The Seduction of Suzanne Read online

  Justin’s parents and siblings appeared to be everywhere, their cheerful presence keeping the mood exuberant. Now that she had met all of Justin’s family, she could see why he tended to have such a good natured, light-hearted approach to life. It would be difficult to be sober for long when growing up with such vibrant, happy people always about.

  Yet he’d also learnt to tell a well-turned lie here, too. And the confidence she had admired in him – even while she was bewildered by it – made much more sense as the arrogance of someone raised with a silver spoon in his mouth.

  After nearly an hour of clinging close to other people and having intense conversations to avoid interruption by a hovering Justin, Suzanne witnessed him finally lose his patience. He broke into the middle of her companion’s loving description of his sailboat, murmuring politely – although through gritted teeth: “Yes, it’s a beautiful boat, and Suzanne probably would love to see it sometime, Morris. But I have to borrow her just now, sorry. Excuse us.” He wrapped his arm around her waist, clasping her elbow on the opposite side, and steered her deftly through the crowd.

  “I have nothing to say to you,” she hissed.

  “Then just listen. There’s someone here you need to meet.”

  “Listen, mate, I don’t need to do anything you say. I-”

  “Yes, I know, can we take it as a given you’ve said a bunch of nasty things to me and just leave it at that for the moment?” He pinched the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger of his free hand, then gave her a tired and exasperated sideways look. “If you could just quit acting like I’d murdered someone you love, the curator of your exhibition is here, and wants to meet you.”

  Suzanne glared at him through narrowed eyes, but stopped pulling away, letting him direct her until they reached a bald man of medium height. His face was tanned, and there were attractive crinkled lines at the sides of his eyes when he smiled, as he did at first sight of her, showing very white, even teeth.

  “Hello,” he said, holding out his hand to shake. “You must be Suzanne Turlin. My name is Haden Chancery. You’ll be displaying at my gallery.”

  “Surely you need to see my paintings first though? Before you agree to anything?” asked Suzanne hesitantly, thinking that things couldn’t possibly be that easy.

  “Well of course I want to see them up close,” said Haden urbanely, “So if we could . . .” he trailed off meaningfully, his eyebrows raised as he looked between the couple.

  “I’ve spread some of them out in one of the rooms upstairs,” said Justin. “We can certainly go up now.”

  He turned and led the way up the main staircase and to the left, an area of the house that was new to Suzanne. The third door on the right he opened, and walked in. Suzanne followed him, coming into an empty, cream-coloured room which was utterly devoid of furniture, though as she looked, she could see faint depressions in the carpet which indicated that the room had only recently been cleared.

  The bright overhead lights shone down on six of her painted canvases, which had been laid down in a line on the floor, with enough space between them that each could be viewed separately.

  Haden Chancery hurried eagerly to look down on them. He walked from one canvas to the next without saying anything. Suzanne stood by with hands anxiously clasped together, her eyes fixed on this man.

  Here was a professional in the art world. Someone who made money out of his expertise, his well-trained perceptions and instinct about that world. He was just one man, but if he looked disappointed or sneered she . . . well, she would be crushed. There had been enough blows today. She wasn’t sure she could take yet another.

  Justin stood at right angles to Suzanne, his hands in his pockets and a smugly expectant look on his face. He had taken a few steps away from her and she was glad of the space. Yet she felt very alone, waiting for judgment.

  When he had looked at every image, Haden came back and started from the beginning. This second time he took even longer, lingering in silence over each painting, drifting from one to another, and then back again for yet more long minutes.

  Finally Suzanne could bear the suspense no longer.

  “So . . . um, what do you think?” she asked, with the slightest quaver.

  The art dealer seemed to shake himself, as bringing his mind back from wherever it had been.

  “I can’t quite believe it,” he murmured dreamily. “These paintings are exquisite, perfect, utterly incredible.”

  “Do you think you can sell them?” she asked cautiously.

  “Can I sell them?” He turned on her. “Can I sell them! You can’t be serious. People are going to be lining up for more! I cannot believe I’ve never heard of your work!” In his enthusiasm he grasped her shoulders, beaming beatifically at her. “Where have you come from, you miraculous creature?”

  “Uh . . . New Zealand,” she said, bemused. Beside her Justin snorted.

  “No wonder I’ve never heard of you. Well I can tell you that you’re going to be phenomenal, once people have seen these paintings of yours. Are there more? Will you let me sell them for you? Please say yes!”

  “Actually, I think that this is about, um, one eighth of the canvases I brought with me.” She looked at Justin for confirmation, and he nodded.

  “Yes. I only unpacked a few. I thought that would probably be enough.”

  “So there are how many?” said Haden Chancery incredulously. “Fifty? Sixty?”

  “About that, yes,” murmured Suzanne.

  “I think I need to sit down,” the art dealer whispered, and actually swayed on his feet.

  “I take it that you’ll be happy to display her work,” said Justin.

