Daughters of Fortune: A Novel

by Hyland, Tara

  “Fuck!” He scowled at her, rubbing his head. “What the hell did you do that for?”

  “You wouldn’t stop,” she mumbled.

  “Well, it didn’t seem like you wanted me to,” he shot back.

  Caitlin looked away, all too aware that what he said was true. Instead, she concentrated on straightening her skirt and buttoning her blouse. The guilt was back again. Now she felt dirty, ashamed. How could she let him do those things to her?

  In the silence of the room, she could hear his breathing gradually return to normal. Only then did he reach out and take her hand.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I got carried away. You know how it is. I just find it hard to control myself around you.”

  They were the magic words she loved to hear.

  I can’t help myself, you’re just so beautiful.

  God, you turn me on.

  I want you so much.

  However much she hated to admit it, she liked what she did to him. Seeing him out of control, his breathing labored, struggling to control himself . . . It gave her a feeling of power that was addictive. Once, in a moment of anger, he’d called her a prick-tease. She’d cried. He’d apologized. But there was part of her that was beginning to wonder if he was right.

  She didn’t know how long she could keep on saying no. Every time she did, she worried that he was going to say it was over between them. She wanted him to like her. She wanted to keep on being his girlfriend, being part of his group. For the first time since coming into the Melville family she felt accepted into this elite, privileged world. She didn’t want that to stop.

  At first she refused to look at him. She wasn’t even sure how she felt. Angry, frustrated, confused . . . After all, was it even that wrong between them? Mam might have raised her with all these strict Catholic morals, but it wasn’t like she’d practiced what she preached.

  Elliott reached out, gently lifting her chin until their gazes met. “Look, I’m really sorry.”

  She saw the sincerity in his dark eyes and, as always, melted. “It’s okay. But we’d better go now. We don’t want to be late for dinner.”

  He smiled then, and she relaxed a little. She couldn’t believe how understanding he was being. She just wondered how long he was prepared to wait—and, more important, how long she could hold out.

  Half an hour later, Elliott sat opposite Caitlin in Greycourt’s dining hall, pretending to listen as she chattered on about her art project. Instead, he was silently willing her to lean forward across the table again, allowing him to catch a glimpse of her creamy cleavage.

  After six weeks with her, he’d finally managed to get past first base for the first time. Six long weeks of being on his best behavior. Opening doors. Pulling out chairs. Helping her on with her coat. Listening attentively as she droned on about her frigging art class. Getting her all hot—and himself in the process—only for her to pull away at the last minute, all wide, frightened eyes. And then having to pretend to understand what all the fuss was about. He’d never gone to so much trouble for one lousy lay before.

  He’d thought he had her today. He’d waited until she was just about to come, thinking she’d be too far gone to pull back when he tried to take things further. But, no. He stabbed at a green bean, taking his frustration out on the overcooked vegetables. He was very aware of his deadline. Three weeks to go until the Snow Ball. Most of the senior class seemed to be in on the pool now. Worryingly, two-thirds of the money was riding against him. Everyone thought she was too prissy to put out. But he had his plan all mapped out. He would invite her to the Snow Ball and spend the evening romancing her, and by the end of it she’d be begging for it. He felt his dick start to twitch just thinking about it. That was what had surprised him most: this wasn’t just about money or reputation anymore. He actually wanted her. More than he’d ever wanted anyone in his life before. Maybe it was because she was the first girl to say “no” to him.

  He watched as she tucked her heavy dark hair behind her ears and looked up at him with those huge, violet eyes. There was an innocence there that couldn’t be faked. He liked the idea that he would be her first. She would be timid at first, shy even. But once he warmed her up, he bet she would love it . . .

  He was suddenly aware that she was looking at him quizzically. Shit. He hadn’t been listening.

  “So what do you think?” she asked.

  He looked at her rosebud mouth, pouting softly at him. At that moment, he thought how nice it would be to have those plump lips wrapped around his hard cock.

  She frowned. “Elliott? Did you hear me? Should I use oils or acrylic?”

