Cruel Legacy

by Penny Jordan

  As she replaced the receiver, she saw the piece of paper on which she had written Blake’s number. That job would have been ideal for her. She liked children, of all ages, and found it easy to get on with them, perhaps because her memories of her own childhood made her sensitive to their emotional needs.

  Had things been different she would have liked a larger family—two girls, perhaps… four was a good well-rounded number.

  Visiting the hospital with Susie, she had always found herself drawn towards the children’s wards. The little ones were especially heart-aching, but it had been the teenagers who had moved her the most with their strength and their vulnerability.

  If her prospective employer had been anyone other than Blake Hamilton she would have welcomed both him and his job with open arms.

  ‘He’s got a large house with plenty of room to spare,’ Elizabeth had told her.

  Rory’s anxiety still at the forefront of her mind, she started to hurry back to the kitchen to write him a letter, but the doorbell ringing stopped her. She had very few visitors these days apart from Susie, who she knew was over at her mother’s and wouldn’t be returning until the morning, and so her heart thudded against her chest wall and then started to race.

  Had Joel ignored what she had said and come back? And, if so, would she have the strength to send him away again?

  Unsteadily she went to open the door.

  For a moment, when she saw who her visitor actually was, she almost started to panic and close the door in his face, until she registered his expression. Her recognition of his grim determination and her relief that he was not, after all, Joel gave her the strength to say quietly and somewhat to her own surprise, ‘Hello, Blake. You’d better come in.’

  Blake was caught off guard by her reaction as well; she could see it in his eyes.

  What had he been expecting? she wondered—that she would blush like a schoolgirl and fall at his feet in a fit of swooning adoration? She wasn’t that idealistic, infatuated teenager any more.

  ‘You sound as though you’ve been expecting me.’

  His voice sounded deeper, harsher than it had done on the answering machine. She could hear his emotions in it: tension, impatience, irritation… Tension? Why should he be tense?

  ‘Not really,’ she told him, responding automatically to his question.

  ‘No? But you did recognise my voice on the answering machine.’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ Philippa agreed. What was the point in lying?

  ‘And, having recognised it, you decided not to bother going ahead and making an appointment to see me.’

  ‘It seemed the best thing to do,’ Philippa told him.

  It came to her suddenly that this was not the man she remembered, the all-powerful, godlike hero-figure she had worshipped and adored; this was a human being who right now seemed more thrown off guard by the situation than she was.

  It was a disconcerting sensation recognising that fact; it gave her a dizzying, unfamiliar sense of freedom, changing things so that the balance of power between them had swung slightly in her direction, bringing home to her the fact that she was after all no longer that shy, adoring girl whose image had remained trapped in her memories, but an adult woman with far more important things to concern her than the urgings of her immature adolescent emotions and body.

  Physically Blake might hardly have changed at all; his body, she recognised, was still as lean and powerfully male as she remembered, even if now he was dressed in the imposing formality of a dark suit and an immaculately ironed white shirt rather than the T-shirt and jeans she remembered. His eyes were just as clear and assessing as they had been, the dark, almost black iris banded by a rim of much clearer pale green; the high cheekbones still gave his face a faintly austere aura of sexual masculinity; and his mouth still possessed that full bottom curve of sexuality and passion. But she had changed, without knowing it, without even recognising it until now, because, although she was aware of all those things about him which had once made her heart and pulse race and her fevered sensual imaginings a physical torture to live with, now they no longer had any power to affect her.

  Yes, she was aware of him as a very sexually powerful man, but it was her memories of Joel’s lovemaking that made her body ache with sweet heaviness, not Blake’s presence here in her house.

  It was an odd, disconcerting feeling, a combination of relief and foolishness, like waking up from a terrifying nightmare to discover that the shadow which had haunted her sleep had been nothing more than a dress hanging on the wardrobe door.

