The Australian Heiress

by Way, Margaret

  Camille felt her own spirits sink. She negotiated the ramp that led off the freeway, taking a right at the next set of lights. “Lindy, I’m here to help you through your grief,” she said, “but I refuse to see you dragged down by misplaced guilt.”

  “My mother-in-law said it was all for the best.” Linda was obviously struggling not to cry. “She brought me the most beautiful flowers, but I gave them away.”

  “Perhaps she meant well. She’s not the most sensitive woman in the world, but she can’t be that lacking in compassion. Both she and your father-in-law certainly looked distressed when they arrived at the hospital. They wanted to wait to see you, but it wasn’t allowed.”

  “So how did you get in?”

  “I wouldn’t stay out.”

  “Yes.” Linda gave an involuntary little smile, then sobered. “Stephen’s dreadfully upset and disappointed.”

  “You wouldn’t expect anything else, would you, love? He’s desperately worried about you. He told me he loves you more than ever. He fears you’re slipping away from him.”

  “Maybe I am,” Linda said. Her tone was strangely chilling.

  For a moment Camille was too stunned to speak. She glanced at her friend. “Lindy, I think you need help. When you’re a little stronger, we’ll find someone good for you to talk to.”

  “You mean a shrink?” Linda rasped.

  “I mean a dedicated professional who’s trained in these matters. Many people benefit from grief counseling, Lindy. You know that.”

  “I thought that’s where you came in,” Linda answered almost fretfully.

  “I’ll do my best. But I’m not a skilled professional.”

  “You could have been a psychiatrist any day,” Linda said with another faint smile.

  “I’m just a good listener and I love you. If you broke out in a terrible rash, you’d go to a skin specialist. What’s the difference seeking out help to combat depression? A miscarriage shouldn’t be thought of as a failure, although it’s a source of serious grief. Countless women are walking around who’ve survived it. Maybe they’ve never forgotten, but they’ve had to look to the future.”

  “I can’t see a future at the moment,” Linda said, and stared sightlessly out the window.

  AND THE UPSETS of the day weren’t over. Not long after Camille arrived home, she got a call from Stephen’s older sister. Ann, an intense rather humorless young woman married to a lawyer, lost no time in relaying the purpose of her call. While Camille tried hard for Linda’s sake to hold on to her temper, Ann gave her to understand that “the family” was deeply upset by Camille’s attitude at the hospital.

  “My mother is not used to having her word disputed,” she said severely.

  Indeed not, especially as she considered herself infallible, Camille thought.

  “I think the very least you can do is apologize for your behavior,” Ann continued. “And at such a time!”

  Keep cool, Camille cautioned herself. Think of Lindy. Though she spoke briskly, she endeavored to keep her tone courteous. “I’m so sorry if I offended your mother, Ann. It wasn’t my intention. I simply thought she was mistaken in saying Linda hadn’t been looking after herself by doing things like lifting heavy garden pots. Linda was enormously protective of the baby. She wouldn’t take anything or do anything that might have harmed the child.”

  “Maybe so,” Ann replied with patent unconviction. “But even you will have to admit Linda has certain problems.”

  Camille felt a rush of protective love. “Like what?”

  Ann’s clipped tone grated. “Camille, I have no wish to get into an argument. I realize you have your own view of Linda, but the family find her terribly defensive when she’s around us.”

  “You do try to put her down,” Camille retorted, remembering countless instances.

  There was an explosive gasp from the other end of the phone. “I absolutely deny that!”

  “Then you’re not being honest. I have eyes. And ears. With the exception of your father, none of you shows Linda much warmth. She’s a person who needs love and acceptance to flourish.”

  Ann’s voice was cold and thin. “Let me assure you again, we’ve all done our best to make Linda welcome. Stephen knows that if you don’t. Maybe we haven’t achieved much of a breakthrough, but Linda deliberately puts up such barriers. We’re all extremely upset she lost the baby. We dote on Stephen, as you know. He, too, is suffering. I would have thought you’d recognize that before wading into troubled waters.”

