The Australian Heiress (9 page)

His voice trailed off and the tears came into his eyes. “This is going to kill her, you know. She’s going to see herself as an utter failure.”

Camille couldn’t help but share his fears. “Yes, it is going to be a painful time, but we’re here to give her all our support.”

“She hasn’t been herself for quite a while,” Stephen
said with soft vehemence. “I assumed it was all the changes going on in her body, but I think it’s more serious than that. She’s so sad inside.” Stephen’s healthy color was completely gone. “She’s not very good at telling me how she feels, either. It’s more important to her to act like she’s in control. It makes no real sense. I love her—as does everyone I know. Mom might have sounded angry tonight, but she’s done everything in her power to draw Lindy into the family circle. At the same time Lindy resists. I know she has you.”

He smiled faintly. “You might as well be her sister—the two of you are inseparable. I know Ann and Susan feel excluded. It’s been a kind of a problem in its way, and it could have affected Lindy’s health. Certainly her moods. Yesterday, particularly, she seemed to be in a slump. I suppose it figures she’d miscarry.”

Camille felt a flare of anger. He seemed to see Linda’s miscarriage as something she brought on herself, with her, Camille, playing a pivotal role! “Some time I’d like to talk to you about this, Stephen. I know you’re calling it as you see it, but you mightn’t have the situation entirely right.”

“I
am
her husband,” Stephen said, showing some of his mother’s coldness. “Lindy
is
different from when I married her. Instead of blossoming as I hoped, she’s withdrawn, been on the defensive. She’s even jealous of Fiona—she may have spoken to you about it.”

“Well, you
were
involved with Fiona before Linda,” Camille said, trying to control her hostility.

Stephen returned in a brittle voice, “And I’d still like to call Fiona a friend—after all, I’ve known her
my whole life—but that’s out of the question. What I felt for Fiona and what I feel with Lindy are entirely different. Lindy is my
wife.
I loved her from the moment I laid eyes on her. I love her more now. She’s a special person. When she’s well, she’s a magical creature. She’s wonderful to make love to. She’s a great homemaker. It’s just that—oh, God, I don’t know how to put this—I feel she questions my every relationship. Underneath her sparkle she’s terribly insecure.”

Camille didn’t enjoy hearing all this about her friend. Who was without flaw, anyway? “Well, she’s going to need us now,” she said firmly. “Losing the baby will be rough on her.”

“I wanted it, too, Milly,” Stephen said, a hint of resentment in his voice.

“I know, I know. My heart aches for you, but we both realize Lindy is more vulnerable than most. She was never a child to have been sent away to boarding school at age six. She was a child to be cherished with loving parents.”

“The same thing happened to you,” Stephen reminded her.

“And it’s had its effects.”

“Obviously Lindy isn’t as strong as you,” he said. “You had a profoundly unhappy relationship with your father, yet you’ve come out a real fighter. You must have inherited some of his toughness. Whatever happens to you, Camille, you’re going to survive.”

“Well, be that as it may, it’s not easy for a woman to lose a child. I see it as a terrible crisis.”

“But Lindy was only three months along. Surely she shouldn’t grieve as much as a woman losing a baby that had come close to term.”

“I don’t think Lindy’s going to see it that way.” Camille clamped her hands together, feeling sadly disappointed in Stephen’s reaction.

It seemed a long time later before they were able to see Linda. Stephen first, then Camille, were allowed into the room for a short time.

“It’s over, isn’t it?” Linda said weakly, fixing her gaze on Camille.

While Stephen buried his head against his wife’s side, Camille took her friend’s hand, registering her deep, feeling in her grip. “Yes, it is, Lindy. I’m so sorry.” How inadequate that sounded.

“I can’t manage anything, can I?” Linda said in a voice as wispy as a child’s. In fact, without makeup and so slight she looked about fourteen.

Hurting for her friend, Camille briefly closed her eyes. “Never
that,
Lindy. Things were starting to go wrong, Dr. Bourke told us. It was just one of those sad things that happens in life. It was never your fault.”

“I’m sorry. I think it was.” Linda turned her face to the wall, with a low keening that was to haunt Camille for a long time to come.

