Aunt Lucy's Lover

“What I want, Sebastian, is for you to tell me the truth.”

He glanced up at her, his face annoyingly bland. “About what?”

“About everything.”

“Everything.”

“You know what I mean, so don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.”

“What if I think you’re not ready to know…everything?”

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

‘YOUR Aunt Lucy has left you everything.’

Jessica stared at the solicitor across his leather-topped desk. ‘Everything?’ she repeated blankly, her normally sharp brain a little fuzzy with shock.

She was still getting over the news of Aunt Lucy’s death. Of inoperable cancer, three weeks earlier.

When she’d protested over not being told at the time, the solicitor informed her this was because no one had known of her existence till her aunt’s will had been found a couple of days ago.

Jessica had not known of her Aunt Lucy’s existence, either, till the woman herself had shown up at the Sydney Grand a couple of months back and asked to speak to the hotel’s public relations manager, who was none other than Jessica herself.

It had been an awkward meeting. Jessica had been stunned when the woman abruptly announced she was her mother’s older sister. Jessica’s mother had always claimed she was a foundling, with no known relatives.

Aunt Lucy had seemed a little stunned herself by the sight of her niece. She’d stared and stared at her, as though she’d been confronted by a ghost. When Jessica was called away to a problem with one of the guests, she’d left the tongue-tied woman in her office with the promise to return shortly. There were so many questions Jessica had wanted to ask. My God, her head had been whirling with them.

But when she’d returned fifteen minutes later, her Aunt Lucy had disappeared.

The memory of the woman’s distressed face had tormented Jessica ever since. As had the many questions her aunt’s brief and mysterious visit had caused. Why had her mother lied to her? Why hadn’t her aunt waited for her to come back? And why had she stared at her so strangely, as though her physical appearance offended her?

Jessica had tried tracing her aunt, but without success. She’d almost got to the stage where she was prepared to hire a private investigator. Only this last week, she’d started searching for one in the yellow pages.

As sad as her Aunt Lucy’s death was, at least now she might find some answers to her many questions. To which was added the puzzle of why her aunt had made her—a niece she’d only met once—her one and only heir!

‘I can see you’re startled by this legacy, Miss Rawlins,’ the solicitor said. ‘But Mrs. Hardcourt’s will is quite clear.’

‘ Mrs. Hardcourt?’ Jessica immediately picked up on the title. ‘My aunt was married, then?’

No wonder she hadn’t been able to trace her. She’d tried Woods, which had been her mother’s maiden name.

‘She was a widow. For some considerable years, I gather. She had no children of her own. Your mother was her only sibling. Their parents passed away many years back.’

Jessica’s heart sank. There went her hope of grandparents, or other aunts and uncles, or even cousins. So she still had no living family who wanted anything to do with her. Her own father—plus his parents and relatives—had abandoned all contact after her mother divorced him.

Not that Jessica had ever really known them. She’d only been three at the time of her parents’ divorce, and it had been a bitter parting, one her mother refused to speak of afterwards.

When Jessica had notified her father by telephone of her mother’s death eight years ago—he still lived in Sydney—he hadn’t even had the decency to attend the funeral.

Jessica’s heart turned over as she thought of that wretched day. It had been raining, with no one at the graveside except herself, the priest and the undertakers. Her mother had had no close friends, having been an agoraphobic and an alcoholic for as long as Jessica could remember. She’d died, of liver and kidney failure, at the age of thirty-eight.

Jessica wondered anew what had been behind her mother’s self-loathing and misery. She’d thought it was her failed marriage. Now she wasn’t so sure.

So many questions about her mother’s and her own life, unanswered…

Jessica looked up at the patiently waiting solicitor, her expression curious and thoughtful.

‘Surely my aunt’s husband must have had some relatives,’ she speculated. ‘Why didn’t she leave them something? Why leave everything to me?’

The solicitor shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that. She doesn’t mention any in-laws in her will. Neither have any come forward. You are her sole legal heir, and might I say her estate is quite considerable.’

Jessica was taken aback. She’d been picturing a small house perhaps, in a country town. Somehow, Aunt Lucy had looked country. Jessica hadn’t envisaged any great fortune. ‘How considerable is considerable?’ she asked, feeling the first stirring of excitement.

One of Jessica’s primary goals in life had been to make herself financially secure. Being poor all her young life had left its mark. When little more than a child, she had vowed never to be poor once she was old enough to support herself. After her mother’s death, she’d worked damned hard to put herself into a position where she had a well-paid job with considerable job security.

Though no job was entirely secure in this day and age, she conceded.

‘Firstly, there is the property,’ the solicitor began enthusiastically. ‘It consists of several acres of prime real estate overlooking the Pacific, and a grand old heritage home, which your aunt had been running as a guesthouse for many years. There is no mortgage, and the house itself is reputedly well-furnished with solid pieces, many of them valuable antiques.’