  ‘How is the little girl?’ she asked him compassionately, dismissing her own feelings. ‘Poor child, she must be suffering dreadfully…’

  As he heard the genuine warmth and concern in her voice, Blake acknowledged that Elizabeth Humphries knew what she was doing. Philippa had been the only person he had interviewed for the job who had mentioned Anya first.

  Only of course he was not interviewing her, and nor, he suspected, was he going to get the opportunity to do so.

  This calm, slightly distant, wholly mature woman was nothing like the Philippa he would have expected to find given the circumstances Elizabeth had briefly outlined to him. The metamorphosis in her from the girl he had known both intrigued and slightly chagrined him.

  The fact that her startling prettiness had not diminished over the years did not surprise him, but the fact that she herself was so unaware of it, so careless almost of it, did, he acknowledged.

  Despite what Michael had told him about her he had still half expected her to fit into a very different image, given her upbringing: designer clothes, immaculately coiffured hair, polished nails; in fact, the kind of artificiality he had always found a turn-off in any woman.

  That was how he had visualised the woman she would become, not this jeans- and T-shirt-clad woman with her softly tousled fair hair and short blunt nails, her face free from make-up and her manner equally free of any artifice or constraint.

  As a teenager, looking as she did today would have been something her parents would never have allowed.

  Then she had looked like an immaculate, untouchable little doll. Now she looked like a wholly and enticingly touchable woman; the kind of woman who laughed and cried, who was warm and giving, the kind of woman who would take a lonely, frightened child to her heart and wrap her in the safe security of her love.

  How had she become that woman…? Via a man… her husband?

  Immediately he suppressed his thoughts, answering Philippa’s questions.

  ‘Anya is naturally very unhappy and confused. She’s a quiet child, mature for her age in some ways and very immature in others. She hasn’t had much contact with other children and her parents’ death has made her retreat into herself…’ Blake frowned. ‘Why did you change your mind about applying for the job, Philippa? I know that you…’

  ‘That I what…? That I need the money?’ Philippa supplied for him steadily. ‘Yes, I do,’ she admitted honestly. ‘But you can have as little desire to have me working for you as——’

  ‘I am not concerned with my desires,’ Blake interrupted her curtly. ‘Only Anya’s needs.’

  He saw from Philippa’s expression that his words had hit home. She always had been emotionally vulnerable, and it had been because of that—He stopped his thoughts, refusing to let them go any further. It was Anya he was here for, not…

  ‘I won’t be manipulated, Blake,’ Philippa warned him steadily. ‘And to be honest I’m surprised that you want me.’

  Philippa stopped, abruptly silenced by her own choice of words and cursing herself inwardly, but if Blake was aware of what she was thinking he was not showing it.

  ‘I haven’t got much time left,’ he told her abruptly. ‘The Social Services have never been happy with the idea of me taking charge of Anya; they’re already pressuring me to prove that she’s going to be better off with me than under their care…’

  ‘And you’re getting desperate,’ Philippa half mocked him.<
br />
  ‘Yes, I’m desperate,’ he admitted. ‘But not so desperate that I’m prepared to employ someone who isn’t one hundred and ten per cent the right person to have charge of Anya…’

  ‘And you think that I’m that person?’

  It was impossible for her to keep the cynicism out of her voice, and she could tell that Blake had recognised it.

  ‘So… not quite everything about you has changed,’ he told her softly. ‘The Philippa I knew always did lack self-esteem.’

  Not only did she not desire him any more, she didn’t much like him either, Philippa decided.

  ‘The Philippa you knew doesn’t exist any more,’ she told him icily. ‘She was a girl… a child… I am a woman…’

  ‘Yes…’

  Why, after the control she had felt and exhibited, did that one slow, soft word make her feel as though her entire body was suddenly engulfed in a wave of self-conscious heat?

  ‘I’m sorry, Blake,’ she told him tersely. ‘But I can’t work for you.’ She turned away from him. ‘It just wouldn’t work and I have the boys to consider now, as well…’

  ‘That would be no handicap as far as I am concerned—far from it.’

  Philippa looked back at him.

