“Feeney here,” he said without enthusiasm.
“This is Henry Tudor,” said Jacko. He thought by using the names of different kings of England, he would throw off anyone eavesdropping.
Feeney sighed. He knew the conversation couldn’t be taped. “Are you still in Hunter Valley?”
“No,” Jacko said, his voice sullen. “I flew back to Sydney. I left the old bat’s party early.”
“I thought it was for you,” Feeney said out of the side of his mouth. He lit a cigarette.
“Her idea of a party and mine are different. Besides, somebody tried to cause a scene.” There was a pause, then Jacko said, “Is Andrew Preston still interested in that tart from Darwin? That Lafayette tart?”
Feeney sat up straighter. “Affirmative. But he ain’t getting any.”
“Would he like to?”
“Of course.” Feeney laughed his scratchy laugh.
“He sees her, though?” Jacko persisted.
“Not often. For a little while tonight. It’s heating up, though, I can tell.”
“I’m tired of waiting,” Jacko said, sounding petulant. “Take him down.”
“Take. Him. Down,” repeated Feeney, slowly and sarcastically. “All we have are a few pictures.”
“Take him down, dammit,” Jacko ordered. “And use her. Do you know when they’re going to see each other next?”
“Yeah. If they arrange it by phone. But what exactly do you mean, use her?”
“The extreme method. Like we talked about. She slips out to meet him, slips back in, right? Next time she does—be there.”
Feeney paused. “You-know-who won’t like it.”
“Won’t like it? So what’s he gonna do? Anybody can be made dead, and he knows it,” growled Jacko. “I mean it. I want the Preston bastard ruined. Use her. I want them both taken down. ASAP. Got it?”
“Got it,” Feeney said, stifling a sigh.
“You have that man in Darwin working on some testimonials for me?” Jacko asked. “Like you said?”
“Talked to him an hour ago. He’s probably got enough. Eight. I’d like a few more. He can get them in another day or two.”
“Eight’s plenty. Go with eight if a chance comes up. I’m tired of waiting.”
Then Jacko hung up. Feeney swore. He turned his movie back on and considered making himself a glass of absinthe. Why was Jacko suddenly so hot to get the little blond cook? She must have gotten Jacko’s goat somehow.
Shame. She was a right pretty little thing. Oh, well. It had to be some woman, somewhere.
Why not her?
He blew a smoke ring.
PART FOUR
Australia, The Hunter Valley
May
Chapter Fifteen
The next morning, Louisa called Marie to her sitting room. The old woman was in a lovely dressing gown, her hair pulled back into its usual bun, but she looked worn from the long night at the gala.
“Sit down, my girl,” she said with a restless gesture. Her breakfast, untouched, still sat on the coffee table.
Marie did as she asked. “Your breakfast didn’t suit you, Miss?”
“Nothing suits me,” Louisa said. “And I suppose you’ve heard Francois left, the pompous ass. I’m temporarily promoting you to head cook. If your work is satisfactory, the position will be yours permanently.”
Panic swept Marie. “I can’t stay on permanently,” she said. “I want to go back to Darwin soon. A new semester’s starting. And I miss home.”
Louisa eyed her balefully. “I haven’t mentioned your salary.” Then she named a monthly sum that Marie found astonishing. It was three times what she earned with tips at the Scepter. And her room and board here were free.
“Don’t argue with me,” Louisa said wearily. “I’m sick of conflict and disappointment. Jacko Bullock hardly raised a finger in my defense. I kept my word to him last night, and now he’s slobbering on me like a fawning dog. Promising all sorts of things. Surprising information. Revelations. Assurances that he kept quiet on purpose—for my best interests.”
Marie’s nerves vibrated. Revelations? Surprises? Did that mean things damaging to Andrew? But she said nothing.
Louisa shot her a measuring glance. “But what are my best interests at this point? I’m tired of power games. I thought I never would be—they were fun. But I am. Tired, tired, tired. And I have a bit of a family now. Megan, Patrick, little Wesley. I have my home and my horses and my dogs. Perhaps that’s enough.”
