Lyon glanced at her briefly, frowning as he saw that laughter. ‘You know,’ he said slowly, ‘I can’t work you out.’
That must be a first for him! ‘No?’ She raised mocking brows. ‘Maybe if you stopped looking for things that aren’t there...’
‘Oh, they’re there, Silke.’ His eyes narrowed on the road ahead. ‘Your behaviour with Henry proves that.’
Her ‘behaviour’ with Henry was all in his imagination. Admittedly, going on what he had so far witnessed between herself and his uncle, and his uncle’s subsequent claim that he was going to marry Satin, a name so similar to Silke’s, even that mistake was understandable, so perhaps he felt he had reason to believe the things he did about her. But if Lyon had been a different sort of man, not so quick to judge, to arrogantly presume, then maybe someone would have corrected his wrong assumptions by now.
Although that moment wasn’t far off now. Silke could hardly wait!
‘You have the look of a contented cat about to partake of a bowl of cream,’ Lyon suddenly barked harshly.
She hadn’t realised she had given her feelings away so openly. Although that was exactly how she felt! There couldn’t have been many occasions in this man’s life when he had been bested, but this was definitely going to be one of them. And it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person!
Lyon watched her with narrowed eyes as she climbed out of the car to accompany him into the clinic, but Silke just met that searching scrutiny with bland indifference. She could wait for her moment of triumph.
The receptionist’s comment of, ‘Nice to see you again, Miss Jordan,’ was received by a scowl from Lyon. Obviously he thought the receptionist was referring to Silke’s having spent the previous night in Henry’s room.
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!
‘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