by Margaret Way
“Will do, Sir Malcolm.” Charlotte smiled, although a feeling of alarm was invading her entire body. Had her mother seen her with Rohan? Why was she so surprised her mother was in Sydney? She had spotted many a Melbournite who had flown in to attend this big charity function.
To calm her agitation she started walking along with the happy, chattering crowd towards one of the arched doorways that led onto the street. She knew Rohan would follow fairly soon. Outside, limousines were starting to cruise, picking up their passengers. The headlights picked up the multi colours of the women’s dresses and the brilliance of their jewellery.
Charlotte was just slowing her steps so she wouldn’t get too far ahead of Rohan when a woman’s firm hand caught her from behind.
“One moment, Charlotte.”
Charlotte turned back to face her mother.
I’m scared of this woman, she thought. Scared of my own mother. Or of the bitter, backward-looking woman my mother had become.
She wanted to run, but knew she had to stand her ground. “Good evening, Mother,” she said courteously. “Is Kurt with you?” Kurt Reiner was a decent enough man. Very rich, of course.
“Forget Kurt!” Barbara Reiner snapped explosively. “He’s somewhere. At the moment I don’t give a toss where.” Barbara Reiner’s haughty face with its classic features had become marred over the years by a perpetual expression of malcontent.
“I didn’t see you. It was such a big turn-out. Malcolm Fielding told me you were here. You look very well.” Her mother wore vintage Dior, black lace, with a double string of South Sea pearls around her throat and large pearl pendant drops.
“The emeralds, I see!” She showed bitter disappointment that they weren’t hanging from her own neck.
“Dad gave me permission to wear them.”
“Well, he would, wouldn’t he? He always did indulge you.” Barbara’s narrowed glance darted back to where Rohan was standing with the Premier and his wife. They were about to enter the back seat of a Rolls-Royce. “Tell me that’s not Rohan Costello?” Fury streaked across Barbara’s cold, distinguished face.
“Why ask a question when you know the answer?” Charlotte replied quietly. “You know perfectly well it’s Rohan. Does anyone else look like him? Besides, you must have taken note of his very generous donation.”
“So he’s done well for himself.” Barbara gritted her teeth. “He’s got himself a life. Unlike my dead boy.”
They would never rise above their family tragedy. “Nothing but Mattie. Nothing but Mattie,” Charlotte moaned. “It’s about time you pulled out of your tortured state of mind, Mum. Matthew would never have wanted it.”
Barbara lifted a hand as though about to strike. “Don’t you ever tell me how to live my life, Charlotte. I will mourn my son until the day I die. The agony will never go away.”
“I understand that, Mum.” Charlotte hastened to placate her. “But Dad and I grieve too. We loved Mattie.”
“No one grieves like a mother,” Barbara shot back. “What would you do if you lost your boy? Go on—tell me. Losing a child is the worst blow a woman can ever suffer in life.”
“You don’t have to tell me that, Mum. I adore my son. But I can never forget that you once told me it was a pity it wasn’t me who’d drowned instead of Mattie.” Charlotte gave her mother a look of incurable hurt. “You don’t have any deep regrets over that? You’d have got over my death, wouldn’t you? Probably completely. Please let go of my arm.”
Barbara had the grace to comply. “I’ve only just heard Costello was behind the purchase of Riverbend.” She said it as though a monstrous deal had been done.
Charlotte began to walk away from the crowd. Quite a few people had been looking their way. Her mother was forced to follow. The breeze off the water caught at Charlotte’s long blonde hair and the hem of her exquisite white chiffon gown. “Please keep your voice down, Mum. It’s very carrying.”
“Of course it is. Clarity and resonance has stood me in good stead. What I really feel like doing is screaming my head off.” Barbara was visibly struggling for self-possession. “You’re back with him, of course. The boy’s his, isn’t he? Your father might be a fool, but you can’t fool me, Charlotte. I’ve always had my suspicions. You were pregnant by Costello, yet you married poor Martyn. What a terrible injustice! Did you ever get around to telling him his son was really Rohan Costello’s child?” Barbara’s demeanour showed frightening aggression.
