Subtle Revenge. Carole Mortimer

his conviction. Still, I mustn’t bore you with history, my dear,’ Claude smiled. ‘Especially on a day like today. Old fogeys like Jacob and myself can’t be of much interest to you.’ He patted her hand. ‘You go ahead and enjoy yourself. It’s early yet.’

      Lori gazed after him with widely shocked eyes. Luke Randell was the son of the man she hated most in the world, the man who had caused her father to take his own life, who had been responsible for her mother’s subsequent failing health and prematurely young death, who had been the cause of all the misery in her life, including losing Nigel, the man she loved.

      No one looking at her could have guessed quite the shock she had just received, the trauma. Her expression remained calm, her movements unhurried as she entered the door marked ‘Ladies’, but the memories suddenly crowded in on her.

      Twelve years, twelve long miserable years, when her own and her mother’s name was changed to Parker. But the change of a name couldn’t eradicate the shame her mother felt, the fact that her husband had been accused of being a criminal, and that his suicide before he could be sentenced had seemed to confirm this.

      For the next five years Lori had watched her mother shrivel up and die, had watched the life slowly fade from within her, her once happy carefree face no longer beautiful but ravaged with age, the pride she had taken in her youthful figure no longer there; she often did not even bother to dress at all towards the end. A heart attack, the doctor had diagnosed at her death at only thirty-eight, but Lori had known the real cause of death, and at seventeen she had sworn vengeance on Jacob P. Randell.

      All her excellent capabilities as a secretary had been attained for the sole reason of eventually getting to work for Jacob P. Randell, of somehow being able to discredit him, of ruining him. She wasn’t even sure how she had thought she could do that, she had just felt that if he had been so wrong about her’ father—and he had been wrong—that there had to be other cases he had been wrong about, cases where he had got a conviction merely to further his career.

      Before she had even qualified she had learned that Jacob P. Randell had retired, and her plans for revenge were foiled before they had even begun.

      But he had a son, a son she hadn’t even known existed, a man who minutes ago had told her he intended marrying her! She hadn’t liked him from the beginning, even when she had had no idea who he was, of the devastating effect his father had had on her life. Luke Randell—she could hardly believe it, not after all this time.

      She had left the idea of vengeance far behind her, had buried the bitterness she had for the past, knowing it could never be undone, that it was much too late to help her mother and father. But Nigel and herself——? It was too late for them too!

      ‘Lori, my dear,’ Ruth Hammond entered the powder-room to join her on another of the velvet stools in front of the ornate mirrors. ‘I thought for a moment you’d left without saying goodbye,’ she smiled.

      Lori gathered herself together with effort. ‘I wouldn’t do that, Mrs Hammond,’ she returned the smile, only the strain in her eyes telling of her disturbed emotions.

      She liked her employer’s wife, found the other woman had a cryptic wit and a quite surprising sense of fun, despite her sometimes uncomfortableness with her husband’s north-country bluntness. Being a southerner Ruth was a little more reserved, but her forthright husband believed in calling a spade a spade, sometimes with embarrassing repercussions. Lori found them an enchanting couple, and knew that they had a genuine affection for each other.

      ‘Claude and I would like you to come to lunch tomorrow. Could you manage that?’ Ruth raised finely shaped brows, still an attractive and energetic woman despite being sixty years of age. ‘There’ll just be the four of us,’ she added encouragingly.

      ‘Four of us?’ Lori echoed softly.

      ‘You, Claude and I—and of course, Luke,’ Ruth added coyly.

      If the last was supposed to be an incentive it had the opposite effect. ‘I’m sorry,’ Lori shook her head, ‘I have to visit my aunt.’

      A look of irritation crossed Ruth’s perfectly made up face. ‘Couldn’t you do that some other time?’

      ‘No, I’m afraid not.’ Her Aunt Jessie, Great-Aunt Jessie, would never forgive her if she missed one of her visits. The old lady had put herself into a nursing home two years ago, treating the place more like a hotel than anything else. In fact, Lori often thought her aunt ran the old people’s home instead of the Matron!

      ‘Damn!’ Ruth frowned. ‘Luke is only with us for the weekend, then he’s moving into his flat. Couldn’t you come for tea instead?’ she asked hopefully.

      Once again Lori shook her head, glad she had a real excuse for refusing—if she hadn’t Ruth would soon have worn her down. And she never, ever, wanted to see Luke Randell again; she hated him for the bitter memories he had evoked.

      ‘I always spend the whole day with my aunt,’ she said truthfully.

      ‘Oh well, I don’t suppose it can be helped,’ Ruth murmured disappointedly. ‘I did so want you to meet Luke.’

      ‘I’ve already met him,’ Lori said coldly.

      ‘I meant away from the rush and bustle of the wedding. He’s been in America for several years, and he seems to have lost contact with a lot of his friends. Of course, we’ve been friends of the family since Luke was a child. But I thought perhaps you—well, if you can’t make it, you can’t.’ She stood up resignedly. ‘Do come back and join the party, Lori.’

      ‘In a moment,’ she nodded. ‘I just want to repair my make-up.’

      Ruth smiled. ‘You don’t have much to worry about, you always look lovely. When you get to my age it becomes more than a repair job, it’s a total remake!’

      Lori joined in the laughter, but her own humour faded as soon as the door closed behind the other woman. She had a suspicion, more than a suspicion, that Luke Randell had made the request for her to be invited to the Hammonds’. She was friendly with the other couple, enjoyed talking to Ruth when she came to the office to visit her husband, but she had never been invited to their home before.

      So Luke Randell had been in America the last few years. Probably reflecting in his father’s undoubted glory, she thought bitterly.

      Bitterness. It was something that she had tried to forget, especially after she had fallen in love with Nigel. After he had walked out of her life she had pulled herself together enough to move from the flat she had been renting, to get herself a new job as soon as possible. And she had tried not to let bitterness rule her life for a second time.

      And now Luke Randell had suddenly appeared in her life, bringing back all the destructive memories, destroying the self-confidence she had built up over the years.

      Well, she wouldn’t let him destroy her! She was Lori Parker, not Lorraine Chisholm, was a very competent and trusted personal secretary to an important London lawyer, and no human reminder from the past was going to ruin that for her.

      She would make her excuses to leave the wedding reception as soon as possible, and after that she would never have to see Luke Randell again.

      ‘I thought you were going to hide in there all night, little kitten!’

      She spun round to confront Luke Randell, finding him leaning against the wall, a suitable distance away, although obviously waiting for her. He pushed easily away from his lounging position, and Lori viewed him with new eyes as he walked confidently towards her.

      On the surface he bore little resemblance to the man she remembered his father to be. His hair was black where his father’s had been silver; he was taller than his father too, his body not tending towards flabbiness as the other man’s had, his features vaguely similar, although much more strongly defined in the son, the ruthlessness not hidden behind a smooth charm in the younger man as it had been by his father’s benign, often sympathetic, expression. That hidden ruthlessness had been turned on her father with