by Margaret Way
“In my formative years, too.”
Deep, deep in her subconscious, a memory abruptly surfaced. A memory she had safely buried. Now it returned. Mireille Langdon was dead, but she could see her very plainly. Familiar fear and anger bloomed in her chest.
* * *
“You stay right where you are, you insolent little girl,” Mireille thundered, her handsome face livid, working with rage. “How dare you speak to me in that fashion?”
She was frightened but she wasn’t going to back down. “How dare you say terrible things about my mother?” Mel cried, straining just to breathe.
“Your mother!” Mireille threw back her dark head and laughed. “That conniving slut. Her face and her body might be beautiful but her soul is black. One of these days she’s going to push me too far, mark my words, child. I could get rid of Norton, the poor cuckold, who sprang out of nowhere and was given promotion. Without him, you and your mother would have to pack up and go. I can guarantee it. Let it be known Mireille Langdon is mistress here. Your mother is a servant. No, don’t you dare come at me with arms flailing, little girl,” Mireille warned. “I admire you in a way,” she said with a terrible despairing sigh. “You’ve all the guts your immoral mother hasn’t,” she snarled, her spirit in the merciless grip of the malevolent green-eyed monster. “My husband isn’t the only one with power, you will see. I am a Devereaux. I don’t stand alone.”
* * *
Dev’s voice jolted her back into the present. She couldn’t credit now the way she had physically attacked Mireille Langdon when she was only a child. But someone had to defend her mother. She had taken on the role of champion. Not needed it would now appear. Sarina had struck her own powerful bargain.
“You’re coming down to dinner?” Dev was asking.
“With the clan?”
“Not a one of them classier than you, Mel.”
“But I’m the enemy, aren’t I? Or the daughter of the enemy. Pretty much the same thing. The millions Mum got, they could have shared. They represent millions lost.”
Dev rested both hands on her shoulders. “I’m not losing any sleep over it, Mel. My advice to you is get over it. Change your therapist.”
“Therapist?” she scoffed. “I don’t have one. I don’t actually know anybody who does.”
“Talking to the right person, someone with experience and wisdom, could help get things out of your system.” It was said with more than a hint of seriousness. “Maybe a few sessions?”
“You think a few would cure me?”
“Maybe we never say goodbye to the child within us,” he mused, keeping his arm around her and walking on.
“Why would we? Childhood affects every last one of us. Good memories. Bad memories. Love or rejection. The stand families take can result in bitterness and estrangements right down the years. Relationships founder because they’re not deemed right. I know in your family’s eyes I’m not right for you. Even I don’t think I’m right for you. The media could get hold of my mother’s story. That involves me.” She was aware of the widening implications.
“Well, twenty mill was right out of the ballpark, Mel,” he said caustically.
“You’re the CEO now, Dev. Would you consider contesting the will?”
“And wash our dirty linen in public?”
“I take that as a no, then, shall I?”
His arm tightened. “Mel, the last thing I want is to hurt you. That was worded badly but you know what I mean. Your mother can take the money and disappear for all I care. She had a right to a slice of the pie, but not a fortune.”
“The biggest reward your grandfather could offer.” Mel sighed. “It all makes me feel very sick. And sad.”
“Don’t think it doesn’t sadden me, too. But everything is a nine-day wonder, Mel. Bigger stories sweep in to take priority. Did your mother drop the slightest hint when she’d be leaving? It’s not as though she can call a cab.”
“She’s not the woman to confide,” Mel said, feeling utterly betrayed. “She’s advised me to leave. She didn’t say with her.”
“She’s not, alas, a contender for Mother of the Year,” Dev returned dryly. “She should be aware she’s not dealing with Dad any more. She’s dealing with me.”
Mel’s expression was accepting of that. “She doesn’t need any prompting from me to see that. I’m sure she’ll beg a word.”
“Terrific! I can’t wait.”
They had almost reached the very romantic-looking white latticework pavilion at the end of the arcade. Mogul in appearance, it had been one of their favourite trysting places in the old days. To be alone in the witching hours. To make love.
