by Margaret Way
“That’s not the point, Dad!” Simon cried, bitterly disappointed in his father’s perceived slackness. “Charlotte came between you and your rightful inheritance.”
“I think I have no part in this discussion,” Carol Sutton said very quietly. “If I may be excused?” She looked to Charlotte for a response.
“Please, Carol, stay,” Charlotte urged, wondering if Aunt Patricia’s idea of inviting her obnoxious son was a poor joke. “Simon has said all he’s going to say.”
“I want Carol here with me.” Simon, who had no understanding of any point of view other than his own, increased the pressure on Carol’s shoulder. To Charlotte’s mind it was the action of a born controller. Just how well did Carol Sutton know her new boyfriend? She seemed a world away from his usual type.
“Let’s all sit down, shall we?” she invited. “I need to talk to you about my twenty-first birthday party.”
“I can’t tell you how that has raised our spirits, dear.” Patricia was off again in the guise of affectionate aunt. “I expect you’ll hold it at . . .” She began to reel off the names of four gold-standard luxury hotels in Sydney.
“I don’t want to do that at all, Aunt Patricia,” Charlotte said, putting her aunt’s speculations on the chopping block. “I don’t want a big party. I’m having no more than forty or fifty guests. I intend to hold it here at Clouds.”
The family, drawn together as one, looked severely taken aback.
“But I thought it was all settled,” Patricia Mansfield cried, sounding bitterly disappointed in Charlotte’s choice of venue. “There are so many people fond of you, Charlotte dear. We have so many friends in business and society. You have a name. You can’t let people down. It wouldn’t be fair of you, would it?”
Charlotte evaded the question. “Who told you it was all settled?” she asked.
Patricia looked at the ceiling as if waiting for a prompt.
“Surely Cynthia Bradford?” Conrad suggested sharply. “The Le Feuvres?”
“It really doesn’t matter. They were only hoping or guessing,” Charlotte said. “I’m as free as anyone else to decide on the venue. It will be here. That’s why Brendon and I are here this weekend. We want to look over the house this very afternoon. Where they will all sleep can be worked out. I’ve already spoken to the proprietor of Blue Horizons.”
Patricia’s expression could only be described as injured. “Surely you could have spoken to me first, Charlotte?” According to her own lights, she had the perfect right to be consulted before any decision was made.
“I had already guessed your views, Aunt Patricia,” Charlotte replied, wondering how best to tell them she didn’t want them there. She risked a glance at Brendon. His expression seemed to say, You’re stuck with them.
Simon muttered something to his girlfriend, then moved back so precipitously he almost knocked the cover off a valuable spinach-jade incense burner on the circular table behind him. It was Carol who moved swiftly to right the tripod vessel.
“Do look what you’re doing, Simon,” his father said sharply. “That incense burner is quite valuable. It’s Qing dynasty.”
“Then it should be locked in a glass case,” Simon retorted with a snort.
“As I recall, it was,” Charlotte said. “I think it should go back into the case, along with the rest of Grandfather’s collection.”
“It’s been perfectly safe up until now,” Conrad Mansfield said with a flash of anger.
“That’s right, apologize to her.” Simon was determined to have his say. “I suppose she’s going to tell us next she wants us to move out.”
“It is possible, it could be you,” Brendon pointed out.
Carol Sutton was looking more and more distressed. Clearly she had not known what she was in for. “I would do what you want to do, Charlotte,” she said in a gentle voice. “It’s your party.”
She didn’t earn a hug for that. Indeed, Simon gave her a quelling look. “Would you mind staying out of this, Caro?” he said, like a strict husband laying down the law.
“I’m sorry. I . . .” Carol’s voice seemed to be lodged in her throat.
“What’s the problem, Simon?” Brendon asked. “Carol is surely entitled to her opinion?”
“Carol doesn’t understand the situation,” said Simon.
“It must be made clear that a convivial atmosphere is essential for Charlotte’s twenty-first,” Brendon went on in his naturally authoritative way, which had been considerably strengthened by his professional life. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime celebration. You don’t appear to accept that you are subject to custom and convention, Simon?”
