by Margaret Way
He was the Andrassy-Von Neumann heir. Katalin and Lilla were dead. He had, however, no real wish to harm Sonya. All she had to do was hand over the Madonna. He would make her an offer she couldn’t refuse. Ten million into her bank account? That should do it. Of course, if she were foolish enough to hold out against him? He didn’t believe she would. From a penniless little florist to a millionairess in one bound. Her grandmother and her mother and father were dead. He was certain she would see the good sense in making a deal. The only sense. After all, they were family. He was Count Laszlo Andrassy-Von Neumann. The title to his mind would never be defunct. And Sonya must never be allowed to lay claim to being a countess and the rightful heir of an ancient family’s estates. She couldn’t possibly stand a chance against him. Katalin’s true identity had been destroyed. All reference to her dropped like the plague. Like her father, the old count who had been fool enough to remain in his palace, and her brother, the heir, Katalin had become a victim of war. As for her daughter, Lilla, she was the child of little more than a peasant. The extraordinary thing was he would have recognised his cousin Sonya anywhere. She was without question an Andrassy-Von Neumann.
The phone was ringing as Sonya let herself into the apartment. She was breathing hard with outrage. She had been chased home from a local convenience store by one of the TV channels, a car with a man and a woman in it, on the lookout for a few words, no doubt. It was pretty much like being a hunted animal.
“You have to get out of there.”
It was David issuing instructions. He skipped the niceties. Niceties had flown out of the window.
“I’m not going anywhere, David,” she said, resisting his formidable tone. “Those media hounds would be onto me wherever I went. Your parents are home?” A photograph of the Wainwrights arriving at the airport had already hit the front pages. No comment from either of them. Both had looked gravely upset.
He gave in to a maddened sigh. “Neither of them wants you at the funeral, Sonya.”
“What about you, David?” she questioned, very intent on the answer. If he said he didn’t want her there, she would begin immediately to try to banish him from her heart and mind.
“You have a right to be there,” he said. “The problem, of course, is that your presence will cause a considerable stir.”
“Too bad!” she answered coldly. “Marcus would have wanted me to be there. Marcus loved me. Have you forgotten?”
“Listen, Sonya, I’m desperately tired,” he admitted, with a decided edge. “I maybe damned near thirty but my dad still likes to bawl me out. My mother too is good at beating a drum.”
“So you have to go along with them? I understand.” Her heart dropped like a stone.
“Oh, come off it!” he bit off. “I can take the heat. The whole business, you must admit, is ghastly. The press must be giving you hell?” He hadn’t willed or wanted falling in love with this woman. But he had. He had a terrible longing to be with her. But he couldn’t shake the crush of guilt. Or the knowledge he knew so little about her. She hadn’t been given an opportunity to make a final decision. It was possible she could have actually accepted Marcus’s proposal. Lack of trust was a sharp knife in his chest.
“The press are doing their level best,” she told him, aware of his ambivalent feelings towards her. “No wonder celebrities hate them. The hounding is appalling.”
“That’s why I want you to shift. I have an apartment lined up for you. Somewhere very secure.”
“Thank you, David,” she said with icy politeness, “but I can’t take advantage of your kind offer. I’m staying here. And I’m coming to the funeral. Your parents can bawl you out all they like. They can bawl me out too if they want to. I have backbone. I know enough about you to believe you’re every bit as tough as your illustrious parents. I can promise you I’ll keep a low profile. I won’t do a thing to draw attention to myself.”
His discordant laugh echoed down the phone. “Sonya, you must have learned by now you only have to show your face to draw attention.”
“Did I ask to have this face?” she burst out angrily. “Blonde women get too much attention, all of us bimbos. We both know I intend to pay my last respects to Marcus. If your family thinks they can try any stand-over tactics, they won’t work. I’ve known some truly horrible people, David. Your parents would be the good guys compared to them.”
“Don’t you worry the press will uncover these horrible people?” he warned her. “They’re pursuing you, and they’re going to keep it up. I would think Marcus has taken care of you in his will.”
“What, you don’t know already?” she asked witheringly.
