Guardian to the Heiress

by Margaret Way

  Mrs Hoskins took heed of the tone. She continued on to where Carol was seated. “The police are at the gate. They want to come in.”

  Carol’s lovely skin blanched. She stared back at the housekeeper, panic rising. “Well, what are you waiting for, Mrs Hoskins? Let them in.” Carol’s eyes flashed to Damon’s. “Something is wrong. They could have had an accident.”

  “Let’s wait and see.” Damon rose to his feet, pulling Carol’s chair back with one hand. “We’ll see to this, Maurice.” He looked towards Carol’s uncle, who hadn’t made a move. Neither had Dallas, who nevertheless had gone extremely pale. So she had some heart after all.

  “I do hope everything is okay.” Maurice Chancellor spoke earnestly, at the same time lifting his wineglass to his mouth. Dallas continued to sit like a monument made out of granite.

  * * *

  It was as they had thought. The police gave them a full account: Carol’s car was as good as totalled. Neither of them paid heed to that. People counted; cars could be replaced. The young women—the driver and her female passenger—had been taken by ambulance to the district hospital. They had been in a deep state of shock, blood pressure up because of it, but both were conscious, if fuzzy. They had been checked over by paramedics. Mercifully their necks, backs and sternums had not received injury. Probably there was bruising. They would know more once the victims were safely in hospital. The young women could be airlifted to Sydney, if their injuries proved more serious than at first thought.

  Both young women had been wearing their seat belts in the correct position, the police told them. Both airbags had been deployed, functioning just as the manufacturer had intended. It appeared the car had taken the worst hit. It had ploughed into a tree at the bottom of a windy downhill stretch of road. The cause of the accident wasn’t known. No other vehicle had been involved. There had been no smell of alcohol on either girl’s breath or clothing. There had been a delay because most people were at home for Christmas and the wreck had not been spotted until some time later.

  “I have to go to them. You’ll come with me, Damon?”

  “Or course.” He rested his hand on the fine-boned curve of her shoulder, wondering what possible explanation there could be for the accident. He just couldn’t see Amanda losing control of the car. He couldn’t really see her speeding either, although he thought her very impulsive. Something must have gone badly wrong.

  But what? The girls were very lucky they had done the right thing, strapping themselves in. He had known of horrific cases brought about by the non-use of seat belts, defective airbags or both.

  * * *

  In the coming week all was revealed. The brakes of Carol’s car had been tampered with. They hadn’t got very far into their journey to the nearest town. The reason for the “accident”—no accident at all—had been quickly established: the brake-fluid hose had been injected with water. The girls hadn’t travelled many miles because when the brake fluid heated it had turned to gas. As Amanda hit the brakes harder and harder, the gas would have compressed.

  “I did the only thing I could,” Amanda told them later from her hospital bed. “The car held the road, but I had to make a quick decision. I drove into a tree. Not a big one. Just enough to stop us. Both of us were braced. The airbags did the rest.”

  Enormously relieved for all their sakes, Carol offered the girls a holiday in the Whitsundays, all expenses paid.

  “Damn nearly worth it!” Amanda crowed.

  Summer was not so sure, but she wasn’t about to knock back a free holiday in a luxury hotel in one of the most beautiful parts of the world.

  Amanda and Summer were interviewed by the police. Satisfied with their statements, the police let them go off on their travels. The police investigation had come up with the theory that it wasn’t Amanda or Summer who had been the target. It was Carol Chancellor, the heiress.

  “Who do you think might want to kill you, Ms Chancellor?”

  Carol shuddered every time she considered the question, which was many times a day. Everyone at Beaumont had been questioned. Dallas had worked herself up into apoplexy. “How dare anyone suggest I would know anything of it?”

  “Whoever it is, he’s a psychopath,” Damon had reasoned.

  “Why’s it got to be a he?” Carol hazarded a guess.