“And who are you, exactly?” Simon burst out, unable to control the plethora of resentments that were crushing the life out of him. He had always been jealous of the brilliant Brendon Macmillan and all his accomplishments. “Charlotte’s bloody minder?” he accused. “Got your eye on her, have you? I wouldn’t put it past you.”
Charlotte noted the silver flash in Brendon’s eyes, the way his tall, super-fit body tensed. “No, Bren. You mustn’t,” she said quietly.
“Can’t answer the question?” Simon continued, passionately determined to have it out. He could never forget how his father had been denied the family fortune. How he had been denied it. Had things gone to plan, he would have been his father’s heir, with all the power he craved coming to him as a matter of course. Instead Charlotte, a schoolgirl, had won the first prize. They had all missed the fact that dear, little motherless, fatherless Charlotte had been the old devil’s favourite.
Conrad belatedly intervened. He pushed back in his heavy armchair. “You’ve excelled yourself, Simon, at creating disunity. Your mother and I were hoping for better. I suggest you go upstairs and pack.”
“I’ll help,” Carol said quickly, her cheeks deeply flushed.
A strange expression came over Simon’s face. “Who needs you?” He rounded on her with a startling look that held a degree of disgust. “You’re a traitor.”
Carol’s expression passed from acute embarrassment to absolute distress. “Simon, please. You can’t say that.” In their relatively short relationship, she had never seen this side of Simon. She was shocked at the change in him. Nevertheless she put out a conciliatory hand.
Simon ignored it. “Find your own way back,” he said.
“Are you serious?” Carol was wishing she had never come.
Simon’s mother sat apparently deaf and dumb, her expression one of a woman trying not to fall off a crumbling cliff.
“The sooner you deal with yourself, Simon,” his father clipped off, “the better.”
“That’s good coming from you, Dad,” Simon retorted with high scorn. He looked back at his father as if he despised him. “All your talk of putting up a fight was nothing more than a blind.”
“I think you’re forgetting that your father did put up a fight,” Brendon cut in. “He hired a battery of lawyers to contest the will.”
“Sir Reginald knew what would happen,” Conrad said. “He made sure the will was airtight.”
“He did, sir,” Brendon said. “Charlotte had been hoping the family had come to terms with that.”
“I haven’t!” Simon shouted. “I never will. I’ll be out of here in under ten minutes.”
“The clock’s ticking,” said Charlotte.
Simon swung back, his green eyes livid. “You’re just like your scandalous mother.”
Brendon didn’t hesitate. He stood up like a man on the verge of walloping the offender.
Well aware of his anger, Carol loyally ranged herself beside Simon, taking his hand. “I’ll be going with Simon, of course. I’ll lend him a helping hand.”
Conrad Mansfield actually nodded approval. Not so Simon’s mother. “How unpleasant is this?” Patricia asked explosively. “Simon has always taken family matters very seriously. I for one don’t blame him for becoming so agitated.”
“Well, you wouldn’t, Aunt Patricia. I think you even condon
ed his childhood tantrums. I don’t know why you invited him here this weekend,” Charlotte said. “Simon will never change. He has an inflexible nature.”
“Sometimes life is difficult, Charlotte.” Patricia Mansfield’s colour rose.
Carol, although she clung to Simon’s hand, looked distressed and worried. “Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Mansfield. It’s as Simon said. There are so many family things I don’t understand. Naturally I’ll be returning to Sydney with him.”
Charlotte spoke directly to the other young woman. “You’re very welcome to stay, Carol, as my guest. You can drive back with us tomorrow.”
Carol, whose complexion was returning to its normal hue, spoke as though she had come to a necessary decision. “Thank you so much, Charlotte. I do appreciate your offer, but my place is with Simon.”
Her place? Charlotte recognized with dismay that Carol was highly vulnerable to control.
“So butt out, Charlotte,” Simon said, suddenly mollified by his girlfriend’s response. He knew she was in love with him.
