“Deception runs through everything.”

Jewel’s expression was bleak as she looked at her aunt. “I don’t think I can bear this, Judith. I had an identity. Who am I now? I don’t even think I want to continue with the law firm. They represent Copeland Connellan. From the way Keefe Connellan spoke, he wants me out.”

“Does he, now? How could he blame you for anything?” Judith demanded hotly. “You had no control over your own birth.”

“Hard to argue with that, but he seems to think I’m manipulating the present situation.” She managed a discordant laugh. “And it’s all based on assumptions—on jumping to conclusions.”

“He may have discovered the truth, Jewel—a truth that’s as new to me as it is to you. But it all adds up. Travis Copeland used to visit the station on behalf of his father. Your mother was a very pretty girl.” Judith shook her head. “And she always did have a talent for keeping secrets.”

Dear Reader,

At some time we all have to grapple with the difficulties of family—as well as drawing strength and pleasure from its great joys. This story is about how one young woman tries to deal with her life when she discovers, at the age of twenty-five, that her true parentage has been kept secret from her. A monumental discovery and one that creates many new problems, invading every aspect of life. Think how those problems would be compounded if the “new” family considers itself under threat. Human beings aren’t always understanding and tolerant, let alone ready to accept an “outsider” without suspicion. The best one can do is find the courage to reach out, find a way to link the past with the present.

I hope you enjoy Jewel’s story. I enjoyed writing it. It has been a great pleasure and an exciting challenge for me to join the ranks of Harlequin Superromance. As always, I want to convey to my “new” audience my great love for my unique homeland, Australia. Who knows, it might lure you to come Down Under!

Margaret Way

Secrets of the Outback
Margaret Way

MILLS & BOON

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This book is dedicated to Diana Palmer,

who once told me, “If I can do it, so can you!”

Thanks, Diana.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

February, 1981

STEVE BISHOP, overseer of a remote Outback cattle station, sat in one of the back pews of the Anglican cathedral in the Queensland State capital, thinking he’d never had an experience like this. In fact, it had to be the most extraordinary occasion he had attended in his thirty-one years. Living the way he did in the vast, sparsely populated Outback, he was in awe of the crowd. Used to counting head of cattle, he estimated there had to be at least three thousand people packed into the church, all sitting bolt upright in the crush. Outside on the street, mourners who couldn’t make it through the door stood twenty deep, prepared to smile if a camera came near. Inner-city traffic had ground to a halt. So had business.

Today was the funeral of one of the most powerful and influential men in the nation: Sir Julius Copeland, mining magnate, land baron, executive chairman of the giant mining firm Copeland Connellan Carpentaria. Self-confessed Titan.

Important as Sir Julius had been, Steve had had no idea the funeral would be so huge. Or so glittering. Most people, himself included—and it had set him back—had suited themselves in funeral black. But the women treated their somber gear as some sort of blessing in disguise. They wore jewelry. None of your costume jewelry stuff. Lots of extravagant yellow gold. Ropes of pearls and diamond brooches that sparkled brilliantly as they caught the light. He had the notion that just one of those brooches could feed an Outback family for a year. The hats were spectacular, too. Fit for the Melbourne Cup.

The cathedral with its miles of red carpet was redolent with not only the vaguely sickening scent of flowers, great banks of them, but the smell of money. Big money. Power. The milieu in which Sir Julius had lived and become a monolith of industry.

As expected, the dignitaries sat up front, striving to look lofty—the governor of the state, along with the roly-poly premier who was working hard to suppress his usual big vote-winning smile. The dour leader of the Opposition sat a pew behind, holding a snowy white handkerchief to his face as though he had a nose-bleed or was grieving for the deceased. Steve recognized the federal senator sent to represent the prime minister. This was the same guy he and his cattleman friends had shouted down when the senator last came Outback to deliver more empty promises. Behind them sat the representatives of the legal and business communities, their expressions masked. Then there were the cattle barons, land owners and lesser mortals, all of whom had braved the scorching heat—heck, it was hotter in the capital than in his desert home!—to pay their respects to a giant among men. At least, that was how the press had described Sir Julius in his obituary.

Steve had read it that morning with a sense of mounting wonder and irony. Sir Julius had been all sorts of things, but no one in his right mind could’ve called him a nice guy. Julius Copeland had been an ogre. Six foot four, built like an armored tank. Voice like the rumble of thunder. Pale ice-blue eyes sharp enough to drill holes in cement. He might have been larger than life, cleverer, more determined, more ruthless than most, but he hadn’t been liked, let alone revered. Maybe loathed would describe it. Steve had been surprised by his boss’s sudden death of a massive heart attack, but he honestly couldn’t say he felt any sorrow. With no provocation, Julius Copeland had made life difficult for many, many people, including him.

Now it was time for Sir Julius to meet up with his own Boss. Yet as villains went, Steve supposed Copeland had to be a long way down the list. After all, there was Hitler, Stalin, Nero, Genghis Khan…

Across the aisle, in the front pew, sat the widow, Lady Davina Copeland, a woman much respected for her dedication to public affairs. Fighting for equality for minority groups, that kind of thing. One could say she had set herself in direct conflict with her husband. God knows why she’d ever married the man. They couldn’t have hit it off. Steve could only glimpse her from the back. She looked like a woman half her age. Of course, he’d seen grainy photographs of her in the newspapers over the years, but he’d never seen her in the flesh. She was supposed to be beautiful. Very glamorous. He was determined to get a good look at her before he went home. Her godawful son Travis sat beside her. Tall, dark, saturnine, a real personage in his own opinion. Some women might find him attractive, Steve reasoned, rubbing his chin, but Travis Copeland had always made him feel downright queasy. Though Travis always acted like a power to be reckoned with, he was in no way competent to step into his father’s shoes. He wasn’t a total dolt, either, Steve supposed. The business community would’ve figured that out. Travis’s upper-crust wife sat beside him, spine straight, allowing his body to touch hers at the shoulder. She was good-looking, sure, but skinny enough to make a man weep. It couldn’t be all sunshine for Travis. Steve had heard, too, that the wife was a bit of an ogress. Must’ve rubbed off from her father-in-law. Steve knew they had a child, Amelia, a few years older than his own little darling. Amelia wasn’t in attendance. Probably she’d been judged to be too young. Funerals weren’t very pleasant at the best of times, but especially if you were a friend of the family. Now, little Amelia’s grandfather, the man who’d been so very important to the state and to so many lives, would shortly be laid to rest.

If they ever got through the eulogies, Steve thought, loosening his tie. Too many. Too long. Some of them had to be tongue-in-cheek. Especially the archbishop’s. He had to have some knowledge of Copeland’s true nature. The Sir Julius that Steve knew, his boss, owner of Mingaree Station, and a string of other pastoral properties adding up to some five million hectares, was a bastard in anyone’s language, and you’d better believe it.

Forgive me, Lord. Steve momentarily bent his head, ashamed of his irreverence. Not that the good Lord wouldn’t agree after He’d talked to the man, however briefly. Julius Copeland had been intimidating beyond belief, so rough of tongue he made the crudest station hand blush. A complete contrast to his partner of the old days, Sir Stafford Connellan. Steve had had the greatest respect for Sir Stafford, knighted, like Copeland for service to his country. The big difference was that Sir Stafford had been a great man, a bred-in-the-bone gentleman. A real thoroughbred, now sadly deceased. Sir Stafford’s son, Earle, had succeeded his father in the firm. Steve could just see where Earle Connellan sat, his lean handsome face solemn, with his dark-haired wife, Rebecca and their only child, a son of around thirteen, Keefe. The boy was the image of his father which was to say strikingly handsome, but there was more to it. Like his father and grandfather before him, he had that aura of integrity and high intelligence. That special look of breeding. Industrial giant though he’d been, Sir Julius had never had that. No doubt, in time the boy Keefe would become a force in the firm. The Connellans were still major shareholders, despite Sir Julius’s best efforts to outwit them after Sir Stafford’s death. No sense of decency there.

