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The remark was as unexpected as it was surprising. This family, not one of them, had reason to like her, to even be polite to her, and yet Donald had gone out of his way to be nice to her. She liked him if only for that reason. ‘Thank you, Donald,’ she accepted huskily.
‘I can’t understand—–’ He broke off, frowning his consternation.
Callie gave a light laugh. ‘Can’t understand why you think I’m beautiful? Or is it something else you don’t understand?’ she looked at him curiously.
‘Something else,’ he muttered.
‘Like what?’ she teased.
‘I—Did you really care for Uncle Jeffrey?’
She flushed. So they were back to the subject of Jeff and whether or not she was entitled to what he had chosen to leave her. ‘Yes, I cared for him,’ she said stiffly. ‘Very much, as it happens.’
‘You loved him?’
‘There was nothing not to love,’ she shrugged. ‘Did you ever meet him?’
Donald shook his head. ‘I was only three when he left.’
‘And you’ve never seen any of his work?’
‘Work?’ Donald frowned. ‘What work?’
Heavens, these people didn’t know Jeff had been a sculptor, that he could bring clay alive beneath his gentle fingertips! She had always thought Jeff the most uncomplicated, giving man she had ever known, and it came as a shock to her to find he had kept secrets from everyone.
‘Your uncle was Jeff Thornton.’
Donald still looked puzzled. ‘Jeff who?’
Callie sighed. ‘Jeff Thornton. He had a very successful exhibition of his sculptures about a year ago.’ It hadn’t exactly made him a fortune, as Jeff had joked, he wouldn’t get rich from it, but it had given his individual talent the recognition it deserved.
The way that Jeff had struggled and slaved to get that exhibition made her respect and love for him deepen. With the money he had, his influential family, he could have commanded that exhibition. Instead he had chosen to assume a pseudonym, to get recognition on his own talent.
Donald’s eyebrows rose. ‘I’m sure my parents didn’t know about that.’
‘That he was a sculptor, or that he was successful at it?’ she taunted.
He flushed at the rebuke in her voice. ‘Both. I—You see, Uncle Jeffrey walked out years ago. None of us really knew what he was doing. The only contact we ever had from him was through our lawyer.’
‘James Seymour?’
‘You’ve met him, haven’t you?’
‘Oh yes,’ she nodded. ‘I’ve met him.’ She repressed a shiver. ‘Could we go back inside now?’
‘Of course,’ he was instantly solicitous. ‘How’s the headache?’
‘Gone;’ she lied, handing him the jacket as soon as they were inside the house. ‘Would you please excuse me to your parents, I’d like to go straight to bed.’ Before she collapsed with the strain of this weekend.
‘Certainly. Goodnight, Caroline.’
She returned the politeness, but she had the feeling that the night was going to be far from good. There had been too much talk of Jeff today for the nightmares not to return.
She awoke in a state of panic in the early hours of the morning, a fine sheen of perspiration on her brow, her hands clenching and unclenching at her side. God, she thought, would she ever lose the guilt, the knowledge that Jeff had been picking her up from work, as her own car was in the garage being serviced, that he wouldn’t have been driving down that particular road at that particular time if it hadn’t been for her.
She had waited outside her office building for over half an hour, deciding that Jeff must have become immersed in his work and forgotten about her. He often did that, and it was no hardship to her to get the bus. It was only when she arrived home and found a policeman waiting for her that she realised she wouldn’t be able to tease Jeff about his bad memory, that she would never be able to tease him again …
She went down to breakfast the next morning pale and heavy-eyed, and the lemon trousers and blouse she wore made her appear paler than ever.
Only Donald was in the breakfast-room when she went in to have her coffee; the thought of food was unpalatable to her. He stood up to pull her chair out for her, once again wearing well-cut trousers and a contrasting Norfolk jacket. ‘Mother always has breakfast in her bedroom,’ he excused her absence. ‘And Father is out riding.’
Callie’s eyebrows rose. ‘You have horses?’ She could at least talk to Donald, feeling only relief at his parents’ absence, knowing that they still hadn’t discussed the real reason she was here, that before she left this afternoon the question of her business involvement with this family would have to be talked about in more detail. And she was dreading it, knowing their resentment was justified.
‘We have stables out at the back of the house,’ Donald answered her. ‘You wouldn’t have been able to see them yesterday when you arrived. Do you ride?’
‘Only in cars,’ she answered teasingly.
Donald obviously lacked a sense of humour, and took her seriously. ‘Then I’ll take you out for a drive this morning.’
‘Oh no, really—–’
‘I insist. Mother won’t leave her room until almost lunch-time anyway, and I have no idea when Father will be back.’
