The Australian Heiress (18 page)

“Well, she
did
know them. She was quite friendly with Lombard’s wife. A beautiful creature, I hear, but a mite unstable. When she needed his support, the Man of Steel let her down. Eventually she turned to other people for comfort. We all know what happened.”

Camille felt a shiver run through her. “
I
don’t, but I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me.”

Philip smoothed his silk tie. “The poor girl was killed coming home from a party. Probably she was drunk and ran off the road. It was all hushed up.”

“Her so-called friends must have been very irresponsible
to allow her to drink and drive,” Camille answered, feeling sick.

“Darling, be reasonable. She was used to doing exactly as she pleased, I believe. Just don’t get mixed up with him. That’s my advice. He’ll walk all over you like he did his wife.”

“Yet Clare Tennant wants him at any price?”

Philip’s blue eyes almost glittered. “She’s better equipped to handle him than you. Behind that cool facade she’s as tough as old boots. Look how she went after old Arthur Tennant. His family won’t have anything to do with her.”

“No doubt they have their reasons.” Camille moved to the door. “Time’s up, Philip. Please take your gift. I need no reminders of our flawed engagement”

“Don’t be cruel,” he said. “It was the best time of my life. You’ll always be a part of me. Keep the gift, Camille.” Philip stood up, walked toward her, the golden boy she once thought she loved. “At least give me your phone number so I can contact you sometime.”

She shook her head. “I only give it to
friends.”

“No matter.” He gave a tight smile. “I know where to go to buy information.”

“Why not ask your fiancee first?” She gave him a level glance. “It’s quite possible she’s the one who’s been calling me.”

Philip hesitated, looked at her uncertainly. “What—she doesn’t talk to you?”

“No one talks. They just…stay on the phone.”

“A bit kinky,” he said wryly. “Why should it be Robyn?”

“You said yourself she hates me.”

Philip shook his head. “Darling, you’re not a target anymore.”

Camille blinked. “Excuse me? Target?”

“All right, so at heart she knows I love you.”

Camille groaned. “Philip, you turn love on and off like a switch. Tell your fiancee from me I still have a few powerful friends.”

Philip’s voice sounded as if he had splinters in his throat. “Yes, and we all know his name. Wouldn’t put it past Lombard himself to be the one phoning you. After all, he destroyed your father. How do you know, how does
anyone
know, he’s not trying to frighten you. Maybe for kicks.”

“Because it’s totally out of character.” Camille spoke from deep conviction.

“You’ve gone over to him already,” Philip accused her, looking stung. “Not so long ago he was the enemy.”

“Not so long ago you were my fiance,” Camille retorted automatically. “Goodbye, Philip. I hope you get the life you’re going to pay for so dearly.”

“Seeing you, I no longer want it,” he said unsmilingly.

“You will.” She held the door. “That’s if your fiancee isn’t amusing herself having us watched.”

It was several minutes before she noticed he hadn’t taken the birdcage.

S
HE AWOKE
to the sound of the phone. Camille sat up and looked at the digital clock: 7:20 a.m.

She was seeing Claude at ten. He wanted to introduce
her to a young artist he thought might be a “stayer.”

Her caller turned out to be Nicholas. He apologized for ringing so early, but he had a nine o’clock conference and wanted her to have lunch with him at Augustine’s, a small harborside restaurant perfect for a lovers’ rendezvous.

But that didn’t seem to be what he had in mind. His tone was businesslike, a little hurried with clipped instructions that made her feel oddly as if she’d done something wrong. He had news for her, he said. The reservation was for one-thirty. He didn’t expect to be late, but she should go in and wait if he wasn’t there when she arrived.

News.
Well, why not? The investigator he’d hired would be reporting back to him, probably daily.

She went to some trouble getting dressed later, discarding two outfits before settling on a third, an Armani suit in a pearly sand shade that managed to make her look in control and feminine at the same time. She felt comfortable in it, finding reassurance in its effect. She added a gold necklace, gold earrings, a Gucci handbag and shoes in beige leather.