The Connellans, too, were possessed of great wealth, but they’d always had virtually the opposite approach to it. Earle Connellan stood head and shoulders above the likes of Travis, whom Steve detested for a number of reasons. Earle was a great guy, a man you could talk with, no side to him for all his privileged background. Travis, though, was an arrogant son of a bitch. Pretty much thought himself a god. As did his old man. Not that Steve and Thea had to suffer Travis much these days. At one time, Travis had flown into the station regularly in his Beech Baron, but not for ages now. Come to that, Steve hadn’t visited the city in years. Today he was part of a contingent of cattlemen who’d traveled a thousand miles and more to attend the great man’s funeral. Damn near mandatory. It was easy to tell who the cattlemen were. Though suitably dark-suited, all of them to a man balanced their trademark akubras on their knees. As did Steve. He’d nodded to most of them as they made their bowlegged way in. Horsemen. And it showed.

Landowners were up front, as befitting the guys who owned the whole caboodle. Employees were at the back. Steve didn’t mind. He wasn’t part of this world of wealth and privilege. He didn’t want to be. Steve considered himself blessed. He had a job he enjoyed. Plenty of back-breaking work, of course, but he was well-paid and he had security of tenure if only because he knew his job and had a good business head. He had the sweetest wife, too, his loyal Thea. She had given him such happiness since the moment he put his ring on her pretty finger. Above all, he had Jewel. God, he adored that child! She was his life. Six going on seven. The most adorable, the spunkiest, smartest, most affectionate daughter a father could want. Hair of spun gold. In total contrast, her delicate winged eyebrows were many shades darker than her hair, almost black. She had blue eyes of such radiance that he had bypassed the name she’d been christened, Eugenia after Thea’s mother, to settle on the only name possible when one looked into those sparkling eyes—Jewel. Jewel Bishop. Nowadays no one on the station called her anything else. His little Jewel. His sweetheart. His treasure. He couldn’t wait to get back to his “girls.” He already knew what he was going to bring them as gifts. Every trip away, even a trip like this, Steve bought his girls surprises. He loved the moment they opened them, the way their eyes lit up with love for him. His girls. His life.

The service droned on to the point that he actually considered getting up and stretching his legs. About time things got moving. He couldn’t bear being trussed up in this city gear. And the heat! Some guy choked up and had to be led off. Must’ve been an act. Still, this was no place for such an unChristian thought, Steve decided. He lowered his curly dark head to his hymn book, joining a choir of uniformed kids from one of the posh schools. Probably Sir Julius’s alma mater. He tried to visualize Julius Copeland as a small boy. Couldn’t. He’d always figured Sir Julius had sprung into this world fully grown—and had believed the old boy could never die. Now Sir Julius’s final destination was waiting. Steve didn’t know exactly where that would be, but he wouldn’t be a bit surprised if Sir Julius was going straight to hell.

TEN MINUTES LATER, Steve got his first good view of Lady Copeland as she made her dignified way down the aisle. No one to support her. She probably felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She didn’t look from side to side. She didn’t look at anyone. Steve had to keep reminding himself of her age. She was Travis’s mother, which had to put her well into her fifties, but behind the short black veil she wore over her face—he thought only royalty did that—she looked as youthful as her daughter-in-law.

Steve found the opportunity to study her again outside. He was tempted to go up and say hello to her. Explain he was overseer of one of the Copeland cattle stations. Of course he didn’t. He hung around watching the VIPs go, instead. Her elegant beringed hand came up to push back the short veil. Now, for the first time, Steve saw her face exposed to the brilliant sunlight.

Lord God! He gulped as a terrible malevolent humming started up in his head. The clarity of shock and the pain almost felled him. In one soul-destroying moment of revelation, Steve knew his whole life had been stolen from him. He reeled with the impact. Slammed into something hard. A stone pillar. He knew beyond any doubt that he could never be happy again.

The face of this woman, Davina Copeland, was the same magical face as his own daughter’s. The resemblance was startling. Here was the mould for the face of the child who had given him all the joy in the world. His daughter, Jewel. There was the hair, dressed differently, of course—maybe the woman’s owed a little these days to artifice—but it was the same thick, gleaming gold. There were the distinctive winged black brows, the heavily fringed blue eyes that shone like jewels.

Now all those hazy questions he’d sealed away in his mind broke out of the vault. He turned in blind anguish, his feelings of betrayal so powerful that they were beyond words. He looked for and found Travis Copeland. The destroyer was standing by himself. Without hesitation Steve moved in. He would have liked to shout “Adulterer!” but his throat closed up. Travis was sweating and shaking, just standing there staring at him. Knowing what was coming.

Before anyone could stop him, Steve Bishop, superbly fit, launched himself at the man who had dishonored his wife, ruined his life. He grabbed him powerfully by the shoulder, then—as mourners turned, both aghast and agog—punched Travis so hard in the face that he was knocked clear off his feet. Copeland’s patrician nose was most assuredly broken. Steve had felt the crunch, but without any satisfaction.

A woman in a chic black suit began to wail. Not the widow. Not the wife. Perhaps they realized this sort of display was bound to happen sooner or later. While Travis Copeland sprawled on the stone steps, his nose gushing blood, police descended on Steve Bishop. They overpowered him swiftly although he offered no resistance. He rocked back and forth on his feet, his face ashen, not a shadow of regret in his eyes. Steve Bishop was in an altered state from which he would never give himself time to recover.

It was impossible to hide things. In the end they always came out.

CHAPTER ONE

The present

MONDAY MORNING. Traffic was heavier than normal. Jewel swung a U-turn, not exactly sure if it was legal, and took a different route, only to find some of the lights were out on Station Road, which put her farther behind. Another couple of delays would precipitate a minor crisis. She would be late for her Monday morning “chat”—a quaint tradition—with her boss, Blair Skinner, a man she found extremely abrasive. Few in the prestigious law firm of Barton Skinner Beaumont didn’t, but they all wanted to hang on to a career. Instead they made jokes about him behind his back.

A vacant parking space in the small basement of her office building almost caught her unaware. She drove into it nearly dizzy with relief. The only real way to secure basement parking was to arrive early. Which she always did. Except today…. Someone, bless him or her, had obviously called in sick.

Jewel grabbed her handbag, so expensive she really should insure it, then locked her car by remote. She made directly for the lifts, feeling reassured, despite her workouts at the gym, that there were a few fellow workers about. Must’ve been stalled by the same set of lights. A few weeks back, another young woman who worked in the building had had a bad scare when a man approached her, pulling a gun from an inside pocket. As it later turned out after a comparatively easy citizen’s arrest—the young woman’s rescuer was a prominent footballer—the gun was a fake and the man had a long history of psychiatric problems. Still, no one needed an experience like that. There really should be security, she thought for perhaps the hundredth time, knowing full well it wasn’t going to happen.

In the handsomely appointed ladies’ rest room—thank God Barton Skinner Beaumont hadn’t gone unisex like they did on Ally McBeal—Jewel checked herself in the mirror. Skinner demanded that the three female associates of the prestigious law firm that bore his name—well, his grandfather’s—be groomed to perfection. Impeccable himself in all matters of dress, manners and taste, Skinner was very severe about it. Up until recently, Barton Skinner Beaumont hadn’t even allowed bright young women through their hallowed portals. All vacancies had been filled by bright young men. But Jewel, who held firmly to the belief that women could achieve anything, had become a prime target for Skinner’s “wit.” Not that the male associates were entirely spared. They, too, received a fair sprinkling of Skinner’s sarcastic comments without a one of them game enough to tell him to mind his own business. Extraordinarily enough, Jewel had. That was what came of being born in the bush.