  It was time to finish the conversation before she blew her cool. “Look, you’ll have to forgive me, Ann,” Camille said. “I really must go. You’ve said your bit. I’ve said mine. I will not be apologizing to your mother. I meant no disrespect. Please assure her of that. I felt it my duty as Linda’s friend to defend her. I might add she’d be simply devastated to hear what your mother had to say.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll fill her in.” The sneer made its way the length of the wire.

  “Never!” Camille returned instantly. “Unlike you, I love her.”

  FOR THE REST of the week Camille kept a constant watch over her friend, visiting her in the hours when Stephen wasn’t at home.

  The vague sense of disappointment in Stephen she’d felt the day of Linda’s miscarriage had increased. Although Ann hadn’t named her brother specifically, Camille had the strong impression Stephen, too, had voiced his criticism of her clash with his mother. To her children, at least, Madelaine Carghill was an outstanding woman, full of queenly virtues.

  Camille heard nothing from Nick Lombard, for which she was grateful. This was a man who had destroyed her father and had the power to destroy her. She would have to find some way to communicate with Melissa. It would have to be by letter. Not for anything would she ring the house. Though she agonized over the turn of events, she felt a strong pull toward the child. This was a small person who had suffered enough. She, Camille, had made a commitment to take Melissa shopping, have the child’s long hair cut, and now she had to carry it out.

  In the end Camille sat down and wrote a short letter explaining to the child she was going to fulfill her promise as soon as she possibly could. First the house had to be sold, and the auction of it was to be held Saturday of the following weekend. Because she’d always had a talent for drawing, Camille sketched enchanting little characters all around the page—fairies with flowers in their hair and butterfly wings, elves hiding behind toadstools and witches with high peaked hats sailing on broomsticks, and a cheeky little leprechaun wearing a three-cornered hat.

  She had the feeling Melissa would like them. She knew that, as a lonely child, Melissa lived in a hidden world where a vivid imagination would play an important part. At the very least Melissa would laugh as Camille did herself when she sat back and surveyed what she’d drawn. One of the fairies even had the look of Melissa, which of course was intentional.

  By midmorning of auction day there were people everywhere—in the house, on the grounds, walking down the dock where her father’s multimillion-dollar motor cruiser was still moored. The cruiser had, in fact, been sold, but the owner with the leisurely pace of the very rich hadn’t as yet collected it.

  The auction wasn’t going to be any fire sale. The Guilford mansion was expected to be hotly contested. This was prime harborfront property, and such properties were rare.

  Because of the heat, Camille had dressed in coolest white eyelet lawn, subduing the thick masses of her hair in a coil. Her private suite of rooms—bedroom, dressing room, en suite bathroom and adjoining sitting room—had been closed off from the viewing public. She and Dot were well into packing all her things away preparatory to their move. For, once the house was sold, she would move out within a matter of days.

  She left the packing for a moment and crossed to the window to look down at the crowd. Her thoughts turned to her future. With Linda so much in need of her companionship, she’d not had the chance to do any apartment hunting, but she had sold a piece of jewelr
y her father had given her mother—a valuable but rather monstrous ruby-and-diamond ring—which gave her much-needed cash and .some breathing space.

  She wondered about starting her own art gallery. She knew more than most about art, and her business training would stand her in excellent stead. She would be her own boss. She would have Claude to go to for advice. Maybe even for some of the backing. Whether she could find a bank willing to lend to a Guilford was another matter. Furthermore, she was a woman, and although the world was changing, banks still preferred to deal with men.

  Tommy had come up to the suite to find Dot, and seeing Camille at the window, he approached her and said, “If I were you, love, I wouldn’t venture out there and join them.”

  “I don’t want to, Tommy—” Camille sighed “—but I feel committed to see it through.”

  “It’s not your responsibility, love.” Tommy shook his head. “You don’t have to take on the burden for your father’s sins. There’s a lot of hate out there. It hasn’t abated in over a year, and all this extra publicity has stirred things up again. So many people were badly burned. I don’t like it at all.”

