Roberta Leigh the Vengeful Heart

7/28/2019 Roberta Leigh the Vengeful Heart

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THE VENGEFUL

HEART

Roberta Leigh


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Nigel Farnham was attractive, rich and successful, but Julie Trafford

had not married him for any of these reasons. She had a dark and

more complicated motive -- one that was going to rebound on her

tragically.


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CHAPTER ONE

JULIA TRAFFORD lifted her arms, stretched and was suddenly wide

awake. Throwing back the bedclothes, she padded across to the

window and curled up on a window- seat, her breath making a circlet

of steam on the pane as she looked out on the snow-covered lawns.

Although the view today was bleak, Julia loved it, as she loved

everything about Lammerton Manor. It had been the family home,

dwindling for seven generations through the decades until Sir Hugo,

Julia's father, was the only surviving male member. She wished, as

she had done a hundred times before, that she had been a boy so that

she could have carried on the family name.

But it was pointless to think in such a manner and she went into the

bathroom and ran the hot water, remembering the days when it had

been too cold for her to have more than a cursory wash. How naive

she had been not to have seen the poverty that had slowly encroached

on their lives. Not that she could blame herself entirely, for herparents had done everything to keep her incarcerated in their own

narrow world of yesterday, away from the tempo of modern living.

Even her offer to look for a job had almost made them faint with

horror.

"Work?" Sir Hugo had said in astonishment. "No gel of mine is going

to work."

"But we need the money," she had said, "and at least whatever little I

can get would be better than nothing."

"I won't hear of it," her father had retorted. "We'll have to cut down a

bit, but we can manage. You've your music and your painting."

However, no amount of retrenchment helped, and the day finally

came when he would have to sell the house. "Luckily it's not


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entailed," he murmured awkwardly, avoiding his wife's distressed

eyes, "and once it's sold we'll have enough money to buy a small

property somewhere near here."

"What about selling my jewellery?" Lady Trafford had offered.

"The best pieces have already gone. No, my mind's made up. We

shall sell this place. I'm sure it will fetch an excellent price."

Although Julia had privately doubted this, she did not say so to her

parents, for she knew that neither of them realised that Lammerton

Manor was far too large for modern needs. Indeed, with the possible

exception of some Government department, she could not imagineanyone wanting to burden themselves with such a white elephant.

But she waved her father goodbye as encouragingly as she could

when she saw him off at the station later that week, and hoped he

would prove her fears unfounded.

Sir Hugo had spent a miserable morning with his solicitor, and

feeling in need of a good lunch he set off for his club. He sat

morosely in the lounge, sipping a whisky and soda and pondering

over his problem, when he noticed that a man seated opposite was

staring at him intently.

"Excuse me asking," the man said after a moment, "but I heard the

waiter address you as Sir Hugo and I wondered if you could be SirHugo Trafford?"

"Yes, I am. Why do you ask?"

"Because I used to be friendly when I was in Hong Kong with a chap

called Clive Trafford and he often spoke of his uncle. I lost touch

with him when he came back here and I was hoping you could let mehave his address."


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"It's too late," Sir Hugo said. "He was killed in a shooting accident

last year."

The man looked astonished and then offered his condolences. "It

must have been a great blow to you. I believe he was your heir,

wasn't he? He talked a great deal about Lammerton Manor."

"Yes. He loved it," Sir Hugo said. "It's a good thing he won't know it

won't be mine much longer. I'm selling it, you see. All this damned

taxation..."

The man looked suitably sympathetic. "Isn't there any other way

out?"

"Not that I can see."

The man glanced at his watch. "I hope you won't mind my presuming

on such a short acquaintance, but if you're alone for lunch, would you

care to join me? I'd better introduce myself. My name's Winster -

Conrad Winster."

Delighted to be able to talk to a man who had known his nephew, Sir

Hugo accepted the invitation and as they sat down at a window table

in the restaurant he studied his companion covertly. Winster looked

between forty and forty-five, with a thickset body and the muscular

air and florid complexion of a man who worked hard and playedwell.

During their luncheon, Winster encouraged Sir Hugo to talk about

the past glories of the Traffords, and by the time they reached the

coffee stage they were chatting as if they had known each other for

years. "Pity I'm not a family man," Winster remarked. "Otherwise the

Manor would have been ideal for me."


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Sir Hugo waved his hand in embarrassment. "I'm not trying to sell

you anything, you know."

"I realise that. I was just thinking out loud - it's a bad habit of mine.

As a matter of fact I've been trying to think of some way you could

keep your home."

"It's out of the question. I've been thinking about nothing else for the

last three years."

"I may be able to help you." Winster had leaned forward in his chair.

"I'm a stockbroker, and the chairman of one of my biggest companies

resigned the other day because of ill-health and I've been wonderingwhether you might care to take his place."

"My dear fellow, I don't know anything about stock- broking!"

"There's no need for you to know anything. All we want is a

figurehead, a man whose name and character are above reproach. It

inspires confidence among our shareholders, you understand."

"I couldn't do it," Sir Hugo had protested. "It wouldn't be right. Must

have a little idea of the business."

"I assure you that's not necessary. All you would be called on to do is

to sign routine documents and veto or approve certain actions. You'dget a yearly salary, of course...."

The sum was so large that Sir Hugo flushed with embarrassment.

"I'm not worth a tenth of that. It's far too high!"

"On the contrary. Men of your stature are -needed in the City today. I

hope you'll give my suggestion some thought."


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Knowing the amount of money involved gave Sir Hugo no need for

further thought, and when he and Winster parted, it was agreed that

he would take over as chairman the following week.

Within a month everything had changed at the Manor. Important-

looking documents were frequently delivered and Julia would enterthe library to find her father happily and pompously signing them.

Although she tried to discover what it was all about, Sir Hugo would

merely point a waggish finger at her and say that women should not

bother their heads with business, so that eventually Julia came to the

reluctant conclusion that her father knew as little about what he was

doing as she did.

Soon signs of their increasing affluence began to appear. A girl from

the village was engaged as a maid and the family silver was taken

out, cleaned and put back in the main rooms; the old curtains and

worn carpets were mended and the dilapidated hot-houses repaired

and filled again with fruit and flowers.

To Julia, the Manor as it was now seemed unbelievable in its

comfort, and though she frequently wondered how long it would last

she was prepared to live from day to day and enjoy each one.

Bathed and ready for breakfast, she ran down the wide staircase,

stopping as she saw the village constable in the hall.

Sir Hugo was holding a briefcase and his wife was by his side.

"Good morning, everybody," Julia said uncertainly. "Is - is anything

wrong?"

Her mother drew a hand across her eyes in a bewildered gesture. "I

don't know, darling. Constable Perkins wants your father to go to thepolice station with him to make a statement."


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"What about?"

"The Company," Sir Hugo said before his wife could answer.

"Why can't you answer the questions here?" Although Julia

addressed the question to her father she looked at Constable Perkins,who shuffled uncomfortably.

"It isn't our local station, Miss Trafford. It's Scotland Yard."

"Scotland Yard!" This time Julia looked at her father. ' 'What do they

want to see you for?"

"I don't know, dear." Sir Hugo's usually jovial manner was

constrained. "But whatever it is, there's no need to worry. I'll know

more about it when I come home."

He walked out through the front door and, watching him drive off in

a police car, Julia had a sense of foreboding that augured ill for the

future.

It was the afternoon of a cold February, three months later, when the

jury filed back into the court at the Old Bailey and took their places

in the box. A wave of anticipation ran through the crowded

courtroom. Julia leaned forward in her seat as the foreman stood up.

"Have you reached your verdict?" the judge asked.

"Yes, m'lord. We find the prisoner guilty."

A murmur rose in the courtroom and stifled the exclamation ofdespair that came from Lady Trafford. In a daze, Julia heard the

judge pronounce sentence of five years' imprisonment, but his voice

seemed to come from a long way off and it was not until Conrad


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Winster helped her to her feet that she saw the courtroom was slowly

emptying.

They were silent during the drive back to the small furnished flat

which they had rented during the trial and Julia led Winster into the

sitting-room while her mother disappeared into the bedroom.

Dropping her bag and gloves on the table, she collapsed into an

armchair. "I can't believe it! How could they think my father guilty?

He had no more idea what was going on in the Company than a

baby.''