He seemed to genuinely want to take her, and so with some reluctance she agreed, going upstairs to collect her jacket before going outside to meet him. He had driven the Jaguar up in front of the house and came round to open the door for her.
Berkshire really was a beautiful county. A lot of it still owned by the Crown, and what wasn’t was mainly owned by people almost as rich. Some of the houses they passed were magnificent, although the Spencers’ was still the most beautiful she had seen.
They stopped for a drink in a pub, greeted by several of Donald’s friends, all of them as upper-crust as Donald himself. No doubt ‘Mother’ wouldn’t approve of anyone who wasn’t, in fact Callie felt sure she wouldn’t.
That was why it came as something of a surprise to her when Donald asked if he could take her out one night. ‘I work for Spencer head office in town,’ he explained. ‘So it would be a simple matter to call for you one evening.’
‘Yes, but then you would have the long drive back—–’
‘The family has an apartment in town, I often use it.’
Now what did she say? Donald Spencer appeared to be pleasant enough, a little insipid for her tastes, but otherwise nice. But he didn’t appeal to her, blond men never had for some reason, and after living with Jeff the last four years, loving every moment of it, it was going to take a special man to interest her. Donald wasn’t that man.
‘I’m really not sure—–’
‘Just dinner, Caroline,’ he encouraged, his hand covering hers.
What harm could dinner do? ‘All right, Donald,’ she agreed reluctantly. ‘I’ll leave you my number and you can call me.’
‘And you’ll come out with me?’
‘Yes.’ She looked at her wrist-watch. ‘Now I think we should be getting back, I wouldn’t want to upset your mother by being late for lunch.’
Callie was able to eat her lunch, the traditional roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, safe in the knowledge that in an hour or two she would be able to leave. The sooner the better as far as she was concerned. Sir Charles and Lady Spencer had been overly polite during lunch, and she knew that the talk they had brought her here for couldn’t be far off.
‘Perhaps Caroline would like to see the roses in the daylight, Donald,’ his mother suggested once they had retired to the drawing-room.
‘Would you?’ he asked eagerly.
Anything to get away from his parents. ‘I’ll love it,’ Callie nodded.
It really was a spectacular garden; many of the roses were still in bloom, their aroma heady, their colours a delight to the eye, as was their perfect shape.
Donald laughed when Callie asked if his mother tended the roses herself. ‘As far as gardens go my mother is a looker, not a doer. She prefers organising garden-parties, things like that,’ he added as if to make up for the slight he had given his mother.
‘I’m sure—–’
‘Telephone, Mr Donald.’ The butler had quietly appeared at their side.
A look of irritation crossed Donald’s face and he turned to look down at Callie. ‘I’m sorry about this, but I shouldn’t be long,’ he apologised.
‘I’ll be fine out here,’ she assured him.
In fact it was a relief to be on her own. She found the Spencer family, this whole situation, completely overwhelming. Maybe if she had been given the time to think about it she might even have found a way not to come here.
After about ten minutes, when Donald still hadn’t returned, she decided to go back into the house, the beauty of the garden being exhausted. As she approached the open french doors into the lounge she could hear the sound of Donald’s voice, and hesitated as she realised he was still on the telephone. Then she wasn’t hesitating at all, but was listening avidly; the burden of the conversation seeming to be about her!
‘Because of Caroline, darling,’ Donald was explaining. ‘You know I don’t prefer her to you. No, I don’t want to marry her, I want to marry you, but—No, don’t hang up,’ he begged in a panicked voice. ‘Darling, please, try to be reasonable. It just means we’ll have to wait a while. Until after the divorce. Well, I know it could take years, but—–’
Callie was no longer listening, but slumped down on to the garden seat. The reason Donald had been so nice to her this weekend was suddenly clear to her. They were actually intending to marry her off to him. And divorce them too!
Heavens, they must really want those shares badly. Any guilt she might have felt about Jeff leaving her the shares was now erased. People like the Spencers didn’t deserve to have anything that had been Jeff’s. She had come here willing to be polite to them because they were Jeff’s family, might even have been prepared to arrange for Sir Charles to take the shares off her. But not now.
She knew Donald didn’t have the deviousness, the intelligence to come up with an idea like this, it had to have been his parents’ plan. Besides, he was in love with someone else.
He had finished on the telephone now, hanging up hastily as his mother spoke to him.
‘Who was that?’ she demanded sharply.
‘Just a friend,’ he dismissed shakily.
‘Are you sure, Donald?’
‘Of course I am, Mother,’ he said nervously.
‘And where is Caroline?’
‘I left her in the garden when I came in to answer the telephone.’
‘And how are things going with her?’
‘Well—I hope.’
