Gail Whitiker (22 page)

‘So now you’re questioning my love for Joanna?’

‘No. I’m questioning your faith in her.’

‘She’s going to marry someone else!’ Laurence all but shouted. ‘How much faith am I
supposed
to have in her?’

‘I admit that does make things a little more difficult,’ Theo acknowledged, ‘but all is not lost. Until the minister pronounces them husband and wife, there is still hope.’

Laurence shook his head. ‘Your perception of faith and mine are very different, Uncle. I gave up all hope of Joanna choosing me when she accused me of playing Valentine Lawe in order to satisfy my need for public adoration. Any woman who believes
that
cannot have much faith or affection for me to begin with.’

* * *

It was a couple of weeks before Joanna saw Laurence again, and when she did, it was in the very shop where they first met. She was browsing through a selection of books when she heard the bell over the front door ring and looked up to see Laurence and his sister walk in. They were talking quietly and did not notice her. But when the young lady standing next to Joanna dropped a book that landed with a resounding thud, they both turned to glance in her direction.

Joanna held her breath, afraid to look, but unable to resist the temptation.

Laurence was staring at her, but he did not smile. He just stood there unmoving, his expression remote, his manner as cold as that of a marble statue.

Sick at heart, Joanna went back to her browsing. So, nothing had changed. He obviously still thought she was in the wrong and intended to continue his avoidance of her.

How far they had come over the past few weeks. It was impossible now to equate the distant, aloof man with the one who had gazed at her so warmly on the night of the theatre outing. His indifference lodged like a steel weight in her chest and her throat burned with the effort of holding back tears.

But she would not let him see her desolation. It could no longer be of any concern what Laurence Bretton thought of her. He had communicated very clearly his lack of feelings when he had made the decision not to tell her the truth about Valentine Lawe—

‘Lady Joanna.’

Her fingers froze on the spine of the book at hand. ‘Mr Bretton.’

‘Forgive me for having interrupted your browsing.’

‘You did not.’ Joanna pulled out the book and dropped it into her basket. ‘I found what I was looking for.’ She had no idea what the book was, nor did she care. All she wanted was for him to go away and leave her alone. She wasn’t ready to deal with this...with him...

‘I trust you are well?’ he asked in a polite, remote voice.

‘I am, thank you.’

‘And your father?’

‘Fine.’ Her face felt as stiff as a board, but she forced herself to continue the conversation. ‘He was wondering why you have not been around to see him. He thought perhaps you had...changed your mind about going on the expedition.’

‘I have been busy with other things.’

‘Writing a new play, perhaps?’

Joanna could have bitten her tongue. The words, sarcastic and judgemental, caused a blind to drop down over Laurence’s eyes. ‘As a matter of fact, I have, though I don’t expect you to believe that.’

‘If you say you are writing, it is not for me to question your word.’

‘You did before.’

Unwelcome heat burned and she glanced away. ‘That was in the past. I really don’t care what you do now, Mr Bretton.’

‘Yes, you made that perfectly clear when last we spoke,’ he said quietly. ‘But I had hoped that with time your thoughts might have taken a more forgiving turn.’

‘Forgiving?’ Surprised, Joanna looked back at him. ‘Why would you think that? Nothing has changed. You are still playing the part of the playwright and deceiving everyone you know. How am I to see that as an admirable quality or one deserving of my respect?’

His expression was briefly one of pain before his cheeks darkened and he said, ‘We all do things for a reason, Lady Joanna. The fact we do not choose to divulge those reasons should not be held against us. However, I did not come over here to rake up past grievances. I came to ask if I am to wish you happy.’

‘Happy?’ Joanna knew exactly what he was referring to, but if he could pretend ignorance, so could she. ‘In what regard?’

‘Your engagement to Captain Sterne. I thought a decision might have been reached.’

‘I see no reason why that should be of concern to you.’

