by Tessa Radley
Without glancing in her direction, he pointed the key fob at the car and the doors unlocked. She scuttled in and Callum climbed in beside her.
When he didn’t start the car, she swiveled her head to see what the holdup was. And nearly wilted under the blast of his blue gaze.
He said softly, with lethal contempt, “I’m going to say this once more and never again. I would never have a man I believed to be innocent arrested.”
Maybe Callum didn’t know the full extent of it. “The evidence was falsified. He was framed.”
“The written admission from your father was not falsified.”
The quiet menace of his statement silenced Miranda like nothing else could have.
“And no one tampered with the evidence he produced that showed what he’d done with the money he’d misappropriated.”
Her lips parted, but the shock of what he was telling her had frozen her vocal cords. At last she stuttered, “That’s a lie.” It had to be.
A muscle flexed high in his cheek but no emotion crossed his face. “You must believe what you will.”
Bile burned bitterly in the back of her throat as her stomach clenched in fear. She’d been lied to before. In the past few months, her mother and brother had both lied to her, but Callum never had. She’d even believed the lie her mother had been spinning for years about the life insurance policy paying out. Callum had debunked that myth. And he’d been telling the truth.
“You’re lying,” she said without hope.
He looked pained—as if he was hurting. Miranda leaned her head back against the head rest and closed her eyes, shutting him out. A few seconds later the car started, and soon they were back on the main road.
She pretended to sleep, but her mind ticked over.
Callum was nothing if not honest. Even when he’d asked her to marry him, he’d never iced what was essentially a practical request—albeit garnished with lashings of sex—into a romantically pretty proposal.
What if he was telling the truth this time, too?
The hurt that seized her was unbearable. Her father wouldn’t have lied to her. It was important to believe that, to keep faith lest her whole world come tumbling down around her like a pack of fraudster’s cards.
Yet even while she clutched onto that belief, deep within her most secret heart, something withered.
Near the town of Windermere, they turned off onto a road with breathtaking views of the lake dotted with sailing craft tied up for winter. Another turn took them into a narrow lane flanked with low stone walls while snow-covered fields lay beyond.
Their speed had slowed, and Miranda knew they must be approaching their final destination.
Now that they were nearly there, Miranda wished she hadn’t let Adrian’s latest bombshell depress her, since it was that mood that had gotten her into the bridge-burning fight with Callum. There were a thousand questions she wanted to ask as he nosed the Daimler through a set of imposing wrought-iron gates and onto a drive that wound through a park.
She sat up, squinting against the bright light. The snow, the absence of livestock, the leafless trees with their bare crisscrossing branches all gave the landscape a bleak, monochromatic beauty.
Loneliness swept her.
Huddling down, she pulled the scarf Flo had given her for Christmas tighter around her neck.
She already missed the cramped terrace house and the merry music Flo played in the evenings. She longed for the funny, bent Christmas tree Adrian had salvaged after a Boxing Day party a couple of years ago.
Why the hell had she agreed to come? Because of an inexplicable yearning to see the place Callum called home. And, to a lesser extent, for the cash incentive he’d offered.
Because they needed the money.
Miranda gave a silent sigh. It always came back to money. A predicament he had put her family into. If she didn’t maintain that belief, she might go mad. And while she wouldn’t accept his charity, she was going to use every commission, every lead he offered, to get herself out of this financial quagmire.
At least she hadn’t given in to her urge to unload the burden of Adrian being blackmailed. Judging by Callum’s black-and-white statement about accountability, he would expect Adrian to face charges.
Callum was a rigid autocrat who gave no quarter. There was no doubt that he would have her brother convicted of using the car without permission.
Adrian’s concern about spending Christmas in jail was too real to dismiss.
Nine
T hey rounded a bend and unexpectedly Fairwinds rose up against the sky ahead of them. Fingers of winter sunlight pressed through the cloud to caress the rugged blocks of hewn stone, and the mullioned windows winked in the brightening light.
“It’s exquisite,” Miranda breathed softly. The house was more beautiful than the spread in Country Life had promised.
“Every time I come home, it takes my breath away.” Callum’s voice was full of pride.
The Daimler rolled to a stop in the cobbled forecourt. Instantly the heavy wooden front door swung open, and a crowd poured down the stone stairs behind two black, barking Labradors.
Before Callum could come round to her door, Miranda was already out of the car.
Callum reached the dogs first. “Mojo, Moxie, be quiet!”
The pair of dogs stopped barking and came forward to sniff Miranda. She stood still, giving them a chance to become accustomed to her scent.
“Don’t be afraid. They don’t bite.” A woman with an elegant silver-gray bob smiled warmly at her. “I’m Pauline, Callum’s mother.”
The rest of the group separated themselves into his father, Robin; two of Callum’s brothers, Fraser and Jack; Jack’s girlfriend, Lindsey; and the housekeeper.
Once Miranda had gotten everyone’s names sorted out and their luggage had been brought in, Pauline showed her upstairs to a lovely guest bedroom decorated in shades of pale blue and lilac with views over the home paddocks to the park beyond.
