The Australian Heiress

by Way, Margaret

  Linda was the very picture of wistful vulnerability. “Sometimes I think I got married for all the wrong reasons. I was a deprived child. Stephen was going to take care of me. I have a law degree I’ve never really used. I was simply marking time until some wonderful man asked me to marry him. I should be. able to take care of myself. Stephen has never urged me to become independent. He likes me to cling. He sees himself in the role of protector. I think he sees me as a child, not a woman, certainly not an equal.”

  “All the more reason for you to acquire your own power,” Camille said. “You have two options. Take up your career again or come in with me. I’d love to have you with me, you know that, but I care too much about you to allow you to sell yourself short. The job wouldn’t be demanding enough. You’re capable of much more.”

  “Whatever I do Stephen won’t like it. He made it perfectly plain before we got married he wanted me in the home.”

  “You were happy until you lost the baby?” Camille held her friend’s eyes.

  “Happy enough.” Linda shrugged. “But I see now I was trying so hard to fit myself to Stephen’s image of me. What beats me is how he picked me after Fiona. We’re almost complete opposites. She’s super confident while I’m riddled with insecurity.”

  “If Stephen truly loves you, Lindy, he’ll want to see you happy and fulfilled. Quite a few of our friends are successfully combining marriage and career.”

  “I desperately want children, Milly,” Linda said. “When my heart stops its terrible shaking, maybe Stephen and I can try again. I know a lot of people think I’m making much too much of losing the baby, but inside I seem to be bursting with sorrow.”

  Sympathetic tears stung Camille’s eyes. She put out her hand to clasp her friend’s. “I wish I could help, Lindy.”

  “You do, Milly. You do.” Linda tried to smile. “It’s me. Stephen’s mother is right. I’m a real marshmallow.”

  CAMILLE SPENT the weekend with Tommy and Dot in the Blue Mountains. The atmosphere was warm and relaxed. In the short time since their retirement many changes had been made to the bungalow. It was no longer a “vacationer” but a real home. Camille was particularly interested in a rather wonderful watercolor given to Dot by a neighbor, a widow who’d come to the mountains to paint.

  “She doesn’t do it for other people, love. Just for herself,” Dot explained. “That’s really all I know about her except her husband died a short while back. She doesn’t talk about it. Can’t, I expect, poor soul. I asked her over for coffee and she returned the gesture. I admired the painting. Next thing I knew she took it off the wall and presented it to me. I was a bit embarrassed at first, but she’s a lovely person.”

  “It’s a beautiful painting.” Camille stood in front of the watercolor, studying it in detail. “If it’s possible, I’d like to meet her.”

  Dot promised to try to arrange it.

  A few days later the first of the photographs arrived. When Camille picked up her mail, she didn’t take a great deal of notice of the brown manila envelope. A brochure most likely. It was only as she let herself into her apartment that she realized precious few people had her new address. Maybe it was from Claude. Some property or other.

  But even then she didn’t open it. She put her mail down on the hallway table, walking through to the kitchen to check the messages on her answering machine. One was from Linda telling her she’d set up a meeting with an all-women legal firm; the other was from Claude saying he’d located new premises that might do and could they take a look early in the week?

  She certainly could. She now had a potential stable of young artists who’d reacted very favorably to the idea of her handling and exhibiting their work.

  In her bedroom she changed into a loose shift, poured herself a glass of white wine, then settled on the sofa to go through the mail. One, a car registration. Another, insurance. The manila envelope she opened, last, slowly pulling out the contents. Several photographs. Frowning, she placed them side by side on the coffee table.

  At first she felt stunned, then incredulous. She arranged the photographs in sequence. The first showed her collecting Melissa from school. Melissa had her arm upstretched and she was bending down to kiss the little girl’s cheek. In the second she and Melissa, her hair cut, were walking down the street, hand in hand. The third and fourth showed Camille strolling through the charming mountain village not far from Tommy and Dot’s bungalow. The last was a shot of Camille taken as she was parked in the Lombard driveway waiting for the electronic gate to open.

