Guardian to the Heiress (6 page)

“No problems,” Damon responded, trying to decode what was going on. Maurice Chancellor was play-acting; he was certain of that. Damon was proud of Carol. He was strongly on side, as he had been from the beginning. Given a little time, he thought she would develop into a remarkable young woman. She
had
to. She would have huge responsibilities.

“I’ll have Mrs Hoskins bring—what?—tea or coffee? Both?” Maurice Chancellor looked from one to the other, waving them into a couple of very grand chairs.

“I’ve already told Mrs Hoskins we’d like coffee, Uncle Maurice,” Carol said. “How long do you think we’ll have to wait for Dallas and Troy? We have to return to Sydney after the will is read. Mr Hunter has numerous commitments, as you can imagine.” There was a further barely detectable sting in the tail.

“Of course, of course.” The indulgent smile slipped a little. In the world Maurice Chancellor frequented, no one talked down to him or even treated him like an equal. His niece was doing that now, albeit in a polished way. It didn’t fool him at all. It came to him that she had been an exceptional little girl, much smarter than his son. The stand-out grandchild, just as her father, Adam, had been the stand-out son. What a hell of a role he’d had to play in life, always second best.

He turned to Damon Hunter who was fast gaining an impressive reputation in the city. He had come with Marcus Bradfield’s full recommendation, though he wasn’t as yet a partner. He was young yet, but it was just a matter of time. Hunter was the embodiment of all the things his son, Troy, was not. Hunter was waiting courteously until Carol was seated in a mahogany leather-buttoned armchair that swallowed her up before he took a wing chair near her. “Why did my father never tell me he had
you
handle his last will and testament, instead of Marcus Bradfield?” Maurice asked, beetling his dark brows.

“I expect he settled on me after I proved helpful in other areas,” Damon offered by way of explanation.

“He always did the unexpected, my father.” There was a faint note of unease in Maurice’s tone. “Ah, here’s Dallas!” He broke off as a woman in late middle age entered the room. Both Carol and Damon stood up respectfully.

Neither the open door nor the warm welcome. With a spasm of regret, Carol registered how her aunt by marriage had physically gone downhill. Dallas couldn’t hold a candle to her mother—never could have—but she had been an attractive woman. Sadly, she hadn’t been looking after herself.

Dallas Chancellor flashed them both a steely glance and a curt nod. She stood well back. “Good afternoon,” she said as though determined not to say another word.

Now, here’s the interesting bit,
Carol thought.
At least I know where I am with Dallas.
Dallas wasn’t going to make a grand show of fussing. There would be no happy hugger-mugger encounter, she thought in relief. Her mother had passed the remark that Dallas had turned into
‘a frump.’
Dallas unfortunately had. She had grown surprisingly chunky, when Carol remembered her as having been slim. But she was still expensively dressed, not a hair on her head out of place. These days her hair was an indescribable colour—maybe beige. Two things stood out: husband and wife weren’t in perfect accord. And Dallas wasn’t going to play her husband’s game.

Carol and Damon responded with a good afternoon. They threw themselves into their allotted roles.

“Troy not here yet?” Dallas addressed her husband as though she suspected he had locked their son in a cupboard.

“My dear, have you ever known Troy to be on time for anything?” Maurice Chancellor replied with gentle mockery, but surely it was hostility that leaked from his eyes?

Just as Dallas was about to reply, the housekeeper came to the door, pushing a laden trolley on rubber wheels. Dallas, who had taken a seat at the library table, signalled her in as if to say ‘let’s get this over.’ As she did so, she sent one of the leather-bound books on the rosewood table flying.

Damon bent to retrieve it, noticing a photograph that had been lying between the pages fly out then glide under the table. He decided he’d rescue it later. He’d seen only a flash, but he’d registered the photograph was of a very pretty girl, perhaps sixteen, wearing the uniform of a prestige girls’ school. Who had taken the photograph then placed it inside a book? He thought Carol might like to know.

Carol had noticed the flight of the photograph but had only seen the back. She gave him a quick look. He answered with the slightest movement of his dark head.

* * *

Over coffee and delicious little cupcakes Dallas Chancellor managed a passing semblance to a hostess, if not a close relative. “You haven’t grown tall, Carol,” she said in a fit of bitchiness. She stared at her husband’s niece as if it would take Carol a lifetime to attain a reasonable height.