  “Got to be a he, wouldn’t you think? Most women know little about the mechanics of cars. It wouldn’t have been terribly clever for either your uncle or Troy to try such a thing. Dallas saw Troy off, I believe, so she was with him. No motive whatever for the guests. It had to be someone who broke in. Remember I spoke about updating security? There were obvious places where someone could get into the grounds.”

  “Someone did.”

  “Someone who knew you were spending Christmas at Beaumont.”

  “Maybe my mother’s a likely suspect.” Carol made the sick joke.

  “Highly unlikely,” Damon said. “She would have absolutely nothing to gain. And she is your mother.”

  “And she would never get her clothes dirty. The police seem to have come to a dead end. They even interviewed Tracey’s ex-boyfriend, when you put them on to him. He had an alibi: he was with Tracey. Incredibly, they’ve moved back in together.”

  “How does this happen? Why does it happen?” Damon asked, not understanding it at all.

  “She used to say she loved him. She was terribly upset when he lost his job at the restaurant—his temper, I’d say. She said Tarik was raised to believe it was no big deal hitting a woman in the family. His father beat his mother. He told Tracey that.”

  “And that wasn’t enough to warn her off? Some women must be easy to brainwash.”

  Carol had to agree. “Tracey always appeared quite normal, but there must be something seriously amiss with her. The funny thing is, I’ve seen her go out of her way to provoke him. And she did it at the worst possible times. Weird!”

  “The police will continue to keep an eye on him,” Damon said. “The matter is not closed. I’ve hired another man, by the way. Whoever did this is known to you, Carol—maybe even to me. They will be caught.”

  But when?

  * * *

  The weeks passed and no one was caught. Neither did the incident get into the papers; Damon made sure of that. He had done everything he could do to protect Carol, all too aware her great inheritance had only brought danger into her life. So all the while he was on high alert, as were the bodyguards who continued to shadow her. One private investigator had been given the exclusive job of following Tracey’s boyfriend. The agency had an excellent reputation. He knew Carol had her fears but she didn’t speak about them. She went about business in a highly professional way. He was proud of her.

  He drove her to and fro; she hadn’t wanted a new car. He knew the whole incident weighed heavily on her. And him. If anyone decided to attack Carol, they would have to attack him first.

  Information came to him all the time. He made sure Carol wasn’t trapped in her apartment. As the Chancellor heiress, she was now being invited everywhere, as was he. He knew people were talking, but he couldn’t help that. There was too much at stake. They didn’t go to restaurants. Too many people had formed the habit of coming up to their table. He didn’t think there was any danger at functions where many people were gathered. No one could attack Carol and hope to get away.

  Unless they were certifiably mad.

  * * *

  With February came the return to university. This was her final year, a big year. Sometimes she sighted Gary Prescott leaving the building as she came out of the lift. He had stopped leaving messages for her, accepting the fact she had little intention of taking up his invitations. In another lifetime, she might have had coffee with him. But her present life had changed to the extent she had a driver to take her to and from classes. It was all a bit much, but Damon considered it necessary. And there was no use complaining.

  A few days later she rode down in the lift with Gary. She had a class that morning at the
St James campus in the centre of Sydney’s legal and business district. Nearly all her classes were held not at the central location but at the new law school building at Camperdown, opened by the Governor General of Australia, Quentin Bryce, in 2009.

  “I guess you know Dad has gone back to Mum,” Gary told her with some satisfaction. “I have the use of the penthouse until he sells it. If he sells it. For all I know, Dad could run off the rails again.”

  “I sincerely hope he doesn’t, Gary.” She studied his face. “It upsets you, doesn’t it?”

  “Mum is so good.”

  “I’m sure your father realises that.”

  “I hope so.”

  The lift door opened and they stepped out into the foyer. “What’s with the driver?” he asked. “I see him there all the time. Can’t you drive yourself to uni?”

  “Accident to my car,” she said briefly.

  “Troy never told me that.”

  She stopped in her tracks. “You know my cousin?”

