The Secret Heiress

by Bethany Campbell

  Reynard took her to a small, dingy tavern outside of Pepper Flats. They sat at the farthest corner of the bar. His mood was dark, and hers was bleak.

  “All right. Tell me what’s happening,” Marie said. “Explain. Please.” She let her wine sit, untouched.

  Reynard hunched more crankily over his schooner of beer. “I can’t explain it. Not yet. But it’s true. You’re being watched. Investigated. Somebody’s gathering information on you. Not all of it true information, either.”

  Her stomach twisted in anxiety. “Me? Why? How do you know?”

  “I was told.”

  She stared at him dazedly. “Who told you?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Tomorrow, I’m picking you up at six in the morning. I’ll take you to the Newcastle airport. I’ve got a ticket reserved for you. To Perth.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Perth? That’s the other side of the continent. I don’t know anyone in Perth. Wh-what am I supposed to do in Perth, for God’s sake?”

  “A bloke’ll meet you there. His name is Jermaine Kopu. He’s a Maori, very tall with a moko—a tattoo on his face. A kind of blue swirl near his right eye. He’s missing the little finger on his left hand. He’s a good man. He’ll take you someplace safe. Until it’s all right to go back to Darwin.”

  A feeling of unreality engulfed her. “Someplace safe? Until it’s all right to go back? What are you talking about?”

  “Here,” he said, handing her a folded sheet of paper. “It came this morning.”

  She opened it and saw a letter, a computer printout. It had no date and no return address and no signature. Silently, her chest tight, she read it:

  We know about you and your niece and Louisa Fairchild. Also your niece’s messing with Andrew Preston. You’re playing a dangerous game, and it’s going to blow up in your faces.

  Get her out of Hunter Valley and keep her out. You’re going to get her hurt. Better move along yourself. Your welcome’s worn out, bugger.

  She gazed at him in numb disbelief. “Who sent this? And why? If they’re planning something, why warn us? And why send it to you? What’s going on here?”

  “Who? I don’t know,” Reynard said in disgust. “Why? I don’t know. Why me? I don’t know that, either. I suspect that new bartender at The Secret Heiress. I was leery of him from the start.”

  “But why would anybody threaten me?” she demanded.

  “Louisa’s money?” he challenged sarcastically. “Maybe somebody doesn’t want another heir showing up.”

  “Like who?”

  He cocked his head and looked cynical. “Megan Stafford? Her brother? Your good friend Bronwyn, wanting her kid to get his full share? The woman was married to a criminal. Don’t tell me she doesn’t have a crooked friend or two.”

  “I can’t believe that,” she retorted.

  “Then don’t,” Reynard shot back. “Or maybe it’s about Preston. His people protecting him. I don’t know. But I always warned you to stay away from him. I told you he could hurt you. He only wants one thing from you, and if he gets it, he’ll paint you as the bloody little tart.”

  She glared at him in angry incomprehension.

  “Marie, I’ve tried to help you. With all my heart I have. But we’ve got to pull back. You need to go. Leave a note for Louisa—tell her something, anything. Except the truth. And in the name of all that’s holy, stay away from Preston. I’ll soon be on my way, too, and in touch later through Jermaine.”

  She held his stare, defiance in her eyes. “I was a fool to let you get me into this,” she said bitterly.

  “Yes,” he said, his expression turning cold. “You were. And so was I, to think you could handle it. But it’s almost over. Maybe completely. Maybe not. We’ll see.”

  He drove her back to Fairchild Acres. She couldn’t bring herself to speak to him except to ask him to stop at a pharmacy so she could buy a bottle of aspirin. He did so, looking both resentful and righteous.

  He let her out at the gate to Fairchild Acres. “I’ve done everything out of love for you,” he said in a harsh, low voice. “Maybe eventually you can approach Louisa, humble and contrite like. Work out a story. Be able to come up with answers to what she might ask.”

  “I’ll answer to my own conscience and nothing else,” she said coolly. She got out and slammed the door.

  “I’m the best friend you’ve got in the world, Marie,” he called after her.

