The Australian Heiress (12 page)

“She hurt my shoulder, but the doctor has fixed it,” her father explained calmly. “Nothing bad happened to me.”

“Or to Camille?”

“Everything’s all right, Melissa.” Camille looked into the little girl’s wounded eyes. Melissa’s face was pinched, anxiety-ridden, entirely without color.

“I
knew
it wasn’t your fault,” Melissa said. “Clare doesn’t like you. Neither does Nanny.”

“Why, that’s simply not true, Melissa,” Clare Tennant protested, her cheeks flushing. She gave the child
a mortified glance. “Poor Nanny! She’s never said a word against Miss Guilford, either.”

Melissa kept nodding her head. “I know, just the same. I hope the lady who did it to you, Daddy, goes to jail. She’s sick in the head. Mommy died. I want you to live.”

“He will, sweetheart.” Camille swallowed the lump in her throat. “Your father is very brave and very strong.”

“He put his life on the line for you. You of
all
people!” Melissa was a frighteningly good mimic. The vocal inflections were Clare Tennant’s exactly.

“It does have a certain irony,” Clare Tennant commented, her cheeks flaming even more. “Nick, surely you should be resting. If Miss Guilford was kind enough to bring you home, I can take over now.”

Melissa gave a quick little jerk, releasing her hand from her father’s. “Go home, Clare. Go away.” For emphasis she raised her thin arms, flailing them in the air.

“Aren’t you a strange one!” Clare Tennant tried to respond lightly, but her eyes were hard.

“I
said,
go away!”

“That’s quite enough, Melissa,” her father rebuked her. “Apologize to Clare this minute.”

Camille felt a surge of anxiety. Melissa was clearly light-years away from her best behavior.

“I won’t!” Melissa raged. “She pretends to be my friend, but she’s not. I’ve seen the way she looks at me.

“Shall I take her to her room, Mr. Lombard?” Miss Larkins stepped forward with folded hands.

He shook his head curtly. “It might be better if
Melissa and I had a private chat. I don’t condone her rudeness, but it’s obvious she’s been deeply shocked.” He took his daughter’s hand and headed for the door. “I’ll be down again shortly. Might I prevail on you to organize tea and coffee in the garden room, Miss Larkins?”

“Of course, sir.” Miss Larkins, back as straight as a ramrod, turned away.

When they were alone, Clare Tennant gave Camille a thin tight smile.

“You’ve certainly demonstrated you don’t
listen.
”

“Please, Mrs. Tennant. This isn’t the time for threats.” Camille returned the hostile gaze without flinching.

“Why not? I’m not the sort of woman who sits back and lets things happen. I’m a determined person. I concentrate on what I want in life, and I want Nick Lombard.”

Camille went cold. “I’m not interested in your plans, Mrs. Tennant. I’m going through to the garden room.”

“Know the house, do you?” Clare Tennant moved with her, clearly on the attack.

“I have been here before.”

“When was this?”

“I don’t consider that any of your business, but I will tell you what does concern me, and that’s Melissa.”

“That’s been tried before, my dear,” Clare Tennant said with heavy sarcasm.

“I’m sure. But not by me. My heart goes out to her. She’s a very unhappy little girl.”

Clare Tennant gave a brittle laugh. “She’s the most
uncontrollable child I’ve ever met Genetic, I’d say. Nick’s wife was very highly strung. One can scarcely blame him for being worried. I expect he’s wondering just how bad it’s going to get.”

Camille felt a sudden disgust. “For heaven’s sake, she’s just a child. A few behavioral problems can be worked out.”

“Obviously you know nothing about the mother.”

Completely out of her depth, Camille quickly entered the garden room with its magnificent assemblage of ferns and other plants. She chose an armchair, and looked fixedly out over the broad sloping lawn.

“Not that Nick doesn’t have his cruel side,” Clare Tennant went on, choosing an armchair opposite. She crossed her long elegant legs, assuming a mockfriendly expression. “He wasn’t at all kind to the poor woman. And she was the type to crave attention, just like Melissa. When Nick turned away from her, she soon got into trouble. She shamed and embarrassed him and he never forgave her. One only has to look at him to know he’s a very proud man. An unforgiving one, too.”

Camille turned back from her blind contemplation of the garden. “Mrs. Tennant, why are you telling me all this?”

The gray-blue eyes bored into her. “For heaven’s sake, dear, you don’t
know
Nick, do you? He’s not the man you think he is. He really knows how to
hate.”