  He forced himself to snap back to the present. “Whatever you think’s best,” he said, and then changed the subject. “Any idea what you’d like to do later?”

  They spent the rest of the evening cuddled up in front of a video in the common room—her choice of activity. By the time they finally said goodnight, he was ready to explode. As he got in his car and headed into Northampton to the Cave Club to meet up with the gang, he was still thinking about Caitlin. As usual, she’d gotten him all steamed up and he needed relief—fast. His eyes fixed on a drunk and desperate Morgan. Two more rum and Cokes—and the vague suggestion that he might consider getting back together with her—and she was happy to follow him into the men’s room.

  There were a couple of guys at the urinals who gave them a knowing glance as they came in, but she either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He pulled her into one of the tiny cubicles and locked the door. The smell of urine and worse inside wasn’t the greatest aphrodisiac, but he was too far gone to care. He shoved her up against the graffitied wall, grabbed one of her boobs, and squeezed hard. That was as far as foreplay went. She pulled down her panties and hitched up her skirt, resting one foot on the toilet seat to give him access. As he finally plunged into her soft, wet warmth, he closed his eyes and pretended that it was Caitlin.

  Elliott was ambivalent about taking Morgan back to his room that night. After all, it wouldn’t do for Caitlin to see them together. But in the end he was pleased he’d taken the risk. Later, after she’d finished giving head, she gave him a heads-up on Elizabeth.

  “Be careful,” she warned. She took a sip of water, gargled, then spat into the sink. “She’s onto you guys.”

  “So what? It’s a free country. She can’t keep us from going out.”

  “If that’s what you think, then you’ve been smoking too much of that stuff.” She gestured at the joint he was just about to light up. “Come on, you know Elizabeth. If she thinks something dodgy is going on, she’ll do whatever it takes to stop it.”

  After Morgan had gone, Elliott spent a long time thinking about how to deal with this little hiccup. The solution was really quite simple.

  9

  _________

  The afternoon following the rugby game, Elizabeth went to Caitlin’s room, to talk to her about Elliott.

  Both Caitlin and George looked surprised to see her there. It was a stark reminder for Elizabeth that it was the first time she’d been to see her sister all term. She felt a stab of guilt again and then pushed it away. Well, she was here, now, wasn’t she? That was what counted.

  She asked George if she’d mind leaving them alone. Only after the other girl had grabbed her books and headed off to the library did Elizabeth finally sit down on the bed. Caitlin perched on the desk.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked, clearly curious about the reason for Elizabeth’s sudden interest in her.

  “Elliott,” she said, deciding it was best to be blunt.

  Caitlin frowned. “Elliott? I don’t understand.”

  Elizabeth tried to be as gentle as possible. “Look, I noticed you two have been spending a lot of time together, and I’m worried about you.”

  “Worried about me? Why?

  “Well, it’s just that I don’t think he’s really the type of person you should be with. He’s two years older than you, for a start. And he’s got . . .�
� She stopped, wondering about the best way to phrase this. Caitlin was so desperately naïve that she wasn’t sure how well she’d understand someone like Elliott. “Well, he’s got something of a bad reputation. With girls, that is.”

  Caitlin smiled. “I know he’s had a lot of girlfriends, Elizabeth. And I know that he’s . . .” She blushed. “That he’s experienced.”

  Well, that was something of a relief, Elizabeth thought. She wasn’t totally green, then.

  “But he’s been really kind to me,” Caitlin continued.

  Elizabeth gave a short, cynical laugh. “Yeah, so far, maybe. Elliott can be the perfect gentleman when he wants. But it’s all an act. He only does it as long as it suits him. Once he’s gotten what he’s after . . .” She trailed off, letting Caitlin draw her own conclusions.

  But the younger girl was already shaking her head. “He really isn’t like that,” she said.

  Elizabeth gave an exasperated sigh. “Look, Caitlin,” she said impatiently. She hadn’t anticipated having such a battle with her half sister over this. “I think I know him a lot better than you do.”

  There was a silence. No one said anything for a minute or so. Then Caitlin tentatively asked, “Do you like him yourself?”

