by Margaret Way
That seemed to be it. With considerable relief, they watched as the car that had been near tailgating them shot past at speed, compounding the driver’s dangerous behaviour. A car could well have been coming up the mountain around the next bend. Once ahead of them, the vehicle braked dramatically, causing Brendon to sharply apply his own brakes.
“That can’t be—That isn’t that bloody fool Simon, is it?” he muttered, concerned that it could be.
Charlotte thought the same thing, but she was only too grateful the crisis had passed. “I don’t recognize the number plate, but Simon does drive a BMW,” she said. “There’s a passenger in the car.” They were close enough to see the outline of a woman’s head. “I have the number plate now.”
“Do you want to write it down? There’s paper and pen in the glove box.”
“No. I’ll remember it,” Charlotte said, confident she would. “It isn’t a random bit of risky gamesmanship, is it? Some macho idiot who has had a drink too many and wanted to take on the Aston Martin?”
Brendon’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever, I’m resolved to follow up the incident.”
“Could it have been something symbolic?” Charlotte asked as the BMW moved farther and farther into the distance, with the driver continuing to disregard the speed limit.
“In what way?” Brendon asked, wondering if they were going to come across a bad accident ahead.
“My parents—?” Charlotte could go no further. She was trying to pull out of her vision of her father’s car plunging off the road and into vast open space.
“Ah, Charlie!” Brendon sighed, getting that picture himself.
“Let me finish,” Charlotte said. “Simon is a callous person. He’s very quick to anger. It could well give him a sick pleasure to try to frighten us, to remind me in particular of the place of my parents’ fatal crash.”
“How could he have planned it?” Brendon asked, trying to crush the anger that rolled over him.
“He was in touch with his mother,” Charlotte said. “He must have been in touch with Carol. We know Royce offered to give her a lift back to the city, but she appears so much under Simon’s thumb she could have joined him at the motel. I’m sure she wasn’t party to that stunt.”
“I just don’t know what to think about Carol,” Brendon said. “At this point she appears brainwashed. If she has any sense at all, she’ll get out of your cousin’s life.”
“Before it’s too late,” said Charlotte, thinking of the women who had done just that.
A fraught silence held between them. In making Charlotte his heiress, Sir Reginald had brought danger to her door, Brendon thought. Not from any madman who had a pathological hatred of the rich. The danger could well lie within her own family. Protecting Charlotte was going to be a full-time job. There was a real need to increase the watch on her. He would speak to both his grandfather and his father. He himself would have precious little free time. Pressure was on him to collect all the information his father and the QC needed for his cold case, an unsolved murder that had happened over twenty-five years before. New evidence had come to hand and all-important DNA testing had entered the game.
* * *
The atmosphere inside the speeding BMW was extraordinarily tense. “Are you trying to kill us, Simon?” Carol asked in a nerve-ridden voice. “Is that what you want?”
“Oh, do shut up,” Simon snapped, suddenly banging the dash and further frightening Carol.
“We’ll be picked up by the police, you know that.” Carol had always been a law-abiding citizen, so she was aghast at Simon’s reckless behaviour.
Simon only laughed. “It’s Sunday evening. I know when to slow.”
“They’ll have your number plate,” she warned him, hoping that would have some curbing effect.
Simon gave one of his overconfident laughs. “Our word against theirs,” he said.
“You’re expecting me to lie for you?” she asked in dismay.
He caught her hand, squeezed it hard. “Of course I do. You’re my girl, aren’t you?”
Carol shut her eyes, doing her best not to cry. How had things gone so bad so fast? “I don’t like lying, Simon.” He was pushing her. She had an unfamiliar urge to push back. “You could have caused a serious accident back there.”
He threw her crushed hand back into her lap, the skin of his good-looking face pulled tight. “Nothing happened, did it? I know what I’m doing. I’m a great driver. It’s another one of my talents. Macmillan will want to do something about it. First thing they’ll do is check the registration. But you’ll stand by me. Understand that?” He shot the slumped Carol a hard glance. “There’s a lot you don’t know about, Carol. A few things you do. What my grandfather did only brought harm to the family.”