I’m with you. With you. And my blood is singing.
Dev always said the most beautiful things. She had often told him he should have been a poet. She had no doubt of his love.
Then.
“Come to dinner, Mel. I think we can be certain your mother won’t be joining us.”
“I can’t think she was expecting an invitation.” Mel’s tone matched his for dryness. “She’ll know everyone is furious about her mind-blowing legacy.”
“Like she can’t handle it?” Dev asked with scorn. “Your Madonna-faced mother is in reality one tough cookie. I’d been thinking set limits, Mel, but that got blasted away. But I suppose, when it comes down to it, it was my grandfather’s money. It was his wish she have it.”
Mel gave way to her entrenched bitterness. “Why, if he loved her, didn’t he marry her when your grandmother died? It was such a reason for shame. My shame, her shame. My mother hung in there.”
“Maybe she knew the big payout was coming?” Dev’s tone was as dry as ash. “We have to face it, Mel. Your mother always had her own agenda. Being a loyal and loving daughter, you’ve been in denial. There wasn’t going to be the fairytale ending. My grandfather thought it best not to marry her.” As he spoke, he was acutely aware of the rigidity in Mel’s body, the warring feelings that continued to hold her in their grip.
“She fitted better as a mistress. He was Gregory Langdon, cattle king. She was Kooraki’s housekeeper. As Jane Austen would have put it, beneath his station. My mother has a few secrets she thought worth keeping.”
“Maybe they’re so secret she has a hard time remembering them,” Dev shot back.
She wasn’t ready to confide in him yet. It was a touch hard when she had no real conviction her mother had been telling the truth. She stared off to the pavilion. How many times had she and Dev declared their undying love? That was when their mouths weren’t stopped by passionate kisses. The pavilion, to this day, was covered with a beautiful old-fashioned coppery-pink rambler with strongly fragrant blooms. She thought she would carry that particular scent to her grave.
“Hard for anyone to lay low when they’ve just come into twenty million dollars. The press will find out, sooner or later.”
“None of this will touch you, I promise,” Dev said.
“Even you can’t guarantee that, Dev.”
“I’ll certainly try. But discovery, disclosure is in the nature of things. Even royalty can’t evade it. Our job is to rise above it. Get on with things. Be glad of what we’ve got.”
“Marcus Aurelius, Roman Emperor, said pretty much the same thing almost two thousand years ago. To paraphrase: get out of bed, take up your duty, appreciate what is around you.”
“Which only goes to prove great minds think alike,” Dev said, his tone smooth as silk. “I want you to join us tonight, Mel.”
“So all things must happen in accordance with your will?”
Slowly he turned her to look at him. “Sure you’re not a man-hater, Mel?”
“Sometimes.” She stared into his beautiful iridescent eyes. “It is a war between the sexes.”
His smile was sharp. “Well, I, for one, long for it to be over.” He fanned the fingers of his right hand across her throat. “Especially when you feel you have to win.”
“Only sometimes,” she breathed, mesmerized by the ma
n.
“You’re winning now.” He bent his head, kissing her long and hard for the pleasure and the pain of it. Lingeringly, he ran his mouth over the satiny column of her neck, his hands moving inevitably to the full contours of her breasts.
She stayed him, her hands over his, her eyes brilliantly alive with emotion. “Was it sex that bonded my mother to Gregory? Is it sex that bonds you to me?”
He let her go so abruptly she staggered, flinging out a steadying hand to the trelliswork, stark frustration etched on his face.
“I’ll forget you said that. It’s high time you felt a whole lot better about yourself, Mel. Until then, talk is futile.”
CHAPTER SIX
By the time Ava joined her, Mel had managed to compose herself. Dev hadn’t come after her. He might well have come to the end of his tether. Who would blame him? It was she who had kept their tempestuous relationship in check. Life had set her down in a maze so intricate it required a heroic effort to find a way to break out. Yet few people were able to resolve every issue. She thought she’d been close to a turning point, only her mother’s mind-blowing legacy had put paid to that. Her mother mightn’t care that she could be exposed to public scrutiny, but Mel cared a great deal. Few people knew her background. Now there was the distinct possibility they all would.