Skinner wasn’t going to catch her out today, even if he tried an average of three times a week. Today she’d dressed in a brand-new suit, which had substantially set her back, fine-quality midnight-blue wool, austere but beautifully cut. Under it, to add flair, she wore a brilliant silk blouse, turquoise striped with fuchsia, matched exactly by her lipstick. Incredibly, Skinner noticed things like that. The turquoise intensified the blue of her eyes. She’d had her hair cut recently to just past chin length. It fell thick and heavy in a side-parted classic pageboy. She used to wear it much longer, the way the ex–man in her life liked it, but this was a fresh start. Why did women always cut their hair on such occasions? Perhaps she could find out with a few sessions on a psychiatrist’s couch. Not that she trusted psychiatrists. Not after the way they’d sorted out her mother’s problems—from depression to grand psychosis.

Just thinking about it was an agony, even though it had been going on for years and years. Determinedly Jewel redirected her attention to the mirror. With her suit she wore good daytime jewelry. Nothing tacky. So what if she could only afford 9-carat gold? It was tasteful, understated. Anyone might think she’d been hired as a clotheshorse instead of a pretty good corporate lawyer, she thought with a grin. No, not pretty good. She was underrating herself. She was darn good, and moving up the ladder. A welcome raise after the Stanbroke deal had allowed her to indulge her weakness for beautiful shoes—which might’ve had something to do with the fact that she’d had to go barefoot for much of her childhood.

OUTSIDE SKINNER’S DOOR, Jewel knocked, then stood back, certain Skinner would permit himself the pleasure of making her wait. She didn’t think it was worth brooding about it; it made her laugh. Finally came his peremptory “enter,” as though he could ill afford the time to see her. Jewel opened the door and walked into Skinner’s plush inner sanctum. It was furnished with an array of handsome Georgian bookcases holding weighty legal tomes, several favorite paintings by maritime artists and too few chairs, clearly signaling that anyone who wanted to visit him might have to stand up.

As expected, Skinner had his head down, perusing some file he seemed to want to keep secret; he held one arm around it, presumably to prevent Jewel from catching sight of the client’s name. Blair Skinner, in Jewel’s opinion, was the sort of man who could sour a woman on the entire male sex, but she had to concede that at forty-five he could be rated handsome by the casual observer. He oozed wealth. He loved fashion. He dressed in expensive Italian suits that she knew for a fact cost the best part of two thousand dollars; she’d checked when she’d visited an exclusive men’s store with her ex. Skinner had never been known to make a single mistake with his shirts, ties, shoes and socks. He had good regular features that were always darkly tanned, thanks to his yachting expeditions, and a fine head of hair, but the close observer would have rejected those eyes, small and set too close together. Then again, other factors weighed in. He was a brilliant lawyer with a career that went swimmingly and he was, of course, grandson of one of the firm’s founders. Nevertheless, Jewel always thought he could have posed for a shot of an upmarket Dirty Rotten Scoundrel. She never stood forlornly in Skinner’s office waiting for his attention. She amused herself with thoughts such as this.

Finally Skinner looked up, favoring her with an all-over glance that took in her appearance to the last detail. Not offensive. Not overtly sexual. Just a quick rundown of her appearance and grooming. “My, aren’t we glamorous today?” he said with a languid wave of a well-manicured hand.

“Delighted you think so, Blair.” Jewel didn’t make the mistake of taking a seat before being invited to do so. That was exactly what Skinner wanted.

Skinner leaned back in his wonderfully comfortable-looking leather. “Yes, you’ve come on well under my tutelage,” he said. “I nearly wept when I first saw you come through my door—what, all of three years ago.”

Jewel nodded, not believing he was going to bring up her outfit again—white shirt, designer jeans, navy blazer. A bit on the informal side, but classy.

He was. “I know daggy dress is all the rage in the sticks, but I was frankly horrified to see someone so scruffy standing in my office.”

As usual, he was exaggerating wildly, and on the strength of her recent achievements, Jewel tried a little taunt. “A good thing for the firm I wasn’t marched off in shame.”

“The only thing that saved you was your résumé,” he reminded her.

“And the fact that I topped my law class, along with winning the University Medal.” She would never have been so self-congratulatory with anyone else, but it was part of the routine with Skinner.

“Such revelations! And so many people to speak for you! Wonderful recommendations.” He shook his head. “Generally speaking, our young males are the outright winners.”

“Were,” Jewel emphasized. “But if you look at the results, Blair, they’ve finally been overtaken.”

“Not exactly,” he said silkily, “but no sooner do we train them than they mooch off and get married. I hope you’re not going to do that, Eugenie,” he said as though contemplating a crime.

“Not for a good while,” Jewel assured him. “I’m a touch nervous about marriage. I have a friend who was married for an hour.”

Skinner, divorced himself, almost giggled. “I take that to mean they were doing it for a stunt. I just love our Monday mornings, Eugenie. Even the run-ins. You seem to be one of the few courageous enough to speak your mind.” Skinner leaned back. “Sit down, Eugenie.” He paused, his expression reflective. “I simply can’t bring myself to call you Jewel like the rest of the office. It’s an over-decoration and you don’t need it.”

“That’s okay. Eugenie is fine. And I get a kick out of your French pronunciation. Besides, I haven’t heard it in a long, long time.”

“So who started calling you Jewel?” Skinner actually looked interested.

“My father,” Jewel announced casually, although any mention of her father made her feel lonely and sick inside.

“I understand he was killed?” Skinner stared at her.

Slammed his car into a power pole. “You’ve already read my file, Blair,” Jewel pointed out too sharply.

“My dear, please don’t take offense.” Unexpectedly he backed off. “I have indeed studied your file. Smart and ambitious as you are, with an ability to write excellent briefs, you’re still extremely lucky to be here. I have to hand it to you, Eugenie. For a little girl from the bush with absolutely no connections, you’ve turned yourself into a real achiever. A young lawyer with a future. Not easy.”

“But I have you on my side, Blair, rooting for me, showing me the way to professionalism, self-improvement, correct dress and behavior. As only someone born to life among the gentry can.”

He laughed. “Watch it!” His smooth cosmopolitan voice was mellow. “Snob, aren’t I?”

“Sincerely, yes.”

“For which you must be grateful.” Skinner began to hunt through the files on his splendid partner’s desk. “Don’t imagine for one minute that my influence hasn’t helped you impress the clients. No one who works here can afford to look like a loser—” He broke off. “Ah, here it is.” He withdrew a thick file from the pack. “Remember the Quinn Corp. thing? We handled their takeover of Omega Enterprises?”

“The Copeland Connellan subsidiary?” Jewel asked. “I should. I put a lot of research into that. Around two-hundred pages.”

“I wouldn’t have let you do it if I didn’t have confidence in you,” Skinner said a little testily. “However…things don’t appear to be working out. In fact, they’re going bad.”

“Really?” Jewel was surprised. “I would’ve thought it was airtight.”

“Except some of Omega’s top people didn’t fully appreciate that their jobs were on the line. They’re suing.”

“You mean Copeland Connellan canned them after the buyout?” Jewel sat back, frowning.

Skinner nodded. “Exactly. Their argument was that Omega’s top guns turned out to be duds.”

“With their salaries, the Omega people can’t have been pleased.”

“Don’t worry about them,” Skinner, never a man to dwell on the misfortunes of others, said equably. “They’re all millionaires. Copeland Connellan has a way of clearing out duds. Anyway, it looks like litigation—which, as we represent Copeland Connellan, we will win. Not saying it won’t be tricky. So let’s get started. Can’t have our biggest client saying they’re not getting our immediate attention. Then we’ve got Kussler Consolidated versus the ATA Group. Pull your chair up here. I’ll be shoveling a lot of work onto your desk, so don’t go making too many outside plans.” He glanced up at her. “By the way, Keefe Connellan will be coming in this afternoon on an unrelated matter. He’s accompanying Lady Copeland, which is somewhat surprising given the situation with Travis. I’d like to be able to tell him we’re already onto the Omega thing at the same time— Haven’t met Keefe, have you?” Skinner asked out of the blue.

“I haven’t had that great honor,” Jewel said, wondering if Skinner was doing his usual job of trying to confuse her.

“Of course you haven’t.” Skinner stared at her thoughtfully.

“Then, why ask?”

