Mistress of Deception

Still, when the girl had discovered shortly after leaving boarding-school at eighteen that this was so, she'd apparently been most upset. She and Alan laid lad some kind of altercation in the library over the situation, resulting in Ebony running to her room, crying. Deirdre had been unable to comfort her, the girl saying over and over that she had to leave.

At the time Ebony had been doing a grooming and modelling course that Deirdre herself had given her as a Christmas present that year. When the lady running the modelling course had recommended Ebony to a modelling agency, saying she had the potential to reach the top in that profession, the stubborn child had immediately dropped her idea of going to Teacher Training college and had pursued a career that would start paying immediately.

She'd been an instant hit, on both the catwalk job behind the photographers' lenses, and it hadn't been long before she was giving Alan a cheque every neck in Repayment. Then, as soon as she'd been earning enough money, she had moved out of the house and into a flat of her own.

Alan bad been furious, and had refused to speak of Ebony for a long long time. It wasn't till Deirdre had thrown her a twenty-first birthday party a little over a year ago that he had even deigned to be in the same room with her. Whenever she'd come to visit Deirdre on previous occasions, and Alan had been home, he would make some excuse to leave the house. This time, however, under threat from his mother, he had been civil to Ebony in front of the other guests, though far from pleased when he'd found out she was to stay the night. Forgiveness was not one of Alan's strong points.

The tension at the breakfast-table the following morning had been so acute that Deirdre had vowed never to ask Ebony to stay over again. It just wasn't worth it. But the ongoing feud was a thorn in her side. She loved the girl, thought of her as fondly as her own daughter, Vicki. Nothing would please her more than if her son and his ward made up.

'Don't you think it's time you and Ebony buried the hatchet?' she said with an unhappy sigh.

'I hardly think that's ever likely.'

'Why not? Maybe if you were nicer to her when you saw her, which you must do occasionally. You're in the same business.'

Alan's laugh was harsh. 'If I were nice to Ebony, she'd spit in my face.'

'Alan! She would not. Ebony's a lady.'

'Is she, now? Funny, I've never thought of her as such. A black-hearted witch, perhaps. But never a lady.'

Deirdre was truly shocked. 'Are we talking about the same girl here?'

'Oh, yes, Mother, we most certainly are. Your sweet Ebony has just never chosen to show you that side of herself.'

'I think you're biased.'

'Aye, that I am,' he agreed drily.

'What did you say to her that night in the library that upset her so much? I never could get the details of your argument out of her.

Alan put down his serviette and rose. 'For pity's sale. Mother, that was nearly four years ago. How could I possibly remember? Probably told her she was an ungrateful little wretch, which she was. Now I must go. I have appointments lined up all afternoon with prospective designers dying to head my new Man-About-Town exclusive label.'

Walking round to peck her on the forehead, he strode from the patio into the living-room and towards the front door, an elegant figure in one of Ms own-brand business suits. Being six feet three and finely proportioned, Alan could have modelled his own products if he'd chosen to.

Deirdre watched him go with increasing unease. He was not happy, she decided, and, like all mothers, she wanted her son to be happy. She wanted both her children to be happy. Vicki seemed happy living in a run-down house in Paddington with some artist whom she claimed to be mad about

But he was the latest of a series of men she'd bean mad about during the past ten years. Anti-marriage and anti-establishment, Vicki had moved out of home when she was nineteen 'in search of her own identity', whatever that meant. Still, it was Vicky’s life and she was supposed to be doing quite well,

managing a record shop in Oxford Street, though she often dropped home to ask Alan for a loan, which he usually gave her along with a lecture.

Deirdre suspected, however, that Alan didn't mind giving his sister money—and advice—every now and then. He liked being needed. And he liked helping people.