  Elizabeth was speechless. “Do I what?” It was such a ridiculous notion that she almost laughed. Almost. “You think I’m saying all this because I fancy Elliott?” She snorted. “Please. Is that what he said?”

  In fact, Elliott had mentioned something to Caitlin that morning. He hadn’t said outright that Elizabeth was jealous—just implied that she’d stopped hanging out with him once he started going out with Morgan. But Caitlin couldn’t tell Elizabeth that. After all, Elliott had sworn her to secrecy. “No,” she said instead, hating herself for lying. “He didn’t say anything—”

  But Elizabeth wasn’t listening. “And you believe him, I suppose?”

  Caitlin hesitated a fraction too long. She wanted to find a way to answer without offending Elizabeth or being disloyal to her boyfriend. But it was already too late. Elizabeth had heard enough. She got to her feet.

  “You know what?” She held up her hands in mock surrender. “If you don’t want to listen to me, then that’s your problem. Learn the hard way.”

  She slammed the door hard on her way out.

  Elizabeth resolved to put the whole unfortunate incident from her mind. She had far more important matters to worry about than what her half sister was up to. She’d said her piece, and if Caitlin wanted to ignore her advice, there wasn’t much she could do about that. Her Cambridge interview was scheduled for early December, only two weeks from now, so all her energy needed to go into that.

  She had arranged to meet her father in London the weekend before the interview. As a Christ’s College graduate, he had been through the whole process and would hopefully have some wisdom to impart. Plus, it was an excuse for Elizabeth to spend some time alone with him.

  The week before they were due to meet, she called several times to check that he was still on for Friday night. William’s assistant assured her with increasing amusement that yes, her father had the whole evening penciled in for her. After classes ended on Friday afternoon, she departed Greycourt in high spirits. Opening up her Porsche on the M11, she covered the distance to London in less than an hour and a half, arriving at Eaton Square in time to take a long bath and freshen up for the evening ahead.

  They had arranged to meet at Le Caprice, off Piccadilly, at seven-thirty. With its convenient location near Melville’s office, the glamorous brasserie had been a favorite with William ever since it had opened nearly a decade earlier. Elizabeth was ready by seven, elegant in a black strapless Versace dress, blonde hair freshly washed and falling neatly to her shoulders. She was about to leave when the phone rang.

  He was canceling. Apparently his old friend, Magnus Bergmann, was in town and had contacted him at the last minute to see if he was free that evening.

  Elizabeth thought quickly. “Can I come, too?”

  “For God’s sake,” William made no attempt to hide his irritation. “You must be able to think of something far better to occupy your evening.”

  “But what about going over my interview questions?” The words were out before she could stop them. She hated having to beg for his time.

  William gave an exasperated sigh. “We’ll talk tomorrow over breakfast before I head down to Somerset. How does that sound?”

  After they said good-bye, Elizabeth sat on the stairs, thinking. Then she picked up the phone and called Claridge’s. She remembered Magnus saying once that it was the only place he would countenance staying when he was in London. She had remembered correctly. The helpful receptionist told her that Mr. Bergmann had just departed for the evening, but if she would like to leave a message . . .

  Elizabeth demurred, saying she would call back later. In fact, she had no intention of doing anything of the sort. She would much rather see him in person.

  Elizabeth’s early memories of Magnus Bergmann were sketchy. He and William had first met in the late sixties, when a young, hungry Magnus had became the Melville heir’s stockbroker. The two men’s professional relationship had swiftly developed into a close friendship, and as they grew older, acquiring wives and then children, it was only natural that their families should socialize, too. When it came time for Elizabeth’s christening at Wells Cathedral, Magnus stood at the font as her godfather. Not that he ever made much effort to fulfill his duties. He wasn’t the type to show a great deal of interest in children, even his own. The appropriate gestures were made—his somewhat insipid wife sent cards and gifts of expensive jewelry on birthdays and at Christmas—but other than that he remained a distant figure in Elizabeth’s life, rather like her father.

