Guardian to the Heiress (7 page)

“It so happens she does, Troy,” Damon broke in, in a voice that halted any further inquiry. “Carol is not here to answer questions.”

Troy backed off, still glaring his defiance.

“This is a nightmare!” Dallas exclaimed, desperately wishing for Carol to disappear to parts unknown. “What on earth am I going to tell my friends?”

“
What
friends, Mother?” Troy asked quite viciously.

“Blessings on you, too, dear.” Dallas shot him a fierce broadside.

“Mind how you speak to your mother, Troy,” Maurice Chancellor intervened half-heartedly. He was sick to death of the two of them, wife and son. They gave him no respect, no affection.

Damon began to push Selwyn Chancellor’s last will and testament with its copy into his briefcase, allowing a couple of loose sheets of paper to fall onto the magnificent carpet. “Litigation is out of the question,” he said quietly as he bent to retrieve them. “My client is Selwyn Chancellor’s daughter by his elder son, his heir. It’s fitting, given the past, that reparation be made.”

“And what circumstances would that be?” Dallas demanded, howling her shock and rage, as good as any theatrical performance.

Damon fixed his brilliant dark eyes on her. “I would think you would know, Mrs Chancellor. As a family, you did not support her. It will take time for Carol to see her way clearly. She will get every support from me and others appointed by her grandfather. My client has told me in advance she is prepared to be reasonable in all matters. I would suggest the family present a united front to avoid a media circus. We all know there will be a blaze of publicity when it’s known Carol is her grandfather’s principal beneficiary.”

Damon moved. With his height, he was towering over Dallas who stood looking up at him, her cheeks jiggling with wrath. “We don’t need any lectures from you, young man.”

“Correction—Ms Chancellor’s solicitor and financial adviser,” he said blandly. “Bradfield Douglass will want to keep the family’s business. The fortune remains in the family, only there has been a redistribution.”

“Revenge!” Dallas shook a raised fist. She was in a highly emotional state. “That’s what it’s all about.” She let her long-suffering resentment rip. “There’s still a possibility we can fight this...this...
warped
will.”

“Frankly, Mrs Chancellor,” Damon said, “You don’t stand a chance. Many thanks for afternoon tea. Time for us to be getting back to town. If you have any further questions in the days ahead, I’ll be happy to answer them. Interment is on Friday afternoon at 2:00 p.m. A few close friends and colleagues of Mr Chancellor will attend. They’ve been advised—all are coming. A memorial service will be held in St Mary’s Cathedral in Sydney Wednesday of next week, as you know. A caterer has been appointed to take charge of the small reception after the interment. They’ll arrive before midday from Sydney. At this sad time, my client wanted to take that small burden off the family.”

Dallas’s steely eyes flashed. “Don’t you just love her? She’s all
heart.
” Her voice was so harsh she might have had a scouring pad stuck in her throat.

“You would be wise to be grateful, Mrs Chancellor,” Damon said in clipped professional tones.

“I’ll see you out,” Maurice Chancellor announced, waving an arm in the general direction of the front door. Obviously he intended continuing on in the role of legitimate master of Beaumont.

“Thank you, Uncle Maurice,” Carol said.

CHAPTER THREE

T
HE
INTERMENT
WAS
a harrowing experience. Everyone was glad when it was over, but mercifully a brilliant sun shone down on them. There was a point when Carol thought she just might cave in on herself. Scenes from the past began to invade her mind: the happy times with her grandfather; picking him flowers before he left for the city; the occasional but delightful walks she had enjoyed with her gentle little grandmother who had not been cut out for the life she had married into.

Damon had given her a photograph of herself as a schoolgirl. It had been taken outside the front gates of her school. Who else but her grandfather would have taken it, or caused it to be taken? It was the photograph Damon had retrieved after it had fallen out of a book that first day at Beaumont. He had guessed correctly she would want to have it. Perhaps there were lots of other photographs. She knew she would go in search of them; such mementoes were very important to her now.

Know that I loved you, Poppy. Know that I loved you, Nona. Know that I love you, Daddy.

The memories were tumbling freely. She felt a tremendous weight of regret. But she was in a different time now, a different space. There was only today.

Her grandfather had been much taken by the fact Franklin Delano Roosevelt, the great American President, had been buried in his mother’s rose garden at Springwood, the Roosevelt family estate. That set a precedent for Selwyn. He and his Elaine lay side by side, finding a closeness that had eluded them in life. Her mother, who had a hide any rhinoceros might covet, actually turned up with her husband, Jeff, who did the driving. Roxanne delighted in throwing the cat among the pigeons.

Jeff looking very sleek and prosperous gave Carol a wry smile and a too-intimate hug, near crushing her body to him. One had to wonder what secret feelings were lurking beneath Jeff’s affable exterior.

“Let go, Jeff,” she said briefly, wanting to kick him.

“Sweetheart, I’m just so pleased to see you. You never call. You never ring.”

“Gosh, I wonder why?”

Her mother spoke like a woman forever doomed to be misunderstood. “Your father was my
husband,
Carol.” A perfectly good reason for her presence, apparently. Roxanne was looking marvellous, but wearing a sweet, spicy perfume that was making Carol feel a bit sick.