  She didn’t answer him.

  She walked into her room, turned her mobile phone back on, and it rang, almost immediately.

  “Marie,” said Andrew. “I’ve been trying to get you. God, it’s good to be back, to be near you again.”

  In truth, he sounded happy, and suddenly she was, too, even though she knew the emotion couldn’t last. His voice dropped, sounding more Southern than usual.

  “Did you think about it?” he asked. “About tonight? About being together?”

  “Yes.” The word came out almost as a whisper. “It seems so long since I’ve seen you.”

  Since I’ve touched you, she thought. She could think of nothing more to say except, “That is, if—if you want to.”

  For an interminable few seconds, he was silent. Had she been too forward? And had she any right to ask this of him?

  But when he spoke, he said, “There’s nothing I’d want more. Nothing. But I can’t believe it. Don’t, whatever you do, change your mind.”

  “I won’t,” she promised. Right or wrong, I won’t.

  They made arrangements to meet at nine-thirty, near the grove by the Hermit’s Cave.

  She wanted to tell him about Louisa. But not tonight. She wanted to be with him just this one night, without worrying endlessly about the mistakes of the past or the uncertainty of the future.

  Feeney had switched on the recording device as soon as the buzz and the flashing green light indicated that Preston was calling. He had to turn off his video again, put the listening device in his ear.

  He almost smiled. It was Preston, all right, calling the blonde. Making plans to meet. They said when. They said where. She’d promised to come. He listened to their goodbyes and smiled bitterly. He watched the red light that said the machine was recording it all.

  And when they were through, he switched it off. He looked around this cramped, claustrophobic little room in the middle of nowhere and thought, I’m gonna be out of here finally. Goodbye and good riddance.

  He flipped open his mobile phone and dialed a number. “Chalk,” he said. “It’s going to happen tonight. They’re meeting. She’ll go out. She won’t come back. Get your mate. Do it.”

  He listened a moment, his face impassive. “If that happens, kill him, too, but make it seem he just disappeared. Call when you’re finished.”

  Almost over. Almost free. He reached for the absinthe bottle.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A half hour after Marie had said goodbye to Andrew, she was dressed and feeling reckless and desperate. She wore her green outfit from the thrift store in Scone, the shimmering green top and shorts. She put her black pumps into her backpack along with the folded green skirt that matched her outfit.

  She felt like a foolish-looking Martian, green and sparkly and helmeted, wearing her old sneakers, slipping across the grounds until she could mount her bike and speed over the road through the pastureland. When she saw the white fence near the grove, her pulse sped wildly, and her conscience warned her that she shouldn’t do this.

  But she was shaken and felt as if part of her life was ending forever. If she did not spend one night—one short night—with Andrew, then someday she would be sitting in a nursing home, and her greatest regret would be never having been with him, even once.

  He was waiting for her. He crossed the road as she took off her helmet. He leaned over the fence, pulled her to him and kissed her so long and hard that he dazzled her senses, made her see drunkenly dancing stars. “Lord, it’s good to hold you,” he said against her lips. “I’ve dreamed of this.”


  She raised her hands to frame his face. “Andrew, I’m scared, but I want to be with you. And I want to go out of town. Can we? Please?”

  “Of course, whatever you want. Come on, let me get the bike over the fence. And then we’ll get you through.”

  She slipped through the fence and they ran across the road to a truck she thought belonged to Daniel Whittleson. “You borrowed a different truck?”

  “Yes,” he said. I thought we could stay under the radar better. He hoisted the bike into the truck bed. “Ready?”

  “Almost.” She’d opened her backpack, and was fastening the green skirt around her waist. She slipped off her shorts and tennis shoes and put on her black pumps. She slung the backpack onto the floor of the front seat. “Ready,” she said.

  He stared at her, as if fascinated. “Did you just turn into Cinderella?”

  “No. I guess this is my Going Out uniform. It’s new. New to me anyway. So I’ll call it my Going Out Uniform.”

