His Australian Heiress

by Margaret Way

  “But he understood?”

  “Rest easy, Bren, he did. I can crack a skull or two. Dare I mention that Sir Reginald Mansfield was my grandfather?”

  Laughter rose in him, softening his mood. “I’ll pick you up in an hour, okay?” He wanted to take a shower, cool down, and change his city clothes.

  “Terrific. We can get off to a flying start.”

  * * *

  Christmas is a time of celebration. It is also the time of the year when Sydney puts on a fantastic light show, with blues, pinks, violets, greens, and amethyst, using the façades of all its historic buildings, its iconic Opera House and Sydney Harbour Bridge, the world’s tallest steel arch structure connecting the North Shore with the city centre. The bridge, spanning the magnificent harbour, a sparkling cobalt blue by day, couldn’t have made a more advantageous site for thrilling displays of fireworks and light spectacles. The entire city was looking forward to the annual New Year’s Eve midnight fireworks, arguably the best in the world.

  That evening one of the best light spectacles and the largest crowd-drawer was the Catholic Cathedral, St Mary’s, adjacent to beautiful Hyde Park with its playing fountains. The massive front façade of the cathedral, the tower, and its spires seventy-five metres high were illuminated with a changing display of Christmas themes, in lovely colours, the most beautiful of which, in Charlotte’s opinion, were the iconic representations of Madonna and Child.

  “I’d like to be married in St. Mary’s,” Charlotte found herself saying right out of the blue.

  “You’re not a Catholic, Charlie.” Brendon looked down at her in surprise.

  “They ought to open the cathedral doors to everyone. It seems to me religions don’t bring people together, they set them apart, too often in terrible conflict. We hear about it every day. By the way, I’ve bought the Toohey Building. George Goss from Properties handled it for me.”

  “You don’t fool around, do you?” he said, not altogether surprised. She had told him of her plans. “When did this happen?”

  “Only today.” Charlotte looked visibly delighted.

  “I’ve never met anyone so young with so much focus as you, Charlie,” Brendon said.

  “I’m not a dreamer, Bren,” she said. “I have my dreams, but I need to turn them into reality. All this money I’ve inherited, money I don’t need, has to benefit sections of the community who desperately need help. I’ve been given the power to change things. I can make a better life for a lot of deserving people, particularly women and children.”

  “Your heart is in the right place.” He hugged her. “I’d tear the building down. Start again.”

  “Precisely what I intend to do. We can go over the plans together when they’re ready. Our own architects can do the job. I’m going to call it Lady Julia House.”

  “A lovely gesture.” There was real feeling in Brendon’s voice. For a rich woman, or a woman married to an extremely rich man, Lady Julia Mansfield’s life had been in many ways a struggle. To this day he didn’t think Charlotte knew anything about Lady Julia’s connection to his grandfather.

  “There’s going to be plenty of security,” Charlotte was saying. “No enraged husbands or partners breaking in, threatening the women there.” She drew closer to him, taking his arm with girlish enthusiasm. Multicoloured lights played across part of her face and her glittering golden-blond hair. Tonight she was dressed casually in a yellow silk camisole over white crop pants, a stylish pair of walking shoes on her feet. Brendon could feel her young body brushing his own. Nothing could stand between them. He could feel his heart beating in his chest. He could feel the pulse in his temple. He was forced to the inevitable conclusion that he was in love with Charlotte. Deeply in love with her, even though he could see all the turbulence in front of them.

  “You’ve something to tell me,” she prompted, momentarily resting her head on his shoulder.

  They were so close he could catch the essence of roses on her skin. She had such delicate collarbones beneath her smooth skin. The vee of her camisole top revealed the shadowed triangle between her small, high breasts. His feeling for her by the day was becoming more and more intensely physical. He wanted to know every inch of her creamy flesh.

  “Have I?” he stalled.

  She laughed, the charming, musical sound he loved. “Of course you have,” she said. “There’s always a story to tell. I’d say your mother is very upset you’re not having Christmas Day at the house?”