Skinner suddenly turned on a charming smile. “A clever young lady like you might find a way to contrive it.”

Jewel had no idea what he was getting at, and merely shook her head.

“I thought every woman wanted to marry a millionaire,” he murmured.

“Finding a millionaire would be the easy part. Marrying him and living happily ever after would be a lot harder,” Jewel answered dryly.

“You could do it, I’m sure.” Skinner narrowed his eyes as though thinking deeply. “Anyway, Keefe rarely comes in. He’s a very busy man. Quite brilliant. Extraordinarily responsible.”

“So they say.” Jewel nodded her head with mock solemnity. According to everyone in the know, Keefe Connellan was guaranteed to become the future executive chairman of Copeland Connellan.

“It’s in the genes, of course,” Skinner said, as though no one in his family had ever been accused of being an idiot. “My family’s always mixed with theirs, socially and in business. There was no finer man than Keefe’s grandfather, Sir Stafford Connellan. Compared to him, Julius Copeland was a very dodgy character.”

“Who knew how to forge an empire,” Jewel pointed out. Everyone had heard the saga of Julius Copeland and his great achievements, despite the dodgy bits.

Skinner widened his gray-blue eyes. “You don’t hold any brief for the Copelands, do you.”

“Blair, I don’t know any of them. As you’ve frequently pointed out, I was a girl from the Deep North, and before that the bush. I don’t mix in your…distinguished circles.”

“Nooo…but you could,” he said thoughtfully. “You’ve got what it takes. I’m absolutely sure there’s an interesting story in your background. Something very unusual.”

He made it sound as though she’d been switched at birth. “Sorry, Blair. Nothing to discover. I had a very ordinary childhood. My father was an overseer on one of the Copeland cattle stations, if you want to make something of that.”

Skinner looked like a man who’d missed out on important information. “Really? This is news.”

“Considering that Sir Julius left a legacy of nearly five-hundred thousand hectares in Outback Queensland, it’s not so unusual. My father died when I was six, going on seven. My mother and I went to live with my aunt almost immediately after. My father’s early death left my mother a very sad woman. There wasn’t much money and she wasn’t always able to work. My aunt half-supported me until I could support myself. As you know, I won a scholarship to a very good girls’ school. And I worked my way through university.”

“From whence you graduated with top honors.” He inclined his head in a gesture of exaggerated respect. “I have to say I’m surprised to hear there was any connection to the Copelands. You kept that from me.”

“I didn’t know you well enough then. You’re not onto something here, Blair. Don’t get excited. My father was an employee. A fairly lowly one at that. No real connection at all.”

“So where did you get your brains?” Skinner asked, his tone suggesting her family had to be a bunch of morons.

“My father and mother helped out,” she countered, her voice dry. “In addition, my aunt isn’t exactly stupid.”

“Which leaves me with one question—who do you look like?” Skinner asked. “Is your mother beautiful?”

“She is to me,” Jewel said quietly, remembering her mother before grief and depression overtook her.

“Does she have that golden hair, the black brows and sapphire eyes?”

“Blair, this interest is bizarre,” Jewel said. “Not to mention inappropriate. No, my mother doesn’t have my coloring. I believe I resemble my grandmother, Eugenie.” Though she’d never actually seen a photograph of her grandmother.

Skinner brooded a while. “I know you’re considered a warm, attractive young woman, an excellent mixer, everyone seems to like you—and that’s not always the case, believe me—but you tend to keep things to yourself.”

“Perhaps I picked that up from you,” Jewel said smoothly, making him laugh.

“It might seem strange, but when I met you I wondered where I’d seen you before.”

“Maybe we met in another life?” Jewel suggested flippantly. “Otherwise our paths would never have crossed. I lived and worked over a thousand miles away.”

“True,” Skinner said, almost wryly. “All the same, something about you seems familiar. Anyway, if you’re very good and handle all the work I give you—for which you know I’ll get the credit—I’ll take you along to a function or two. Lady Copeland doesn’t do as much entertaining as she used to, but Travis loves to splash out. Since his divorce, his beautiful daughter, Amelia, acts as hostess for him. Leaves Travis free to pursue…other interests. He loves the ladies, does Travis. Makes no secret of it. The Connellans are far more private. So much tragedy there.”

Jewel looked up, liking Skinner a little better for the soft note in his voice. “Keefe Connellan’s father was killed in a mining accident, wasn’t he?”

“He wouldn’t have been,” Skinner answered somber, “except that he was a hero. He went back to save some of the men trapped underground. Freed quite a few, but in the end he was trapped himself. It was a tragedy. None of us really got over it.”

“How terrible.” Jewel bowed her head, thinking events like that could never be forgotten.

“Rebecca—that’s Earle’s widow—was very nearly destroyed, but she had her son to think of. She and Lady Connellan, Keefe’s grandmother, held the fort until Keefe came of age. Splendid young man. It’s an open secret that he has his troubles with Travis—just as everyone knows Travis is trying to land Keefe for a son-in-law. A marriage of dynasties, so to speak.”

“It usually works that way.” Jewel shrugged. “It’s a tough life. I’ve seen photographs of Amelia Copeland and Keefe Connellan in the papers. Both very glamorous people.” Connellan was every woman’s dream. A young Sean Connery.

“My dear, you could brush her aside,” Skinner surprised her by saying. “She is beautiful, as you say, but there’s not a lot of sparkle. I like sparkle in a woman. So, I fancy, does Keefe. There’s nothing doing so far, despite Travis’s best efforts. When I take you to one of their parties, I’ll go with you to pick out your dress. Or I’ll send you off to a friend of mine. She’ll know exactly what’s required.”

Jewel stared at him, a little dazed. “Blair, I’m overcome.”

“That’s nice.” He smirked. “There are perks to being one of my protégées, my dear. Of course, it’s not my intention to marry again,” he reassured her, quite unnecessarily. Christy, one of her colleagues, had always thought Blair was borderline gay. “It’s glorious to be free. Now, enough of the chitchat. We must get down to business. I’m expecting Keefe at three, although if something important crops up, he might have to cancel. He has a law degree, did you know? Brilliant legal skills he puts to good use, as well as being a mining engineer. At thirty-two he has more presence than most of the big names in the state. And I believe he intends to take over the whole group eventually. He’s developed a reputation as a man with a mission. That mission, so far as I can see, is to get rid of Travis Copeland.”

“Sounds like you’re a bit in awe of him, Blair,” Jewel slipped in gently. Blair Skinner rarely spoke so highly of anyone.

“I consider it an honor to call Keefe my friend,” Skinner admitted with a modest smile. “I like to think my maturity and experience has left its mark. I hope so. By the same token I often partner Travis at golf. He’s an excellent player. So’s Amelia. She could give most of the men a run for their money. Do you play yourself?”

“Nope.” Jewel smiled. “Never had the time. Nor the money for expensive clubs. Tennis is my game.”

“Don’t be ashamed of tennis. If you’re good enough, I’ll give you a game. I can see you now!”

“Another Anna Kournikova?” Jewel asked blithely.

“Women’s tennis was in the doldrums before her,” Skinner said in a brisk voice. “I’m with Cash and McEnroe. The best woman player can’t match a man. Couldn’t come close. Now, you’ve got your legal pad, haven’t you?”

“Open, ready and waiting,” Jewel said and held up her pen. She didn’t bother to tell him about her cupboard full of tennis trophies. That could wait.

ALMOST TWO HOURS LATER, Jewel made it back to her office, so small that some days she thought she’d faint from claustrophobia. She was about to enter, when Anthea, one of the receptionists, all but bolted down the corridor to speak to her.

“Jewel!”

“Hi, Anthea, anything up?” Jewel turned.

“I wanted to catch you.” Anthea spoke a little breathlessly. “They don’t have an appointment or anything, but two teenage boys are out front asking for you.”

“Are they respectable?” Jewel grinned. “No shaved heads or outrageous tattoos?”

Anthea laughed. “No, they’re just kids. Nice-looking, actually. They say they know you.”

