Act of Betrayal (10 page)

extent, and Laura felt she had little in common with them, as

most of them seemed to consider that cordon bleu cooking was an

unnecessary refinement in life. 'Darling.' Julie had dashed past

eventually. ' If you're not dancing would you get some more ice

from the fridge for me?' I'll do my good deed, Laura thought as

she padded round the perimeter of the room, avoiding the swaying

bodies massed in the centre, and then I'll go. The kitchen was

tiny, and the refrigerator was sited in the passage leading to

it. Laura retrieved the ice tray and carried it over to the sink,

taking a bowl down from the shelf above for the cubes. But it

seemed that instead of merely freezing, the ice had been glued

into its containers, and Laura tried the hot tap, the handle of a

knife and finally the back of a tablespoon, before, as luck would

have it, all the cubes gave up the struggle together, crashing

into the sink in a slithery mass, while one escapee made it to

the floor and shot across the room. Where it would melt, Laura

thought crossly, and gave vent to a pungent expletive. From

behind her, a man's voice said amusedly, ' I knew you couldn't be

nearly as refined as you look.' She jumped. ' I didn't hear you,'

she said, feeling foolish. T doubt if you'd hear the start of

World War Three above that racket.' He came to stand beside her.

'Let me.' He scooped up the cubes in the sink and deposited them

in the waiting bowl, in one deft movement. Laura felt more ham-

fisted then^ver. 'Thank you,' she said rather stiffly. 'Perhaps

you could take them in for me.' 'Gladly.' He picked up the bowl,

but when she turned back to the sink with the recalcitrant cube

melting in her hand, he was still there. He said, 'You can't be

Julie,' and she felt herself flush at the incredulous note in his

voice. It was obvious what he was thinking Edward liked sparkle

and flash in his women, not pale, thin nonentities with straight

tawny hair. 'No,' Laura said shortly. 'Julie is very dark, and

very pretty, just as you'd expect.' 'Fantastic,' he said lightly.

'Perhaps you'll introduce me. I've been away for a few weeks, and

I have some catching up to do.' 'Actually, I was just about to

leave.' Laura dried her hands on a towel. 'Yes, I thought you

were running away, when you left the room just now,' he remarked.

'You had the air of a fugitive. Although it wasn't a total

surprise to find you in here, surrounded by ice.' She felt the

swift burn of irritation at the mockery in his voice, but she

didn't let it show. Years of Celia had taught her not to rise too

often to the bait. A l l the same, she found herself wondering

about him. He was a friend of Edward, obviously, but rather older

than the usual run of them—thirty or more, she would have

hazarded a guess, wearing the ubiquitous denim jeans as if they

were a second skin, with the crisp white shirt accentuating the

darkness of his skin. She said levelly, 'Just doing my hostess a

little favour. But I have to work in the morning,.so late night

parties are out.' 'Something tells me they were never in.' The

corner of his mouth twisted slightly. He moved aside, waving her

past with an oddly courtly gesture. 'You'd better make your

escape while you can.' Laura thought so too. This brief

confrontation had thoroughly un-nerved her. She found herself

thinking about it all the way back to her small bed-sitter,

remembering with sudden warmth, the way the grey eyes had watched

her. He'd followed her, she realised with a certain bewilderment,

and he'd made her feel what? Special?

It was a prosaic way of describing the myriad emotions which had

assailed her during those few moments. She gave herself a mental

shake. She was being ridiculous, reading too much into the

situation. It was probably his party piece—seeking out the

obvious wallflowers, and exerting a fraction of his charm on

them. It was nothing to get excited about. But there was no way

she could rationalise the great leap of her heart the following

day when she emerged from the elegant Georgian front door behind

which the Farr Cordon Bleu school hid its endeavours, and found

him waiting there. Of course, she told herself, as he began to

walk towards her, that did not mean he was waiting for her. It

could all be an amazing coincidence. She heard herself say

inanely, 'What are you doing here?' 'I've come to see if last

night's ice has melted.' He took her arm as if they'd known each

other for years, she thought dazedly. 'It's too late for lunch,

and too early for dinner, so may I offer you some afternoon tea?'

' I bet you never touch it.' She felt as if she was in a dream.

'Then you'd be wrong.' He was urging her along quite briskly in

the chill autumn air, making her match her steps to his long

stride. 'There's a hotel just round the corner where they make

quite amazing sandwiches.' They made cakes too, Laura-r

-discovered, and provided a big log fire in their lounge to eat

them by. She thought, 'In a moment, I ' l l wake up. But not

yet— please not yet.' As she poured the tea, she said weakly,

'This is ridiculous. We don't even know each other's names.' He

said, 'You're Laura Caswell. Didn't Julie tell you that I was

asking about you?'

She shook her head. 'Julie has no classes today. I — I haven't

seen her.' The grey eyes met hers enigmatically. 'That's probably

just as well. She might have tried to warn you off.' 'Is there

any reason why she should?' She noted with relief that her hand

wasn't shaking as she passed him the cup. 'None that I can think

of.' He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. 'But she tried to warn

me.' 'About me?' Laura felt warmth in her cheeks. 'But there's

nothing I mean what could she say . . . ' He gave her a dry look.

