by Margaret Way
“Which made her adultery all the more painful,” Patricia shot back with barely disguised satisfaction. “We all wanted to spare you the fact your mother and your self-appointed protector, Brendon Macmillan’s father, were having an affair.”
“Malicious rumour said they were having an affair. I don’t accept it. Neither does Bren.”
Patricia gave a tight smile. “I understand that. Your loyalty is to be expected. I hope you realize, Charlotte, that the young man has his aspirations?”
“Of course he does. Eventually he hopes to take silk. No one doubts he will.”
“His family would be pushing him to get closer to you, Charlotte,” Patricia Mansfield said, apparently warning Charlotte of her fears. “You’re supposed to be highly intelligent. You can see where I’m going?”
“Do please put it more plainly,” Charlotte invited, outwardly calm, inwardly getting angrier by the minute. “I don’t care for innuendo.”
“My dear Charlotte, what I’m saying can’t be unexpected. The Macmillans will be looking for a union of the two families. Many women, I believe, have succumbed to Brendon Macmillan’s undoubted charms—”
“You being one of them, Aunt Patricia?”
“I hope I comport myself with elegant manners,” Patricia said, completely unfazed. “Too few do these days. My impeccable behaviour is unsurpassed. I’m always pleasant to Brendon, my dear.”
“But you’re warning me against him, is that right?” Charlotte asked, caustically.
“In the absence of your mother, I regard it as a duty,” Patricia declared. “The Macmillans are highly enough placed, but if Brendon were to marry you it would raise the level, don’t you agree? In no time at all, the Macmillans would be controlling the Mansfield fortune.”
Charlotte felt a white-hot jolt of anger, but she held on to it, mainly because Brendon was in the house. “I can’t feel you have any right whatever to interfere in my life, Aunt Patricia. You made yourself too scarce. You can never speak or act for my mother. I know you disliked her. Maybe even hated her?”
Anger sharpened Patricia’s features. “This when I’m only trying to help you, Charlotte?” she said, in her unassailable, arrogant way. “I held your mother in the highest regard until we as a family found out about the affair. It was never spoken about, but Alyssa could have been planning to leave Christopher and take you with her. She must have known all along she was skirting disaster. Then it happened. Your uncle and I have always believed your parents got into an argument in the car. One could have struck out at the other for all we know. The rest is history and our family’s tragedy.”
“You may have convinced yourself of this, but you haven’t convinced me,” Charlotte was quick to reply. “Poppa wasn’t convinced, either. You’ll remember, he had the Mercedes taken apart.”
“Only to find absolutely nothing mechanically wrong. It was a dreadful accident. Your grandfather took it out on your innocent uncle for being the one to survive. Conrad had to bear the brunt. We all knew Christopher was the ‘chosen one.’ ”
On impulse, Charlotte went a step further. “Did you hate my father, too?”
Patricia burst into shocked laughter. “I’ll forget you said that, Charlotte. You’re quite wrong and you show no respect. You have no realisation of how your uncle and I were made to feel. Not even second best. Your cousin, Simon, the perfect boy, overlooked for you!”
“It’s what our grandfather wanted,” Charlotte said. “Your ‘perfect boy’ has an offensive manner, Aunt.”
“Oh, Charlotte, Charlotte!” There was a bitterly disappointed break in Patricia Mansfield’s voice. “I know for a fact that people find Simon utterly charming.”
“Was that in New York, was it?” Charlotte asked. “It certainly isn’t here. Simon had better come down from his very high horse if he wants to be liked. He did ring to ask if he and Carol are invited to the party.”
“And?”
The question had a placid, accepting sound. “I said no. I don’t want my party to turn into a fight zone. Sadly, Simon is not capable of your unsurpassed, impeccable behaviour, Aunt Patricia.”
“You mean, you won’t let him in?” Patricia Mansfield flushed darkly.