Carol dug deep to find some courage, though she knew it was likely to escalate matters. “Well, you can’t claim you were given a rough ride, Simon. To most people, you were left a massive sum of money.”
It wasn’t the answer Simon required. “The money is in a trust fund my grandfather set up,” he snarled, shocked by her show of spirit. “He didn’t think I’d be able to handle the money myself.”
“Your grandfather would have wanted you to establish yourself,” Carol suggested. “He would have wanted you to become an achiever.”
“And I’m not? Is that what you’re saying?” There was a deep frown on his face as he turned to her.
Carol very wisely backed off. Up until Charlotte’s birthday party, it had not occurred to her that Simon Mansfield could be a danger. To his own cousin. To her. She had understood he had been angry and distressed that his father had been bypassed as Sir Reginald Mansfield’s heir. She supposed any loving son would be. Now she understood the terrible anger that fired Simon up was all on his own account. Beth and other friends had confided their concerns about her involvement with Simon Mansfield. They had been highly critical of a young man who thought himself a “prince” and who lived way too high. Planted deep in Simon’s psyche was the belief that he was better than everyone else. Now she saw she had foolishly involved herself with a narcissist—and a dangerous one at that. She felt shame. She knew her parents would be ashamed of her.
The huge problem facing her now was how to get out of this relationship. Simon certainly didn’t love her. He probably lacked the capacity for loving, but he did regard her as a potential wife who would not dream of involving herself in his affairs, let alone going against him. She was well-bred, well-educated, reasonably good-looking. She was also efficient. Most people liked her. She would make a suitable hostess. Of course, once married she would have been expected to undergo a transformation in the matter of self-presentation: dress, hair, makeup, and so forth.
Carol sat straighter in the passenger seat. She wasn’t going to lie for Simon Mansfield or anyone else. She had to hold fast to her principles. There were rules of conduct to be adhered to, rules that mattered. Simon might not love her, but he wouldn’t take lightly any attempt on her part to break up. Her affections and hopes for a future together had dwindled to something approaching fear. She knew from what she had seen of him that Brendon Macmillan would go to hell and back to keep Charlotte safe. She would go beyond that: Brendon Macmillan was in love with Charlotte, whether he desired to be or not. All sorts of complications scored falling love with heiresses, she imagined. It was different for her. She had no one like that in her life. Things would probably get a lot worse before they got better. She knew that, but it was her chance to be unflinchingly brave.
Chapter 6
Brendon had to wait his turn to see his father, like everyone else. He wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. However high he climbed, he was going to do it on merit. His opportunity came at the midmorning break.
“How’s it going?” Julian Macmillan looked up smilingly from a pile of papers in front of him. He felt pleased to see the son he had been blessed with.
“Fine, Dad,” Brendon said, taking a chair across the desk from his father. “It’s
not the Goldberg case. I’m on top of that. It’s Simon Mansfield.”
“Really?” Julian lifted his glasses off his nose and then rubbed the bridge. “Have you struck up an unlikely friendship?”
“Hardly.”
“A very unpleasant young man, that. He was spoilt rotten by his doting mum, as you’ve heard any number of times. Conrad, who should have been a steadying influence, did nothing but write his book. Admittedly, it was a darn fine book.”
Brendon decided to let his father in on his and Charlotte’s suspicions. He explained all of their reasoning and concluded, “Charlotte and I don’t think he wrote it.”
Julian looked away across the spacious room, then back again. “Good God!” he murmured, quietly. “You want coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
“Black, one sugar, just like me?”
“Thanks, Dad.” He watched his father press a button, arranging for another cup to be brought in.
“You’ll have to have some pretty convincing evidence,” Julian warned.
“You don’t sound all that shocked, Dad?”
“The truth will win out, won’t it?” Julian said with a head shake.
“We don’t have evidence that would hold up,” Brendon admitted. “Charlotte asked if she could sight the manuscript. Patricia Mansfield told her she had read the opus so far.”
