War of Love Page 7

  God, she hoped her mother hadn't left to go home and freshen up since Silke was here earlier; that would ruin everything!

  She hadn't! Her mother was still sitting in the chair beside Henry's bed when Silke entered with Lyon, the older couple deep in conversation, unaware of their presence for several moments, so deeply engrossed were they with each other. It gave Silke the time to appraise her mother, to look at her as Lyon must now be doing. The similarity between the two women was unmistakable, her mother's hair as long and blonde as Silke's own, although her mother's was neatly se­cured at her nape. The bone-structure of their faces was the same, her mother's face animated as she talked to the man she had found again after years of being apart, her green eyes alight with happiness, both women small and slender; their relationship had to be obvious!

  'My God...!' Lyon breathed slowly at her side. 'There are two of you!'

  Silke looked at him with challengingly raised brows. 'Let me introduce my mother to you, Lyon,' she said smoothly. 'Tina Jordan. But I believe you may know of her as Satin,' she added tauntingly.

  Lyon's stunned expression, as he looked from one woman to the other in open disbelief, was everything Silke had hoped it would be!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  'I still think we should have stayed and helped Henry explain things to his nephew.' Her mother frowned across the kitchen table at Silke, where the two women sat drinking coffee, Silke's mother having returned to her flat to shower and change before finally making an appearance at the agency.

  Henry had been the one to take control of the situ­ation at the clinic, suggesting Silke accompany her mother home while he talked to Lyon, a Lyon who predictably hadn't stayed stunned for very long, de­manding an explanation. Silke's mother hadn't wanted to leave Henry alone with the irate Lyon, but Henry, possessed of a determination none of them had wanted to challenge because of his illness, had insisted that would be the best thing for everybody, shooting Silke an imploring look for her support as he did so. She had been only too happy, after her brief moment of triumph over Lyon, to suggest, as firmly as possible, that her mother leave with her. There would be plenty of time later on for her mother to come up against Lyon!

  'Why don't you try explaining them to me?' Silke suggested gently.

  Her mother looked perturbed for a moment, and then she gave a rueful grimace. 'God, yes,' she sighed. 'Everything has happened in such a rush, I'd for­gotten I haven't talked to you about Hal and me.'

  'Well, I know the two of you are getting married,' Silke said ruefully, never doubting that Henry in­tended carrying out that decision; he could be as de­termined as his nephew.

  Her mother actually blushed at the thought of the marriage. 'At last,' she sighed self-derisively. 'God, you wouldn't believe the years I've wasted, Silke!'

  She had a feeling that she would, but nevertheless she waited for her mother to tell her in her own time exactly what had happened.

  Her mother shook her head. 'I was only eighteen when I met Hal, a very young eighteen at that, whereas he was already thirty-two, and a member of the Winter family. That may not mean a lot to you, darling.' She looked up at Silke as she spoke. 'But thirty-five years ago they were a family to be reckoned with: old money, a large family estate, homes all over the world, servants—you name it, they had it! And I was just an office employee of the family firm. But Hal took a liking to me, asked me out, and—well, I was at­tracted to him,' she said awkwardly.

  'I can understand why,' Silke nodded; if Henry had looked anything like Lyon as a young man—and she had a feeling he probably had—then she could see how a young eighteen-year-old could be attracted to the powerful self-confidence he exuded, let alone the physical attributes. As she had been attracted to Lyon this morning, for different reasons! But she didn't want to think about that. 'So you went out with him,' she prompted quickly, pushing thoughts of her own reaction to Lyon to the back of her mind.

  'Yes.' Her mother smiled with affection for the man she had just re-met after all those years—and dis­covered she still loved. Then, as other memories came back to her, she sobered. 'We went out together a few times, evenings where I was completely bowled off my feet by this fun-filled, sophisticated man. And it was a feeling that seemed to be reciprocated-----'

  'Why shouldn't it be?' Silke chided. 'Inverted snobbery, Mummy?' She arched blonde brows.

  'You didn't know Hal's family, Silke.' Her mother shook her head, her eyes clouded. 'There was only his sister really. And her husband. An American. Charles Buchanan.' Even the way she said the name told Silke that her mother bristled with antagonism just at the thought of him.