“No, I didn’t. Never!” It was hard to maintain control. “It might shock you, but I believed when I married Martyn he was the father of my child.”
“I didn’t come down in the last shower!” Barbara gave a contemptuous laugh. “You chose to marry money, Charlotte. I understand that at least. Only a foolish woman thinks she can live on love alone—or what passes for love. A driving lust was all you had for Costello.”
“Lust?” Charlotte was compelled to swallow down her anger. “What is to become of you, Mum? You’re deeply neurotic. You need help.”
Even in the semi-dark it was possible to see Barbara’s flush. “Don’t go too far, my girl,” she warned. “What would have happened had your husband lived?” There was challenge in her voice. “When you think about it, you were cheating on both of them. Fancy that! Your father’s saintly angel, with her long blonde hair, having sex with two young men at the same time. I can only marvel!”
“Marvel away!” Charlotte invited, chilled to the bone though the night was warm. She leaned in close to her mother. “I didn’t have sex with Martyn, Mum. He forced sex on me.” It was a measure of her upset that she revealed what she had never revealed before.
Her mother, who had been glaring at her, drew back with a fierce bark of laughter. “I—don’t—believe—you.”
“Why not, when you’re so smart?” Charlotte was close to despair. She had just confided what she’d thought wild horses wouldn’t drag out of her. “Things got out of hand. I begged him to stop but he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. I had to live with him. So I learned to think of it that way.”
“As well you might!” Barbara drew further back in disgust. “Martyn was totally in love with you, you little fool! It’s clear to me you must have led him on,” she raged. “You know what you are?”
“Do tell me.” Charlotte stood fast. It seemed as if mother-daughter love had gone for ever.
Rohan, unnoticed by both of them, was now only a few feet away. “Charlotte!”
“Don’t attempt to drag Rohan into this,” Charlotte warned, able to gather herself now Rohan was returning.
“I can and I will,” Barbara stated forcefully.
Charlotte’s heart pumped double-time.
“Good evening, Mrs Reiner,” Rohan said.
He looked the very image of a staggeringly handsome and highly successful young man about town, but Barbara stormed towards him as though he were a deadbeat. “You two deserve one another, you know. Do you think I’m a fool?”
Rohan answered with complete self-control. “I certainly don’t think you’re a fool, Mrs Reiner. So what’s the point of acting like one? I’m sure you don’t really want to draw attention to yourself. You’re the one with the fine reputation, after all.”
Barbara’s coiffed head shot back. “Kindly treat me with respect, Costello,” she said, with shocking arrogance.
“Maybe I’ll do that when you do the same for me,” Rohan replied suavely. He took Charlotte’s trembling arm, aware of just how much punishment Charlotte had taken over the years. Barbara Marsdon had been unbelievably cruel to her daughter. “We’ll say goodnight, Mrs Reiner. I see you’ve been giving Charlotte hell. Nothing new in that.”
Barbara’s stare was malignant. She took in his impressive height and physique, the way he held himself, the self-assuredness, the cultured voice, his stunning good-looks. And those eyes! Mary Rose Costello’s illegitimate child had come a long way. There was no sign of remorse in him—no plea for forgiveness. Didn’t he know Mattie’s death had nearly killed h
er? There was no reality any more. No normal life. Sometimes she thought it would have been best had she drowned with her son. And to think Rohan Costello was back into their lives! He still wanted her daughter! That couldn’t be allowed. As for the boy… A bitter resentment rolled off Barbara in waves.
“So confident,” she said icily, as though he had no right to be. “And haven’t you grown inches? But you’ll be hearing more from me, Rohan Costello. That I can promise.”
“Then please do keep it civil, Mrs Reiner.” Rohan retained his low, even tone. “I wouldn’t want to take action against you.”