T
WO DAYS LATER
Linda was released from hospital. Because Stephen was obliged to be in court, Camille drove Linda home. Her friend was very quiet, very subdued.

“I’ve never felt so much pain,” she confided. “It’s not in my body now. It’s in my head.”

“You’re mourning, Lindy. You have the right. But you mustn’t keep accusing yourself, talking of failure.”

“But I feel so worthless.” A little vein pulsed in Linda’s temple.

Camille felt her own spirits sink. She negotiated the ramp that led off the freeway, taking a right at the next set of lights. “Lindy, I’m here to help you through your grief,” she said, “but I refuse to see you dragged down by misplaced guilt.”

“My mother-in-law said it was all for the best.” Linda was obviously struggling not to cry. “She brought me the most beautiful flowers, but I gave them away.”

“Perhaps she meant well. She’s not the most sensitive woman in the world, but she can’t be that lacking in compassion. Both she and your father-in-law certainly looked distressed when they arrived at the hospital. They wanted to wait to see you, but it wasn’t allowed.”

“So how did
you
get in?”

“I wouldn’t stay out.”

“Yes.” Linda gave an involuntary little smile, then sobered. “Stephen’s dreadfully upset and disappointed.”

“You wouldn’t expect anything else, would you, love? He’s desperately worried about you. He told me he loves you more than ever. He fears you’re slipping away from him.”

“Maybe I am,” Linda said. Her tone was strangely chilling.

For a moment Camille was too stunned to speak. She glanced at her friend. “Lindy, I think you need help. When you’re a little stronger, we’ll find someone good for you to talk to.”

“You mean a shrink?” Linda rasped.

“I mean a dedicated professional who’s trained in these matters. Many people benefit from grief counseling, Lindy. You know that.”

“I thought that’s where
you
came in,” Linda answered almost fretfully.

“I’ll do my best. But I’m not a skilled professional.”

“You could have been a psychiatrist any day,” Linda said with another faint smile.

“I’m just a good listener and I love you. If you broke out in a terrible rash, you’d go to a skin specialist. What’s the difference seeking out help to combat depression? A miscarriage shouldn’t be thought of as a failure, although it’s a source of serious grief. Countless women are walking around who’ve survived it. Maybe they’ve never forgotten, but they’ve had to look to the future.”

“I can’t see a future at the moment,” Linda said, and stared sightlessly out the window.

A
ND THE UPSETS
of the day weren’t over. Not long after Camille arrived home, she got a call from Stephen’s older sister. Ann, an intense rather humorless young woman married to a lawyer, lost no time in relaying the purpose of her call. While Camille tried hard for Linda’s sake to hold on to her temper, Ann gave her to understand that “the family” was deeply upset by Camille’s attitude at the hospital.

“My mother is not used to having her word disputed,” she said severely.

Indeed not, especially as she considered herself infallible, Camille thought.

“I think the very least you can do is apologize for
your behavior,” Ann continued. “And at such a time!”

Keep cool,
Camille cautioned herself.
Think of Lindy.
Though she spoke briskly, she endeavored to keep her tone courteous. “I’m so sorry if I offended your mother, Ann. It wasn’t my intention. I simply thought she was mistaken in saying Linda hadn’t been looking after herself by doing things like lifting heavy garden pots. Linda was enormously protective of the baby. She wouldn’t take anything or do anything that might have harmed the child.”

“Maybe so,” Ann replied with patent unconviction. “But even you will have to admit Linda has certain problems.”

Camille felt a rush of protective love. “Like what?”

Ann’s clipped tone grated. “Camille, I have no wish to get into an argument. I realize you have your own view of Linda, but the family find her terribly defensive when she’s around us.”

“You
do
try to put her down,” Camille retorted, remembering countless instances.

There was an explosive gasp from the other end of the phone. “I absolutely deny that!”

“Then you’re not being honest. I have eyes. And ears. With the exception of your father, none of you shows Linda much warmth. She’s a person who needs love and acceptance to flourish.”

Ann’s voice was cold and thin. “Let me assure you again, we’ve all done our best to make Linda welcome. Stephen knows that if you don’t. Maybe we haven’t achieved much of a breakthrough, but Linda deliberately puts up such barriers. We’re all extremely upset she lost the baby. We dote on Stephen, as you
know. He, too, is suffering. I would have thought you’d recognize that before wading into troubled waters.”