Not a promising start, but Carol was undismayed. She could have made the comment that Dallas had piled on the kilos but she kept that to herself. She considered herself too well-bred, though most of what she had learned of etiquette was out of books. Roxanne had been anything but a hands-on mother.

Maurice Chancellor, however, showed dismay. He threw up his beautifully manicured hands—obviously no hard physical labour there, beyond opening out the ironed newspaper. “My dear, Carol looks absolutely beautiful. She’s petite, like my mother.”

“Let’s hope she doesn’t take after her,” Dallas sniffed. Dallas had made a point of getting in the last word for many years now.

The housekeeper had returned to collect cups, saucers and plates and was wheeling the trolley away just as Troy turned up. There were no apologies for being late, rather a sneering laugh. “Home is where the family gathers,” he announced, making a beeline for Carol. He was wearing a very expensive business suit, a blinding white shirt with a natty stripped tie. He wasn’t as tall as his father, nor as handsome. His eyes had the granite-grey sheen of his mother’s. He leaned over Carol, virtually trapping her, bending his smooth brown head to kiss her on the cheek.

“
You’re
here, Caro, that’s all I care about. You look ravishing, as usual. Hi there, Damon.” He threw a challenging glance at Damon, as though they were both contenders for Carol’s hand. “I see a huge career boost happening for you.”

“It’s long since underway.” Damon hadn’t liked that kiss. He felt so strongly about it, his response were something of a shock. It definitely wasn’t a familial kiss. “Now we’re all here, I’d like to start reading the will,” he said, knowing the contents would cause a sensation. He thought if it was up to her closest relatives Carol might have a very short life span. That cried out for protection. He was in place, if not her knight in shining armour, her guardian angel in his own way.

“We’re certainly not stopping you.” Troy spoke facetiously, looking mightily pleased with himself. He had taken a chair to the other side of Carol, slinging a hand over its arm. Again, not a cousinly gesture. What was he thinking? They were first cousins; their fathers were brothers. Or did he think the rules had changed entirely? He could have been a young man making marriage plans.

“So the old guy finally thought of you,” Troy murmured to Carol, leaning in very close.

“Why don’t you shut up, Troy?” she responded.

Not the most affectionate of answers, Damon thought, well pleased. He moved into lawyer mode, allowing gravitas to enter his voice. “I would ask you all to remain quiet so you can pay attention. When you’re ready, I’ll proceed.”

“Let’s reap the whirlwind!” Troy cried. “There’s a lot at stake. Oh, yeah!” he exclaimed flippantly, giving a long, relaxed yawn. His mother and father, however, were looking extremely tense. His mother was thinking long and hard about whether she’d be in a good position to leave his father, no doubt, Troy thought. Theirs was not a marriage made in heaven. Come to think of it, how many were? Troy couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. His dad would get the lion’s share; that didn’t bother him. He would get enough for the time being. It would
all
come to him in the end. He had no special problem with Carol getting a share. She was a gorgeous little thing and as sexy as hell! As far as he knew, it was perfectly legal to get hitched to one’s first cousin, especially with different mothers.

* * *

What followed was either farce or high tragedy. Carol, the one the family had turned their back on, the principal beneficiary? My God, what a turn up!

“You’ve got the whole damned kit and caboodle.” Troy, like his mother and father, showed his stupefaction.

“This is horrible,
horrible!
” Dallas jumped to her feet, looking like a minor volcano about to erupt. “I’m dreaming, aren’t I? Selwyn left the bulk of his personal fortune to Carol? Why, she knows nothing of the world.
Nothing!” She struck the library table with her clenched fist. “Don’t sit there like a trout with your mouth open, Maurice. Say something. We have to fight this. Selwyn clearly wasn’t of sound mind.”

“My father was of sound mind from start to finish,” Maurice said with some bitterness. He was making a real effort to bite down on his shock. He’d had a lifetime of being bypassed. He had never received his due. At least the old man had left him with a sizeable fortune. It was no surprise Dallas wasn’t on the list. He’d knock her off
his
list if only he could. But she knew where the bodies were buried. He and his brother, Adam, had had poor judgement when it came to women. His son, Troy, who gave himself such airs and graces, thoroughly deserved a good set-down. Not that Troy was going short, either.

