Potrait of Jamie Read online

  PORTRAIT OF JAIME

  Margaret Way

  "I won't marry for years yet!"

  Beautiful, talented, about to inherit a fortune, Jaime had the world at her feet. At least, she thought she did and marriage was for the future.

  But handsome Quinn Sterling wanted to announce their engagement now and Jaime was undecided. One nagging questions haunted her. Was Quinn just using her as a pawn against her grandfather...or did he truly love her?

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jaime didn't know her father had a visitor. She came up from the beach, her hair a slick wet rope over one shoulder, her face and her slender body tanned to an even gold, lightly glistening with sea water. There was something about this visit she didn't know about, and the first pang of apprehension struck her. No one, except Tavia, came to the beach house without an invitation. The gallery handled her father's work and most of his clients. She glanced at the Mercedes parked in the driveway and made a wry face to herself, stopping abruptly to slip her beach coat over her brief swim-suit. It was well after four, and the beach was deserted, incredibly beautiful in the late afternoon sunlight. She turned at the top of the stairs and looked back at it.

  Her life had been an endless procession of hideaways; the silent inland, the bush and the mountains. She hadn't always liked them, but because she loved her father she had always kept silent. Here she loved best of all. The eternal summer of Queensland, the blue and the gold. It was a picture that would never be erased from her mind. Here, too, her father seemed happiest and painted best of all. He might never make the national galleries, but he was more than just a competent professional artist. He had very real style and a lyrical quality that helped him escape mediocrity. His landscapes and seascapes, the occasional portrait and still life, found a ready market among collectors who demanded decorative professionalism at moderate prices. In any event, his painting and pottery had been his sole source of income for ten years now. If there was no money for luxuries, they lived comfortably enough in an arrangement Derry Gilmore fondly imagined suited both of them, with Jaime as his dedicated unpaid housekeeper and assistant, herself with an artistic potential he consciously avoided. Jaime was the only person on earth Derrick Gilmore, a charming, deeply self-centred man, had ever been known to make the slightest sacrifices for. His wit and his talent and his attractive appearance adequately saved him from oblivion and unnecessary hardships. There had been plenty of women in his life, but only one wife, and she had died too easily and without protest when Jaime was born.

  Somehow, with the help of several faithful and unrewarded inamoratas, Jaime had been reared, though from that day forward Derrick Gilmore made no mention of his wife or of his wife's family, whom Jaime came to suspect he detested. It was almost like being an orphan, but her father in his own way adored her. By the time she was nineteen, she had almost forgotten she had a mother and somewhere, perhaps, a ready-made family. Now she stood in the scented shade of the massed oleanders, listening to the sound of voices. Her father's charming, light drawl filled with obvious bonhomie, and that of another in no sense gay, but dark and resonant, with a subtle glint of steel through the velvet. A voice that partly filled her with dread, because what he was saying was audible and he was talking about her.

  All at once Jaime moved, running up the stairs, sliding back the glass door and entering the one large room in the house, the living-dining room. If it was attractively and imaginatively furnished, all due to her own efforts, she didn't notice as she whipped the sunglasses off the bridge of her nose.

  'Jaime, love!' her father cried delightedly, a satisfied smile at her beauty, 'we didn't hear you!'

  'I heard you!' she said abruptly, her glance locked with that of the stranger who had come to his feet, appraising her so absolutely. 'But I didn't understand the lines!'

  Her father laughed again. 'My daughter is a wonderful girl, Mr Sterling, and clever too, though I expect you didn't miss that!'

  'Among other things!' the stranger rejoined smoothly, responding to Derrick Gilmore's introductions and moving towards Jaime's instinctively outstretched hand. His marked attention was odd and rather frightening, but it was real and it almost defeated her. There was no hint of the immediate and often unwelcome admiration she had already become used to, but a glittering silent scrutiny she endured as long as possible. She might well have been a questionable collector's item, not a living girl, so dehumanising was that searching gaze.

  She couldn't keep the tremble out of her hand and she had to look up a good way to him. 'How do you do, Mr Sterling.'