It was time to finish the conversation before she blew her cool. “Look, you’ll have to forgive me, Ann,” Camille said. “I really must go. You’ve said your bit. I’ve said mine. I will
not
be apologizing to your mother. I meant no disrespect. Please assure her of that. I felt it my duty as Linda’s friend to defend her. I might add she’d be simply devastated to hear what your mother had to say.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll fill her in.” The sneer made its way the length of the wire.

“Never!” Camille returned instantly. “Unlike you, I love her.”

F
OR THE REST
of the week Camille kept a constant watch over her friend, visiting her in the hours when Stephen wasn’t at home.

The vague sense of disappointment in Stephen she’d felt the day of Linda’s miscarriage had increased. Although Ann hadn’t named her brother specifically, Camille had the strong impression Stephen, too, had voiced his criticism of her clash with his mother. To her children, at least, Madelaine Carghill was an outstanding woman, full of queenly virtues.

Camille heard nothing from Nick Lombard, for which she was grateful. This was a man who had destroyed her father and had the power to destroy her. She would have to find some way to communicate with Melissa. It would have to be by letter. Not for anything would she ring the house. Though she agonized over the turn of events, she felt a strong pull
toward the child. This was a small person who had suffered enough. She, Camille, had made a commitment to take Melissa shopping, have the child’s long hair cut, and now she had to carry it out.

In the end Camille sat down and wrote a short letter explaining to the child she was going to fulfill her promise as soon as she possibly could. First the house had to be sold, and the auction of it was to be held Saturday of the following weekend. Because she’d always had a talent for drawing, Camille sketched enchanting little characters all around the page—fairies with flowers in their hair and butterfly wings, elves hiding behind toadstools and witches with high peaked hats sailing on broomsticks, and a cheeky little leprechaun wearing a three-cornered hat.

She had the feeling Melissa would like them. She knew that, as a lonely child, Melissa lived in a hidden world where a vivid imagination would play an important part. At the very least Melissa would laugh as Camille did herself when she sat back and surveyed what she’d drawn. One of the fairies even had the look of Melissa, which of course was intentional.

By midmorning of auction day there were people everywhere—in the house, on the grounds, walking down the dock where her father’s multimillion-dollar motor cruiser was still moored. The cruiser had, in fact, been sold, but the owner with the leisurely pace of the very rich hadn’t as yet collected it.

The auction wasn’t going to be any fire sale. The Guilford mansion was expected to be hotly contested. This was prime harborfront property, and such properties were rare.

Because of the heat, Camille had dressed in coolest
white eyelet lawn, subduing the thick masses of her hair in a coil. Her private suite of rooms—bedroom, dressing room, en suite bathroom and adjoining sitting room—had been closed off from the viewing public. She and Dot were well into packing all her things away preparatory to their move. For, once the house was sold, she would move out within a matter of days.

She left the packing for a moment and crossed to the window to look down at the crowd. Her thoughts turned to her future. With Linda so much in need of her companionship, she’d not had the chance to do any apartment hunting, but she
had
sold a piece of jewelry her father had given her mother—a valuable but rather monstrous ruby-and-diamond ring—which gave her much-needed cash and .some breathing space.

She wondered about starting her own art gallery. She knew more than most about art, and her business training would stand her in excellent stead. She would be her own boss. She would have Claude to go to for advice. Maybe even for some of the backing. Whether she could find a bank willing to lend to a Guilford was another matter. Furthermore, she was a woman, and although the world was changing, banks still preferred to deal with men.

Tommy had come up to the suite to find Dot, and seeing Camille at the window, he approached her and said, “If I were you, love, I wouldn’t venture out there and join them.”

“I don’t want to, Tommy—” Camille sighed “—but I feel committed to see it through.”

“It’s not your responsibility, love.” Tommy shook his head. “You don’t have to take on the burden for your father’s sins. There’s a lot of hate out there. It
hasn’t abated in over a year, and all this extra publicity has stirred things up again. So many people were badly burned. I don’t like it at all.”