Barbara didn’t deign to answer. She turned away, trying to get her ravaged face in order before she went back to her husband. How she wished something horrible would happen to Rohan Costello! So arrogant, so challenging, and far, far too confident. As for her daughter! She was going to reserve a little time and place for Charlotte…
“God, I think we could do with a couple of major tranquillisers after that brush with your mother.” Rohan put out his hand to signal his approaching limousine driver. “What do you suppose she knows about hiring hit men?”
“Don’t laugh, Rohan.” Charlotte’s beautiful face was full of upset. She was bitterly regretting her admission about Martyn. She knew she would have to pay for it somewhere down the line.
“So what do you want me to do? Buy a suit of armour? Your mother ran out on you and your father. She should not be allowed to interfere in your life. And she had better consider that your life is my life.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
THEY were inside Rohan’s penthouse apartment up in the clouds within twenty minutes. This was the second time Charlotte had been inside. As she’d promised to stay overnight she’d left her suitcase there before they had gone on to the function.
“I’m going to pour myself a stiff Scotch.” Rohan reached a hand to a bank of switches. “What about you?”
He looked back at her. She looked supremely beautiful, but with a fragile overlay that didn’t surprise him. He felt rattled himself. Some women were born martyrs. Barbara Marsdon-Reiner was one of them. The incredible thing was that in the pre-Mattie Tragedy days Barbara had been a nice woman. Obviously her whole mode of thinking had altered drastically after the terrible experience of losing her son. Her loathing of him hadn’t gone away. It still held sway.
“I’ll have a brandy.” It was all Charlotte could think of. “A good French cognac, if you’ve got it.”
“Which one of them isn’t good?” he asked with a touch of humour.
They moved through the entrance hall with its stunning gold and white marble floor. An important seascape hung above an antique black and gold commode. The large living room beyond matched up with the hall in its refined opulence. Very European.
“Go sit down while I take a look.” He walked away to a well-stocked drinks trolley, with an assortment of crystal decanters, and bent over it, checking. “You’re in luck. I’ve the best of the best Hennessy and a Rémy Martin. One or the other should do the trick. Both nearly sent me broke.”
“The Rémy Martin.” Her father’s choice. Budgeting, so far as her father was concerned, didn’t include fine wines and brandies.
She felt shot through with desolation. The awful way her mother had attacked Rohan! Unforgivable. By her mother’s lights Rohan Costello should have been one great big failure in life. Instead he had made an outstanding success of himself.
Unable to settle, she drifted about the living room. “If I hadn’t thought it before, I think grief has unhinged my mother,” she offered sadly. “You only think?” Rohan’s dark head lifted. “Did she seem dangerous to you?” He wasn’t entirely joking.
“Oh, don’t say that!” She gave an involuntary shudder.
“Then what would you say?”
“Dad’s lucky to be out of it?” She managed a wry laugh.
“You bet he is.” Rohan continued fixing their drinks, fighting down the powerful urge to simply go to her, sweep her up in his arms and carry her into the bedroom.
How many times had Martyn Prescott swept her up in his arms? Hundreds? He couldn’t bear to think about it. Not now. “You’re lucky too,” he said. “And don’t let me start on how lucky our son is. It’s a good thing Grandmama doesn’t want to see him. You’d have to think very seriously about that, Charlotte. I sure do. After tonight I wouldn’t want her around him. Up until your mother’s appearance it had been a brilliant night. We didn’t really need her to mess it up.”
She sighed deeply, turning to face the floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors. The apartment had stupendous views of the Harbour and city on three sides. Glorious by day, it was absolutely breath-taking by night. A wonderland of glittering multi-coloured lights. This was very much a man’s apartment. It had the feel of an exclusive gentlemen’s club. She ran her hands appreciatively over the back of a black leather armchair. A custom-built sofa nearby was upholstered in a knobbly black and gold fabric of striking design. So easily did Rohan fit into these luxurious surroundings they might have been his heritage.