“And?”
“It’s like this.” Brendon went on to recount what they had learned, breaking off momentarily as coffee arrived and was served.
“Thank you, Emily.”
Emily smiled at both men and then left the room. “So it’s only gut instinct you’re going on,” Julian Macmillan picked up on the conversation, not looking impressed.
“Okay, gut instinct,” Brendon agreed, “but Charlotte said the opening page was so dismally bad it could not have been written by the author of Cries of the Heart.”
“So on that flimsy basis, she thought her uncle had to have plagiarized what was her father’s book? Is that it?”
“I’m delighted you hit on that, Dad. Charlotte is clever,” he said, with quiet certainty.
“My God, yes,” Julian breathed. “She’s going to make a formidable woman. Not only that, a fascinating woman.”
His father’s smile seemed to Brendon to be a sad, knowing one. It prompted him to ask, “Did you have an affair with Charlotte’s mother, Dad?” He had never doubted his father, unlike his mother, but there was something there. “I know you’ve always denied it, but I need to hear it again. I’m not standing in judgement, and I wouldn’t dream of stirring up trouble, but I need the entire truth of the matter.”
Julian Macmillan had no trouble looking his son in the eye. “There was no affair, Brendon,” he said, no force but total honesty in his voice. “Alyssa was a very beautiful woman in all respects. A woman with a lot of power. I won’t say I wasn’t attracted to her. I was, no question about that. I won’t lie to you. But then, so was just about every man who knew her, including the Old Man, who so favoured her. It wasn’t just Alyssa’s beauty, it was her personality, as well, her high intelligence. Christopher worshipped her. Christopher was strong, well able to stand up to his father, but he was also a sensitive man. An artistic man. To believe his wife had been unfaithful to him would have destroyed him.”
“Well, he was destroyed, wasn’t he? They both were. So who drove the knife home?” Brendon asked, his tone harsher than he intended. “Who tried to convince Christopher Mansfield her affair with you was true?”
“Do you really think I didn’t look for the answers?” Julian asked, his straight nose chiselled white with sudden emotion. “It could have been a number of people close to us. It could even have been a member of the family, grown hard on avarice and bitter resentment. I was a very high-profile candidate as Sir Hugo’s son. There has always been tension between the two families, I don’t have to tell you that. But there was something truly terrible about it all. Something beyond the urge to make trouble, spread rumours. Something that was very personal and terribly malign. As far as I was concerned, Alyssa and Christopher were very much in love. Sometimes a woman’s beauty can be a curse,” Julian said. “I do know poor old Pat was very jealous of her.”
“Then why not Patricia?” Brendon asked.
Julian shook his head. “I did consider Patricia, but in the end decided she didn’t have enough hate in her. Besides, Pat can be a very silly woman. She would have given herself away. I’ve no doubt of that.”
“My mother hated Alyssa, didn’t she?” Brendon decided to bite the bullet.
“You’re surely not suggesting your mother?” Julian asked, his voice a bit too loud.
“You don’t have a good marriage, do you, Dad?” Brendon countered, facing an unpleasant truth. “You stay together, but you’re not happy and it’s getting worse, isn’t it?”
The moment stretched out and out between them. Julian shifted his position in his leather chair. “I’m right, aren’t I?” Brendon persisted. “Even at Charlotte’s birthday party, Mum was so aloof, almost rude. I’m certain she didn’t once smile. It’s as though she hates Charlotte, as well.”
There was a faint glaze in Julian Macmillan’s fine grey eyes. “Charlotte is trouble, Bren,” he said, very sombrely. “My heart aches for her. She’s had to endure so much tragedy and neglect from her appalling family. I can’t feel good about her inheriting this fortune and all it entails. It puts her, in many ways, in an unenviable position, always in the spotlight, in potential danger, but there was no way Sir Reginald was going to make Conrad his heir. Conrad simply lacked the necessary characteristics that make for success. He wasn’t his brother. The boy, Simon, didn’t even rate in the Old Man’s eyes. The Old Man used to call him, quite cruelly, ‘the crybaby.’ Charlotte, even as a schoolgirl, showed great promise. Her grandfather made the judgement she could handle power when the time came. I believe that to be the case. I believe you do too, only Charlotte is going to be put through hoops—heaps of tests that wouldn’t be inflicted on a young man. There are going to be years of doubts and uncertainties ahead for her. It’s a huge burden, an onerous burden.”