  “That’s not the least of it,” he admitted. “When I left, pretty well punch-drunk from all I’d heard, my dad was only waiting to read the riot act.”

  “Perhaps he has waited overlong?” Charlotte suggested. “What started it? At a wild guess, something about me?” Charlotte’s voice was almost lost in the laughter and chatter around them, the excited shrieks of children, the running around and clapping of their hands, as they revelled in the festive atmosphere.

  “About you and your mother,” Brendon told her. “Some of the things Dad had to say were shattering.”

  “He’s been too noble about it all,” Charlotte said, steadying a giggling toddler about to run into her. She held the child’s shoulders gently until the young mother arrived with a breathless thank-you. “Jealousy must be a terrible burden to carry. It is one of the deadly sins. I expect your mother will hold to her beliefs until the day she dies. It must be painful indeed to love a man with all your heart and soul when you know he doesn’t feel the same way about you.”

  “Unrequited love.” Brendon nodded. “But my father has been very good to my mother. He’s never strayed. There has never been any real instability in the marriage, when most marriages would have had their rough spots. My mother has everything she wants. Dad defers to her when I’ve always thought he shouldn’t. Dad has had to carry a big burden too.”

  “We can’t love on demand,” Charlotte said, “though I suppose many couples do grow to love each other as they discover the good qualities in their partners. Your mother would be keen to see you married off to Lisa, who, I freely admit, is a fine choice. She’s beautiful, intelligent, caring. A lovely woman, moreover, she loves you.”

  His answer was somewhat harsh. “As I’ve told you before, Charlotte, we have to close the book on Lisa. I don’t love her. I never did tell her I loved her. Had I, I wouldn’t have changed. Lisa is all the things you say, and I pray she finds the right man, but I want more from a woman. I want something that’s going to last forever. Someone to share my life with, body and soul.”

  “And that’s the whole of it, is it?” She tilted her glittering eyes to ask.

  “Would you have it any other way?” he said in a deepening voice.

  “No.”

  * * *

  They turned into a handsome boulevard with long sparkling ropes of white lights strung overhead. The avenue was lined by bedecked real Christmas trees in huge glazed pots. “Would you like something to eat?” Brendon asked, concerned he was on the brink of giving himself away. He could see other young couples, stopping, kissing. He was swallowing the urge to do the same. Over and over and over. He needed the searing pleasure of having her in his arms.

  “Coffee,” Charlotte broke into his tortured thoughts. “Something chocolatey to go with it. I’m not actually hungry.”

  “Oddly enough, neither am I. Let’s try Pascali’s.”

  “Fine. The best coffee in town.”

  The warm and welcoming coffee shop was crowded, but Pascali himself organized a table for the two of them, wishing them both Buon Natale many times, with a kiss on both cheeks for Charlotte and a manly crush for Brendon, both of whom he knew well from their valued patronage.

  Coffee duly arrived, accompanied by a platter of delectable little chocolate offerings. What both of them wanted really was some quiet time together, but who could tell what would happen? After that one kiss, their whole relationship had changed, no matter how much they sought to keep the old easy camaraderie on track. They spotted a few friends and ac
quaintances inside the coffee shop, all of whom were out for the evening doing what most of the city did, enjoying the wonderful spectacle of lights.

  They were just rising to leave, when they literally ran into Lisa and another mutual friend, Shane Herrick. More greetings were exchanged, and a few pleasantries, but not before Charlotte caught the look on Lisa’s lovely face. There was longing and regret, but for the very first time a visible green flash of jealousy in Lisa’s eyes. Lisa had thought she and Brendon, although admittedly very close, were in no way romantically involved. It seemed as if Lisa had changed her mind.

  Back on the boulevard Brendon warned, “I know what you’re going to say. But don’t say it.”

  “Gimme a break, I wasn’t going to say a word. Shane isn’t a bad catch. He’s going really well in the advertising world. They say we get the people we deserve. Personally I don’t believe that. Are we going home, by the way?”

  “Where exactly is ‘home’?” Brendon asked. “Your place or mine?”

