The Australian Heiress

by Way, Margaret

  For the first time Camille asked the perilous question. “You knew the late Mrs. Lombard well?”

  The housekeeper sighed. “Between the two of us, love, I hardly knew her at all. She didn’t come here often, and when she did, she didn’t stay. I always knew there was going to be tragedy. It was sort of a rocky marriage, if you know what I mean. Mrs. Lombard needed lots of glamour and excitement. It was better before Melissa arrived.”

  Desley heaved a great sigh. “Mrs. Lombard seemed to find the child disruptive to their life-style. One doesn’t like to speak ill of the dead, but she didn’t seem to have any maternal feelings at all. It used to break my heart, the way she ignored Melissa. Only her father made Melissa feel precious.”

  “So perhaps her mother’s behavior made Melissa think she was being punished.”

  “She’s certainly grown up an angry little girl. Never with her father, though—he’s her hero—but pretty well with everyone else. Many the tantrum she’s put on with me has left me with a splitting headache. You’ve calmed her. It’s a joy to behold. With you around she’s a normal sunny-natured little girl.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen the change, too,” Camille said. “It’s been gratifying.”

  “Not that you’re not firm,” the housekeeper added. “You have to be. But you do it with such tact. Mr. Lombard will be thrilled when he hears that little piece you’ve taught her. Her aunt Elizabeth, Lady Wyatt, plays beautifully. She tried to interest Melissa in the piano once, but Melissa reacted badly.”

  Camille answered thoughtfully, “Melissa thought she couldn’t do anything with her life. Now she knows she can. She’s working on controlling her own tantrums. I’ve told her it’s her way of taking charge. She likes that. I was an unhappy little girl myself, but I was blessed with a friend.”

  “That would be Linda?”

  “Yes.” Camille smiled. Linda had rung several times and the housekeeper had answered the phone. “I’m sure Melissa is going to connect more with kids her own age after the holidays. She’s going to show her skills, instead of hiding them.”

  Desley collected the tea things and stood up. “I always told Andy she was one smart little girl. Lord knows how it got about she wasn’t bright. Her own mother formed that conclusion. As though any child of Mr. Lombard’s wouldn’t be bright. He’s suffered, too, with all this business with Melissa. I expect you know she’s been to a child psychologist?”

  “Yes.” Camille spoke quietly. “Yet that only seemed to make Melissa retreat farther and farther into her shell. I think she felt victimized. She’s too young to talk about her conflicts, as an adult might. She was hiding them all away.”

  “Well, God bless you, dear, for all you’re doing.” Desley paused for a few moments to smile. “You’re going to make a wonderful mother when the time comes.”

  THE FOLLOWING WEEKEND Nicholas returned with a load of exquisitely wrapped presents. Melissa took enormous pleasure in placing them artistically under the tree.

  Afterward, to Nicholas’s delight, Camille, with Melissa at the treble end of the piano, played their well-practiced duet—several choruses of “Jingle Bells"— then Melissa took place of honor on the ebony piano seat to play the “Wing Song,” which Camille had taught her.

  “That’s lovely, darling,” Nicholas said with genuine delight, smiling into his daughter’s animated little face. “We’ll have to see about lessons.”

  “I only want Camille to teach me.” Melissa jumped up to sit at her father’s knee.

  “To start off,” Camille told the child matter-offactly, “we’ll pick out the right teacher at your school, and I’ll always be there for you to check on your progress.”

  “Camille said I had real ability,” Melissa announced in a proud voice. “That means you’ll have to buy me a piano for home, Daddy.”

  “As soon as we get back,” he promised, ruffling her curls. “We’ll take Camille with us to pick it out.”

  “Make it a Steinway,” Camille said jokingly. “I had to give up mine with the rest of the house.”

  “A Steinway it is.” Nicholas saluted her with his glass. He was reveling in her nearness after the time away. The more he saw of her, the more he wanted to.

  “Do you know how much they are?” she protested.

  He smiled. “I’m not exactly sure why you’re trying to save me money.”

  “And we might get a guitar!” Melissa was awash with enthusiasm. “Camille can play that, as well. I think I’d like a flute. I’m going to get to know all about music and musical instruments. I might even be a concert pianist when I grow up.”

