His Australian Heiress (15 page)

Charlotte stood up, gathering her tote bag. “That's okay. I'll ring you later to tell you what she told me. We have to take time out pretty soon to discuss future plans, Bren. You probably know, the word around town is that we're an item.”

Brendon rose from behind his desk, intending to walk her to the elevator. “We've always been an item, Charlie,” he said crisply, choosing to ignore her teasing.

“We have been, haven't we, though that might require reassessment.” She flashed him a smile that was pure mischief.

Brendon let his eyes linger on her, but what he felt, what he wanted to do, he had to shut off. He hadn't been given free rein. There were complications that ruled their relationship. He couldn't imagine Charlotte tolerating his mother's barely veiled hostility. His deeply reserved mother could control her tongue, but she couldn't control the expression in her dark eyes. He could scarcely believe his mother could set herself against Charlotte, hardly more than a girl, but she had. The problem was real. His mother blamed Charlotte for the sins of Alyssa. Innocent or not. He realized now his mind had registered that even as a child. As soon as he got back to his office, he would tip off Charlotte's minders that she was heading for the university library. He had a bad feeling about Simon Mansfield.

* * *

Charlotte had no difficulty finding Carol. In fact, Carol looked so pleased to see her she greeted Charlotte with a kiss on the cheek.

“I won't take you from your work,” Charlotte whispered, her eyes sweeping the library she knew so well from her student days.

“Over here,” Carol said, leading the way to a quiet section of the library. “It's about the other night, isn't it?” she asked, sounding immensely apologetic.

Charlotte nodded. “What Simon did was incredibly dangerous, Carol, you do realize that?”

Carol's face fell. “Of course I do. I couldn't believe he could be so reckless.”

“Simon chose to intercept us at almost the exact spot where my parents' car went over the side of the mountain into the valley below,” Charlotte told her.

Carol's smooth skin blanched. “Oh, Charlotte, I'm so sorry. Simon couldn't have realized that, could he?”

“All of us know the exact spot, Carol. My father was Simon's uncle.”

“You're saying he
meant
to be so cruel?” Carol asked, aghast.

“That's exactly what I'm saying. Simon has been brought up to believe he's a law unto himself. He also believes he's better than anyone else. I know you have feelings for him, but I also believe you don't know him. You haven't had the time. I bet he's already asked you to cover for him about the incident?”

Carol smoothed back one side of her pageboy. “He does expect me to back whatever story he tells,” she confessed. “He's ready to deny the whole episode. My
duty,
apparently, is to corroborate his story if worse comes to worst.”

“So, what are you going to do?” Charlotte struggled to keep her voice low.

Carol's response was immediate. “Don't worry, Charlotte. I'm not going to lie.”

Charlotte held back a sigh of relief. She took the other young woman's hand. “I knew you wouldn't, Carol. You stick to your principles.”

“Well, I try to.” Carol attempted a smile.

“There are a few things you have to do,” Charlotte warned her. “Don't have Simon come around to your apartment. Don't be alone with him. Simon has a vile temper. You need to protect yourself. He won't take your perceived desertion lightly.”

“Don't I know it.” Carol felt a flash of fear, remembering how Simon had so cruelly squeezed her hand. “But he would never really hurt me, surely?” she asked with a quick intake of breath.

“He'd be a fool to try it. You have friends, Carol. Just remember that Simon is very unpredictable. Let him know you refuse to lie about what happened. I repeat, don't be alone with him. If Simon attempts to harass you, we can arrange for a AVO, an apprehended violence order, to be taken out.”

“Oh, no, no, no!” Carol's cry attracted attention. A group of students had even stopped work to listen. Carol lowered her voice to a near whisper. “There's no need for that, Charlotte. Simon is not an abusive man. I mean, he's a Mansfield. He's Sir Reginald Mansfield's grandson. He wouldn't bring shame on himself or the family.”

“All he needs is for you to keep quiet, Carol. He expects you to keep quiet. If you stayed with him, he would always expect it. Your function would be to back him at all times.”

Carol felt sick. “I have to accept that you know Simon far better than I do, Charlotte. I won't lie for him. Not now, not ever. I couldn't live with myself. I'll do what you say.”

