“It’s this damned burning sensation,” he told Camille. “As soon as I get back to town, I’ll make an appointment to see my own doctor.”
To her credit Clare did her level best to be an easy and accommodating guest. She sat with Jack for hours, as devoted and charming a companion as any man could wish for.
Perhaps I’ve been too hard on her, Camille thought. Yet her apprehension remained. There was one piece of cheering news. Linda had rung to say she and Stephen were off to Hong Kong for Christmas; they’d be staying at the Regent, one of the world’s great hotels. “A second honeymoon,” Linda said, “and it neatly solves having to spend Christmas with the family.”
On the second night of Jack and Clare’s enforced stay, Camille retired earlier than usual on the pretext she had Christmas cards to write. The freight plane was due in the morning. It was a plausible enough excuse. In reality Clare Tennant’s determined charm was wearing her nerves thin. Even as she walked up the staircase, Camille heard yet another delighted peal of laughter at something Nicholas had said. Jack still hadn’t recovered fully from the stomach troubles that had plagued him, though he thought the antacid mixture Clare was giving him was helping.
In her own room, with Melissa sleeping soundly next door, Camille wrote her Christmas cards at the bureau, then ran a bath, pouring in a generous measure of herbal oils. A good soak might soothe her jangled nerves. Afterward she slipped on a satin nightgown and matching robe and padded out onto the large veranda lured by the blossoming stars and heavenly scent of the native boronia.
By day and by night the desert sky had a rare magic. There was no veil of pollution, no smog. Jirrunjoonga, the Southern Cross, hung above the homestead, the Milky Way, the resting place of the ancestral spirits, a dazzling river of diamonds streaming across the sky. As ever, the heavens were crowded with stars, all glittering with that unearthly brilliance so unique to the desert. As she watched, a large star flashed across the sky, and spontaneously she made a wish. It came straight from her heart, free of the mind’s complications.
Let him love me. Really love me.
Unable to settle for bed, she hung her clothes in the armoire, then took out her mother’s jewel box, feeling the familiar sense of comfort at handling it. Some ten inches long and six inches deep, it was made of rosewood with stained wood inlays and marquetry of a very high standard. The hinges and lock were of gleaming pierced brass, which she never allowed to become tarnished.
Inside were four compartments, with rings, necklaces, earrings and brooches nesting in the emerald green silk. She gathered up her favorite piece of jewelry, her mother’s pearls, each lustrous globe perfectly matched. The clasp was handmade, interlocking leaves of diamonds and rubies like the earrings that went with them.
As she handled these pieces, she thought of her mother wearing them. Natalie. Sometimes she seemed so near. Camille even glanced over her shoulder once, almost expecting to see her there. Then she placed the necklace around her neck, fixing the clasp. How warm it felt! As if it had just been resting against someone’s skin.
What happened to you, Mama, that dreadful day? Did you tell him you were pregnant? Did you tell him you no longer loved him? That you were going to Hugo? Did you drive him to madness as Nicholas believes?
The other pieces, she discovered, were all warm, too. How odd. She slipped a square-cut yellow-diamond ring on her finger. It fitted perfectly. The set of four gold bangles, set with precious stones, she wore frequently. Her mother’s jewelry would fetch a lot of money, but she couldn’t bear to sell any of it, so great was her emotional attachment to it. She would part only with what she absolutely had to.
Feeling like someone in a dream, Camille clipped the diamond-and-ruby earrings into her ears, then got up quickly from the bed to judge the effect in the mirror. As she moved, the box slid down the silky damask quilt and fell on the floor.
“Oh, no!” she cried in dismay. She moved quickly to pick up the box and gather the contents. How careless! Had she damaged the box she’d never have forgiven herself.
But it was quite intact. It was only as she set the box down on the table that she realized another compartment had sprung open like a secret drawer. She looked at it in amazement. She’d handled the box countless times, yet she had never known about this.
