Secret Billionaire on Her Doorstep

by Michelle Douglas

  * * *

  Callie’s face when they entered the Russian Tea Room was priceless. The red leather banquettes, dark green walls and twenty-four-carat gold ceiling made a striking statement—and that was before you took into account the priceless artworks on the walls.

  ‘It’s amazing,’ she breathed.

  Owen had wanted the three older women to feel spoiled. He’s hoped it would make them more amenable to answering Callie’s questions.

  She swung to him. ‘I will, of course, be paying for this.’

  ‘Already taken care of,’ he said, and pointed across the room to one of the red leather banquettes against the far wall to distract her. ‘Josephine, Betty and Eliza are already here.’

  He refused to question too closely why he’d wanted to cover the cost of today’s expedition. Heaven only knew Callie now had more than enough money to cover the expense for a hundred such afternoon teas, but...

  On Saturday night he’d seen something hungry in her—something that had made him want to draw her into the warmth and ease of his family circle.

  For the greater part of his childhood it had been only him, his mother and Frances. They had constituted the people he could rely on. On Saturday night he’d realised that for all of Callie’s life it had just been her and her mother. He understood loneliness, and he’d recognised it in her.

  It had made him...

  He rolled his shoulders, suppressing a frown. It had made him want to pay for today’s afternoon tea, that was all.

  Thrusting his disturbing thoughts to one side, he set about the task of introducing Callie to Frances’s contemporaries and smoothing the waters to encourage conversation. ‘Callie never even knew she had a grandmother—Donna never told her—so she’s hoping to get to know Frances through the memories of the people who knew her.’

  Over cucumber, caviar and salmon sandwiches, and glasses of French champagne, the older women reminisced about the days when they’d all been girls together—from schoolgirls to debutantes and then society wives. Callie had told him she wanted to discover the identity of her father—that it was the main reason she wanted to meet her grandmother’s friends—but that consideration seemed to go by the wayside as she hung on to their every word as if each one was pure gold...as if she couldn’t get enough of their stories.

  ‘It all changed, though, when Frances married Richard,’ said Eliza.

  ‘In what way?’

  Callie nibbled a miniature lemon tart as if only mildly interested in that statement...as if it hadn’t sent a quiver through her entire body. Owen suspected nobody had noticed but him.

  ‘Did you not like Richard?’ she asked.

  All three women hesitated. ‘It’s not that,’ Eliza said eventually. ‘He was...very good-looking.’

  Callie nodded. ‘I’ve seen pictures. He was movie-star-handsome.’

  ‘And charming to go with it,’ Betty added. ‘Maybe Frannie had been on her own too long—it took her a long time to get over Tom’s death—but she completely lost her head over Richard. In her eyes, he could do no wrong.’

  Callie laughed lightly, but there was no real humour in it. ‘That’s a rookie mistake right there, isn’t it? No one’s perfect.’ She glanced up from pushing a crumb around her plate. ‘I take it you ladies didn’t trust him?’

  Again there was the slightest hesitation. ‘It might just be the benefit of hindsight because we now know what came after...’ said Josephine.

  ‘Frances was too giddy. It made us uneasy,’ said Betty.

  ‘And Richard’s charm was too practised, too perfect,’ said Eliza.

  ‘And yet they threw the most wonderful parties, and Frannie was so sublimely happy...’

  ‘So we kept our reservations to ourselves...’

  ‘Not that it would’ve done any good to have done otherwise. Frannie wouldn’t have a bad word said against him.’

  All three nodded at that. Fresh tea and another tray of perfect pastries and petit fours that looked like works of art were delivered, momentarily halting the flow of conversation.

  ‘What about my mother?’ Callie asked when the waiter had moved away. ‘Did she like Richard?’

  ‘Heaven’s no! Donna was the only one to openly criticise him. According to Frannie, she called him a liar and a cheat who was only after Frances’s money.’ Betty bit her lip. ‘She told her mother she was making a fool of herself.’