Marie stared at her, wondering if Louisa meant it. “It sounds as if it should be enough,” she murmured.
Louisa raised a thin eyebrow. “Should it? And you’ll oblige an old woman by staying for a while? To tide me over in this most troublesome time? Till the end of May, at least? Would you?”
Marie swallowed hard. “Three or four weeks more, Miss? I— I suppose. Yes. And I really don’t want to seem ungrateful to you. But then I must be back in Darwin.”
Louisa gave a harsh sigh. “As you wish, Marie. You’re a very stubborn girl, aren’t you?”
Marie couldn’t restrain a one-cornered smile. “It runs in the family, Miss.”
Louisa smiled wryly in return. “Does it? Oh, one more thing. About Jacko Bullock’s foot?”
Marie stiffened, suddenly wary. “Yes, Miss?”
“You should have stomped harder. Broken the bastard’s arch. You lack true wrath. Work on it. You might need it some day. You may go now, my girl.”
Andrew phoned that night from Adelaide. “I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is that Darci’s found a weak spot in Bullock’s strategy. He’s not going to Singapore, Malaysia, or New Zealand at all—he’s blowing them off completely. He’s convinced they’re not important enough. He’s sure that Australia alone will decide the election.”
“Do they vote the same day?” Marie asked, still bewildered by the complexity of an international election.
“Yes. The bad news is Darci’s arranged for me to head that way pronto. Leaving tomorrow. I’ll be gone at least a week and a half. But then I’ll be back, concentrating on Hunter Valley. I’ll be near you again.”
Her stomach knotted in conflict. She didn’t want him to go away for another long stint. But when he was away, so was temptation. She wouldn’t let herself be lured to do something foolish. She wanted to fall into his arms again—but only when he was free from the election.
And when she was free of Hunter Valley and the long shadow of Louisa Fairchild.
Marie blinked hard. “Come back soon,” she said in a shaky voice.
“I will,” he promised. “I’ll come back. And we’ll find a place where we can just be two people in love. Because I do love you, Marie.”
“I—love you, too,” she managed to say.
To be able to say such a thing seemed truly a miracle, a gift from heaven.
Andrew phoned her every night. Their talks were growing more intimate, and he made more allusions about life together after the election. Every day, he sent her notes with news, jokes, reminiscences, musings—and endearments.
“I should warn you,” he wrote in one. “My great-grandfather raised horses in Ireland. But he also—I did warn you—wrote poetry. He published a volume. A woman in London read it and wrote to him. He wrote back. It got intense. He proposed by mail. She accepted by mail. She came to Ireland with everything she could pack in two suitcases.
“He was waiting for her at the train station. He already had the wedding license in his pocket. He’d got it an hour before he ever saw her face. They were happy together for sixty-two years.
“Sixty-two years,” he repeated. “If you ever have any doubts, think of that. And believe.”
She kept musing on this, and later asked Bronwyn, “Do you think people can fall in love long distance?”
Bronwyn laughed. “Oh, Marie, get real—look at all the Internet romances in the world! Think of the people who used to fall in love just by exchanging letters—it happens all the time.”
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“I—I’m not so sure,” Marie mused.
“Look,” Bronwyn told her. “Somebody said that in love there are two things, bodies and words. Too many people forget about the words. Without the words, you’ve only got lust.”
Hmm, thought Marie, maybe. Just maybe.
But then, Bronwyn had become an optimist. She had a new job as fitness director for Fairchild Acres. More importantly, she and Patrick had fallen in love again, he loved and accepted Wesley as his child, a marriage was in the offing, and Louisa’s little family was becoming more tightly knit. Louisa herself seemed happier, although her attitude could still be critical, her tongue sharp.
But with Andrew gone, Marie’s days were focused mostly on his calls and e-mails. He made her smile, laugh, and often he made her think.