“It’s the waiting game.” A stinging heat assailed him. He so wanted to see her, despite all that was happening. “Sonya, I want to help you. You need protection. You’re going to be hotly pursued in the days ahead.”
Pain shot through her right temple. A bad headache coming on. “That seems to be my fate, David, to be pursued. I’ll say goodbye now. You must do what you have to do. I know you mean well, but I refuse to be deterred. I will be at Marcus’s funeral. I don’t intend to disguise myself either, like don a black wig. I am who I am.”
“Then let’s get your damned name right!” he retorted.
“That would be a big mistake!” She slammed down the phone.
One minute later she was in floods of tears.
She had met a man who was perfect to her. But all he wanted was to be rid of her.
CHPATER SEVEN
SONYA had hoped the crowd would be so large she would have a good chance of slipping into the church unnoticed. As a necessary mark of respect to the Wainwright family she had done her best to look as inconspicuous as possible. Her giveaway white-blonde hair, she had all but concealed, fastening it in coils at the back, then topping it off with a wide-brimmed black hat. She had thought the inexpensive hat would be an excellent disguise. Unfortunately the result wasn’t as low key as she had wished. The hat looked great on her. She already had a black dress and suitable accessories. Nothing ultra smart, but good quality. Part of the problem was, black suited her. It made a showcase of her colouring. Her hair wasn’t on show, but she couldn’t hide her white skin. But for this very sad occasion, black it had to be. She had no real status even if Marcus had given her that magnificent ring.
On and off for nights she had cried. She felt the tears coming now but she had to fight them back. She had to find and maintain her composure. A young woman in tears would only bring unwelcome attention. Mourners were everywhere. In its way it was a spectacular turnout. Among the dignitaries present, the State Premier, and a representative of the PM, who was out of the country. Marcus Wainwright had been a much respected man, a member of one of the richest and most influential families in the nation.
She made it up the stone steps on shaky legs and through the door of the cathedral. She looked to neither left nor right. A strong arm took hold of hers. She looked up quickly, anticipating trouble. What she saw was a heavily built man filling out a black suit. It was his job, she realized, to keep crowd control. He drew her aside. “Ms Erickson, isn’t it?” he asked, very politely.
“Please take your hand off me,” she said, keeping her tone low.
“You’ve done yourself no good coming here, miss.” He was having difficulty not staring at her, she was so beautiful. “The family, I’m afraid, don’t want you.”
“I’m not here for the family, sir,” Sonya said very quietly. “I’m here for Marcus Wainwright, my dear friend. Now, if you don’t want me to raise my voice—I would regret the necessity, but I will—you’ll take your hand away. Marcus would have wanted me here. Who do the other Wainwrights think they are, anyway?” Her green eyes flashed fire.
“Oh, they’re Somebodies, Ms Erickson,” he assured her, shaking his head. He could see the determination in her green eyes. He had to admire her for it. It was obvious he hadn’t intimidated her in any way. Actually he didn’t want to.
“Well, I’m a Somebody
too,” she said. “Please move away from me. I’m going to find a seat before they’re all taken. I’ll be as quiet as possible. I have no wish to cause offence but I refuse to be treated badly.”
The security guard’s eyes flickered. He dropped his arm and gave what came close to being a courteous bow. “Good luck to you, miss. I fear you’re going to need it.”
Every eye in the church turned as the Wainwright clan moved in procession to the front of the church. Sonya kept looking straight ahead. She couldn’t see the casket. She didn’t want to. She felt truly terrible. Three unimaginable things had happened. Marcus had fallen in love with her. Marcus was dead. David had accomplished what no other man had ever done. He had stolen her heart. Now he had as good as abandoned her. The service went on and on. She stood. She sat. She sang with the rest of them, not even knowing the words, but filling in as best she could. It was all so unreal. She listened to all the wonderful things family, close friends and dignitaries said about Marcus. David’s contribution was the most beautiful and the most moving. She had to bite her lip hard the entire time he was speaking in his dark resonant voice. No one had dared mention the fact Marcus at the end of his life had been contemplating remarrying. The media wasn’t any too sure of that. The Wainwright family was going to pretend she didn’t exist.