  “Anything is possible, darling,” her father said, “if you have the ability and you’re prepared to work hard.”

  He thought of his own ambition. To make Camille his wife.

  THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON they were enjoying a tea break on the veranda when Melissa’s gaze went to the sky.

  “It’s a plane, Daddy,” she announced.

  “You’ve got awfully good ears.” Nicholas, who was sitting in a planter’s chair, turned his head to look through the screen.

  “I can see it”

  “Yes, there it is.” Camille pointed as a light aircraft swept over the escarpment and began to make its descent into the valley.

  “It must be Aunty Elizabeth,” Melissa said, causing Camille a moment’s sharp regret. She feared this wonderful peace and harmony might be swept away. Hugo Vandenberg’s tragic death would have affected his niece, Elizabeth, deeply, too. As kind and generous as Elizabeth Wyatt was purported to be, it would be difficult indeed for her to bury the past, especially given Camille’s uncanny resemblance to her mother.

  Nicholas stood up, gazing out over the valley. “Not Liz,” he said. “She isn’t due in until Christmas Eve. I’d better take the Jeep down to the strip.” The vehicle was parked in the circular drive, its hood under a cooling canopy of trees.

  “Can we come, Daddy?” Melissa pleaded.

  “Better to stay with Camille, sweetheart”

  Why do I have this bad feeling? Camille asked herself.

  Melissa seemed about to insist, but Camille put out her hand and without another word Melissa went to join her, sitting quietly. “We don’t need anyone else here,” she said as her father reversed the Jeep and headed out of the main compound.

  “It may be a friend,” Camille murmured.

  Melissa looked at her. “You don’t sound too sure.” Her face started to crumple. “It’s lovely, just the three of us.”

  “Hey, cheer up.” Camille made an effort to sound cheerful herself. “It’s probably someone who’s come just to see Daddy, then he’ll leave.”

  Melissa thought about that. “It could be supplies,” she said hopefully. “Maybe more presents. Daddy loves Christmas. He said he loves everything about it. He’s loved it all his life. He especially loves it when you’re here. So do I.”

  “And I love you for it.” Camille smiled. “Would you like to go inside and start your music lesson?”

  “Let’s wait and see who it is.” Melissa still sounded worried.

  It wasn’t until the Jeep was at the front steps before they recognized one of the passengers.

  “Bloody hell, it’s Clare!” Melissa muttered wrathfully. “And who’s the man with her?” she demanded, shooting Camille one of her blazing looks.

  “Darling, I have no idea.” Camille reached for the child’s hand and squeezed it. “Please be on your best behavior, Melissa, and watch your language. Understand—this is a test and you must pass it.”

  “I will say hello,” Melissa said in an imperious voice. “I will be polite, when I’d really like to tell her to go away.”

  You and me both, Camille thought, biting her lip. Clare Tennant’s arrival was like a dark shadow falling over Kurakai. And where the heck was that eagle— Wirra, the guardian spirit? No sign of him. She must have been crazy to take any comfort from a legend. Like Melissa, she would have to control herself to be on her best behavior. This woman w
as no friend. She was a woman who could be relied on to make trouble.

  Clare acted as if she’d never put a foot wrong in her life. She broke away from the men, who were still standing in conversation, and headed toward the veranda, calling out in the friendliest fashion, “Hello there, Camille. And Melissa! How well you both look!”

  “I think I’m going to throw up,” Melissa mumbled.

  That left Camille a little shaken. “Hang in there, darling.”

  Clare had now negotiated the short flight of steps, sweeping off her large straw hat to reveal a smooth upswept hairdo. She looked perfect—hair, makeup, clothes, all impeccable. “How lovely to see you,” she gushed. “Why, Melissa, I swear you’ve grown. You look quite the young lady.”

  “Thank you, Clare,” Melissa said with such poise Clare almost did a double take.

  Well-done, Melissa! Camille gave the child’s hand an encouraging squeeze. “And what a surprise you’ve given us,” she said to Clare.