‘Goodness!’ Jessica exclaimed. ‘I had no idea!’

‘So I can see. I am also pleased to inform you that even after all legal fees and funeral expenses are paid for, your aunt’s bank balance will still be slightly in excess of five hundred thousand dollars.’

Jessica gasped. ‘Half a million dollars!’ She could hardly believe her ears. ‘So where is this property? You mentioned an acreage. And a view of the Pacific Ocean. I presume it’s along the east coast somewhere, then?’

The solicitor looked surprised. ‘You mean you don’t know where your aunt lived?’

‘No, I told you. I hardly knew her. We only met the once.’

‘I see. You’re in for another surprise then. Your Aunt Lucy lived on Norfolk Island.’

‘Norfolk Island!’

‘Yes.’

‘Good Lord.’ Jessica had never been to Norfolk Island, but she knew where it was. Out in the Pacific Ocean off the east coast of Australia. It was a popular holiday destination for honeymooners and the middle-aged to elderly, the sort of pretty but peaceful place where the most exciting activity available was looking through the ruins of an old convict gaol. One of the staff at the hotel had spent a week there last year and left a tourist brochure lying around. Jessica recalled glancing at it and thinking she’d be bored to tears at a place like that.

Jessica liked to keep busy. And she liked lots of people around her; another mark, perhaps, of her wretched childhood when she’d had no friends, as well as no money. You didn’t bring friends home to a drunken mother, and if you had no money, you couldn’t afford to go out.

The inner Sydney area was Jessica’s type of place. She thrived on the hustle and bustle of city life, the bright lights and the continuous undercurrent of throbbing life. When she wasn’t working, there was always some place to go, something to do. Dining out and discos. The theatre. The ballet. Movies. Concerts.

Jessica couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, certainly not on a small Pacific island whose only bright lights were the stars in the sky!

‘I presume you’d like to go and see your inheritance for yourself?’ the solicitor asked.

Jessica gnawed at her bottom lip. Well, of course she would. But she really didn’t have the time right now. Her job was very demanding, and February was still a busy month for hotels in Sydney.

Still, how could she pass up the opportunity to find out the truth about her roots? And where better to start than where her aunt lived? It was clear the solicitor didn’t know very much.

Jessica mulled over her work situation. She was due her annual holidays, having slaved for over a year in her present position without a break. Surely they could spare her for a week or two. She would demand compassionate leave if the boss made a fuss.

‘Yes, I would like to see it,’ she said, making up her mind with her usual decisiveness. ‘I should be able to arrange to have the property put up for sale while I’m there, too, shouldn’t I?’

The solicitor seemed startled. ‘You mean you don’t want to live there yourself?’

‘Heavens, no. My life is here, in Sydney.’

‘You do realise that people with permanent residency on Norfolk Island don’t pay any income tax,’ he said dryly.

Jessica had forgotten about that. It was a tempting thought—especially now, with her income about to soar—but such a consideration was still not enough for her to give up a career she’d slaved for and a lifestyle she enjoyed. What on earth would she do on Norfolk Island?

‘You could take over the running of your aunt’s guesthouse,’ the solicitor said, as though reading her mind. ‘You’d have no trouble securing a permit to stay under your circumstances.’

Jessica wrinkled her nose. She’d spent a year in hotel housekeeping while working her way up in her career, and had hated it. She knew exactly what running a guesthouse would entail, and it was not what she wanted to do with her life.

‘That’s not for me, I’m afraid. No, I’ll be selling up and investing the money.’

‘I see. Er, how long were you planning on staying on the island?’

‘A fortnight at the most,’ Jessica said crisply. ‘I can’t spare more time than that.’

‘Hm, I think you’ll have to, Miss Rawlins. You see, there is a small but rather odd condition attached to your inheriting your aunt’s estate.’

‘Really? You didn’t mention anything earlier.’

‘I was presuming you’d want to live there permanently. Most people would jump at the chance. Since you don’t, then within a reasonable time of your being notified of your aunt’s death, you have to take up residence in her home on the island and live there for at least one month.’

‘A month! But that’s ridiculous. I can’t afford a month!’

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to, if you wish to inherit. Your aunt’s wishes are clear. Provisions have even been made in the will to pay for the purchase of your airline ticket, in case you couldn’t afford one. Oh, and there’s another small condition. During this month, you are to allow a certain Mr. Slade to remain living in the same room he has occupied for the last three years, free of charge.’

‘How very peculiar! What happens if I don’t comply?’

‘Then the estate goes to the aforementioned Mr. Slade, whom Mrs. Hardcourt describes in her will as having been a loyal and loving companion to her over these past three years.’

