Passionate Retribution

‘Actually, Father,’ she interrupted, flushing slightly, ‘we really haven’t thought things out that far.’ She acknowledged the troubled doubts that were stirring just on the edges of her consciousness, forced to wonder at the way she’d accepted Luke’s ridiculous fait accompli with scant thought to the consequences of her actions.

‘Thought!’ Charles Stapely’s fists bunched as he looked at Luke, who was eyeing the interchange from beneath half closed eyelids, very much at ease and not hiding his amusement at the proceedings. ‘I doubt if you’ve thought at all; and just because you’re in his bed, don’t imagine you’ve got exclusive rights. He’s just like his mother—not very discriminating…If it’s breathing, bed it!’

Emily would have retreated if she could from the congealed loathing in her parent’s voice. She was aware of the sudden tension in Luke’s body. He was still standing directly behind her, an immovable barrier to her retreat.

‘You’re a pretentious, pompous fool,’ Luke said almost casually. Emily, looking at his profile, could see a nerve throbbing erratically in his cheek. ‘And if you ever so much as mention my mother again…’ The threat was uttered in a pleasant voice that made it all the more sinister somehow. She saw her father recoil and fight to stand his ground when he looked into Luke’s eyes.

‘I’ve lived to regret ever taking you under my roof, you ingrate. And if you—’ he pointed an accusing finger at Emily ‘—if you go with him, you’re no daughter of mine,’ he told her in a voice shaking with rage. His parting, ‘Wait till your mother hears about this,’ was so petty after the grand gesture of disowning her that Emily found a gurgle of laughter escaping her throat.

She wiped her eyes, wondering whether her mascara was smeared across her face like warpaint. Looking at Luke, she was aware that for once she had surprised him.

‘You don’t sound too disturbed at being cast off,’ he said, handing her a clean handkerchief.

‘Just a touch of hysteria, that’s all; besides, are my feelings actually of any interest to you? You or my father?’ she asked, handing him back his handkerchief and giving him a straight look, her chin tilted at a defiant angle. They were both the same, she decided, each happy to use her to score points off the other. Manipulate whoever happened to be at hand.

‘Keep it,’ Luke advised. ‘You might need it again before the night’s over. Are you going to tell me precisely what that little scene was all about?’

‘No.’ She wasn’t about to display her naive credulity for his contempt. Besides, knowing Luke, he’d probably managed to get more than the bare bones of the incident. She waved away the handkerchief. ‘Nowhere to put it,’ she responded prosaically, then wished she hadn’t because it drew Luke’s glittering regard to her outfit. His eyes made her feel claustrophobic as they travelled at a leisurely pace over her slender but femininely curved—too curved for her own taste— body in the dress which covered too little of some of those curves.

‘Quite true,’ he agreed. His glance, returning to her face, held curiosity and something else she didn’t care to analyse, although it made the pit of her stomach dissolve. ‘I’ll keep it for you.’

‘I don’t need anything of yours, and that goes for any smart moves like the one you pulled in there,’ she ground out from between clenched teeth. If he thought he could divert her by doling out a dose of his particular brand of mesmeric sex appeal, he could think again. ‘I can’t believe you did it.’ She shook her head. ‘You just can’t resist stirring, can you?’ she accused hoarsely. The unmitigated nerve of the man, the undiluted arrogance, astonished her.

‘I simply provided your inspiration. You were going to run away.’

‘Sneer if you like, but running away is less painful at times. Besides, head-on collision doesn’t always solve the problem.’

‘Neither does running away; it just postpones the inevitable.’

‘Thank you for that little gem,’ she snapped. The accusation in his tone made her want to launch a frontal attack. ‘At least my father was bright enough to disguise the fact that he was manipulating me. The only difference with you is I know it. Still, it’s over with now.’ She could retreat and let the wounds heal, sort out what she wanted from life.

‘Oh, there are a lot more possibilities in this situation yet.’

Emily threw back her head, shaking her hair from around her shoulders. ‘Forget it, Luke, I’m sick of the lot of you. I’m going to spend some time alone,’ she told him, a flare of anger igniting dancing golden lights in her eyes. ‘And I’m not available for any more theatricals, even if my stomach could stand up to being mauled about by you.’

‘I don’t think you’ve thought this out too clearly,’ he said icily. He fixed his broad shoulders as if to ease some tension between his shoulder-blades.

‘Of course I’ve not thought it out, you idiot,’ she told him furiously. ’this is an emotional crisis, I’m devastated, hurt, my life is in ruins. Thinking,’ she snarled, ‘is not exactly easy at the moment. If it had been, I’d never have let you set up that little scene for your own sadistic purposes.’

‘I expect you’re not pleased at having all your plans upset. I mean, I’m sure this was one marriage where surprise was not on the menu,’ he said with a faint sneer. ‘You always did like your plans; I expect you’d timetabled the next twenty years. Your mistake was obviously telling pretty boy what he’d be doing with his life; he probably ran to your saintly sister in sheer panic.’

‘You know nothing about it,’ she snapped, her colour heightened. ’there’s nothing wrong with organising— we don’t all drift through life like some gypsy!’

He gave a deep laugh which she considered wildly inappropriate, and it only provided more proof of his total heartlessness, had such proof been necessary. ‘Plans are made to have spanners aimed at them, infant, haven’t you learnt that yet? Even if a man has slotted himself into a position which makes the rest of his life boringly inevitable, he doesn’t need it spelt out for him. You probably had the progeny production timed with mathematical precision.’