  “What’s wrong, Tommy?” Camille gently shook his arm. “It’s not like you to sound so nervous.”

  “It’s been our job, Dot’s and mine, to watch over you,” Tommy maintained. “In white especially, you look like a piece of porcelain. Something too precious to touch. The only thing is, someone with a grievance might like to see you smashed.”

  Camille could barely control a shudder. “Tommy, aren’t you overreacting? I’m sure I’m safe. The security men are still around. There’s been no incident apart from some hurtful remarks from people at the auctions. I’ll be careful whom I speak to.”

  “Everyone knows you,” Tommy said, rubbing his long fingers together anxiously. “The red hair alone!”

  “I have my hat to wear in the sun.”

  “Well, I’ll be glad when it’s all over,” Tommy said.

  In point of fact, a lot of people nodded their heads courteously and quite a few came up to press her hand when she went down to join the crowd. The younger set, who had known Camille for years, showed she had their wholehearted loyalty, for which she was grateful. Whatever her father had done, they didn’t blame her. It was true some people were far less forgiving, but in the main, social etiquette managed to keep the hounds at bay.

  It was almost like a party. The October was glorious, the people on the great expanse of emerald green lawn in constant flowing motion. The gardens were in splendid bloom, and the incredibly rich scent of the roses wafted on the breeze that came in from the harbor. Camille, her titian head covered by an exquisite wide-brimmed hat with roses around the crown, the brim dipping seductively to one side, supplied the glamour.

  I’m playing a role, she thought as she continued on her rounds. I’m an actress hired to do a job.

  There was no room for regret. The house, however magnificent, held no special place in her heart. She would miss the gardens, the incomparable view and the paintings, but that was all. She had no place she could call her own, but she could work to secure her own future.

  She didn’t see Perdita Masterman until she was almost in front of her. Right behind Mrs. Masterman’s large matronly figure were Philip and Robyn, arm in arm, the perfect couple.

  For Robyn the occasion for being unpleasant was impossible to resist. “Good morning, Camille!” she cried, studying Camille from head to foot. “I didn’t think you’d show your face today.”

  To her credit her mother turned back to frown at her, and Philip actually recoiled.

  “I can’t give up yet, Robyn,” Camille answered coolly. “I’m determined to see it through. How are you, Mrs. Masterman? Philip?” She took care to smile.

  “I’m happy to say well, my dear,” Perdita Masterman answered while Philip settled for one of his lopsided smiles. “This must be a very sad occasion for you.”

  Robyn yawned rudely. “Good grief. I’d have thought Camille would want to be out of here as soon as possible. It was never much of a home for you, was it? It’s to be hoped the next owner, whoever that might be, knows how to entertain. Your father used the place like a fortress. I expect he thought there might be attempts on his life.”

  “Strangely enough, I don’t think that was a concern of his.” Camille glanced over Mrs. Masterman’s padded shoulder. “Ah, there’s Lady Kershaw,” she said. “I must have a word with her. Nice to see you, Mrs. Masterman.” She ignored Robyn and Philip.

  About fifteen minutes before the auction was due to begin, heads turned sharply as someone obviously newsworthy arrived. Camille experienced the same jolt of current as she had at the art showing.

  Nick Lombard. None other. A very elegant Clare Tennant not faraway. Of course they would be here. Anyone who was anyone was. Lombard stood head and shoulders above the group of people who clustered around him, black hair gleaming in the sun, brilliant black eyes narrowing as they scanned the crowd, at last falling on Camille.

  He broke away from the group of people around him and came toward her. She stood in the shade of a tree, feeling both fascination and fear.

  When he reached her, a flush of color sheened her cheeks. “I should have known you’d be here,” she said. “It must give you great satisfaction to know it’s all gone.”

  He took her arm. “If you must know, I came on account of you. Too much publicity has been stirred up—I don’t like you wandering about in this crowd. We don’t know everyone here. By the look of them, a lot have come in off the street. And you looking like that! It’s a recipe for disaster.”