Winster lifted his shoulders in a pitying gesture. "Unfortunately thejury judged on the facts. The Stock Exchange Committee has been

waiting for an opportunity to make an example of a share-pusher, and

they took advantage of this case to do so."

"But my father wouldn't know one share from another!"

"Maybe. But he still bought his own Company's shares when they

were at rock bottom and then got his friends to buy in on a rising

market."

"That's not criminal."

"It is when you can prove that he himself started the rumour that theCompany was going to be taken over. The shares rocketed up and

your father sold out and made a killing."

"Sixty thousand pounds," she murmured, "all of it gone in fines." She

looked up at Winster. "But what about all the otherpeople who sold

their shares before they fell - and made a killing too?"

"But they didn't start the rumour about the take-over.'

"I don't believe my father did."


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"The prosecution called witnesses from your father's club to prove

that he did."

"What my father said must have been perpetrated by someone else,"

she said defiantly.

Winster looked uncomfortable. "The shares he got his friends to buy

came from the Company of which he was chairman," he said again.

"That's why he was so harshly judged."

"Harshly!" she said bitterly. "That's the understatement of the year!"

Julia's mother came into the room on the last sentence. "Can't weappeal, Mr. Winster?"

"Personally I wouldn't advise it. But check with the lawyer." He

leaned forward in the chair and looked intently at Julia. "I'd give

anything to help your father, but it's impossible. If you want another

Q.C.'s opinion I'll happily get it for you."

She looked up at him, her eyes bright with tears. "We couldn't accept

any more from you - you've done so much already. As it is, we still

have to repay you for the Q.C. you briefed."

"I'd like to take care of that. Somehow I feel responsible for the

whole trouble. If I hadn't put your father's name forward in the firstplace, this might never have happened."

"It wasn't your fault it turned out like this."

"None the less I feel to blame. If I'd had any idea someone was

pushing up bogus shares I'd" He gave an exclamation of anger and

Lady Trafford sighed.

"It's incredible that my husband was accused because he signed

documents he never understood!"


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"If a leakage hadn't occurred, the whole thing would never have been

discovered. The shares would have doubled in value instead of

falling to nothing and someone would have made a handsome profit.

Unfortunately there was a leakage. That's why the whole thing blew

up."

"It's so monstrously unfair!" Julia burst out. "If it hadn't been for Mr.

Farnham's prosecution I'm sure Father would have been acquitted."

"Farnham was only doing his duty."

"He did much more than that! He took a delight in tormenting my

father with questions that would have confused a judge- let alonesomeone who doesn't know anything at all about finance."

"Mr. Farnham did seem very merciless," Lady Trafford agreed. "His

final speech seemed unnecessarily harsh."

"That's putting it mildly!" Julia said. "It was the most vindictive,

vitriolic attack I've ever heard. It wasn't enough for him to prove

Father guilty, he seemed to make a personal issue of it."

As she spoke she saw again the tall, thin figure of the prosecuting

counsel with his thin, dark face, hard, set mouth and flashing grey

eyes; heard again his ringing, sarcastic tones as he had paced before

the jury, his long, bony hands pulling at the sides of his gown as heproceeded relentlessly with his indictment.

Slowly the jury had become hypnotised by the magnetic voice and

forceful personality of the man addressing them, and Julia knew she

would never forget his air of satisfaction as he heard the verdict,

gathered up his papers and left the courtroom, with never a backward

glance at the old man in the dock whose life he had ruined.


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"You mustn't think too hardly of Farnham," Winster's voice broke

into her thoughts. "He's young and ambitious and this was an

important case for him. I knew he'd go all out for a conviction."

"Then why didn't you get him to defendmy father?"

"I offered him the brief, but he refused it. He's never been known to

defend a man if he believes he is guilty."

In the uncomfortable pause that followed, Lady Trafford murmured

that she would go and make some tea, and as the door closed behind

her, Conrad Winster sat down opposite Julia.

When they had first met, he had been amazed that a man like Sir

Hugo could have produced so lovely a daughter, for he had imagined

her as large and bony with the horsy manner so many society girls

had. Her tall, slender figure and thin face framed by dark hair had not

only surprised him, but had made him determined to know her better,

and her complete uninterest in him as a man had only served to

increase this desire.

At forty-five Winster had reached the age when he was no longer

amused by casual affairs, and as soon as he had met Julia he had seen

her as the graceful doyenne of the home he would buy, her breeding

and beauty a perfect complement to his brains and money.

He coughed gently and she looked up. "Forgive my asking, Miss

Trafford, but"

"Don't you think that after all you've done you should call me Julia?"

Satisfaction widened his smile. "I'd be delighted. But only if you call

me Conrad. I was going to ask whether you and your mother havemade any plans for the future."


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She shook her head. "We don't know yet whether Father will be

made bankrupt. If he is we'll have nothing to sell. But in any case we

intend to get rid of the house."

Winster drew a quick breath. It had never occurred to him that they

would sell their home, for when he had imagined the future with Juliahe had pictured them living at the Manor, deriving infinite

satisfaction from the thought of possessing an ancestral home he

could never otherwise have achieved.

"Would you considerme as a prospective buyer?" he asked."You?"Afraid he might be hurt by her surprise - for she had alreadydiscovered he was sensitive about his lack of background - she added

hastily: "I mean, you've no family, and the house is so big."

"With a wife and children, no man could ask for a lovelier home."

"Are you thinking of marrying, then?"

"I hope to one day - unless you think I'm too old?"

She flushed. "Of course not. It's only that you seem so assured and

successful without a wife that I can't imagine you settling down to

domestic bliss!"

"The most unexpected people have yearnings for domesticity, Julia.

If I haven't married yet, it's because I've never fallen in love - until

now."

Though Julia sensed his implication she gave no sign of it and

continued to keep the conversation firmly on the house. "I couldn't let

you buy it. It's far too big. You only want it out of a desire to helpus."


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He smiled slightly. "Then there's nothing else I can say. May I ask

what you intend to do?"

"Find a small flat in London and get a job - though I don't know what

kind of job."

Winster studied her for a moment and then said, "You'd make a first-

rate model."

"You have to have training for that."

"I don't think there's much anyone could teach you about wearing

clothes. You've a natural gift for it."

He stopped speaking as Lady Trafford returned with a tray,

instinctively guessing that Julia did not wish to talk about the future

in front of her mother. Immediately after having a cup of tea he said

goodbye to them and Julia saw him to the door. In the hallway he

took out a card and scribbled a name on it. "Go along and see this

man. I'll have a word with him meanwhile and I'm sure he'll give you

a job."

Julia looked at the card. "Despoir? But he's the top couturier in

London - I wouldn't have the nerve to go and seehim!""Nonsense. If he takes you it'll be because you're worth it." Hepaused. "Will you be seeing your father in the morning?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll ring you afterwards."

As long as she lived Julia would never forget her last visit to herfather. The weeks since his arrest had changed him from a jovial man

with a military manner into an old man whose shuffling gait and

nervous twitching bespoke nights of self-reproach, and Julia felt she


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could have borne anything but the sight of his blue-veined hands

quivering unceasingly on the table-top as he had talked to them...

She and her mother returned the same day to Lammerton to begin the

heartbreaking task of packing up their personal possessions in

readiness for the auction. The few servants, so newly engaged, hadlong since been paid off, and except for Julia's old nanny, she and her

mother were alone in the house.

While her mother concentrated on the final packing, Julia decided to

go to London to look for a flat. It meant an unceasing round of agents

and viewing, but the majority of the flats she saw were either too

expensive or so cheap and miserable that she could not even considerthem. At last she settled for a small furnished flat in Bayswater, her

heart sinking at the contrast between the three simple rooms and the

comfort of her former life.

However, she returned to her hotel feeling considerably more

cheerful. She was just walking towards the lift when the desk clerkcalled her and she went over to find him holding out several message

slips. They were all from Conrad Winster, asking her to contact him

at once.

Instantly she knew a sense of disaster, and hurrying across to the

telephone box in the lobby, dialled his number. Almost as though he

had been awaiting her call, he answered at once.

"It's your father," he said without preamble. "He's had a heart attack.

The prison welfare officer called your mother and she got on to me.

Where are you now?"

"In the hotel."

"I'll be over at once."


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It seemed an endless time until he arrived, though it was in fact

barely fifteen minutes, and one look at his face as he came across to

her made his words almost unnecessary.