“The slightest sign of trouble, give me a call,” Charlotte said, handing Carol a card she had taken from her bag. “Any one of those numbers. I have minders keeping an eye out for me. They think I don't know they're there, but I do. You'll get help if you need it, but I hope I'm proved wrong.” Even as she said it, Charlotte knew Simon would most certainly lie in wait for his
ex-
girlfriend.

Out on the street, Charlotte caught sight of her two burly minders pretending to be in deep conversation. She smiled to herself. They had blown their cover and still didn't know it. In one way their day-in, day-out presence annoyed her. On the other hand, she realized most probably she was in need of it. Of course, Brendon knew all about the arrangement. The Macmillans had judged she needed it. She was in the most danger from her own family.

S
imon expected he might have a bit of trouble gaining admission to Carol's apartment block. He needn't have worried. As he moved to the security door, two giggling young women, dressed in his view like a couple of tarts, were emerging. One good thing about Carol was that she didn't giggle. She didn't dress like a tart, either. Not that he cared much for the way she did dress. That would have to change.

“Off to a party, then?” He gave them his best smile. It always worked. “Happy Christmas, by the way.”

“Happy Christmas to you, too.” The young women had sighted the handsome, oh so toffee-nosed Simon a number of times before. They knew who he was. That only increased the giggles. They held the door for him, noting his stylish gear.

“Many thanks,” he said suavely. “Enjoy yourselves.”

“Oh, we will, handsome laddie!” The plump one affected a stage Irish accent, while the other shrieked with laughter. They waved to him cheekily, and then went happily on their way.

No doubt they were wondering how Carol got to be so lucky landing him, a fabulous catch. Not even Carol understood.

He was in. It had been all too easy. He expected life to go his way. He confidently expected Carol to welcome him. He hadn't rung. There was no need. She was the one who had rung him, bleating like a silly sheep about how she couldn't break the rules for him. It was a bit of a problem, but she would come 'round after he made it clear it was in her own interests to do so. Unlike his cousin, Carol didn't have powerful people protecting her. Carol only had elderly parents—respectable people, of course, but of no account.

On the eighth floor, Carol had settled in to watching one of her favourite TV series.

When she realized someone was knocking on the door, she pressed Mute on the remote. She wasn't expecting anyone. Simon would have had to buzz her apartment for her to open the security door. It wasn't Simon. Of course not. The phone rang, further startling her. She went to it, spoke a little nervously into the receiver. “Hello?”

“It's Charlotte, Carol,” came a charming, low-pitched female voice. “I'm just checking to see that you're okay.”

The knocking continued, diverting Carol's attention. “I'm fine, thank you, Charlotte,” Carol replied, feeling a warm glow that someone like Charlotte Mansfield cared. “Really, I am.”

“That's good.”

“Thank you so much for ringing. I appreciate it.”

“Is that knocking?” Charlotte asked.

“Someone is at the door,” Carol said.

“Did you buzz them in?” Charlotte was instantly on the alert. Carol Sutton was a young woman way out of her depth.

“It'll be my neighbour. People are dropping off cards and little Christmas presents,” Carol explained. “I'd better go, Charlotte.”

“Be careful now,” Charlotte said.

“I will,” Carol promised. She hung up, and then moved quickly to the door, a smile on her face. It was most likely Mrs. Davis in number four. If it was, they could watch TV together. She knew Mrs. Davis enjoyed the series she was watching as much as she did.

* * *

Charlotte, who had dropped in at a friend's pre-Christmas party, intending to stay only a short time, went in search of Brendon, who, like her, was invited everywhere as a matter of course. She couldn't find him. There was such a crush. She left a message for him with her hostess, saying she was popping in on their friend, Carol, for a half hour. She was
keen
to see her. She stressed the
keen.
Carol was home. Alone. Carol in many ways was a fragile person. Charlotte's warning antennae was working overtime.

* * *

For an instant Carol went into free fall when she discovered it was Simon at her door. In the next instant, she relaxed as soon as she saw that the smile on his lips matched the smile in his eyes. “I would have buzzed, but two girls were going out, on their way to a party,” he explained, sounding happy for once. “I wanted to see you. I hate it when we fall out, especially when we so rarely do.”