‘Nevertheless, it is,’ Laurence said. ‘And I would ask, for the sake of a friendship I believe we once had, whether or not you have agreed to marry him.’

Part of her wanted to lie—that small spiteful part, desperate to inflict the same kind of pain he had inflicted on her. But what would be the point? She would feel no better walking away as a result of having been dishonest with him. Two wrongs did not make a right. ‘No, Mr Bretton, I have not,’ she said finally.

His brows flickered. ‘You turned him down?

‘No. I have not yet given him an answer.’

‘But he has asked.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then why have you not answered him?’

‘The reasons don’t matter.’

‘They do to me,’ Laurence said.

‘Unfortunately, as you said yourself, we all do things for a reason, but we do not always choose to make those reasons known.’

‘So because I have not been honest with you, you have no intention of being honest with me.’

Joanna raised her chin. She wasn’t about to tell him she hadn’t agreed to marry Captain Sterne because the sight of him failed to cause even the slightest quickening of her pulse. Or that she didn’t count the hours until they were together again, or wish that the hours they had together might last for ever, the way she did with Laurence. He didn’t deserve to know any of that. It was bad enough she couldn’t shake the awareness of it herself. ‘I think that only fair.’

Laurence glanced at the book in her basket, then at the young lady standing further along the row. Anywhere, it seemed, but at her. ‘I see.’

‘No, you don’t see,’ Joanna said, suddenly feeling as brittle as glass, knowing that if he touched her, she would shatter. ‘If I was with you, my life would become as much of a lie as yours is. I would be forced to listen to people talk about how talented you are, and about what a great man you are, all the while knowing that none of it was true. I would feel compelled to keep your secret from my father because I would not wish to see you humiliated in the eyes of someone who knew and respected you.’
And it would tear me apart in the process
.

It was a wretched situation and as the tears spilled over, Joanna wondered how this could all have gone so terribly wrong—

‘Forgive me,’ Laurence said, his voice as tortured as her thoughts. ‘It was not my intention to hurt you. I only wanted to talk to you in the hopes...’

Joanna gazed up at him through her tears. ‘Yes?’

His eyes burned into hers, but in the end, he only shook his head. ‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter any more. I’ve done too many things wrong to hope things could ever be right between us again and for that I am truly sorry. Good afternoon, Lady Joanna.’

Laurence bowed and returned to his sister’s side. Joanna saw Victoria cast a regretful look in her direction, then brother and sister left the shop together. As they did, she closed her eyes and let the tears fall unchecked.

Oh,
why
couldn’t she just get on with her life! Laurence didn’t deserve her tears. A woman needed to know that the man she loved was being open and honest with her. Otherwise, it was just a case of him telling her what she wanted to hear—or, worse, what he wanted her to hear.

But, what was the
truth
? She still didn’t know because Laurence wasn’t willing to tell her and she knew better than to ask his sister. The two were as thick as thieves and if Victoria
was
the famous playwright, there was no way on earth she would reveal that and risk exposing her brother to criticism and censure.

So who did that leave? Who else was there that might know the truth about Valentine Lawe—and not be afraid to tell her?

Chapter Twelve

T
he disparaging article appeared in
The Times
two days later.

Joanna found the newspaper on the corner of her father’s desk. The fact it was open to the society pages was, in itself, unusual, but when the name Valentine Lawe jumped out at her, she couldn’t help but pick it up and read the article all the way through.

It was not kind. It set out the intention of one Famous Playwright, never mentioned by name, to accompany Lord Bonnington and his team on an expedition to Egypt. The lack of experience on the part of the Famous Playwright was mentioned, as was the fact that he was abandoning his highly successful profession in order to take part in an expedition that, in the writer’s opinion, could hardly be benefited by his presence.

‘After all...’
the author wrote,
‘...what can a man whose claim to fame is writing satirical plays hope to offer a man who has dedicated his life to uncovering the secrets of the past?’

