The Australian Heiress (21 page)

N
ICHOLAS STAYED
for a full week to help them settle in. Time he couldn’t actually afford, but he was determined to see Camille and his troubled little daughter happy and safe in a secure environment.

He’d explained as much as he needed to his longtime manager, Andy Sutherland, a man he trusted with his life. Andy’s wife, Desley, was also made aware of the need for extra vigilance, as were all station staff. Kurakai was a thousand miles from anywhere, but nowhere on earth was one hundred percent secure.

During that week they went everywhere, Nicholas and Camille riding out in the cool of early morning or late afternoon when Melissa was either asleep or napping. On other occasions all three of them traveled around in the Jeep or in the station helicopter. It was an extraordinary time. Each day was crammed with wondrous new sights and sounds as they explored the miracle of the living desert

Only once did Camille have a fright. They’d come upon a massive goanna taking refuge in a mulga tree. More than eight feet long with powerful limbs and tail, the lizard had shown its forked tongue in a most alarming fashion.

Melissa had laughed merrily. “They’re harmless, Camille! He sticks out his tongue when
he’s
afraid. That’s the big giant of the lizards. Hasn’t his skin got a fantastic pattern?”

Camille much preferred the kangaroos, which were everywhere, along with emus, the big flightless birds who liked nothing better than to pace the Jeep. The color changes from early morning to the brief mauve twilight had to be seen to be believed, moving as they did through the spectrum of baked-in pottery colors. Sometimes the glow was so strong everyone and everything turned roseate. The spinifex, tall seed stalks golden by day, became silver against the dying light, and the fiery colors of the sun-scorched land faded to every conceivable violet tint. Camille particularly loved the ghost gums with their stark white trunks. Such a bold contrast to the fiery red of the rocks and the blazing blue of the sky.

On their dawn rides, Camille and Nicholas were serenaded by orchestras of birds, their piercing sweet sounds traveling for miles as the sun swept up over the great pyramid-shaped sand hills to gild desert and plains.

“I feel like a worshiper in a temple,” Camille said, her body swaying gently in the saddle.

Nicholas nodded, watching the expressions that moved across her face. “The aboriginals regard the sun as a woman. She is the great goddess of creation and one of their most powerful deities. The moon is a man. As long as I can remember, there’s always been a dawn ritual of welcome to the sun woman. I’m not surprised you think you’re in a temple. I have the same feeling.” He paused. “You’re quite the accomplished
horsewoman, aren’t you?” It delighted him, having such a perfect companion for his morning rides.

“Nicholas, I was taught
everything,
” she said with a shallow little laugh. “That way my father never had to see me.”

He shrugged. “For someone who had such a deprived childhood, you’ve turned out awfully well.”

“Perhaps a bit better than my own expectations.” She glanced at him and smiled wryly. “Childhood is such a crucial time. The make-or-break time.”

“I had a wonderful childhood,” he said. “Blessed. But then I think of Melissa. Her self-image, despite all my efforts, has not been good. It’s not a question of material things—good food, good clothes, a fine place to live.”

“No. It’s about attending to a child’s emotional needs.” Camille sighed deeply. “Don’t I know. Melissa is a highly intelligent child, but somehow she came to believe she was generally unattractive. I don’t want to make you feel bad, Nicholas, but that’s the way it’s been.”

There was a somber look in his eyes. “Good people have tried to help, Camille. Up until the time you came into our lives, Melissa was filled with anger.”

“She’s so
little
and she felt rejected.”

“Never by me.” He shook his head.

“But
you
have a big job to do. You’re a very busy man.” And then, because she couldn’t banish the past, added, “You directed a lot of energy into bringing down Harry.”

It was probably a full minute before he answered. “I’m not going to deny it. Talking about it obviously raises powerful emotions in both of us. But this past week all the terrible things that happened have been swept from my mind, the problems put on hold. I thought you, too, had all but forgotten them, but they spill out, it seems.”

They’d reached the lagoon now, and they stopped and dismounted, Nicholas hitching the reins of the horses to a low branch. Great stretches of the dark green water were covered in waterlilies with huge leaves and spectacular pink flowers, while all around the perimeter grew trumpet flowers and a wealth of flowering grasses.