Once inside the door, Simon pulled the unresisting Carol to him, dipping his head to kiss her full on the mouth. “Wouldn't have a whiskey on hand, would you?” In high spirits, he all but bounced into the up-market apartment Carol's parents had bought her when she moved out of home. It was modestly furnished. Modest. Just like Carol.

Carol, a very sparing drinker, mostly white wine, had bought an expensive bottle of single-malt Scotch for him, a twelve-year-old Glenfiddich, knowing how much he liked it.

“Join me, won't you?” Simon called as Carol went off to find the unopened bottle.

“I won't, Simon. I don't like the taste of whiskey.”

“Actually, I approve of your being a non-drinker, or near enough. I don't like women drinking. They have no head for it.”

“Some definitely do,” said Carol, thinking of several women of her acquaintance who could drink Simon under the table. “Just a drop of water?” she asked, knowing she had to get things right. “I do have ice.”

“A couple of ice cubes, whiskey over, no water,” Simon instructed. “I'm so sorry about the other night. I don't know what got into me. I deeply regret I shocked you.”

“You did shock me, Simon,” Carol said very seriously. She found a crystal tumbler, dropped two cubes of ice into it, and then poured the Scotch, measuring off the correct amount. “If the incident comes to anything, it's as I told you, Simon. I can't—I won't—lie.”

What a crying shame!
“I expect Charlotte or Macmillan has contacted you?” he asked as she came toward him, offering him his drink. “Turn the TV off, won't you? I don't know why you like that show. It's so dreary.”

“It's true to the times, terrible times, Simon. Britain at war. All the bombings, the destruction, the deaths, privations, lack of just about everything, including food. We don't know how lucky we are.”

“Spare me the lecture, dear one,” he drawled. “Sit down. Here, beside me.” He patted the sofa, which barely passed muster, in his opinion. “When are you going to start doing up the apartment? I can help you. Not that it really matters if we're going to get married.” He put his arm around her shoulders, kissed her neck.

Carol tried to stay unaffected. Simon was the only man to kiss her on the neck. “I did speak to Charlotte,” she said, watching him down his Scotch in two gulps. Surely as a whiskey connoisseur, he should be savouring it? “I promised her I'd tell the truth about the incident. She said you staged it almost at the spot where her parents crashed over the cliff.”

“And you believed her?” Simon set the crystal tumbler down much too hard. His tone had completely changed.

Carol nodded bravely. “I did. Can't you see that it's madness, Simon, your bitter resentment of your cousin? We have to be accountable for our actions. What you did up there on the mountain was
criminal
.”

“Criminal? Well, you are ablaze with bravado, aren't you? I'd advise you to leave it,” Simon said very tightly indeed. He caught her hand and squeezed it hard, the punishment of choice.

“I'm not sure I can. Please let go of my hand, Simon. You're hurting me.”

Simon laughed out loud. “You amaze me. How can I be hurting you by holding your hand?”

“You're not holding it, you're squeezing it,” Carol said, tremors running up her legs.

Simon appeared not to hear her. “I never
meant
to do it, you know. Something got into me.”

Carol wrenched her hand away. Whiteness surrounded her wrist like a bracelet. She resisted the urge to rub it. “You must change, Simon,” she said. “I do care about you, but I can't lie for you, and neither can I possibly marry you.”

Simon threw back his blond head. “I haven't asked you yet. Beside the girls I used to date, you look like the hired help.”

Dignity shone out of Carol's eyes. “I'm quite sure you're the only person who has ever thought it.”

“Are you kidding? Everyone is wondering what I see in you,” he said cruelly.

“Well, people are wondering what I see in
you
, as well,” Carol retorted. “You can save yourself right now, Simon.” She spoke with as much firmness as she could muster, though her heart was hammering so hard she thought she might faint. “I'd like you to leave. I was a fool to let you in.”

Simon flushed a dull red. He was shaken, though he would never admit it. He had thought he had control of Carol. If she was now showing spirit, he had his cousin, Charlotte, to blame. “You could have been something more, Carol. Now you're back to nothing. You're a—” He broke off angrily as the buzzer on the intercom sounded.

“You're expecting someone else?” he demanded.

Carol took her chance. She jumped up. “It's probably my friend Beth. She said she might pop over.”