  Owen winced. So did Callie.

  ‘It was awful. There was the most enormous row and Frannie and Donna never spoke again. After that none of us had the courage to speak out against Richard.’

  Callie rested her elbows on the table. ‘So that’s what their rift was about. It—’ She hastily removed her elbows, as if suddenly remembering her manners. ‘It just doesn’t seem enough to cause total estrangement, though.’

  ‘I’ve often thought the same thing,’ said Josephine, the quietest of the three older women. ‘Your mother was a lovely, bright girl—quick to laugh, but not quick to anger.’

  ‘Frances had a hot temper, though?’ asked Callie.

  ‘All I know,’ Josephine said, ‘is that Donna wasn’t at the wedding and Frances never uttered her name again.’

  ‘Donna was a daddy’s girl, though. Maybe she couldn’t stand the notion of anyone supplanting him in Frannie’s affections.’

  ‘That hardly seems likely, Betty. Donna was an adult by then. She never struck me as the kind of girl who would demand something so unreasonable of her mother. No, I just think she saw through Richard and refused to stay quiet about it.’

  ‘Heaven knows, none of us dared ask Frannie for details.’

  Owen stared at the older women. He’d known none of this. None. It was as if it had happened to someone else, rather than the Frances he’d known.

  A tiny smile touched Callie’s lips. ‘Was Frances such a tyrant, then?’

  ‘Not at all, but she felt things deeply—too deeply, I often thought,’ Josephine said. ‘It was clear that whatever had passed between her and Donna had hurt her badly. It changed her—not necessarily for the better. It felt wrong to probe—unkind, even. All we could do was offer our silent support and let her know we were there for her. But I never expected their rift to last a lifetime.’

  They were all silent for a moment.

  ‘Frannie paid a heavy price for her brief happiness with Richard...’ Eliza sighed. ‘They’d only been married for two years when his affairs with other women started. It was a torrid time. The fights!’

  ‘And then what we’d all feared came to light—Richard had only married Frannie for her money. And it cost her a pretty penny to extricate herself from the marriage.’

  ‘After that she changed. Became withdrawn. She moved out of her lovely Upper East Side apartment and buried herself in that apartment in Greenwich Village. Don’t get me wrong,’ Josephine said quickly. ‘It’s a lovely apartment...’

  Betty nodded. ‘But nothing like the one she’d been living in.’

  ‘Fabulous location, though...’ Eliza sighed.

  ‘Not that she ever took advantage of it. She never left it.’

  Here was the woman Owen had known.

  ‘She stopped seeing everyone—all her old friends.’

  ‘She tried to stop seeing us too, only we wouldn’t let her. We were very persistent.’

  ‘She eventually stopped being so bloody-minded and let us visit. And she interested herself in the residents of the apartment block. That helped too. But she never regained her zest for life, never recovered her spirits.’

  ‘She once told me she’d broken her own heart—that she’d been wilful and blind and deserved her loneliness and regrets.’

  A tiny breath left Callie and snagged at Owen’s heart.

  ‘Poor Frances,’ she said. ‘I’m so glad she had the three of you.’

 
Owen watched as she rallied, and he sensed the effort it cost her.

  ‘Here’s something you might not know. She wrote to my mother—many, many times over the years. My mother returned the letters unopened, but I think it was clear Frances did attempt to reconcile with her.’

  Josephine smiled. ‘I’m glad. I’m sorry Donna remained so unforgiving, but I’m very glad Frances tried. Thank you for telling us, Callie.’

  Conversation turned to happier times, and although Owen waited for Callie to probe more deeply about her mother, she merely sat amid the splendour of the Russian Tea Room as if in a state of suspended animation.

  ‘Callie is looking for clues as to who her father might be. Would you ladies have any idea where she might start looking?’ he said eventually.

  Callie started, and then sent him a smile. Beneath the table she briefly clasped his hand in silent thanks. It made his heart double in size.

  Eliza’s eyes went round. ‘You mean Donna was pregnant before she left the States?’