‘There’s nothing indecent in a commitment,’ she responded, stung by this unexpected assault. He made her sound as passionless as a computer! Gavin had never complained as she’d happily been involved in planning their future; she had been sure he’d wanted all the things she did. She gave a small sound of pain and bit her lip. Only he hadn’t; that much was now painfully obvious.

‘Why don’t you admit it, Emmy? Your Gavin was just a convenient body who happened to meet your criteria at a time in your life you’d decided you should get married.’

The accusation took her breath away. ‘I love Gavin,’ she declared fiercely.

Luke looked unimpressed by her passionate declaration. ’then perhaps you should have spent more time telling him so between the sheets and less organising him. Your only misjudgement was that the guy’s got slightly more guts than you’d anticipated. You began moulding him a bit too early, sweetheart, you should have waited until after the wedding.’

She felt tears of fury sting her eyelids and she blinked furiously; she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. ‘I hate you,’ she said, not finding inspiration for a more original retort. But the worst part of it was that there was a grain of truth in what he said, and she wasn’t blind enough to her own faults not to see it.

She liked and respected Gavin——at least she had; he was the only man she’d ever met whom she had considered spending her life with. She had been sure he would never bully her as her father did those around him. She had wondered whether the fact that her father was chairman of the bank and she his daughter had had anything to do with his assiduous courting.

‘You can hardly go around saying that, infant, considering we are an…item,’ Luke told her. His eyes watched the ripple of emotions running across her face, a sneer tugging at one corner of his mouth.

She made a sound of disgust in her throat. ‘Don’t get carried away with your fiction; that’s over as of now. There was never any need to go as far as to molest me publicly,’ she told him with a look of distaste. ‘If you had bothered to consult me I could have told you so.’

‘You prefer to be molested privately?’ he said with polite interest. ‘I could——’

‘Keep your hands to yourself, Luke,’ she cut in coldly. ‘I don’t find it amusing. I realise this is just a game to you, but it happens to be my life.’ And a mess it was too.

‘I take games very seriously,’ he told her. ‘For a planner you haven’t looked beyond the next hour, have you?’ he said, changing tack with bewildering abruptness.

Emily looked at him suspiciously. ’should I?’

‘Over and above the fact that your father has disowned you, you seem to be overlooking our deep and abiding passion.’

He was laughing at her, she realised; if her mind hadn’t been so confused, so cluttered with emotions, she would, she was sure, have understood what he was insinuating. ‘Enlighten me,’ she suggested testily.

‘Our relationship can’t fizzle out overnight.’

‘Relationship? We haven’t got a relationship,’ she asserted, panic in her voice.

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Or your stoical endurance of my passionate advances will have been in vain. Even stupid Charlotte will be able to see through the charade. It will be, Poor little Emily couldn’t even hold her man. He preferred the sister, you know.’

‘I’m not such a good liar as you so I’m afraid we might as well drop it,’ she said, half relieved that the idea was folding almost before it had begun. One good thing had emerged: she was free from the guilt-induced bond that had held her a self-imposed prisoner at Charlcot.

‘You underestimate my brilliance, infant.’

She closed her eyes and fantasised about wiping that irritatingly smug smile off his face. ‘Don’t call me that!’

‘What, a term of endearment? And to think I thought you liked it.’

‘You know I loathe it,’ she contradicted him. ’that’s why you do it.’

He gave her a sardonic look, his startling eyes as blue as a beneficent summer day and as sharp as jagged ice. ‘Going back to my brilliance,’ he said smoothly, and she wished fervently that she could penetrate that hateful composure.

Almost in flashback, a picture of him crouched with yells and smoke all around him, bullets singing through the air, recording the events going on around him economically but lucidly as if he weren’t in danger of joining the reporter whose blood he was calmly staunching as he spoke, came into her mind. That had been Luke’s first time in front of the camera rather than behind it, but not his last: the powers that be hadn’t needed the public response to the incident to know a good thing when they saw it. After that Luke had been seen reporting from various trouble-spots scattered across the globe, but his first love had always been photography and he had never abandoned it.

It had been a job as a photographer on a daily newspaper that Luke had taken in preference to the job her father had offered him after university. When the opportunity had arisen, he had accepted the challenge of moving to the live medium, working for an independent new station. Her father, who had hated Luke’s effortless progression, had found his anonymity behind the lens easier to bear than the public recognition that had come when he’d stepped to the other side of the camera. She had seen him accept congratulations of his famous relative with gritted teeth, knowing nothing would have pleased him more than if Luke had failed miserably in every venture he began. He had hardly been able to contain his fury when Luke had had a book of his stills published; not content to concentrate on one thing, he seemed to be able to shine in several skies at the same time. The political thrillers which followed had brought acclaim and monetary rewards as they’d lingered indecently long in the bestseller lists. Her father had simmered, and Emily had thought he had grown almost inured to Luke’s ability to juggle several careers and give the impression that he was only using a small portion of his talent. She felt a mixture of envy and admiration, but at that moment she shared a portion of her parent’s frustration. He was so impervious, it made her want to stamp her feet!

‘I think you’re inhuman,’ she announced.

‘It’s rather perverse of you to attack me…your saviour.’ He raised one eyebrow as she choked. ‘And hardly a word about pretty boy’s infamy,’ he remarked thoughtfully. ‘As I’ve been trying to tell you, I am going up to my cottage in Scotland to do some work on my book.’