  'Jaime.' He held her hand for an instant only, then released it. He was a man of an added dimension. The kind of man who drew recognition, a man who belonged to a world of power and position—an unfamiliar world. He was very tall and superbly lean, with hair as black as her own and brilliant black eyes to match. A ruthless adversary if you like, with those silver points of light at the centre of his eyes, the dark, high-bred features rather remote until he favoured her at long last with a smile. It ridded his sombre dark face of its formidable quality, revealing an exact and easy command of a brand of charm her father could never hope to aspire to for all his careful study and application of that very asset. Jaime felt almost crushed into insignificance beside him with her bare feet and her wet swimsuit and her damp trail of hair. The excuse to escape was a godsend.

  'I'll go and change,' she said hurriedly, 'I seem to be dripping sea water all over the place.'

  'No hurry, darling!' her father said brightly. 'Mr Sterling is staying on for a while. You'll share a meal with us, surely?' He turned to the younger man.

  'If you're sure it's no bother,' Quinn Sterling answered conventionally but with no trace of diffidence in his disturbing voice.

  'No bother at all, my dear fellow! Jaime is an excellent cook, aren't you, darling?'

  'I'll allow Mr Sterling to discover that, as he's staying.' Distrust and hostility were in her voice and Quinn Sterling turned his dark head swiftly to acknowledge it. 'I'll be glad to give an opinion, Jaime,' he said with light mockery.

  'Now what about a drink?' Derry Gilmore suggested in a tone full of lustre, but Jaime waited to hear no more. She flew along the passageway to her room, her skin crawling with a frightful awareness. She was unable to even consider what lay beyond this visit. What she had overheard and its significance alarmed her. She only knew her own world, yet Quinn Sterling was here to remove her from it, and all apparently with her father's approval when he had refused her plea to continue her art studies in the city and come home at the weekends. It didn't make sense, nor his bogus affability. She wasn't such a child that she couldn't detect acting on both sides.

  A sick little feeling began to press down on her. She closed her door and locked it for God knows what reason, then stepped out of her things. The small room reflected the golden warmth of the afternoon, drying her body. She shook out her long hair and went to the built-in wardrobe, selecting, inexplicably, her prettiest after-sundown dress, one she had designed and made herself, hand-painting the ankle-length hemline with flowers and birds. It was easy to imagine she had paid quite a price for it, so professional was the concept and finish, but what to wear would never be too much of a problem to her, for she was unusually gifted at handling fabric, the design, cut-out and assembly. Irresistibly her mind was drawn back to Lucy, the nicest and kindest of all her father's women friends. Lucy, with her own small dressmaking business, had taught the young Jaime to sew, in turn delighted and surprised at her pupil's aptitude. At one time, Jaime had hoped her father would make an honest woman out of Lucy until he had told her quite plainly that Lucy under the same roof would drive him insane. That had been nearly nine years ago, but Jaime had never forgotten Lucy, nor her many kindnesses
and interest in Jaime for her own sake. The rest of them had only been interested in her father. One day she would repay Lucy, but obviously not now when she was only a penniless nineteen-year-old with a few hidden talents. Well, not so hidden. A few people had provided her with a few sincere, straightforward compliments.

  She had to use the hand dryer to finish off her hair, then she parted it in the centre and drew it back into a smooth shining chignon on her nape, leaving a few softening side and nape tendrils. Her mirrored face, wearing a little make-up, looked unfamiliar. She usually didn't bother except for a lip gloss to protect her mouth and no one could find fault with her skin. She mightn't look expensive, but she looked perfectly presentable.

  She wasn't out to impress anyone anyway.

  When she went back to the living room her father gave her a sly, conspiratorial grin as if she had spent her time attempting to do just that. Quinn Sterling came to his feet and she waved him down again.

  'Please don't let me disturb you. I've been eavesdropping all my life. Here, let me get you something to go with that drink!'

  'Then come and join us, darling!' her father said. 'Mr Sterling has something to tell you.'

