The Australian Heiress (17 page)

She turned and moved to the staircase, but Clare Tennant followed her up. “He’s just using you, you know.”

Camille didn’t react.

“I mean it,” Clare Tennant said. “You’re beautiful and you’re young. But don’t pit yourself against me.”

Camille met the fanatical blue-gray eyes. “I’m not frightened of you, Mrs. Tennant.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

I
T WAS OVER AN HOUR
before Nick returned home. Most of the afternoon had been taken up at a board meeting where he’d made the decision to fire two top executives. They simply weren’t pulling their weight, although they’d been given their chance. It was all part of the strategy to streamline management, but such hard decisions took their toll.

He had scarcely let himself into the house before Melissa came running down the stairway crying, “Daddy! Daddy!” at the top of her lungs. Her eyes were shining and her cheeks glowed with healthy color.

He put his briefcase down and looked at her with surprise and delight. “So this is the new hairstyle. I
love
it.” He held out his arms.

Melissa ran into them. “I knew you would!” She put two hands to the top of her head, pressing down
on the glossy waves. “Do you like my dress? I’ve got new sandals, too.” She pointed a foot.

He stood back admiring while Melissa fluffed out the tiered skirt of her denim dress.

“Très chic!”
He smiled, not knowing even his daughter was subject to its heart-stopping effect.

“I should have worn my straw hat,” Melissa said, basking in his approval. “It has a band to match my dress.”

Quite simply she looked like a different child. She had beautiful hair. The
family
hair, he thought. His sister, Elizabeth, had worn her hair much the same way as a teenager, but Melissa’s long thick braid had somehow disguised her crowning glory. Now her curls framed her pointed little face, creating sparkle and softness and drawing attention to her large liquid eyes.

“Where’s Camille?” he asked. “Couldn’t she stay?”

“I’m here.” Camille, who had remained on the gallery while Melissa had her moment with her father, descended the stairs. Just the sound of his voice caused her heart to pound. He was staring up at her with something like flame at the center of his eyes, causing a wave of intense emotion to flood her—pleasure and melancholy.

Melissa ran up the stairs to grasp her hand, drawing her down to where her father was standing. “We had a
wonderful
time, Daddy.” She spoke in a high excited voice. “We had something to eat in a coffee shop, then we bought all sorts of clothes.”

“That was very kind of you, Camille.” His smile pierced her heart. “You must tell me what it all came to.”

“The dress and matching hat are gifts—from me,” she said. “We can sort out the rest later. I was only waiting until you got home. I understand you’re going out to dinner?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I’m afraid I’m committed.”

She raised her delicate brows. “That’s scarcely gallant.”

“I didn’t know gallantry was called for.” He looked puzzled.

Camille bent and dropped a kiss on Melissa’s cheek. “I must go now, darling. We’ll meet again soon.”

For answer Melissa put her arms around Camille and hugged her. “Thank you, thank you…my best friend.”

“Y
OU’RE IN AN AWFUL RUSH,
aren’t you?” Nick said dryly as he escorted Camille to her car.

“I have to tell you I don’t get on at all well with your lady friend.”

“Which one is that?” he asked mildly.

“Why, Mrs. Tennant. She’s waiting for you in the library.”

“Lord, she’s early.” He came to a halt and stared back at the house, so she couldn’t gauge his expression.

Perturbed by the strength of her feelings, Camille inserted her key into the lock, turning to face him only because he left her no space. His tall body radiated the now familiar power. They were shaded by trees, and the shadows seemed wrought with furious excitement.

“I’ll say good-night.” Her voice was low, a bit shaky.

“Don’t be a fool, Camille. Clare Tennant is a friend, no more.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“I do if I get this reaction. I’ve known Clare for years. She was friends with my wife. In fact, she was very helpful to her for a time. I can’t forget that.”

“And what happened? She fell in love with you?” Camille was awash with heat and hostility.

“My entire focus was on my
wife”
he said in equally heated tones.

“And afterward you and Clare Tennant began an affair?”
Oh, God, why am I saying this,
she thought.
It’s so demeaning.
“Forgive me, I have to go.”

“Camille, you’re talking nonsense.” He tried to detain her. “It’s you I have to see.”

“No.” She was breathing fast. “You’ve radically altered my life. All the old foundations have gone.”

“Please try to be calm.”

“Believe me, I’m trying.”

“A minute please.” He tilted her face, saw her distress. “No more incidents? Nothing to report?”

She shook her head. “I suppose you still have someone watching me,” she said.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I want to make sure you’re OK.”

“I don’t want you to. I don’t want to be under any obligation to you.”

“But you
are,”
he.said somberly. “Destiny saw to that.”

“If you believe in destiny.”

“Don’t you?”

She stood mesmerized as his mouth came hungrily over hers.

It was madness. Utter madness. Yet she felt she had never lived without it

“You’re as desperate as I am, aren’t you?” he murmured as he pressed kisses all over her face.

“I’m lost and confused.”

“What is life if it’s not a search?”

“For love, for truth?”

“There’s one thing I
do
know,” he said, his tone intense. “I want
you.”

Facing the house, Camille eventually became aware that someone was standing at the living-room window. Before the curtain dropped back into place, she caught the gleam of blond hair.

Clare Tennant.

Camille could almost feel the hatred pour out to her in waves. Probably the woman had been standing there for some time. A witness to their desperate kissing.

Camille didn’t doubt it would unleash some new fury….

T
OWARD THE MIDDLE
of the following week Claude rang to say they’d lost out on the premises he had in mind for Camille’s gallery.

“I mean I know the guy
personally!”
Claude said in exasperation. “He promised we could have first option and now he tells me he’s selling to some developer who intends to knock the whole place down. I’m so sorry, sweetie. It would have done very nicely, but we’ll find somewhere else.”

Camille was disappointed, but she didn’t expect anything to be handed to her on a golden platter.

“Why don’t we contact a real-estate firm?". Linda suggested over lunch next day. “Stephen could help out. He knows everyone in the property market.” She paused. “Only trouble is, we’re not talking much to each other.”

“He still won’t go along with you to Max Courtney?”

Linda smiled wanly. “I dare not even broach the subject” There were dark shadows beneath her lovely eyes.

“And your sex life?”

Linda sighed deeply. “It used to be wonderful. Now we turn our backs to each other. From passion to indifference. That’s what comes with death, with grief.
I’ve not only lost my child, I feel I’ve lost my husband, as well.”

Camille was dismayed and saddened. “You can’t let losing the baby cripple you, Lindy.”

“I’m trying not to let it, love.” Linda lifted a fork, began to pick at her salad. “Every morning I tell myself I’m going to try and heal the rift between us. But I’m not even sure Stephen still loves me. He’s turning more and more to the family.”

“Pull him back if you want him, Lindy. You
do,
don’t you?” Camille asked bluntly.

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.”

C
AMILLE 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.