  'Lyon's father,' Silke acknowledged thoughtfully— if the father had been anything like the son, then she didn't envy her mother all those years ago!

  'Yes,' her mother acknowledged with feeling, her mouth tight. 'At first, when Hal took an interest in me, they all humoured him, treated it as a huge family joke. But as time went on and they realised he was actually serious about me-----! Well, I'm sure you can imagine the opposition they put up to the idea of Hal actually wanting to marry his little office girl, make her part of their family,' she said with remembered bitterness.

  Once again, if Charles Buchanan had been any­thing like his son, Silke could imagine it all too easily. 'But Henry was a grown man of thirty-two. Surely he didn't buckle under that family pressure?' If he had, her respect for him would drop a couple of notches— and make her wonder if he was strong enough to go for what he wanted the second time around!

  'No, Hal was determined to marry me, no matter what his sister and her husband felt about it.' She avoided Silke's gaze now. 'I—I was the one who did the running.' There were tears in her eyes now. 'That was the start of the running. And I've been running, in one way or another, ever since.' She shook her head in self-disgust.

  'But why?' Silke looked at her searchingly. 'Henry loves you now; he must obviously have felt the same way all those years ago, so why-----?'

  'Charles and Marie Buchanan were killed in a car accident,' her mother said flatly. "They left behind a six-week-old son.'

  'Lyon...' Silke realised breathlessly; it was dif­ficult to think of that autocratic man as a tiny parent-less baby, completely helpless. In fact, she didn't want to think of him like that; it made him seem human!

  'Lyon,' her mother confirmed with a nod. 'Hal was named as his guardian.'

  That explained some of this, but by no means all of it. 'But surely Henry needed you more than ever after being left with such a small baby to care for?'

  'Henry needed me; in fact our marriage had already been announced when the accident happened-----'

  'Then why-----?'

  'Charles Buchanan's family were even more powerful than Henry's.' Her mother shook her head. 'A rich Southern family, who weren't averse to using that power when it came to the Winter-Buchanan heir. And there was no way they were going to let an ex-office girl bring up that heir, so they demanded that the child be returned to them in America.'

  'But Henry was his legal guardian,' Silke reasoned.

  'A fact the Buchanan family disputed. They insti­gated a court case, claimed Henry wasn't fit to bring up a child, intending to bring up his reckless past... Oh, I knew even then that Hal had lived a far from blameless life,' she said ruefully as Silke's brows rose. 'Just as I knew he would be completely faithful to me now that we had found each other. It was that sort of love, Silke.' She smiled. 'All-consuming.' She sobered, her eyes cloudy once again. 'But they would have crucified Hal if he had married me, were com­pletely ruthless in their determination to take the child away from him. I was the stumbling-block, Silke, and, much as I loved Hal, I—I couldn't let him give up his sister's child for me. Because the Buchanans would have won, Silke, I know it. And that knowledge would have been between us, tearing into a relationship that was already having to survive so many preju­dices-----'

  'You would have survived as a couple, I'm sure of it,' Silke said with certainty.

 
'But at what price?' Her mother shook her head.

  'And so you ran?' Silke frowned.

  Her mother nodded. 'And so I ran,' she confirmed heavily. 'I thought Hal would get over me, that he would find someone—someone more suitable, ac­ceptable, provide a stable home for his nephew-----'

  'And instead he has continued to love you. God, that's such a waste, Mummy!' Her expression was pained.

  'I was eighteen, Silke. Eighteen!' Her mother looked at her pleadingly. 'I wasn't mature enough, or strong enough, to believe we could weather that legal storm. I thought it fairer to Hal not to put him through-----'

  'Mummy, the man has continued to love you for thirty-five years.' Silke was still stunned by the fact.

  'And I've loved him too, Silke,' her mother told her quietly. 'Through the same thirty-five years, all the running, I've loved him too.'

  She could see that, could see the pain etched into her mother's face at the memory of those lonely years without the man she loved. 'Perhaps—and I'm only saying perhaps—I can understand why you didn't feel able to cope with all of that at eighteen. I'm not sure any eighteen-year-old could,' she frowned. 'But later, why didn't you-----?'