“Call it a desire to have my twenty-first go well. A few drinks in, and Simon will be telling everyone how he was robbed. And it’s he, you know. Simon isn’t unhappy about what happened to his father. It’s what happened to him. It’s time you took the blindfold off regarding Simon, Aunt Patricia. You and Uncle Conrad are invited, as you know. If you’re unhappy about Simon’s exclusion and you find yourselves unable to attend, I accept that. Now, I must get back to Brendon. I’m supposed to be helping him decorate the tree.”
Patricia Mansfield considered Charlotte with a look of great irony. “That’s not his only mission, my dear,” she said.
* * *
Brendon was whistling softly to himself as he went about decorating the tree. “You took your time,” he said, as Charlotte joined him. “Everything okay?” He searched her face.
“Everything’s great.”
He knew at once it wasn’t. “You told her about Simon?”
“You mean, the perfect boy, now the perfect young man?”
“And what did your aunt have to answer?”
“As expected, she was upset. Am I being selfish, Bren?” She had a great desire to become a woman of integrity. She wanted her dead parents, Poppa, and Grandma Julia to be proud of her.
“God, no!” Brendon reacted forcefully. “Simon can’t keep his unfortunate mouth shut for five minutes. He was robbed of a fortune, you know.”
“That’s the way they see it.”
“Move them out,” Brendon advised. “Maybe not tomorrow, but early in the New Year. Get a married couple to come in as caretakers. There must be a couple you could trust in the village who’d jump at the chance.”
“I know that. The Devlins would be perfect. That’s if they’re prepared to take on the job. Paddy knows all there is to know about roses. He worked here, you know. I remember all the great conversations he and Grandma used to have. He left when Grandma died. It’s a big decision turning my own uncle out, rich man or not. By the way, Aunt Patricia claims to have read chapters of the new book,” she confided in a low voice.
“Why should we believe her?” Brendon asked cynically, hooking on another frosted silver bauble. “Well?” He looked down at her in her summery white cotton and lace dress.
“Actually, I don’t. I’m going to tell you another very strange thing.”
“You’re kidding me,” Brendon mocked, though he was paying close attention.
“I seem to remember my father saying certain words to me. We were alone together. My mother had fled into Sydney. He said, ‘Cries of the heart, Charlie, my darling. Cries of the heart.’ ” As she spoke, her voice sank to a near whisper.
“Good God!” Brendon stared down at her, clearly startled.
“At least I think I remember it. These moments come, and then they slip away again. I had to have been a traumatized child. I can’t tell you why, but something about Uncle Conrad frightens me.” She looked up into his dynamic face. “You don’t seem surprised, Bren.” All of a sudden, her heart was beating suffocatingly.
Brendon saw it in the way her face suddenly paled. At once he put his arm around her. “Charlie, baby, what’s the matter?”
His tone was so kind, so supportive, so natural, her sudden turmoil began to subside. A stolen kiss would have been divine at that point. It was what she had come to realize she craved, but she didn’t suppose Brendon wanted to allow the feeling that had sprung up between them to burst into something uncontrollable, further ripping their families apart. Even the way he called her “baby” put out the flame. He had started calling her “Charlie, baby” when she was about six.
“One of your little chinks opening up?” he asked quietly.
She raised her head. “If I only knew the truth! It must be the same for you, Bren. Both of our
parents maligned, most likely wrongfully. Unscrupulous people can do terrible things. They can cause untold misery. Telling terrible lies in an effort to destroy reputations is little short of criminal.”
“Well, you know what they say, Charlie,” he answered. “The truth will out. It may take a long time, but it will happen. Now, stop making yourself miserable.” He gave her a brief hug that had a lot of affection in it. “We have a tree to finish.”
Patricia Mansfield chose, or was waiting for, that exact moment to enter the stair hall. “I thought decorating the tree was the plan?” She gave a little tinkling laugh that could never be mistaken for pleasant. It was as insinuating as it could be.
Brendon took on a highly formidable stance. “Trust me, Patricia,” he said in a tone that said, Stay clear. “I won’t ever stand by and see Charlie hurt.”
Patricia dared a mild sneer. “Your little ewe lamb, is she?”
