Claiming His Child. Margaret Way
Who could not fall in love with him?
Sadness seeped into her steadily. Her early womanhood had been swept away. She had bowed to intense pressure. She had bowed to a concerted barrage of lies. She had lost Nick and deserved to. She had lost Martin who had asked for nothing but the love she couldn’t give him. Charlotte was the only one to call her back to Bellemont. Her adorable dark-haired little daughter. So much like her. Except for the eyes.
Inside the Mercedes, Adrienne made a big effort to keep an uncontrollable spurt of jealousy out of her voice. “Who are these people, Nick? Did you know them well?” She took off her sunglasses, and turned her spectacular amber eyes in his direction. Things weren’t going half as well as she had hoped with Nick Konrads. They always had a good time. He appeared to enjoy her company—she knew there wasn’t anyone else—but in the end their relationship wasn’t flowering. She was desperately in love with him. Had been in love with him from the moment she laid eyes on him for that matter. He was simply extraordinary, but so complex even now she didn’t feel she knew the least thing about him. She did know however he wasn’t in love with her. She wasn’t such a fool she didn’t realise that. But they communicated very well on the sexual and social level. She and a woman partner ran their own successful public relations firm. Nick admired hardworking successful people. God knows he was the man of the moment. Businessman of the Year.
Who was that young woman he was speaking to? Although they stood a couple of feet apart, it seemed to Adrienne’s tormented eyes their bodies were almost straining towards each other. Surely an illusion? The shimmering, dancing light of the sun.
Nick took his time answering, aware of Adrienne’s powerful curiosity, the jealousy that shone in her eyes. “We all knew one another when we were growing up. Martin White, it was his funeral, was my age. His widow, Suzannah, was a friend of mine.”
“Suzannah? The woman you were talking to?” She had always felt there was someone in the background. Some shadowy figure.
“Suzannah Sheffield, that was.”
She took a moment to digest this. “Sheffield? Isn’t there a historic homestead around here someplace? Used to run sheep, then turned into a horse breeding establishment when wool took a dive? The name of the place is on the tip of my tongue.” She resisted the impulse to crease her forehead.
“Bellemont Farm,” he supplied quietly.
“Yes, of course.” Adrienne suddenly hated the slender young woman in her widow’s weeds. “Didn’t I see somewhere it’s on the market? I take all the usual magazines.”
“I believe it is,” he answered casually, curiously unwilling to take her into his confidence. “We can skirt the property if you like. Impossible to see the house from any of the roads. It’s a long drive from the front gate and the house is nestled in a grove of jacaranda trees. It’s a glorious sight when the great trees are in flower.”
“Sounds like you knew the place well?” Adrienne flashed a glance at his handsome profile.
“Every inch of it. Suzannah used to take me over it when her father was away on his polo weekends.”
Something in his voice gave off shivery little sparks.
“That sounds like you weren’t allowed there when he was?”
“You’re so right.” His tone held the weight of dislike. “Marcus Sheffield was and remains the biggest snob in the world.”
“And Mrs. Sheffield?” Nick could twist any woman around his little finger.
“She ran off when Suzannah was barely four,” he told her. “One of Sheffield’s opponents on the polo field, would you believe? They went to live in South America. There was no question of her getting custody of Suzannah. Marcus Sheffield was establishment. A very powerful and monied figure. He adored Suzannah. His only child. He was very bitter about his wife. Her name was never permitted to be mentioned.”
“That must have been terribly hard on your Suzannah,” she said a little harshly.
He did glance at her then. A penetrating look. “Her father never gave her time to miss her mother too much. He doted on her. Couldn’t bear her out of his sight. For that matter Suzannah was devoted to him. She was too young to see he ruled her life.”
Adrienne tried to give a little understanding laugh; she did not succeed. Suddenly she was afraid she couldn’t hold onto Nick Konrads much longer. She had felt that way, she now realised, as soon as she laid eyes on this Suzannah. Nick was better than anyone she knew at hiding his true feelings, but she had seen what she had seen.
Garry Hesson, his solicitor, rang him. “All sewn up, Nick,” he said, sounding pleased with himself. “They’re allowed to stay on six months or until they relocate, according to your instructions. Marvellous place. Allow me to congratulate you. And beg for a visit.”
“Make it a weekend,” Nick responded, leaning back in his swivel chair. “Bring Jenny and the kids.”
“They’d love that,” the solicitor whooped. “Won’t hold you up, Nick. I know you’re doing great things.”
Am I? In some ways, he thought, but that doesn’t absolve me. How many times over the years had he envisioned bringing Marcus Sheffield to his knees? Now it was done. He owned Bellemont Farm lock, stock, and barrel. He thought it would mean a lot, now suddenly it didn’t mean much at all. He couldn’t get Martin’s violent death out of his mind and the circumstances that had led to his having an affair with young Cindy Carlin from the town. He could just barely remember Cindy. Blond, pretty, a school drop-out, he thought. Poor little Cindy. What a terrible end. He was shocked. Martin must have been dreadfully unhappy. He had never looked at anyone but Suzannah. Challenged any of his friends who tried to get near her. Martin had sold his soul to the devil to get Suzannah, hiding the jewellery from Marcus Sheffield’s safe in the Konrads’ old toolshed. He must have hidden there for quite a while before he was able to gain his stealthy access. Martin, his face a white mask, accusing him of bragging about some “coup” he had pulled off. Suzannah on her feet, violet eyes flashing with the light of battle for him. The light had gone out later when her father accused him quietly and contemptuously of grossly abusing their trust.
“I wouldn’t care about you, young man,” Marcus Sheffield had said with icy disgust. “You could go to jail for my money. It’s the place, after all, where thieves go. It’s your mother I pity. Hasn’t she had enough to endure?”
He remembered defending himself vigorously, offering arguments to Frank Harris the police chief, who just stood there stiffly, almost miserably, as if he were in Sheffield’s employ. Finally it became starkly apparent his defence was falling on deaf ears. He was guilty. Even Suzannah never challenged her father again. She just gave up. As he did. He had stolen because he and his mother were in a precarious financial position. The ultimatum was put to him bluntly. For his mother’s sake, since every piece of jewellery had been recovered, he would leave town immediately. If he was prepared to do that, no further action would be taken.
He knew all about justice even then. He had his parents’ experiences as an example. Justice was in the hands of the powerful. Marcus Sheffield was the wealthiest and most influential man in the town. He owned many businesses, whole parcels of real estate. Hundreds of people one way or the other relied on him for an income. Suzannah had tried to speak to him the day that he left, begged him to meet her but he had hung up on her, whitefaced and furious. In the moment of crisis the girl that he loved, that he ached with passion for, had trusted her father above him. She had actually believed he was a common thief. For weeks after she had tried to speak to his mother, weeping with frustration when his mother refused to tell her where he had gone, where he was staying. Although his mother had come to love Suzannah as a daughter, a deep well of fear and anxiety had stopped her from ever allowing Suzannah to get close to her son again. It wasn’t long after that he landed his job with Ecos Solutions and his mother was able to come to him. And Suzannah, who had blazed with love for him, had married Martin White. Absurd to think