  ‘Anya has been too isolated, she needs contact with other children, but I suspect that, thrown into a new school and with the trauma of her parents’ death to cope with, instead of reaching out to her peers, she’s far more likely to retreat from them completely.

  ‘To have the opportunity to mix with other children in her own home, a home she shared with them, would be of enormous benefit to her.’

  ‘Is that Anya’s guardian speaking or her psychiatrist?’ Philippa asked him sharply.

  ‘Anya is my charge, not my patient,’ Blake responded equally curtly, adding angrily, ‘And if you’re suggesting that I want to use her emotional vulnerability in some kind of absurd professional experiment…!’

  She hadn’t been; all she had wanted to do was to irritate him a little, scratch him to see if he really bled, a small compensation for the bruises she had received from flinging herself against the implacable rock of his uninterest. But someone obviously had suggested that. Who? Philippa wondered. The Social Services?

  His temperament was far more mercurial than she had realised, she recognised, his emotions far closer to the surface.

  ‘Why should I?’ she told him, adding drily, ‘I’m not the guardian of your conscience, Blake. I’ve got far more important things to worry about… like my sons…’

  ‘Their father… your husband… did you love him?’

  Philippa stared at him, unable to conceal her shock.

  Blake was shocked as well, she recognised, as though his question had been as unanticipated by him as it had been by her. For a second she was tempted to lie, to abide by convention and regress to the person her parents had brought her up to be, but her pride wouldn’t let her. Why should she, after all?

  ‘No,’ she told him, her head held high, her eyes defying him to criticise her. ‘But I was grateful to him.’

  ‘Grateful?’ He was frowning.

  ‘Because he wanted me… needed me, approved of me… because he reinforced my self-esteem, because he gave my life a purpose and a focus. Because,’ she told him quietly, ‘he provided an escape route from my parents.

  ‘And you, Blake. Have you ever married?’

  ‘No.’

  Their eyes met and it was Blake who looked away first, Philippa noticed in surprise.

  ‘I’d still like you to reconsider taking the job…’

  He meant it, Philippa realised.

  ‘Don’t give me your final answer yet. Think it over for a couple of days,’ he urged her. ‘Anya needs you, Philippa.’

  ‘That’s emotional blackmail,’ Philippa told him bluntly. ‘And you don’t even know yet how Anya will react to me.’

  ‘Oh, but you’re wrong,’ Blake contradicted her softly. ‘That is the one thing I do know…’

  ‘Is that your professional judgement?’ Philippa’s mouth twisted slightly as she spoke.

  ‘Yes… and it’s my judgement as a human being as well… as a man…’

  He was already turning towards the door, leaving while he felt he had the upper hand, Philippa realised, knowing that she was on ground that was far too unstable for her to challenge him. It didn’t make any difference, though; she might as well allow him his small victory, because she wasn’t going to change her mind… she wasn’t going to take the job.

  Why not? She had already proved to herself that she was immune to him now both emotionally and sexually.

  In the empty kitchen she shook her head in silent rejection of her own unspoken question.

  She just wasn’t, that was all; she didn’t need to give logical reasons, explanations, excuses… She just wasn’t.

  * * *

  The letter arrived with the morning’s post. She saw the bank’s stamp on it and reached for it first, her fingers trembling as she opened it, knowing by some instinct that it contained a response to her request.

  She read it once and then a second time as the sickening sense of shock and disappointment spread outwards through her body.

  The bank was sorry, but it could not agree to her request.

  There was a lot more to it than that, of course, but essentially that was what they were saying… a firm and unequivocal ‘no’.

  It was several minutes before she realised that there was a second page to their letter. Its contents only reinforced the message of the first page. It named the estate agents who would be acting for them and warned her that the agents had been instructed to go for a quick sale.

  So much for her promise to Rory that they would all be together for the summer holidays… Together where? At her parents’?

  The temptation to give in to her own fear and misery was almost overwhelming, but what was the point? What good would it do?