  They wanted her to understand she was being followed. Everywhere.

  After an hour’s brooding she was even more deeply disturbed. Not the time for someone to knock on her door.

  She literally jumped, her face draining of color. Visitors were required to buzz through and identify themselves before the security door was released. She made a real effort to calm herself. It could well be the woman from the neighboring apartment. Camille had done her a few favors. She was a widow, lonely.

  She went to the door calling, “Who is it?” before a familiar male voice with a charming lilt answered.

  “Only me, sweetie, with a little housewarming present.” Philip spoke as though she might have been expecting him.

  Philip. Lord, what a hide the man had! Why had it taken her so long to find out? At the same time she felt a peculiar sense of relief. No matter what she thought of Philip, and lately she rarely thought of him at all, she was certain he wouldn’t harm her. He had, in fact, been appalled by her violence the day she’d punched him in the nose.

  “Go away, Philip,” she told him through the door. Her tone was gentle.

  “I will. I swear. As soon as I’ve given it to you. It’s a peace offering, as well as a housewarming gift.”

  His voice had picked up in volume, no doubt to prompt her into opening the door quickly. She wouldn’t want her neighbors disturbed.

  At last she did open the door, determined to turn him away. “Philip, this is a mistake.”

  He grinned rakishly, as handsome as ever in his beautifully cut pin-striped gray suit.

  “Don’t say that, darling. I’ve missed you to distraction.” His blue eyes were all over her. “May I come in?”

  “No, Philip, you may not.”

  “It might be easier than talking in the hallway.” He put out an arm and pushed the door fully open, then was past her in a flash, exclaiming with genuine pleasure at her decorating. “You’re so clever. You’ve even made this little prison look attractive.”

  He half turned to look over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “Well, are you going to take this gift off me?” He was carrying a large parcel, wrapped in expensive red-and-gold paper with a flourish of scarlet ribbons on top.

  She shook her head. “You’d better dump it someplace.”

  He gave her one of his pleading looks, looks that now struck her as terribly mannered. “I feel certain you’d like to see it.”

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “Then why did you let me in?”

  She stood by the entrance table. “I didn’t. You barged in. How did you get into the building, anyway?”

  “Easy, darling. I exerted my charm.” He put down his parcel, ran a hand through his thick blond hair.

  “But how did you know where I lived? I haven’t been advertising it”

  “And you have an unlisted number. Why? Surely you’d want to be in the book. People may have hated old Harry, but they don’t hate you.” His attractive mouth quirked. “Well, Robyn might. It was she who told me.”

  “She told you? I find that hard to believe.”

  “It’s true, darling. Actually she didn’t tell me directly. It slipped out at a dinner party.”

  “You’ve got me confused. How?”

  “Robyn is rather enjoying your dramatic change in life-style,” Philip told her almost roguishly. “When I think what a bastard Harry was! He really messed us up. Any other man would have salted away millions for his only
child.”

  “It must have been an awful disappointment for you,” Camille said coldly.

  “It was the biggest disappointment of my life,” Philip answered with sincerity. “I loved you. I still do. That’s something I can’t change. But I’m not a man to miss an opportunity. Unlike Harry, Robyn’s father dotes on her. The man who marries her has it made. Masterman has a heart condition, did you know?”

  “You shock me, Philip,” Camille said, wondering how she was ever close to him.

  He smiled an acknowledgment. “I wanted you to know before it gets out. Robyn and I are announcing our engagement on December first. That’s her birthday.”

  “Lovely! How long do you think this engagement will last?”

  “Until we’re married, if all goes to plan. It’s going to be a very big wedding.”

  “Don’t let her down, Philip,” Camille warned. “She and her family are dangerous people.”

  His expression changed utterly. “You know, you’re right. Robyn hates you so much sometimes I think she’d like to toss acid in your face.”

  Camille gave an involuntary shudder. “Don’t say that.”

