by Margaret Way
And he punished her for it. Zara, the constant reminder. His hands tightened until his knuckles showed white.
“So what are you in the grip of?”
Her voice, which amazingly showed concern, brought him out of his dark thoughts.
“What do you mean?” She was way too perceptive, this girl.
“Don’t bite my head off, Corin. It can’t be me. It’s someone else you’re thinking about. What did you and your sister think when Leila turned up in your life? You couldn’t have lost your mother long? You must have been grieving terribly?”
“Miranda, we’re not talking about me,” he told her curtly, shaken by her perception. “We’re talking about you.”
“So you say!” she responded, undeterred. “Where did I get my brains from anyway? My maths gene, for a start. I was always very good at maths. My grandparents were lovely people. Full of good practical common sense. My grandfather could fix any piece of machinery on the farm. My grandmother was a great cook and a great dressmaker. But they wouldn’t have called themselves intellectuals. Neither of them read much.”
“Of course you are an intellectual,” he said, not sparing the dry-as-bone tone.
“No need to be sarcastic. I am. Fact of life, and I don’t take the credit. I inherited what brain I have from the boy—the man—who was my father. Leila can’t be too bright if she didn’t think I was going to track her down one day.”
“But there’s no way you want to meet her?” He trapped her gaze. God, wouldn’t that be an event to be in on?
“What? Show up unannounced? No way! I might tackle her to the ground and start pummelling her. Not that I’ve ever done anything like that before.”
“Miranda, don’t underestimate the woman you say is your mother,” he rasped. “It’s far more likely she’d seize you by the hair and have you thrown out. That’s if you could get in. My stepmother isn’t your normal woman.”
“Now, isn’t that exactly what I’ve been telling you?” she cried, her turquoise-green eyes opened wide. “She’s a cruel person. She broke her loving parents’ hearts. My grandmother died without her only child by her side. I don’t really care that Leila didn’t want me. Who the heck do I look like anyway?” She tugged in frustration at a loose silver-gilt curl. “What’s with the hair? The colour of my eyes? There’s my father out there somewhere. I might go looking for him. Did he even know about me? Actually, I’ve got a few doubts about your father. Given he’s the big mining magnate, how come he fell for Leila hook, line and sinker? What got into him?”
“Let’s not go there, Miranda,” he said tersely.
“Okay, she’s beautiful. She’s gorgeous. And she must be great in bed.”
And as dangerous as a taipan. “Are you done?” he asked, amazed. This seventeen-year-old girl was a total stranger, yet already they had made a strong connection.
“Don’t get angry with me, Corin,” she urged gently. “I could be worse. I could be out to make trouble, but I’m not. I don’t want to stress this—it’s a bit embarrassing—but look at the big picture. Aren’t we related by marriage?”
“I only have your word for it,” he answered, very sharply indeed because he was rattled. “Plus a few old photographs as some sort of proof.”
“Please…I don’t want you to be angry and upset. You might be keeping it well under wraps, but I think you have…difficulties in life.”
He didn’t care he sounded so cutting. “You’re a very special person, Miranda.” She had to be. Every cell in his body was drawn to her. It was an involuntary reaction. But sometimes one had to be cruel to be kind.
“You believe me, though, don’t you?” The glitter of unshed tears was back in her eyes at his harshness. “You believe me more than you would believe the woman you’ve known for years. I bet she’s been no friend to your sister. You do love your sister?”
He gritted his teeth. “Do you expect me to sit still for this interrogation?”
“Okay, okay!” She pressed her hands together as though in prayer. “I shouldn’t have said it. Let’s get back to what I need to get me through med school. I promise I’ll work harder than I ever have in my life. Back me and I won’t let you down. I’ll even try to pay you back once I qualify.”
He was driven to dropping his head into his hands. “Miranda, just stop talking for a moment. I’m going to check out your whole story. Or have my people do it for me. Don’t worry. They’re professionals. It will all be very confidential. None of the information they supply to me will get out. Where is this flat of yours?”
She was so nervous, excited, upset, her hands were shaking. “Look, I’ll write it down for you. And my mobile number. I hope I didn’t seriously ruin your day?”
“I can’t pretend you haven’t stunned me.” He shot back his cuff to check his watch. “I have a very tedious dinner party tonight I can’t get out of. I’ll get Gil to drop me off first at my apartment, then he can take you home.”
She became agitated. “No, no, don’t bother. I don’t want to put you to the trouble. Besides, I can’t possibly arrive back at the flat in a Rolls.”
“Gil can stop and let you out a short distance away,” he said shortly. “Anyway, it will be dark by the time he gets there.” He lifted his hand to signal the chauffeur, who now turned their way, walking down the path.
“So, will you let me know?” In her agitation she reached out to grip his hand hard, feeling the little shock wave of skin on skin. “Can I trust you, Corin? I do need help.”
“Have you told anyone else about this? Your friends?”
The brilliant gaze seared her. “Gosh, no! I promise you I haven’t told a living soul.”
