Margaret Way - Secrets Of The Outback

“One of us has got to spring the trap,” was the way Aunt Judith had put it. Outwardly sharp and increasingly without sympathy for her sister’s “self-inflicted” condition, Aunt Judith nonetheless refused to cast Thea aside. The two of them would “survive, but it won’t be much fun!”

So many of the things Aunt Judith had said over the years stuck in Jewel’s mind. Her aunt had not been a witch, thank goodness; she was a courageous and unusual woman, with a sharp tongue. The last time Jewel had visited her mother and aunt, just over a month before, they seemed to have eased into an arrangement that worked. Aunt Judith ran the shop, ordered in all the provisions and she’d hired a handyman to halfway tame the spectacular abandoned jungle they lived in, while her mother tried to keep the house in order and have a meal ready for Judith when she arrived home from work. For some years now, Jewel had been able to help out financially, easing the burden on her aunt who, to her great credit, had never complained about all the “extras.” As well, Jewel bought her mother’s clothes and enjoyed finding unconventional outfits for her aunt. Her aunt Judith had become something of a local celebrity, just as her mother had become the local misfit, the outcast, even if word was she still looked fetching.

Jewel tried hard to organize her chaotic thoughts. The best she could do was speak to her aunt over the weekend. In the early days, Aunt Judith had spent countless hours listening to her sister’s mournful outpourings. Maybe Judith knew something that would shed some light on the bewildering situation that had confronted her. Briskly Jewel picked up the phone to book an early-morning flight to the “far north.” North of Capricorn. Another world. After that, she would ring her aunt at the shop. It was the usual routine designed by both of them to shield Thea.

IT WAS AFTER SIX before she left the office, intending to take the bus the couple of blocks to her club, the Caxton. Named after an early female activist, it had been formed a few years back for young, professional women, mostly from legal circles. She enjoyed being part of it and meeting other young women whose interests matched her own. At the club she could relax and freshen up before going on to meet the Hungerford boys at the restaurant. They had assured her they could find it.

It was much too late to go home, home being a small townhouse in a trendy suburb near the river. She was paying it off, but not as quickly as she would’ve liked. There were too many other considerations, not the least of them keeping up the appearance her job required, especially since Blair Skinner had taken her under his wing. After such a strange and frustrating afternoon, the boys’ unhappy home and financial situation had somehow paled into insignificance beside her own affairs. She would have to get herself back on track. Going up north to visit her mother would address two issues at once. Her own family mystery and how Sheila Hungerford, now Sheila Everett, had come to betray her adored sons.

Lost in thought, Jewel didn’t immediately notice the big silver-gray limousine that was purring alongside her as she strolled along. Finally it caught her attention, and she swung her head. Shock was like a live wire sparking inside her. The face that looked out at her belonged to Keefe Connellan. She couldn’t believe it. Was he following her? He was seated in the rear of the chauffeur-driven vehicle, the window wound down. He called to her, his tone of voice quietly authoritative.

“Ms. Bishop.” The limousine slid into a loading zone a short distance ahead, and he emerged from the back seat, leaving the door open and looking toward her. “Could you spare a moment?”

Her pulse picked up and the blood tingled through her veins. She hated the way he was looking at her. “I don’t think so, Mr. Connellan. I have an evening appointment.” She spoke doubtfully, as if it were a regretful statement of fact. She was careful not to reveal her unease.

“Are you going home?” He, too, kept his tone polite—but managed to sound somehow derisive.

“As it happens, I’m off to my club.”

“The Caxton?”

It seemed he approved. Not that she cared. She dropped her pretense, realizing she was under careful scrutiny. “Now, how did you discover that?”

He smiled, a white flash that attracted her in spite of herself.

“Would you believe I have a marvelous networking system?” he said. “Please get in. You’re not five minutes away, if we drive you.”

Jewel took a decisive step to one side, head up, shoulders straight. “That’s quite all right. I like to walk.”

“Obviously, since you’re in the best of shape.” His glance licked over her. “But indulge me.”

“What, after today?” Those black eyes made her think of the Medicis and hidden daggers.

“I’m interested in talking to you further,” he said mildly, his expression giving nothing away.

“Really? There’s nothing to learn.”

“We both know there is.” He stared down into her face, then he put out a hand and gently grasped her arm.

Jewel’s knees turned to mush.

“You’re forcing me into your car?” She lifted her brows, feeling an unwelcome thrill she sought to banish.

“I never forget my manners.”

“You forgot them this afternoon.” Knowing she had little chance of getting away, short of screaming, Jewel slid into the back seat of the Rolls. A smartly uniformed chauffeur sat behind the wheel awaiting instructions. He didn’t turn his head.

“The Caxton, Jacob,” Keefe Connellan said. He got in beside Jewel, shutting the door.

“Yes, sir. I know it.”

Keefe Connellan focused his attention on Jewel, while the chauffeur activated a device to bring up a glass partition between front and back seats.

“This is a lot like getting kidnapped.”

He looked at her in mock amazement. “Please don’t feel threatened. There’s nothing wrong with privacy.”

“So you’re a private investigator now.” Jewel leaned back slightly, her nostrils beguiled by the scent of the plush leather.

“Lady Copeland is someone I care about,” he said curtly, revealing the anger beneath the smooth surface.

“She has a son,” Jewel said pointedly.

“Obviously.” He watched her in a way she couldn’t fathom. “She has a granddaughter, too.”

“Amelia. Yes, I know.” Jewel glanced out the window at the homebound crowds. “I’ve often seen her photograph in the social pages. She’s very beautiful. Do you care about her, too?” She tossed her head defiantly, pleased that she’d rattled him.

“Why? Is it any of your business?”

“In my view, yes. If you think it’s within your rights to investigate me, why should you object to my right to investigate you? Unless you think being very wealthy gives you some authority over the rest of us.”

He turned his lean body so he was confronting her. “What is it, Ms. Bishop, that you hope to achieve? To get close to Lady Copeland? To make yourself a member of the family? You don’t know Travis.” He shook his head. “He won’t be very pleased to welcome you. Neither will Amelia. You’re already the cause of intense emotional anguish.”

“How?” Jewel demanded, holding his eyes. “No speaking in tongues this time. How exactly?”

His answer, when it came, took her completely by surprise. “You’re pretty damn amazing, you know that?”

“I don’t care for you, either.” She was barely able to remain seated beside him. Large as the interior of the Rolls was, she had never felt so claustrophobic. “In fact, I’ve never met a man I find so hateful.”

“Words. Mere words, Ms. Bishop. What you are is somewhat wary of me. As you should be.”