"It's bad news, I'm afraid, Julia."

"You mean..."

"Yes. Your father died this afternoon."

She swayed and he caught hold of her. "I'm sorry to have to tell you

like this, but there was no point hedging."

"I understand," she whispered. "It's just - it's just so awful that he

died alone - and in prison."

"I know." Winster said nothing more, though he looked at her with

intense sympathy. "I'll drive you home. You'll probably want to be

with your mother."

Gratefully she accepted his offer and he waited in the hotel lounge as

she went to her room, hurriedly packed and came down with her

case.

Not until they were speeding out of London did she feel able to talk,

and her first words were of Nigel Farnham's prosecution. "If it hadn't

been for him, Daddy would have been alive today. All those terrible

things he said must have swayed the jury." Julia was silent for a

moment, then: "I never knew I was capable of hating anyone as much

as I hate him! If there was any way I could harm him for what he did

to my father, I'd do it."

"Don't torment yourself like that. The man was only doing his duty."

"He did more than his duty," she said stonily.


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Winster did not answer, and Julia relapsed into silence, a silence

which lasted until they reached the Manor.

The following days were a nightmare. Winster insisted on remaining

at the Manor throughout the ordeal of Sir Hugo's funeral and the

auction which followed, and Julia felt she would never have managedhad he not stood like a bulwark between her and the humiliation she

had to face. Sir Hugo having been declared bankrupt, the proceeds of

the sale went to pay back as much as possible of the losses the

shareholders had sustained, and by the time everything was settled

she and her mother were left with only a small annuity which, while

it would supplement the income Julia hoped to earn, was quite

insufficient for them to live on.

Winster was aghast when he saw where they intended to live. He did

not like the little house, nor did he approve of the landlady, but Julia

would not hear a word against kind Mrs. Cooper, who proved to have

a heart of gold beneath her stolid exterior.

The crocuses the woman had planted in the window-box of her new

tenants' sitting-room were putting forth their first green shoots when

Julia and her mother finally moved into Cambrian Terrace. The pale

spears struggling through the fibre into the light and the air above

them seemed symbolic of Julia's own life - of leaving home, with all

its associations and security, and starting afresh in a world which was

strange and uncertain, and she could not help feeling that, like thefragile flowers, her efforts to establish herself and earn a living would

be as short-lived as the life of the delicate blooms in front of her.


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CHAPTER TWO

ALTHOUGH Julia did not like accepting any more help from Winster,

she knew she could not afford to delay getting a job, and deciding it

would be foolish not to make use of his introduction to Andr

Despoir she telephoned for an appointment.

With some trepidation she entered his tall, elegant house in

Grosvenor Street, its silver-gilt door guarded by a grey- liveried

commissionaire. She was escorted up a wide flight of stairs carpeted

in silver grey to where a pretty girl was seated at a desk in an alcove.

"Good morning, madam. Can I help you?"

"I have an appointment to see Monsieur Despoir. It's Miss Trafford."

The girl disappeared, and returned after a moment with a look of

curiosity on her face. She had imagined the well- dressed young girl

to be a new client and had been surprised when Despoir had ordered

her to show the lady into his office, for he never saw clients there.

Julia was taken aback at her first sight of the famous couturier. He

looked more like an athlete than a man who had made a fortune from

his expert handling of materials. He was so tall and broad that he

seemed to fill the small office, not only with his bulk but with his

personality. He eyed her intently and she wished she had not had thetemerity to come to him for a job. What use would such a man have

for someone without any experience?

"Please sit down, Miss Trafford." Despoir's speech was slow and

precise, with a slight accent which was certainly not French. He

waited till she had done so and then resumed speaking. "You are Sir

Hugo Trafford's daughter, aren't you?"


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"Yes. Mr. Winster was a friend of my father. I met him during the -

trial."

"Come over here, Miss Trafford," he said abruptly, "and let me have

a look at you. Leave your jacket on the chair."

Julia did as she was told and Despoir scrutinised her carefully. The

sunlight, filtering down through the narrow cul-de-sac which the

window overlooked, could find no flaw in the delicate triangular

face, while the hollows beneath her cheekbones, which the past

months had deepened, gave character to the classical lines of her

features.

"Stand in the centre of the room and turn round slowly," he

commanded, and as she did so he watched. "Your figure is

excellent," he said. "I like my models tall and thin."

"I've had no experience," she blurted out.

"That is obvious," he smiled. "But you have natural grace and you

know how to wear clothes."

"Does that mean you'll give me a job?"

"Yes. I can use another girl. But the work is not easy and you have

much to learn before you can model my clothes." He moved across tohis desk, scribbled something on a piece of paper and gave it to her.

"Come here next Monday at nine. When you arrive, take the last door

on the landing and go upstairs to Madame Angela. You will be

working under her direction." He held out his hand. "Best of luck,

Miss Trafford - I hope you will be happy with us."

She hesitated. "I wonder whether you'd - I mean I'd rather not beknown here by my own name. I'm using my mother's maiden name

of Trevelyan at the moment."


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"You can be known by whatever name you like."

"Thank you."

Her hand was on the door-knob when she heard his voice again, soft

with amusement. "You haven't asked about your salary, MissTrevelyan."

She turned back quickly. "I quite forgot."

"You must learn to be more commercial I" He named a salary, a

nominal figure while she was training but which would be increased

once she began to model his clothes. She thanked him, then saidgoodbye and walked happily down the stairs.

On Monday she arrived at the salon, fifteen minutes early,

apprehensive as to the sort of woman Madame Angela would be. Her

fears that her new supervisor would be a hard taskmistress turned out

to be groundless, for Madame Angela was a charming, friendly

woman in her early fifties, with dark expressive eyes, gamin features

and quick, bird-like movements.

Julia followed her into a large room which seemed to be teeming

with women, all grouped around the models. She was introduced to

each of them in turn and liked the first two immediately. Jackie

Fenton was a slim, vivacious-looking girl with a tip-tilted nose andbrilliant red hair; and Stella Burns was fair and unusually small. The

third girl, Claire Severn, whom Julia liked the least, was the chief

model, a tall blonde with white skin and large grey eyes.

She eyed Julia disdainfully and after the barest of greetings

proceeded to ignore her. But Julia was too interested in watching

what was happening to take notice of anyone's rudeness, and in theweeks that followed she spent her time watching the girls being fitted

for the clothes they were to model for the Spring Collection.


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Throughout this time she met Winster periodically, and soon realised

he would like more than the friendship she offered him. Because she

was still too numb to feel any emotion, she deliberately refrained

from seeing him as often as he wished, and sensing her inability to

give him more than friendship at the moment, he continued to bide

his time.

Three days before the Spring Show, Jackie, who for some days had

been complaining of a pain in her side, was rushed to hospital with

appendicitis.

"Where can we get another mannequin at such short notice?" Despoir

roared. "Why couldn't she wait for the Show before having herappendix out?" He paced the room as if seeking inspiration, and

suddenly noticed Julia, who was on her knees picking up pins from

the carpet. A speculative gleam came into his eyes and he snapped

his fingers at her to stand up.

"Get undressed!" he ordered. "And come back here. I'm going to useyou."

The next three days were a nightmare to Julia, and looking back on

them afterwards she found it hard to believe she had borne

everything with such equanimity.

Julia could never remember clearly the Show itself. All she wasaware of was that for two days she peeled off one dress and slipped

hastily into another. She steeled herself to be unaware of the faces

turned towards her as she entered the overheated, over-scented salon

and would stare over the heads of the buyers, her face an

expressionless mask.

To her amazement she was retained as a model even after Jackie'sreturn, and as the months went by was surprised at the way in which

she adapted herself to her new life.


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One morning, some time after the Show, an important client came in

to see the bridal gown which Claire Severn had modelled at the

Show. Claire was late in arriving, and when she entered the dressing-

room found Julia already wearing the dress and on her way to show it

to the client.

Claire's pale face flushed with anger. "Take it off!" she demanded.

"Madame Angela's asked me to model it," Julia replied quietly.

"Don't play the little Miss Innocent with me! You've been spoiling

for my position ever since you came, and now you think you've

found a chance. Well, you haven't, your ladyship - or do I call you'the Honourable'?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think I don't know who you are - Miss Trafford?" Claire's

voice rang with malice. "Why are you pretending you need to work?