  “Of course I know him. We went to uni together. Can’t say he’s a friend of mine, but I know him. I run into him now and again. He reckons that lawyer guy of yours is making a big play for you.”

  Carol gave a definite sigh. “That’s the story he’s putting around. It’s not true, Gary. I’d appreciate it if you’d quash the rumour. Damon Hunter is a man of integrity.”

  She spoke so forcefully, Gary laughingly backed off. “Okay, I believe you. Never liked your cousin anyway. Hear he got the big bucks—he’s more up himself than ever. He’ll get more when his mother kicks the bucket. She got plenty from her old man.”

  Carol looked surprised. She knew little about Dallas’s family.

  “Surely you know Barney Lebermann was her old man?” Gary stood looking down at her.

  “Well, yes, I did know her maiden name was Lebermann.”

  “The country’s biggest luxury car dealer,” Gary said. “Centurion bought him out years ago. The guy had a whole collection of vintage vehicles. He collected them like works of art. All European—even had an old London taxi. Not a lot of people knew about his collection. My dad did—he’s a car enthusiast. Troy’s mother used to drive a very nice Italian sports car when she was young. Used to look after it herself, according to Troy, if you could ever believe him.”

  That struck a dismal chord. “Well, that’s something I never knew. I was estranged from the family from age five.”

  “But you’re back together again now?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Carol said. “Can I give you a lift anywhere, Gary? I’m going into the CBD—class at the St James campus.”

  “That’d suit me fine. Dad told me to show up early. This is as early as it gets. I’m working for him, you know.”

  * * *

  Class over, Carol rang her driver to let him know. He told her to wait outside the Philip Street entrance. He was only five or six minutes away. Carol caught up with two of her fellow students who fired off a couple of questions. Everyone knew Carol Chancellor was very smart and she could always be relied upon to clarify difficult points in their lectures.

  Outside the front of the building on her own, Carol saw a taxi drop off a passenger. It was Tracey. She hadn’t heard a word from Tracey over the last month or so. In short, having gone back to Tarik, Tracey had cut herself off from her friends who had so disapproved of him. There was no doubt in Carol’s mind that she had to speak to her.

  She moved forward as the taxi moved off. “Trace?”

  There was a moment when it looked like Tracey was about to bolt.

  “Please, Tracey, a word. I won’t keep you.”

  “I know, I know. I should have got in touch with you, Carol.” Tracey’s embarrassment was evident. “You were always so nice to me. So kind and supportive.”

  “But you’re back with Tarik now?”

  Tracey cast her eyes onto the pavement. “He’s so sorry for what he did. We’re having counselling. He hasn’t laid a finger on me—I’ve told him I’ll leave him for good if he does.”

  “And will you?” Carol asked gravely.

  “I really believe he’s going to change. You look so beautiful, Caro. I’ve missed you. I want you to know Tarik had nothing to do with that accident the police spoke to us about. He was with me.”

  “All the time?”

  “All the time,” Tracey said, not defensively, but most emphatically. “Tarik wouldn’t dare to hurt my friends. He’s all talk. He knows what would happen to him if he did. We were nowhere near your grandfather’s country house—I mean your country house. We were in Sydney the whole time. I swear to you, Caro, Tarik is a changed man. I’m pregnant.”

  Oh, God! “Tracey!” Carol said, leaning forward to give her old friend a big hug. “You don’t show.”

  “Only just found out. Tarik is thrilled out of his mind. Look, it’s lovely to see you, but I must fly. I have an appointment.”

  “I’m here if you need me, Tracey,” Carol said. She didn’t trust Tarik so she didn’t give out her phone numbers. “Damon Hunter is my go-between. He will let me know.”

  “I’m fine, Caro. Honestly. You take good care of yourself.”

  “You, too, Trace.”

  Tracey sped off. Carol knew she was unlikely to hear from Tracey again. Tarik controlled her. At the same time, would Tracey lie for him, given her old friend Amanda could have been killed? Hard to tell.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT WAS WELL after six before Damon could leave the office. Carol had rung him saying she had some news and could he call in at her apartment. Emotion had coloured her voice. He had asked her what she’d found out, but she wouldn’t tell him, saying she didn’t want to speak on the phone.

