Daughters of Fortune: A Novel

by Hyland, Tara

  On January 25, 1964, 40 percent of Melville was floated on the London Stock Exchange, with the remaining 60 percent split between the family: 45 percent for William, a nominal 10 percent for Rosalind and the remaining 5 percent to Piers. The money funded her dream of taking the company international. When the New York store opened on Fifth Avenue in 1965, Melville became a truly global brand.

  By 1970 Melville was at the peak of its popularity. The name had become synonymous with glamour and status, a luxury English brand sought after by movie stars and jetsetters. Rosalind could be proud. She had grown Melville into a much greater business than Oliver had left, and it was a legacy she felt proud to hand on to her eldest son, William.

  Of course, the rise of Melville hadn’t been without its sacrifices for Rosalind. With her efforts concentrated on the business, raising her two sons had been left mainly to nannies and boarding schools. But she felt it was worth it to secure such a wonderful legacy for them both. And it hadn’t seemed to do them any harm. They were still a close family; no sons thought more of their mother; and they had grown into bright, handsome boys. Perhaps Piers was a little shy and quiet, more a follower than a leader. But while he’d grown up in the shadow of his successful older brother, he never seemed to resent his lesser role. Rosalind had seen to that. “William might be the figurehead of Melville, but you are the heart,” she’d told him time and again as he grew up. “You must watch over your brother. It’s up to you to help preserve the family name.”

  So, as had always been Rosalind’s wish, her sons had both come to work at Melville. When she’d decided to reduce her duties, William had taken over from her as Chief Executive, although she had continued to advise him, along with Piers. The business remained prosperous and successful.

  In fact, everything had been perfect until a few months ago, when this O’Dwyer business had come to light.

  Rosalind had made it clear from the beginning that she didn’t like the idea of William bringing his illegitimate child to live with the family. “It isn’t fair to your wife—nor the girls,’ she’d said at the time. “If this woman Nuala is prepared to look after her, then why not let her? Provide for Caitlin, by all means, but don’t disrupt her life. And don’t disrupt your family.”

  William had looked her straight in the eye and said, “Caitlin is my family, Mother.”

  It was all he’d said on the subject, but it had told Rosalind everything she needed to know. William intended to treat the girl as part of his family, whereas to Rosalind, she would always be an outsider, nothing to do with her. And the old lady didn’t like the idea of an outsider getting her hands on any of the Melville business. Originally, she had planned to leave her entire 10 percent holding to William, but Caitlin’s arrival had changed that.

  Now, she picked up the document in front of her. It wouldn’t hurt to read it one last time. Just to be sure.

  Sitting in her father’s study after dinner that night, Elizabeth tried not to show her irritation as he quizzed her about how much time she’d spent with Caitlin since she’d arrived.

  Too much, Elizabeth thought to herself. “As much as I can,” she said out loud. Well, what did he expect? It wasn’t as if they had anything in common. Caitlin couldn’t ride or play tennis—all she was interested in was reading and drawing. Dull. She didn’t belong here at Aldringham. She didn’t even look like a Melville. With her raw Gaelic looks, she bore no resemblance to Elizabeth and Amber, who had inherited the fair hair and patrician features of their grandmother.

  “I’ve tried my best,” Elizabeth said sulkily, “but we’ve got different interests.”

  William gave a curt nod. “I know that, but you are the older one here and you need to make allowances. Caitlin’s had a hard time, what with her mother dying and having to leave everything she knows behind.”

  For a second, Elizabeth felt sorry for Caitlin again. But still, it wasn’t as if that was her fault.

  “I appreciate this hasn’t been easy for you,” William continued, “but that’s no reason to take it out on Caitlin. She isn’t as strong as you, Elizabeth. She needs your help and protection.”

  The girl dropped her gaze, deciding the quickest way out of here was to act chastened. “Of course, Daddy, I understand. I’ll try harder.”

  “Good.” He paused for a moment, and Elizabeth suddenly had a feeling that she had walked into a trap. Her fears were confirmed a moment later, when he said, “Then you won’t mind about next weekend.”