“A smart move, Miranda, for a smart girl. You’ll hear from me within a few days. We’ll do this thing legitimately.”
“Legitimately, how?” She perked up.
“I’ll tell you when I judge it time for you to know,” he said dismissively. “But if you’ve dreamed up some story—”
“Then you’re free to go to the police.” She spoke with intensity. “It’s no story, Corin. That’s why you’ve been giving me a hearing. Even if your stepmother did lay eyes on me she wouldn’t recognise me.”
“On the other hand she might,” he answered her bluntly. “There is such a thing as genetics. You said it yourself. How did Leila produce a child with silver-gilt hair and turquoise-green eyes? It has to be your father’s legacy.”
“Or it could be any number of complex interactions.” She frowned in concentration. “So many variables—enzyms, proteins, biological phenomenon. I’m greatly interested in genetics and genomics, molecular biology. Why wouldn’t I be? I don’t even know who I am. That should put me at a serious disadvantage psychologically.”
He saw humour in that. “I don’t think so, Miranda. You appear pretty well integrated to me.”
“Gee, thanks!” She flushed with genuine pleasure. His good opinion meant a great deal. “Trust me, Corin,” she said earnestly. “Leila has totally forgotten she ever had a child.”
He swallowed his caustic retort. Hadn’t Zara always said there would come a time Leila, their stepmother, the central figure in their father’s life, would be caught out?
And so it began.
CHAPTER ONE
The present.
THE top floor of the immense glass-and-steel monolith, the command post of Rylance Metals, housed the multibillion-dollar corporation’s hierarchy. As Miranda rode the elevator to Corin’s office she had an overwhelming feeling she shouldn’t be in this building. Not that she would have to duck if she saw anyone. She had been inside Rylance Tower on isolated occasions over the past three years and no one had taken the slightest notice of her. Why would they? Her status of university student would have been obvious to them from her classic student dress. Besides, the Rylance Foundation sponsored a number of gifted students. They came and went. On those occasions she had been careful to maintain her camouflage. On campus she was a lot more flamboyant. Some of her g
irlfriends laughingly called her a fashionista. Amazing what one could do on a low budget, given a bit of flair. She had inherited that flair from someone. Leila? Leila was renowned for her style.
She had long since learned from Corin that Leila had been given a position on the board by her besotted husband. Corin had become so important to her she could recognise the fact he deplored his father’s decision. Not that he spoke about it. Only once, and then briefly. Corin played his cards very close to his chest. Mercifully today there was no chance of running into the woman who had abandoned her soon after birth. Leila only ventured into Rylance Tower for board meetings. Right now, she and her husband, Dalton Rylance, were in Singapore—a mix of business and pleasure, the newspapers said. Corin said business. It was always business. But Leila would get the opportunity to spend lots of money to make up for the time she had to spend on her own and so prevent herself from getting bored.
As Miranda stepped out into the hushed corridor, thickly carpeted and lined with architectural drawings—the corporation had its own architectural as well as engineering departments—she checked her watch. Ten minutes until Corin would see her. She was always early, never late for Corin. It was pleasant to make a little light conversation with his secretary, the beautifully groomed, forty-something Clare Howard, who was devoted to him and exceptionally good at her job. As she would have to be.
Afterwards, Miranda took a seat on one of the sofas facing a granite-and-chrome coffee table neatly stacked with trade magazines and financial papers. She picked up one, flipping through it without actually seeing anything. Today she had allowed herself a little more pizzazz with her dress. Ms Howard had kindly made a comment on how lovely she looked. Her dress was pretty. The yellow silk background was splashed with tiny daisy-like flowers in deep blue, violet and turquoise, with a fine tracery of green leaves. A sale coup. All the major department stores were running them in the recession. New turquoise sandals and a turquoise tote bag that looked a whole lot more expensive than they were completed the outfit. Her hair she continued to wear short, cutting her bubble of curls herself, sometimes enlisting a girlfriend’s help for the back of her head. She didn’t have the time or the money to go all-out with a glamorous new hairstyle. She had maintained her part-time job—waitressing at city restaurants, three nights a week—but that money was stretched to the limit. She had been given assistance by the Rylance Foundation to rent her inner-city flat, which was in a good, safe, very convenient area.
With two minutes to go she could feel the rise in her blood pressure. One’s blood pressure always rose when in the company of someone one was attracted to. Fact. She ached over her reasons. At least she felt confident she looked good. Healthy, eyes bright, skin glowing, despite the endless hours of burning the midnight oil.
Over the past three years she had grown close to Corin. She told herself it was in a quasi professional way. Mentor-protégée sort of thing. He always appeared pleased to see her at any rate, and was always willing to take the time to listen to her accounts of student life. A friendship had been established, but they both took good care to keep within the proper framework. Wealth could open doors for people. Corin had opened a door for her. She was immensely grateful. So much so she had gone all out to top her graduating class. Corin had actually taken the time to attend, clapping enthusiastically after she had given her speech.