“There are towels as well as a range of toiletries in the en suite if you’d like to freshen up.” Pauline opened a door. “If you need anything more just sing out. With the exception of Hunter, who’s coming later, the whole family is here now. I’m so pleased you came with Callum. Hunter’s also bringing a girl he’s recently met.”
Of course Pauline didn’t know that more guests would be arriving on Saturday for her surprise birthday party.
It discomfited Miranda to realize that Pauline truly believed she was Callum’s girlfriend. What she had thought a deception only for the benefit of the Harrises was clearly not the case. All the brothers seemed to be bringing dates home for Christmas.
Except apparently for Fraser, which prompted her to say, “I don’t remember meeting Fraser’s girlfriend.”
“He didn’t bring one. There doesn’t seem to be anyone special in his life right now—or at least not one he’s telling his mother about.” Pauline smiled at her. “My sons keep us in the dark. We’d actually thought Callum was about to—”
The older woman looked suddenly flustered. “What am I saying? I talk too much.”
So Callum’s parents had known about Petra—that Callum was going to propose to her.
Before Miranda could say anything, Pauline said, “I suppose you’ll think I’m a nosy mother when I say this, but I hope you don’t mind that I put you in separate rooms. I’m still a little old-fashioned that way. I like to know a couple is committed to each other before they fall into bed together. My upbringing,” she explained.
Miranda felt herself flush hectically. What would this sweet woman think if she had any idea of the wild no-strings night Miranda had spent with her youngest son? There’d been no thought about commitment, only stark pleasure on the spur of the moment. She’d hated Callum—but he’d ignited a fierce blaze in her that had scorched them both without thought of tomorrow.
For sure his mother wouldn’t approve.
Although Miranda feared she could hardly claim to hate Call
um any longer. “Callum and I are still getting to know each other,” she said, before her mother imagined the peal of wedding bells. “Our connection started with business.”
Connection? What a word to choose. She groaned inwardly at the image it conjured up.
“And Callum said you’re a chef?”
Miranda nodded. “I’m helping with tomorrow’s catering.” While Callum’s mother was still in the dark about the birthday party planned for Saturday, the brothers had told her that Miranda would be preparing Christmas lunch to explain her calls to Millie, the housekeeper, and the tons of supplies she’d brought. Millie had already been given Christmas Day off.
“Thank you. It will be wonderful to have you here for Christmas, Miranda.”
Miranda smiled uncomfortably at Pauline’s warm words, all too conscious that she’d come to Fairwinds under false pretenses.
Under the guise of playing Monopoly, Miranda spent the next two hours closeted in the study downstairs with Callum, Fraser, Jack and Lindsey, coordinating the arrangements for Pauline’s party. Three women would be coming up from the village to help with the preparation, do all the serving and clean up afterward.
Robin had been co-opted to keep Pauline occupied, but Pauline still managed to wander in from time to time to check whether they needed anything—causing Miranda to hastily cover her notes while everyone else frantically shuffled Monopoly money and moved houses around the board that was spread out on the card table.
When Hunter arrived with a tall redhead he introduced as Anna, he handed Callum a large, white envelope. “The documents you requested.”
A look passed between the two brothers. Miranda tensed. What was going on? A shiver feathered down her spine.
The meeting broke up when Pauline came to remind them that they would need to eat soon to give enough time to make the Christmas Eve carols in the nearby village. Everyone dived for the doors to ready themselves for dinner, but Callum caught Miranda’s arm, restraining her from following the others.
“I have something for you.” He handed her the envelope Hunter had brought. “I called Hunter from the inn and asked him to bring this.”
She knew from the set of his jaw she wouldn’t like whatever that envelope contained.
“Open it.”
For a brief second she contemplated refusing and shoving it back at him, unopened. But curiosity got the better of her.
She lifted the flap and drew out the sheaf of papers stapled in the top corner. Her heartbeat accelerated. “What is this?”
“It’s a copy of your father’s confession—the original is in the police file. He signed it. I know I said earlier I wouldn’t raise this again, but it’s clear we’ve been talking at cross-purposes for some time.”
No triumph glowed on Callum’s face in the deathly silence that followed. Instead deep lines of concern cut into his forehead.
Miranda dropped into the chair beside the table where they’d plotted his mother’s surprise. All the lighthearted camaraderie of earlier had evaporated, leaving her drained.
She was suddenly quite sure she didn’t want to read the confession.
But she knew she had no choice. Not after the accusations she’d flung at Callum almost three years ago. Not after her hostility and resentment over the past few weeks.
It hurt unbearably to read of her father’s desperation. Of his admission of stealing—
“One million pounds!” Shocked, her eyes flew to Callum’s. “How?”
“By a false claim on a bogus life policy.”
She bit back a stream of questions. Drawn inexorably back, she read the confession through to the end, her heart clenching when she reached her father’s familiar signature at the end of the document.
Had he written that sweet, loving note absolving himself of all responsibility after this stark admission of his guilt?