  “Darling, she’d never do it.” Philip stared at her contritely. “I was having a little joke.”

  “Some joke!”

  He made an urgent move toward her, then stopped when he registered her rigid body language. “You’ve gone white. I’m such a fool. Why wouldn’t you be nervous after that attempt on your life? When I heard about it, I wanted to run to your side, but Robyn was keeping pretty close tabs on me.”

  “She seems to be keeping pretty close tabs on me, as well,” Camille said in a taut voice. “She knows where I live.”

  “That’s her style.” Philip took a quick aimless turn around the room. “She’s picked it up from her father. Keeps tabs on everyone.”

  “So why come here? Surely I’m a big threat to your plan.”

  Philip’s loose-limbed body relaxed. “Robyn and her mother are in Melbourne this week.”

  “She could still check on you.”

  “I suppose. She’s very thorough. But not a professional, though.”

  “She could hire one. Ever think of that?”

  “I suppose, but I don’t think so. By the way, I was seated beside a friend of yours the other night at a dinner party. Clare Tennant. Lombard’s girlfriend, though I don’t think the lady will get him to marry her. She’s rich but not exactly top drawer. I think she has a few worries about you, as well.”

  “What did she say to you?” Camille was appalled.

  A smile played on Philip’s lips, “Nothing very much, but what she did say was loaded. She knows where you live, too, so word gets around.”

  “Easy if Robyn told her.”

  “No, Robyn hadn’t gotten around to it at that point. They did have a girlish chat when it was time to leave, however.”

  “Was Nick Lombard at this dinner party?” Camille asked.

  Philip gave her a long appraising look, his charm quite gone. “No, he wasn’t. The guest list was way too frivolous for him.”

  He sank onto the sofa and looked up at Camille with eyes full of longing. “Aren’t you going to offer me a drink? I could do with one. I’ll open the parcel, too, since you won’t.”

  He proceeded to do so, tugging the ribbon loose and stripping away the paper. What emerged was a white birdcage, a decorative thing with a turn-of-the-century look. “I thought it would look nice somewhere. You like unusual things.”

  Camille focused on it for a minute. “Are you sure it doesn’t bear a touch of malice?”

  He ignored that. “This tiny apartment is a helluva cry from what you’ve been used to. You must be finding it very difficult to adjust.”

  “I guess I have a lot more resilience than we thought. I don’t want the birdcage, Philip. Please take it with you. There’s no drink, either. I’ve given you your minute. Now it’s time to leave.”

  “It’s Lombard, isn’t it?” The question held bitterness. “Don’t turn away. Look at me.”

  “No, Philip, it’s you.” She waited a beat. “I don’t want to see you.”

  His smile for once was very cold. “There’s a devil in him, you know that?”

  “You don’t even know him.” Camille was scornful.

  “I’ve heard stories,” Philip said with assurance. “You’re not fooling me, Camille. I know you too well. You’ve got a big interest in Lombard, and he in you. But have a care. I had it from an excellent source he treated his wife badly.”

  “And the excellent source is Clare Tennant?” Camille demanded on reflex.

  “Well, she did know them. She was quite friendly with Lombard’s wife. A beautiful creature, I hear, but a mite unstable. When she needed his support, the Man of Steel let her down. Eventually she turned to other people for comfort. We all know what happened.”

  Camille felt a shiver run through her. “I don’t, but I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me.”

  Philip smoothed his silk tie. “The poor girl was killed coming home from a party. Probably she was drunk and ran off the road. It was all hushed up.”

  “Her so-called friends must have been very irresponsible to allow her to drink and drive,” Camille answered, feeling sick.

  “Darling, be reasonable. She was used to doing exactly as she pleased, I believe. Just don’t get mixed up with him. That’s my advice. He’ll walk all over you like he did his wife.”

  “Yet Clare Tennant wants him at any price?”

  Philip’s blue eyes almost glittered. “She’s better equipped to handle him than you. Behind that cool facade she’s as tough as old boots. Look how she went after old Arthur Tennant. His family won’t have anything to do with her.”