“My mother is one of the despairs of my life.” She sank into the sofa. “She defeats me. I’ve loved her throughout all our traumas, but I can no longer cope. My mother still hates you. Can you believe it?”
“Charlotte, do please pay attention. Some old hatreds never die. Let’s forget about your dear mother. I have it in my heart to spare a thought for poor old Reiner. He can’t be a happy man.”
“Maybe he drinks himself into oblivion when Mum sinks into one of her moods.”
Rohan had to laugh, though he was deeply affected by the sadness in her face. Charlotte’s blondeness and the pure white chiffon of her dress made her a vision of femininity against the lushly dark background of his sofa. She was removing the glorious Marsdon diamond and emerald earrings, putting them down on the coffee table. He watched her shake out her hair.
“Lord, those earrings are heavy,” she sighed. “So is the necklace.”
“Leave it,” Rohan ordered, as she put up her hands to the clasp.
Adrenalin made a mad rush into her veins. “Why? Have you something erotic in mind?’ “Haven’t you?” His blue eyes glittered. “We’re so good at it.”
“Old history, Rohan.”
“Really?” His handsome mouth curled. Her cool touch-me-not look was incredibly sexy. “You still enjoy being kissed.” He handed over a crystal brandy balloon, containing a good shot of cognac. “There’s the same old excitement.”
“So why don’t you feel better about the whole thing?”
He didn’t answer. Her beauty made its own light, he thought. She didn’t need diamonds and emeralds. “I’ll feel better when I know the whole story,” he said eventually. “Mind if I sit beside you?”
“Oh, Rohan!” She was searingly aware of the devilment in his eyes.
“Relax, Charlotte.” Instead he took an armchair. He had undone his black tie, letting it dangle against the snow-white of his dress shirt. He looked like a man one could only dream about.
“I love where you live.” She took a slow sip of the cognac, feeling the subtle fire.
He flicked a careless glance around the living room. “It cost a good deal of money. But I’m happy with it.”
“So how much time are you going to be able to spend at Riverbend?” She fixed her gaze on the contents of her brandy balloon as though it contained the answer. “Is it your intention to instal me there with Christopher?” Her eyes swept up to study him. The slant of a downlight gilded the planes and angles of his arresting face. Her heart turned over with the endless love she couldn’t find the courage to put voice to.
“You mean do I intend to instal my wife and son there?” he asked dryly. “The answer is yes. I have no heritage. No background I can speak of. My biological father is a mystery man. He has played no part in my life. My mother and my grandmother had nothing. Mum had to work hard to survive. I was smart enough to gain scholarships and bursaries to secure my education. I want Christ
opher to retain his Marsdon heritage.”
“Only you have made it possible,” she told him quietly. “Life is very strange. Matthew should have inherited Riverbend. And his children, had he lived to have them. Now you say my son—”
“Our son,” he corrected firmly.
“Will inherit?”
“Isn’t that a comfort, Charlotte?” There was a tautness in his voice.
“Beyond comfort, Rohan. My poor father raced through his inheritance. I think he still doesn’t quite know how it happened. Losing Mattie blighted all our lives. But Dad would have continued to make his ill-advised investments even if Mattie had lived. So in the end Mattie would still have missed out.”
“I’m certain Matthew would have approved of his little nephew as heir.”
“He would.” Charlotte was assailed by what might have been. “Mattie would have loved him.”
“Mattie would have given his life for you, Charlotte. You were very close. I never heard a cross word pass between you. Yet you used to tell Martyn off left, right and centre.”
“He deserved it.” Charlotte curled her fingers tightly around her crystal glass. “It only takes one tragedy to affect so many other lives.”
“Undoubtedly—but it doesn’t come close to explaining how you came to choose Martyn over me. Every teacher, every tutor, all my classmates voted me the one most destined to succeed. You know. You were there. All I needed was a little time. As it turned out, very little time. I hit on a huge money-maker. It wasn’t going to be my be-all and end-all. No way! But my every thought was for you, for our future together.”