“Jacko’s philosophy is that he wants no change at all,” he told her. “I’m with the philosopher who said, ‘Everything flows and nothing stays… You can’t step twice into the same river.’ The need for change is rustling through Australia, through the world. And if we don’t apply new remedies, we have to expect new evils.
“As for you, my honey child, my darlin’ and my dear, I’m east of you right now, and it’s drizzling and gray in Auckland. But I found a poem that made me think of you. Here goes—
“Western Wind, when wilt thou blow?
The small rain down can rain,
But, oh! That my love were in my arms
And I in my bed again.”
Marie’s heart jumped in both excitement and fear. He’d never said anything so explicit before… That my love were in my arms/And I in my bed again.
Andrew had laughed and said, “Tomorrow Ollie and I ride the western wind back to you. You won’t make my poetic hopes crash and burn will you? Not after I went to all the work to memorize four whole lines…”
Marie shook her head in wonder. A kind, idealistic, thinking man who could quote poetry and crack jokes—and who looked good with his shirt off. Could she ask for more?
She ached to be with him.
“I’ll be back in Lochlain tomorrow evening,” he said. “I’d love to see you, be with you.”
“I’m not sure that’s wise at this point,” she hedged.
“Will you at least consider it?” he asked. “There’s a place I’d like to take you. Just the two of us. Say you’ll at least think about it.”
“I—I’ll think about it,” she said, her throat tight.
“Promise?” he teased.
“I promise to think about it,” she said.
She wanted with all her being to be with him, to be in his arms, to shut out the rest of the world except for the two of them. But not here. Not tomorrow.
Soon the election would be over and she would be home again in Darwin. They would be free to be themselves again. Would she ever tell him about Louisa?
She knew that she must, to be honest. And that would be the hardest thing—telling him what had made her come here.
All that could save her sense of honor was that someday—far distant from here and now, she’d find the courage to tell him the facts—she owed him that. He deserved the truth.
Louisa, though, was different. The best gift Marie could give Louisa was to leave her in peace, satisfied with the family she’d finally gathered around her.
Marie could go back to her own world, having learned her grandmother, for all her prickliness, was a decent woman. Louisa had finally given Marie respect for who and what she was, not for her bloodlines, not her kinship.
And Louisa’s respect, to Marie, was worth far more than Louisa’s money.
As for Andrew, she must be honest. If he could not forgive her, it would be the price she’d pay.
Marie felt at peace with her decision until the next day. Reynard called unexpectedly right before luncheon.
“Are you alone?” he asked.
She glanced about the kitchen. Helena was mopping the counters, while the new clean-up girl, Fiona, rinsed the cooking utensils.
“I’ll step outside.” She slipped out the back door and stood staring at the stables and the sleek horses in the nearest paddock. She saw Louisa introducing Wesley to a new filly, Looking for Trouble.
“Yes?” Marie said.
“I need to see you tonight.” Reynard’s voice was tight with tension. “I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty. And we won’t go to The Secret Heiress. There’s a pub outside Pepper Flats called Walkabout.”
“Rennie, what’s this about?”
“Something’s wrong. Somebody’s watching you. They’re onto something. I’ve got a plane ticket waiting for you at the airport in Newcastle. You need to get out of here. You go first thing tomorrow.”
The world seemed to go dim and sway before Marie’s eyes. The sky turned from blue to gray, the horses lost their sheen, and Wesley and Louisa turned into monochromatic, shimmering figures.
“Reynard,” she said in disbelief, “what’s happening? I can’t just up and leave. I promised Louisa—”
“It doesn’t bloody matter what you promised,” he retorted. “Do as I say, for once. You’re about to get into big trouble, so for your own damned good get ready to disappear—fast.”
She couldn’t reply. Her voice choked in her throat as she struggled to grasp what he said. Did somebody suspect her relationship to Louisa? “What kind of trouble—” she began.
He cut her off. “This may blow the whole Louisa scheme to hell, but there’s no choice.”