  ‘I was born four months after she arrived in Australia,’ said Callie.

  ‘Well, I can’t say I recall her dating anyone regularly.’ Josephine tapped a finger to her lips. ‘Though she must’ve met a lot of boys at college.’

  The three women conferred, but all came up blank.

  ‘Did Donna have any close girlfriends that you can recall?’ she asked.

  Josephine’s face cleared. ‘The Ryder girl! She’s Hitchcock now. They were thick as thieves. I can text you her details—or, better yet, you could come visit me, Callie. I have albums full of photographs I’m sure you’d be interested in seeing.’

  The party broke up with Callie promising to visit each of them.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked as they made their way outside.

  She halted to stare at a display in a shop window, her reflection pensive and troubled, and it was all he could do not to reach out and pull her in close for a hug.

  ‘Frances feels real to me now in a way she didn’t before. Her story is so sad. I want to cry for her.’

  No way was he taking her back to Frances’s gloomy apartment just yet. ‘Only the final third,’ he said. ‘The first two-thirds of her life sound pretty damn good if you ask me.’

  She blinked.

  ‘And, while she might’ve become a recluse, her life wasn’t totally devoid of pleasure. She had good things even at the end. Don’t forget that.’

  She reached out and touched his arm. ‘I’m really glad she had you and your mother and Lissy and Jack, Owen. Thank you for taking such good care of her.’

  ‘She took good care of us too.’

  His throat thickened, but he didn’t know if it was grief for Frances rising through him again or the dark troubled depths of Callie’s eyes catching him in some unknown but vulnerable spot deep inside.

  He forced himself to straighten and smile. ‘So, tell me... How much of New York have you seen since you arrived?’

  ‘Um...not a lot. I had an amble along Fifth Avenue, because the New York Public Library is, like, right there. And I went to Times Square because... I mean it’s Times Square, right? But I’m not here to sightsee.’

  He feigned outrage. ‘You’re in one of the most vibrant cities in the world! I know you’re preparing for that TV job, but you shouldn’t squander the chance to experience New York while you’re here. What about the Statue of Liberty, the Brooklyn Bridge, the Empire State...the Guggenheim, the High Line? There’s so much to see and experience. You should make time for some of that.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right. It’s just...’

  ‘You’ve had other things on your mind.’ He glanced at her feet. She wore a pair of comfortable-looking boots. ‘Are you busy for the rest of the afternoon?’

  ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘If those boots are as comfortable as they look, how about a walk through Central Park?’

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘THE PARK IS HUGE!’

  Callie stared at Bethesda Fountain before moving down the grand sandstone staircase to the terrace below. She felt as if they’d left the city far behind, and some of her earlier sombreness fell away.

  ‘It’s so beautiful. I’m surrounded by shades of When Harry Met Sally and Home Alone 2 and Begin Again...’

  ‘You didn’t realise the park was this big?’ asked Owen.

  She trailed her fingers in the water of the fountain as they strolled around it. ‘I knew from looking at a map of Manhattan that it was going to be big. But actually seeing it...’ She turned on the spot. ‘I feel as if we could be in the country somewhere.’

  They strolled for a while, ambling along beautiful paths, and Callie lapped it up, letting it soothe the burn in her chest that had sparked into life during afternoon tea as Eliza, Betty and Josephine had drawn a picture of Frances’s life for her. It had been a privileged life. And to think that her mother had grown up in that same privileged world...

  It seemed wrong that Callie had known nothing about it. Not that she envied it. While it fascinated her, in many ways her own childhood had been idyllic. But it was part of her beloved mother’s history, and it should’ve become part of Callie’s history too—if only by proxy.

  The burn in her chest intensified when she recalled all the things Donna had foregone because money had been so tight—pretty clothes, regular visits to the salon, brand-new books...eating out. None of those things were necessities, by any means, but it didn’t mean they hadn’t been missed.