“Names please, Anthea,” Jewel said patiently, desperately wanting to get on with her workload.

“Harry and Josh Hungerford.”

“Good Lord,” Jewel said. “I have to keep reminding myself that kids grow up. Show them through, Anthea. I grew up in Hungerford country. I can spare them a few minutes, though we’ll all be knocking heads just trying to fit in my office.”

A few minutes later she was shaking hands with two young men she could easily identify, even if they’d both outgrown her by many inches. “This is a wonderful surprise.” She smiled at them warmly, as pleased to see them as they apparently were to see her. “Take a seat. Tell me what’s going on in your lives. How’s your mother? I hope you’ve got some good news.”

“Well, no, Jewel,” Harry, the older boy said, his deep voice cracking. “We couldn’t think of anyone else to come to. We know you’re a big-time lawyer now. We need help.”

“Is something wrong?” Jewel looked from one to the other. “I don’t know if I can do anything myself—” She indicated with her arm the stack of files: franchising, floats, syndicates, whatever. “But I can certainly point you in the right direction.”

“No,” said Josh, staring at her with his bright blue eyes. “We want you. You know about our life, Jewel. You know the people in it. You’re one of us. From our town. We trust you.”

“Well, that’s sweet of you, Josh.” Jewel was touched by his words. “Suppose you tell me what this is all about. I take it you’re here independent of your mother and stepfather?” George Everett, never an attractive man. Jewel had always felt uncomfortable with him.

Both nodded. “Mum has betrayed us, Jewel,” Harry said, turning his face away. “Ever since she married Everett, our lives have changed.”

Jewel acknowledged that with a sympathetic grimace. “He hasn’t been unkind to you, has he?” she demanded with sharp concern. “Abusive in any way?” It didn’t seem possible with Sheila, their mother, around. Sheila adored her boys.

“He’s never hit us or anything,” Harry said, thrusting a hand through his short chestnut-colored hair. “He wouldn’t dare. Not these days.” Both boys topped six feet and had strapping country physiques.

“It’s still abuse, the way he talks,” Josh insisted. “He’s still the same smart-mouthed, oily character, and he’s getting colder and colder.” He paused uncertainly. “It’s financial, the reason we’re here.”

“Tell me,” Jewel invited, instinctively pulling a legal pad forward. “I know your maternal grandfather Fletcher left you both a great deal of land just outside town. River frontage. I know it was held in trust by your mother. I know it was very valuable land then, which means it’s far more valuable now. I know that after your mother remarried, she and your stepfather bought several thousand hectares of adjoining land.”

“Nowhere near as valuable.” Harry’s voice was so tight it was distorted. “Ours has the river frontage.”

Josh picked up the story. “Some time after you left town to come down to Brisbane, Mum gave herself and Everett a lease on our land.”

“And listen to this—” Harry burst out loudly. “It was for fifty years. A dollar a year. Everett began working it, then they started borrowing big money using our property as security.”

“Finally they mortgaged our property when they got into debt,” Josh said.

“I don’t believe it!” Jewel had seen a lot of fraud and deceit in her business, but she was shocked. “Your mother would never allow such a thing.”

Harry shrugged, his expression unhappy. “Mum’s not the same person you knew, Jewel. She’s changed.”

“She’s like a puppet.” Josh closed his eyes tight, then opened them. “Everett pulls the strings.”

“So, where are you two living?” Jewel asked, beginning to feel protective. She had known the Hungerford boys since they were toddlers.

“Not in the house. We’ve left. We’ve fixed up the workers’ cottage. We live there now.”

“And you came all this way to see me?”

Josh folded his arms, suggesting he wasn’t leaving until she helped them. “Yeah.”

“But there are good solicitors in Cairns and Townsville.” Jewel named two of the major cities in the far north of the state.

“Sorry, we trust you, Jewel,” Harry said. “Not them. We talked it over. We rang your mum. You’d never betray us. Everett knows all the legal guys up north. He can get around anyone, he’s so smarmy, the asshole. He got the bank to lend him nearly a million dollars, remember? The thing is, Jewel, we don’t have a future anymore,” Harry said, his eyes holding hers. “Grandpa left us that land to work. The Hungerfords have always been on the land. It’s our life. His legacy was our future.”

“That’s always the way I saw it,” Jewel said. “You realize your mother has committed a breach of trust? She held that land in trust for you, her two sons. She had no legal right to mortgage the property. In doing so, she and your stepfather could be said to have squandered your inheritance, which must be worth several million. You’re in a position to start legal proceedings. When do you gain direct control, or is that some way off?” She addressed Harry, but Josh spoke.

“Just over a year. When I turn eighteen and Harry turns twenty. Our birthdays are only a month apart.” Josh sounded as if they could barely survive until then.

“For that matter, the bank has acted improperly. They knew perfectly well the land was held in trust for you boys. We all knew. The whole district. Your grandfather was a highly respected and influential man.”

“One of Copeland Connellan’s top mining engineers in the north,” Josh said proudly, his eyes wandering to Jewel’s wall of plaques, tributes, degrees. “I saw on the board outside that this firm handles Copeland Connellan’s legal affairs.”

“That’s right, Josh.” Jewel nodded.

Josh leaned toward her. “Mum always said you were really going to make something of yourself. You’re a corporate lawyer, right?”

Jewel nodded again. “Corporate and commercial. I had to work hard to earn it. What about you? I take it you finished your schooling Josh?” Both boys were very bright.

“End of last year,” Josh confirmed.

“And you, Harry? What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Harry said glumly.

“But surely your mother wants you to go on to university or agricultural college?”

Both boys sat silent for a moment, looking exceedingly upset. “We’re not talking to Mum,” Josh said eventually. “We can’t talk to Mum. It’s impossible to see her without Everett. He doesn’t let her out of his sight. That’s his tactic.”

“That’s hard!” Jewel frowned. “You were all so close. How are you supporting yourselves? Where’s the money coming from?” she asked.

“Grandpa left us some money, as well,” Harry said. “I got mine when I turned eighteen. I’m taking care of Josh. We’re in this together.”

“It sounds like you’ve been worrying yourselves sick.” Both boys looked as if they’d been carrying a weight of grief on their shoulders.

“It’s terrible to know we’ve lost Mum.” Harry swallowed. “It’s…it’s like she’s joined some sect. And it’s terrible to know what she’s done to us. Are you going to help us, Jewel?”

Jewel settled back in her chair, pondering the fact that she was already loaded down with work. “I should speak to your mother,” she said.

“You’ll never get to her.” Josh punched one hand into the other. “It’s always the two of them. Everett’s always alongside. I suppose a legal battle would cost a lot of money?”

“I’m afraid so, Josh. And from what you tell me, it would be very bitter. Are you absolutely certain you’d want to work the land if you won the case? Your stepfather and mother own and work the adjoining land.”

“It’s not as though we could even sell.” Harry let loose with his anger and frustration. “It’s not ours. We’re in limbo. Going nowhere. Everett thinks he has it all over us. A couple of hick kids. You have to help us, Jewel. We can’t deal with all these problems. You don’t know how it feels.”

“Oh, I think I do, Harry, and my heart aches for you. Let me talk to my boss about it.” Jewel started to drum her fingers on the desk.

“What does that mean?” Josh clenched his jaw, obviously anticipating obstacles.

“I’m free to take on cases, Josh, but my boss is the senior partner in the firm. I’d have to discuss it with him.”

“But you can help us?”

“You can be helped. Understand that. I’d like to be the one. Where are you staying?”

“With a friend,” Josh replied. “You wouldn’t know him. We boarded with him at school. He’s a good bloke. His parents are graziers on the Darling Downs. They have an apartment for when they come to town. Dex lives there—it’s close to the university. Dex is a real bright guy. He’s studying medicine.”

“Listen, why don’t I take you both out tonight?” Jewel suggested. “I’ll have spoken to my boss by then. We can really catch up. You like Italian? Thai? Indian? Chinese? Don’t for the love of God say McDonald’s.”