Didn't your father swindle enough money to keep you?"

Julia recoiled as if she had been struck and Claire's look of malice

increased. "You thought no one knew your real name, didn't you?"

"Who told you?"

"I heard you talking to Despoir the first time you came here."

"Is eavesdropping another of your accomplishments?" Julia retorted.

"It's better than stealing!"

Controlling herself, Julia made to move past, but Claire, in a whiteheat of rage, roughly caught hold of her shoulder. There was a

rending sound and the heavily embroidered collar ripped away from

the bodice, scattering pearls and crystals on the floor. At that moment


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Despoir, annoyed at the delay of Julia's appearance, came into the

dressing- room to see what had happened. One look at the two girls

told him, and with an exclamation of fury he bounded forward and

pushed them both into the fitting-room, calling for Angela as he did

so. He wasted no words on Claire until Julia had left the room again,

with the neckline skilfully pinned back into position, and when shecame back to take off the dress, Despoir was alone.

"Claire has left," he said abruptly. "It was impossible for both of you

to work together. I should have realised it before."

"But she was your best model!"

He flung out his arms. "I had no choice. A girl who can wantonly

destroy a work of art like my wedding dress ..." Words failed him.

"No! She had to go."

"But you've always built your collections around her," Julia

protested.

"Then I'll build them around someone else," Despoir said promptly.

"And this time it will be a brunette. A girl of sophistication yet

simplicity. You!"

Despoir's Autumn Collection was the talk of London and Paris, and

Julia was photographed so much that scarcely a day went by without

the newspapers carrying some item of gossip about her. Despoir had

kept the secret of her name and she was known only as Juliette. For

publicity's sake she was seen in his clothes at first nights and film

premieres, and received many invitations from eligible young men

who would have been delighted to be seen with her. But she refusedmost of them, fearing she might meet someone she had known in the

years before the trial.


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It was late one afternoon in December that, returning to the fitting-

room after displaying a trousseau, Julia found a message asking her

to go to St. George's Hospital immediately. Feeling she was reliving

a sequence of events that had already taken place, Julia did so, and

arriving at the hospital was met by one of the house doctors.

"Your mother was knocked down as she was crossing the road," he

said quietly. "I'm afraid she's very badly hurt."

"How badly?"

He hesitated. "I doubt if she'll last the night."

Julia stared at him, speechless. Once more fate had shown its cruel

hand in her life, this time taking away the last remaining person she

cared for.

"Is there nothing you can do?" she asked.

"No. I'm sorry, but it's hopeless. There are too many internal injuries.She couldn't even live through an operation."

"Can I see her?"

"Of course. She's not conscious, though."

Silently Julia followed him into the lift and up to a large ward. A

cubicle in one corner was covered by curtains and he led her over to

it. As he had said, her mother was not aware of anyone's presence,

and Julia sat down in a chair and stared at the closed eyes and ashen

face. Any faint hope she had had of her mother recovering now

ebbed away, and she knew it was only a matter of hours before the

end.

At midnight her mother began to move restlessly and the night Sister

was called. Julia was asked to wait outside the ward, and she leaned


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listlessly against the wall, bracing herself for what she knew to be

inevitable. Yet when the Sister came out to see her, her face full of

sympathy, Julia's composure dissolved and she burst into tears.

"Haven't you a friend we can call for you?" Sister asked.

Julia shook her head. "I don't want anyone."

"You shouldn't be alone. Do you live near here?"

"I lived with my - mother." She forced herself to hold back the sobs.

"Don't worry about me, Sister. I'll be perfectly all right."

Like an automaton she returned home, but face to face with Mrs.

Cooper she broke down again, crying not only for the present but for

the past and all the anguish it had held for her mother.

"She didn't suffer," Mrs. Cooper placated her. "At least that's one

good thing about it."

"She already suffered," Julia said bitterly. "You've no idea how

much."

Mrs. Cooper patted Julia's head awkwardly. "I know how you feel,"

she crooned, "but try not to take it so hard. Your mother wasn't happy

- this wasn't the sort of life she'd been used to."

"But we were together," Julia cried.

"But when you weren't at home I'd often hear her crying."

Although the words were poor consolation they did, in some way,

help to alleviate Julia's sorrow, and though she was now entirelyalone in the' world, she gained some comfort from the belief that at

last her mother was at peace.


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Now that she was alone, Winster took her out more often, and Julia

knew she would not be able to stop him from asking her to marry

him. She was honest enough to admit that without his company she

would have been unbearably lonely in the months after her mother's

death, but she was not sure if her loneliness could ever lead to her

falling in love with him. All she knew was that she enjoyed hiscompany and looked forward to seeing him; but there was none of

the excited anticipation and desire which she had always associated

with love.

However, he forced the issue one evening when they were dining

together, using the news of his sudden departure to America as an

excuse for asking her to marry him while she was still in mourning

for her mother.

"I know you're not sure if you love me," he said softly. "But I love

you, darling. I know I could make you love me."

She studied him squarely, recognising the stubbornness in the firmchin and thin, yet sensual mouth. He was a man who had always got

what he wanted; who had started out without any help from anyone

and was now a self-made millionaire - that alone spoke for

determination. Yet could determination to make a woman fall in love

with you actually cause it to happen? If she could be sure that the

answer was yes, she would have no hesitation in accepting his offer

of marriage. But she was not sure. That was the trouble; and amarriage without love would be far worse than having to live alone.

"Well, Julia," Winster said softly, "I'm waiting for an answer. Will

you marry me and come to America for our honeymoon?"

"I can't, I'm afraid." She reached out across the table and caught his

hand. "I don't want to hurt you, Conrad. That's why I can't say yes.

Give me longer. I want more time to think... to get to know you

better."


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"The best way to do that is to marry me!"

"Wait until you come back from the States," she said. "I'll give my

answer then."

Shortly afterwards they left the restaurant, and driving home inWinster's large, comfortable car, she knew that many girls would

have considered her stupid not to have accepted his proposal at once.

The public was notoriously fickle and her fame as a model would not

enable her to continue with this sort of life indefinitely. Like other

women, she wanted a man to love, and a home and children, but until

she was certain that Conrad was the man whom she could live withfor the rest of her life, she could not agree to marry him.

When they reached Cambrian Terrace she held out her hand. "I doubt

if I'll see you before you go. I'll be working late most evenings from

now on. Despoir is doing the fittings for the Spring Collection."

"I can see you at any time, Julia. I'm no early bird." There was slight

amusement in his voice. "If you'd rather we didn't meet until I come

back from the States, you just have to say so."

"Are you always able to read my mind?" she questioned.

"I hope so!" Unexpectedly he slid forward across the seat and pulledher into his arms. It was the first time he had held her and she was

surprised at the gentleness of his touch. His lips rested on hers,

lightly to begin with, their pressure increasing as he felt her respond

to him. She had been starved of affection for so long that she found

intense pleasure in his closeness and only realised that he was

misinterpreting her mood when he pushed her further back against

the seat and rested the weight of his body on hers, the tremblingpressure of his hands making words unnecessary.


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Fear gave her strength and she struggled from his grasp. "Conrad,

don't! Leave me alone!"

Instantly he drew back. "I'm sorry, Julia. I didn't mean to frighten

you. But you're so beautiful, so desirable. ..."

She opened the door of the car and stepped out on to the pavement.

He went to follow her, but she shook her head and ran up the steps to

the house. "Good-night, Conrad. Have a good journey.''

"Sweet dreams," he said in a soft but gently mocking tone. "Don't

forget me, darling. I'll be back for my answer as soon as my trip is

over."

More shaken by his kiss than she had imagined she would be, she let

herself into the house. Had Conrad been able to arouse her because

she was lonely and in need of love, or was his attraction a real and

lasting one? If only she knew the answer how much easier her

problem would be. To marry Conrad or to refuse him ... That - as

Hamlet had said - was the question.


30/203

CHAPTER THREE

JULIA was kept so busy with fittings that she had no time to miss

Winster, and only just remembered to send him a note wishing him

bon voyage.

Everyone at the Salon was in a state of hysteria, but although she was

not affected to the same degree, she found herself reacting to the

nervousness around her. It Was a nervousness which increased as the

opening day drew near, and by the time it arrived there was little to

choose between her own state and those of all the other fitters and

models.