Afterwards she stayed put until the church had almost been cleared before she made quietly for a side door, only to find the pathway outside had been blocked. That meant she had to go out of the front door. The Wainwrights, as was the custom, stood almost directly outside, receiving the long line of mourners who wished to express their sympathy. She would have to pass them. David was with them, tall, arresting and gravely formidable in his funereal clothes.
Looking straight in front of her, Sonya moved into the sunlight. It might have been a brilliant spotlight focused directly on her, because the buzz and hum of conversation among the huge crowd of mourners fell to a reverberating silence.
So much for the hat and the conservative clothes.
Her inner voice had kicked in.
Keep going. You can do it. Ignore all the curious and condemnatory faces. Ignore the Wainwrights. David is one of them. Family solidarity is important. Think of yourself as someone special. You are!
She had herself under control, keeping her mind busy with the thought of what the family might have done had she been wearing Marcus’s great diamond ring. Not only that, flashed it. She still had the ring. David had refused point blank to take charge of it, saying Marcus had wanted her to have it and that was that. How exactly did she return it? She was almost at the bottom of the stone steps when a young woman chose that precise moment to approach her, catching her by the arm.
Paula Rowlands moved right up into Sonya’s face, muttering in a low contemptuous voice, “The hide of you! I don’t believe it.” She had been alerted Sonya was among the mourners so, during the service while appearing to be deeply saddened, she had decided on a strategy. She would ambush this infuriating woman who had been told not to show her face.
“Are you crazy?” Sonya asked. Disgust overcame any sense of alarm. “Don’t bother to answer that. I’d like you to get away from me. And I mean now.” She sounded far more positive than she felt.
Neither young woman saw Holt Wainwright move swiftly down the steps until he was towering over both young women. “I’ll take you to your car, Sonya,” he said, sounding as if he wouldn’t tolerate any refusal. “You don’t intend to go on?”
Of course he meant to the cemetery. “No.” She put his mind at rest.
He turned his head to address Paula directly. His dark eyes were as glittery as black crystals. “I had no idea, Paula, you were so full of malice.”
“Malice?” Deeply wounded, Paula stared up at him incredulously.”She’s the danger, Holt. I’m your friend, Holt, remember?”
“I’m trying to.” He inclined his handsome head further towards her, still holding Sonya’s arm. “Please do not offend my parents, Paula. Do not offend the memory of my uncle. Walk quietly away now.”
Paula flushed scarlet. “Of course, Holt.” She obeyed.
Those remaining of the huge crowd followed every step of their progress, across the road then down a side street to where Sonya had parked her car. That included press photographers and a television camera, although they’d had the common decency to keep their distance at this point.
“You were cruel to her, weren’t you?” Sonya said on a distressed breath, but very glad of his supporting arm.
His handsome face was closed. “She deserved it. What was she saying anyway?”
“What you’d expect. Do you think I have a hide, David?”
“I think you’ve got a lot of guts,” he answered tersely. “Not too many people stand up to my parents.”
“You do. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here with me now. Or this is one of your strategies? Get her away as quickly and as quietly as possible.”
He could see her hurt. It registered in her beautiful eyes. Nothing but distress for the both of them. “All you need to know is this, Sonya. I won’t have anyone attacking you. Whether it would have turned out well or a disaster, Marcus loved you.”
“So you went for disaster? I guess you’re with me now for Marcus’s sake?”
“Sonya, right now I’m here for you.” They had reached her small car, the roof and the bonnet lightly scattered with tiny yellow flowers from the overhead trees. “I need to talk to you, Sonya,” he said.
He appeared to be studying every separate feature of her face.
“You’re going straight home?”
“No, I’m taking off for parts unknown.” She offered a dismal joke.
“Maybe that would be a good idea for a week or two.” His forehead creased in concentration.
“So where do you suggest I go? Far North Queensland. Cape York?” She named a remote part of Queensland a few thousand miles away. “Or maybe across Bass Strait to Tasmania. That should be far enough.”