  'I thought it would be too late,' her mother groaned. 'I told you, I thought Hal would have found someone else, had children of his own to keep Lyon company.' She shook her head. 'I never for one moment thought he would remain a bachelor.'

  'Didn't you even once think of trying to find out?' Silke said incredulously, wondering if, in the same circumstances, she would have been able to do what her mother had done.

  Her mother shook her head. 'I didn't dare.' Her voice broke emotionally. 'It was what I had hoped he would do, for his own sake and Lyon's, but to ac­tually know for certain...!' she added with feeling. 'No,' she said dully. 'I never tried to find out, Silke.'

  'But if you had-----'

  'I would never have had you,' her mother pointed out gently. 'And although I appreciate I haven't been the best mother in the world, I wouldn't have missed that experience for anything.'

  Silke gave her a teasing smile. 'I'm glad you didn't! But didn't you realise,' she frowned, 'when you sent me to Buchanan's yesterday morning, that it was the same family?'

  'Of course I knew it was the same family.' Her mother nodded. 'But it was a good account; I cer-tainly didn't expect you to meet Lyon Buchanan himself! And if it hadn't been for the mistake over the bunny girl costume-----'

  'Could we forget about the bunny girl costume?' Silke cringed at the memory still.

  'I wouldn't have met Henry again if it weren't for that costume.' Her mother shook her head.

  And she wouldn't have met Lyon! 'You know, Mummy,' Silke said slowly, 'for all that I wouldn't have been born if you had married Henry all those years ago, think what a difference you could have made to Lyon as his "mother"; he's so bitter and twisted it's unbelievable!'

  Her mother nodded. 'Hal would be the first to admit he didn't do a very good job of bringing Lyon up on his own. A question of a cynic bringing up a cynic! Hal was very upset after I left.' She grimaced. 'Didn't relish the idea of caring for a small baby, left it to hired staff most of the time. And while Lyon was growing up there were apparently always too many women interested in that vast Winter-Buchanan fortune that he inherited the majority of when he reached twenty-one.'

  Silke could easily believe that, and was sure that Lyon had little idea what the 'real world' and 'real people' were like, that his cynicism owed more to the women he had met in his life than to the way Henry had brought him up. He had lived in too rarefied an atmosphere to appreciate that there were women in the world who wouldn't want him for his money and the prestige of being his wife. But she didn't want to be one of those women, didn't want to want him— in any way!

  'Hal and Satin?' she prompted teasingly, anxious to put all thoughts of Lyon from her mind now.

  Her mother blushed becomingly. 'Hal is obvious, I think. Satin because—well, Hal always said I had skin like satin.' Her blush deepened. 'The years haven't been that kind to me.' She grimaced. 'So he's going to find I'm not quite as-----'

  'Mummy, the man loves you,' Silke cut in protest-ingly. 'He isn't going to worry about things like that. And neither should you.'

  But Silke had to admit that she was worried; Lyon was going to be in her life for a long time to come. And after her reaction to him this morning, she wasn't sure how she was going to deal with that.

  It was like waiting for the sword of Damocles to drop. Three days. Three days since Henry Winter had told Lyon that he was going to marry her mother. Three days in which there had been complete silence from the man himself.

  And Silke didn't like it. Not one little bit. Her mother seemed to think she was worrying unnecess­arily, that Henry's talk with the younger man had ob­viously proved fruitful, but Silke's own encounters with the man led her to believe otherwise. She didn't believe for a moment that Lyon was going to accept this situation with the calm indifference he appeared to be.

  She was right!

  'For someone who "doesn't even work at the agency" you seem to spend an awful lot of time here,' drawled a mockingly derisive voice.

  Silke looked up sharply from her seat behind her mother's desk where she had been working, looking across the room at Lyon. As usual he had walked in unannounced. 'Don't you ever knock, Lyon?' she scorned as she closed the file she had been working on, to give him her full attention; she would be a fool to do anything else where this man was concerned!

  He closed the door softly behind him, shutting out the hovering Jackie; the other woman looked apolo­getic at the fact that she had been unable to stop this man doing exactly as he liked. Again. At least, she had looked apologetic, until the door was firmly closed in her face!