  She froze. “What about next weekend?” Every year, the Melvilles spent the August Bank Holiday weekend at their villa in Lake Como. This time, Elizabeth had negotiated to stay behind at Aldringham and invite fifteen of her friends from school to stay.

  “I’ve decided to leave Caitlin with you. She’ll be starting at Greycourt this autumn, and I think it would be good for her to meet some of the other pupils. Give her a head start on the term.”

  Elizabeth stared at him, horrified. Thankfully, years of practice kept her from revealing her true feelings.

  “Of course,” she managed. “That sounds like a good idea.”

  “Excellent. I knew I could count on you.” Satisfied with the outcome of their conversation, William returned to the document on his desk.

  Realizing she’d been dismissed, Elizabeth got up to leave. But at the door, she turned back.

  “By the way,” she said, almost as an afterthought. “Did you ever get around to reading my personal statement?”

  It was the essay for her Cambridge application. She had given a draft to her father to look over the previous week.

  “Not yet,” William told her, without even bothering to glance up from his work.

  Typical, Elizabeth thought as she left the study. He had all the time in the world for this Irish stray, and none for her.

  By the time Elizabeth got back to her room, she was already plotting how to keep Caitlin as far away as possible from her friends the following weekend.

  5

  _________

  On Friday morning, William, Isabelle, and Amber departed for Italy, leaving Elizabeth and Caitlin alone at Aldringham. By three that afternoon, the estate’s extensive driveway was filled with Porsches, Mercedeses, and Ferraris, the vehicles of Elizabeth’s classmates. Out on the sun deck, a dozen of Greycourt’s most popular students lounged in the afternoon heat. The girls wore string bikinis and lay stretched out on sunbeds, watching the boys show off in the pool. All excellent sportsmen, the stars of the rugby and rowing teams, they were trying to outdo each other with double and triple backflips.

  “So are we going to meet your stepsister this weekend?” The question came from Morgan Woodhouse, Elizabeth’s sometime friend and rival. The two girls were lying side by side, turning golden in the heat of the afternoon sun.

  “Half sister,” Elizabeth corrected automatically. “And no, you won’t be meeting her.”

  Elizabeth had spoken to Caitlin that morning. She’d told the younger girl that she was welcome to come along, but that she’d probably be bored, listening to them catching up, although she could always join them for the water polo tournament later. By the time Elizabeth had left Caitlin’s room, she was positive the younger girl had gotten the message: that she wasn’t wanted.

  “And what’s the little country bumpkin like?” Morgan asked. Most people would have taken the hint that Elizabeth didn’t want to dwell on the subject of Caitlin. Morgan didn’t.

  “Fairly dull.” Elizabeth flipped over onto her front to signal her lack of interest in the topic. “Can someone put sunscreen on my back?” she asked, smoothly changing the subject.

  “With pleasure.”

  Unsurprisingly the offer came from Elliott Falconer. Elliott was Greycourt’s top rugby player and widely considered to be the best-looking guy in school, something of which he was all too aware. He was also a notorious womanizer. Elizabeth didn’t need to ask him twice. Within seconds, he was kneeling over her, massaging the cool sunscreen onto her shoulders.
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  “Untie my bikini, will you?” she murmured. “I don’t want a tan line.”

  He did as he was told and squeezed more lotion onto the small of her back. His hands moved upward and outward grazing purposefully against her breasts, lingering a fraction longer than necessary. Elizabeth hoped Morgan didn’t notice.

  Elliott and Morgan had been a hot item until he’d dumped her at the beginning of the summer. Since the split he’d devoted himself to hitting on any female with a pulse. Elizabeth was forever giving him the brush-off, but Elliott wouldn’t take no for an answer. As if on cue, she felt the beginnings of his hard-on against her thigh. She guessed he was doing it deliberately. Subtlety wasn’t his strong point.

  “That’s enough, thanks,” she said. When he didn’t stop immediately, she elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

  “Jesus!” he complained. “That hurt.” But it had the desired effect. He sat back on his sunbed, grabbing a towel to throw over his lap. He didn’t look remotely embarrassed. Pushing his Ray-Bans onto his head, he regarded her for a moment. “You know what your problem is?” he said.

