The Third heiress

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The Third heiress Page 21

by Brenda Joyce


  "Ezekial is having a grand old time hissing at Chiron and then putting himself just out of poor Chiron's reach."

  Jill smiled, relieved. She could imagine how Ezekial was toying with the little dog. And then, abruptly, her relief vanished. "That's not why you called."

  "You need an answering machine. I tried to get through to you several times yesterday and last night." KC sounded distraught.

  Jill's relief was replaced by anxiety. She reminded herself that KC knew how to make mountains out of molehills better than anyone she knew—she was a bom dramatist with a touch of hysteria thrown in for good measure. "What happened?"

  "Jillian, I called because someone was snooping in your apartment yesterday morning."

  Jill started. "What?!"

  "I had just taken Chiron out for a walk and when I returned I saw this fellow letting himself out of your studio. It wasn't your sublet, Jill. I pretended not to see, of course, and went right on into my own apartment. The moment he was gone I ran downstairs—and saw him driving away in a BMW. I got half of the license plate number, Jill. Then I went over to your place. Nothing appeared to have been touched," KC finished breathlessly.

  Jill was in a state of disbelief. "KC, he's probably a friend of Joe's." Joe was the new sublet.

  "Jill, I spoke with Joe. He's upset. He said no one has keys except for himself. This guy, Jill, was acting totally weird—all sneakylike."

  Jill stared blindly at the parlor where she stood. "But this makes no sense," she finally said. "Someone broke into my apartment? But why? It's a crummy building. I don't have

  gocxl stuff—and Joe isn't exactly loaded." Joe was an aspiring actor, i.e., he was a waiter.

  "He probably picked the lock. I looked at it. He was a pro," Jill. The lock isn't even scratched." From KC's tone of voice, Jill knew she had something else she wished to say.

  Then Jill stiffened. Alex had said he could pick locks. Then she felt a vast rush of relief—Alex was in London, not New York City. Wasn't he? "When was this?"

  "Yesterday morning at seven-thirty."

  That would have been at half past noon yesterday. Alex was not the intruder. Not unless he had taken a Concorde over first thing and then returned immediately afterward—in time to help her search the Sheldons' last night. And why was she suspicious of Alex? He had no reason to snoop in her apartment. "This must have been a mistake," she finally said. "I mean, I have nothing valuable, we live in a dump. Did the guy look like a drug head? Did you call the police?"

  "I did, and they said you would have to go down to the station in person to file the complaint. I didn't get a good look at him, Jill, he kept his head low and he had a hat on. He was of medium height and build and his hair was dark brown, I think. But he was clean and sober. I'm sure."

  Jill did not know what to think. "This is bizarre," she finally said.

  "Jill, this man was not a burglar. This has something to do with your quest."

  Jill froze. "My questr

  "Your search for the truth about Kate Gallagher," KC said firmly.

  Jill stood very still. "That's a strange choice of words."

  "But you're searching for the truth. And that, Jillian, makes it a quest."

  "I guess you're right," Jill said slowly. "How do you know this guy is a part of my quest?"

  "I can feel it, Jill. It was so weird. The minute I saw him, I thought of her. Not you—her."

  Jill was silent, her anxiety having increased, trying to tell herself to dismiss everything KC was saying as nonsense. But

  she couldn't. She said, "You haven't had any more dreams lately, have you?" She heard how wary her own tone was.

  "No. Jill, I had to do a big spread for you."

  Jill stiffened. A big spread meant that KC had done another layout with tarot cards. "You've told me, from time to time, that the cards can be wrong."

  "No. The cards are never wrong. It's the reader who screws up," KC rebutted impatiently.

  "What do you want to tell me?" Jill asked with dread.

  "There's a man, Jill. I keep seeing him. The King of Swords reversed. And he's in your path big-time."

  "Big-time," Jill repeated.

  "He came up with the karma card—and with the Lovers," KC said.

  "KC, I am not about to have an affair," Jill said. And of course, she was thinking of how close she had come to leaping into bed with Alex.

