Pregnant with a Royal Baby! (21 page)

‘Will you be staying the night, Miss Caro?’

Heavens, where Paul was concerned,
Miss Caro
was positively gushing—a sign of high sentiment and emotion.

From somewhere she found a smile. ‘Yes, I think I’d better.’ She had her own room in the Mayfair mansion, even though she rented a tiny one-bedroom flat in Southwark. ‘Hopefully Barbara will... Well, hopefully I’ll get a chance to talk to her.’

Hopefully she’d get a chance to put the other woman’s mind at rest—at least about her financial future.

* * *

‘Mrs Fielding refuses to join you for breakfast,’ Paul intoned ominously the next morning as Caro helped herself to coffee.

Caro heaved back a sigh. Barbara had refused to speak to her at all last night. She’d tried calling out assurances to her stepmother through her closed bedroom door, but had given up when Barbara had started blasting show tunes—her father’s favourites—from her music system.

‘You will, however, be pleased to know that she did get up at some stage during the night to make herself something to eat.’

That was something at least.

‘Oh, Miss Caroline!
You
need to eat something before you head off to work,’ he said when she pushed to her feet.

‘I’m fine, Paul, I promise.’ Her appetite would eventually return. Although if he’d offered her cake for breakfast...

Stop thinking about cake.

‘I’m giving Freddie Soames a viewing of a rather special snuffbox this morning.’ She’d placed it in her father’s safe—
her
safe—prior to the reading of the will yesterday. ‘After that I’ll take the rest of the day off and see if I can’t get Barbara to talk to me then.’

As a director of Vertu, the silver and decorative arts division at Richardson’s, one of London’s leading auction houses, she had some flexibility in the hours she worked.

She glanced over her shoulder at Paul, who followed on her heels as she entered her father’s study—
her
study. ‘You
will
keep an eye on Barbara this morning, won’t you?’

‘If you wish it.’

She bit back a grin, punching in the combination to the safe. Ever since Paul had caught Barbara tossing the first Mrs Fielding’s portrait into a closet, he’d labelled her as trouble. ‘I
do
wish it.’

The door to the safe swung open and—Caro blinked, squinted and then swiped her hand through the empty space.

Her heart started to pound. ‘Paul, please tell me I’m hallucinating.’ Her voice rose. ‘Please tell me the safe isn’t empty.’

He moved past her to peer inside. ‘Dear God in heaven!’ He gripped the safe’s door. ‘Do you think we’ve been burgled?’

Something glittered on the floor at her feet. She picked it up. The diamond earing dangled from her fingers and comprehension shot through her at the same moment it spread across Paul’s face.

‘Barbara,’ she said.

And at the same time he said, ‘Mrs Fielding.’

She patted her racing heart. ‘That’s okay, then.’

‘She’ll have been after those jewels.’

‘She’s welcome to those jewels, Paul. They’re hers. Father gave me Mother’s jewels when I turned twenty-one.’

He harrumphed.

‘But I really,
really
need that snuffbox back—this instant.’

She sped up to Barbara’s first-floor bedroom, Paul still hot on her heels. She tapped on the door. ‘Barbara?’

‘Not now, Caro. Please, just leave me in peace.’

‘I won’t take up more than a moment of your time.’ Caro swallowed. ‘It’s just that something has gone missing from the safe.’

‘That jewellery is
mine
!’

‘Yes, I know. I’m not referring to the jewellery.’

The door cracked open, and even the way Barbara’s eyes flashed couldn’t hide how red they were from crying. Caro’s heart went out to the other woman.

‘Are you accusing me of stealing something? Are you calling me a
thief
?’

‘Of course not.’ Caro tried to tamp down on the panic threatening to rise through her. ‘Barbara, that jewellery belongs to you—I’m not concerned about the jewellery. Yesterday I placed a small item in the safe—a silver and enamel snuffbox about so big.’ She held her hands about three inches apart to indicate the size. ‘I have to show it to a potential buyer in an hour.’

Barbara tossed her hair. ‘I didn’t see any such thing and I certainly didn’t take it.’

‘I’m not suggesting for a moment that you did—not on purpose—but it’s possible it was accidentally mixed in with the jewellery.’ Behind her back she crossed her fingers. ‘I’m
really
hoping it was. Would you mind checking for me?’