The first showing of the Collection was set for five o'clock in the

afternoon, but by four-thirty the hall was filled with a crowd of men

and women, their manners not nearly as elegant as their clothes. The

Salon itself was tightly packed, one spindle-legged chair wedged

against another. A buzz of chatter rose and fell in the heavily scented

air, and the glittering candelabra reflected the sparkle of jewellery.

At ten minutes past the hour, the centre lights dimmed, they grey

satin curtains draping the dais drew back to form an arch, and

Despoir's Spring Show began. Julia made her entry first, and a spatter

of applause greeted her, almost lost in the buzz of conversation as she

disappeared again.

"So Despoir's still using her as his clothes-peg. ... If only his things

looked as good on me as they do on her. ... What a gorgeous creature

she is! I wonder where he found her? ... Do you think she's a relation

of his - they say he guards her like a watchdog!"

To the man in the front row the remarks sounded feline, with that

subtle reservation which frequently characterised the comments ofone woman about another. He half turned and looked at his cousin, a


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pretty but plump blonde, and asked her why so much fuss was being

made about one particular girl.

"Because she's fabulous! Honestly, haven't you got eyes!"

"It isn't difficult to look good if you can wear a two- hundred-pounddress."

"Really?" his cousin drawled. "Then just cast your eyes around and

tell me if there's anyone here to touch Juliette."

"Oh no," he groaned, "not Juliette! I don't believe that's her real

name."

"Who cares if it is or isn't? She's still the most wonderful thing I've

ever seen. Watch her properly next time."

The man did as he was bid and was obliged to concede that this tall,

delicate creature, with her slow, sinewy walk, was indeed lovely to

look at.

As the Collection neared its end the excitement mounted, and when

two models came out in wild silk bridesmaids' dresses there was an

audible murmur of anticipation. The slow strains of the Wedding

March seeped through the room and there was a gasp as Juliette

stood framed in the archway.

Her dress was a dream of innocence; a subtle blending of lawn and

satin that appeared to reveal everything yet revealed nothing at all.

As she walked, every bone in her body was indicated, every beautiful

line visible, yet apart from her face and hands she was completely

swathed in material. It was a masterpiece of cut that could only have

come from Despoir and could only have been worn to advantage by agirl with as fine a figure as Julia. At Despoir's command her hair was

worn loose, falling in dark waves to her shoulders where it then


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curled softly upwards, and her face was devoid of make-up, save for

mascara and a pale gleaming silver lipstick.

The man watching could scarcely credit the change in her. Gone was

the exotic beauty of the past two hours, and in her place was a shy,

gentle girl whose defencelessness invited protection.

Julia was intensely aware of the scrutiny he was subjecting her to,

and though she was used to being looked at boldly, demandingly and

often lustfully, she had never encountered so penetrating a stare as

this.

Even so, she was not prepared for him to turn up again a few dayslater, and standing behind the curtains in one of the intervals, she

searched the crowd until she saw him, sitting aloof and disinterested

among a group of women. How out of place he looked in this hot-

house atmosphere!

Although not handsome in the obvious sense, he was too tall and thin

for that, there was nonetheless a distinction about him which set him

apart from the other men in the room. His face was gaunt, with high

cheekbones, thin, curved mouth and determined chin. His hair, dark

and thick, was brushed straight back from a high forehead, though a

narrow lock fell forward, giving him a rakish and faintly arrogant

appearance. There was something about him that struck a chord in

her memory, although she was certain she had never met him.

At lunchtime the next day Julia was handed a long cellophane box

filled with freesias. In the dressing-room she lifted the lid and

breathed in the heady scent. A card lay among the flowers, and

turning it over she saw a message penned in thick, firm writing.

Had it not been for the wedding dress I would have sent youorchids or tiger lilies. But these, I think, will suit you better.


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Would you dine with me tomorrow night? I will telephone for

your answer.

As she came to the signature the blood drained from her face, and

there flashed into her mind a picture of the man as she had first seen

him. But this time he was wearing a wig and black gown, and onehand had been pointing menacingly at the man in the dock. She

buried her head in her hands. Nigel Farnham! The one man she hated

more than any other. How incredible that he should be writing to her

so pleadingly, begging her to have dinner with him.

Throughout the day Julia was scarcely aware of what she was doing.

Memories she had long thought dead returned so vividly that she feltthe present had no reality; once more she was in the courtroom,

seeing her father in the dock and Nigel Farnham pointing his hand

accusingly at him as he had accused him of being a cheat and an.

embezzler. And now this same man who had been responsible for her

father's death in prison was asking her to dine with him! It was irony

too bitter to be appreciated.

She was on the point of leaving for home when his telephone call

came through. It was impossible for her to speak to him - she would

either burst into tears or lose her temper - and she begged Jackie to

talk to him instead.

"What shall I say to him?"

"Just make it clear that I don't want to see him."

Nigel Farnham was taken aback at having his invitation turned down,

and his professional manner overcame his surprise, and made him

query the reason.

"Juliette rarely goes out with - with - er - men she doesn't know,"

Jackie stammered.


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"She could have at least spoken to me," came the reply.

"She's with a client."

"I see." There was a pause. "Is she married?"

"Oh no." Jackie tried to soften the blow. "She loved the flowers you

sent."

"I'm glad," came the dry reply. "Thank you for being kind enough to

talk to me. You have much better manners than your colleague."

He hung up abruptly and Jackie made a face at the receiver andlonged to give Julia a slap for being so silly. How could anyone in

their right mind refuse to go out with a man like Nigel Farnham?

Though he had put down the phone so sharply, Nigel Farnham was

unable to get Juliette out of his mind, and he was musing over her

strange behaviour on his way to his chambers the following morning

when he heard his name called. Swinging round, he saw his cousin,breathless and dishevelled, running towards him.

"I thought it was you," she gasped as she reached his side.

"What are you doing down in these parts - getting advice on the legal

status of married women?"

"Don't be nasty! I was on my way to see Tony and took a short cut.

Then I got lost." She tilted her head and looked at him questioningly.

"You haven't got time to take me out for lunch, I suppose?"

"As a matter of fact I have. The case I've been working on has ended

more quickly than I thought it would, so I've got most of today free."

"That's wonderful. What happened - did you win?"


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He smiled. "Actually they settled out of court. I think they -were a bit

windy about the decision of the judge, so they thought it best to pay

up."

"You must have scared them into it."

He conceded the point, his general sense of irritation vanishing under

his cousin's charm.

"If you've got the afternoon free," she went on, "perhaps you'd like to

come with me to Despoir's. I've got to make up my mind about my

wedding dress and the rest of my trousseau."

"Not with me there," he said quickly.

"Why not? I thought you rather enjoyed it last time."

He hesitated. The idea of seeing Juliette again was somehow

intriguing. Would she be surprised or would she accept it as the

normal behaviour of a besotted suitor? His anger against her rose andhe found himself accepting Liz's offer without being able to stop

himself.

When Julia walked into the salon to model the wedding dress for a

client she was dismayed to find Nigel Farnham there. Instinct told

her that he had come solely to embarrass her, and she did not have towait long before being proved right.

"It's a dream of a dress," the young client commented. "Don't you

think so, Nigel?"

"It's not for you," he said. "It's too obvious."

It was the first time Julia had heard his voice outside of the

courtroom and she could not stop a shiver. Madame Angela noticed


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it, and sensing something was wrong she came over to see if she

could help.

Liz looked at her gratefully. "I need your advice, Madame. I love the

wedding dress, but my cousin doesn't. He thinks it's too" she

hesitated, and Nigel intervened.

"Do you have something more simple? My cousin is young, as you

can see, and I think something less fussy would be better."

"Certainly." Madame Angela swallowed and signalled Julia to

change into another outfit, and for the remainder of the afternoon

remained within earshot. The girl seemed to like everything that wasshown to her, but the man was out to make as much difficulty as he

could, and found fault with all he saw. Either a dress was too low or

too high; too naive or too vulgar. But no matter what he said he was

able to make the remark sound like an insult to the girl modelling it.

Julia knew he was doing it deliberately, and was determined not to let

him know how much his barbs hurt. But her anger soon became

apparent in her face, where twin flags of red glowed in her cheeks

and an extra sparkle darkened the vivid blue of her eyes. It served to

heighten her beauty, which in turn served to heighten the man's acid

comments, and only when he made one particularly rude observation

was Julia unable to stop the sudden glitter of tears.