“Husband number one,” Carol said.

Roxanne countered. “How long do I have to suffer your flip remarks? I have a right to be here, Carol. I’m your mother.”

Her tone riled, but Carol kept control. Too many people were watching. Marcus Bradfield’s wife, for one. Valerie Bradfield had her head cocked at the best angle to overhear. Carol knew for a fact Valerie detested her mother. “So, will it be okay if I call you Mum, then?”

Roxanne wasn’t about to accept that. “You don’t deserve me.” Her voice throbbed with lack of gratitude. “You don’t deserve any of this!” Roxanne made a sweeping gesture with her arm.

“Watch it, Mum,” Carol warned. “You might knock another Chinese vase off its stand. From here on in, all breakages must be paid for.”

Roxanne was in no mood for humour. “To think you can joke on a day like this!”

“Make a fuss, Mum, and I’ll have someone see you and Jeff out,” Carol returned quietly.

“You learn fast, don’t you?” Roxanne spoke with great bitterness. “You’re going to be just like...”

“Get a handle on it, Mum. Damon Hunter is coming this way.”

Roxanne stared halfway across the drawing room. No trouble spotting the tall, very handsome young man dressed in an impeccable dark suit. There was a man who captured attention. In photographs he looked very dashing. In the flesh he looked like a Renaissance prince with his glossy sable hair, bronze skin and brilliant coal-black eyes. “He’s not going to be able to do everything for you, Carol. You’ll need someone. You’ll need
me.
Just remember that.”

“Don’t forget to remind me to remember that,” Carol said drolly.

“There you go again with your wisecracks.”

“I don’t want to go near chucking you out, Mum. I hope you noted the big hug Jeff gave me. One of the reasons I moved out.”

“God forgive you,” Roxanne said, a pious look on her face. “Jeff has been a splendid stepfather to you.”

“Get the blinkers off for once in your life, Mum.”

As Damon approached, Roxanne’s outraged face settled into an alluring smile. Roxanne was man bait. A brunette with a magnolia skin and ice-blue eyes, she looked wonderful in black.

“Introduce me,” she managed, out of the side of her mouth. “I have a hundred questions to ask him.”

“Just be sure you have nothing to hide.”

“All families have something to hide, Carol,” Roxanne answered with a brief laugh.

“Indeed they do. Especially the Chancellors. Don’t expect Damon to answer any of your questions. You might have to make do with the introduction.”

* * *

When it was time to leave her uncle drew her into his arms. It wasn’t a close hug like Jeff’s, but outwardly the action of a fond uncle. Carol experienced the same odd feeling of trepidation. Had her uncle frightened her when she was a child? If he had, she retained no memory of it. He wouldn’t have dared in any case. She had been her grandfather’s little princess.

“Call me when you want to take a run out to Beaumont,” he said as though nothing had changed. “I can’t come to grips with the fact my father left the estate to you, Carol. But I don’t want you to think I blame you in any way. It was my father’s idea of revenge.”

“That may not have been his motive at all, Uncle Maurice. I’m my father’s daughter. Grandfather’s feelings of remorse must have gone very deep. I know how much you love Beaumont. You will have plenty of time to find yourself another country retreat. I believe Mayfield is coming on the market?”

Maurice Chancellor’s blue eyes blazed. “My dear, I couldn’t settle anywhere else other than what has been the family home. But I do want to thank you for your consideration.”

“Perfectly all right, Uncle. It doesn’t seem appropriate today to mention
I
got none.”

That was not well received.

* * *

She sailed through her second-year exams, her personal best. She’d put in a lot of hard work. She didn’t have any distractions, nor did she allow them. It would have been impossible for her to remain in the flat, even if there had been room with Tracey moving in. But from the very day her grandfather’s death had hit the headlines she’d known she was about to become a target. Even then she hadn’t fully realised just how bad it was to become until the memorial service given for her grandfather. Anyone who was anyone had been invited. The cathedral had been packed.

Damon had stayed close to her. Even then he had organised security to shield her, big men in dark suits. The media had been out in force, all the channels, the newspapers, the whole nine yards. They hadn’t hesitated to chase her and poke microphones in her face. Even then she had felt besieged, hedged in on all sides. It was a kind of violation to have so many eyes on her. She’d got a taste of how difficult it must be for celebrities to cope with all the unwanted attention.

Damon continued to come to her rescue. He released immediate funds for her to buy a harbour-side apartment that guaranteed security. He had actually taken the time to go with her while she made a choice between three apartments that offered all she wanted. She had an idea security was still around but she never caught sight of anyone. Obviously they were professionals.

She was getting very used to Damon.
Too
used. He was becoming so familiar to her, changing her existence. His manner was always correct. One of the reasons she had worked so hard to get top marks for her end-of-year exams was that she wanted to impress Damon. Winning his approval had fuelled her efforts. Privately she acknowledged that. On a couple of occasions, she had even picked his brains. She’d told Professor Deakin, and he’d laughed. The professor was mightily pleased with her. Her tutors were equally pleased.