Jessica frowned. Was loyal and loving companion a euphemism for lover? She remembered her aunt as having been a handsome woman, with a good figure for her age. Although obviously in her fifties, it was not inconceivable she’d been having an intimate physical relationship with a man.

‘It was this Mr. Slade who found the will,’ the solicitor said. ‘It had apparently slipped down behind a drawer. He’s been living in and looking after the house and grounds since your aunt’s death.’

‘Not to mention searching for a will, which he obviously knew existed,’ Jessica pointed out dryly. For some reason, she didn’t like the sound of this Mr. Slade. Or was it just the complication of that odd condition she didn’t like? ‘I wonder why my aunt didn’t just leave everything to him in the first place, if they were so close?’

‘I really couldn’t say.’

‘No, of course not,’ Jessica murmured. The only way she was going to find out anything was to go there herself. But for a whole month? How was she going to wangle that without risking her job?

‘This Mr. Slade,’ she said, her mind ticking over. ‘What do you know about him?’

‘Very little. I did speak to him briefly on the telephone yesterday.’

‘And?’

‘He sounded surprisingly…young.’

‘Young?’ Jessica repeated, startled.

‘It was just an impression. Some quite elderly people have young-sounding telephone voices.’

Jessica nodded. That was so true. The owner of the Sydney Grand was well into his sixties but sounded much younger on the telephone.

‘There’s a flight leaving for Norfolk Island next Sunday morning at seven,’ the solicitor informed her. ‘If you like, I can call the airline right now and see if they have a spare seat. If you go now, you’ll only have to stay four weeks to satisfy your aunt’s will. February this year only has twenty-eight days.’

So it had. But four weeks away from the hotel at this time of the year? Her boss would be most put out. Still, what alternative did she have?

‘All right,’ Jessica agreed.

Now that her mind was made up, she was quite eager to be on her way, her female curiosity more than a little piqued. She wanted to see the place for herself. And the island. And the mysterious Mr. Slade.

Actually, she felt a bit guilty about him. If he’d genuinely loved her aunt and nursed her during her last days, surely he deserved more for his devotion than one month’s free board. Jessica decided that if he proved to have been a genuine friend to her aunt and was in any way hard up for money, she would give him a cash legacy. It was the least she could do.

‘Would you like the telephone number of your aunt’s house?’ the solicitor asked once his call to the airline had been successfully completed. ‘That way you can call this Mr. Slade yourself and arrange for him to pick you up at the airport when you arrive.’

‘All right,’ Jessica agreed again. It would be interesting to see how young he sounded to her. Maybe the solicitor thought fifty was young. He was nearing sixty himself.

He jotted down her aunt’s number on the back of one of his business cards and handed it over to Jessica, who slipped it into her handbag.

‘Don’t hesitate to call me if you need any help,’ he said, standing up when she did so.

Jessica shook his extended hand. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I will.’

As she turned and walked out of the office, the sudden thought came that her life was never going to be the same again. Suddenly, she was a rich woman, an heiress.

Strange. The realisation was vaguely unsettling. Jessica decided then and there not to tell anyone at work, or even any of her friends. Aside from the jealousy it might inspire, people treated you differently when you were rich, especially the opposite sex.

Of course, there were a couple of people who already knew of her new financial status. That couldn’t be helped. But the solicitor was hardly going to present a problem in her day-to-day life. He wasn’t likely to make a play for her, either.

Which left only Mr. Slade.

Jessica almost laughed at the instant tightening in her stomach. Now she was being fanciful. Logically, Mr. Slade had to at least be in his fifties. Neither was he likely to be too enamoured with the woman who’d robbed him of a sizeable inheritance. He might very well resent her.

Suddenly, the month she had to spend on Norfolk Island in the same house as Mr. Slade loomed as very awkward, indeed.

Well, that was just too bad, Jessica thought fatalistically. She had every right to go there, and every right to find out what she could about her own and her mother’s past!

CHAPTER TWO

JESSICA’S watch said nine-thirty as she unlocked the front door of her flat. Her sigh was a little weary as she stepped inside and switched on the lights. She’d stayed extra late at the hotel tonight, getting things organised so that her PA could manage without her for the next month.

In the end, she’d asked for her full four weeks’ holidays, saying she was suffering from emotional stress after the sudden death of a dear aunt. The hotel management hadn’t been thrilled with the short notice, but they hadn’t been as difficult about her request as she’d imagined they’d be. Clearly, they valued her as an employee and didn’t want to lose her.

Jessica was well aware she did a good job, but it had always faintly worried her that she’d won her present position more for her model-like looks than her qualifications. Not that she didn’t have plenty of those, as well. A degree in hotel management and tourism, plus years of experience working in every facet of the hotel industry from housekeeping to reception to guest relations.