“Italian is great.” Harry grinned, looking as though he wanted to embrace her. “That’s very nice of you, Jewel.”

“Hey, aren’t you guys forgetting how nice your mother always was to me?” Jewel answered quickly, shaking her head as she considered what the boys had told her.

“You wouldn’t know her now, Jewel,” Josh said again, bitterness in his tanned face. “Everett has taken her over. She’s his now, the stinkin’ fraud.”

AFTER THE BOYS HAD GONE, Jewel got feverishly down to work, refreshing her memory of the Omega deal by speed-reading through the file. At the end, she still came to the conclusion, as had Skinner, that the deal was airtight. Omega ex-executives would be ill-advised to go to litigation, but it seemed that was their intent. Bad advice from their lawyers, who would nevertheless line their pockets. It wasn’t until after lunch that she had the opportunity to speak to Skinner about the Hungerford boys’ situation. She expected—and received—an irritated-sounding response.

“I would’ve thought you had one hell of a job on your hands already,” he said when she was finished.

“I can’t walk away from this, Blair. I feel indebted to these boys. To their mother. She was very kind to me when I was a girl. She was directly responsible for a number of fund-raisers to send me off to university. Mr. Hungerford was alive at the time, and the boys were just kids. Really nice kids.”

“Then, she’s well and truly let them down, hasn’t she. If what you tell me is true,” Skinner said, his eyes narrowed. “Have you taken the time to check?”

“Of course. I’m thorough, Blair. You know that. Besides, there’s money in it for the firm.” Which, of course, was Skinner’s bottom line. “The land I’ve been told would fetch around six million in today’s market. The boys have a solid case. Their mother, apparently under the influence of her second husband, George Everett, was in breach of trust. She acted wrongly, and so did the bank.”

“How could she be so stupid as to get in so deep?” Skinner asked. “It was just a time bomb waiting to go off.”

“I intend to speak to her, with your permission, Blair.”

“Ah, no.” He shook his head. “You’re not haring off to North Queensland.”

“I can do it on my own time. This weekend. Maybe you’d be good enough to grant me Monday, as well. I’ll be on the job. And it’ll be wonderful to see my mother.”

Skinner eyes sharpened. “Of course. She’s still up there with your aunt?”

Jewel nodded, keeping her expression cool and calm. “I wanted her to live with me, but she doesn’t like change.”

“Oh, all right, then,” Skinner lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “It’s a helluva distraction, but it has the smell of easy bucks.”

“Thank you, Blair.” Jewel stood up, preparing to leave.

“I noticed a small error in your preparation of the Mayne Goddard brief.” Skinner fixed her with such a steely glance that she sat down again.

“Really? A misplaced comma, perhaps?”

“Don’t be too clever, my dear. No, it’s…” Skinner slipped his gold-rimmed glasses onto his nose. “Ah, here it is. Good thing I picked it up. It might have cost us. You said Shipton Technologies funded the initial deal.”

Jewel breathed an inner sigh of relief. “They did.”

“But surely it was Goddard on their own?” Skinner gave her a steady frown.

“Let me refresh your memory.” Jewel spoke pleasantly. “It was supposed to be, but things changed. A man called Elliot stepped in to handle the negotiation, remember?”

Light dawned in Skinner’s eyes. “Ah yes, now I do. You’re off the hook, Eugenie, when I was so looking forward to catching you out. Shipton Technologies, of course.” He gazed across at her, considered a minute. “By the way, if you were to pop in with some papers at around three-twenty this afternoon, I could introduce you to Lady Copeland and Keefe Connellan. They’ll be here.”

“My goodness. I assure you I’m appreciative of the honor.”

“It’s a gesture of my confidence in you, dear girl. So for God’s sake, be on your best behavior. That sardonic tone might go over well enough with me, but these people are used to a lot of respect.”

“I’ll be so respectful they’ll never know what hit them,” she promised with a straight face.

“You might keep in mind that Keefe is a past master at gobbling up small fry,” Skinner said acidly.

Like you hung heavily in the air.

CHAPTER TWO

BLAIR SKINNER WAS ALL SMILES, as he shook hands with his favorite clients, then waited until they’d seated themselves—he had special chairs brought in for such occasions—before he returned to his revolving leather armchair behind the desk. Lady Copeland had asked for this meeting, bringing along not her son, Travis, as might under normal circumstances have been expected, but Keefe Connellan. Keefe would provide company, support and advice. And few better, Skinner thought, scanning Connellan’s handsome familiar face. Keefe had hair that was almost jet-black, and his eyes were equally dark. They were remarkable eyes, ablaze with intelligence and a shrewd intensity that a lot of people, including Skinner, found daunting, but they also had a marvelous capacity to light up with humor and an irresistible charm. Men as well as women felt it. Skinner, the clotheshorse, approved of Connellan’s unmistakable sense of style—the dark-gray suit, beautifully tailored to fit his tall, athletic body, the very pale lilac shirt worn with an olive silk tie patterned with lilac, silver and midnight blue. Keefe Connellan looked what he was: a rich, highly successful young man from a powerful and influential family.

Lady Copeland, as usual, was lovely, but getting very fragile. Skinner knew she was seventy-five but she didn’t look anywhere near that age. She always dressed beautifully, today in one of her exclusive little suits, in a shade of indigo that was particularly effective with her wonderful eyes. She wore glorious triple-stranded South Sea Island pearls around her neck, chin-length pearl-white hair classically framing a face whose bone structure would probably look good forever. Her skin was extraordinarily unlined. Granted, she had the money for the most expensive skin treatments in the world, but so did other clients of the same age and none of them looked as good. Davina Copeland was and remained a genuine beauty.

She was smiling at Keefe now. Skinner could see the ease and depth of affection that lay between them. They seemed to be seasoned confidants—even co-conspirators. Certainly this kind of bond didn’t appear to exist between mother and son, which was possibly one of the reasons Lady Davina Copeland still held the reins of power in Copeland Connellan.

“So?” Keefe asked with his slow smile, deliberately breaking into Skinner’s thoughts. “Perhaps we could get started, Blair. I have an appointment in just over an hour. Lady Copeland has filled me in thus far, but perhaps you can tell me more. On the face of it, I don’t think we can rule out industrial espionage.”

Skinner inclined his head in acknowledgment. “But we want proof.”

“Of course.” Keefe leaned forward, assuming like lightning a different guise—official, authoritative, keeping his brilliant black gaze on the lawyer. “And I’m quite sure we can obtain it. Inside the law. Just one question.”

Skinner hoped he was prepared for it….

WHEN THE KNOCK CAME some twenty-five minutes later, Skinner was so intent on the discussion, he wondered for a moment who would have the temerity to interrupt him when he was with such important clients. Anger flared in his eyes, and he swung around in his revolving chair, remembering at the last moment that he’d instructed Eugenie Bishop to make a calculated appearance around that time.

“Enter,” he called curtly, his expression fixed. All exchanges with Keefe Connellan raised him to this level of intensity. Keefe was more than his equal when it came to strategy and points of law. It didn’t make him dislike Connellan; rather, Skinner strove constantly to be well regarded by the younger man.

As they all glanced toward the door, Jewel opened it and walked gracefully into the room, her demeanor poised and confident. Before Skinner could open his mouth to introduce her, Lady Copeland, suddenly looking years older, simply slid from her chair onto the carpeted floor.

“My God!” Skinner leapt up in agitation, wondering if he’d imagined the icy hostility that swept Keefe Connellan’s face. Clearly they were both shocked. Connellan was already down on his knees, demanding a glass of water. Lady Copeland was already stirring, her face white as a sheet.

“Keefe,” she said almost desperately, clutching at his jacketed arm. “Keefe.”

“It’s all right,” he assured her in a strangely harsh tone. “We can handle this, whatever it is. Let me get you up.” He put his strong arms beneath her and lifted her into the chair, keeping a steadying hand on her shoulder.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Lady Copeland?” Jewel was back within seconds, carrying a glass of cold water, which she offered to the woman.