Barbara swept the door open and made a melodramatic gesture towards the bed. ‘Take a look for yourself.
That’s
what I took from the safe.’

The bed didn’t look as if it had been slept in. Caro moved tentatively into the room to survey the items spread out on the bed. There was a diamond choker, a string of pearls, a sapphire pendant and assorted earrings and pins, but no snuffbox. Her heart hammered up into her throat.

‘It’s not here,’ Paul said, leaning over to scan the items.

Caro concentrated on not hyperventilating. ‘If...if I don’t find that snuffbox I’ll...I’ll lose my job.’

Not just her job but her livelihood. She’d never get another job in the industry for as long as she lived. In all likelihood legal action would be taken. She’d—

Breathe! Don’t forget to breathe.

Barbara dumped the contents of her handbag onto the bed and then slammed her hands on her hips. ‘Once and for all—I haven’t taken your rotten snuffbox! Would you like to search the entire room?’

Yes!
Though of course she wouldn’t.

Her gaze landed on a tiny framed photograph of her father that had spilled from Barbara’s bag. An ache opened up in her chest. How could he have treated Barbara so badly? She understood Barbara’s anger and disappointment, her hurt and disillusionment, but she would never do anything to intentionally hurt
her
—of that Caro was certain. She just needed to give the other woman a chance to calm down, cool off...think rationally.

‘Did you not sleep at all last night, Barbara?’

Barbara’s bottom lip wobbled, but she waved to the chaise lounge. ‘I didn’t want to sleep in the bed that I shared with...’

Caro seized her hands. ‘He loved you, you know.’

‘I don’t believe you. Not after yesterday.’

‘I mean to split the estate with you—fifty-fifty.’

‘It’s not what
he
wanted.’

‘He was an idiot.’

‘You shouldn’t speak about him that way.’ Barbara retrieved her hands. ‘If you’re finished here...?’

‘Will you promise to have dinner with me tonight?’

‘If I say yes, will you leave me in peace until then?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Yes.’

Caro and Paul returned to the study to search the room, in case the snuffbox had fallen during Barbara’s midnight raid on the safe, but they didn’t find anything—not even the partner to that diamond earring.

‘You didn’t take it by any chance, did you, Paul?’

‘No, Miss Caroline.’

‘I’m sorry. I thought I’d just check, seeing as...’

‘No offence taken, Miss Caroline.’ He pursed his lips. ‘
She
has it, you know. I’m not convinced that the second Mrs Fielding is a nice lady. I once saw her throw your mother’s portrait into a closet, you know.’

Caro huffed out a sigh. ‘Well... I, for one, like her.’

‘What are you going to do?’

She needed time. Pulling her phone from her purse, she rang her assistant.

‘Melanie, a family emergency has just come up. Could you please ring Mr Soames and reschedule his viewing for later in the week?’

The later the better! She didn’t add that out loud, though. She didn’t want to alert anyone to the fact that something was wrong—that she’d managed to lose a treasure.

Her assistant rang back a few minutes later. ‘Mr Soames is flying out to Japan tomorrow. He’ll be back Thursday next week. He had asked if you’d be so good as to meet with him the following Friday morning at ten o’clock.’

‘No problem at all. Pop it in my diary.’

Friday was ten days away. She had ten days to put this mess to rights.

She seized her purse and made for the door. Paul still trailed after her. ‘What do you mean to do, Miss Caroline?’

She wanted to beg him not to be so formal. ‘I need to duck back to my flat and collect a few things, drop in at work to pick up my work diary and apply for a few days’ leave. Then I’ll be back. I’ll be staying for a few days.’

‘Very good, Miss Caroline.’

She turned in the entrance hall to face him, but before she’d swung all the way around her gaze snagged on a photograph on one of the hall tables.
A photograph of her and Jack.

For a moment the breath jammed in her throat. She pointed. ‘Why?’ she croaked.

Paul clasped his hands behind his back. ‘This house belongs to you now, Miss Caroline. It seemed only right that you should have your things around you.’

Her heart cramped so tightly she had to fight for breath. ‘Yes, perhaps... But...not that photo, Paul.’

‘I always liked Mr Jack.’