  He shook his head and smiled. “You’re either the strangest woman I’ve ever met. Or the most sensible. Or maybe both. You’re certainly unique.”

  He helped her into the truck, and her elbow tingled where he touched her. He got in beside her. “There’s a nice little inn, very private over at Banksia Springs. A good restaurant. Want to go there?”

  An inn, she thought. Yes. That’s what I want. God forgive me, but that’s what I want.

  “Sounds perfect,” she said. “Now tell me about Singapore and Malaysia and New Zealand.”

  “I had to have a translator in Singapore and Malaysia. I wish you’d been there. You can speak the languages, can’t you?”

  “Yes. Enough to get by.” Darwin was the most multicultural city in Australia. She could speak French, Chinese, several Southeast Asian languages, Spanish and a bit of Korean.

  Perhaps the language she could no longer speak was the truth.

  She stared at his profile. “How did the trips go?”

  “Well, I think. Especially New Zealand. I can’t believe Jacko’s ignoring it. Maybe he’s so arrogant he thinks he’s got it tied up. And maybe he’s right. But they seemed receptive.”

  All the way to Banksia Springs, she kept the conversation focused on his travels. When they arrived, the restaurant was brightly lit, the inn nearly dark. He parked the truck.

  “Have you eaten? Darci forced a shark fillet and yams down me. How about a glass of wine and whatever you want? I think I’ll just have a drink and a light dessert.”

  “Me, too,” she said, then paused. “And then—I’d like to check into the inn.”

  His expression went blank, and he studied her by the golden light radiating from the building. At last he said, “Do you mean that? You’re sure?”

  “Yes. I mean it. I’ve thought hard about it. I’m sure. I want to be with you—that way.”

  He shook his head in wonder. “But I thought—”

  “I turn in my notice tomorrow. I need to leave. It’s time.”

  He frowned. “I thought Louisa wanted you to stay longer. That you wanted to stay longer. Tomorrow?”

  “Yes. It’s time for me to go.”

  “Back to Darwin?”

  She said nothing. She made a motion something like a nod. How could she explain about Perth when she couldn’t understand it herself?

  “Why?” he asked with feeling. “Why so suddenly? I don’t understand. I don’t think I’ve ever understood what’s going on between you and Louisa.”

  “I don’t completely understand it myself,” she said. “If it bothers you, my leaving so suddenly, and you don’t want to do this, be with me…” she began.

  He leaned nearer. He kissed her. “I want this. More than anything in the world. But I need to drive back, get a condom…. I would never want you to—you know.”

  “I bought a package,” she said, hoping he couldn’t see her blush. She hadn’t bought aspirin when Reynard stopped at the pharmacy.

  She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be a third generation unwed mother. And I have to warn you. I’m not very experienced. I—well, I’m just not.”

  He leaned near again, took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re the most mysterious creature in the world. I’ll be careful with you, Marie. I’ll be gentle. I promise.”

  “I know you will,” she said, looking into his eyes. “And now I think that maybe I don’t need the wine.”

  “I don’t want any, either,” he said. “I’ll check us in. You stay here. I don’t think anybody’s around who could see us, but we’ll just park in back and go straight to the room.”

  “Maybe that would be safest,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

  He left and she sat alone, the restaurant’s windows glowing with amber in the vast darkness surrounding it. We should be safe here, she thought. I wouldn’t put him at risk for anything. I love him. And this may be the last night that he’ll ever think that he loves me.

  Was this how Louisa had felt all those years ago, yielding? How her mother had felt?

  Lost in her own thoughts, she did not notice they had been followed, stealthily and expertly. Two men were parked too far away for her to see. But they saw her. And they’d seen Andrew get out and go inside.

  Their cameras were already snapping.

  Once inside their room, she and Andrew stood for a moment, staring at each other. He looked her up and down, then his gaze fastened on hers. “You’re more beautiful than I’ve ever seen you.”

  He paused but kept staring at her as if hypnotized. “You look like a girl in a dream. A very beautiful dream.”

  She raised her eyes to his, too filled with emotion to speak.