'That you're not an easy lay.' He watched sardonically as the

colour in Laura's face deepened hectically. ' I managed to assure

her that my intentions are honourable.' She moistened her lips

with the tip of her tongue. T— I don't understand.' 'It's quite

simple,' he said, 'I'm a painter. I'd like to paint you. That's

all.' She put her cup down on the table. ' I see—it's all a

joke.' 'It's perfectly serious.' He frowned at her. 'Why should I

be joking?' 'Because I'm not beautiful,' Laura said, looking him

straight in the eye. 'I'm not even pretty. I'm the last person

any artist would choose as a model.' 'You make it sound very

decadent.' He sounded amused. 'But it isn't. I don't want to

paint you in the nude, if that's what's worrying you.' She bit

her lip. 'It isn't.' 'Well then?' ' I told you. You didn't answer

me.' 'You mean that little diatribe about your lack of ; physical

charm?' He gave her an exasperated look. T want to paint you,

Miss Caswell—not enter you in Miss World. You have a quality

I've been looking for. And

I'm not asking for favours. I'll pay you the going professional

rate.' 'But you don't know whether I'd be any good as a model,'

she protested. 'You don't wriggle or twitch,' he said, 'You've

been perfectly tranquil until a few minutes ago. You can be

still, and I can teach you to give me what else I want.' She

looked down at her hands. 'And what's that?' 'Something I spotted

as soon as I saw you at the party,' he said. 'You were on your

own, but you didn't mind. You'd discovered how to be solitary,

and it's that quality of loneness that I want in this painting.'

He paused. 'Satisfied?' She said slowly, 'You make it sound like

a compliment, but I don't think it is.' 'Wait until you see the

painting,' he said. 'And then judge.' He picked up one of the

plates and handed it to her. 'Smoked salmon?' She wasn't hungry,

but she took one. T still don't know your name.' He paused. 'It's

Jason Wingard.' She thought there was something almost

challenging about the way he looked at her. She said penitently.

'Should I have heard of you? I'm afraid I don't know very much

about painting. . .' He grinned suddenly, showing white teeth.

'Very few people do. And I'm not a name to be reckoned with yet,

although I do have some paintings in an exhibition the Vallora

Gallery.' He gave her a questioning look. 'Does that make me

slightly more respectable?' 'It sounds quite impressive.' Laura

drank some of her cooling tea. 'What would you want me to wear

for this picture?' 'Anything you like,' he said. 'The things you

wore to the party for preference.' He helped himself to the

sandwiches. 'Do I take it that you agree? That you will pose for

me?'

She said, 'If that's what you want, then yes.' 'Good,' he said

laconically. 'I'll be in touch.' He leaned back in his chair,

stretching his long legs in front of him. He sent her a mocking

glance. 'Don't look so shattered. It won't be the ordeal you

imagine. Now, eat something before you collapse. Models need

stamina.' 'So do cooks.' Laura helped herself to a piece of rich

dark fruit cake. 'You're not a very good advertisement for your

craft,' he said lazily. 'You're much too thin.' She shrugged.

'It's all too easy to put on a lot of weight, if you're not

careful.' 'So you're always careful.' The grey eyes studied her.

'Aren't you ever tempted to break out and do something utterly

reckless?' She began to laugh suddenly. ' I think I've just done

exactly that.' He said softly, 'You can always change your mind.'

But Laura knew with utter certainty that she would not do

anything of the kind. There was a throb of excitement deep inside

her which could not even be dispelled by a warning from Julie,

who tackled her the following day. 'Of all the men at the party,'

she mourned, 'you have to get involved with him.' 'Don't you like

him?' Laura was surprised. T thought he was a friend of

Edward's.' Julie moved her shoulders dismissively. 'They're

acquainted, but I wouldn't rate it any higher than that,' she

said flatly. 'No-one, but no-one gets to know Jason Wingard well.

He's always been a mystery man—talks about his work, but never

about himself or his family, if he has one. In fact, he never

mentions anyone belonging to him—as if he exists in a vacuum or

something. He just arrived on the scene a couple of years ago,

and that's as much as anyone knows.' 'Is he married?' Laura tried

to keep her voice casual.

'He doesn't give that impression but who knows?' Julie shook her

head. 'But that doesn't mean there aren't women,' she added,

rather grimly. 'Because there are. But even they only get to

share his bed, certainly not his life, and some of them have

ended up really hurt. Oh, Laura, are you sure you know what

you're doing?' 'He wants to paint me, not carve another notch on

the bedpost,' Laura reassured her. ' I suppose he told you so

himself.' Julie cast her dark eyes up to heaven. 'Laurie, you're

so naive about these things. So innocent. I suppose that's what

he finds attractive. It's a rare quality these days.' By the time

she presented herself at the studio Jason rented in a converted

warehouse by the river, all Laura's original qualms about the

situation had intensified quite alarmingly, but the studio itself

was something of a reassurance. There were windows on two sides

and an additional large skylight in the sloping roof, so that

light poured in at all angles. There were the pervading odours of

oil paint, linseed and turpentine in the air, yet the place

wasn't nearly as cluttered as Laura had expected. It was clean

and neat and apparently well organised, the canvases stacked in

racks against the walls. Jason greeted her impatiently. 'You're

late.' Almost before she finished unfastening her coat, he had

taken it from her shoulders, his glance scanning the flare of her

dark brown wool skirt, and its matching highnecked sweater. 'Is

that what you^re,going to wear?' ' I f you like,' she said

nervously. 'Although I brought the other things.' She indicated

the small case waiting by the door. 'Then change,' he ordered. He

walked away from her to the small dais, and began altering the

angle of the high-backed Victorian armchair which occupied it in

front of a long burgundy velvet curtain. 'And hurry up,' he threw

over his shoulder. 'Neither of us has all day. There's a changing