Seeing it made the man stop speaking with such abruptness that his

cousin looked at him waiting for him to finish his sentence. The

expression she saw on his face reminded her of the way he had

looked at Juliette when she had come to the salon with him on the

first day of the Collection, and with a sudden dawning of realisation

she knew that something had occurred between him and this lovely

looking model girl. Could Nigel have fallen in love at last? She

longed to rush out and tell Tony, but forced herself to remain seated,

wishing there was some way in which she could tell her cousin that if


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he was hoping to make Juliette notice him he must stop acting as if

he was defendant for the prosecution and she was witness for the

Crown! But her desire to warn him was unnecessary, for when next

he spoke his voice was completely different, being soft and gentle,

without any of the biting sharpness that had been in it from the

moment he had entered the salon.

"I think you've seen enough clothes for today, Liz. The model is

tired. Come back again tomorrow."

Liz smiled at Julia. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realise ..."

"I'm perfectly able to continue," Julia replied.

"No, I wouldn't dream of it." Liz stood up and moved across to talk

to Madame Angela, deliberately leaving her cousin on his own.

Quickly he spoke. "I'm sorry for my bad temper. I guess I'm not used

to having my invitations turned down. Will you forgive me?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Of course you do. But I don't blame you for making me grovel."

Talking to her gave him such an unexpected sense of pleasure that he

would willingly have apologised in any way that would have

mollified her. He must have been crazy to have acted in such a rudeand uncalled-for manner. "Please say you forgive me?"

She shrugged. "If it will make you feel better. ... But I can assure that

I haven't noticed anything unusual in your behaviour."

He could not help a half smile at the studied indifference in her voice,

at the same time noting with pleasure that she had a speaking voiceas lovely as her appearance.

"If you really mean that, then you'll come out with me."


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known until now, and she savoured the thought of it. Vengeance

against Nigel Farnham....

The following night she dressed with more care than at any other

time. Despoir had always encouraged her to wear his clothes, and

now she took advantage of the offer, choosing a hyacinth blue silkjersey dress that was considered one of the most successful he had

designed.

Promptly at eight o'clock his car drew up outside the house, and she

went downstairs to meet him. Mrs. Cooper had already let him in and

was chatting in her usual voluble fashion. Farnham appeared to be

listening intently, but his eyes met Julia's, and she saw the slightsmile in them. Even as she continued to look at him she saw him

become aware of her appearance, noticed the way a muscle began to

move spasmodically at the side of his temple.

With Mrs. Cooper still talking to them from the doorway, Nigel

Farnham escorted Julia to his car. With dismay she saw it waschauffeur-driven and knew that the testing time for her was coming

sooner than she had anticipated. She hadto control her true feelings;

she must put on the greatest act of her life.

As the car moved off she turned to look at the man by her side. In

evening dress he was taller and thinner than she had remembered.

More handsome too, with a dashing masculinity that came more fromhis arrogant bearing than anything else. He was smoking a cigarette

and she noticed that his hands were long and thin, yet with a

suggestion of strength that went well with his lithe body. He was a

man to be reckoned with, a man who would destroy if she let him

know what was in her mind before he was made sufficiently weak by

love. Love ... it was a word she had never associated with him; and to

think of it in terms ofherselfand Nigel Farnham was so terrifying a

thought that she wished she could turn back the clock six hours. If

only she had refused to go out with him!


40/203

"You look beautiful." His voice broke into her thoughts. "But I

suppose you must be used to compliments."

"I always like hearing them."

"Was it true what your friend said?"

"About what?"

"That you don't go out often - and never with men you don't know."

"It's partly true."'

"Partly?"

There was an edge to his voice that gave her a thrill of satisfaction,

and she knew that to make this man jealous was going to be far easier

than she had realised.

"Despoir likes to have me to go first nights and certain parties thatare given by his clients. It means I wear his clothes."

"I don't like to think of you having to carry your working life into

your private one."

Remembering how different her private life could have been - indeed

would have been if this man had shown some mercy andunderstanding towards her father - her reply was tinged with

sharpness. "Beggars can't be choosers, Mr. Farnham."

"A girl like you should never have to beg. You're so - so exquisite

I'm sure you could - you could marry anyone you wished. I refuse to

believe you haven't had dozens of proposals."

"Hundreds," she said, "but not the sort of proposals that bring a ring

with them!"


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"You haven't returned the compliment," he remarked. "Or don't you

want me to call you Juliette?"

"I'd rather you called me Julia. That's my real name. Despoir made up

the other one."

"Ah!" There was a note of satisfaction in his tone. "I'm glad about

that. I didn't feel the name Juliette was yours."

"You're very perceptive."

"Perceptive enough to know you don't mean that!"

She laughed, and the tension eased. She relaxed against the seat and

could not help wondering what Conrad Winster would think if he

could see her now.

As she had expected, Nigel Farnham took her to the theatre and then

to dinner at Tiberio. The show was a serious one, with-a political

bias, but the restaurant was gay and expensive and filled with peoplewho looked as though they did not have a care in the world -

certainly not the sort of care that had bedevilled the characters in the

play they had just seen.

"You're certainly not taking any chances with my taste," she

commented as they sat down at a corner table. "First a heavy bit oftheatre and then this."

He laughed. "I believe in taking no chances. I wasn't sure of your

taste, so I decided on a bit of both worlds. From now on..."

He did not finish the sentence and she decided it would be wiser not

to tease him any more. She had already done enough for one evening.

They danced together frequently during the meal, and Julia was

surprised to find their steps matched perfectly, for she had imagined


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he would be as stiff and unbending on the dance floor as he was in

court. They made such a striking couple that many people watched

them, and Farnham, aware of the interest they caused, looked down

into her face.

"I'm beginning to feel some understanding of Moslem men," he said."If I had my way I'd keep you under a large black veil. I hate other

men staring at you."

"I didn't think you'd like to go out with a woman whom nobody

looked at!"

"I wouldn't. But there's a happy medium. And where you'reconcerned I get the feeling that every single man here would like to

put a knife in my back and take you off."

"How possessive you are!" she mocked.

"Only with you. Until now I have never cared enough to..."

His words trailed away and she felt a feeling of triumph. The task she

had set herself would not be a difficult one. A month together - six

weeks at the most - and he would be caught tighter than he had ever

been caught in his life. Then, and only then, would she tell him her

real name. She shivered with pleasure at the thought, and as her body

trembled he drew her closer.

His breath was warm on her cheek and from the tenseness of his

shoulders she knew he was keeping a firm control on himself.

Deliberately she softened against him.

Unable to stop himself, his hands moved across her back, his touch

warm and unexpectedly firm. Desire stirred in her but was instantlyquelled by distaste. This man had broken her father; she must never


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allow herself to forget it, or to forget why she was going out with

him.

The effort of pretence was more tiring that she had known it would

be, and by the time Nigel Farnham drove her home, having dismissed

the chauffeur, she could barely summon the energy to talk.

"It was a wonderful evening, Julia. When may I see you again?"

"Next week." She waited for him to give an exclamation of

annoyance, and when it came she hid a smile and pretended to soften.

"Ring me in a few days."

"What about lunch tomorrow?"

"I never have the time for more than a coffee. Call me on Monday.

I'll be free to see you in the evening."

Before he could answer she turned the key in the lock, opened the

door and quickly closed it behind her.

The few days until he could see her again seemed an eternity away,

and try as he might, Farnham could not stop thinking about her. He

chided himself for his behaviour, but it was no use; he was gripped

by an emotion he could not control, and which he was unwilling, as

yet, to analyse completely.

In the weeks that followed he pursued her with the same intensity he

displayed to everything which concerned him, and each time he left

her it was more of an effort. Before the month was out he had no

need to wonder how he felt; he knew. He was in love for the first

time in his life. In love with a girl of whom he knew nothing, and

who lived a life he would have normally considered wasteful. He hadbeen a fool not to have guessed that his desire would not be assuaged

merely by seeing her; neither would it be assuaged by a love affair.


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He wanted her completely and in every way: as his wife, as his

companion and the mother of the children he longed to give her.