  It was almost exactly what Tommy had said, but still Camille resisted. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Anger flared in his eyes. “Where the devil are the security men?”

  “Surely you’re not implying there might be a threat to my life.” Her tone was scornful.

  “Not necessarily your life. Your well-being possibly. Don’t pretend to be stupid—I know you’re not Your father was hated. It will take years before such feelings are muted—if ever.”

  “Perhaps you’re right, but I intend to see this through.”

  “Then walk with me.”

  “But you’re here with Clare Tennant, aren’t you?”

  “Not at all. She asked for a lift, no more.”

  “Well, I’m not sure she would agree with that.”

  “Damnation! Don’t bother me with rot.” For once the velvet voice was rough, staccato. “Walk on.”

  Infected, she, too, began to scan the crowd. “I feel no threat.”

  “I’m glad, but I’ve learned to obey my instincts. You draw too much attention.”

  That brought her to an abrupt halt. “You should talk.”

  He looked down at her with cold detachment. “I know it’s a lot to ask to simply obey me, but I assure you it’s in your own best interests. Let’s stroll toward the house. They’ll be reading out the conditions of sale shortly, in any case.”

  “How’s Melissa?” she asked, submitting to his stronger will. “I sent her a letter.”

  “She got it. We had no idea you had such a talent for drawing.”

  So he’d seen it. Why not? Melissa adored her father, after all. “You know little or nothing about me.”

  “That’s not strictly true, is it?”

  Some note in his voice restricted her breathing. Even her limbs felt heavy, languorous. She fell silent

  They stood together as the Realtor endeavored to get the large crowd’s full attention. When at last he succeeded, he embarked on the long spiel of sale terms.

  Lord in heaven! Camille thought. How easily Nick Lombard had invaded her life. Why? Did he intend to take her over lock, stock and barrel so there wouldn’t be a trace of a Guilford left? People had to be astounded that they were in each other’s company. Moreover, his lean powerful body was so angled as to almost shield her.

  For some twenty minutes the auction went on, bids coming
in from all over, with only a slight tilt of head or a fractional lift of a brochure. In the end Perdita Masterman, confirmed grandstander that she was, all but got into battle with an equally flamboyant multimillionaire about to be investigated for corruption.

  “Another Mafia boss,” Nick Lombard murmured into Camille’s ear.

  “I expect you’ll be bidding next.” She turned her. head, only to find his face, with its undeniable sensual mouth, dangerously close and she looked away abruptly.

  The bidding became more furious. Egged on by an excited Robyn, who was close to jumping up. and down, Perdita went for broke. The television cameras were having a field day. While a well-known merchant banker shook his head and threw up his hands in defeat, Perdita Masterman uttered a cry of joy. She hugged her daughter to her enormous bosom, while most people clapped and others looked on in a kind of disgust.

  Camille said simply, “Dear God!”

  “At least it didn’t come to blows. In which case my money would have been on Perdita. As it is, she paid too much. Come away, Camille,” Nick Lombard urged. “There’s nothing that can be done here.”

  “To think, the Mastermans!” Camille moaned.

  “We can be sure the house will never look the same.”

  The excitement over, people were now moving in all directions, anxious to get back to their cars and perhaps some afternoon sailing. No one took any notice of the tall, thin, ordinary-looking woman in a beige dress who was moving quietly and swiftly toward Camille. She wasn’t making herself in any way conspicuous, although anyone who did bother to look at her would have thought her demeanor uncommonly grim.

  Camille, moving gracefully beside Nick Lombard, was a shining target. The breeze off the harbor whipped at her cloudy white skirt and threatened to catch her hat and launch it into the air. Beneath its wide brim her distinctive red hair accentuated the porcelain quality of her skin. A fairy-tale creature with a black demon for a father, most people thought.

  “Miss Guilford?”

  Camille turned at the voice, which was more a loud snarl. Nick Lombard turned with her, his body tensing.