Second Chances (32 page)

'Using
me?'
She
yelled.
'Where'd
you
get
that
idea?'
The
insulting
implication
that
she
was
loved
only
for
her
money
–
or
rather
his
–
left
Alice
speechless
with
rage.

'Exactly,'
Harry
said
coldly
mistaking
her
silence
for
uncertainty.
‘So,
until
you
come
to
your
senses,
I’ll
make
damn
certain
he
won’t
get
his
hands
on
my
money.’

'Your
money?'
Alice
yelled
after
him
as
he
walked
out.
'Claude
doesn't
want
your
money.
Why
would
he?
Nor
do
I.
I’m
not
Victoria.
I’m
not
James.’

‘More’s
the
pity,'
Harry
shouted
back,
slamming
the
door
of
his
study.
It
was
the
last
thing
he
ever
said
to
her.

Chapter
Two

‘It's
hard,
I
know,
but
you
must
try
and
understand
that
your
mother
has
to
find
her
own
path
now.’
Esther’s
voice
cracked
as
she
spoke.
Three
shocked
and
silent
people
looked
at
her.

‘What
path?’
Alice
asked
dully
turning
from
where
she
had
been
staring
out
of
the
window.
Her
hands
shook,
a
tight,
painful
knot
gripped
her
chest.
‘Where?
How?’

It
had
been
over
a
week
since
Harry
had
died
on
the
company
plane
about
to
land
at
Heathrow.
No-one
had
slept,
nothing
had
been
eaten.
Only
James
had
gone
with
Edward
Pelham,
her
father’s
lawyer,
to
the
coroner’s
court
that
morning.
Molly
just
shook
her
head
when
she
had
been
asked.
And
if
Molly
didn't
go
then
neither
Victoria
or
Alice
would
either.
They
wouldn't
leave
her.

'He
said,'
James
told
the
women
in
Harry’s
life,
all
three
staring
at
him
on
his
return,
‘The
Coroner,
I
mean.
He
said
a
formal
note
would
be
posted.
I
just
jotted
down
the
gist
of
it.
Edward's
got
the
rest,'
James
began
to
read
from
a
rushed
note
that
he'd
made.
'Death
due
to
natural
causes.
A
muscle,
weakened
and
undetected
had
finally
succumbed
to
a
long
flight
and
stress.'

Alice
shook
her
head
in
disbelief.
In
the
wake
of
the
shock
that
he
had
died
at
all,
she
was
simply
bewildered
that
her
name
wasn’t
right
up
there
on
the
list
of
reasons
that
had
finally
defeated
her
father’s
heart.
What
if
she’d
just
agreed
to
give
up
a
man
he
had
loathed,
maybe
he
wouldn't
have
got
so
incensed,
wouldn't
have
died?
But
she’d
refused
and
he
had.

At
almost
five
o’clock
on
a
warm,
gentle,
September
afternoon,
when
they
might
have
expected
to
be
enjoying
a
late
stroll
on
the
beach
that
lay
at
the
foot
of
the
shallow
cliff
beyond
the
house,
the
sun
warm
on
their
backs,
they
were
instead
waiting
for
the
final
visitor,
some
colleague
or
other
of
Harry’s
from
Chicago
to
go,
so
they
could
just
be
alone.
All
day,
in
fact
all
week,
the
house
had
been
filled
with
a
steady
procession
of
visitors
all
wanting
to
air
their
shock,
many
of
them
just
days
before
who
had
been
enjoying
the
hospitality
of
such
a
powerful
man.
Charismatic,
clever,
oh
so
clever,
larger
than
life,
and
now
-
Alice
could
hardly
breathe
let
alone
think
it
-
no
life
at
all.
Each
in
turn
came
and
silently
hugged
Molly,
but
an
hour
before,
Molly
had
sent
her
children
away
while
she
talked
to
the
last
visitor
of
the
day.

‘I’ll
be
five
minutes,’
she
had
said.
‘That’s
all.’

When
they
protested,
she
had
been
almost
furious
in
her
insistence.
‘He’s
come
all
this
way.
No.
No.
I’ll
be
fine.
Alice.
Please.
Let
me
do
this
–
for
–
for
-
him.’

A
feeling
close
to
panic
rose
up
in
Alice's
chest.
Molly
had
been
alone
when
she’d
heard
from
a
grim
faced
Edward
Pelham,
the
chief
of
her
father's
lawyers,
travelling
with
him
who
had
come
straight
from
Heathrow
to
tell
her
she
was
now
a
widow.
James
and
Victoria
had
been
in
London,
Alice
in
Paris
where
she
had
gone
the
very
next
day
after
the
row.

She'd
stayed
for
five
days,
not
caring
that
Claude
had
not
been
able
to
confront
his
wife
because
he'd
arrived
to
find
her
stricken
with
flu
and
his
mother-in-law
in
situ,
glaring
disapprovingly
at
his
unannounced
arrival.
Nor
did
she
care
that
just
a
part
time
helper
was
looking
after
the
gallery.
Not
caring
about
anything
except
her
father's
attempt
to
once
again
sabotage
her
happiness.
Her
sense
of
injustice
that
it
had
been
that
way
throughout
her
life,
transcended
everything
else.
All
of
this
she
poured
out
to
a
shocked
Claude.
He'd
never
seen
her
like
it.
And
then
James
had
called.

The
journey
back
after
James'
desperate
phone
call
had
been
a
blur.
Claude
had
bundled
her
stuff
together
and
gotten
them
both
into
a
cab.
At
Gare
Du
Nord,
shaking
as
much
as
she
had
been,
he
had
tried
to
persuade
someone
to
let
him
see
her
to
the
train.