“Maybe we’re only pretending to be normal,” Camille said, walking nearer the water. “Maybe we’re hiding from ourselves like children hide in an attic.” She picked a wild hibiscus, stared down into its deep velvety center.

“So you think we’re
not
normal?” he asked ironically.

“I think we’re damaged people, Nicholas. We’ve experienced psychological disturbances that don’t happen to everybody.”

“We’re handling it, aren’t we?” His tone was terse.

“Are
we?” She raised her eyes to his. He was the very picture of masculinity and, it had to be said, arrogance. “What more do you expect to learn of Harry? Of
me?
Your feelings, like mine, are very complex. They press down on us.” She took off her hat and loosened the coil of hair at her nape.

“But it all comes back to the same thing.” His eyes followed her movements. “I’m in love with you, Camille. You can’t fail to know that. You’ve had a momentous effect on me and my life. My child’s life. It’s as if…you’ve been sent to us.”

She, too, felt the power of destiny. “But we were enemies! That’s how I felt. That’s how I lived my life. You’ve forced me to question all my old beliefs. You’ve forced me to look into my father’s soul.”

He appeared to grit his teeth. “Forgive me if I’ve hurt you. But such a man as Harry Guilford
had
to be exposed. He was a destroyer.” Nicholas paused. “Furthermore, I believe he sent Natalie to her death.”

Camille was overwhelmed by his admission, overwhelmed by the thought of so great a secret kept for so long a time. “What you’re saying is terrible.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” He turned to her with urgency, his expression a mix of sympathy and anger. “Maybe he didn’t
intend
to push Natalie off that yacht. Maybe she’d pushed
him
to his limit. Such a man would act. Natalie was pregnant with my uncle’s child. If she told him, that would be enough to put Guilford over the edge. He was a violent man.”

“And he was my father.”

“I am so sorry, Camille. So sorry. You couldn’t be less like him.” Nicholas was pale beneath his dark golden tan.

“But what could we do about it even if it was true?”

“Natalie took her unborn child with her,” he said bleakly. “Two murders. It has always been important to me to avenge that. It has always been important to me to expose Harry Guilford for what he was. A vendetta, I admit it.”

“Surely you don’t mean to reopen inquiries into my mother’s death!” she gasped. “Introduce new evidence from the past.”

His gaze never left her face. “Not now. Avenging
my uncle led me to
you.
Your father was the symbol of all that was bad. You are the symbol of all that is good.”

Camille’s beautiful eyes sprang tears. “How can we possibly bridge the past when my feeling for you is a kind of terror? There are so many strands to
your
feelings, Nicholas. In a way you’re dangerous to me.”

“Never!”
He held her shoulders, his hands communicating a powerful emotional charge.

“Am I expected to make expiation?”

“Don’t, Camille. Please. I can’t think of you in terms of punishment or revenge.”

“But you did once?”

He saw more than her loveliness. He saw her fear. “I told you at the beginning—you are the innocent victim.”

“Only I won’t be a victim,” she said with spirit “I’m going to make a good life for myself. I’m confident it can be done.”

“With or without me?” The timbre of his voice caused ripple after ripple of sensation to pass through her.

“I don’t know what you want of me, Nicholas,” she said poignantly. “I know you want me sexually.”

“You’re not going to tell me you don’t want me, are you, Camille?”

“That’s our dilemma,” she said sadly. “Trying to reconcile longing with deep-seated angers. Don’t let’s talk of it anymore. This week has been wonderful. For all of us. A complete break from anxiety. And Melissa’s emerging as a terrific little person. It gives me great pleasure to see her gaining confidence and control.”

“Has it struck you what it might do to her if you ever tried to walk away?” he asked almost harshly.

Camille tried to step back, but he reached out to hold her. “You want to tie me to you, don’t you, Nicholas?”

“I want to
bond
you to me,” he said, fierceness and tenderness coming together. “I want you to sleep with me tonight.”