  “Just come if you can.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  He would always be there for her. It was as simple and as difficult as that. He had come to accept he would go to hell and back to keep Carol Chancellor safe.

  “Hi,” she said, looking up at him. The irises of her eyes were the most intense blue.

  He bent his head to brush her petal-soft cheek. A lovely rose scent came from her skin and her hair. “So what’s up?” It was all he could do not to sweep her into his arms. Surely the control he continued to exert was a powerful gauge of his love? He was madly in love for the first time in his life. It was an extraordinary sensation, not being able to give in completely to his deepest desires. But there was such a thing as a code of conduct.

  “Come into the living room,” she invited. “Would you like a drink?”

  “A shot of whisky would be good. It’s been a long day.”

  “Let me get it for you.” She moved off in her graceful way.

  “How’s everything going?” He took off his jacket.

  “I’m working hard, Damon. I won’t let you down.”

  “I didn’t mean that. How are you?”

  “A bit different from yesterday.” She came back with his drink. She was wearing indigo-blue cotton denim jeans with a sleeveless hot-pink shirt that, far from clashing with her hair, made a fine colour contrast. She took the sofa opposite him as though she, too, was trying to adhere to a code of conduct.

  He took a gulp of the single-malt Scotch. “I’m all attention.”

  “I could be making a lot out of nothing.”

  “Not you, Carol. Anyway, let me be the judge of that.”

  “Okay.” Carol launched into the events of the day: her meetings with Gary Prescott and the accidental meeting with her old friend Tracey, now pregnant to her formerly abusive lover. Tarik, according to Tracey, was a changed man.

  Could a leopard change its spots?

  Damon listened without once interrupting. “Let’s not rush to judgement. But your uncle knew all this without saying a word.”

  “I think Dallas has some power over him.”

  “That could well be. He certainly doesn’t love her. Maybe staying with her is a form of self-preservation. Dallas probably shared her father’s passion for cars.
She lived in the world of cars, luxury cars. I don’t know whether she would be capable of servicing a sports car. I think not, but she’d know a lot. She’d know how to disable a car. Any car.”

  “Do we really think she’d be capable of trying to injure, even kill me? That’s a giant leap.”

  “It sure is.”

  She could see how intent he was. “Has she gone mad, for God’s sake?”

  “She might feel she had enormous provocation. She’s lost too much over the years. She lost her husband along the way, unfaithful to her with your mother. One can’t discount naked jealousy. Then there’s the fact she no more wants to leave Beaumont than your uncle. She knows you are going to ask them to leave eventually. In her eyes, you humiliated her son. Your mother humiliated her. There’s a sick reasoning to it—enough to suspect her, anyway. When the police questioned her, you would have thought she didn’t know one end of a car from the other.”

  “I supposed Uncle Maurice always did the driving. Stupid of me. If she tampered with the brakes of my car, she has to be stark-raving bonkers. I mean, what’s she going to do next, wave a gun at me? Get someone else to do it? She was going out on the shoot, you know. Uncle Maurice is the country squire and she’s the lady of the manor. In a way, she’s a whole lot tougher than my mother. Uncle Maurice truly doesn’t believe Roxanne had anything to do with my father’s accident.”

  “But he backed Dallas in order to survive. There has to be something she has on him worth investigating. Maybe a spot of embezzling? I wouldn’t be unduly surprised.”

  “Maybe Uncle Maurice never thought for a moment she would deliberately sabotage the brakes?”

  “She had motive. She had opportunity. You had garaged your car. Troy took his own car. He left early. His mother saw him off. It’s very plausible.”

  “And simply too dreadful if it’s true. Amanda and Summer could have been badly injured, even killed. No wonder she went as white as a sheet when the police arrived. I thought she was showing a bit of heart.”