Jessica closed the door of her near-new North Sydney apartment—an airy two-bedroomed unit with a lovely view of the bridge and harbour. She’d bought it only four months previously, the deposit alone taking every cent she had saved during her working life.

But she’d craved her own place after sharing rented accommodation for years.

Funnily enough, whilst she adored the bathroom and bedroom privacy, she wasn’t finding living alone quite as satisfying a way of life as she’d thought it would be. She missed not having anyone to talk to in the evenings. Lately, she’d felt awfully lonely, which was unfortunate. In the past, whenever her chronic loneliness reached these depths, she had launched into an affair with some highly unsuitable man.

Of course she never knew they were unsuitable at the time, since they always declared their undying love and devotion at first, to which she invariably responded.

It was only later, when she found out they were married, or an addict of some sort, or allergic to long-term commitment, that she recognised her own folly for what it was. Just desperation to feel loved and not be alone, and a deep desire to find the man of her dreams, marry him and have so many children she would never be alone again!

At that point the scales would fall from her eyes and she would see her great love for what he was—usually no more than a handsome and highly accomplished liar who was using her for what he could get and giving her very little in return, not even good sex!

Jessica knew from talking to girlfriends and reading women’s magazines that she had always been shortchanged in the bedroom department. Perhaps she should have complained at the time, but you just didn’t when you imagined you were madly in love.

The thought of going that road again made her shudder. Better she remain alone than involved with one of those. Better she remain unmarried and childless than shackled to some selfish guy who would make a lousy father and who didn’t even satisfy her in bed!

Which left what to cure her present loneliness?

‘A flatmate!’ she decided aloud. ‘A female, of course,’ she added dryly as she strode down the small hallway and into her bedroom, tossing her handbag onto the double bed and kicking off her shoes.

‘Stuff men!’ she muttered as she began to strip.

One particular man suddenly jumped into her mind.

Her Aunt Lucy’s lover—the enigmatic Mr. Slade. She’d been going to ring him earlier at the office, but had kept putting it off. It irked her that she felt nervous about ringing him.

Ring him now, her pride demanded. What’s wrong with you? So he might give you the cold shoulder—you can’t help that. Just be polite, anyway. You’re used to being polite to some of the rudest and most arrogant men around. Your job has trained you for it. Use some of that training now!

Jessica glared over at the telephone, which sat on the bedside table nearest the window. Lifting her chin, she moved over to snatch up her handbag from the bed, opened it and drew out the business card the solicitor had given her. She didn’t delay once the number was in her hands. She sat down and dialled straight away before she procrastinated further.

‘Hi there,’ said a male voice at last. ‘Seb here.’

Jessica frowned. If ‘Seb here’ was Mr. Slade, then he did indeed sound young. Far too young to be the lover of a woman in her fifties. Unless…

Her stomach contracted at the thought her aunt might have fallen into the clutches of the type of unconscionable young man who preyed on wealthy widows. Jessica was not unfamiliar with the species. They often hung around the bars in the hotel, waiting and watching for suitable prey. They were invariably handsome. And charming. And young.

If Mr. Slade turned out to be one of those, she thought crossly, he would get short shrift after the month was over. He would not get a cent from her. Not one single cent!

‘This is Jessica Rawlins,’ she said, simmering outrage giving her voice a sharp edge. ‘Would I be speaking to Mr. Slade?’

‘You sure are. Pleased to hear from you, Jessica. I presume Lucy’s solicitor has been in touch. So when are you coming over?’

Jessica’s eyebrows lifted. Well, he was certainly straight to the point, and not at all resentful sounding. If she hadn’t been on her toes, she might have been totally disarmed by his casual charm.

‘I’m catching the seven o’clock flight from Sydney on Sunday,’ she said stiffly.

‘I’ll meet you then. Oops, no, I can’t. I promised Mike I’d go fishing with him Sunday morning. Tell you what, I’ll get Evie to meet you.’

‘And who, pray tell, is Evie?’ she asked archly.

‘Evie? She was your aunt’s chief cook and bottle washer. You’ll like Evie,’ he went on blithely. ‘Everyone does. Now perhaps you’d better tell me what you look like, so she won’t have any trouble recognising you on Sunday. Are you tall?’

‘Reasonably,’ Jessica bit out after smothering her frustration. She supposed she’d find out everything she wanted to know soon enough. And she could trust her eyes far more than a conversation on the telephone.

‘Slim?’ he went on.

‘Yes.’

‘What colour hair?’

‘Black.’

‘Long or short?’

‘Shoulder-length, but I always wear it up.’

‘How old are you? Approximately,’ he added quickly with humour in his voice.

‘Twenty-eight,’ Jessica said, having no reason to hide her age.

‘Really. You sound older.’

She tried not to take offence, and failed. ‘Well, you don’t,’ she snapped.