  “A pleasant one, I hope,” Clare trilled. “It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing.” She sketched a graceful backward gesture. “Jack, my friend Jack Martell—I’m sure you know him Camille—is the new owner of a property to the north of here. Lockyer Downs.”

  “Right” Camille nodded, wondering what was coming next “I’m afraid I didn’t recognize him under that ten-gallon hat. He’s lost a lot of weight, too.”

  “He’d be in big trouble if he didn’t.” Clare laughed.

  “He must still be mourning Helen,” Camille said loyally, referring to Martell’s late wife, once a tireless worker for charities. “Helen was a lovely woman. I attended many of her functions.”

  “So did I.” Clare said. “Or at least the occasional one.”

  “I must say I never saw you.”

  “And I’m not a person to be missed,” Clare countered, giving Camille a cool look. “It’s been terribly hard on Jack, but I believe our friendship has helped him a great deal. I was the one who got him going on his diet, as a matter of fact.”

  And you’d be an expert, Camille thought

  “So what have you two been doing with yourselves?” Clare asked brightly, somehow turning the table and sounding the hostess.

  “We’ve been having lots of fun,” Melissa said with a huge smile for Camille. “Camille’s my best friend. I love her.”

  “Wouldn’t you just know it!” Clare rolled her eyes in mock amazement. “That’s marvelous, Melissa. If only we could have been friends. I would have loved that.”

  Melissa looked about to deliver a rude response to that. When she didn’t, Camille silently congratulated her. Aloud she said, “Darling, don’t you think you should go in and start your practice?” This at least would provide the little girl with an excuse to remove herself from Clare’s company.

  “You’ll come in later?”

  “Of course.” Camille patted her shoulder.

  “Camille is teaching me the piano,” Melissa explained to the somewhat mystified Clare. “She says I have real talent.”

  Clare gave a tight smile. “I have to agree there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

  “And you missed it.” Melissa waved sweetly and dashed off.

  Clare turned to Camille. “She didn’t really say that did she?”

  “She did.”

  “A bit too cute for a child, but to tell you the truth, I’ve always seen the intelligence in her eyes, the little monkey. As you know, I thought for a while Nick and I would make a go of it, but Melissa destroyed any chance of that. Anyway, it would have been all too tiresome. Frankly I’m past mothering someone else’s child. You’re welcome to try.”

  Camille ignored that. “So you’ve changed your affections?” she asked dryly.

  “Oh, my, yes.” Clare sighed. “Mother taught me to be persistent, but she never taught me to bang my head against a brick wall. No hard feelings, I hope? You must forgive me if I said a few foolish things. One gets desperate when one is fast approaching forty. You wouldn’t understand. You’re young.”

  “No, I don’t understand, Clare,” Camille agreed, thinking the other woman was still capable of making trouble. For all her talk of a spur-of-the-moment thing, what was she really doing here?

  The men came up the stairs together, a study in contrasts: Nicholas Lombard, very tall, whipcord lean, dark-haired, dark eyes, his olive skin bronzed by the sun; Jack Martell, midheight, still portly for all his weight loss, sandy coloring, unremarkable features.

  Camille went forward to shake his hand. She’d always liked Jack. His expression was so open, so genial, most people took to him at once. “Jack, I didn’t know you under that ten-gallon hat.”

  He smiled warmly, sweeping off his hat in courtly fashion. “Good to see you again, my dear.”

  “I didn’t know you were a pastoralist.”

  “Got to think about the future, love. Retiring. I suppose Clare’s told you we’ve had a few days on Lockyer Downs. A nice little place. A few hundred thousand hectares. Nothing like here, I can tell you. The homestead’s just a tin shed compared with this magnificence. The last owners were in deep financial trouble. They’d survived lots of disasters, but the drought did them in. By the time the floodwaters came down, it was too late.”

  Nicholas spoke up. “Why don’t we all sit down?” He began to arrange some chairs.

  “I’ll get Desley to make tea, shall I?” Camille offered.

  “I’d love some tea,” Clare cooed at Nicholas.

  “Gimme a beer.” Jack gave a deep rumbling laugh. “All right, sweetheart?” He looked at Clare for approval, watching her grimace. “Where’s the little one, Nick? Young Melissa.”