“Scheme?” she echoed, repelled. “It’s a scheme now, is it? No more high-minded talk about a quest for truth for Mama’s sake or healing the past or—”
“I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty,” he told her. “Maybe it’s still possible to repair this. Maybe. But you have to do what I say. Don’t argue.”
She shook her head, trying to clear her confusion. “You want me to go back to Darwin?”
“No. I’ll tell you where to go.”
“But why should I—”
“Don’t ask questions,” he snapped. “And as for Andrew Preston? I heard he’ll be back in town tonight. I’ve warned you and warned you to stay clear of him. Don’t even think about talking to him. That’s an order.”
“Rennie, this is intolera—”
“Don’t argue,” he said, interrupting. “I’ll give you your instructions tonight. After that, just do the hell what I say.”
Never before had he spoken to her this way. He no longer sounded like the Rennie she knew and loved. He seemed a stranger—a bullying, dangerous stranger.
“Rennie,” she said, ready to argue with him, but he interrupted her again.
“Seven-thirty,” he said. “And do exactly as I say.”
Before she could protest again, he hung up.
Marie felt queasy as she stepped back into the kitchen. What was wrong, and why was Reynard acting this way? Leave Fairchild Acres? As fast as possible? Did he expect her to run away without explanation? It would make her seem like a fugitive, fleeing in guilt. But she’d done nothing wrong. Not really—or had she? She’d come here without telling the full truth.
A small, cold voice inside reminded her that Louisa was not just wealthy, but fabulously wealthy. Could someone suspect Marie of trying to exploit an old woman by fraud or blackmail or extortion?
Helena looked up. “Are you all right, Marie? You’re pale. Are you coming down with something?”
“I—I don’t feel too well,” Marie stammered. It wasn’t a lie. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go to my room for a while. Don’t worry. I’ll be back to help with supper.”
“Don’t push yourself,” Helena warned. “You really do look shaky.”
Shaky didn’t begin to describe it. Her knees felt like jelly beneath her, and when Wesley and Louisa waved at her, she forced herself to wave back, but the motion was automatic, almost without her volition or even awareness.
She went to her room and sat, stunned, on the narrow bed. Somebody watching her? Who? Reynard wanted to send her a
way as fast as possible, but not to Darwin? Then where? And why?
And Reynard demanded that she not so much as talk to Andrew. Did whoever was watching her know about Andrew, too?
But she had to speak to him—she couldn’t just disappear without a word.
What if somebody actually did expose her relationship to Louisa? And in exposing her made Andrew seem a dolt, caught in the snares of a backwater con artist? It would deal his campaign a terrible blow. He’d seem rash, easily fooled, a man of inexperience and flawed judgement.
And what would he think of her when he knew? Only one thing—that she was a plotting, opportunistic little hustler, lying to Louisa, lying to him, playing on both of them for her own gain. He’d despise her.
And then it struck her that no matter what Reynard said, at least she could see Andrew one more time. She could have one last meeting with him before everything went wrong. She glanced at her watch. He was due back at Lochlain this evening.
Her mind raced. Perhaps she’d never had a chance with him, but now she was certain to lose him forever. And she knew what she wanted to do. It was wrong, but she’d been so disciplined, so restrained for such a long time. She would never have another chance.
Her hands unsteady, she took her phone from her pocket and dialed his number, her heart beating so wildly that her whole body shook. She got only a recording inviting her to leave a message.
She fought to keep her voice normal. “Andrew, I—I’ve changed my mind about some things. I need to talk to you as soon as possible. I have to meet Rennie at seven-thirty, but afterward, well, we can see…if you want…because…”
She couldn’t go on. Did she suddenly seem too eager? Too erratic and flighty and unpredictable? Did she sound like a temp-tress, issuing a clear invitation? Or a tease playing games? Or a naive dunce?
“Anyway,” she finished lamely, “I’d appreciate it if you’d call. I won’t have my phone on while I’m with Rennie. But afterward…if you want…to talk? Or…meet…”
She hung up, feeling foolish, frightened and out of her depth.
The Secret Heiress Page 20
