glanced at her watch. ‘I don’t think the situation will be helped by our being late for dinner,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m going to run my bath.’
‘My God, you’re cool,’ Debra said acidly. ‘Don’t you think it won’t affect you if Marius moves back and takes over. We’re all going to feel the draught, my lady.’
And with that she was gone.
Oh, it would affect her, Lydie thought drily a few minutes later as she tried to relax in the warm water, but certainly not in the way her mother thought.
Although there could be a problem over the gallery. Thornshaugh, with its steep, cobbled streets and well-preserved buildings left over from the Industrial Revolution, was attractive enough to form part of the itinerary of tourists drawn to Yorkshire’s West Riding by the Brontë Parsonage at Haworth or the Curry Trail at Bradford.
The gallery was situated on the first floor of a former Benco warehouse, sharing the premises with a popular boutique at ground level, a home bakery and various workshops occupied by woodcarvers, candlemakers and hand weavers.
They sold mainly paintings, prints and pottery by local artists and craftsmen, including Nell herself. And, although Lydie and Nell had refused to sell souvenirs, they’d made sure they stocked the kind of small, unusual but inexpensive items which tourists would want as mementoes or gifts, and these went like hot cakes.
When the bank had looked down its nose and talked about the recession, Lydie had turned instead to her stepfather for the initial loan to finance the enterprise. And, to Debra’s thinly veiled chagrin, he’d agreed to put up the money.
The gallery was managing to keep its head above water mainly because Lydie didn’t draw a full salary yet. Not that she needed to, because she lived at Greystones and Austin insisted on making her an allowance, firmly steamrollering over her objections.
Another of his decisions, Lydie thought ruefully. But she compromised by spending as frugally as possible, although the dress still abandoned in its carrier in the back of her car had been an exception to that self-imposed rule. And perhaps she’d be able to return it anyway.
Now she found herself wishing that she’d stuck to her guns, managed on whatever pittance she could have drawn from the company.
She dried herself and put on her underwear, drawing the stockings slowly over her smooth legs, remembering another time five years ago when she’d dressed for Austin’s birthday party with her heart performing strange, shaky somersaults inside.
She’d been allowed home from school specially, and had spent every penny she’d saved on a new dress that time too.
The one she’d wanted then had also been black—with spangles, she thought; sleek as a second skin. Black was the colour of sophistication; she’d wanted to show Marius that she wasn’t a child any longer but a woman, ready—eager for love.
Her hand faltered slightly with the blusher she was applying.
But the boutique owner had tactfully steered her away from that and into a much simpler model in jade-green, almost the same colour as her eyes.
Now she paid minute attention to them with shadow and liner, accentuating their shape and lustre, according the same attention to detail to the colour she painted onto her mouth. Tonight the mask had to be perfect. Impenetrable.
Five years ago, her face had been highlighted by an inner brilliance, with little need for cosmetics. The tiny bodice with its shoestring straps had flattered the sweet flare of her breasts, and the short, full skirt had swirled enticingly. She’d held it out in both hands and turned slowly in front of the mirror, imagining herself dancing in Marius’s arms. Seeing the smile in his eyes when she told him she loved him. Hearing the tenderness in his voice when he told her he felt the same...
Lydie stood up abruptly, reaching for the black dress, and zipped herself into it, smoothing it over her hips. Black, she thought; the colour of mourning. For the death of faith and innocence. The ending of a girl’s dream.
She took a long look at herself. Her hair was drawn up into a sleek topknot, with only a few random tendrils softening the line around the nape of her neck and her ears. She had disguised the real shadows around her eyes and painted on a smile. Who could ask for anything more? she wondered with irony.
She opened the door and stepped into the passage just as Marius emerged from his own room a few yards away. Lydie kept a hand behind her, holding the handle of her bedroom door, feeling the hard metal bite into her flesh, letting one pain combat another as she absorbed the bitter familiarity of him in a dinner jacket and black tie. Formal evening clothes had always suited him, accentuating the width of his shoulders and the leanness of his hips.
That other night, long ago, she’d watched, breathless with a new, secret excitement, as he’d walked towards her, wanting only to run to him, to feel his arms closing around her.
Now her mouth was dry and she felt deadly cold as she recognised the distance that hurt and betrayal had imposed between them.
‘Good evening, Madonna Lily.’ His brows lifted as his glance examined her. ‘Or should I call you Black Orchid tonight?’
‘Neither.’
‘No?’ He affected a sigh. ‘Yet there was a time...’
‘A time long past.’ She managed to control the faint tremor in her voice.
‘How strange,’ he said slowly, ‘that you should think so, when to me it feels like yesterday.’
Lydie lifted her chin. She said rawly, ‘Marius—for God’s sake—what are you doing here? Why have you come back like this?’
His mouth curled in the smile she’d always hated. The smile that mocked without amusement. That did not reach the wariness in his eyes.
He said softly, ‘Because I received an invitation. An offer I couldn’t refuse.’
‘But what do you want?’ Her voice almost cracked in desperation.
‘Ah.’ Marius was silent for a moment. ‘That, I think, remains to be seen, Madonna Lily.’ His gaze met hers in a challenge like a blow. ‘Maybe I’ve come back for you’
Her head went back with shock, and she felt her mouth frame the word no. Then she turned and headed blindly for the stairs, the jeer of his laughter following her like a shadow.
CHAPTER THREE
LYDIE didn’t wait to see if Marius was following. She headed straight for the drawing room, hesitating momentarily at the door while she dragged together the rags of her composure.
Did he really think that he could walk back into this house—back into her life—as if the past five silent years meant nothing? As if he’d never been away?
She’d been young then, and vulnerable. But now she had her future planned, her emotions under control. And Marius had no part in her life. That was the only certainty in a reeling world.
The sooner I’m out of this house, she thought grimly, the better.
She pushed open the door and went into the room.
Jon