Troy didn’t agree. “This is outrageous, a bloody knock-out blow.” For once Troy sided with his mother. “Carol not only takes precedence over you, Dad, she takes precedence over me.” Obviously the more serious blow. “He always was a ruthless old bastard. You know what this is all about? It’s
spite.
He let us all believe we would inherit in the usual way. I
am
your heir, Dad. He never did like Mother dear. Don’t you remember he never would drink any of your herbal concoctions, Mother? Wasn’t
My Cousin Rachel
one of your favourite books? No, the old man didn’t trust Mother any more than he trusted that psycho bitch, Roxanne.”

Carol, who had been sitting stunned by the magnitude of her inheritance and the attendant responsibilities, spoke up. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t target my mother, Troy,” she said sharply.

“Do you want to know the truth?” Troy all but yelled.

“Perhaps you could sit down, Troy. You, too, Mrs Chancellor,” Damon intervened in the sort of voice one obeyed. “Over these last years Selwyn Chancellor became more and more concerned about how his granddaughter had been treated. We don’t have to touch on the furore after Carol’s father’s tragic death. Mr Chancellor had wanted custody of Carol, but our best advice was the court wouldn’t take her from her mother.”

“News to me!” Maurice Chancellor pronounced. “We all know what part my sister-in-law played in my brother’s death.”

Damon saw Carol flinch. “I would remind you, Mr Chancellor, the coroner brought in a verdict of accidental drowning.”

“You mean she was never found out!” Dallas cried, pathologically jealous of her former sister-in-law.

“There are laws against slander,” Damon reminded them quietly. “Roxanne Chancellor’s story was accepted. There are always accidents on boats.”

There was a chilling malice from Dallas. “My husband is right. Roxanne was never to be trusted.” Bucket loads of aggression were in her tone.

Troy flopped down in his chair, looking poleaxed. It wasn’t as though he would have to cut back on his living expenses; it was the sheer unfairness of it all. The loss of face. He suspected his father would adapt to his new situation given time. All his father could aspire to was writing a book. He had wanted to for years—a work of fiction, a potential block-buster, no less. A bit late in the day! The only catch was his father loved Beaumont with a passion. He would bitterly resent being thrown out of the family home, a home he had confidently expected to be his. Carol’s position could be seen as hazardous.

All Selwyn Chancellor’s pet charities got a huge slice, as expected, so too medical research, the arts, the State Art Gallery, the museum, endowments to the state university, legacies to this one and that one, loyal henchmen. The old devil had even left a hefty sum to the Dairy Farmers’ Association, for God’s sake.

“Save the cows!” Troy cried. “I bet they’ll be delighted.”

“When are we expected to move out?” Dallas asked with barely banked molten rage. When his mother made a point, she wanted people really to feel
it. It was a mystery to Troy his parents hadn’t split up. His father was still a very handsome man, whereas his mother had taken some kind of savage pleasure in letting herself go.

Carol took a moment to answer. “There’s absolutely no hurry. I intend to keep a low profile, or as low as I can get. I intend to complete my law degree, which will be at the end of next year. The house is big enough for all of us, should I decide to spend time here—which, I must tell you, I will—long weekends, vacations, that sort of thing. And, before you ask, you have the use of the Point Piper house until I sell it.”

Dallas reared back as though she’d been walloped.
“Sell?”
The sheer audacity of the girl! Had she no respect? Her solid body shook as if hit by successive earthquake tremors.

Troy in his turn muttered a violent oath.

“That’s the idea,” Carol continued calmly. “It will take time for me, with the help of Mr Hunter and others, to study my grandfather’s wishes. As we saw from his will, my grandfather remained a great philanthropist to the end.”

“Ah, yes, the great man in public. Something very different in private,” Maurice Chancellor lamented.

“I saw far too little of him to judge,” Carol replied. “I consider I have a responsibility passed on to me, public or otherwise, to do good in this world.”

“Good?”
Troy had become as pugnacious as his mother. “Why don’t you open the house to the starving homeless?” he suggested wildly. “Or turn it into a holy place and give it to the Church. What about a holiday home for the Dalai Lama? What the hell are you on about, Carol? Do you have the faintest idea what that modest little pile is worth?”