  “Happy?” Haden looked at him as if he were completely mad. “Happy doesn’t begin to describe it. My dear,” he turned to Suzanne, “I’ll make you famous, you’ll make me rich . . . and yourself as well,” he added quickly as Justin’s brow began to lower. “We’ll be wonderful together.”

  Suzanne smiled a wide, relieved smile. Just like that. So simple. Another life boundary swept away. She could work as an artist. A real, professional artist. Wow.

  “You’ll have to come to the openings of course. People will be dying to meet you. Oh, this is so exciting!”

  “You two can get together and talk out the details later,” said Justin calmly. “But we need to get back to the party.”

  “Of course. Yes. I won’t keep you,” Haden said, his eyes already turning hungrily back to the spread canvases.

  “We’ll see you later then,” said Justin. As they left, Haden was already walking back towards her paintings, lost in his ecstatic daydreams.

  Suzanne realised Justin wasn’t surprised by the whole conversation. He was calmly accepting of Haden’s accolades. He had faith in his own discernment. And of course it didn’t mean nearly as much to him as it did to her.

  For her own part, dazed and dizzied by wonder and elation piled on top of everything else, she didn’t want to go back and join the party. There was no way she could sustain intelligent small talk. Not now.

  Yet she panicked when Justin paused in the corridor and said: “Now, Suzanne, we really need to-”

  “No! Leave me alone!” she gasped, cutting him off, and then ran headlong back to the safety of the main staircase and all the people around it. Amazingly it was easier to run on her toes in those wretched shoes than to walk in them. She reached the top of the stairs several lengths in front of him, and hurried down as swiftly as she could manage without a nasty fall.

  At the bottom she looked back up. He was staring grimly down at her, looking like some avenging archangel, still on the upper storey. She turned away and walked swiftly to hide in the crowd, dodging through one room after another until she’d nearly made an entire circuit of the lower floor.

  The groups of people merged, eddied, flowed together and apart again. Several members of the extra staff who had apparently been hired for the evening – or were they permanent staff she hadn’t yet met? – ci
rculated with platters of hors d’oeuvres, and there was also a buffet laid out on the enormous table in the dining room. It was the table she had expected to see that morning at breakfast, and here it was in a grandiose room built to scale.

  Suzanne looked instead for an unobtrusive spot in one of the crowded reception rooms. Eventually she found a corner with a chair in one of the smaller ones, deliberately masking herself behind a small group of four gossiping women, so she could duck out of sight if Justin appeared. The women ignored her completely, and she did the same for them, until her attention was caught as Justin’s name was spoken.

  “No, I haven’t seen him anywhere,” replied a short woman clutching a martini glass.

  “Have you heard he’s come back with some hick from Australia?”

  “Yes. Only I was told it’s New Zealand.”

  “As if there’s a difference.”

  “So have you seen her, then?”

  “No, but I’ll bet she’s another one of his lost causes. I swear that man’s going to waste all his life on his charity case women.”

  “No, you’re thinking of Graham. He’s the one who tends to pick up strays.”

  “The whole family do. They’re all soft touches. It’s practically a sin how much money they throw away on pathetic sponges.”

  “Well this one’s an artist.”

  “The last one was a writer, wasn’t she? I guess Justin likes to be a patron of the arts. Launching the gifted and less fortunate out into the world.” She tittered.

  “What happened to the writer in the end?”

  “Oh, she was quite talented. He introduced her around. Agent. Big publisher. The works. She’s got a few books in print now. I think they’re bestsellers. I read her last one. It was pretty good. Fast-paced. I’ll buy more if I see them.”

  “I mean what happened to the relationship with her and Justin?”

  “I don’t know. I think once she was a success, Justin lost interest.”

  “I’ve known men like that. It’s the white knight complex. They like to ride in and fight the dragon, save the damsel. And when it’s all over they’re bored and they leave.”

  “I wouldn’t mind being rescued by him. There’s a lot of man under those clothes. He could bring his lance to my bed anytime.” There was more laughter.

  “He’s too pretty for my tastes.”

  “You say that, but I can’t imagine you saying no if he crept into your room some night.”

  “Maybe not. Though I’d just as soon play with his money as with him.”

  “Ooo, you’re terrible. But it is a lot of money. They’re into apps now.”

  “Into what?”

  “Apps, applications. Games and business software for tablets and phones. Look, I’ve got one on my phone. Alex downloaded it for me. It synchs our schedules together so I know when he’s away on business trips, or we’re hosting his partners, or that sort of thing. And the nanny is in the loop too, so I always know where she and the kids are.”

  “That is clever.”

  “Those things are a licence to print money.”

  “So I’ve heard. So Justin’s part of all that? I thought it was just Graham.”

  “Graham? No. He runs operations, and Justin does all the software. Apparently he’s some kind of genius with that sort of stuff. Office software. Games. It’s huge. Unbelievably huge market. Millions of kids and so-called adults slavering to buy, buy, buy.”