  He took a step closer to her. “You were right about me. I was trying so hard to be flawless I was coming across like a robot to some people. But you made me feel human again. I’ve felt different since knowing you. I’ve acted different. Like speaking out for Louisa. Being more open. Maybe that sounds crazy, but it’s true.”

  “If I helped at all, I’m glad,” she said. She was so tense that every muscle in her body felt taut. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say or do now that they were in this room with its large, satin-quilted bed.

  It wasn’t simply a large bed; it was immense. The moss-colored quilt and pale yellow sheets were turned down, ready for them. Only two small lamps were on, sitting at each end of the dresser. Their glass was amber colored and knobby, and they cast a softly dappled gold light in the dim room.

  He moved closer still. “Why am I talking like a political nerd? I liked you the first time I saw you. When you stamped that lout’s foot. I thought, She’s beautiful and fearless, the kind of woman I always wanted to find. And then you showed up at Fairchild Acres. It seemed like a sign.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders, firmly, possessively. “I lost the charm. You found it. That seemed like another sign. I found out what the charm is,” he said, his voice lower, softer. “A man in the airport in Sydney told me. This morning, in fact. He’s an art professor. It’s a love charm. I got it about eight hours before I saw you at the Scepter. And that seems like the most important sign of all.”

  He reached inside the open collar of his blue shirt and drew it out. “Here,” he murmured. “Will you wear it for me?”

  “I shouldn’t,” she tried to protest. But he took it and placed it over her head so the wooden bird lay between her breasts. He bent and kissed her until she felt her will power go winging out of her body as if the bird bore it away.

  Again, she knew that what she was doing was wrong, but she couldn’t stop herself. She rose up on her toes to kiss him back—he was so deliciously tall—and she wrapped her arms around his neck to bring his face closer to hers, to press their mouths into the most intimate union possible.

  Their lips demanded, they tempted and teased. Andrew and she took turns searching, caressing, nuzzling and ravaging. Marie felt faint with wanting him.

  He seemed as swept away as she did. He scoope
d her up so swiftly that she lost a shoe, and then kicked the other off. He carried her to the bed and stood her beside it. “Can I undress you?” he asked, his voice uneven.

  She nodded, closing her eyes to keep from swaying at his touch. He undid the skirt, and it floated silkily down past her knees. Urgent yet gentle, he undid the green buttons of her blouse, and it, too, fell away, soft as gossamer.

  She shivered as he undid her bra, and shivered harder as he eased it from her body and the room’s cool air touched her breasts.

  He stood back and admired her, a dazed half smile on his face. “No surprise. You’re loveliest with no uniform at all. Undo my shirt, Marie.”

  With trembling fingers she unbuttoned the blue shirt until a long, vertical strip of his bronzed torso was visible. He, too, kicked off his shoes, snatched off his socks. He straightened up and said, “Unbuckle my belt—please.”

  She could already see the bulge of his arousal, and taking a deep breath, she undid the brass buckle. He took her hand and guided it to his zipper. None of this now seemed unnatural to her. One act flowed into the next, propelled by the most ancient of needs, the strongest of urges.

  He stepped out of his slacks and she saw he had no underwear on. She looked at him in surprise, but also in pleasure. He was excited and erect—for her. He leaned and kissed her breasts, and at the same time placed her hand around his upright member. It was both hard and soft, the tip of it like damp velvet.

  He drew away a moment to ease down her panties and let her step out of them. He began touching her where no man had touched her before. He kissed and suckled her nipples. He drew her to the bed, lay down with her and kissed and caressed her most secret places.

  Something like liquid fire flowed through her system, and suddenly there was no such thing as wrong. There was only Andrew.

  As he entered her he said, “I love you, Marie.”

  “I love you, too,” she breathed. And then they ceased being two people and became one complete being.

  In the early-morning hours, she awakened, drowsily happily. They slept curled together, one of Andrew’s arms draped over her. She felt the reassuring hardness of his muscles, the warmth of his long body. He smelled of cologne, fresh sweat and sex, and next to her ear, his breath was soft and even.