Now, tucked away in this, hidden compartment, she found pressed flowers that still gave off a sweet scent—and a few letters tied with a narrow satin ribbon. It was minutes before she could unpick it. These were love letters. She was certain of that, though she didn’t know why.
Her face pale, Camille moved to an armchair, tugging the ribbon loose. Even then she hesitated. These letters weren’t meant for her eyes, yet she was compelled to go on.
She read them chronologically, with tears running down her cheeks at the tenderness and passion, the desperateness of lovers, the terrible obstacles they had to overcome. She, Camille, was mentioned frequently. Her mother and Hugo were determined to have custody of her. To show her what a loving family was really like.
“What kind of monster is he that he can’t show love to his only child?” Hugo had written. A monster indeed. A heartless one.
Finally she knew that her mother’s marriage had been a prison, but at the end of her short life Natalie had found the courage to make a bid for escape. She had decided to leave her husband, but she never got the chance. Prophetically Hugo had written: “Keep silent, my darling, until you and Camille are safe with me. Never give him an inkling you’re pregnant with our child. That would drive him over the edge.”
Hadn’t Nicholas always believed it?
In a bemused state Camille closed the rosewood box and placed it back in the armoire. She had to show these letters to Nicholas. It couldn’t wait.
The house was quiet, the main lights off with only wall sconces to show the way. She was rounding the end of the staircase, one arm on the curved banister, when someone reached for her. She made a small stricken sound, but then was folded into a warm embrace.
Nicholas,
Cushioning her head against his shoulder, he brought his hands up under her breasts, cupping them tenderly. His mouth moved against the side of her neck, her ear, his teeth nipping gently.
“Nicholas, you startled me!” A whole range of emotions washed through her.
“Who else were you expecting?” His voice was a deep purr.
“No one.” She pressed her body closer. “I was coming to find you. I have something quite extraordinary to show you. Something that might move you, ease your pain.”
“Nothing could move me more than you.” Slowly he trailed his mouth down the sensitive column of her neck, making every pulse race.
It was difficult to distance herself from the intense passion rising in her, but she tried. “Nicholas, it’s important. I—”
She was silenced by his mouth. “Come to bed with me. I want to make love to you. I need to convince you beyond all doubt your destiny lies with me.”
She couldn’t move, couldn’t think, not with his hands and mouth consuming her. It was an explosion of longing that billowed around them like smoke.
“Marry me,” he begged. Even in the dim light his black eyes blazed.
She sobbed with the joy of it, but he was kissing her again, transmitting his passion so powerfully it was almost more than she could handle.
“Nicholas!” She gave a little abandoned gasp, moving her mouth fractionally from his.
At once he drew back. “God, my love, not tears?”
She didn’t realize she’d shed them. Not tears of pain or sorrow, but with rapture.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” His anxiety was manifest. He was intoxicated with her. He was a strong man, when she was fragile in comparison.
“No, no. I glory in the pleasure you give me.”
“It’s because I feel so starved” He shook his head a little as though struggling for control. Somehow he had to stop this headlong reckless rush, but his yearning for her increased with
each passing moment.
She reached up, took his face between her hands and gave him a soft sweet kiss as if to calm them both, when calm was light-years away. “Did you really ask me to marry you, or was that just a voice in my head?”
He gave her his heart-wrenching smile. “Both, my love. Heed your inner voice, too.”
“It’s been speaking to me all along.” She curled her arms around his neck, amazed and terrified at how much she loved this man. “Am I no longer alone, Nicholas?” she asked huskily, her whole being electrified.
“You know you’re not.” His voice was deep with emotion. “I’ve found you. You, in turn, have shown me the way.”
“So God has a grand design, after all?”
“My darling, it’s working in our lives.”
She stood on tiptoe, kissed his beautiful mouth. “I believe that, as well. That’s why I came to find you. I’ve discovered some of Hugo’s letters to my mother. They were hidden in her jewel box. Remember how lovely you thought it?”