  She bit. “What?”

  “You need a good, hard screw to loosen you up.”

  “Fuck you, Elliott.”

  The boy stretched lazily. “Whenever you want, Elizabeth.”

  She didn’t bother to dignify him with an answer. Instead she closed her eyes, signaling the end of the conversation.

  Lying on the sunbed next to Elizabeth, Morgan looked enviously at her friend. In a crowd of beautiful people, Elizabeth stood out as usual. The white Dolce & Gabbana bikini showed off her tanned, toned body to perfection, the halter top and tiny short bottoms giving her a wholesome, sporty look. Morgan had been sunbathing topless all afternoon, enjoying the blatant stares from the lads. But now, looking at Elizabeth, she suddenly felt cheap in her leopardskin thong and reached for a T-shirt to cover up.

  However hard Morgan tried, Elizabeth always managed to outdo her. Like her friend, Morgan was tall, thin, and blonde. But Elizabeth had something crucial that she couldn’t replicate—effortless cool. She really couldn’t give a damn what anyone thought of her. Morgan always tried a little too hard, which meant she was destined to be the number two in the group. She was as horribly aware of her status as she was determined to change it.

  She wondered for a moment if there was any truth to what Elliott had said, about Elizabeth still being a virgin. There had been those rumors last year, about her and Mr. Butler, the school’s tennis coach. But she’d remained tight-lipped about the whole incident. Morgan knew there was no point asking. Elizabeth never confided in her. It was one of the many inequalities in their friendship. But, for all Elizabeth’s sophistication, could this be the one area where Morgan trumped her?

  Certainly Elizabeth had never shown much interest in having a boyfriend. Morgan was the opposite. She hated to be without a man. Wistfully, she looked across the deck to where Elliott was now chatting up Lucille Elkin, a pretty redhead. Deep down Morgan knew he was a bastard, but that was part of the appeal.

  Now Morgan watched as he picked up the platinum Zippo she’d given him for his birthday and leaned over to light Lucille’s cigarette. The gesture was unnervingly intimate. Jealousy snaked through her. She knew it meant nothing—it was just the way he was with women, an instinctive flirt. But it still hurt. Elliott said something, and Lucille laughed prettily, throwing her head back. Morgan’s eyes narrowed.

  She got up. The other thing about Elliott was that he had a short attention span. It was something that had irritated Morgan about him when they were in a relationship, but now she could use it to her advantage. Easing herself into the pool, she swam over to where he was sitting, precariously near the side. He had his back to her and didn’t notice her swim up. She scooped up some water and threw it at him. It was a childish ploy to get his attention, but it worked.

  “Hey!” he protested. Morgan had aimed well. He stopped talking to Lucille and turned to see who had attacked him. When he saw it was Morgan, he grinned, recognizing the prank for what it was—a mating call.

  He stood up, pulling off his T-shirt to reveal a perfect six-pack beneath. “You’re going to regret that, Morgan Woodhouse,” he said, his voice playfully threatening.

  Behind him, Lucille scowled, irritated that she’d lost his attention so quickly. Elliott dived into the pool, his taut, tanned body slicing through the water. Morgan made a half-hearted attempt to swim away, yelping theatrically when he grabbed her around the waist.

  “Elliott, don’t!” she protested weakly, as he picked her up easily in his strong arms. “Put me down! Now!”

  But she didn’t mean a word of it. She loved being the center of his attention. She just wished he felt the same way about her.

  Upstairs, Caitlin put her hands over her ears, trying to block out the screams of excitement coming from the pool below. It made no difference. She had reread the last passage of her book three times now, and she still had no idea what it was about. An Agatha Christie mystery had seemed a good way to pass the long afternoon, but it was impossible to concentrate with all the shouting and laughing, the sounds of people having fun.