  “No doubt they have their reasons.” Camille moved to the door. “Time’s up, Philip. Please take your gift. I need no reminders of our flawed engagement”

  “Don’t be cruel,” he said. “It was the best time of my life. You’ll always be a part of me. Keep the gift, Camille.” Philip stood up, walked toward her, the golden boy she once thought she loved. “At least give me your phone number so I can contact you sometime.”

  She shook her head. “I only give it to friends.”

  “No matter.” He gave a tight smile. “I know where to go to buy information.”

  “Why not ask your fiancee first?” She gave him a level glance. “It’s quite possible she’s the one who’s been calling me.”

  Philip hesitated, looked at her uncertainly. “What—she doesn’t talk to you?”

  “No one talks. They just…stay on the phone.”

  “A bit kinky,” he said wryly. “Why should it be Robyn?”

  “You said yourself she hates me.”

  Philip shook his head. “Darling, you’re not a target anymore.”

  Camille blinked. “Excuse me? Target?”

  “All right, so at heart she knows I love you.”

  Camille groaned. “Philip, you turn love on and off like a switch. Tell your fiancee from me I still have a few powerful friends.”

  Philip’s voice sounded as if he had splinters in his throat. “Yes, and we all know his name. Wouldn’t put it past Lombard himself to be the one phoning you. After all, he destroyed your father. How do you know, how does anyone know, he’s not trying to frighten you. Maybe for kicks.”

  “Because it’s totally out of character.” Camille spoke from deep conviction.

  “You’ve gone over to him already,” Philip accused her, looking stung. “Not so long ago he was the enemy.”

  “Not so long ago you were my fiance,” Camille retorted automatically. “Goodbye, Philip. I hope you get the life you’re going to pay for so dearly.”

  “Seeing you, I no longer want it,” he said unsmilingly.

  “You will.” She held the door. “That’s if your fiancee isn’t amusing herself having us watched.”

  It was several minutes before she noticed he hadn’t taken the birdcage.

  SHE AWO
KE to the sound of the phone. Camille sat up and looked at the digital clock: 7:20 a.m.

  She was seeing Claude at ten. He wanted to introduce her to a young artist he thought might be a “stayer.”

  Her caller turned out to be Nicholas. He apologized for ringing so early, but he had a nine o’clock conference and wanted her to have lunch with him at Augustine’s, a small harborside restaurant perfect for a lovers’ rendezvous.

  But that didn’t seem to be what he had in mind. His tone was businesslike, a little hurried with clipped instructions that made her feel oddly as if she’d done something wrong. He had news for her, he said. The reservation was for one-thirty. He didn’t expect to be late, but she should go in and wait if he wasn’t there when she arrived.

  News. Well, why not? The investigator he’d hired would be reporting back to him, probably daily.

  She went to some trouble getting dressed later, discarding two outfits before settling on a third, an Armani suit in a pearly sand shade that managed to make her look in control and feminine at the same time. She felt comfortable in it, finding reassurance in its effect. She added a gold necklace, gold earrings, a Gucci handbag and shoes in beige leather.

  She looked like her old self, the Australian Heiress, a creature of privilege, even now when it wasn’t true at all. But she knew she had it in her to be successful in her own right. For that matter, she’d been offered a job with a merchant bank. An invitation that had come right out of the blue. She suspected Nicholas might have had something to do with that. But she wanted success on her own terms.

  Claude had an interesting piece of news, too, which he told her after the young artist had left. It threw light on why Camille had missed out on the gallery premises. The building had been purchased by the legal firm Marlowe-Howell for a client.

  “Guess who?” Claude asked, shooting Camille a wry look from beneath his busy brows.

  “Nick Lombard?”

  “Good grief, no.” Claude looked startled. “What made you say that?”

  “It’s someone who’s very interested in what I’m doing,” Camille reasoned.

  “I’m sure Lombard wouldn’t want to be cruel to you, dearest. The man saved your life, after all.”