Damon had made a point of seeing her each week. A “catch up,” he called it. Sometimes they managed coffee. Nothing like a date. Gosh, no; nothing like. She thought she could never close the gap between them. He was charming, committed, immensely helpful but clearly she was his client. His most important client, as it happened, but a line in the sand had been drawn. In any case, rifling through glossy magazines she had seen photographs of him at this or that function, always with a glamour girl on his arm.

She couldn’t believe he could get serious about Amber Coleman. She might look terrific, but from all accounts she was a bird brain. Maybe the gossips were wrong. Maybe she was highly intellectual and hiding it. Didn’t someone clever say it benefited the wise man to appear a fool? Sounded a bit like Confucius. Women had a long history of hiding their intelligence from men. Modern woman had a chance to totally reverse that. Why not take it? Some were very slow.

This evening was a special occasion. Damon was taking her out to a celebration dinner at arguably the best restaurant in town, and there were plenty of them to vie for top place. She had never been there. It wasn’t a restaurant that catered for potentially noisy students; they had their own haunts. She continued to see her friends. She continued to help out, reminding herself not to overdo it. Especially with Amanda, who had started to act as if now she was mega-rich she had an obligation to look after them. She hadn’t in the least minded paying for Emma’s nose job. With the tip docked and the bridge reshaped, Emma was a new woman. It was heart-warming to see Em’s self-confidence notch up several degrees. There was no reason why she couldn’t find her prince.

She knew she couldn’t wear one of her exuberant sparkly little numbers that showed off her limbs, especially her legs. She wanted to look older, more mature. She knew she couldn’t look like his usual glamour girls, nor match their height. Not one of them was petite, but then he was so tall. He didn’t favour short girls. Hence the killer heels, fuchsia strappy sandals to match her dress. She’d had her unruly hair cut by the best, the thickness layered to frame her face. She and the hairdresser had settled on just short of shoulder-length. It was then long enough to pull back when she wanted.

She didn’t have jewellery to speak of. Well, not yet. Her mother had tons, but hadn’t offered to lend her anything.

For God’s sake, Carol, can’t you buy something for yourself?

Her mother had barely been able to cope with her daughter’s good fortune.

They’ll hate you more than ever, Carol. I’d definitely keep my eye on them. They could even try to have you killed.

She hadn’t been proud of her response, but her mother’s warning had held more than a lick of personal satisfaction. “Well,
you’d
know all about that, Mother.” If she’d delivered that crack in person, she would probably have had to have her jaw wired.

In the end she sought the advice of a very smart woman she knew, mother of one of her university friends, a lovely, kind lady. Together they had gone to a very fashionable boutique after hours where Carol had tried on various evening and dinner dresses suitable for her age and petite figure. She wanted something she could wear with ease. The last thing she wanted was to feel self-conscious. Finally, heads together, they had settled on a beautifully cut, unembellished fuchsia silk satin. It was one-shouldered, with wide ribbonlike detailing on the shouldered side. The dress hugged her figure, but it wasn’t too tight. She hated that look.

“Very chic!” was the judgement.

Clearly the boutique owner had expected her to buy more and hopefully become a future customer. She intended to, so they had not embarked on a spending spree but a collection of clothes she would need. Afterwards she had rung Sydney’s most admired florist to organise one of her prized baskets of exquisite summer blooms to be delivered to her mentor’s address.

The neckline didn’t call for a necklace, but she definitely needed earrings. She had a pair of gold-plated drop earrings that looked like sapphires and diamonds but were actually fine cubic zirconias and dark-blue topaz. They would do. Amanda’s verdict when she had first worn them:
‘a trotting horse wouldn’t notice the difference.’

That had to be one of Amanda’s grandmother’s sayings. Amanda often quoted her maternal grandmother’s pearls of wisdom. Her grandmother had been born in Ireland, something Amanda was very proud of.

How quickly did life change? Since her abandonment at age five, she had wanted to feel secure. Something else that was very important to her was trust and a feeling of companionship with a man. She had never achieved that since the days of her father and grandfather. Damon Hunter ticked all the boxes. She felt he was her loyal friend, not just her legal advisor and trustee. Her feelings ran the whole gamut of emotions. He was her friend, but never
lover.
She caught her breath at the very thought. She even dreamed about him. Dreams that ran on and on. She didn’t fool herself. She had a mega-crush on him. Who could blame her? It was making it difficult for her usual beaux to get a look in.

* * *

If Carol had been at all prone to stage fright, she would have been petrified the moment they entered the restaurant. As the maître d’ showed them to their table, interest was palpable. As they passed by, diners looked up to smile; some called “hello.” Now and again a woman caught Damon’s hand to murmur a few words Carol couldn’t catch. A few heads craned to see who Damon Hunter was with. The expressions were uniformly pleasant; maybe a couple denoted envy. She was out and about with Damon Hunter, even if she was the Chancellor heiress. Carol had the idea she would never be forgiven if somehow she managed to capture his romantic attention. They need not fear. This was her reward for working hard.

“I might as well be wearing a party hat,” Carol remarked when they were seated and the drinks waiter had hurried away to find Damon’s choice of champagne.

“You have to get used to it, Carol. You’re always going to be the centre of attention.”