  'I came to see your mother,' Lyon told Silke dis-missively, brows raised at the fact that she obviously wasn't here.

  But Silke was. 'And doesn't she deserve your re­spect either?' she challenged, unnerved at having him walk in here, even though she had been half expecting to hear from him.

  His mouth tightened as he crossed the room. 'Where is she? No—let me guess; playing the loving fiancee at the clinic with Henry?' he scorned.

  Silke gave him a pitying look. 'She isn't "playing" anything, Lyon. My mother happens to love your uncle. And, more importantly,' she added as she could see he was about to make a scathing reply, 'your uncle loves her.'

  Lyon sat down in the chair opposite her, placing a large brown envelope on the desk in front of him. 'Henry is an old man; he doesn't even-----'

  'Don't be so damned patronising!' Silke snapped angrily, getting to her feet, looking very slim in fitted black trousers and a soft green jumper. 'My God, you make him sound ten degrees off being senile!' she ac­cused heatedly, eyes blazing indignantly, having become very fond, during the last three days, of the man who was about to become her stepfather. She certainly had no intention of standing by and listening to Lyon denigrate him.

  'At the moment that's exactly how he's behaving!' Lyon rasped back, looking at her coldly between nar­rowed lids. 'My God, he calmly announces to me that he's about to marry a woman he hasn't even seen for thirty-five years, and I'm supposed to accept that he's completely in control of his faculties!' He shook his head disbelievingly.

  Silke glared at him. 'You aren't supposed to accept anything, Lyon,' she told him disgustedly. 'They're two grown adults, with-----'

  'Who have suddenly "found each other" again after all these years?' Lyon derided contemptuously. 'Spare me that, Silke,' he scorned. 'Henry may never have married, but he's hardly lived a celibate life the last thirty-five years-----'

  'No one is claiming that he has,' she defended, her whole body taut with indignation, her hands clenched at her sides. Just who did this man think he was, talking about her mother and Henry in this way?

  '—and your mother's life has hardly been blameless either,' Lyon continued firmly. Pointedly.

  She became suddenly still, her expression wary no
w as she looked at him. 'I beg your pardon?' she prompted softly.

  His mouth twisted. 'Your mother's life, over the last thirty-five years, makes interesting reading,' he told her challengingly, dark brows raised.

  Silke frowned down at him—before glancing across the desk at the brown envelope he had put down so pointedly on his arrival. He suddenly took on the ap­pearance of a cobra about to strike!

  She couldn't believe it. This man, this—this... Words failed her as to describing exactly what he was. How dared he have her mother's past investigated? Because Silke knew, with sickening clarity, that was exactly what Lyon had done, that this was the reason for his silence of the last three days.

  'You're despicable!' she finally told him dis­gustedly. 'Absolutely beneath contempt!'

  She could imagine all too clearly how that report on her mother would read, knew how her mother's life would sound written down in black and white, the flitting from job to job, country to country, the finally settling down for two years with Silke's father, seeming barely to give birth to Silke before she was off again, this time dragging her child around with her. There had been relationships with men before Silke was born, other relationships in the years that followed her birth. Once she was old enough to understand, her mother had been completely honest with her about those, and, loving her as she did, Silke had accepted her mother's life.

  But baldly written down on paper, without her mother's emotions to back it up, it would all look very irresponsible, probably promiscuous too. Which, looking at Lyon's contemptuous expression, was exactly what it looked like to him. Damn the man! 'Henry has a right to know about the woman he says he wants to marry,' Lyon told her tightly in answer to her accusation.

  Silke glared at him, angry on her mother's behalf. 'Anything your uncle wants to know about my mother, she will tell him.'

  'Will she?'

  Silke bristled even more at Lyon's sceptical tone. 'Yes!' In fact, she was sure her mother and Henry had done little else but talk the last three days, that and arrange a special licence so that they could be married as soon as the other arrangements could be made. Which this man probably knew nothing about. And which Silke, after what he had just said about her mother, had no intention of telling him, either! 'Tell me, Lyon, what's happened in your life to make you so damned cynical?' she challenged.