  "The Lovers are karmic, too. It doesn't mean you'll have an affair with this guy, but you did, once, in another lifetime. Of course, you could get involved again, in this lifetime—"

  "KC," Jill said sharply, wanting to cut her off. She did not want to hear any more.

  But KC wasn't through. "He's brilliant, Jill. Brilliant and strong, powerful, the best at what he does. He's probably an air sign. Or he has a lot of air in his chart."

  Jill glanced at her watch. If she didn't leave now, she'd be late. "KC, I have to go."

  "I think you've already met him," KC said in a rush. "And if you haven't, you will. Soon. There's no avoiding this guy and I'm so worried!"

  Jill was standing, but she did not hang up. "What did you see?"

  "Something's wrong with him," KC said, sounding choked. "His communication. It's not okay."

  Jill just stared at the phone.

  "He's not being honest with you," KC said passionately. "He can't be honest with you. And you cannot trust him. Jill, don't trust him. If you do, something terrible will happen, I

  saw it in the cards, I felt it too, it's so strong—Jill, you should come home!"

  Jill did not move. KC's words echoed. There was no mistaking her panic. Finally she said, "I can't go home. Not yet."

  "Good morning. Miss Gallagher." William Sheldon stood up behind his massive, leather-topped desk.

  Jill had been ushered into a large library with a high, domed ceiling painted pastel green. One wall was covered entirely in floor-to-ceiling books. A huge fireplace with a green marble mantel and a stunning gilded mirror above it dominated the central wall. Huge paintings, mostly eighteenth- and nineteenth-century landscapes, were hanging on the adjacent walls. There were several seating areas in the room and WUliam's desk was at one end. Most of the furniture was covered in old and faded fabrics, gold brocades, dark green silks, darker blue velvets, and beige damask. Behind his desk the entire comer of the room was taken up by huge windows that looked out onto the rose gardens. Those gardens were carefully tended and in a rainbow riot of blooms.

  "Good morning," Jill said nervously, smoothing down her knee-length black skirt. But she could hardly focus on the upcoming interview. The King of Swords reversed. A man who was powerful and brilliant, a man she could not trust. Was it Alex? Or was it Thomas?

  Something terrible will happen . . .

  "Miss Gallagher?"

  Jill started. William was gesturing for her to sit down in one of the chairs in front of his desk. Jill hastened to obey.

  His smile was cordial. Jill crossed her legs. She never wore high heels, but today she had chosen her single pair of two-and-a-half-inch pumps, which appeared spanking new from lack of use. She had wanted to convey ladylike elegance, and if she'd had her mother's pearls with her, she would have put them on, too. She was very nervous.

  And to think that if she'd had all of her dreams come true, this man would have become her father-in-law. It was unbelievable.

  "I understand that you were here last night, with my nephew," he said. Gold cuff links winked from the sleeves of his shirt.

  Jill was already tense, now her tension increased. "We didn't think we would disturb anyone," she said. Then, "Lord Collinsworth, I apologize," she blurted out. "I apologize for everything, especially for what happened to Hal." That was not what she had intended to say. She had intended to be quiet and dignified.

  He clasped his hands in front of him and looked down at them. "Yes, we are all sorry, Miss Gallagher. Thank you."

  "If I could change what happened, I would," Jill continued earnestly. Jill tried to ign
ore the small stabbing of guilt. She wasn't sure it would ever go away.

  He glanced up. "But no one can undo the past, can they? I have lived a long and fruitful life. But I also find myself filled with regrets, for choices not made, paths not taken, roads not traveled." He smiled grimly at her. "That is life,.Miss Gallagher. It is never as one expects."

  "Yes." Jill hesitated. "Why did you ask me here?"

  He seemed to sigh. "My wife was very distraught last night."

  "I know. I'm so sorry." He was going to chew her out.

  "It would be better if you and she did not cross paths again. I must implore you, Miss Gallagher, to avoid my wife. She is not well, she is grief-stricken, and seeing you seems to set her back. She spent a sleepless night last night, complaining about her heart. It was her worst night since the funeral."