For an instant he felt an acute sense of dislocation. The jewel box. The rosewood box. With beautiful marquetry and ornate brass fittings. He clearly remembered remarking on its beauty. But Hugo’s letters? How could they have remained hidden all these years?
Camille felt a compulsion to fill the fraught silence. “I feel very odd about it, too, Nicholas. Perhaps like many things in life it was meant to be. But first we had to come to terms with the past.”
He enfolded her closer in his arms. “Even now I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “I had no inkling. I’ve handled the box countless times. I might never have discovered the secret drawer if the box hadn’t fallen. The jolt activated the catch.”
He tilted her chin, held it. “So destiny works through you. Tell me what Hugo said.”
“I want us to read them together. I didn’t mean to upset you, Nicholas.” She felt the faint tremble in his hand.
“Upset me?” He bent to kiss her upturned mouth. “You’ve brought me out of the darkness into the light. I meant it when I told you I love you, Camille.”
Emotions flared, encompassing them both. “And I truly love you,” she said. “In loving you, my own conflicts have fallen away. I see Hugo’s letters as a gift to us both. I know when you read them, you’ll feel the same way.”
He kissed her again, with such a depth of feeling, such infinite tenderness, her heart sang.
“The deaths of our loved ones had to have meaning,” he said. “We’ve been through such a time waiting. I desperately need to make love to you again.”
“Please.” Her answer came out on a soft trembling breath.
He smiled his delight. “And I want to propose to you properly,” he said ardently. “I have the most wonderful ring.” He brought her left hand to his mouth, kissed it. “It should fit you like a glove. A perfect Colombian emerald to match your eyes, surrounded by diamonds.”
“I am in a dream,” Camille said.
“No, my love, it’s very real. Promise to be with me.” His voice was intense.
“Always. Always!” came her passionate declaration. Their hands were clasped, their eyes locked. Each felt an inseparable bond to the other.
But as they rejoiced in each other, another life crumbled.
“Ayaa!”
Camille and Nicholas heard the strange tormented sound. The cry of a broken heart or the eerie moaning of the wind? Either way, it lay cold fingers on the heart
Startled, they looked upward, trying to see where it was coming from, surprising a robed Clare Tennant as she withdrew from the balustrade of the gallery. The moonlight from the high casement window poured over her blond head, made a deathly white mask of her face.
How long had she been there? Camille felt a sick clutch of dismay mingled with real pity. Wasn’t jealousy a kind of hell? She realized in an instant that what she’d heard had been a cry of agony. Had Clare stared down at them while they were locked in each other’s arms?
For several seconds the silence seemed to ache, then Clare called to them in a strained voice, one that seemed filled with self-loathing. “Oh, I’m so sorry, you two. Do forgive me. I was feeling restless. I thought a brandy might help.”
“I’ll get you one, Clare,” Nicholas offered, sounding polite but very remote.
“No, no, please don’t bother. The moment’s passed. It might only give me palpitations. Good night now. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Neither of them responded. Nicholas took Camille’s hand and led her down the hallway past the drawing room to the library. Once inside he shut the door and locked it.
“My God, that woman works overtime invading our lives.”
“Please send her away, Nicholas,” Camille begged. “I truly believe she’s not quite sane.”
He ran a worried hand along his jaw. “It’s taken me a long time to see that.” He sighed heavily. “Well, with any luck at all Jack will be feeling well enough tomorrow to travel. I know he’s embarrassed at being so incapacitated.”
“She could’ve planned it.” Camille almost felt like crossing herself against an evil spirit. “I wouldn’t be in the least surprised if she was trying to make Jack ill. What’s in that blue bottle she keeps giving him?”
He shook his head. “It’s a harmless antacid remedy, Camille. I’ve checked it. I even drank a bit.”
“It wouldn’t be harmless if she put something in it.”
“What are you saying?” He threw up his hands, his black eyes glittering.
“I believe she’s a very strange woman. Used to playing lots of games and hoping no one will catch her. She’s still in love with you, Nicholas.”
