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Authors: Brenda Joyce

BOOK: The Third Heiress
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And suddenly Jill was angry. She was angry at Hal, because he was dead and she could not get the answers that she wanted him to supply. And being angry with someone who was dead—someone whom she had loved so much at the time—was terribly wrong.
“Where have you been?”
Tensing, Jill turned. Alex had entered the room, wearing his worn jeans and another cashmere sweater, this one a red V-neck. Jill hadn’t heard him approaching. She couldn’t help noticing that his feet were, once again, bare. She tried to smile. It felt sickly. “This is some painting.”
Alex didn’t quite smile back at her. “Yes, it is. I actually convinced William to bid on it last year at Sotheby’s. You didn’t come back after the funeral.”
Jill shrugged her shoulders, trying to relieve the tension that had been building there in the last few minutes—and the last few days. “No, I didn’t. Can you blame me?”
After a moment he said, “I guess not.”
Jill asked, “Is Marisa still here?” Her tone was a tad snide.
“No. She left hours ago. She’s devastated.” If he detected the sarcasm in her tone, he was ignoring it.
Alex walked past her to the bar cart set with crystal decanters and sterling silver utensils. As he passed her, his sleeve brushed hers. Jill watched him pour himself a vodka on the rocks. He had not used the vodka in the crystal decanter, but a bottle of Keitel One from the lower shelf of the cart.
Jill turned her back on him and continued to study the Corot. She could not even imagine what its price tag had been. Perhaps in the millions, she thought. As she stared at the shimmering landscape, she was aware of Alex behind her. She had wanted a drink, but not company—and certainly not his.
“Where did you go after the funeral?” Alex asked.
Jill faced him slowly. She did not sit down because she intended to take her drink with her and flee to her room. “The British Library.” And thinking about Kate and Anne made her pulse race. Her imagination immediately took over, and once again she could see the two girls, but this time poised at the entrance to a grandiose ballroom in their evening gowns, their eyes wide and filled with both trepidation and excitement. Jill smiled slightly.
“The British Library?” His brows were high. “If you’re interested in museums, why, I could have recommended far better ones than that.”
“Actually I went there for a reason. Kate Gallagher.”
His expression did not change. In fact, his expressions were usually flat, impassive, giving very little away. “Kate Gallagher? The girl in the photograph?”
She nodded, suddenly eager to share her afternoon with someone, even if it was him. “You won’t believe what I found.” She recited the short paragraph to him, having memorized it effortlessly. “Isn’t that amazing?”
Alex sat down in a plush chair covered in red and gold brocade, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “What’s amazing is that you went to the library in the first place. And no, I don’t understand. What is so amazing about what you have found?”
“Kate was from New York. My family was from New York. The photo was important to Hal. Kate and I have the same last name. I don’t know what Hal was thinking, but I can feel it in my gut that this woman is my ancestor.”
He shook his head, clearly dubious. “You’re overtired, and you have quite an imagination. That’s what I think. Enjoy your drink.” He held his glass up to hers. “Cheers.”
“Do I?” Jill almost wished she could reveal to him Hal’s last dying words. “You are such a skeptic,” Jill said, still enthused about her discovery. “She was a guest of Anne’s in September of 1906. They were to make their debut together. There are too many coincidences here, Alex.”
Alex’s gaze was steady. Jill realized she had never called him by his name before, and oddly, that made her cheeks heat. “I don’t think there are any coincidences at all,” he said finally, taking a large sip of vodka.
Jill was instantly deflated. “No, you’re wrong.”
“You’re very romantic, Jill, that’s what this is about.”
Jill looked at him. “I’m not romantic. My neighbor’s the romantic one, New Age, and all that. She’s the one who believes life has a master plan for everyone.” Jill grew silent, thinking about life’s master plan. It sucked.
Alex smiled. “That’s a nice thought. So what does the Universe have in store for you?” He was sprawling in his chair now.