  'I can always listen from here. Just who are you, Mr Sterling?'

  'Better wait until you're sitting down,' Derrick Gilmore suggested dryly, enjoying himself in some awful way.

  Jaime shrugged again, aware that Quinn Sterling was watching her. She tipped olives into a bowl, found crackers and pretzels and cheese and got them all together in a beautiful polished wood platter with separate compartments. The men were drinking icy cold beer, so she poured herself a glass of red wine and walked down the two steps from the raised kitchen area into the living-dining room.

  Quinn Sterling got up to take the platter from her and set it down on the long low occasional table her father had made with its beaten copper top. Jaime sank into the armchair opposite him, admiring the way he wore his clothes despite herself; the beautiful casual jacket and slacks, the body shirt he teamed with it. She would always have this eye for cut and line and she had to admit Quinn Sterling had a lot of things going for him. She tipped her head to one side, studying him.

  'Well?'

  He raised his eyes to her and she found herself flushing without even knowing why. 'I don't know how much you overheard, Jaime, but I've been sent here by your grandfather.'

  Jaime reached out for her glass and took a sip because her mouth had gone so dry. 'My mother's father?'

  'Your mother's father!' Derrick Gilmore confirmed, his hazel eyes crinkling against the spurt of cigarette smoke he sent up.

  'Glory be to God!' said Jaime, in evidence of her four years at a convent school. 'I suppose you realise, Mr Sterling, I didn't even know I had a grandfather.'

  'Oh, you have one, darling,' Derrick Gilmore said, undeniably malicious.

  'The one you never told me about,' Jaime shot at him, irritated and full of suspense.

  'The same one,' her father smiled unpleasantly. 'Look here, Sterling, why don't I let you tell your own story? I haven't a decent wine to offer you for dinner. I'll just slip down to the pub while you're talking.'

  'There's the dry red you had no objection to last night,' Jaime pointed out, frowning.

  'I think our guest deserves something much better than that, my darling. You're no judge as yet. Besides, he's come a long way.'

  And I don't give a damn about that! Jaime thought, her eyes flashing.

  'Please yourself,' Quinn Sterling said dryly, not taking either of them too seriously.

  Derrick Gilmore got up immediately, a slight, very attractive man, still disgustingly boyish-looking in middle age with his bleached blond hair and smooth deeply-tanned skin. 'I won't be more than ten minutes,' he said, beginning the usual hunt for the car keys.

  'They're in the pottery bowl, Derry,' Jaime said with faint outrage. 'The same place I always leave them.'

  'Very methodical, my daughter. She doesn't take after her dear father in that respect. Right now!' he flourished the keys before them. 'Tell her the important news, Sterling. It might take a few minutes to penetrate, even allowing for the fact she's intelligent. I've kept her pretty much in the dark regarding the Borgias.'

  'It's very kind of you to allow me,' Quinn Sterling said suavely.

  'Think nothing of it!' Derrick went out quickly and after a minute they heard the car start up and pull away from the front of the house.

  Jaime was not unduly upset "at losing her father's support. He had been doing the same kind of thing for years and it had made her more than usually self-reliant. Anyway, she loved him and wasn't torn to change him. Quinn Sterling had settled back in his chair, his brilliant dark eyes taking in every aspect of Jaime's appearance, but whether he was pleased or not it was impossible to tell.

  'The young Rowena,' he finally offered with perceptible irony.

  'Oh yes, my mother! I've only one photograph of her. It isn't very good.'

  'You have a mirror, haven't you?'

  'So you knew my mother?' she asked eagerly.

  'I saw her many times when I was a boy. Never after she married your father.'

  'Derry wasn't good enough, I suppose?!

  'Actually, Jaime,' he said rather impatiently, 'your mother was engaged to my Uncle Nigel. She left him quite literally at the altar where most of us would die of stupid pride. He was there. The church was packed. She wasn't—she'd run off to marry your father. Nigel never forgave her for that. Very few men would if they were given to high drama. Nigel was, and died poetically about six months after. But that's in the past.'