She looked like her old self, the Australian Heiress, a creature of privilege, even now when it wasn’t true at all. But she knew she had it in her to be successful in her own right. For that matter, she’d been offered a job with a merchant bank. An invitation that had come right out of the blue. She suspected Nicholas might have had something to do with that. But she wanted success on her
own
terms.

Claude had an interesting piece of news, too, which he told her after the young artist had left. It threw light
on why Camille had missed out on the gallery premises. The building had been purchased by the legal firm Marlowe-Howell for a client.

“Guess who?” Claude asked, shooting Camille a wry look from beneath his busy brows.

“Nick Lombard?”

“Good grief, no.” Claude looked startled. “What made you say that?”

“It’s someone who’s very interested in what I’m doing,” Camille reasoned.

“I’m sure Lombard wouldn’t want to be cruel to you, dearest. The man saved your life, after all.”

“Well, he
has
commented on the extra exposure I’d be subject to in my own gallery as opposed to a merchant bank. Beaumont’s offered me a job. I rather think Nicholas simply lifted the phone.”

Claude laughed. “Nicholas, is it?”

“He’s much more a Nicholas than a Nick. To get back to our mystery client—who is it?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t guessed.” Claude swung back in his chair. “It’s his lady friend, Clare Tennant. I managed to get it out of my friend Cosmo. I have to admit I was miffed. So I went round to see him. Apparently she’d bought a few antiques. Major pieces. Obviously she doesn’t want you in that building. It would have suited you beautifully. Right size. Good location. But there you are! I’ve always said women make the worst enemies.”

“She’ll have to stand in line.” Camille tried to say this casually, but Claude, knowing her so well, sensed her disquiet.

“What’s up, pet?”

It all came tumbling out.

By the time she’d finished, Claude looked deeply concerned. “My dear, you must go to the police.”

“With not a lot for them to go on, I’m afraid. I’m having lunch with Nicholas today. He insisted on hiring a private detective to look out for me. Check on the apartment. See anyone who might be hanging around.”

“Good man!” Claude exclaimed warmly.

“He rang me early this morning. He has something to report.”

“You don’t suppose that Tennant woman has anything to do with it, do you?” Claude asked. “It fits her style.”

Camille shrugged. “Even for her it seems a bit over the top.”

“I’d still be a bit suspicious.”

“Philip turned up on my doorstep last night,” Camille confided.

“Dearest, never ever trust
him
again.”

“No chance of that! He wanted to tell me he’s getting engaged to Robyn Masterman.”

“Yet he’s still trying to see
you.
Now that would really scare me. Bert Masterman is a dangerous opponent. He’s been up to his neck in dirty deals for most of his business life. Despite or because of it, he’s worth at least two hundred million.”

“And Philip can’t walk away from that. Lord, to think I took him so
seriously.”

Claude shook his head. “All he has, dearest, is that golden-boy appearance and a charming manner. It always ropes the woman in. For a time. I thank God every night he walked away.”

“Ran, Claude. Ran.”

They met each other’s eyes. Then Camille saw Claude’s pink face begin to twitch, and they both burst into peals of laughter.

S
HE DIDN’T HAVE LONG
to wait at the restaurant. She’d been sitting for four or five minutes at the table looking out at the beautiful view of the harbor, her chin cupped in one hand, when he walked toward her.

She felt the same pounding pulse, the same rush of heat. He was stunningly handsome, a man of distinction. That was the big difference between him and Philip. Nicholas radiated intelligence and power. Philip, charming as he was, did not

“Have you been waiting long?” he asked courteously, his dark gaze brushing over her face.

“Only a few moments. How did your meeting go?”

He sat down and inhaled deeply. “I’m afraid we have a mole in the organization. A senior one at that. I’m in the business of ferreting him or her out Someone’s been passing inside information to our competitors.”

“It really is a jungle out there, isn’t it?” She spoke from experience.

“Don’t I know it. Payoffs are irresistible bait to some.”

He said no more as the maitre d’ arrived with menus. Camille allowed herself time to study hers. She felt too febrile to be hungry, so she settled on the lobster salad while Nicholas briefly debated between the ocean trout or the lamb. The ocean trout won out Neither wanted an appetizer. It all presaged a serious discussion rather than a relaxed lunch
a deux.
The restaurant was spacious and quiet, although all but a coupie
of tables had been taken. Camille had encountered a few discreet stares when she arrived, Nicholas even more. One way or the other they were always in the news.