  She had retreated to her room when Elizabeth’s guests had started arriving. “Don’t feel obliged to come down,” her half sister had said that morning. “You’re probably sick of meeting new people, and they’ll be in a different year than you anyway.” Caitlin had known what that meant. So Elizabeth didn’t think she was good enough to introduce to her friends? Well, frankly, if they were anything like Elizabeth, she wouldn’t want to hang out with them anyway. With that mutinous thought, Caitlin determinedly flipped the page of her book.

  A moment later, another shriek of excitement pierced the air. Caitlin sighed. She folded down the corner of the page and put the novel down. Who was she kidding? She was dying to see what was going on downstairs.

  Pushing back the duvet, she walked over to the windowseat. Below were around a dozen of the most beautiful people she had ever seen. They held themselves with a confidence that up until now she’d thought only adults possessed. She might not be able to hear the details of their conversation, but she knew instinctively that the jokes were sophisticated, the banter witty.

  Her eyes were drawn to a couple in the pool—it was hard not to be, given they were making the most noise. Even from up here, Caitlin could tell what was going on between them. The boy was chasing the girl through the water. She was yelping and squealing, splashing him, but clearly loving every minute of it. The girl was a thinner, blonder version of Elizabeth. She was very pretty, Caitlin thought with a touch of envy. She’d thought it was just her half sister who looked and behaved in such a sophisticated manner. But now it turned out that there were others like her. What if all the girls at Greycourt were clones of Elizabeth?

  But it was the boy who caught her attention. With dark, floppy hair and chiseled bone structure, he was as good-looking as a model or a pop star. He was also tall and obviously strong, lifting the blonde clean out of the water as though she weighed nothing, holding her firm as she squirmed against him and struggled to get free. Then he dunked her into the water, laughing as she surfaced and shouted a threat at him. Caitlin wished for a moment that she could be like the pretty blonde, confident and outgoing, completely at ease with someone as good looking as he was.

  She didn’t fit into this rich, privileged world. But neither was she the same person she’d been back in Ireland. She’d continued to phone Róisín regularly since coming here. They’d made plans for Caitlin to go back to visit, and Róisín had been excited about seeing Aldringham. But the last couple of times Caitlin had called, she had a feeling Róisín was a little jealous. She’d tried to explain that she hated it here, but Róisín couldn’t see what she was complaining about. It all seemed so glamorous to her: the big house, the pool, the tennis courts . . .

  “I can’t talk now,” Róisín had said last time she’d phoned. They’d only been speaking for about two minutes.
“I’m going to the movies with Mary and Theresa.”

  Caitlin had put down the receiver feeling empty and sad. Valleymount had moved on without her. She could never go back. She was stuck between two worlds—not fitting in with the Melvilles but also no longer an O’Dwyer.

  She took one last envious look at the couple playing in the pool below. There was no point wondering what it would be like to hang out with them. She would never get the opportunity to find out.

  Caitlin stayed hidden in her room for the rest of the day. Mrs. Hutchins, the housekeeper, brought her up a plate of food at dusk.

  “I’d stay and chat, love,” the woman said, placing the tray on the dressing table, “but the kitchen’s racing flat out, getting dinner ready for seven-thirty. I best get back.”

  Mrs. Hutchins shot her a sympathetic glance as she left the room. Caitlin was a nice kid, all the staff thought so. In fact, she was the only one of the three children with decent manners, never missing her pleases and thank yous. It just went to show that money didn’t buy you everything.

  Caitlin ate the food hungrily. She hadn’t had anything since breakfast, and Mrs. Hutchins had prepared a delicious spread—a plate of cold cuts, hams, and cheeses with freshly baked bread. She devoured every scrap before going back to her book.

  An hour later, Caitlin finally finished the mystery. It was only then that she realized how quiet it was outside. She crossed to the window. The patio was deserted. Elizabeth and her friends must be eating at the moment. It was the ideal opportunity to get some air.

  She took the back stairs down to the ground floor. The dining room was at the rear of the house, so she had no choice but to pass it. She sneaked by as quietly as she could, although the sounds of chatter and laughter, glasses and cutlery clinking, were so loud that she needn’t have bothered.