  Charlotte adopted a mock-pondering expression. “Mmmm . . . my place, I think. After all, you left the Porsche there.”

  It was impossible to find a cab, so they walked to Charlotte’s Darling Point apartment, directly overlooking the harbour. Brendon’s inner city apartment would have been the better choice. It was in striking distance. Neither of them minded the extended stroll, though. The breeze off the water was heavenly. It was a beautiful balmy Sydney summer night. The whole city was under the spell of Christmas. Although they had rarely held hands in the past they were holding hands now, neither with a thought of pulling away. Skin on skin was perfect. From the apartment complex someone was playing a song from an old Grace Kelly–Bing Crosby movie, High Society.

  Bing’s smooth, melodious Irish voice floated out over the brilliantly lit harbour, singing an ode to true love.

  The crowd lining the area blazing with lights took the opportunity to join in. There were lots of kisses and loving embraces. The combined voices carried powerfully on the wind. Charlotte and Brendon, gripped by the joy of the moment, joined in. It was an extraordinary night filled with happiness not unmixed with nostalgia. Everyone had loved ones no longer with them, but never forgotten. Charlotte had more than her share of them. Wealth was no protection against the relentless hand of fortune.

  Once inside the complex, the magic disappeared like a puff of smoke. Conrad and Patricia Mansfield, heads down, in the middle of a fierce argument, were charging out of the lift.

  “I don’t believe it!” was Brendon’s laconic groan.

  “Just what we’re looking for,” Charlotte said, never lost for words. “I had no idea they were coming into the city.”

  “No doubt they wanted to drop off your Christmas present,” Brendon suggested.

  Patricia Mansfield saw them first. “Charlotte, we wanted to see you,” she announced loudly, her eyes sweeping over Brendon, who was looking incredibly handsome. “Only we couldn’t wait any longer.”

  “A very Happy Christmas to you too, Aunt Patricia and Uncle Conrad. Why didn’t you say you were coming into the city?”

  “We’re spending Christmas Day with the Carringtons,” Patricia Mansfield said, as if the Carringtons were the crème de la crème. Which, in fact, they were. “I might have known we’d find the two of you together.”

  “And that’s a problem?” Brendon retorted, very crisply indeed.

  Patricia declined to answer. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Everything about Brendon Macmillan threw her off balance.

  “I wondered if I might have a word with you, Charlotte,” Conrad Mansfield asked, his expression vaguely demonic.

  “Surely you haven’t left anything out?” Charlotte didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm.

  “I’d be obliged.” Conrad’s green eyes revealed a glimmer of anxiety.

  “Okay, then. Come up. I hope it won’t take long. Brendon and I are going out again, so many people to see, however briefly. There are parties going on all over Sydney.”

  Once inside Charlotte’s beautiful, art-filled apartment, Patricia renewed her attack as though she didn’t know any other way. “I suppose you know you broke up Simon’s romance with Carol Sutton?” She shot a glance at Charlotte, her breathing fast and shallow.

  “Did he tell you about it?” Brendon asked.

  “He said nothing about it,” Conrad broke in. “I expect it was all his fault. In my opinion, the girl has had a lucky break.”

  “By the time I arrived at Carol’s flat, your splendid son, Aunt Patricia, had already given poor Carol a vicious backhander.” Charlotte tackled the issue head-on. “She wanted to end the relationship, you see. Simon wasn’t having that.”

  Patricia Mansfield stared in stunned indignation. “I do ... not . . . believe you. Simon wouldn’t dream of hitting a woman. It’s unthinkable!”

  “Actually, it happens in all sections of society,” Charlotte said. “If Simon so much as gets within a few feet of Carol again, an AVO will be taken out against him.”

  Patricia was so genuinely shocked that she slumped into a plush armchair. “I cannot believe my son capable of such a cowardly act.”

  “Men are capable of anything,” Charlotte said, dispassionately. “What is it you want to talk to me about, Uncle Conrad? It has to be important if you’ve spent some time waiting for us.”

  “You’re always with her, aren’t you, Brendon?” Patricia Mansfield gave a bitter laugh. “It’s almost incestuous.”