  Of course Margaret Sheldon hated the very sight of her. Jill swallowed. "I don't want anything to happen to your wife," she whispered. Was she being banned from the premises permanently? Jill knew it was awful of her to worry about being able to finish her search for the letters, but she could not seem to help herself. "We were looking for some very valuable letters. Lord Collinsworth."

  "So I understand. Valuable to whom?"

  "Obviously they would be family heirlooms of a sort, for you and your family," Jill began.

  "But how does that involve you?" he asked pointedly,

  "Kate was my ancestor. I have some evidence to that effect." Jill knew her words were a stretch.

  "Well, I suppose that is very interesting, but I must ask you to refrain from activities that distress Lady Collinsworth."

  Jill wanted to ask him point-blank if she could come back when his wife was not at home in order to search for the letters. She did not. Her common sense told her that now was not the time. But it would not hurt to make a case for herself, to use in the future. Jill swallowed. "I have no family to speak of, my lord. My parents were killed in an accident when I was five years old. I was raised by an aunt who was hard of hearing and far too old to be burdened with a young child. I left home to study ballet when I was seventeen— never to return. I need to know if Kate Gallagher was my ancestor. You can trace your heritage back hundreds of years. I can't even trace mine back one generation."

  "I sympathize with your plight, and if my wife were well, I would surely allow you to continue your search for your heritage. Miss Gallagher. But right now, you would only aggravate her illness and mental well-being." He glanced at his watch, which was a gold face on a black strap from Van Cleef & Arpels, as he stood up, signaling the end of their interview. "Now, I must get to the office."

  Jill stood up, wetting her lips, "Kate Gallagher was a guest of your mother before she married Edward—your father. Kate had a child, possibly an illegitimate one. That same year, in 1908, Kate disappeared—and was never seen again."

  He regarded her almost blankly. "I beg your pardon?"

  Jill repeated what she had said, beginning to perspire.

  "What is the point you are trying to make. Miss Gallagher? Why would thisbe of interest to myself?"

  "Did your mother ever talk about Kate? Did she ever mention her? Do you know who the father of her child was? Surely you must have heard something as a child growing up here?"

  "I know nothing about this Kate Gallagher, Miss Gallagher. Today is the first I have ever heard of her. My mother

  was a very busy woman when I was a boy. In fact, I was off at boarding school for most of the time, as was my brother. Mother was a matriarch—my father died very young, just before D-Day, in fact. Mother ran our estates, worked behind the scenes in the Lords, chairmanned every single board at the Collinsworth Group, not to mention all the charities in which she was actively involved. She was not the kind of woman to reminisce about the past. When she was alive, she lived in the present. That is what I do recollect." He did not smile as he walked out from behind his desk, extending his hand toward her.

  "She sounds like a very strong and admirable woman,*' Jill said. She did not share the rest of her thoughts with him, that she had not appeared strong at all in either the portrait Jill had seen or the photograph.

  "Yes, she was both those things. Now, if that is all?"

  Jill hesitated. "Did you know that Hal had in his possession a photograph of Kate and Anne when they were girls of sixteen?"

  He stared at her as if she had lost quite a few marbles. Or as if he could not quite believe that she had not shaken his hand and left, as he had prompted her to do.

  "Not only did Hal have this unusual, very old photograph, he had written on the back of it, dating it—and he had it framed and standing on his bedside table. It was obviously important to him." Jill spoke swiftly.

  "What does this have to do with me?"

  "It was very important to him," Jill said, "and I am trying to find out why."

  William shook his head. "We have all been through a terrible time," he said. "I know you were close to my son, and I know you have suffered as we all have. Perhaps this fascination you have serves a purpose, distracting you, but I would advise you to get some rest and forget about this woman. I doubt she is a relative of yours."

  "What if I told you that Hal mentioned Kate as he lay dying in my arms?"

  William paled.

  Jill jumped to her feet. "Forgive me." She hadn't meant to

  bring a graphic image to the poor bereaved man's mind. "I apologize," she said. "For imposing upon you."