“So please, what is it you want to tell me?” Camille asked over a glass of wine.

“That’s the attraction, is it? Information?”

She swallowed on a certain dryness in her throat. “I wanted to see you, as well.” It was impossible to sustain his gaze, so she swung her titian head toward the window.

“That’s hard to accept when you’ve been doing your level best to avoid me,” he answered bluntly.

She looked back. “I thought we needed a little distance from each other, Nicholas.”

“You’re probably right,” he conceded after a moment, “but I’m concerned about you, to be honest. Why have you been keeping so much from me?”

She took a long sip of her wine before answering. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Do you think allowing Garner back into your life is accomplishing that? I’d have thought it was a decidedly risky thing to do.”

So he
knew.
Damn! Suddenly the air was alive with sexual hostility. “Your spy saw him entering the building?”

He nodded.
“Your
spy, too, I might remind you. I suppose Philip could have been visiting someone else, but I needed to check with you.”

“He did call in to see me,” Camille admitted, feeling guilty when she was not. “Not at my invitation. Apparently he charmed his way through the security door.”

“But you did allow him into your apartment?”

Camille’s emerald eyes sparkled. “Whatever else he’d do, Philip would never harm me.”

“I guess you mean physically,” Nicholas said in the same clipped voice. “He’s hurt you in every other way.”

She moistened her dry mouth with the tip of her tongue. “Look at it my way. The last thing I needed was for Philip to start up a loud conversation
outside
my door. He came in for a short time only, as I’m sure your man reported.”

“Why are you so nervous?” Nicholas asked.

“You make me nervous. Philip means nothing to me.

Nicholas nodded but continued to study her for several seconds. “I certainly hope so. I don’t trust either one of them, Garner or that Masterman woman. I don’t need to impress on you that they’re ruthless. I don’t want you made the scapegoat for their jealousy and anger. Let Garner take the full consequences for his actions.”

Camille bit her lip, looking very young and appealing. “I’ve explained to him he must never come again. Don’t let’s talk about Philip,” she implored. “He’s not important. What’s your news?”

Nicholas leaned forward, his expression one of grim satisfaction. “We’ve identified the occupants of the car that’s been following you. While they’ve been watching you, our man has been sitting quietly taking photographs of them.”

Her shoulders braced for the revelation. “Do I
know
them?”

He nodded. “One is Hilda Gray’s son, Sebastian.
The other is his homosexual lover. The car is registered to the lover, who’s on the dole, the same as Gray. Both have a history of misdemeanors. There’s a law against stalking. The matter has already been referred to the police.”

“Lord, that’s a relief!” Indeed it was like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “I suppose they took the photographs, as well.”

His stare was lancing. “What photographs?”

“I’ve been meaning to show them to you.” She spoke rapidly, anything to rid herself of a sense of guilt. “My only excuse is I’ve needed time. My life has changed so dramatically. I knew I would come up against a good deal of ill will, but I—”

“Let’s calm down, shall we?” His voice had a menacing edge.
“What
photographs?”

“I didn’t bring them,” she admitted. “You’re disappointed in me, aren’t you?” She raised her eyes, feeling miserable.

“I have to say I thought you had more sense. What are the photographs of?”

“Please,” she begged, “let it wait until later.”

The food, when it came, was superb, but Camille had lost all appetite. So, apparently, had Nicholas.

He went with her in her car to her apartment. He hadn’t bothered with his car for the short drive to the restaurant, preferring a taxi.

In silence they took the elevator to her floor, each lost in thought. As chance would have it, the first thing his eye fell on when they were inside the apartment was the very thing she didn’t want him to see—Philip’s turn-of-the-century white birdcage. She hadn’t put it away.

“A gift?” he asked with evident distaste.

“Why would you say that?” It was a silly attempt at evasion.

“I’m psychic. Especially when I have a few clues. The gift wrapping beside it. I hope you’re going to return it?”

“Yes.” She bit her lip. “As a gift it has slightly malicious overtones.”