  Brendon turned a little pale under his golden summer tan. “I deeply resent that, Mrs. Mansfield. I demand you retract it.”

  Conrad Mansfield looked at his wife reprovingly. “You’re such a damned fool, Patricia. I knew I should have come on my own.”

  “I’m waiting,” Brendon said, keeping his light-filled eyes on Patricia Mansfield.

  Patricia shifted nervously under his brilliant regard. “I apologize, Brendon. I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just you’re always there.” As she spoke, she was winding her magnificent diamond engagement ring ’round and ’round on her finger.

  “Just as well, with people like your son hanging about,” Brendon shot back tersely.

  As they exchanged verbal blows, Conrad Mansfield began roaming the large, beautifully proportioned living room. Its great double doors of glass and steel Charlotte had had dressed up with archways, painted white like the walls. The colour scheme reflected the beautiful harbour environment, with blue, white, turquoise, and green around the room. On the broad terrace looking directly out at the glittering harbour, he could see masses of flowers cascading out of pots. There was a sitting area as well, outfitted with white wicker furniture. At one end of the room stood a very beautiful French boulle-work desk that had belonged to Lady Julia, his mother. His mother, too, had had style. Charlotte had inherited it, as well as the Old Man’s steel. He moved down to the desk, appraising it before running his hand over the marquetry of engraved brass and tortoiseshell. He had coveted this desk, although it was a bit on the feminine side.

  Charlotte stood watching her uncle. She was unconsciously holding her breath, like a woman suppressing some need to cry out. Shivers were running up and down her spine like icy fingers. The downlights were full on one side of her uncle’s face, the other side was in shadow. His face wore an expression she had seen before, an avid, madly desirous expression. She had seen that exact expression a long time before. Her throat was dry. She found she couldn’t swallow. Images began to emerge from the sunken depths of her memory. She was only twelve years old . . .

  She walked into her father’s study desperate for comfort, desperate for an image of her father she could cling to. Her parents were dead and laid to rest, but they were still very much alive to her. She had spent a great deal of time in her father’s study. He had been the most indulgent of fathers, as indeed her grandfather had always treated her with kindness, gruff perhaps, but she was in no doubt that he loved her. No door in Clouds had been locked against her. She had been i
nitiated into its secrets. She was Christopher’s daughter—all that remained of him.

  Inside the room, she found her uncle Conrad standing behind her father’s desk, his handsome blond head bent over, his brow furrowed like he was studying something that held a peculiar and powerful fascination for him. He was so engrossed, turning page after page of a huge pile of papers, that for a moment he didn’t even realize she was there. When he looked up, abruptly alerted, his avid expression was wiped clean. In its place was a chilling anger and a range of emotions she couldn’t decipher. Whatever it was, it filled her with blind terror. She had every right to go into her father’s study, yet her uncle utterly incomprehensibly began to thunder at her. “What are you doing here, Charlotte? Get out at once.”

  Charlotte stared back in astonishment. Her uncle had never spoken to her like that before. It would not have been tolerated. She was frightened by the great change in him, but she mustered the courage to point at him, her index finger outstretched as if in accusation. “What are you reading? What is it that you don’t want me to see?” She had to let him know she was no fool.

  Her uncle, as if in acknowledgement, took several steps from behind the desk, coming purposefully towards her. His nostrils were flaring. Here was a tall, strong man who looked like her father but could never be her father. This was a stranger projecting an infinite anger. She had seen menacing figures in movies who looked just like that. She knew what she had to do. She turned and ran, as if from an alien presence, truly frightened of the stranger’s next move. Only she and her grandmother were at home, her grandmother a frail lady besieged by grief.

  From that day on, she never said a word to anyone. Not even to herself. Her memories sank deeper and deeper. Only silence would protect her.

  Nine years later Charlotte found herself falling right back into the moment when she thought her own uncle would attack her.

  Brendon gave her a quick, concerned look. “Charlie, what is it?” She had lost colour. He watched her fall into an armchair, as if she felt faint.