bed, not even sparing a glance for the beautifully furnished room she was to sleep in tonight.
‘No—–’
She gave a tight smile. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t fall into the right category, Donald. Maybe I could work at it?’
‘No, please—–’
‘I’m sorry,’ she sat down heavily on the bed. ‘This meeting has been as trying for me as it has for you.’ She put a hand up to her aching temple. ‘Now I really would like to rest.’
He took her hint to leave. ‘Dinner is at eight o’clock. Shall I call for you?’
It would mean she didn’t have to walk into the midst of the lions’ den on her own. ‘I’d like that,’ she accepted gratefully.
‘Good,’ he said eagerly. ‘I’ll see you later, then.’
Callie lay back on the bed once she was alone, staring up at the ornate ceiling. With Jeff at her side she might have got through this, alone she had no defences. But if Jeff had been alive she would never have come here, would never have been allowed through the doors! Oh, Jeff, what have you done to me? she groaned, turning her face into the pillow and crying for her loss.
She must have actually fallen asleep, for the sun was just going down when she at last opened her eyes. She sat up groggily, pushing her hair from her eyes and looking around her dazedly. The curtains were still drawn back, the last of evening’s light fading. Jeff had always liked sunrise and sunset, they were his favourite times of day, and the two of them had often shared those times together.
She hadn’t slept well since Jeff had died, had missed his presence in the flat, finding herself surrounded by the memories there. Maybe she should move, try to forget, and yet she had been loath to do that, to leave the memories behind. Maybe one day, when she was ready to let the memories go. But not yet, not yet …
Her suit was badly creased after she had slept in it, and she hung it up in the wardrobe, seeing that the dress and trousers she had brought with her were already in there, her shoes laid out neatly on the floor, the empty suitcase beside them. A search of the dressing-table drawers found her clean underwear, silky pantyhose, pink lacy panties and matching bra, and she didn’t like the idea of some unknown person sorting through her more intimate clothing, it was like an invasion of her privacy. She had packed and unpacked her own clothing since she had been on a school trip when she was ten years old, and she didn’t like the fact that someone else had done it for her now. She had always been an independent, self-reliant person, and she doubted she would ever want that to change. Even if she was supposedly rich now! She wasn’t going to let any of this change her life, and she certainly didn’t intend to give up her private life to an army of servants.
Her dress was a deep, rich brown velvet, making her eyes appear the same way, giving her skin a honey-tone, the halter-neckline showing a large expanse of her flesh, the straight style of the skirt showing her slender curves to advantage.
When Donald knocked on the door for her she looked cool and attractive, and saw his eyes deepen in appreciation as his gaze ran from the top of her golden head to the tip of her tiny feet.
He looked very handsome himself in a black dinner suit, his shirt snowy white, his short hair brushed neatly away from his face. He really was the most innocuous-looking individual, and Callie couldn’t for the life of her imagine what it was James Seymour disliked about him.
The two older members of the Spencer family were already in the lounge when she entered with Donald. Lady Spencer’s peacock-blue full-length gown gave her a more regal look than before, and Sir Charles’ black dinner suit was as well cut as his son’s.
Dinner was a very strained affair, with the four of them making polite conversation, no mention being made of the reason Callie was here. By the end of the meal her head ached with the effort of trying to enjoy the meal and look relaxed, when all she really wanted to do was get away from here, go back to London and forget she had eyer met Jeff’s snooty relatives. Maybe if his sister Cissy had been here things might have been easier; Jeff had always spoken of his sister with affection.
Coffee in the lounge was even more of a strain; the conversation suddenly seemed to dry up completely.
Callie put her cup back on the silver tray. ‘I—I think I’ll go to bed. I have a headache,’ she told them truthfully.
‘Nonsense,’ Lady Spencer said briskly. ‘Fresh air is the best cure for a headache. Donald, take Caroline for a walk in the garden.’
Her eyes widened. Being alone with Donald Spencer was the last thing she had in mind for getting rid of the throb at her temples. ‘Perhaps a couple of aspirin …’ she began.
‘Not when you’ve been drinking wine,’ the other woman dismissed. ‘Fresh air, that’s what you need. Donald!’ she prompted her son sharply.
He looked as reluctant as Callie felt! ‘I—Of course,’ he agreed instantly. ‘Caroline?’
‘It really is too chilly an evening—–’
‘Get Caroline my jacket, Charles,’ Lady Spencer instructed her husband.
Callie knew when she was defeated, and gave in gracefully to the dictates of her hostess. Lady Spencer appeared to her rather like a puppeteer, and when she pulled the strings they all jumped into action.
Lady Spencer’s ‘jacket’ turned out to be a mink, and Callie felt revulsion for the article as Sir Charles slipped it about her shoulders. She had always hated the breeding and killing of animals just to provide a woman with the prestige of owning a fur coat, not even wanting to think how many mink had been killed to make up this jacket. It made her feel nauseous to wear it!
She had been right, the evening was chill, and yet as soon as she could she took the jacket from about her shoulders, preferring to carry it than feel it against her skin.
‘You’ll catch a chill,’ Donald warned as they walked through the heavily scented rose garden at the side of the house, a single light illuminating their way.
‘I’m fine.’ She repressed a shiver, knowing he wouldn’t understand her aversion to the coat.
‘Headache going?’
He sounded as if he really cared, and she smiled at him. ‘Yes, it’s going,’ which, miraculously, it was.
‘You’re very beautiful, Caroline,’ he remarked suddenly.
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