‘You only hope?’ his mother echoed scathingly. ‘You aren’t pushy enough, Donald,’ she tutted. ‘If she doesn’t like you I don’t know what your father will say—or what he will do,’ she added threateningly. ‘We really can’t have someone like that at Spencer Plastics.’
‘But you’re intending to make her my wife!’ Donald groaned.
‘Only for a short time, dear,’ his mother dismissed.
‘But—–’
‘Now don’t be tiresome, dear. Your father will be very pleased with you if you do this for him. And it won’t be for ever. You have to admit she’s prettier than you had imagined.’
‘Well … yes. But—–’
‘Really, Donald, you agreed to this when we discussed it earlier in the week. Now go and get Caroline. She’s been left alone too long.’
By the time Donald found her Callie had regained her composure. She was back in the rose garden so that he shouldn’t realise she had overheard his telephone call and his conversation with his mother. But she was able to look at them with new eyes, to see the greed in all their faces. No wonder they hadn’t wanted to discuss the shares—they didn’t need to, they intended getting their hands on them when she married Donald. Whoever had thought of such an idea must have a warped mind.
And to imagine she would actually fall for Donald, that was an insult to her intelligence!
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_4cae9bb6-19d2-5f63-8695-31a962c9b5c2)
SHE had calmed down somewhat by the time she got home, although she was no less determined to make the Spencers pay for their cold-blooded scheme.
She persuaded Bill, Marilyn’s husband, to deal with the details of her side of Jeff’s will. He was a very good lawyer himself, and he wouldn’t be intimidated by James Seymour or the Spencer family.
With that worry off her mind Callie’s time was free to accept Donald Spencers’ invitation. But if he thought she was going to be an easy conquest he was going to be out of luck. She would make sure he took her to all the most expensive places in town. The Spencer family had angered her, and Donald was going to know all about dating Callie Day!
He might be weak and & little stupid where his parents were concerned, but she had to admire his determination—or maybe it was just fear of his parents? Whatever the season, Donald didn’t object to anything she said or did.
And during the next month she said a lot of wild things, did a lot of wild things, and she made Donald do them with her, no matter how mad they were. And some of them were very extreme. She made him take off his shoes and socks one night, roll up his trousers, and paddle in the fountain with her in Trafalgar Square. Another time she took him to a really weird party, watching him squirm as an extrovert artist tried to seduce him up to her studio. And then there had been the time she made him take her to a football match, watching how awkward he felt at the disgusting language and loud behaviour of some of the rougher spectators.
Donald suffered through it all without demur, even during the modern play Callie insisted she had to see—even though she didn’t understand a word of it! Most of it seemed to have sexual undertones, and she could see Donald becoming more and more uncomfortable by the minute, her decision to leave changed as she made him sit through it to the embarrassing end.
But nothing put him off, and by the end of four weeks she was beginning to tire of the game. The stuffy party he had brought her to tonight was the end as far as she was concerned. When he took her home she intended telling him she didn’t want to see him again.
At least that way she wouldn’t have to suffer through another goodnight kiss! How Donald had reached the age of twenty-eight without even learning how to kiss properly she didn’t know, but somehow he had managed it, and his wet, soggy kisses were totally uninspiring.
The party was at last beginning to warm up. A lot of the older people were leaving, and the younger ones starting to let their hair down a little. Even Donald was dancing rather enthusiastically with a tall, busty blonde, for once not fawning over Callie trying to grant her every wish. When he had time to meet the girl he was really in love with she had no idea, since he had spent most of his evenings with her this last month. Perhaps one day Donald would realise there was more to life than pleasing his parents—especially at twenty-eight!
She took advantage of his preoccupation to absent herself, leaving the noisy party to go into one of the side rooms, to find herself in the peace and tranquillity of a library, its walls lined with books, books her fingers ached to touch.
She looked along the shelves, finding most of the classics, and took down her own particular favourite, leafing through the pages.
‘I see I’m not the only one who needed to escape,’ drawled a husky male voice.
Callie turned almost guiltily, her eyes widening as she looked at the man who had interrupted her solitude—tall, with dark, almost black hair, a rivetingly handsome face, the dark dinner suit perfectly tailored, as was the white hand-made silk shirt. She looked up into darkly grey eyes, and wondered why she hadn’t noticed him at the party earlier—he was hardly the type to be overlooked.
He closed the door behind him, instantly shutting out the noise of the party, and walked across the room with long, relaxed strides, looking at the book in her hand. ‘Jane Eyre,’ he mused. ‘You like the story?’
His voice was deep and well modulated. ‘Yes,’ she blushed her confusion. ‘Have you read it?’
He smiled, instantly looking younger than the mid-thirties she had guessed him to be, his teeth very white against his tanned skin, looking ruggedly attractive this close to rather than handsome. ‘I think everyone should read Jane Eyre at least once,’ he drawled.