She’d never know.
“In case you think that’s a forgery—the police have the original along with a certificate of identification. Once your father died, they dropped the criminal charges against him—and the company chose not to pursue civil action against your father’s estate after the bulk of the funds were recovered.”
The slim thread of hope that Callum had been mistaken or misinformed snapped. The charges against her father had never been unfair or trumped up. And Callum was clearly in no way responsible for her father’s death. “Where did you find the money?”
“From accounts in your father’s name.”
Callum stood a few feet away, arms folded, offering none of the support she’d become accustomed to. And Miranda knew she deserved none. The distance between them yawned wider than it had ever been.
She said nothing. There was nothing to say.
“And before you point out the confession could have been forced, the bank manager identified your father as the person who’d opened an account in the name of the fictitious deceased. When the large deposit arrived, he became suspicious. And when he discovered that your father’s name—the only contact telephone number on the account—didn’t match the account holder, he notified the bank’s fraud department. His statement was corroborated by video footage showing Thomas entering the bank on the date that the fictitious account was opened.” Callum related the facts in a remote tone that gave no comfort. “There are other equally damning statements on file. No way such a body of evidence could be falsified.”
Her father was guilty.
For years, hatred for Callum had sustained her, given her someone to blame for the hopeless sense of loss and disorientation after her father’s death. The unanswerable questions that had haunted her.
Why, Dad? Why kill yourself? Why not endure it and clear your name?
Now she knew. Her father couldn’t clear his name. And he hadn’t been able to face up to what he’d done. Hadn’t been able to face a prison term.
She pushed the pages back into the envelope, feeling as if she’d opened Pandora’s box. Her life would never be the same again. “He had a family. A home. A great job. Why would he have done such a thing?”
“Thomas lived to a certain standard of living and he wanted to maintain that. He told me once that his wife was a real lady and he was her humble servant, that he would always give her everything she wanted.”
“I remember him saying that, too.” She’d thought it wildly romantic. “But I wouldn’t have wanted him to commit fraud for our family to have such a lifestyle. We could’ve sold our house, found a cottage. I could have hired Troubadour out to the local riding school. There were so many expenses we could have saved.” If he’d only told us.
But it was true, Flo had always liked to maintain a certain lifestyle. With her husband gone, Flo had simply moved on to make free with Callum’s largesse.
“That reminds me—you never did stop Mum’s accounts, did you?”
He shook his head.
“She’s been running them up again with Christmas spending.” Miranda sighed. “We’re going to have to pay that amount back to you.” Perhaps she should just become his hostess indefinitely without pay to offset the debts her family owed him, she thought blackly. And Flo would simply keep running them up. She would never be free of Callum.
When she got back to London, she was going to have to take Flo in hand.
“You can’t take responsibility for what Flo owes.”
“She’s my mother.”
His brows jerked together. “Flo is an adult.”
“I’m not sure she’s ever been treated like an adult in her life.”
The housekeeper popped her head around the doorjamb. “Sorry to interrupt, but dinner is served.”
“Give us a few minutes to clean up and we’ll be there.” Callum’s frown had vanished abruptly.
When the housekeeper had gone, he took two steps closer.
Feeling unaccountably nervous, Miranda gestured with the envelope between them. “I’ll run upstairs and put this away.”
“Miranda…” A strange, almost hesit
ant expression flitted across his face. “I hope we can start afresh—put the past behind us.”
The veil had been ripped off what she had believed for years, revealing a truth so sordid it had shaken her to the roots of her self. “I hope so, too. But I need time to absorb this. I don’t even know if I can ever be the same person I was this morning. My whole life has shifted.”
The winter night air was crisp and cold.
Miranda closed the door of the Daimler behind her and hitched her scarf more snugly around her neck as she gazed around. After the shock of reading her father’s confession earlier, she’d expected the world to look different.
But it didn’t. It was still winter. That hadn’t changed. Even though her world had tipped upside down around her, the seasons had at least remained constant.
Only she had changed.
Wrapped up in a warm coat and her new scarf, Miranda trudged through the snowy sludge beside Callum, past homes lit with merry Christmas lights, to a village green beside a little church.
She took a proffered song sheet with small smile of thanks before hurrying to catch up with Callum. In the glow of the flickering tree lights, they found his family near the village Christmas tree, where a brass band had set up. Minutes later the bells in the church tower pealed out, heralding the arrival of the carolers.
The crowd pressed closer and as the band launched into an overture, a tall man moved in front of them, blocking Miranda’s view.
Callum’s hand pressed against the small of her back, guiding her to a place where her view was unobstructed. “Better?”
“Much.” She threw him a quicksilver smile over her shoulder. “Thank you.”
In the light of the lampposts she watched his gaze soften. She’d hated the sense of alienation between them. The first notes of “We Three Kings” struck up and she turned to watch the carolers, acutely conscious of Callum’s bulk behind her.
As more people arrived, the crush shifted forward and he pressed up against her. The heavy warmth of his body crept into hers and a delicious, unfamiliar contentment stole through her.