“Who are you?” Lady Copeland asked in a quavering voice. She clearly wanted some sort of answer, but Jewel felt it was beyond her.

“I should’ve explained,” Skinner said hastily. “This is one of our associates. Eugenie Bishop, Lady Copeland.”

“Bishop?” Connellan turned to stare at Jewel.

“I don’t understand.” It was impossible to ignore the hostility that emanated from him, the half-horrified, half-fascinated expression on Lady Copeland’s face.

“Here, let me help you.” Jewel moved quickly, seeing Lady Copeland’s hand shake badly. She didn’t even pause to consider that Lady Copeland might reject her help. As it happened she didn’t, allowing Jewel to assist her in bringing the glass to her mouth.

“I’m so sorry. Are you feeling better?” Jewel asked, bending to peer into the older woman’s face.

“I’m fine.” Lady Copeland gave a faint little smile that struck Jewel oddly as very brave after that sudden, shocking collapse.

“And why is Ms. Bishop here, precisely?” Keefe Connellan looked at Skinner with unconcealed contempt.

“Mr. Skinner was after a particular file,” Jewel fired back levelly. She’d never met a man like Connellan. Who the devil did he think he was? She felt a wave of answering aggression. More to the point, what had she missed? She’d surely missed something. He was looking at her as though she was playing some high-stakes game. Or as if she had secrets to hide. What on earth was going on? Whatever reaction she’d been expecting, it wasn’t this.

Connellan now held out his hand like a man used to a great deal of authority. “Show me.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Connellan, it’s confidential.” She kept her expression neutral.

“I thought it might be,” he said. “I’d like to see it, all the same.”

Skinner interrupted uneasily. “Look here, Keefe, Ms. Bishop is one of our finest young lawyers and my protégée. She did a lot of research for the Quinn Corp.-Omega takeover. I thought it was time you met her.”

“So you arranged it.” Connellan’s tone was hard.

Skinner shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, Keefe. Or why you’re upset.”

Connellan took a step closer to Lady Copeland, his manner both protective and daunting. “Are you feeling better, Davina?”

“Perhaps a cup of sweetened tea?” Jewel suggested, already turning to go.

“Thank you, my dear, but no.” Lady Copeland spoke quietly and gently. “I’m sorry if Mr. Connellan and I seem distracted.”

“We can scarcely fail to be,” Connellan said, his voice clipped. “I’m curious, Ms. Bishop. How long have you been with the firm?”

“Three years.” Jewel returned his challenging gaze with one of her own.

“Ms. Bishop came to us with wonderful references,” Skinner submitted, sounding quite confused.

“And where did you work before that?” Connellan asked.

Such unfettered arrogance, Jewel thought. She named the highly respected law firm in the north.

“But you wanted to come to Brisbane?”

She nodded a shade too curtly. “It’s not too terrible to be ambitious, is it, Mr. Connellan? I needed more demanding work.”

“Eugenia graduated top of her class,” Skinner pointed out. “Indeed, she won the University Medal. Across all disciplines on all campuses, as I believe you did yourself, Keefe.”

Connellan ignored him. “Go ahead, Ms. Bishop. As you might imagine, we’re particularly interested.”

“Really?” Jewel couldn’t mask her surprise. “You only met me a minute ago.”

Lady Copeland, who had listened without interrupting, now spoke. “What is your background, my dear?”

Jewel felt astonished by her interest. “I could show you my file, Lady Copeland, but shouldn’t I be getting you a cup of tea?” She sought to keep her tone respectful.

“I’ll ring for it.” Skinner moved quickly to the phone, betraying an uncharacteristic agitation, not without a hint of excitement.

“I find it hard to believe you’re a country girl,” Keefe Connellan said, his black eyes moving so disturbingly over Jewel that she felt herself flush. She was developing a profound dislike of this too-handsome, too-arrogant, too-rich and powerful man.

“But I am, Mr. Connellan. Take it or leave it. In fact, I was born on an Outback cattle station.”

Incredibly he laughed. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said strangely. Facing her, he was disconcertingly close.

“Doing?” Her vivid blue eyes sparkled with anger. Jewel was confident in herself and her own abilities. She refused to let this man belittle or insult her, no matter who he was.

But he smiled at her. A curiously unnerving smile, for all that it lit his lean, darkly tanned face. “You’d better be good.”

Lady Copeland spoke in a voice so strained it seemed almost theatrical. “It’s all falling into place. Your father was a Steven Bishop? Overseer on one of our properties, Mingaree Station, some twenty years ago.”

Skinner looked over at Jewel quizzically. He had always sensed this girl had some mystery to her. Was that what it was all about? Her father? What had Bishop done?

Jewel inclined her gleaming blond head, one side sweeping forward to shield her face. “He was. Perhaps you could tell me, Lady Copeland, why you and Mr. Connellan are so interested. My father died tragically, as you must know—or perhaps you don’t. He wasn’t important in your scheme of things.”

“I didn’t know him, my dear,” Lady Copeland confirmed gently. “I saw him only once in my life, at my late husband’s funeral.”

“I was six at the time,” Jewel answered, just as quietly. “I don’t really remember Dad going, but my mother told me he attended the funeral with a party of cattlemen.”

“What else do you remember?” Keefe Connellan asked.

Jewel turned on him with magnificent disdain. “He never came home.”

In the midst of the bitterness, he suddenly sounded sincere. “I’m sorry.”

“Blair, I wonder if you’d mind leaving us for a few minutes?” Lady Copeland unexpectedly took the initiative. “I would appreciate it.”

Keefe Connellan intervened. “Davina, I don’t think this is the right time. You just fainted and you’re still very pale. I should take you home.”

“Ten minutes, no more.” Lady Copeland threw him a trusting smile.

“Take as long as you want, Lady Copeland,” Blair Skinner said, not meeting Jewel’s eyes. “I have things I can attend to.”

He went to the door, practically colliding with a secretary carrying a silver tea tray. The secretary smiled at Jewel, who went to her and said thank you, then put the tray down on a side table. As Skinner shut the door, Jewel poured Lady Copeland a cup of tea, asking over her shoulder if she took milk.

“No, my dear. No sugar, either, but perhaps today…”

Jewel ladled in two teaspoons and passed the elegant cup and saucer to Lady Copeland, who took it with a steadier hand. “Tell me about yourself,” Lady Copeland invited, gesturing to the armchair Keefe Connellan had vacated. He stood, arms folded, and leaned against Skinner’s desk.

“You’re dying to tell someone, aren’t you,” he said.

“Pardon me, but are you insane?” Jewel let her own hostility spill over.

He stared at her for a few moments, his handsome face drawn into somber lines. “I’m so very sorry, Ms. Bishop, if I’m Goddamn offending you.”

“Keefe!” Lady Copeland endeavored to soothe him. “Maybe she doesn’t—”

“Doesn’t what?” Jewel asked, finding the whole situation bizarre. Yet was it? Now that she was really looking at Lady Copeland, she was swept by a strange sense of familiarity.

“Does your mother live with you?” Lady Copeland asked, sipping her tea, then putting it down.

“My mother lives in Hungerford, North Queensland, where I was raised. Perhaps you can give me a clue, Lady Copeland. I have no idea what you’re getting at.”

“You haven’t looked in the mirror for a while?” Keefe Connellan asked in a dark voice.

Jewel sat back wearily. “Could this possibly be the nature of your enquiry, Mr. Connellan? My appearance?”

Though she spoke sardonically, inside her was growing panic, confusion, even fear.

“So it’s come to you at last. My, my, my!” he drawled, eyes snapping.

In desperation, Jewel turned to Lady Copeland, who was now excessively pale. “Please tell me! I swear I don’t know what this is all about.” Lady Copeland was gazing at her with such a strange expression but for the moment seemed quite unable to reply.

“We didn’t get much notice, either,” Keefe Connellan said, his handsome features drawn tight. “Tell me, are there many golden-haired, black-browed, sapphire-eyed women in your family?” he asked. “Don’t look so stunned. You’re a beautiful woman with very distinctive features.”