“Would
I
of all people have missed that?”

“Be that as it may, the problem seems to be getting less and less important. I’m not blaming you for being attracted to him, perhaps against your will. But you’re
an intelligent young woman. The attraction has to be addressed. It’s loaded with problems.”

“Are these your usual tactics, Mrs. Tennant?” Camille’s tone was cool.

“I
do
have a reputation for moving quickly.”

“Well, I have to tell you I’m not interested in this contest, as you see it. You can maneuver all you like, but I really do hope he never marries you. For Melissa’s sake if no one else’s.”

“I won’t forget that, Miss Guilford,” Clare Tennant promised. “What Melissa needs, and very badly, is a firm hand. Nick has been spoiling her terribly. It’s called overcompensation.”

“Is it? A man in his position wouldn’t have a lot of time.”

“I’m actually talking about Carole, the mother. A cat would have done a better job. Not even Nick could call his child anything but plain. Carole, for all her odd temperament, was quite beautiful. The child does have Nick’s hair and eyes, but otherwise, she’s an unprepossessing little thing. Carole couldn’t bear to look at her. She regarded the child as her great cross. Not only was Melissa distressingly plain, but she appeared to be backward, as well. I certainly believe that’s how Carole thought of her.”

Camille felt both surprised and shocked. Surprised, because Melissa had described quite a different picture of her relationship with her mother, and shocked that Clare Tennant could say such cruel things. “No wonder, then, Melissa has been so damaged. And no one with eyes like hers could ever be considered plain. Also, she’s exceptionally intelligent. But she’s been
hiding it because she thinks no one, outside of her father, cares about her.”

Clare Tennant laughed. “Quite the advocate, Miss Guilford. But Nick, too, wants the child off his hands. A good boarding school would do it. I’m sure he prays every night she doesn’t turn out like her mother.”

It was too much for Camille. She held up her hands. “I don’t want to hear any more of this. It’s not my business. You claim to be a friend of Nick Lombard’s, yet all you do is speak ill of him, his late wife and his child.”

Clare Tennant shook her head, her eyes contemptuous. “How can filling you in on the facts be regarded as speaking ill of anyone? I
adore
Nick. His very complexity is what makes him so fascinating. I like a man of strong passions. God knows, I had enough of my poor old wimp of a husband.”

“I’ll bet he had enough of
you
before he was through,” Camille was stung into saying.

The older woman only smiled. “Mercifully he had a stroke before he could make another will. He left me a very rich woman. His family has never forgiven me, but who cares? Money opens a lot of doors.”

Camille looked away. “I don’t like you, Mrs. Tennant,” she said quietly.

“Not a lot of women do, my dear,
Men
are a different matter. I’m only seeking to protect my interests. I never go out on a limb unless I have to. You constitute a threat to me. You know it. I know it. In other words, consider yourself warned.”

Camille stood up abruptly. It struck her that Clare Tennant had the same sort of eyes as the woman who’d wanted to kill her. She felt sickened by what
she’d heard, and doubly protective of Melissa. For all her blatant maneuvering, Clare Tennant was right about Nick Lombard. Whatever unholy magnetism drew her, Camille, to him she would have to develop a shield against it. He
was
a complex man and a master manipulator. Just because he’d saved her life didn’t mean he hadn’t worked out a vengeance of his own.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway alerted them. Nick Lombard was returning, holding a much happier-looking Melissa by the hand. At least Clare Tennant was wrong about one thing. Whatever his anxieties about his difficult little daughter, Camille had no doubt whatever Nick Lombard loved her.

Melissa, seeing Camille standing alone by the French doors, broke away from her father.

“Melissa, you have something to do first.” Her father stopped her in her tracks.

Obediently Melissa turned, the brightness of her expression fading as she addressed Clare Tennant.

“I’m very sorry for being rude to you, Clare,” she said in a rehearsed voice. “I apologize.”

Immediately Clare Tennant gave the child a charming smile. “Apology accepted, Melissa. We all say things we don’t mean.”

Camille, standing by the open doors, caught the broad wink Melissa directed at her. It was so adult, so roguish, it was all Camille could do not to burst out laughing. Melissa wasn’t taken in by Clare Tennant, either.

W
ITHIN A WEEK
Camille had moved into an apartment on the North Shore. It was pricey, but it was in a good area with excellent security.