“Oh, God, no.” He gazed at Camille. “I’ll get them moving tomorrow. Now, where are these letters? I’m desperate to see them.”
She drew them out of the pocket of her robe and passed them to him.
“Let’s read them together!” He swept her up in his arms and carried her back to his room. He lowered himself into an armchair, where he cradled her in his arms.
Camille’s eyes followed every word as he read the letters aloud, stopping sometimes as emotion got too much.
Finally he refolded the last of the letters. “It’s the beginning of the healing, my love. Now we can move forward.”
He stood up, with her still in his arms, and carried her to his bed.
FIRST THING after breakfast Camille decided to go for a drive with Melissa. Nicholas had a meeting scheduled for nine with his manager, and Jack and Clare had yet to make an appearance.
“So where are you planning on going?” Nicholas asked as he walked with Camille and Melissa to the Jeep.
“I thought the Pink Lady Lagoon.” Camille smiled into his eyes, her body still humming from their intense lovemaking of the night before.
“We’re going to have a picnic there,” Melissa said.
“Anywhere else?”
“Would you have any objection if we drove as far as Wirra Wirra and did a little climbing?”
“Not at all.” He drew his fingers along her cheek. “You know the way. Take care. Approach it from the south face. That’s the easiest climb. Hold firmly to Melissa’s hand. She has a tendency to go charging off, as you know.”
“Don’t worry, Daddy. I’ll do everything I’m told,” Melissa caroled.
“Good girl.” Nicholas waved them off, standing on the steps of the homestead until the Jeep disappeared.
Finally he made his way into the house, determined to get medical attention for Jack if he was no better. The idea of Clare’s dosing Jack with some dangerous substance seemed preposterous, in the light of day. He’d known the woman for years. Once he’d had reason to be grateful to her, yet now he realized someone else looked out of those large gray-blue eyes. Someone hard and very cold. Right or wrong, Jack could benefit from some medical advice.
IT WAS A RARE MORNING out. Tremendous flights of budgerigars winged before them in tight V formation, solid bands of emerald green, dipping steeply over the c
rystal clear waters.
“Look, Camille, there’s Wirra Wirra!” Melissa pointed through the windshield to the eagle coasting on the wind. “Do you believe in the legend now?”
Camille’s eyes followed the great bird. “Well, it’s nice to believe we have a guardian spirit.”
But by the time they reached the Pink Lady, the eagle had disappeared. It was easy to spend a few hours in that magical place, swimming and exploring, gathering wild pears. Later they set up their picnic beneath the beautiful white-boled gums. They munched companionably through their sandwiches and cake, washed down by a rather appalling soft drink—Melissa’s favorite—both of them finishing off with a crisp juicy apple.
Lying back on the rug, a cushion under her head, Melissa asked, “Do you love Daddy, Camille?”
It was a moment for truth. Besides, nothing Melissa said startled her. “Yes, darling, I do. And he loves me. Do you mind?”
“Do I mind?” For answer Melissa sat up, her face radiant, and said “It makes me so happy! There’s nothing more I want than for you to live with us. To be part of everything we do. You’re more than just my friend. You’re my family. When you marry Daddy, I can have brothers and sisters.”
“Is that what you want?” Camille blushed.
“Oh, yes! More than anything. I don’t like being on my own.” Melissa threw out her arms and hugged Camille.
By the time they reached Wirra Wirra it was nearly midday. On the way they’d stopped to watch a herd of brumbies being watered, then a short time later a mob of cattle fording the crossing. Camille drove as far as she could up the lower slope of the south face, then parked at the foot of a limewood that reached its skeletal limbs to the smoldering blue sky.
“Are you sure you want to do this, pet? It’s not too hot for you?” Camille asked.
“No, I’m fine,” Melissa answered brightly. “The view is wonderful. Daddy brought me up here lots of times when I was small. Mommy never liked to come. She never did love me, you know. I made all that up.”
Camille clasped the little girl’s hand tightly. “I’m sure Mommy loved you in her own way, darling.”
The Australian Heiress Page 23