LITMIR.BIZ

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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 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.’

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