Heavy at heart, Joanna put the paper down. For all her anger at Laurence, she hated to see him vilified like this. Clearly the author of the article didn’t agree with his plans to travel to Egypt and was not afraid to say so in a very public forum.

She picked up the paper and continued reading, only to discover that Laurence’s uncle had also been included in the attack.

‘One would think...’
the writer continued,
‘that the charismatic Mr Templeton, a man possessed of considerable knowledge and expertise in matters theatrical, would have advised his nephew to think twice before abandoning what can only be viewed as a wildly successful career to go and dig in the dirt like a common labourer...’

Again, Joanna put the paper down, but this time, her thoughts turned in an entirely different direction. Theo Templeton had produced all four of Valentine Lawe’s plays. As such, he had as much to win...or to lose...as Laurence did. So if, in fact, Laurence was
not
the author of those plays and Victoria Bretton was, surely it was in Mr Templeton’s best interests to see his niece revealed as the author so that Laurence’s actions would not impact negatively upon her success.

Surely he could be made to see that making the truth about Valentine Lawe known was the only right thing to do.

* * *

‘Mrs Templeton will see you now, Lady Joanna,’ the butler said. ‘If you would be so good as to come this way.’

With a brief nod, Joanna followed the servant up a wide marble staircase. Large portraits of exquisitely dressed ladies and dashing gentlemen in Elizabethan costume hung from pale-gold walls, their eyes seeming to follow Joanna as she climbed.

Her decision to approach the Templetons with regard to Valentine Lawe had been reached after a number of sleepless hours during which she tried to work out the best way of finding out the answers she needed. Now, as she followed the butler into a lavishly decorated drawing room that, while somewhat out of date, seemed perfectly in keeping with the eccentricities of a theatre producer and his decidedly flamboyant wife, she hoped she would not come to regret it.

‘Lady Joanna, how delightful to see you again,’ Mrs Templeton said, rising to greet her. She was garbed in a gown of deep-violet silk that looked marvellous against her flaming red hair. Diamonds flashed at her ears and throat, as though she was off to a midnight gala rather than welcoming a visitor to her drawing room in the middle of the day. ‘I am so sorry we did not have more of an opportunity to chat at Winifred’s engagement celebration.’

‘No apology is necessary, Mrs Templeton, there were a lot of people there,’ Joanna said, remembering what she
had
heard of the lady’s conversation and exceedingly grateful they had
not
had an opportunity to spend any more time together.

‘Yes, celebratory parties are always so busy, are they not? But now that you are here, we will be able to make up for it.’

‘Mrs Templeton,’ Joanna began, hoping that what she was about to say would not sound terribly rude. ‘Would it be possible to speak to your husband?’

There was a very brief pause. ‘My husband?’

‘Yes. I would like to ask him about...a play. Several plays, in fact, with which he has been intimately involved.’

The lady blinked large, emerald eyes. ‘I see. Well, yes, if that is what you wish, I will see if he is available.’ She nodded at the footman standing discreetly in one corner, who left immediately. ‘Laurence tells me you are an exceedingly talented artist, Lady Joanna,’ Mrs Templeton continued after the door closed. ‘And that your sketches of a particular place in Egypt, the name of which I cannot remember, were quite stunning.’

‘It was good of him to say so,’ Joanna murmured, uncomfortable at the mention of Laurence’s name given her reasons for coming here today.

Fortunately, Mrs Templeton didn’t seem to notice. ‘I do so envy you the experience of travelling to foreign places. I too had quite an adventurous streak when I was a younger woman. I was forever making up stories about being a queen in a faraway land. Indeed, as a little girl I used to dress up in my mother’s clothes and stage amateur theatricals for my family. They were all very kind, of course, and put up with me asking for the strangest things, but I did so love performing. And I was very good at memorising lines. No doubt that is why I ended up on the stage.’

‘Where you turned your youthful exuberance for play acting into a true talent for performance,’ Theo Templeton said, walking into the room. ‘And delighted a great many more people than just those who were obliged to watch your performances for free.’