  “She’s inside practicing the piano.” Camille inclined her head toward the house.

  “Ah, good for her,” Jack boomed.

  “I’ll join you in a beer,” Nicholas said. “You’re looking well, Jack. Rested.”

  Jack beamed at his blond companion. “You’ll have to thank Clare for that. She’s taught me how to relax.”

  Camille could hardly bear to hear more. There was a knot in her stomach of apprehension and disbelief. People like Clare Tennant were utterly beyond her. It struck her, too, that the eagle was back in the sky, circling, its great wings extended.

  Somehow the afternoon wore on without their guests making a move and Nicholas felt compelled to ask them if they would like to stay to dinner. The invitation was accepted with alacrity. Jack Martell was clearly enjoying the company, and was anxious for Clare to be accepted as the new woman in his life.

  Happily married for more than twenty years, Jack was one of those men who desperately needed a wife. Although his appearance would never have rated a second glance, he was a highly successful businessman, an acknowledged multimillionaire. Which had to be Clare Tennant’s favorite draw card, Camille thought.

  “Look I’m sorry about this.” Nicholas took the opportunity to catch up with Camille in the corridor when she went to check on Melissa. “It would be rude to turn Jack out.”

  She longed to close her eyes. Rest against him. Instead, she lowered her head. “I understand. Jack is a nice man. What I don’t understand is why he’s mixed up with Clare Tennant.”

  Nicholas took a long cascade of her hair in his hand, its silkiness a balm to his frazzled nerves. “Jack’s lonely.”

  “And I feel for him, but he deserves a lot better than Clare. She couldn’t possibly step into Helen’s shoes.”

  “It mightn’t actually mean anything.” Nicholas drew her to him, totally uninterested in Jack’s budding relationship. “Clare has always had some man in tow.”

  Maybe it’s sunk in finally she’s not going to get you, Camille thought

  At dinner Camille felt like a spectator at a play. Either Clare was a superb actress or she was genuinely fond of Jack Martell. She couldn’t have been more charming, coaxing Jack to tell some of his fund of funny stories, losing herself in the role of warm companionable guest.

  “DO YOU BELIEVE in God
?” Melissa asked as Camille tucked the little girl into bed.

  “You know I do, darling,” Camille searched the large dark eyes. “What about you?”

  “I’m not a saint like you are.”

  ”I’m not a saint!” Camille laughed in amazement.

  “Desley says you are.”

  “Desley was having a little joke.”

  “I’d really believe in God if he sends Clare away,” Melissa said.

  “She’s only staying the night, pet.” Camille sought to dispel the bedtime gloom.

  ”I wouldn’t have asked her.” Melissa tucked her old furry kangaroo beside her. “I don’t mind Mr. Martell. He’s got a big funny laugh, but Clare doesn’t ever feel right. I don’t like her eyes, do you?”

  “My goodness, you don’t think she’s the big-eyed Evil One, do you?” Camille joked.

  “She might act happy,” Melissa replied, “but she’s mad at you, I can tell.”

  The following morning Clare came down to breakfast saying Jack was miserable with a stomach upset.

  Desley, busy setting down covered dishes on the long sideboard, turned around anxiously.

  “Oh, it’s not your fault, Mrs. Sutherland,” Clare hastened to assure her. “Jack suffers from these stomach upsets. He’s got gallstones or some such thing.”

  “Then it ought to be checked out.” Nicholas frowned.

  “I quite agree. The poor man hasn’t been looking after himself. I’m so sorry, Nick. We intended to be off this morning, but it looks like you might have to put up with us for another day.”

  “No problem at all.” Nicholas hid his dismay, although seeing how well she treated Jack, his attitude toward Clare had changed entirely. “If Jack’s condition worsens in the next few hours, we’ll get onto the Flying Doctor.”

  But Jack, when Nicholas went to the guest bedroom to see him, wouldn’t hear of it. “Clare’s right. I have to watch my diet. I drank a little too much at dinner. I don’t want to cause any fuss, Nick. I just need rest.”

  Nevertheless he wasn’t entirely well the next day, although he refused to remain in bed.