He picked up his liqueur glass. ‘Long hair and dark glasses. It was a phase that didn’t last too long. My father didn’t encourage it.’

  ‘So then you studied to go into the finance business?’

  He nodded. ‘Just as well. I never would have made a living out of drumming.’

  ‘Was it hard, taking over when your father died?’

  Ashe cradled his glass in his hand, tilted it to watch the contents slip and slide. ‘Probably the worst year of my life. I had to prove to a lot of people that I was taking over because I was qualified to do so—not just because I was a Warwick. A few were hard to convince.’

  Teressa was silent. Years ago she had wished he would fall flat on his face when he became managing director of Warlord. Faced with the idea of him struggling to prove himself, even from a position of power, it seemed an unworthy wish.

  ‘Elegant!’ Ashe grimaced. ‘You don’t really think of me as elegant, do you?’

  ‘Don’t you like the description?’

  ‘I can think of others I’d prefer.’

  ‘Such as?’.

  ‘Devilishly good-looking-sexy-unforgettable—’

  ‘You’re certainly —’ She stopped. ‘One of those.’

  ‘Which one?’

  'Oh, I forget.’

  Ashe laughed and stood up. ‘Dance with me.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  TERESSA’S head was a little dizzy. It was the wine, but Ashe too. The restaurant circled in slow motion about them. As they passed the dais —a spotlight glanced across his head, turning his hair silver-blond. A giggle escaped her, and another, and she rested her forehead on his shoulder to try to stem the laughter.

  ‘Shirl!’ she spluttered, and felt Ashe’s chuckle. She raised her head. ‘What was your band called?’

  ‘I.O.V. It was very appropriate: he said drily.

  ‘But your father had money.’

  ‘He didn’t believe in handing it out. Both my parents were sticklers for independence. My mother still is—she opened a dress shop in her old home town after Dad died. I had to stand on my own two feet—earn my present position.’

  ‘Which is?’

  Ashe was intent, bending his head to give her that searching look of his. ‘I’m worth a bit—a little inheritance, book royalties, some good investment and a lot of hard work.’

  ‘You could have been wealthy without any effort at all if my father hadn’t been ruined.’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t. Cecily and I broke our engagement, remember.’

  ‘But that was only because he lost his—’ Teressa began, and bit her lip. The delicious intimacy of the moment was gone with this intrusive subject. Teressa wished she could forget all about it—forget that Ashe had ever known Cecily—kissed her on a cane lounger in the sunroom … the band went dizzily past again.

  ‘Ashe—’ she began on a questioning note. He held her closer. His face was near hers, his breath warm on her lips.

  ‘Yes?’ he said, as if he already knew the question.

  ‘Were you and Cecily lovers?’

  He held her away from him. It wasn’t what he had expected, she could see that. There was surprise there but, after a moment, satisfaction too.

  ‘No,’ he said over her head. ‘We weren’t.’

  He drove her home. ‘You’re too tiddly to drive.’

  ‘I’m fine. My car—’

  ‘Is safe in my garage. I’ll send for a cab to pick you up tomorrow morning. On my account, of course.’

  ‘You have an account with a taxi company?’

  ‘It’s a necessity,’ he said gravely. ‘All my heiresses expect it. Being a fortune-hunter is a hectic business. I don’t always have time to drive them myself.’

  She giggled. ‘That sounds ridiculous.’

  ‘Does it, Teressa?’

  The night was January mild. A few clouds clumped in the sky but the moon rode high above them. Its silver light threw the shadows of the wrought iron railings in broken bars across the stair treads to Teressa’s flat. It shone on Ashe’s hair, making it a pure silver she wanted to touch. He took her bag, found her key and opened the door.

  ‘I’ll make you some coffee,’ he said, and groped on the wrong wall for the light switch.

  She skirted around him to reach the light. ‘That’s not necess—essary,’ she replied.

  He gave a snort of laughter that turned to a grunt as she tripped over his foot and hurtled forward. ‘Not necess—essary, eh?’ he said as he caught her.

  Teressa swayed close to him. ‘Ashe,’ she whispered, and put her mouth to his. Very still he stood while she twined her arms around his neck and teased his lips apart. It was exciting, exhilarating to hear his breathing quicken, feel his mouth respond.

  ‘Come—’ he said huskily, and took her to the divan where he sat down and tumbled her on to his lap.

  Then he leaned over and kissed her, slow and deep, while his hands glided over the pink and silver dress of Deception to caress the smooth skin of her thigh, the high curve of her breasts through the silky cloth.

  Teressa tugged his shirt from his waistband and unbuttoned it with shaking fingers. Ashe sat back and watched her.

  ‘Are you seducing me again, Teressa?’ he murmured. ‘If you can’t beat them ,join them—is that it?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she sighed, and wriggled closer, sliding her hands beneath his opened shirt. Inside her head there was music and when she closed her eyes there were coloured lights strung against a beautiful night sky. The world had spun the years around and at last she was old enough for what she had always wanted …

  ‘What are you after this time, Teressa, hmmm?’ He nibbled at her ear. ‘My money?’

  It was so ridiculous, she laughed.

  ‘Do you want another chance at the good life—the parties? The clothes and the jewellery—’

  ‘No,’ she whispered.‘l used to wish for that, but not any more.’ It was much simpler than that. His arms around her and a kiss that went on and on. That was her wish. Ashe pulled her close and his sigh gusted along her neck.

  ‘Make yourself that coffee. If I stay, I just might start believing you—’

  In the morning her head was aching. It hurt to open her eyes. She was grateful to be collected by the cab that Ashe had promised, but not so glad to see Ashe’s house again. Val Briers opened the door to her.

  ‘Ashe’s sister is here,’ she announced, cheerfully unaware that neither her volume nor her news was welcome to Teressa. Wendy appeared, running lightly down the stairs into the livingroom. She blinked a bit at Teressa but obviously knew she was expected.

  ‘Hi,’ she said with a forced smile. ‘Ashe is on the phone. The office can’t leave him alone even when he takes a holiday.’ Teressa sw
allowed. ‘You must be surprised to find me working for your brother.’

  ‘After that act you put on at Deception, nothing surprises me. I hope you don’t intend to go into show business. You could put me out of a job. '

  ‘I’m sorry. It was because—’

  ‘Ashe explained it to me. I must say it made more sense when I heard you were Cecily’s sister. You must be a lot like her.’