‘Thank you, darling,’ his wife said, offering up her cheek for his kiss.

‘And good afternoon to you, Lady Joanna,’ the gentleman said, straightening.

‘Mr Templeton.’ Joanna abruptly stood up. ‘I hope you will forgive my disturbing you like this.’

‘Not at all, I was getting rather tired of totting up figures. Please sit down. I never like to keep a lady standing on my account.’

‘I know this is somewhat unusual,’ Joanna said, resuming her seat, ‘but I was hoping you might be able to clarify a very confusing situation for me. One that concerns some of the plays you produced at the Gryphon.’

‘Of course, if it is within my power,’ Mr Templeton said.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door and by the appearance of a young maid, asking if Mrs Templeton might have a moment to speak to Cook.

‘Certainly,’ Mrs Templeton said, rising. ‘Forgive me, Lady Joanna, but we are having a large dinner party tomorrow evening and I asked Cook to try something new. No doubt the poor woman is finding some of my instructions difficult to follow. That is what comes of trying to teach an English cook to prepare a French soufflé! I shan’t be long.’

Mrs Templeton departed in a rustle of silk and a flash of diamonds, leaving behind the delicate fragrance of lily of the valley. Joanne could have kissed the unknown Cook for the excellence of her timing.

‘Now, Lady Joanna,’ Mr Templeton said when they were alone, ‘what is it you wish to—gracious, what now?’ he said as the door opened again and his butler appeared. ‘Yes, Trehorn?’

‘Pardon me, Mr Templeton, but Sir Michael Loftus has called and is asking if he might have a word with you.’

‘Goodness, what a busy day. Show him into my study,’ Mr Templeton said, ‘and tell him I shall join him in a few minutes.’

‘Very good, sir.’

The butler withdrew and Mr Templeton turned to Joanna with a smile. ‘Forgive me, Lady Joanna. The house is more like a coaching stop this morning, with all this coming and going. But we shall try again and hopefully without any further interruptions. Now, what was it you wished to ask me?’

The intensity of his gaze brought a flush to Joanna’s cheeks, but she forced herself to say what she knew she must. ‘You will no doubt find this strange, Mr Templeton, but a little while ago, I came into possession of some information. It was not by the most honest of means, I admit, but the conversation I overheard has left me feeling extremely concerned and deeply confused.’

‘I see. And you believe I am in a position to relieve your concern and confusion?’

‘I do...because the confusion involves your nephew Mr Bretton, and his sister Mrs Devlin.’

Joanna watched the gentleman’s face intently for any signs of dismay or embarrassment, but beyond an expression of mild curiosity, she saw nothing. ‘Really? What exactly did you overhear?’

‘First, let me say that I was somewhere I should not have been and that the conversation I heard was not meant to go beyond the walls of the room in which it took place,’ Joanna said, wishing to be very clear on that point. ‘But rightly or wrongly, I
was
in the vicinity and I heard Mrs Bretton speaking to your wife about this “wretched affair with Victoria”.’

Mr Templeton’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly. ‘Did you indeed.’

‘I had no idea it meant anything until I heard Mrs Bretton say that it all came right when Laurence told Sir Michael that
he
was Valentine Lawe, and then Mrs Templeton replied that matters would have been very different had Mr Bretton not stepped forwards to claim the role.’

‘How interesting.’ Mr Templeton got to his feet and crossing to the wall, pulled on a slender tapestry panel. ‘Anything else?’

‘Mrs Bretton then said it had all come far too close to crashing down for her liking and that she hated to think what would have happened had Mr Bretton let his sister tell the truth about Valentine Lawe. And it is that remark which has prompted me to call upon you today, Mr Templeton. I would very much like to know what she meant by that.’

‘I really cannot say,’ Mr Templeton replied with every appearance of sincerity. ‘Are you sure that is what you heard?’

‘I was all but standing outside the door,’ Joanna said. ‘I admit, there were a few times when the voices grew muffled, but I thought I heard the rest of it quite clearly.’