Very surprised, she shifted to look at him. KC had said Hal was not her destiny, but she was not about to tell him that. Especially since KC was wrong.
“Well?”
“My neighbor says Hal led me to Kate.”
Alex regarded her unblinkingly “That’s pushing it.”
“Maybe she’s right.” Abruptly Jill drained her drink. “I’m really tired,” she said, standing. She didn’t feel like sparring anymore.
Alex stood up, but slowly. “I’ll refill that for you,” he said, taking her glass from her.
Jill was about to refuse, but changed her mind. Why was he being civil? Or did he wish to detain her? When Alex had filled both their glasses, she accepted hers. “Thanks,” she said. “Another one of these and I’m guaranteed to pass out.”
He almost smiled. They drank. For the first time since arriving in London, Jill began to ever so slightly relax as the scotch invaded her bloodstream. “Who is Marisa?”
Alex looked at her.
“Marisa is—was—Hal’s childhood sweetheart—the woman we all expected him to marry,” Thomas said from the threshold of the room.
At the sound of his cool, patrician voice, Jill almost dropped her scotch. She tensed even as she stepped away from Alex, turning with
dread to face him. He strolled into the room. “I hope I am not intruding.” His glance was directed at her, not Alex.
Jill stared at him speechlessly. They had all expected Hal to marry Marisa? She and Hal had been childhood sweethearts? Jealousy filled her. But hadn’t she suspected something like this? “Were they engaged?”
Thomas was making himself a drink. He turned. “How could they have been engaged. Didn’t you tell us that Hal asked
you
to marry him?”
Jill could not look away from him. She hadn’t told Thomas that—she had told Alex and Lauren. Obviously there were no secrets in the family.
“Jill was at the British Library this afternoon,” Alex told his cousin.
Thomas drank his scotch while regarding them both. He had removed his jacket, but still wore a custom-made shirt, a Valentino tie, and black trousers. He had very broad shoulders and slim hips. “I know. I couldn’t help overhearing.”
Jill did not answer, watching him. To have overheard, he must have been standing in the doorway for some time—spying upon them. Jill was angry. She felt violated. And standing there beside Alex, with Thomas staring at her, she felt cornered, she felt trapped. She did not like the look in his eyes—it was the look of a suffering animal, made mean with pain and ready to lash out.
He wanted to lash out at her—hurt her, punish her, for Hal’s death. Jill was certain.
His golden gaze remained on Jill, unwavering. “So you have had an … interesting afternoon?” His tone was civil, nothing more.
She lifted her chin, expecting an attack. “It was very interesting.”
His stare remained. “So you are a history buff—like Hal.”
“No.”
Both dark slashing brows lifted. “Then why the library?”
She wet her lips. “Didn’t you overhear my reasons for being there while you were standing in the doorway, listening to my conversation with your cousin?”
It was hard to tell if he smiled, and if it was pleasant or not. “Actually, I do believe you said that you think this woman, Kate Gallagher, is an ancestor of yours.”
“I do.”
“Who is Kate Gallagher?” he asked after drinking from his scotch.
“Your grandmother was a friend and host to her in 1906,” she said with some defiance and some trepidation.
“So?”
“Hal had a photo of the two women in his room. We share the same last name, and Hal asked me to marry him, and I find the whole thing too extreme to be a coincidence.” She knew she was baiting him. But she could not help herself.
His expression was more than amused. “So
you
claim. Hal never told us that he was thinking of marrying you.” His gaze went to her hands. “I don’t see a ring on your finger.”
“We didn’t have time to go shopping for a ring,” Jill said firmly.
“Ah, yes. Dancing must be an exacting … er … profession.” His tone told her he didn’t think it a profession at all.
“It is,” she said flatly. “I have trained six, even seven days a week, my entire life. I started ballet when I was four—at six I was training three, four hours a day. I was seventeen when I was accepted at Juilliard, eighteen when I joined the New York City Ballet. Being a member of the corps there is even more demanding. I can’t begin to describe what it is like. A few years ago I gave up ballet for the stage.”