“Right now you’re the one who’s butting out,” Brendon said, taking a step towards him.
Patricia Mansfield abruptly roused herself. “This is not what I planned,” she said, clearly upset at what was really, given her son’s combative nature, a predictable turn of events.
“Do let’s go, Simon,” Carol urged in her gentle voice.
He fixed her with another of his quelling glances. “I heard,” he gritted.
“Well, good-bye, everyone,” Carol dared to say. “I’m so glad I met you all. So sorry it didn’t turn out well.”
Simon began to haul her away. “Oh, do give it a rest, Caro,” he was saying to her in an oppressive voice. “No one is worth your attention.”
“I hope you heard that, Patricia,” Conrad said in a derisive tone after his son and girlfriend had left the room. Husband and wife met one another’s eyes. “You didn’t even teach our son rudimentary good manners.”
Patricia was at least consistent in the championing of her son. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” she replied. “You’re so hard on him, Conrad.”
That accusation nearly convulsed her husband. “Hard on him!” he exploded. “When my own father was nothing short of a dictator? I feel sorry for that poor girl, getting mixed up with Simon. He has the worst characteristics of both of us.”
Never a truer word, thought Charlotte. “I could do with that cup of coffee that was on offer,” she intervened, casting a glance at Brendon.
“I daresay Janet was too nervous to come in.” Patricia was having difficulty keeping to a measured tone. “I’ll go see to it now. First, though, I’ll say good-bye to our son, our only child, might I remind you, Conrad.”
“Well, whose decision was that?” he pounced. “Go to our only child, by all means,” he said smoothly, “but first have Janet wheel in the coffee.”
Patricia appeared shocked at her husband’s disclosures. Indeed it was a fight to hold on to her dignity. “No good will come of this,” she warned.
“I don’t know how much Carol cares for Simon . . .” Charlotte ventured.
“They’re about due to become engaged,” Aunt Patricia snapped, thus settling the question.
“That’s interesting,” Charlotte said. “Simon has picked just the sort of young woman he requires for a wife.” It all came back to control, and Simon was a controller. What sort of life would Carol have, married to such a man?
“You’ve never been fond of your cousin, have you, Charlotte?” Aunt Patricia said in bitter rebuke. “Isn’t that perhaps the reason for your hostility?”
“What hostility?” Charlotte said. “I don’t think that deserves a reply.”
Patricia Mansfield’s whole body stiffened. “It doesn’t please me to tell you this, Charlotte, but your mother never made us welcome.”
An arrow of light shot into Charlotte’s mind. Why do you see me as your enemy, Patricia? It’s simply not true. There were more chinks of light coming.
Conrad Mansfield sat forward in his armchair. “That’s your aunt’s version of it, my dear. Not mine. I never heard one unpleasant word from your mother. She was a most beautiful woman, destined like my poor brother to die young. You’re starting to look a lot like her, do you know? The colouring has been masking it. Jealousy has terrible consequences.”
A burning flush crept up Patricia’s neck. It was obvious she wasn’t having her best day. “What right have you to talk about jealousy?” she reproached her husband. “You had a pathological jealousy of Christopher.”
“Which I will regret for the rest of my life,” said Conrad Mansfield without hesitation. “The way our father treated us was conducive to that sort of thing. Chris was everything. I was nothing. But no excuses.” He broke off at the sound of heavy footsteps on the hall staircase. “That will be our son leaving,” he said dryly, “if you want to catch up with him, Patricia.”
Patricia Mansfield fled the huge room as though her life had suddenly become just too hard.
At her departure, Charlotte rose to her feet, a tiny load lifted from her heart. At least her uncle had his deep regrets. “I’ll go organize the coffee,” she said with her natural resilience. “Aunt Patricia really should have known how Simon would react.”
* * *
Charlotte and Brendon spent the afternoon walking around the house, which they both agreed was a wonderful place to hold a party. All the floors throughout the house were of polished honey-coloured timber.