Recent events had made her acutely conscious of the lunatic fringe. She’d been informed that Hilda Gray was being held at a psychiatric institution “indefinitely.” Though not actually stated, it had been implied any release would be a long time off. Mrs. Gray had received the worst possible assessment at the time of her committal—judged of unsound mind and not fit to stand trial.

Though the whole incident upset Camille enormously, she couldn’t help feeling grateful she wouldn’t be a major witness in an attempted-murder trial. That had been her nightmare. Far too much notoriety was already attached to the Guilford name.

Tommy and Dot, after settling her in, had retired to their vacation home in the Blue Mountains. Not far out of Sydney, the area was famous for its scenic beauty and relaxed way of life. It wasn’t far for Camille to travel, either, a major consideration for Tommy and Dot when determining where to live.

Once Camille was settled in, the next thing on the agenda was starting a new career. An art dealer? She would have to see. She’d always made a point of patronizing the showings of the young up-and-coming, her support drawing a good many people with the wherewithal to buy. The established artists she would have to leave to Claude. She intended to concentrate on the new kids on the block. The way to begin, obviously, was to seek Claude’s advice. Their little spat at the Guilford art preview hadn’t prevented him from ringing her several times since Hilda Gray’s attack. The world would come to an end before she and Claude stopped being friends.

Camille drove to his. sandstone cottage. Only a
stone’s throw from a busy thoroughfare, it was completely private, hidden from view down a long narrow easement and fronted by a large old-fashioned garden. At the height of summer it was awash with roses: not the formal beds Camille was used to, but much more relaxed with shallow-rooted perennials, bulbs and color-blended annuals to enhance the “wild garden” theme. One side of the cottage was covered by a large flowering climber with blush pink roses. Camille’s heart lifted at the entrancing sight. Could there be a flower more beautiful than the rose?

As she walked up the stone-paved path swinging the glassy red plastic bag that contained her peace offering—a bottle of Claude’s. favorite Bollinger— Cappy, his marmalade cat, suddenly sprang from his resting place in a cool cave of ferns to wind himself around her legs.

“Hello, sweetie.” She bent and picked the cat up, stroking him while he preened with pleasure. This was a regular game, Cappy making a dive for her ankles—though never once had the cat caused a run in her stockings or inadvertently scratched her.

“It’s about time, too.” Claude beamed as he opened the front door. “You know how I love your visits.”

Camille leaned forward and kissed him. “I’ve missed you, too. The garden’s quite magical. All the wonderful fragrances! You really are a genius, Claude.”

“It’s my escape, dearest. I’ve got some wonderfully weathered old stone vases I’ll show you later. I thought they might look particularly well on your balcony. I’ve got lots of trailing plants that will go in them and spill over the rim. Here, let me take the old
fleabag off you.” He grasped Marmalade and plonked him out the door.

“A little present for you.” Camille passed Claude the gift bag.

Claude peeked in and exclaimed with delight. “If you promise to stay to dinner, we can finish this off together.”

“I’d love to!”

“Come and sit down, darling.” Claude led the way into the drawing room, which was furnished with an overabundance of riches, all of impeccable taste. “I’ve a recent acquisition I’d like to show you. I’m going to keep it for a while before I sell it.”

“As long as it’s not to Perdita Masterman,” Camille said with a groan, settling herself on a sofa upholstered in a rich ruby weave.

“Vulgar old thing!” Claude uncovered a large painting standing on an easel. “Now, look at this. I’m determined to sell it to a true believer. Is it all right to mention Nick Lombard now that he saved your life?” He turned back, eyes twinkling.

Camille ignored the comment about Nick Lombard. She stood up and approached the canvas in her stocking feet. “Claude, how perfectly beautiful,” she breathed. “How in the world did you get this?”

“Darling, I can’t reveal my secrets, not even to you.”

“You’ll have to let me in on a few. I’m thinking of becoming an art dealer.” Camille couldn’t take her eyes off the large impressionist painting of a beautiful young Edwardian woman reclining in an armchair. The mood was romantic, soft, languorous.

“Ah, wonderful plan, Camille. You know I’ll support
you in every way I can,” Claude promised. He turned back to the painting. “The family who owned this have had it in their possession since the late 1890s. They’re not as rich as they used to be, but still rich by anyone else’s standards. No one will notice it’s missing from their wall, because they’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get a reproduction. It looks the genuine article from a distance, but it would never stand up to close scrutiny.”