“Are you trying to impress me?” he asked.
Jill finally flushed, with anger. “I know what you think of me. And I don’t care. I also think very little impresses you,” Jill said. She stopped. She had been about to descend to his level and tell him that what undoubtedly impressed him, other than his blue-ribbon pedigree and his wealth, was himself. But she was not about to become as ugly as he was.
He smiled at her. “Go ahead. Speak your mind, Miss Gallagher. Tell me what you think.”
“I don’t think so,” Jill said. She set her half-empty glass down. “I’m going to bed.”
“Hal never told you about Marisa,” Thomas said too softly.
Jill faltered. Instinctively, she knew Thomas was about to deliver a brutal blow.
“I’m right.” Thomas stepped closer to her. “He didn’t tell you anything, did he?”
Lips pursed, she shook her head. She didn’t want to hear this. But she knew she had to.
“Hal knew Marisa for most of his life. Our families are close. In essence, Hal and Marisa grew up together—they were childhood sweethearts. They started seriously dating when Hal was in his final year at Cambridge, and he only waited so long because of her age—she was only sixteen. They’ve done everything together—skied the Alps, safaried in
Kenya, toured China, hiked India. They broke up a few times, but they always got back together. Always.”
Jill didn’t move. Her heart drummed heavily, loudly, in her chest. But Marisa had married someone else, she managed to think.
“Thomas.” Alex stepped between them. “Leave it alone. She’s splitting tomorrow.”
“No,” Thomas barked.
And dully, Jill thought that Alex wasn’t a complete bastard after all.
Alex gripped her arm. Jill leaned into him as he propelled her toward the door. “Come on” he said. “Enough is enough. Let’s end one rotten day.”
“It was Marisa who saved Hal’s life,” Thomas shouted from behind them. Jill faltered. And she pulled away from Alex to turn and stare across the room at Thomas.
“Yes,” he gritted. “Marisa
saved
Hal’s life.”
Jill was trembling. “What do you mean?”
He stared. “You don’t know, do you? About the drugs and alcohol?”
It was a moment before Jill could understand him. “Hal didn’t drink. He didn’t do drugs, either.”
Thomas laughed, harshly, bitterly. “This entire family was in denial, refusing to see what was happening to Hal before our very eyes,” he said. “He would come home at dawn, sleep all day, reek of alcohol, be sniffing away, but we all believed him when he said he was tired, he was working too hard, he had a cold, we believed excuse after excuse, for years and years. We all closed our eyes to what was going on. But one day Marisa found him, out cold, and it was an overdose. Cocaine, speed, and alcohol. She got the medics, she was with him in the hospital, and she held his hand for the three months he was locked up in an in-patient hospital clinic. And she continued to hold his hand the following year, when he became an outpatient—which was during the year of her own divorce. It was Hal’s battle, but she was with him, in spite of her legal battles, fighting for him, every step of the way.” He was still shouting. He was also close to tears.
Jill was shaking.
She hadn’t known.
She was in shock.
“And you didn’t know,” Thomas cried.
Jill just looked at him, his anger engulfing her, and it went through her dazed mind that Hal had kept the most important fact of his life hidden from her, and that Marisa had saved Hal’s life.
While she, Jill, had ended it.
Jill closed her eyes, but only for a moment. When she opened them,
they were blurred. “Why didn’t Hal marry her?’ she managed. “When was this?”
“He cleaned up two years ago. But Marisa was in the midst of an ugly divorce. She has a child, a son, and that Italian fortune hunter she married was trying to gain custody just to have leverage against her. She and Hal were seeing each other during the divorce until it tore them apart. When Hal left for New York a year ago, it looked like Marisa’s divorce might go on for years, maybe more, because of the custody battle.” He smiled grimly. “But the divorce came through two months ago.”

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