When he called for Julia on the Saturday morning of a warm, late

spring day, she sensed in his manner that he had something on his

mind, but she pretended to be unaware of it, and made no mention ofthe fact that he had not called her since they had last had dinner

together three days before.

She leaned back in the seat of the small sports car and closed her

eyes, enjoying the warm breeze that blew through her hair.

"Did you miss me?" he asked as they stopped at some traffic lights.

"Of course."

"Then why didn't you telephone me - or aren't you emancipated

enough?"

"I don't think you are the type who would like to be chased. And Ialways try and please my men."

"I don't like you using that word in the plural," he said. "Make it

'man', or better still make it Nigel."

She laughed without replying and he said no more, content to drive in

silence until they were out of London. But even when he spoke his

conversation was casual and she sensed that he was biding his time.

They stopped at a small hotel by the river near Maidenhead, and

though the restaurant was full a table had been reserved for them on

the terrace. Trust Nigel to make sure that everything was perfect! But

none of her thoughts showed on her face as she sat opposite him andate the well- chosen meal he had ordered in advance. As soon as they

had finished coffee he paid the bill and pushed back his chair.


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"Let's walk down to the river, Julia."

She followed him down the steps and across the lawns to the water's

edge. Several swans glided past, leaving a ripple on the dark surface,

and she concentrated on it, trying to hide the fear that was rising in

her.

Suddenly Nigel raised his hand and a boat drew alongside. The old

man in it looked up at them. "Want me to row for you, sir?"

"No, thanks. I can manage." Nigel looked at her. "Do you like the

river?"

"I love it."

He helped her get settled, then sat down and picked up the oars. Soon

they were skimming past the bank, leaving the hotel and the swans

far behind. She had never seen Nigel exert himself before and she

was amused as his cheeks grew flushed with exertion. The colour

gave him a boyish look, making him look different from the rigid

man she knew him to be.

With a deft movement he turned the boat into a small inlet overhung

with willows and, slipping the oars into the rowlocks, he watched

until they came to a standstill under the bank. It was darker here, the

sunlight hidden by the green fronds, and the mooing of a cow seemedto come from a long way away.

Julia dabbled her fingers in the water, pretending to be unaware that

Nigel Farnham was staring at her intently. The boat rocked sharply

and she looked up to see that he was moving towards her. She edged

against the side and he sat down next to her. They were so close that

she felt his leg on her thigh, and smelled the faint aroma of hisshaving lotion.


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"Don't avoid looking at me, Julia," he said softly. "Surely you know

why I've brought you here."

"Not to drown me, I hope!"

"Don't joke! You know how I feel about you. I've made it obviousenough."

"You find me attractive," she conceded. "I know that."

"Much more than just attractive. I love you, darling, and I want you

to marry me."

These were the words she had been waiting for, and she was

surprised at how little triumph she felt. Perhaps she had been

thinking about it for so long that now, when the moment had finally

arrived it had lost its excitement.

"Julia, look at me. Tell me you love me."

Still she was silent, inexplicably unwilling to plunge into the

vengeance on which she had set her heart. Why didn't she tell him

her real name? What was preventing her from letting him know he

had just asked to marry the daughter of a man whom he had helped

send to prison? She thought of the many nights when she had

imagined how he would look when she said the name Trafford, andrelived all the biting phrases she had so often rehearsed to herself.

But none of them would come out and not even the thought of seeing

the horror on his face could make her say anything.

"Darling, I want you to marry me," he repeated. "I love you so much.

Don't you care for me at all? Julia, speak to me!"

She looked into the dark, virile face so near her own, seeing her

reflection in his eyes. Once she told him her real name he would


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Feeling as though she were playing a part, she wound her arms

around his neck, pulling his head down. Never before had she made a

gesture of affection towards him, and he gave an exclamation that

sounded almost as though he were in pain.

The gentleness with which he had always kissed her goodnight wasreplaced by a fierceness that took her by surprise. No longer were his

lips soft, but firm and demanding a response, their pressure

increasing until he forced her lips apart.

She struggled in his arms and sensing the fear that was there, he

released her. "I'm sorry, dearest," he said huskily. "I didn't mean to

kiss you like that... I've wanted to for so long, but I was always afraidof frightening you."

She struggled to regain control of herself, and to stifle the shame that

overwhelmed her when she remembered the way she had responded

to his touch. "You ... you didn't seem to be very afraid of me just

now."

"If you're asking me to promise that I won't do it again," he said

slowly, "I'm afraid I can't. But I'll never hurt you, my darling.

Remember that."

When they returned to Cambrian Terrace later that evening he

insisted on coming in, and Julia thought how out of place he lookedin her humble flat.

He refused her offer of coffee and she apologised for not being able

to offer him anything stronger. "I rarely drink spirits myself," she

explained, "and I've never entertained men friends here."

"And now you never will." He pulled her on his lap. "How soon willyou marry me, Julia?"


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"Well, I"

"Now don't give me any nonsense about a trousseau - I'll buy you

everything you need in one week!"

"Don't rush me, Nigel," she pleaded.

"Why not? There's no reason for us to wait."

"There are lots of things to arrange," she said. "You once told me

your flat was too small for two people."

"So it is. But I don't intend us to stay in the flat."

"That's all the more reason to wait. By the time we find another flat

it"

"We don't need to look," he interrupted triumphantly. "I've got the

very place for us! Some friends of mine are going abroad and they've

offered me their house. If you like it we can buy it and move straightin. I've got a certain amount of furniture and we can get the rest quite

easily. I'll open accounts for you at all the big stores and you can get

everything you want. If you"

"Nigel, stop it!" She put her hands over his. "I know I said I'll marry

you, but it can't be so quickly."

He put his hand over hers. "I don't mean to upset you, darling; but I

don't want to give you the chance of changing your mind."

"Why should I?"

"Because I sometimes have the feeling you're two different people;one of them warm and alive, and the other so cold and distant that I

can't get near her. It's as though you're afraid of letting your real self

show."


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Her heart gave an uneasy thump. "If I've seemed odd at times it's

because I - because I didn't want you to fall in love with me."

"Why not?"

She lowered her eyes. "Because I don't come from the same circle asyou, and what will your family and friends say when they hear you

want to marry me? Won't it harm your career?"

"Forget it," he said forcefully. "And certainly don't give a damn about

my friends. There's only one person I want to like you - and whom I

hope you'll like too - and that's my mother. But I've no worry on that

score either. You're kind and gentle and honest, and that's whatcounts."

Julia felt a stab of guilt at his words. Honest! What would he say if

she told him honestly who she was? But that was something she had

decided to hold in abeyance. Only when it would hurt him the most

would she disclose her identity.

"All right, Nigel," she said slowly. "I'll marry you as soon as you

like."

"Thank the lord for that!" He buried his face against her hair, his

hands coming to tug at the coil of hair at the nape of her neck. The

pins loosened beneath his touch and her hair fell in dark, silky cloudsabout her shoulders.

"I've wanted to do this for such a long time," he said huskily, and

twined his fingers in the tresses as he sought her mouth with his.


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CHAPTER FOUR

MRS.FARNHAM lived just outside High Wycombe and early the next

Sunday morning they drove down to see her.

Julia dressed for her visit with great care, aware that no survey couldbe more critical than that of a mother-in-law. She chose a simple blue

jersey dress, its colour echoing her eyes, while her hair, worn long

and straight, was caught back from her face with a narrow band of

the same material.

As soon as she saw Nigel's face she knew he approved her

appearance, for he gave her a quick kiss and murmured: "If mymother loves you half as much as I do, she'll adore you."

There was a heat haze as they left London, but an hour later the sun

shone bright and the fresh green of the trees was vivid against the

blue sky. They passed through High Wycombe and sped towards a

small village a few miles further west. It seemed to be part of a

bygone era, with a narrow high street, an old grey stone church and

Tudor cottages nestling back from the winding road. Nigel turned the

car down a hedge-lined lane and stopped outside a small Georgian

house, its mellow brick gleaming in the sunlight. The wide lawn in

front was scattered with flower beds, the brilliant colours heightening

the elegance of the simple facade.

Nigel shepherded Julia up the path, unlocked the door and led her

into a square hall furnished with a dark settle and table, and a

beautiful Persian rug. Still holding her by the elbow, he entered a

room which ran the length of the house.