“Please don’t insult me or Charlotte.”
Patricia Mansfield moved to the base of the staircase. “Brendon, dear, can’t you take a joke? I wouldn’t dream of insulting you. You mistake me.” She glanced over at the half-decorated tree, looking genuinely delighted. “I’m so glad you stuck to a silver and gold colour scheme. So elegant, all the little lights twinkling like stars. It’s going to look marvellous when you’re finished. As you have so much influence with Charlotte, I’d be enormously grateful, Brendon, if you could convince her that Simon should be admitted to the party. He’s family.” With that, she took her first step up the stairs.
* * *
Her uncle and aunt had shown their upset and disapproval at Simon’s being barred from Charlotte’s party by booking into a luxury Sydney hotel for the weekend. The Macmillans, Sir Hugo, Brendon’s parents, Julian and Olivia, arrived in a chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce belonging to Sir Hugo. They stayed for a surprisingly pleasant hour or so, and then the waiting chauffeur drove them back to Sydney.
“We know the party is all about young people,” Sir Hugo said. “So it’s good night.” He took Charlotte by her slim shoulders, leaning down to kiss her on both cheeks. “You’re a fine young woman, Charlotte. Your grandfather, Lady Julia, and your parents would be very proud of you.”
It was the first time either Brendon, standing nearby, or Charlotte had ever heard Sir Hugo mention Lady Julia. “Thank you, Sir Hugo,” Charlotte said. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
Sir Hugo beamed down on her. “It’s been an honour, my dear. You can always come to me at any time. My door will always be open.”
Charlotte had to rest content with Olivia Macmillan’s cool parting kiss, something Olivia had always fought shy of. Olivia had held to her familiar reserve, but she looked regal in a long, form-fitting deep blue gown. Brendon’s father, Julian, a very handsome man who had handed down his finely hewn features to his son, was far more expansive. At the last moment, he made the startling comment that she reminded him very much “of your beautiful mother, Alyssa.”
Why exactly did he say that? Inflammatory stuff, surely? Especially in front of his ice-cold wife. Brendon escorted his family to Sir Hugo’s parked Rolls-Royce while Charlotte stood perfectly still for a moment, trying to understand why Julian Mansfield had chosen to speak of Alyssa. For that matter, that night was also the first time Sir Hugo had spoken her grandmother’s name. Julia.
Did the menfolk, if not Brendon’s mother, have a vision of her and Brendon together? Was Aunt Patricia right? Was she too quietly trusting? Imagine Brendon, the man she trusted most in the world, being part of that agenda? Having thought that even momentarily, she was seized by a sudden attack of shame for her disloyalty. Honour was honour, and Bren was an honourable man.
* * *
By ten o’clock the party was underway. Charlotte saw with pleasure that her guests were having a wonderful time. The hired three-piece band was excellent—it had to be at the price—having no trouble handling the numerous requests. Those who took to the dance floor were enjoying themselves both sweetly and immensely. No young man feeling the effects of the best French champagne had to be curbed as he would have been if trouble was in the air. This was a night that had to be remembered as fabulous and so much fun.
Charlotte had no difficulty picking out Brendon’s crow-black head, he was so tall. His thick hair, worn longer than most, was curling up at the edge of his pristine white dress shirt.
The young woman he was dancing with was Lovely Lisa. She certainly lived up to that nickname. Tonight she wore a short, strapless gown the exact shade of her beautiful sapphire earrings. They had been dancing around for ages. Charlotte should have been happier about that, but she wasn’t.
The dress code for the men was black tie, evening dress for the women; consequently everyone was looking their sophisticated best. The couple beside Bren and Lisa twirled away so she could get a good look at Lovely Lisa’s face.
Oh hell!