She longed for a father. A strong man who would have stood by her. A father she could turn to. Her stomach was tied in knots. She wouldn’t have a moment’s peace until she found out who had worn that crown. That Michael Norton wasn’t her father could be a complete lie. Had Michael truly understood the woman he had married? No answer to that. He had gone and left her and the world behind.
Now she was battling to cope with an additional burden, the memory so recently dredged up. Was it possible Michael’s death was somehow Mireille’s doing? The thought didn’t altogether shock her. Mireille had indeed wielded power and Koorakai was an enclosed kingdom.
* * *
When Ava arrived, looking grave, they moved out onto the balcony. Mel had ordered coffee for two. It had been sent up on a beautifully set silver tray. Her mother had got some things right training the staff. It occurred to her, as it had so often in the past, her mother must have had a gracious upbringing. There was the way she looked, the way she spoke, the things she knew, as if she had been accustomed to a fairly privileged lifestyle herself. A huge family rift over a shock pregnancy fitted a familiar scenario. Her mother, too young, had fallen pregnant to an unsuitable man outside the sanctity of marriage? Her strict Italian father, who until that point had adored his beautiful daughter, then banished her as the daughter who had dishonoured her family?
When and where had Sarina and Michael met? She couldn’t erase Mireille’s comtemptuous cuckold from her mind. At the time she didn’t even know what a cuckold was. She’d had to look it up. All the questions she could have asked Michael had gone with him to the grave. She had learned she was a ‘premmie baby.’ Mireille had informed her of that as though it was some kind of a stigma. Another thing Sarina had kept to herself. Again, at that time she hadn’t properly understood what ‘premmie’ meant. For some reason Mireille had always spoken to her as though she were well on the way to being a woman instead of a child.
* * *
Ava took a chair opposite Mel, a small circular wrought-iron table between them. “What a day! Something wrong?” She took a closer look at her friend.
Mel looked away across the garden, with the rising fragrance of flowers almost an unbearable pleasure. The great tree canopies over the years had formed natural archways, preserving the shade for massed plantings of the giant-leafed dark green alocasias with their distinctive ebony stems. She turned back to Ava, who was twisting her wedding ring around and around on her finger. “Nothing out of the way. Had a few words with Dev. Neither of us can help it. We always get into our arguments. Some of them can be pretty fiery.”
“So sparks fly around you?” Ava spoke as though that was something to be greatly desired. “They always did. But you’re soulmates, Mel. What was it about? Can you tell me?”
Mel laughed without humour. “My mother, need I say? I know everyone was shocked today. Myself included.”
Ava didn’t rush to answer. “We’ll get over it, Mel,” she said finally. “You take everything so hard. You’ve taken on your mother’s problems all your life. Problems a lot bigger than yourself. You are not your mother.”
“Only the sins of the mothers can and do fall on the children, Ava.”
“Okay, but you’re mad to carry any sense of shame, Mel. It had nothing to do with you.” Ava had often thought Mel had put something of a brake on her mother’s plans. “Give it a little time, Mel,” she advised. “It will all blow over.”
“That’s what Dev says.” Mel shrugged. “Anyway, enough about me. What about you? You’re not happy, are you?” Mel asked the searching question as she placed Ava’s cup of coffee in front of her.
“Thank you.” Ava gave vent to a heartfelt sigh. “I thought I’d be finding freedom in my marriage, Mel, but it hasn’t turned out that way. I was the trophy wife, a Langdon. Luke is a greedy person. He’s immensely self-centred. And he has the potential to be unfaithful, if he hasn’t been already. I know he was trying to chat you up,” she added with a pained grimace. “I’m not a fool. I’m so sorry about that. Luke thinks he’s God’s gift to women, just like his father, who has the old ‘many a good tune is played on an old fiddle’ type of mentality. Luke wants to keep me in a gilded cage. Like a canary, I have to sing his song. I don’t have an ally in his parents. As far as they’re concerned, he’s perfect, the handsome dutiful son. If he’s got a bit of a roving eye, so what? All men have. It’s expected of them. Luke loves me in his way, only his kind of love is suffocating.”