  Her mother had scrimped and saved for the deposit to buy her modest little house, but Callie recalled one month when they’d fallen behind on the mortgage payments. Donna had pawned her diamond earrings—the only nice jewellery she’d owned—and she could remember listening to her mother cry that night, when she’d thought Callie was asleep. The burn of hot tears that had trickled down her own cheeks had been like the burn that had embedded itself in her chest now.

  But her mother’s financial hardship would’ve ceased if she’d only opened one of Frances’s letters. Why hadn’t she? What had Frances done that had made Donna so determined to shut her out?

  Yet she found it impossible to slide Frances into the role of villain. Hearing about her happy marriage to Thomas, and then her disastrous marriage to Richard, had brought Frances to life for her. She’d bled for the older woman—for her heartbreak and grief.

  And that made her feel disloyal to Donna.

  ‘Would you like to sit for a bit?’

  Owen’s voice intruded on her thoughts and she sent him a swift smile. ‘Sure.’

  They sat on a bench and he gestured in front of them. ‘This is Conservatory Water. It’s been in lots of movies too. Kids sail model boats here.’

  A smile hooked up the right side of his mouth, as if he remembered doing that as a boy, and it made him look young and carefree. Her heart pressed hard against her lungs, making it ridiculously difficult to catch her breath. For a wild moment all she could wonder was what it would be like to press her lips to his.

  She dragged her gaze away, her heart pounding. She needed to get over this crazy, stupid crush and be a sensible adult woman again. She focussed her attention on a jogger who moved past them at an easy pace and then realised she was staring at a celebrity.

  She grabbed Owen’s arm. ‘Did you see who that was?’

  ‘I did.’

  He didn’t sound the slighted bit fazed—as if he saw celebrities all the time. Mind you, this was New York, so maybe he did.

  She stared after the celebrity—who’d starred in several of her favourite movies—and shook her head, forcing herself to release Owen’s arm. ‘You know, I’m not sure anyone needs to see him in bike shorts, though.’

  His low chuckle warmed the surface of her skin and helped to ease some of the tension that had her wound so tight.

  He turned to her. ‘I
want to thank you for being so kind to Lissy. She really enjoyed your shopping trip.’

  ‘Kindness had nothing to do with it. It wasn’t a chore. I enjoyed it too.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t think you view Lissy as a chore either.’

  ‘Of course I don’t. Even if she isn’t interested in hanging out with me any more.’

  The disconsolate slope of his shoulders was mirrored in the downward droop of his mouth, and it caught at her. This was none of her business, but...

  He sent her a smile that twisted her heart. ‘Are all teenage girls difficult?’

  She dragged in a breath. ‘Would you like some advice where Lissy’s concerned? I don’t have a sister, but I have worked with a lot of young people.’

  ‘Yes.’ He said it without hesitation.

  ‘You have to promise not to bite my head off.’

  He straightened, his eyes suddenly sharp. ‘Cross my heart.’

  She pressed her hands together to counter her sudden insane desire to touch him. ‘Owen, I honestly think you’d be better served acting like Lissy’s fun older brother than...um...’

  ‘A disapproving maiden aunt? That’s what she called me on Saturday.’

  Which was hardly surprising. She’d watched him. He hadn’t tried to hide his disapproval at what Lissy had been wearing. He’d scowled in the most ferocious way whenever Lissy had mentioned the name of any male friend. Lissy had predictably responded with snark and attitude. Callie understood both points of view, but...

  ‘I’d bet a year’s salary—’ she huffed out a mirthless laugh ‘—except, of course, I’m not currently earning a salary.’

  ‘But you will be soon.’

  His words were clear and sure, and they made her shoulders go back. Of course she would. ‘Anyway, I’d bet Lissy only pulls her short skirts out of her wardrobe...and mentions the names of so many boys...just to get a rise out of you. She bought a couple of things on Saturday—items of clothing of which I’m sure you’d wholeheartedly approve. But I doubt she’ll wear them if she thinks you’re going to see them.’