Lisa was gazing up at Brendon, her big blue eyes drowning in adoration. Lisa wasn’t only lovely to look at, she was a genuine darling. Charlotte had to blink several times. The image they presented was that of the perfect couple. Lisa was tilting her shining dark head back, laughing at something Brendon had said. She looked alight with happiness, which made Charlotte feel vaguely upset. She took a deep breath. This would never do. It took a huge effort, but she spun on her Valentino stilettos, open-toed, gold satin, embellished with crystals. The heels gave her over three inches. They were worth every penny. She knew without being told—which, of course, she was—her short glitter dress was perfect for her. Grandma’s jewellery, needless to say, got more than its fair share of full-on inspections.
* * *
It was proving very difficult to get to the birthday girl, Brendon thought in frustration, and he was watching her like a hawk. She no sooner finished dancing with one of her admirers than another caught her up. All the young women at the party looked incredibly attractive in their beautiful party dresses, but Charlotte outshone them all, he decided. There wasn’t much of her glittering dress, but what there was suited her to perfection. Lady Julia’s jewellery couldn’t have found a better home, especially the diamond daisy that fell between Charlotte’s small, perfect breasts. He was a bit worried by her evening sandals. Stunning though they were, they were very high. She could twist her ankle dancing. Not that she did. She was naturally graceful. Her green eyes were sparkling like emeralds, her lovely skin flushed over her high cheekbones. A radiance was streaming from her. It was important to him that Charlie have a wonderful twenty-first birthday party, one to remember. He was about to move to her side, not prepared to take no for an answer, when the front man of the group announced a tango.
How about that! He had never been one to stay clear of the dance floor. He was sure he could put on a good enough show. He knew Charlie would. There wasn’t an awkward bone in her body. God knew she had attended ballet classes for years on end. He had even been dragooned into showing up for a few incredibly boring recitals until Charlie came on. Now she lifted her golden head to announce there would be a prize, which she would present, for the best performance. A bottle of Bollinger, James Bond’s favourite.
The next few minutes saw a mad rush to select the best dancing partners. No one seemed to give a toss about possible wounded feelings. In the nick of time Brendon was at Charlotte’s side, watching a trio of admirers retreat to find other partners ASAP.
“Sure you can do this?” She tilted her gleaming head back to tease him.
He looked down at her. “Charlie, this is my favourite dance.”
“Since when?” She laughed.
“Do I detect mockery in your tone?” He put one arm around her. “Since the tango was announced. I can’t guarantee I can pull it off as well as Colin Firth in some movie I saw, but I’ll give it a go.”
“Shouldn’t you have asked Lisa?” she whispered, as Lisa was making no secret of her disappointment.
He leaned down and put his mouth to her ear. “Let’s just
say you’re the better dancer.”
“Well, to business,” Charlotte said. “We have to give off a passionate vibe, you know. It’s obligatory. Plenty of sexual energy. I’m not flustered. Are you up for it?”
“Don’t worry about me,” he bid her briefly. “Worry about yourself.”
“Right.” Put on her mettle, Charlotte took a great lungful of air. She would need it.
The trio started with tremendous brio into arguably the best modern tango song there was: “La Cumparsita.” It had been a big international hit for Julio Iglesias.
Brendon put his arm around Charlotte’s tiny waist, gripped her tight. Her whole body was abuzz. He could feel it like an electric charge. All around them couples were doing the same thing. This was their moment. They took it.
“Gosh, have you ever seen anything like that?” Lisa’s partner, not big on sensitivity, muttered in her delicate shell of an ear. “Didn’t you tell me they’re cousins? Look more like lovers.”
Lisa didn’t answer. Her lips trembled into a smile. “We can’t possibly match them,” she said. Other couples around them were arriving at the same conclusion, because after a while they stopped dancing, two by two, falling back to form a semicircle around the most accomplished couple. That no other dancers had any chance at all was the general opinion.
Charlotte and Brendon had forgotten everything but the dance. Their bodies bent and dipped, their legs extended this way and that, and their faces turned closely into one another’s with an agitated but controlled passion, their heads at just the right angle. They even came close to kissing at one point. It was fantastic. Charlotte played the temptress. Brendon, throbbing with passion, was the man to tame her. Real life was suspended. That was the role of the dance.