  “I got Justin to recommend a computer game for the boys in the holidays, and when I got it home it was all ‘Mom, you’re the best!’ and hugs. Then they disappeared into the media room and I didn’t see them for the next two weeks. They just emerged for food. And would you believe it, Gary kept coming home from work and joining them.”

  “Frustrating?”

  “No. Lovely peace and quiet.”

  “Oh look, there’s Helen. Helen! Let’s go ask her about that trip to Europe. I bet she . . .”

  Chapter Sixteen

  As the four women disappeared into the chattering crowd, Suzanne stared dully at the floor, her head pounding. So that’s what Justin meant when he had said he worked with software. She had envisioned him doing some sort of programming job.

  But to be the owner of a computer software company . . . That woman was perfectly right. There were many multiples of millions to be made out of good software.

  If Justin was the co-owner of a highly successful company selling computer software and games around the world, then his wealth must be beyond anything she could imagine.

  She quailed at the thought. How could she ever hope to relate to that? She who had always lived a quiet, economical life in a admittedly rustic settlement on a peaceful island in the Pacific. She had never hoped for or dreamed of an excess of money. Instead her ambitions had been security, a modest, happy existence, and perhaps eventually a little travelling. There was no way Justin had ever looked at her as an equal partner. How could he? They were worlds apart.

  She was his charity case. The holiday fling that sparked extra interest once he saw her paintings, saw what she could do. The sponge.

  He had seen her works, admired them hugely, heard her admit that she had no plans to bring them to the attention of the world at large. She closed her eyes. What was it that he had said? That it would be a crime to waste her talent. Then he swept her up and brought her here with all her paintings, set her up with an exhibition, did everything that needed doing so she could be a success. Because he liked to be a hero.

  And lying to her, being secretive about his background and resources, was a natural choice when he didn’t consider her an equal. Just like the lies and half-truths adults use with children to keep them in the dark about things that don’t concern them.

  He must truly think her pathetic, that she could not pursue her dreams on her own. He didn’t love her. Could never love her. What kind of man would fall in love with someone he held so low?

  She was a . . . a pet. Patronised and indulged. Groomed by his mother so she could appear to ‘fit in’ with his expensive friends. So kind they all were. So kind to the poor little charity case.

  And when she was a success they could all stand around, patting themselves smugly on the back and saying ‘Gosh, look what heroes we are. We launched her. She would never have been discovered if not for us.’

  She was revolted by the image, almost choking on rage and despair. But it wouldn’t serve. No, she had to leave. This place and the people in it were twisted and wrong for her. All bright and shiny and . . . and . . . arrogant, patronising . . .

  Slow, deep shivers began to shake her. Blindly she came to her feet, swaying slightly. She walked around the perimeter of the room, invisible to the happily absorbed guests, utterly divorced from them. In the doorway she paused, oriented herself and walked towards the entrance hall. Just as she reached the foot of the stairs, she recognised the man in front of her. Haden Chancery. He smiled and opened his mouth to speak, but she forestalled him.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have much time to talk,” she said in an oddly calm voice, “but I just wanted to tell you that I won’t be available for the exhibition after all. Nonetheless I’d be grateful if you’d sell everything you get an offer for.”

  “But Ms Turlin,” he said, taken aback. “We need to discuss prices.”

  “You’re an expert. I know very little. I’m sure I can trust you to sell them on commission for what they’re worth,” she said. “Sorry, you’ll have to excuse me.” She swept past him and on up the stairs.

  She entered Justin’s room, fetched her suitcase from the bathroom and began to fling her belongings into it. It had never been unpacked, so the task did not take long. When it was done she looked around blankly.

  A piece of paper. She needed something to write on. Every woman who ever ran away had to leave some message behind. It was practically compulsory.

  Spying a block of paper and a pen on a small side table by a phone, she crossed to it quickly, and knelt on the floor. T
he pen felt awkward as she picked it up in her cold hand.

  First she wrote to Justin.

  Justin

  I figured it all out.

  Consider your artist protégé launched.

  Thanks.

  Suzanne

  She didn’t feel particularly thankful, but no doubt Justin believed he had treated her generously.

  It was painfully clear he could never have had the least chance of loving her. The precious relationship between them had all been in her own mind. She had been living in a dream world.

  Justin would realise that she had fallen in love with him.

  He would pity her.

  She couldn’t imagine anything more humiliating.

  No. Staying was not an option. But she took the time to write a second, longer note.

  Dear Olivia,

  I’m sorry. I can’t stay.

  You and your family have

  done everything possible to

  make me feel welcome, but

  for reasons I can’t explain I

  must go home.

  Please forgive me.

  Thank you for the dress.

  Suzanne

  It was awkward and stilted, and rereading it made her wince, so she put it swiftly away from her. No time to start again.

  In the hall she headed away from the main staircase, towards the back of the house. She was searching for an unobtrusive way to reach the ground floor. It didn’t take her long to find a modest stairwell.