Bittersweet Deception. Liz Fielding
the problem of her sister’s school fees. She had been banking on a scholarship for this year, but it hadn’t happened.
Kate felt again the sharp tug of compassion as Sam had thrown her arms about her and cried. ‘I did try, Kate. Really I did.’
‘I know, my love. It’s not a reflection on your dancing. They just feel…’ She didn’t continue. She didn’t need to. Samantha was only fourteen, but she had come to terms with what being deaf meant. And deep down she had to sympathise with the dance academy’s reaction. They had given her a place when others wouldn’t even audition her and they were delighted with her progress. But there were so many deserving, talented girls…
It had all been there, tactfully concealed between the lines of the letter informing her that there could be no help with fees this year. With impaired hearing it would be that much harder for Sam. Beautiful, graceful, talented though she was, it was always going to be so much harder for her.
‘Will I have to leave?’ Sam’s voice had quivered slightly. Kate knew if her answer had been yes, her young sister would have taken it bravely. But she had already had to take so much in her short life and she deserved her chance. More than deserved it.
Instead Kate had held her by the shoulders, looked her straight in the face and made her a promise. ‘You won’t have to leave, my love. It would have been great to have had some of your fees paid, but we’ll manage.’ How, she didn’t know. But manage they would, even if she had to take in washing. Her sister’s brilliant smile was reward enough.
She glanced around her now. She hadn’t told her sister about the offer she had received for the flat from her neighbour whose sister wanted to live close by. Until now there had been no point. And it would be a wrench to part with the home they had shared for three years. But with Sam away at dance school for more than half the year, it was ridiculous to keep it. They could manage with something much smaller.
And if she took the job at Fullerton Hall, she would have no expenses for at least six months. Breathing space. The first in a long time. And time to decide on the way forward. She wouldn’t be losing touch entirely. She would still have her column in the London Evening Mail. Maybe she would even have a little time to think about the cookery book she had been collecting ideas for ever since she could remember. She picked up the telephone. There was no point in keeping Lady Maynard waiting for her answer. She would go to Norfolk as soon as Sam’s Easter holidays were over.
It was their last night in the flat. Sam was already packed for school and, apart from essentials that she couldn’t manage without, her own belongings were boxed up to be stored with their furniture.
Kate had cooked a special dinner and now they were draped lazily over the sofa, while Sam zapped through the televison channels looking for something interesting. She paused on a chat-show and for a moment there was a close-up of the host, laughing at something his guest had said. Then the camera panned and suddenly his face was there, in front of her. Jason Warwick. And every nerve-ending jerked to attention.
It was two weeks since the dinner party but almost instinctively her hand flew to her lips. Then he smiled, not as he had smiled at her, but with warmth and humour, and she gave a soft groan of anguish.
The man had held her for a few brief moments, but in that time he seemed to have imprinted himself somehow on to the surface of her skin. Even remote, untouchable like this, her body vibrated to him, and if she put out a hand she must surely be able to push back the thick dark lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead…
Sam said something, but she barely heard; her eyes were fixed upon the screen, wondering that so brief an encounter could unleash such powerful emotions. Emotions she had locked firmly away when she had taken on the responsibility of providing for her sister. When David had issued his ultimatum and it seemed that her life had come to an end.
He hadn’t been like Jason Warwick. David was fair, blue-eyed with an almost irresistible charm. Almost. But when it hadn’t worked, that last evening they spent together, when teasing and tender kisses wouldn’t move her, she had seen a different side of him. The cold, hard practical man. And she had learned her lesson well. All her love was reserved for Sam these days. They had each other, and while her sister needed her that would be enough.
And practical David had turned his blue eyes and his charm in another direction and was married within the year to a girl with parents who could provide financial support for his business, and no burdensome younger sister whose passion for dancing drained away every spare penny. A younger sister who could dance like an angel but whose hearing had been gradually deteriorating since the car accident that had killed their parents.
That had been three years ago, and no one had been able to reach her since. Until a bored, cynical man, with the reputation for breaking the heart of any girl foolish enough to let him, had decided to teach her a lesson and kissed her until, like some latter-day fairy-tale prince, he had brought every frozen emotion painfully back to life. She shivered a little. She had never liked fairy-tales.
Kate’s grey eyes narrowed as she regarded her tormentor. ‘Do you think he practises his smile in front of a mirror?’ she wondered out loud, her mockery a desperate attempt to destroy his power to disturb her. ‘You know, Sam, like a dancer limbering up at the bar? Twenty smiles suitable for old ladies.’ She tried on a patronising smile to amuse her sister. ‘Twenty serious expressions enlivened by a twitch of the mouth, like so. Twenty…’ She blinked angry with herself for allowing him to get under her skin, but not quite able to resist watching him. Then she coloured self-consciously at her sister’s knowing smirk.
The chat-show host smiled slyly at his guest. ‘Come on now, Jay,’ he urged with his deceptively mild Irish lilt. ‘Own up. You don’t really expect to find a woman these days who’s prepared to conform to your oft-vaunted ideals?’
The camera closed in on him. How it loved the moulded bones of his face, she thought, as he raked long fingers through that unruly lock of hair. He regarded his inquisitor intently.
‘I have never made a secret,’ he said, with perfect seriousness, ‘of my belief that women have two functions in life. One is in the kitchen. The other in bed.’ The camera switched to the audience as it roared its approval, the men in agreement, the women apparently in hope. He acknowledged them with a slight bow. ‘As you see, they don’t object to either occupation.’
‘Oh, God,’ Kate said faintly. She felt suddenly quite sick.
‘Which do you consider the most important, Jay?’ his host prompted with devilish glee.
Jason Warwick’s face split to reveal a row of strong, white teeth. ‘I find the two combine quite naturally.’ He looked straight into the camera and Kate felt his eyes were focussed only on her and she moaned softly. ‘There seems to be an affinity between food and sex…’
There was a sudden stillness in the studio. The Irishman cleared his throat. ‘Are you telling us that you’ve found a woman who can cook?’ Getting no immediate answer, he added wickedly, ‘As well?’ He glanced at the audience, milking the laughter. ‘It must be serious, then?’
A flash of irritation crossed Jason Warwick’s face, but he quickly recovered himself, lounging back in his chair, a quixotic smile firmly in place. ‘Serious? My dear fellow, when have I ever been serious about anything?’
The other man laughed. ‘Not about women, that’s for sure. Are you going to tell us who she is?’ Kate, white-faced, held her breath.
‘No.’ In close-up she could see the fine line etched into his cheek that might have creased when he smiled. He wasn’t smiling now. ‘She knows who she is. Don’t you, Kate?’
Kate made a small sound in the back of her throat and Sam screamed with laughter. ‘Kate Thornley, I do believe you’ve been keeping secrets. Did the gorgeous Jason Warwick creep up behind you when you were up to your elbows in the dishwater? Is that why you can’t take your eyes off him?’
Aware that her face had gone a sickly, betraying white, she rubbed her cheeks. The