‘You loved him?’
‘There was nothing not to love,’ she shrugged. ‘Did you ever meet him?’
Donald shook his head. ‘I was only three when he left.’
‘And you’ve never seen any of his work?’
‘Work?’ Donald frowned. ‘What work?’
Heavens, these people didn’t know Jeff had been a sculptor, that he could bring clay alive beneath his gentle fingertips! She had always thought Jeff the most uncomplicated, giving man she had ever known, and it came as a shock to her to find he had kept secrets from everyone.
‘Your uncle was Jeff Thornton.’
Donald still looked puzzled. ‘Jeff who?’
Callie sighed. ‘Jeff Thornton. He had a very successful exhibition of his sculptures about a year ago.’ It hadn’t exactly made him a fortune, as Jeff had joked, he wouldn’t get rich from it, but it had given his individual talent the recognition it deserved.
The way that Jeff had struggled and slaved to get that exhibition made her respect and love for him deepen. With the money he had, his influential family, he could have commanded that exhibition. Instead he had chosen to assume a pseudonym, to get recognition on his own talent.
Donald’s eyebrows rose. ‘I’m sure my parents didn’t know about that.’
‘That he was a sculptor, or that he was successful at it?’ she taunted.
He flushed at the rebuke in her voice. ‘Both. I—You see, Uncle Jeffrey walked out years ago. None of us really knew what he was doing. The only contact we ever had from him was through our lawyer.’
‘James Seymour?’
‘You’ve met him, haven’t you?’
‘Oh yes,’ she nodded. ‘I’ve met him.’ She repressed a shiver. ‘Could we go back inside now?’
‘Of course,’ he was instantly solicitous. ‘How’s the headache?’
‘Gone;’ she lied, handing him the jacket as soon as they were inside the house. ‘Would you please excuse me to your parents, I’d like to go straight to bed.’ Before she collapsed with the strain of this weekend.
‘Certainly. Goodnight, Caroline.’
She returned the politeness, but she had the feeling that the night was going to be far from good. There had been too much talk of Jeff today for the nightmares not to return.
She awoke in a state of panic in the early hours of the morning, a fine sheen of perspiration on her brow, her hands clenching and unclenching at her side. God, she thought, would she ever lose the guilt, the knowledge that Jeff had been picking her up from work, as her own car was in the garage being serviced, that he wouldn’t have been driving down that particular road at that particular time if it hadn’t been for her.
She had waited outside her office building for over half an hour, deciding that Jeff must have become immersed in his work and forgotten about her. He often did that, and it was no hardship to her to get the bus. It was only when she arrived home and found a policeman waiting for her that she realised she wouldn’t be able to tease Jeff about his bad memory, that she would never be able to tease him again…
* * *
She went down to breakfast the next morning pale and heavy-eyed, and the lemon trousers and blouse she wore made her appear paler than ever.
Only Donald was in the breakfast-room when she went in to have her coffee; the thought of food was unpalatable to her. He stood up to pull her chair out for her, once again wearing well-cut trousers and a contrasting Norfolk jacket. ‘Mother always has breakfast in her bedroom,’ he excused her absence. ‘And Father is out riding.’
Callie’s eyebrows rose. ‘You have horses?’ She could at least talk to Donald, feeling only relief at his parents’ absence, knowing that they still hadn’t discussed the real reason she was here, that before she left this afternoon the question of her business involvement with this family would have to be talked about in more detail. And she was dreading it, knowing their resentment was justified.
‘We have stables out at the back of the house,’ Donald answered her. ‘You wouldn’t have been able to see them yesterday when you arrived. Do you ride?’
‘Only in cars,’ she answered teasingly.
Donald obviously lacked a sense of humour, and took her seriously. ‘Then I’ll take you out for a drive this morning.’
‘Oh no, really—’