  When the phone rang she raced to answer it, illogically hoping that it might be the bank ringing to say they had changed their mind, but instead it was Susie.

  ‘Hey, where are you?’ Susie asked her cheerfully. ‘You were supposed to be coming round here for coffee and a natter this morning—remember?’

  ‘Yes… yes… I’m sorry… I was just about to leave…’

  ‘Philippa, what is it? What’s wrong?’

  ‘I heard from the bank this morning,’ Philippa told her. ‘They aren’t prepared to let me stay on in the house and apparently they’ve instructed the agents and asked them to look for a quick sale.’

  ‘Oh… oh… I’m so sorry…’

  Susie’s quick sympathy made her eyes sting with tears.

  ‘Well, it isn’t all bad news,’ Philippa told her. ‘Believe it or not I have actually been offered a job…’

  She stopped speaking abruptly. What on earth had made her say that? She hadn’t intended to discuss Blake’s visit, nor his job offer, with anyone. What was the point, when she had already decided not to take it?

  It was that stupid pride of hers again, she recognised grimly, over-reacting against the sympathetic pity she had heard in Susie’s voice.

  ‘A job… The little girl?’ Susie guessed excitedly. ‘Tell me all about it.’ Philippa sketched the details. ‘It sounds marvellous,’ Susie enthused. ‘When do you start?’

  ‘I don’t. There’s a problem,’ Philippa told her.

  ‘A problem. What kind of problem, minor, major or mega?’

  ‘That,’ Philippa told her, ‘depends on how you look at it.’

  Quietly she went on to explain.

  ‘Mmm—curiouser and curiouser,’ was Susie’s only comment, but when Philippa pressed her to explain what she meant she refused to do so.

  ‘But if you don’t feel attracted to him any more——’

  ‘I don’t,’ Philippa interrupted her sharply.

  ‘Then there isn’t really a problem, is there?’ Susie pointed out gently. ‘He obviously isn’t concerned abou
t what happened in the past; if he were he wouldn’t be so keen to employ you, would he? And from your own point of view there’s obviously nothing to fear, since you don’t lust after him any more. Which brings us to another point.

  ‘I don’t want to sound preachy, but there are other reasons why it might be a good idea for you to take this job, apart from the more obvious commercial ones, that is—or don’t you agree?’

  Philippa sighed. She knew what Susie meant.

  ‘You mean Joel,’ she acknowledged wryly.

  ‘If that’s his name, then yes. You said yourself that it couldn’t go anywhere; that he was married and that the last thing you wanted was to be responsible for another woman’s potential unhappiness,’ Susie reminded her.

  ‘Yes. I know…’

  ‘So, here’s your chance to end it—after all, if you’re living with another man…’

  ‘As his employee…’ Philippa reminded her quickly.

  ‘Well, yes, of course, but you’ve got to admit it wouldn’t be as easy to entertain a lover under someone else’s roof as it would under your own.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ Philippa acknowledged. ‘Everything you say makes sense, I know, but…’

  ‘Have you thought that it might not be your fear that Blake might think you still have a crush on him that’s holding you back, but your change of status…?’ Susie suggested gently.

  ‘No… no, of course it isn’t,’ Philippa denied indignantly.

  ‘Then take the job,’ Susie counselled her. ‘After all,’ she added cheerfully, ‘you can always leave if it doesn’t work out.’

  ‘No… that’s the one thing I can’t do,’ Philippa contradicted her. ‘Not once I’ve made a commitment to Anya. She’s been through so much already, lost so much… I don’t know why Blake is so keen to employ me,’ she burst out. ‘I mean, there must be dozens of other women far better qualified for the job than I am.’

  ‘It depends what you mean by better qualified,’ Susie told her. ‘I imagine he wants you for the same reason that Elizabeth Humphries recommended you for the job in the first place. And that’s quite simply because he knows that to you it won’t just be a job. Take it, Pip,’ Susie advised her firmly. ‘After all, what other real option do you actually have?’