“That silly bitch! Like I'm in the mood for this. Tell her to go away. Tell her I'm here. That should shift her.”

The security video showed Charlotte, standing outside. Carol didn't speak. Instead she opened the security door, allowing Charlotte in. Something else was working her way, she realized. She hadn't shut the front door properly after Simon. It was very slightly ajar. Charlotte would be able to get in.

“I don't think you realize what it means going against me, Carol,” Simon was saying. “You'll have no future whatever. I have connections all over. If I exert a little pressure, you could even lose your cushy job at the library.”

Carol shook her head. “I'd say
not.
You'd have no influence whatever at the library.”

Simon was severely taken aback. “We'll see about that!” he huffed with his customary self-confidence.

“I'm not bothered, Simon. I'm very good at what I do, but I have no future with you. That is now clear. Sooner or later we show ourselves in our true colours. You're a born bully. You messed with my head. I let you. I see now that you want a bit of power so you tried to exert it over me. It nearly worked. I don't believe you could make any girl happy. You've probably been rejected a few times, come to that!”

“You think so?” Simon stared back at Carol as if he didn't even know who she was. He stood up, a tall young man over six feet, coming to tower over Carol, who was wearing comfortable flatties.

Carol didn't back away. Instead she gave him a look almost of pity. “I want you to go, Simon.” She felt empowered by the knowledge that Charlotte was on her way up. “I so expected more of you.”

“Did you now?” Simon was in one of the worst rages of his life. “Did you expect this?” He struck out at this new, defiant Carol, succumbing to his anger. “Consider this a little wake-up call,” he snarled.

The force of his hard, openhanded slap sent Carol reeling. It was a truly terrible moment. Carol made a clutch at an armchair, her ears ringing. Simon Mansfield was beyond the pale. She had been warned. She had ignored the warnings. She had brought it all on herself.

Charlotte, when she entered the apartment, found them, frozen into some sort of tableau. Carol was cowering in an armchair, holding her hand to her burning, smarting cheek and eye, Simon was towering over her, emanating menace. He broke his pose at Charlotte's precipitous entrance, his blond head snapping around.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he shouted. “Get the hell out!”

His fury left Charlotte untouched. “Are you all right, Carol?” she asked swiftly, feeling somehow responsible for her appalling cousin.

Carol couldn't speak she was so distressed, but she flashed Charlotte a look of tangible relief.

“What a bullying bastard you are, Simon.” Charlotte turned back to him, her expression one of disgust. “You think hitting Carol will make your problems disappear?”

“She'll get over it.” Simon badly wanted to hit his cousin, as well. She deserved it. This was the cousin who had ruined his life.

“You've got no idea have you, you poser? Carol wants you out of her life. She despises you. So do I. To think that you've turned into one of those vile men who abuses women.”

Simon felt his fist clench and unclench. “Yeah, I've heard all about you and your views on domestic abuse, the sizeable sums of money you hand out to shelters. Ever think these women bring it on themselves? There's two sides to a story, you know.”

“Problems will never be solved by violence, you brute.” Even in her high heels, no way could Charlotte measure up to him, yet she looked completely in control of the situation. “Want to hit me too, do you, Simon?” she challenged, her green eyes as brilliant as precious stones.

“I'm trying to decide.” His jaw was so tight the words barely escaped him. He hadn't completely lost it. He couldn't lay a hand on Charlotte. Not a finger.

“It's a huge leap from striking Carol to striking
me
,” his cousin said, standing her ground.

A kind of dread was flooding Simon's chest. Charlotte was who she was. The Mansfield heiress. Macmillan would kill him if he dared to touch her. Panic prickled through him. He wouldn't have thought it possible that poor old Carol would betray him. He was seeing now he'd made a huge mistake. The urge to hit out at his cousin was so strong he had to lace his fingers tightly together.

The apartment door was thrown back so hard it hit the wall. A moment more and Brendon Macmillan appeared, looking utterly dangerous. He was never far from Charlotte, Simon thought, trying desperately to compose himself.

“What's going on here?” Brendon's voice was so sharp it sliced the air. His heart contracted as he went to Charlotte first, putting his hand on her shoulder. “You okay? I got your message.” Always, always, the powerful urge to protect her.