She wavered, sick with desire, but panicked by the history of those who had gone before. “No.”

“I think so. All week I’ve tried desperately to keep control. I can’t anymore. Let me love you tonight. Let me take the clothes from you, look at you. Let me say things to you you’ll blush to remember. I’m a man, Camille. I need you. I believe you feel the same way. I swear to you I’ll solve our problems somehow. Nothing and no one will drive a wedge between us. No more barriers.”

He paused. “You will sleep with me tonight, my love.”

“Yes, if you want me.”

“I can’t wait,” he replied with consuming desire.

He wound his hand through her full silky mane of hair, burying his face in it. Then his mouth descended on hers, and he kissed her as though he couldn’t get enough of her lips. Finally he lifted his head, and there was such a blaze in his eyes Camille felt her body go liquid inside.

“Nothing and no one will drive a wedge between us,” he repeated.

T
HAT EVENING
they set about one of the most enjoyable activities of all—decorating the Christmas tree.

A sixteen-foot-high Koster’s blue spruce, it had been specially flown in from Sydney to whence it would return after the festive season was over. Its pyramid shape and silver-blue pendulous branches would serve marvelously for their Christmas tree. It took four stockmen to bring the tree into the house that very afternoon, and now it stood in the large entrance hall beside the cantilevered staircase, begging to be decorated with love, imagination and flair. The huge sandstone pot it had been placed in was a work of art in itself, a soft rose in color, square in shape, decorated with raised medallions and standing on ball-and-claw feet.

For well over an hour before dinner, Camille assisted by a joyous Melissa, had carried down from the attic boxes of glittering baubles and ornaments the family had collected over the years. There were yards and yards of evergreen roping, which Camille thought would look very effective arranged in swags down the staircase and decorated with glittering balls in all the brilliant hues of Christmas—red, green, silver and gold.

Nicholas had had a stream of faxes to attend to, but he came through to the hall from time to time to admire their efforts. Mozart’s
Magic Flute
was drifting all through the house. The sight of his little daughter looking so happy and confident as she went to and fro hanging all the sparkling ornaments was the best present of all.

She and Camille had dressed up for the occasion, as well, Melissa’s idea, he learned later. She’d chosen a bright red sundress with white piping, a red ribbon threaded through her hair. Camille was wearing a full
emerald skirt and a little matching top with shoestring straps, a wide gold belt cinched around her waist

It was a moment of bittersweet delight for Nicholas. Who would have thought that, of all women, he would want Natalie’s daughter? Natalie who had shattered so many lives. His uncle’s. His family’s.

Lombard knew he wasn’t a forgiving man. He even recognized that his own grief had taken him to unhealthy depths. Since he’d met Camille, he’d been trying to fight his way out of them. He had to start life again. Look toward the light.

At that moment Melissa called to him, great dark eyes filled with joy. “We’re going to leave it to you, Daddy, to put the angel on top. That’s the best job of all!”

T
HEY MISSED
Nicholas after he’d gone, his comforting strength and vital presence, but Camille quickly picked up the reins, fulfilling her new role as Melissa’s friend, companion and mentor.

It wasn’t exactly plain sailing. Melissa had become used to getting her own way in most things, but Camille dealt calmly with all the child’s concerns as they presented themselves.

The days were filled with enjoyable activities, but Camille insisted on periods of rest and a routine bedtime. At the same time they started music lessons, which Melissa took to like a duck to water. There was a grand piano in the drawing room—Aunty Elizabeth played it every time she came, Melissa said—so Camille, who’d studied the piano from age six to seventeen hit on the idea of not only introducing Melissa to the instrument but starting her on a musical education.

It couldn’t have worked out better. Melissa was quick to grasp everything Camille showed her, and her manual dexterity was a decided bonus.

“You’re working wonders with Melissa,” Desley Sutherland told her, her pleasant features full of admiration. “That little soul has been hurting ever since I can remember. Mr. Lombard is a wonderful man, a
loving father and the best employer we could ever wish for, but she’s been desperately missing a mother figure.”

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.”

T
HE 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.

T
HE 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 was 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.”