They decided on a large area where the rugs could be rolled up and stored away for the evening to allow for dancing. The buffet had to be planned. Charlotte doubted Janet, who turned out to be a very nice, competent woman, could manage it on her own. She would need help from the village. Charlotte had already decided to give her carte blanche to order in the hams, turkeys, chickens, seafood, lobsters, crayfish, oysters, and all the ingredients that would be needed for the various accompanying dishes, hot and cold.
A well-stocked bar would be set up. No one would be driving home. She would leave the flowers to the two highly artistic ladies in the village who owned the most beautiful florist shop one could imagine. They knew what she liked. They would be very glad for such a big job. Charlotte liked to support the local community. Smartly uniformed waiters would be needed to pour the champagne. She would have no trouble finding them.
Both she and Bren had expected Aunt Patricia to tag along, but Patricia had stayed away, thus registering her upset and disapproval. Charlotte had long since decided Aunt Patricia was the sort of woman so self-satisfied she had no idea how much she was disliked. Uncle Conrad had locked himself away in his study, claiming he had work to do.
“I’d like to get into that study,” Charlotte said. “It wasn’t War and Peace he gave to the world. It was a highly successful novel his readership had reason to believe would be followed by a string of bestsellers.”
“Ah yes, the book!” Brendon murmured. “I was hoping to trap him into telling us the basic premise of his new work, what stage he was at, but thought better of it.”
“I don’t think they’re happy together,” Charlotte mused.
“Happy! Of course they’re not,” Brendon said.
“So what’s the problem? If they’re unhappy, why don’t they split up? A loveless marriage must be terrible for both parties. Maybe behind all the suavity Uncle Conrad is having a nervous breakdown? Or he’s had one now that he finds inspiration has dried up.”
“In which case he could pour all that unhappiness into a novel?” Brendon suggested. “The first book was brilliant, deeply moving, a bittersweet love story. Hard to believe he has such a lyrical inner voice. He had to have been very much in love with his heroine, Laura?”
“Who bears no resemblance whatever to his wife,” Charlotte said.
Looking down at her, Brendon thought falling in love with Charlotte might well be a life-changing experience. She had changed into a very pretty short dress that showed off her l
ovely limbs to perfection. “You said it yourself, Patricia stays with him because of the money.”
“Better to have peace of mind and freedom, surely? I’m going to take a very long time to get married. If ever. I don’t trust men.”
“There are a few good guys around,” Brendon pointed out, dryly. “You have to experience life, Charlie. I know you love kids.”
“There’s a price on getting married and having children,” Charlotte said, her views coloured by her contact with abused women and children terrified of their menfolk.
“There’s a price on everything,” Brendon reminded her gently, aware of her low opinion of men. Deep down Charlotte was the little girl who had lost both her parents in tragic circumstances. It was unbelievable the way her family had let her down. His mother had long called the Mansfields a “nest of vipers.” He had always thought it a bit harsh. Sir Reginald had loved Charlotte as much as it was possible to love anyone above his son Christopher. It was true that Conrad in many ways had had a raw deal, but he hadn’t been left penniless. As for plain bloody-minded Simon with his high and mighty manner, Brendon regretted, as did Charlotte, that Simon had drawn the gentle Carol Sutton into his web.
* * *
They were strolling through the beautiful shady part of the grounds, where the autumn-flowering sasanquas were still holding their exquisite blooms in all shades of pink and red. The lower branches had been trimmed to give the effect of small trees, which Brendon thought was very effective.
The spring flowering of the countless bushes of camellia japonica was sadly over, like the azaleas, the rhododendrons, and the wonderful peonies he remembered, but the great banks of hydrangea—some blue, some pink, some mauve with sections of greenish-white—were putting on a marvellous display. He had always liked their mop-heads. The intoxicating scent of the massed gardenia shrubs wafted along with them. He reached out to pick a perfect white, waxy blossom that starred the glossy green foliage, passing it to Charlie. She bent her golden head to sniff its perfume, and then pushed the blossom into her hair.