  Jaime couldn't take it calmly. 'I'm sorry,' she said, gripping her glass. 'It seems unbelievable!'

  'I assure you it's quite true. I can see that it has affected you, but it's exactly the way it happened. You've heard of Hunter Sterling, I suppose?'

  'The consulting engineers, freeways, bridges, all that sort of thing?'

  'Rolf Hunter is your grandfather. Sir Rolf Hunter. He was knighted a few years back.'

  'Not for his humanity, I'm sure!' she snapped.

  'Hard to take, Jaime?' he asked rather curtly. 'Your mother was Rowena Hunter.' Up until now the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, he thought dispassionately, but didn't consider mentioning it. Rowena Hunter had had that same true, rare shade of black hair, the same exquisite Oriental blue eyes, the same arching black brows, and neat, elegant bones, all of which was making him angry, yet Jaime, the daughter, had a vibrant, challenging quality that Rowena Hunter's painted face at least had lacked. Very likely, she would inspire the same sort of spineless passion. Putting a woman on a pedestal had definite disadvantages. In a way it was priceless, poor old Nigel's romance; the old horror story in the family. He longed all of a sudden to hurt this child, then immediately was irritated most of all by himself. The whole thing was fantastic, yet he was here to take her captive. The Old Man would stop at nothing to have his granddaughter returned to him. She had her head tilted back for a moment, her eyes closed, the lovely line of her throat and chin unconsciously provocative. She couldn't help it, this pure sensuality, it clung to her like a second skin.

  'So I resemble my mother,' she was saying in a hushed voice.

  'Almost exactly. The colouring certainly, the bone structure. Hers was an unusual beauty far more dangerous than prettiness. Your grandfather adored her. She was his only daughter. He was fond of my Uncle Nigel as well, in fact he promoted the match—one of his few mistakes. Sir Rolf and my grandfather founded the Hunter Sterling Corporation—nearly all of us in both families have gone into the firm. You have uncles and cousins you've never even heard about.'

  'I've no room in my heart to love them,' she pointed out dryly. 'They mean nothing to me. I might have been nuts about them had they dandled me on their knees. But why should my grandfather send you to me, Mr Sterling? Why should he suddenly bother now? I mean, I've never meant a thing to him for nearly twenty years.'

  'You can believe that, but it's not true. A
nyway, I won't attempt to explain that part of it to you. I think the whole thing is a mistake. Your mother had everything, wealth, beauty, position, a fiancé who became too unhappy and morose to live without her. She threw it all up for your father. Had she lived, who knows, your grandfather might have been moved to heal the great rift in the family, but she died when you were born—tragedy all round. In fairness to Sir Rolf your father did his level best to outrage and wound everyone at the funeral. Apparently he did it to perfection, further isolating the old man.'

  'Surely his grief allowed him a few hasty words? I asked you before and you didn't answer me, why now?'

  Quinn Sterling shrugged. 'Human nature, perhaps. He's old now and the things that once were important to him no longer seem to matter. He wants to see you, make amends. You're not his only granddaughter. Your mother had two brothers and they have daughters a few years older than you are, but it's you he wants to see.'

  'The outsider?'

  His autocratic dark face suggested he agreed with her. 'Something like that, Jaime, and you never knew your grandfather's identity?'

  'Would I say I didn't if I did?'

  'Please tell me.'

  'I've told you, Mr Sterling. My father has never breathed a word either about my mother or her entire family. I might have come out of a cabbage. I've heard of Hunter Sterling, of course, who hasn't? They're practically a household word in this country. But why send you? You're not a member of my family. Why not one of my uncles or my cousins? I might have had something in common with them.'

  'I could have been your cousin, Jaime, perish the thought. As it happens your grandfather trusts me to handle a lot of his affairs quite outside Corporation matters. I had to come to Queensland on business in any case. It's been a little difficult to track you down. You've lived in so many places.'

  'Dragged up, why don't you say it?' she flared.

  'Possibly because I never thought it,' he said tersely, looking as though he'd like to turn her over his knee.