“I knew the moment I laid eyes on you, you were a girl with enormous potential.” This with a mocking sparkle in his dark eyes.
By now she knew his every expression, every nuance of his resonant voice. She knew she had to be extremely careful to control her feelings. Her career was mapped out. She had to concentrate on her studies. She couldn’t allow emotion to get in the way. A show of emotion—however slight—could jeopardise her standing with Corin. There was a definite etiquette involved. She could not overstep the mark. Fortunately she had mastered the art of masking her deepest feelings. She might not appear vulnerable. But vulnerable she was. Privately she had run out of making excuses for herself. The truth was she had a huge crush on Corin Rylance.
Get real! You’re madly in love with him.
No one must ever know.
They shared their dark secret about Leila, but they rarely allowed it to come to the surface. From time to time she weakened in her discipline, always when she was in bed at night, allowing herself to wonder what Corin was doing. Who he was doing it with. Lately there had been rumours of an impending engagement that made the muscles of her stomach clench at every mention. Corin—married! Yet it seemed to her Corin didn’t have the look of a man in love. The young woman in the spotlight was one of his circle. Annette Atwood. An extremely attractive brunette of imposing height, with a great figure. A real figure. Naturally Ms Atwood was asked everywhere. Photographed wherever she went. Lately the paparazzi had taken to following her as though they knew she was a strong contender to become the heir apparent’s wife. Corin himself never spoke of her. But then, since she had met him Corin hadn’t spoken of any particular woman. Except his sister, Zara, who was working in London at a big financial institution. Zara had a Masters in Business. She had an excellent head on her shoulders and was also very artistic, like their mother and her side of the family. Zara was a gifted artist, but their father had been totally against her trying to make a career as a painter.
“A hobby, girl. Just a hobby! Live in the real world. Can’t abide dabblers.”
The image Miranda kept getting was that Dalton Rylance wasn’t a nice man at all. No comfort to his children—especially his daughter. No wonder Dalton and her mother were inseparable. They were creatures of the jungle. Power was all that counted.
“Hi, Miranda!” Corin looked up from something he had been reading to give her his irresistible smile. It was impossible not to smile back. “Take a seat, won’t you?” He gestured towards the leather armchairs arranged companionably on the opposite side of his desk. It was a huge space, his office, beautifully and comfortably furnished. Hundreds of leather-bound volumes gleamed through the antique English mahogany cabinets. A neat pile of files sat to one side on his desk; one was open before him. No disorder whatever. Everything in its proper place. There was a splendid view over the city towers and the broad, deep river to his back. “Clare is organising coffee. We have a few things we need to discuss.”
“Oh, Corin, like what?” She was feeling a little giddy at the sight of him—he looked so vibrant, impossible not to stare—so she quickly took an armchair opposite, folding her hands with a commendable show of calm in her lap.
“You look well,” he sidetracked. In fact, she looked enchanting. He had never seen her in so pretty or so feminine a dress. She was such an intriguing combination of inner strength and physical delicacy. No doubt she had picked the dress to suit her rare colouring. She probably knew her eyes were the exact colour of the turquoise flowers. He wanted to tell her. Thought he’d better not. Miranda kept her own space.
“So do you.” She stared back at him with a little worried frown. “Why is it I think you’re about to persuade me to take a gap year?” He had raised the subject before, but had since let it drop. She should have known better.
“Well, it is a good idea,” he said mildly.
She glanced away. A large canvas hung on the far wall. It depicted a lush rainforest scene with the buttressed trunk of a giant tree of extraordinary shape in the foreground. The magnificent tree was surrounded by a wide circle of copper-coloured dry leaves, and ferns of all kinds, fungi and terrestrial white orchids sprouted everywhere in the background. His sister, Zara, had painted it. Miranda, who had a good eye for such things, loved it. The scene looked so real—so immediate—one could almost walk into it. “I can handle the studying, Corin.” She looked back slowly.
He held up an elegant, long-fingered hand. “Please, Miranda, don’t look so crestfallen.”
“How can I not be?”
“You push yourself too hard. I worry about you.”
“You worry about
me?” Her heart gave a quick jolt.
“Why look so surprised?”
“You don’t have to,” she said, trying to hide her immense gratification. He worried about her?
“Of course I do,” he confirmed. “You’re virtually an orphan. We share a history.”
She didn’t say she worried about him when he went off on his field trips to inspect various corporation mine sites.
With every passing year he had become more handsome and compelling. She watched with a mix of fascination and trepidation as he stood up, then came around his desk to perch on the edge of it. He was always impeccably dressed. Beautiful suits, shirts, ties, cufflinks, supple expensive shoes. The lot! How could she not fall in love with a man like that?
“I know you can handle the mind-numbing workload,” he said. “You’ve demonstrated ample proof of that. But you’re still very young, Miranda. Only twenty. Not twenty-one until next June, which is months off. I don’t want you totally blitzed.”
She drew in a long breath, preparing to argue. “Corin—”