‘And I suspect, Lady Joanna, that you may have missed more than you thought. Ah, Trehorn, good. Would you be so kind as to bring Sir Michael up?’

‘Right away, Mr Templeton.’

Joanna blinked her surprise. Sir Michael Loftus was to join them? Without her being given an opportunity to finish what she had come to say?

‘Do not fear, Lady Joanna, I am not trying to rush you out of the house,’ Mr Templeton assured her with a genial smile. ‘But I believe Sir Michael will be able to add something of value to the conversation. I know for a fact that when he originally called at Green Street to enquire after the identity of Valentine Lawe, he was informed by my nephew that he
was
Valentine Lawe, and that he did so in front of his father, his sister and her then soon-to-be husband. I can assure you that no voices were raised to the contrary, but I shall ask Sir Michael to corroborate that when he arrives.’

‘But
is
Mr Bretton truly a playwright? Or is this all a great hoax?’

Joanna heard the drawing door open and, expecting it to be Sir Michael Loftus, did not immediately turn around. As such, she was totally unprepared to hear Laurence say, ‘I would prefer to answer that myself, if you don’t mind, Uncle.’

Joanna whirled. ‘Mr Bretton!’

‘Good day, Lady Joanna.’ Laurence walked into the room with, of all people, Mrs Devlin a step behind. ‘Pardon the interruption, Uncle, but Victoria and I came to see you about an article that appeared in the morning paper. I had not thought to see Lady Joanna here as well.’

‘No, I suspect not,’ Mr Templeton said, getting to his feet. ‘But it seems she has some concerns about your ability to write plays and I was about to give her an answer when you arrived. Ah, Sir Michael, excellent timing,’ he said as a well-dressed gentleman walked into the room. ‘I think you know everyone here, with the exception, perhaps, of Lady Joanna.’

‘Indeed. Good afternoon, Lady Joanna, Mrs Devlin,’ Sir Michael said with a bow. ‘And Mr Bretton, how fortuitous. I had planned on calling to see you later in the day about your new play, but your arrival here now saves me the trip.’

‘His new play?’ Joanna said, glancing at Laurence.

‘Indeed, as brilliant a piece of writing as I have ever seen, as I told Templeton yesterday,’ Sir Michael said. ‘Did you not think so, Mrs Devlin? You must have read it.’

Mrs Devlin glanced at her brother with a look of incredulity. ‘As a matter of fact, I have not, Sir Michael. I wasn’t even aware Laurence had finished it.’

‘I did, barely a week ago,’ Laurence said slowly, ‘but I decided to show it to Uncle Theo first because I thought he would be the best judge of whether or not it was good enough to show anyone else.’

‘Sound thinking,’ Mr Templeton commented. ‘And I shouldn’t be offended, Victoria. Laurence knew how busy you were with Isabelle’s wedding and probably felt you wouldn’t have time to give it the consideration it deserved. But I was delighted to read it because it is, in a word, outstanding.’

‘Yes, it is,’ Sir Michael agreed. ‘And I admit to being surprised because it is a complete departure from any of Lawe’s previous works, but I predict it will be just as big a success. Why don’t you tell the ladies a little bit about it, Mr Bretton?’

* * *

Laurence stared in disbelief at the two men standing opposite him, waiting for him to deliver a précis of his play. His uncle thought the work
outstanding
? Sir Michael thought it a
brilliant piece of writing
? Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that something he had pulled together in less than three weeks would merit such superlatives.

It was all he could do not to take Joanna in his arms and dance her around the room.

He did not, of course, because this was supposed to be his fifth play, not his first, and the thrill of hearing that he had written something good enough to be produced for the stage should have lessened considerably by now. Nevertheless, it was difficult to maintain a convincing level of sang-froid when the knowledge he had produced a work to the standard of Valentine Lawe had been pointed out to everyone in the room...especially Joanna.