‘So did I.’

But Jack had wanted to own her—just as her father had wanted to own her. And, just like her father, Jack had turned cold and distant when she’d refused to submit to his will. And then he’d left.

Five years later a small voice inside her still taunted her with the sure knowledge that she’d have been happier with Jack on
his
terms than she was now on her own terms, as her own woman. She waved a hand in front of her face. That was a ridiculous fairytale—a fantasy with no basis in reality. She and Jack were always going to end in tears. She could see that now.

Very gently, Paul reached out and placed the photograph facedown on the table. ‘I’m sure there must be a nice photograph of you and your mother somewhere.’

She snapped back to the present, trying to push the past firmly behind her. ‘See if you can find a photo of me and Barbara.’

Paul rolled his eyes in a most un-butler-like fashion and Caro laughed and patted his arm.

‘The things I ask of you...’

He smiled down at her. ‘Nothing’s too much trouble where you’re concerned, Miss Caro.’

She glanced up the grand staircase towards the first-floor rooms.

‘I’ll keep an eye on Mrs Fielding,’ he added. ‘I’ll try to dissuade her if she wants to go out. If she insists, I’ll send one of the maids with her.’ He glanced at the grandfather clock. ‘They’re due to come in and start cleaning any time now.’

‘Thank you.’ She didn’t want Barbara doing anything foolish—like trying to sell that snuffbox if she
did
have it. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

* * *

Despite the loss of the snuffbox and all the morning’s kerfuffle, it was Jack’s face that rose in her mind and memories of the past that invaded Caro, chasing her other concerns aside, as she trudged across Westminster Bridge.

The sight of that photograph had pulled her up short. They’d been so happy.

For a while.

A very brief while.

So when she first saw his face in the midst of the crowd moving towards her on the bridge, Caro dismissed it as a flight of fancy, a figment of her imagination. Until she realised that blinking hadn’t made the image fade. It had only made the features of that face clearer—a face that was burned onto her soul.

She stopped dead. Jack was in London?

The crowd surged around her, but she couldn’t move. All she could do was stare.

Jack! Jack! Jack!

His name pounded at her as waves of first cold and then heat washed over her. The ache to run to him nearly undid her. And then his gaze landed on her and he stopped dead too.

She couldn’t see the extraordinary cobalt blue of his eyes at this distance, but she recognised the way they narrowed, noted the way his nostrils flared. She’d always wondered what would happen if they should accidentally meet on the street. Walking past each other without so much as an acknowledgment obviously wasn’t an option, and she was fiercely glad about that.

Hauling in a breath, she tilted her head to the left a fraction and started towards the railing of the bridge. She leaned against it, staring down at the brown water swirling in swift currents below. He came to stand beside her, but she kept her gaze on the water.

‘Hello, Jack.’

‘Caro.’

She couldn’t look at him. Not yet. She stared at the Houses of Parliament and then at the facade of the aquarium on the other side of the river. ‘Have you been in London long?’

‘No.’

Finally she turned to meet his gaze, and her heart tried to grow bigger and smaller in the same moment. She read intent in his eyes and slowly straightened. ‘You’re here to see me?’

His demeanour confirmed it, but he nodded anyway. ‘Yes.’

‘I see.’ She turned to stare back down at the river. ‘Actually...’ She frowned and sent him a sidelong glance. ‘I don’t see.’

He folded his tall frame and leaned on the railing, too. She dragged her gaze from his strong, hawk-like profile, afraid that if she didn’t she might reach across and kiss him.

‘I heard about your father.’

She pursed her lips, her stomach churning like the currents below. ‘You didn’t send a card.’

He didn’t say anything for a moment. ‘You send me a Christmas card every year...’

He never sent her one.

‘Do you send
all
your ex-lovers Christmas cards?’

She straightened. ‘Only the ones I marry.’

They both flinched at her words.

In the next moment she swung to him. ‘Oh, please, let’s not do this.’

‘Do what?’

‘Be mean to each other.’

He relaxed a fraction. ‘Suits me.’

She finally looked at him properly and a breath eased out of her. She reached out to clasp his upper arm. She’d always found it incredibly difficult not to touch him. Through the fine wool of his suit jacket, she recognised his strength and the firm, solid feel of him.