  Clearly shaken, William regarded her with a bewildered look. Finally he said hoarsely, "I think I must ask you to leave." He walked across the long stretch of library to the door. Jill had no choice but to follow.

  But at the door, he seemed to pull himself together. Some of his ruddy coloring had renamed. "Thank you for your time," he said politely. "Have a pleasant day."

  Jill was startled. "Thank you."

  She followed the servant from the room, thinking about their interview. William Sheldon did not know anything. If he did, she was a terrible judge of character. She wished she hadn't upset him, but she'd had to ask about Kate.

  But how would she find the letters now? This house was at the top of her list of probable places in which to search. She wondered if Alex would openly defy his uncle in order to help her. Probably not.

  The hall was endlessly long. As she approached the foyer, she heard female voices, one of which she recognized as belonging to Lauren. Although Hal's sister had been very civil last night, Jill tensed, shoving her worry about William and the letters from her mind.

  As Jill entered the foyer, Lauren turned and saw her. Her eyes widened. And she was with Marisa Sutcliffe.

  Jill could not smile. She looked first at Lauren in her charcoal designer pants suit and simple but elegant jewelry, and then at Marisa, in a short tweed skirt, a pastel green cashmere twin-set, and beige high-heeled shoes. Marisa, Jill decided, was shockingly beautiful, in spite of the fact that she looked as if she spent most of her time crying.

  Both women were silent, staring at Jill, and in that split instant, Jill was fully aware of being an intruder in their midst—and a low-class one at that.

  Suddenly Marisa came forward, hand extended, a smile firmly in place. "You're Jill Gallagher," she said.

  Jill was taken aback. "Yes, I am."

  "Marisa Sutcliffe," she said, still holding out her hand.

  Jill slowly, reluctantly, took it. The handshake was brief.

  Marisa had to despise her. Any other emotion would be an impossibility. So what was this? More good manners?

  "This is quite the surprise," Lauren interrupted Jill's thoughts while Marisa stood mere inches from Jill, studying her the exact same way Jill supposed that she was studying Marisa. "Hello, Jill."

  Jill quickly decided to tell her as little as possible and make a very hasty exit. "Good morning, Lauren. I was on my way out." She forced a smile and stepped past the two women.

  "Wait."

  Jill froze at the sound of Marisa's plea. And it was
a plea.

  "Please," Marisa said.

  Jill faced her with grave apprehension.

  "I don't really know what to say," Marisa said with a brief and wan smile. "This is bloody awkward. But.. . before Hal died. Did he say anything ... anything at all?"

  Jill's heart felt like a jungle drum inside of her breast. The foyer became overly warm. What was Marisa asking her? Surely she didn't know about Hal's dying words! "I'm not sure what you mean."

  "Mare, don't," Lauren said, her tone soft and kind—a tone Jill had never heard her use before. "Don't do this." Lauren took her hand.

  Marisa pulled it away. "Did he say anything at all— about me?" Her tone pitched upward with anxiety, with hope, with fear.

  And Jill understood. How could she not? And in spite of the fact that Marisa was the other woman, in that moment she felt for her completely. Marisa wanted to know if Hal had told Jill about her, or if he had told Jill that he loved her, or wanted to marry her, or something. Then Jill thought about the fact that Marisa wasn't the other woman. She, Jill, was the other woman. "He never told me about you," she finally said, honestly.

  Marisa's face fell. Lauren put her arm around her, and as Marisa dug in her alligator bag for a tissue, Lauren gave Jill a hard, angry look.

  Jill froze. The look was vicious. But it was gone in the next instant.

  "I had better go," Jill said, uneasy now and aware of the urge to tell Marisa the truth—that Hal had been on the brink of breaking up with her. But she hadn't expected this. She hadn't expected anything other than hatred. In fact, she had been expecting some kind of ugly confrontation from this other woman. Worse, there was something that seemed nice about Marisa. Appealing, even. How could Jill herself despise someone who was grieving like this? Her pain was horrendous. But the bottom line was that she could have behaved like a bitch. She had been more than civil.

  "I miss him so," Marisa suddenly said into her tissue, her words choked. "If only he were alive!"

 

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