“I can see that.” Mel took a sip of the rich, fragrant coffee.
“I’m expected now to fall pregnant. Over two years married. High time to hear the patter of tiny feet.”
“Only something is holding you back. You don’t see Luke as the father?”
“God help me, no,” Ava confessed, bowing her shining head as if she felt guilt. “I can speak to you, Mel. You understand. There has been no divorce in our family. Even Mum and Dad didn’t file for divorce.”
“Because they continued to care so much about each other.”
“Yes, isn’t that lovely?” Ava’s lovely face brightened. “Dad doesn’t care about the will. He and Mum have big plans. They intend to travel.”
“I wish them all the happiness in the world,” Mel said with perfect sincerity. “As for you, we have a new order now, Ava. Dev is not your grandfather.”
“Thank God for that!” Ava gave a shaky laugh. “Dev only wants my happiness. I should have listened to him. There were many questions I should have asked, yet I charged full steam ahead.”
“Smart women can make bad choices, Ava.”
Ava nodded agreement. “I feel like Luke is snuffing the life out of me. But it’s all my own fault. I should have listened. I was such a fool.”
“We’re all fools from time to time,” Mel brooded. “We can see where we went wrong with the benefit of hindsight. Sometimes circumstance gives us no choice. Or we don’t know in advance how things are going to turn out.”
“You’re being too kind to me, Mel.” Ava lifted her beautifully modelled head. Like Mel, she had arranged her hair in a shining updated chignon. “The writing was already on the wall. You were my bridesmaid. You saw it. A romantic dream in tatters.”
“So what’s the plan?” Mel, being Mel, took the direct approach.
Ava moaned. “It’s going to cause a furore, but I intend to file for a divorce as soon as I get home. Mireille, were she alive, would be furious with me. ‘You made your bed, now lie in it.’ Can’t you just hear her saying it?”
“She surely had to and it nearly destroyed her,” Mel retorted, unable to forgive Mireille Langdon for the treatment she had meted out to an innocent child. Her mother, however,
had been far from innocent.
“Have any of us recovered?” Ava asked.
Mel remained silent. She certainly hadn’t.
“You’re coming down to dinner, aren’t you, Mel?” Ava picked up a cupcake, simply for something to do. She didn’t want it.
“You must know how your family feels, Ava.”
“And you the feisty one! You who used to tell my grandmother off when you were knee high to a grasshopper? You’re not a gutless person, Mel. Please come.”
* * *
Dinner in the formal dining room passed without incident. She was acknowledged with courtesy by everyone, aware she was receiving lots of covert stares when they thought she wasn’t looking. She was drawn into the general conversation, though it was obvious to her that her mother’s shock inheritance, most improper, loomed large in everyone’s mind. The subject wasn’t touched on. She knew Dev would not have tolerated it.
It had taken a lot for her to get dressed and come down to join them. She had brought a choice of two suitable dresses, both silk, one a lovely shade of violet, the other black patterned in silver. She settled on the violet, fixing her hair, half up, half down, then hooking sapphire and diamond earrings into her pierced ears. The earrings had been very expensive; her reward to herself for pulling off a lauded business coup.
* * *
As a mark of respect to Gregory Langdon, neither Erik nor Dev took his magnificent carver chair at the head of the long gleaming mahogany table that could seat forty when extra leaves were added. The chandeliers weren’t turned on, but still the table was a blaze of candlelight. Three tall silver candelabra were set at intervals. Someone had placed a too tall silver vase of exquisite pink liliums as a centrepiece. Its height and the spread of the lovely flowers acted more or less as a screening device. She could see the people she wanted to see anyway.
She watched Dev talking, giving a half smile at times, charming to everyone but with a pronounced gravitas. His blond hair gleamed pure gold in the candlelight, as did Ava’s. Both were seated opposite her. During their long talk, Ava had confided many painful personal things. It was obvious she had run out of the necessary mental and emotional strength. The marriage wasn’t working. She was more of a symbol than a wife.