“I can arrange Port Douglas.” He named a famous Queensland beach resort. The aching hunger he felt for her was squeezing his chest.
“Problem is I’m not a sun worshipper like you. I’ll think of something, David. I can see you’re anxious to get rid of me.”
He didn’t deign to answer. God, what do I do now?
“Sonya Erickson, the girl who can’t be found.” She unlocked her car, sweeping the offending hat off her head and throwing it onto the seat. Then she shook her head, shaking her hair free of its tight, confining pins.
“How could you expect me to trust you, when you don’t trust me, Sonya? You’ve told me nothing. At best you’ve thrown out a few clues. What could be so bad you keep it locked up? Who is looking for you, Sonya?” His tone was deadly serious. “Someone is. I’m convinced Erickson isn’t your real name.”
“I don’t have a name,” she said mournfully. No reason to tell him now. “I’m like my maternal grandmother. My identity has been lost.”
He stared down at her, the waterfall of hair, her marvellous illuminated skin. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes sense to me,” she said.
“The will is going to be read this afternoon,” he offered abruptly. “You’re in it.’
“You’re certain of that?” she asked scornfully. “So where am I—top of the list? Or second? God forbid I should rob you of your inheritance.”
“Just once, Sonya. Be yourself.”
“Good heavens, David. You sound as though you care?” She knew she had reached a crisis point in her life. She had to be strong. “If Marcus did remember me in his will I’m sure it’ll be contested. This woman has exerted undue pressure on an ailing man might be the way to go.” She knew she sounded bitter, but she had to make a final break.
“Marcus wouldn’t have wasted any time seeing you were provided for,” he said. God knew that would cause, not ripples, but a flood.
“Aren’t the Wainwrights going to love that?” she scoffed.
&nb
sp; Only her lovely mouth was quivering. Her desire to turn him away was in vain. “It’s not the money, Sonya.”
“Of course it’s the money!” she said angrily, fighting tears. “Even billionaires don’t knock back money. Money is everything to them. If Marcus has left me money I can refuse it. Or, better yet, give it away. Anyway, you could be wrong.”
He very much doubted that. “I want to see you this evening,” he said, tension in his entire body. “I can tell you then.”
“But I don’t want to see you.” She slipped behind the wheel with natural grace, her eyes glittering with tears.
He looked in at her. “Yes, you do.” Love was the best or the worst of spells. Once under it, one lost sight of common sense, even reason.
Sonya drove away without another word. On the one hand she believed she had Laszlo’s people looking for her. The big worry was her recent notoriety. She had never appeared in a newspaper before. She was exposed as never before. On the other hand, the Wainwrights, and their extended family, were all involved in some way in Wainwrights’ numerous enterprises. They were the ones who wanted to slam the door in her face. David was powerfully attracted to her. She knew that just as she knew he didn’t trust her. Who could blame him? She was acting as though she had a disreputable past and in some ways she had. She knew he was feeling a degree of guilt. She was feeling it too. When they had come together no thoughts of Marcus had stood in the way. She recognised too powerful parents had a way of having the last word.
Better you’d never come into his life.
Nor he into hers.
Every Wainwright face showed shocked disbelief. They were all gathered in the library while the family solicitor read out the will. Holt sat between his mother and father, from time to time taking his mother’s hand. She might not be showing it, but he knew she was deeply shocked by Marcus’s sudden death.
Charities dear to Marcus’s heart were treated very generously, so too young members of the family. There were bequests to lifelong friends, tidy sums to staff present and past, Marcus’s collection of valuable paintings—three of the most important to the National Art Gallery, the remainder to his mother, along with the bronze sculptures she had long admired. Chinese porcelains, jades and ivories went to Rowena, who was too upset to attend the will reading. A great windfall of shares went to his father, Robert, and many personal effects. The bulk of his uncle’s fortune, including a hefty block of shares from Marcus’s large portfolio went to him. Nothing unexpected about that. All the family knew he had been the apple of his uncle’s eye. However, to everyone’s stunned amazement twenty million dollars went to a Sonya Erickson, an unknown, for whom in Marcus’s words he had, “a great affection".