Mrs. Farnham was sitting in an armchair and she stood up and came

forward to greet them. Even if she had not known their relationshipJulia would have guessed it, for the woman was remarkably like her

son, though her lips were fuller and her chin more rounded. One


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would have thought her the epitome of a country gentlewoman had it

not been for the unusual glint of humour in the eyes which were as

flashing and bright as those of a young girl.

She kissed Julia on the cheek. "My dear, I'm so glad to meet you at

last. I've heard so much about you from Nigel." She laughed - not thetinkly sound one might have expected - but a deep chuckle full of

warmth and gaiety. "As a matter of fact, his letters have been full of

nothing else except you!"

"Don't give away my secrets," Nigel warned as he poured three

sherries. "Letters must be treated as confidential."

His mother laughed. "You and your legal brain!"

He served the drinks and while they were waiting an elderly maid

came in to say luncheon was served.

"Ethel has been with us since Nigel was a baby," Mrs. Farnham

confided as they went into the small but pretty dining-room. "I'm sure

she'll want to see you, Julia. She'd be upset if she didn't meet Mr.

Nigel's fiance."

Nigel looked up in mock horror. "Spare me that, Mother! I'll go into

the garden if you're going to take Julia into the kitchen after lunch. At

least it'll save my blushes." He threw Julia a whimsical glance. "I wasa horrible child, but Ethel insists I was a paragon."

After lunch the three of them went into the garden and relaxed

contentedly in the sunshine, talking drowsily until Ethel brought out

the tea. Slowly the sun began to sink. The shadows lengthened and a

slight breeze stirred the leaves and blew against Julia's skirts.

With a mock sigh Nigel stood up and stretched. "I'm going to do it

before you tell me, old lady," he said to his mother, and added to


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Julia, "Every time I come here Mother expects me to water the rose

garden, so I'm off before she starts nagging."

"I never nag," his mother said placidly. "I just keep repeating what I

want you to do until you do it."

With a grin he disappeared, and Mrs. Farnham took up some

embroidery from a basket by her side and began to sew, the needle

with its long tail of coloured silk flashing in and out of the material.

"Will you and Nigel be getting married soon?"

"I don't know. He wants to, but"

"I don't blame him," Mrs. Farnham said. "You're very beautiful,

Julia, and any man in love with you would be impatient - especially

Nigel. Patience was never his strong suit." She chuckled

reminiscently. "He was such an impetuous child. One year I gave him

some bulbs to plant and he measured them with a ruler every

morning from the moment they started to appear."

"Did he wait for them to bud, or did he give up?"

"You don't know Nigel if you think he'd ever give up!" She paused

and then said, "I've always looked forward to meeting the girl he

would eventually marry."

"He must have had many opportunities."

"He has. But there was no one he wanted. You're the first girl he's

ever brought down here to see me. He's gone out with several in the

past year, but he would never bring them down here. Wait till I meet

the right one, he'd say. Then you'll see her." She stopped sewing andregarded Julia intently. "I'm glad he's chosen you."

"Are you really?"


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"Certainly. Why are you so surprised?"

"Because he must have had the chance of marrying someone far more

suitable ... someone who could help his career, perhaps."

"Nigel has reached the top of his profession without any help fromanyone; and he certainly doesn't need help now. If you love him and

make him happy, you'll be giving him everything that matters."

"Will I?" Julia asked doubtfully. "He's so - so self- sufficient."

"Only on the surface. Deep down he's very vulnerable. He tries to

fight against it, and it probably makes him appear the opposite."

"You can say that again!" Julia said whimsically. "He's one of the

most obstinate and dogmatic men I know!"

The old lady chuckled. "When you get to know him better you'll find

he has a rigid sense of right and wrong," she admitted, "and if he

believes in anyone he'll defend them passionately. But if he doesn't,he'll go all out to get a conviction."

Julia almost said it was something she knew too well, but was saved

from doing so by Nigel coming towards them holding a watering can.

He sank into a chair and wiped his brow, and Julia, watching him,

longed to cry out that her presence here was a farce.

Nigel looked from her to his mother. "Have you two been talking

about me, for a change?"

"I've just been telling Julia that you're inclined to be pigheaded."

He grinned at Julia. "Do you think so, darling?"

She hesitated. "I think you could be."


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He groaned. "Women - always sticking together! Really, Mother, my

love, what have I ever done to give you that opinion of me?"

"Well, you are a little hard at times," Mrs. Farnham said calmly.

"Your standards aren't flexible enough."

"Flexibility can lead to dishonesty if one's not careful," he replied. "I

suppose you're still thinking of that wretched Trafford case?"

At the mention of the name Julia went ice-cold, the smile on her face

becoming fixed. But Nigel did not notice and went on: "Mother has a

fixation about that Trafford man. I don't know if you remember the

case, darling - he was connected with that Stock Exchange swindleeighteen months ago."

"I don't think he was a swindler," his mother interrupted. "I've always

maintained he was used by unscrupulous men behind the scenes."

"You've been reading too many novelettes, Mother. Just because the

man came from a good family and was inconsiderate enough to die a

few weeks after he went to prison, nothing can persuade you he was

guilty."

"That's right, dear," Mrs. Farnham agreed placidly. "Nothing caw."

Nigel stood up. "Don't let's bore Julia with this. Trafford was a rogueand you won't convince me otherwise." He picked up the watering

can. "I'm going to get tidy. Would you like a wash before dinner,

Julia?"

Julia followed him silently, glad he did not speak as they went into

the house. Her mind was incapable of framing sensible conversation

and her body trembled so much that she .-had to concentrate on theeffort of walking.


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to pity him. He had yet to find out how empty life was when one had

everything one desired except the right person with whom to share it.

She was startled out of her thoughts to find that Nigel had stopped

the car in a quiet lane, and without a word pulled her into his arms

and kissed her.

"It seems a lifetime since I've held you," he said. "I love you so

much, Julia. Marry me now. There's no reason for us to wait." He

lowered his head and pressed his lips to her throat, his hands gently

caressing her.

She looked down at his bent head, his hair black and glossy againstthe cream of her skin. "All right," she said huskily, "I'll marry you as

soon as you want."

"Darling!" He pulled her more tightly against him. "You'll never

regret it. I swear it."

"I know," she said tonelessly. "It's what I've wanted to do from the

moment we met.''

The few weeks until her wedding flew past. Reluctant to spend all the

money she had earned - and too independent to accept any fromNigel - she could only buy a small trousseau, but returning home one

afternoon after a fruitless search for an inexpensive leather coat, she

found three large boxes waiting for her in the hall. They were in

Despoir's colours of grey and purple, and opening them she found a

complete assortment of day and evening dresses, coats and suits.

"A wedding present for the best model I had," Despoir had penned."They're the last Collection not new, of course, but modelled only

by you!"


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"What a wonderful surprise," Mrs. Cooper said, peeping down from

the door of her sitting-room. "That Des - whatever his name is - is a

real gentleman. Them clothes must be worth a proper fortune."

Julia blinked back sudden tears. "I never expected anything like this,

never."

"Well, you've got it, so don't cry. You won't be letting that lovely

friend of yours down now. You'll be the smartest wife for the next

ten days! I'll help you take them upstairs."

Julia laughed, but did not correct her landlady's assumption.

"Come on, ducks," Mrs. Cooper continued, "I'll give you a hand to

take them upstairs."

"I won't have time to put them away," Julia panted, carrying one of

the boxes. "I'm meeting Nigel at the house. He wants me to see if I

like it before he buys it."

"I should think so too! You'll be spending your life there, so you'd

better make sure it's what you want. Plenty of cupboards, dear, that's

what you must look for."

It was four o'clock when she met Nigel at Cheyne Walk and he led

her to an elegant three-storied house. It was joined to its neighbours,the row forming a crescent that overlooked a small square of green

which in turn looked out on the river. Wrought iron railings separated

the house from the pavement and three whitewashed steps led up to

the front door.

The hall was square, with a beautiful curving staircase leading to the

upstairs. Off the hall itself were the drawing- room, dining-room,study, and at the end of the hall, down a short flight of steps was a

large modernised kitchen looking out on a stone-flagged garden.


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There were three bedrooms on the first floor, two of them

communicating with each other^ and a bathroom en suite, while on

the second floor there were three similar rooms and another

bathroom.

The house had an atmosphere of gr

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Roberta Leigh the Vengeful Heart