“But we’re going to be there for her, aren’t we, Dad? We’re going to help her every inch of the way. We’re going to support her. She needs us.”
“I know,” Julian confirmed, quietly. “You’ve always been extremely protective of Charlie, haven’t you, Bren?”
“Well, I don’t think of her as my little sister,” Brendon retorted, dryly. “The little sister I never had, by the way.”
His father’s long fingers drummed the top of his desk. “Your mother didn’t want any more children. Yours was a difficult birth.”
Brendon shook his head. “Not true, Dad. It wasn’t a difficult birth. Granddad told me.”
His father sighed. “He would, probably for the best. I must tell you, your mother was absolutely delighted with you. You were enough. You know you are the son I’ve always wanted. You’re the apple of your grandfather’s eye. Your upbringing was far different than Charlotte’s. You’ve always been surrounded by people who love and admire you. By the way, there’s already gossip about you and Charlotte floating around Chambers,” Julian said, staring at his son while waiting for a reaction.
“Charlie is just a baby.” Brendon shrugged the gossip off.
“Your baby,” his father said pointedly.
“Okay, so how does it look to Mum?” Brendon asked. “Does talk of Charlotte and me bring out her dark side?”
Julian frowned heavily. “What dark side?”
“The one you know about, Dad.” Brendon’s retort was as sharp as a knife. “To be attracted to a beautiful married woman is no sin. It’s what you do about it that matters. Taking into account the harm an affair could cause. We’ll never live down that terrible car crash, entirely innocent or not. It was just so heartbreaking. It left Charlie, a twelve-year-old, on her own, except for her grandfather, who was immersed in his many business interests. I believe you w
hen you say there was no affair. Charlotte believes you.”
“Does she? I’m so glad.”
“She’s been having flashbacks recently. I know they scare her, and Charlie doesn’t scare easily. For some reason she’s frightened of her uncle.”
Julian sat straight, looking momentarily shaken. “Conrad has never done his duty by his son or his niece, but we all think he is fairly harmless.”
“I beg to disagree. He’s not harmless, Dad. Conrad Mansfield is a born actor. He just keeps the harm buried deep. If it could be proved that Christopher and not Conrad wrote Cries of the Heart, what do you think he might do if Charlotte threatened to expose him?”
“Aaah!” Julian gave a deep groan. “He would be desperate to keep it secret. I don’t think he could handle the public humiliation. The world at large thinks Conrad Mansfield wrote the book. Now that we’re discussing it, I never judged him to be a man of such deep feeling. To us insiders, the book was largely about our families. Laura was Alyssa, to my mind.”
Brendon took a deep breath. “Well, you knew her, Dad. So, why did everyone accept that Conrad had pulled off a masterpiece?”
Julian leaned forward. “Because not a one of us knew any different. We were all gutted by the tragedy. It was so recent, so real. Christopher was my friend, but he never confided in me or anyone else that he had written a book. Christopher, right up until his death, was kept extremely busy. Sir Reginald saw to that. Both brothers were artistic. Both had a love and a knowledge of literature and beautiful things. They were raised in wealth. That’s another problem for Charlotte. She’ll never get Conrad out of Clouds.”
“Trust me, Dad, she will. He’ll be out in the New Year,” Brendon said. “Charlotte has made up her mind. She’s also said she wouldn’t expose her uncle until after his death. That’s only if we’re right, of course.”
Julian Macmillan blew out a breath. “Might be a wise move, if a difficult decision. It would create hell for her. What I don’t understand is, why didn’t Charlotte ask to read what Conrad has already written?”