  Elizabeth was eight years old when Magnus relocated to New York, to set up a hedge fund. It was a busy time for him. The rare trips he did make to London didn’t factor in time to get down to Somerset. Elizabeth, who had barely known him anyway, hardly noticed his disappearance from her life. That all changed the year she turned sixteen, the year before Caitlin arrived at Aldringham.

  As usual that summer, the family had been vacationing at Villa Regina, the Melville’s elegant stone villa located on the shores of Lake Como. In the Lombardy region of Northern Italy, Lago di Como was less than an hour from Milan and mere moments from Switzerland, which meant it benefited from lush, green Mediterranean mountains rising straight from the water’s edge as well as a backdrop of snow-capped Alpine peaks. It was an idyllic place to be.

  That summer, however, Elizabeth had been having a far from idyllic time. By the third day, she was already bored. Her mother and sister were busy sunbathing and shopping—neither of which interested Elizabeth—and her father was almost constantly on the phone to his office. Uncle Piers, her usual ally, had stayed in England to look after Rosalind, who was recovering from a fall. Elizabeth felt trapped and couldn’t wait for the two weeks to end.

  That particular day, she woke from her riposo before the rest of the house. Slipping into a light summer dress, she stepped out onto the balcony. The oppressive heat of the August afternoon had subsided into the cool of the early evening: the perfect time to wander around the grounds.

  She managed to sneak through the house without disturbing anyone and headed outside. Immediately, she felt better. Like most of the exclusive properties that fringed Lake Como, Villa Regina had charming gardens, stretching down to the lakeside in a series of terraces. She strolled by olive, citrus, and cypress trees and down the villa’s winding cobbled pathway. On impulse, she continued through the cool, damp underground tunnels, which led to the dock where the Melvilles’ sail- and speedboats were tethered. Elizabeth walked to the end of the jetty and sat down, dangling her legs over the side, her toes dipping into the cool water. She closed her eyes, content to listen to the rhythmic sounds of the lake lapping against the great stone walls that surrounded the villa.

  So lost in thought was she that she didn’t r
ealize someone had joined her on the dock until she felt the wood creak under the new arrival’s weight. She turned, expecting to see her father. Instead, she found herself staring up at a tall, good-looking man in his mid-forties.

  “Hello, Lizzie,” he said with a familiarity that threw her. He saw her confusion and smiled. “Don’t worry, I hardly recognized you either—I forgot you’d be all grown up! It’s your Uncle Magnus.” He offered Elizabeth his hand to help her up. As she stood and he fully took in the sixteen-year-old girl, showing off her newly developed figure in a flimsy voile dress, something in his expression changed. “Although perhaps it’s time we dropped the Uncle bit now.”

  Elizabeth felt her bad mood lifting. At last the holiday was beginning to look up.

  Magnus’s decision to come to Lake Como had been a last-minute one, he told her, as they walked back to the villa. He had just been through a messy divorce, and his ex-wife had taken the children to their house in the Hamptons for the summer. He’d wanted some time to himself, and when William had suggested joining them in Italy for a week or so, it had seemed exactly what he needed.

  Elizabeth listened attentively to everything he said. She had never shown any interest in the opposite sex before that summer. At Greycourt she had a reputation for being an ice queen: standoffish, serious . . . clearly frigid. It was the only way her spurned suitors could justify being turned down. But she simply wasn’t interested in schoolboys, who only cared about getting drunk and laid. Magnus Bergmann was nothing like them. He was clever, urbane, and—having amassed a personal net worth of $1.5 billion—highly successful, too. He was someone Elizabeth could look up to. The fact that he was forty-four didn’t even cross her mind.

  Over the next few days, Elizabeth conspired to spend as much time as possible alone with Magnus. It wasn’t difficult. They both loved the outdoors, so during the day they left the others sunbathing by the pool and went windsurfing and waterskiing on the lake. Evenings in Como were low-key, nightlife at a minimum. So after the obligatory three-hour dinner, they would adjourn to the billiards room or the den and stay up late into the night, talking. How well they got on didn’t go unnoticed, but no one thought anything of it. Elizabeth had always been mature for her years and Magnus a father figure to her. It didn’t occur to them to read anything into it.