Margaret Way - Hidden Legacy

“But very easy to prove.” He spoke more gently this time. “Elizabeth and Julian were seriously involved. Then Langford came into her life.”

She sat there, speechless, almost in a trance.

“Alyssa?” he prompted.

She made a huge effort to respond. “This is a far cry from the encounter I expected to have with you.” She began to rub her temples, which ached.

“I know and I’m sorry. The fact is, Langford deeded this house to Elizabeth a year before he died. He also presented her with her little sailing yacht, the Cherub.”

All at once Alyssa felt a great surge of anger. She leaped up, unwilling to accept a word of it. “For pity’s sake, stop! Zizi bought this house. She bought the yacht. Either you’ve got your facts wrong, or you’re making it all up. Zizi would never have lied to me. She was a woman of integrity!”

He seemed unimpressed, although his tone was calm. “Please sit down again. I’m sorry to upset you. You may have been led to believe otherwise, but Richard Langford deeded the house to Elizabeth. The yacht, too, was a gift.”

The air thrummed with electricity. “That can easily be checked out.” She spoke sharply, but resumed her chair. “Why didn’t you tell my father any of this?”

“It wasn’t the time to talk to him about Elizabeth’s affairs. It was you Elizabeth was most focused on. She told me she was leaving you the house.”

“Do you have anything else to tell me?” she asked coldly, struggling with unfamiliar pangs of jealousy that Zizi could have been so drawn to him, confiding even that piece of information.

He seemed to realize it. “She spoke about you at length. How gifted you are, how much she loved you. How you both loved Flying Clouds. She was more than happy to speak freely about you, but it was extremely difficult to get her to talk about herself.”

“Why should she?” she asked angrily. Her heart was hammering away.

“Because of Julian,” he said, rising abruptly.

“Julian deserves some consideration. Julian is the issue for me. Here, let me pour the coffee.” The rich fragrance pervaded the kitchen. “There’s no question that was a very painful area of her life. She was loath to talk about it, although I think she accepted that she’d soon have to.”

An awful suspicion came into her mind. “You’re not a writer, are you? I shudder at the thought of some unauthorized biography of Elizabeth Jane Calvert, full of shocking disclosures.”

He didn’t answer until he’d placed her coffee before her. “It could happen,” he said with a shrug. “It’s quite a story, but it won’t be written by me. I’m an architect.”

Something clicked. “Hunt Hebron?” She referred to a Sydney-based firm, multi-award winners for many years.

He nodded, setting his own coffee down on the table. “My father, Philip Hunt, heads the firm since Uncle Julian retired.”

“I daresay you’ve won a few awards of your own.” She allowed her eyes to rest on him, struggling to keep the slow burn of hostility and a perverse awareness out of her voice, although it must have been obvious. Brett had always told her she was hopeless at hiding her feelings.

“A few,” he answered, “with better to come, I hope. I’ve checked out your work, although I’ve never managed to get to Brisbane to a showing. It seems to me that you’re on your way to matching and—who knows?—one day surpassing Elizabeth.”

“I doubt it. Zizi was wonderful.”

“And you aren’t?” A smile curved his lips.

He’d shared that smile with Zizi. No wonder she’d softened toward him. Alyssa had no difficulty picturing the two of them sitting here in the kitchen as they were doing now, sharing a cup of coffee. She could see Zizi letting him make it.

Alyssa shook her head, trying not only to conceal her reaction to this man, but also to push it away. “Not yet,” she answered. She picked up another sandwich, scarcely aware of what she was doing. “Does your father know any of this? If it’s true.”

“Everyone in the family knows that Julian was madly in love with Elizabeth Jane Calvert when they were young. We also know it was serious between them. Everyone expected a wedding, but in the end nothing came of it. Julian never married.”

“Neither did Zizi. So what? Perhaps they were genuine loners. There are people like that. Zizi was reclusive. She was eccentric—I can’t deny that—but she was the most lovable woman in the world.”

“And one of the most secretive, it seems,” he said with quiet irony.

Alyssa shook her head once more. “Provided what you’re telling me is true,” she repeated. “We’ve only got your great-uncle’s word for it. Artists are highly imaginative people. Perhaps he dreamed up this epic love affair? Perhaps the love was all on his side? He wouldn’t be the first or the last to get it all wrong.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew him.” He swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “Besides, there’s more.”

Her laugh was slightly hysterical. “Of course there’s more! Next you’ll be telling me there was a child, in the true tradition of soap opera.”

“Which nevertheless manages to echo real life.” His voice was so grave it gave her a jolt of foreboding. “Why don’t you finish those sandwiches,” he urged.

Her skin flushed. “I must really look like I need reviving.”

“You do. More coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

He refilled her cup, topped up his own, then sat down again. “There’s no easy way to go about any of this, Alyssa. Not for you, not for me, certainly not for Elizabeth. Not for Uncle Julian. Or for that matter, the Langfords.”

Her tenuous control snapped. She set down her coffee cup so forcefully, it clattered against the saucer. “What on earth have they got to do with it?” she asked. “They’re ancient history. I assume you’re talking about the Langfords, as in LCL?”

He nodded, a glitter in his eyes. “Richard Langford had a great many shares in the family company, as you might imagine.”

“So? They would’ve passed to his heirs. Why have you really come here, Adam? To stir up trouble?”

“I told you.” Muscles bunched along his firm jawline.

“I came as my great-uncle’s emissary. He desperately wants to know before he dies if Elizabeth’s child was his or Langford’s.”

Shock flooded her. She opened her mouth to protest, but no sound emerged. For an instant she feared she might faint. Her brain seemed totally dislocated from her heart. Elizabeth’s child?

“Alyssa!” He was on his feet, shoving back his chair.

“Here, put your head down.” He placed his hand on her nape, his touch gentle but nonetheless compelling.

For a full minute she obeyed, then when she felt better, she shook off his hand. She was angry and afraid of his effect on her. She’d felt that touch of his hand not only on her neck, but in her breasts, the pit of her stomach, between her legs. If she put all those sensations together, what did she get? She fought to compose herself. “I’m fine.”

“Just sit quietly for a moment,” he advised, himself so affected by a moment so intimate he wished now he hadn’t touched her. Was it possible she truly didn’t know about Elizabeth’s baby?

I’ve got to stop this, Adam thought. Start again another time.

“This is a shocking conversation, isn’t it?” she lamented. “Zizi never had a child. I’m sorry to have to say it, but Julian Wainwright must be crazy. There’s a name for it, isn’t there? Erotomania, something like that. The poor man must be fantasizing, especially if he’s pumped full of drugs.”

He looked at her with compassion. “If Elizabeth told you so little—after all you were a child when she was already a middle-aged woman—surely someone else in your family knows. Her sister, Mariel, perhaps?”