“So?” Jewel spread her hands. “Please continue.”

“But, Ms. Bishop, you’ve even got your hair cut the same way. Tell me, are you and Skinner enjoying this? I assure you your enjoyment won’t last long.”

Jewel stood up, her mind racing. This meeting had implications that were deeply disturbing. They could also cost her her job. “There’s no way I can continue to sit here and listen to this,” she said. “Either you come out with the information you appear to have, or I’ll break all the rules by walking out on you.” Arrogant son of a bitch. He could get her fired, but she no longer cared.

Behind her Lady Copeland sighed heavily. “My dear, I may be almost three times your age and I, too, am breaking all the rules by saying this, but you’re the living image of me when I was in my twenties.”

“The question is, why haven’t you noticed?” Keefe Connellan demanded before Jewel could hope to speak.

He moved suddenly, taking her by the arm and guiding her toward a gilded mirror that hung between two ceiling-high Georgian bookcases.

“Please let go of me,” Jewel said from between clenched teeth. Her confusion was growing.

He removed his hand immediately but continued to watch her with careful eyes, their two heads reflected in the mirror. “Are you going to tell us what’s going on, Ms. Bishop?” he asked.

She felt as though she was hardly breathing. “Fine, there’s a resemblance,” she conceded. “I see it now, but I was never looking for it. Hardly! All I can say is that it’s a coincidence. And for the record, Blair Skinner has never remarked on any such resemblance.”

“He must have known,” Connellan said.

“Known what?” She swung on him. Tall herself, she had to look up at him. “What sense is there in keeping me in the dark? I’m not a fool. You seem to be implying that Blair Skinner and I have devised some strategy to bring me to Lady Copeland’s attention.”

“Haven’t you?” he challenged.

“Please, Keefe.” Lady Copeland spoke quietly.

Jewel ignored him and walked back to where Lady Copeland was sitting. She noticed that a fraction of color had come back into the woman’s face. Jewel sat down so her own face would be level with the older woman’s, staring into eyes she now saw with shocking clarity were indeed like her own. “I wouldn’t for the world be party to any plan to upset you, Lady Copeland. Neither would Blair Skinner. He respects you greatly. It was exactly as he said. I’ve done quite a bit of work on the Quinn Corp.–Omega takeover. I’m well thought of in this firm. He felt it was time I met some of our more important clients.”

“Surely you could up with something better than that?” Connellan stood tall, his expression cool and cutting. An imposing figure who clearly didn’t believe her.

“I don’t think I could come up with anything better than the truth. In any case, this isn’t a courtroom, Mr. Connellan,” she reminded him.

“But you’re playing a dangerous game.”

“Nonsense!” she said emphatically.

“Perhaps, my dear, we’ve all been taken by surprise?” Lady Copeland suggested, still looking as if she’d seen a ghost.

“Or you and Mr. Connellan have leapt to a conclusion,” Jewel countered. “I don’t allow myself to be used by anybody. That includes my boss.”

“Maybe you could visit me so I could find out more about you.” Lady Copeland for all her power and influence seemed to be pleading.

Jewel stared back at her, perturbed. “There can’t be any connection between us, Lady Copeland, no matter how strong the resemblance. Isn’t it said we all have a double somewhere?”

“Perhaps not so close to hand. I have to admit you play the game well,” Keefe Connellan said dryly.

Jewel faced him, terribly unnerved but determined not to be thrown off balance. “Game, what game?” she asked. “Why do you seem to think it’s your place to confront me, Mr. Connellan? Why this hostility? My God, it fills the room! I don’t feel the same antagonism coming from Lady Copeland.” It was perfectly true. Lady Copeland’s demeanor was curiously nonthreatening.

Connellan merely shrugged. “To answer your question, I’ve known Lady Copeland all my life. I care about her. We’re part of a tight circle. Whoever disturbs her, disturbs me. I wonder if you fully appreciate that.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Mr. Connellan.” Jewel met his gaze unflinchingly.

“Perhaps you should be.” A faint smile curved his mouth. “What was the plan? First the meeting, then the blackmail?”

It was an insult too great to be borne. Before she knew it, Jewel’s hand flew up spontaneously and she struck Keefe Connellan across his arrogant face.

The silence in the room was profound. Jewel felt her heart flutter.

“Oh God, I didn’t mean that,” she said.

“Yes, you did.” Connellan rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. “It’s a first, anyway. I’m sure you’ll tell me next that you’re the proud possessor of a black belt.”

“I apologize,” Jewel said, feeling his whole aura intensely. “But you have to admit you deserved it.”

“What else have you got up your sleeve?” he enquired with mock politeness.

Jewel was utterly exasperated. “I want to hold onto my job. I deeply regret this upset, but I feel I’m the innocent victim here.” She turned to Lady Copeland, who appeared to be hanging on her every word. “This is the first time I’ve ever laid eyes on you, Lady Copeland. I’m sorry if—for whatever reason—that makes you sad.” And sorrow was the expression printed on Davina Copeland’s face.

“Oh, it does, my dear.” Lady Copeland flung a narrow hand to her heart. “Forgive me, but…you’re not hiding anything from us?”

This would be ridiculous if it weren’t so disturbing. “I’m sorry, Lady Copeland. I’ve already told you no. If we’ve finished our conversation, I should get back to work.”

Again Keefe Connellan intervened. “So how did you get this job? Who offered it?” He glanced at his watch.

“I’m not sure this is any of your business, Mr. Connellan.”

“Oh, it is,” he muttered grimly.

“I was recommended to Mr. Skinner by Professor Goldner from the university,” she said, knowing he would check.

“So Skinner is definitely mixed up in it?”

Jewel sighed in disbelief. “I haven’t the vaguest idea what you mean. I came with very good references and recommendations. Let’s get that straight.”

“By all means,” he said tersely.

“I hope you’re discreet, Ms. Bishop?” Lady Copeland suddenly appealed to her.

Jewel frowned. “Lady Copeland, what do I have to be discreet about? Do you think people will gossip if they notice our strong resemblance?”

Keefe Connellan exhaled loudly. “You bet your life they will. It’s impossible to miss.”

“Do you think so? They’d have to be looking for a hidden mystery then,” Jewel said. “However, it hardly matters, since I don’t move in Lady Copeland’s circles.”

“No doubt Skinner hoped to change that?” He spoke so sharply his words gave Jewel a twinge of fear.

They stared at each other like combatants, neither yielding, both tense. “No need to investigate Blair Skinner,” Jewel said firmly. “He never puts a foot wrong.”

“You mean so far,” Connellan returned curtly. “Playing us for fools would guarantee disaster.” He moved then, touching Lady Copeland’s delicate shoulder. “I think we should go, Davina. Jacob will take you home and drop me on the way. I have an appointment with Drew Westaway uptown. I’d break it, but it’s critical.” He glanced at Jewel, brilliant black eyes narrowed. “You can inform your boss we’re leaving,” he said, his face taut.

“If that’s what you want. Let me say again that I deeply regret any upset I may unwittingly have caused you, Lady Copeland. I’ll speak of it to no one.”

Connellan laughed—an attractive if discordant sound. “That’s a bit rich. Skinner can’t wait to discuss this.”

“What do you expect, given your attack on me? Naturally I have to say something.”

“Of course. Is your mother in on this, too?”

Nothing so far had prepared Jewel for that. She went white. “My mother is a very sick woman, so watch it, Mr. Connellan. I’d just love to slap you again.”

“Only this time, I’ll deal with it,” he promised, gently propelling Lady Copeland to the door.

Nearing it, Lady Copeland paused. “If I asked you to come and visit me, would you consider it, Eugenie?” Her still-beautiful face revealed a strange longing.

Jewel found herself nodding, lured somehow by the use of her Christian name. “I think I want that, too, Lady Copeland, just so long as Mr. Connellan is nowhere nearby.”

“Are you sure about that, Davina?” Connellan shot a questioning look at her.

“Quite sure, my dear.” She smiled at him and patted his arm. “I need to learn more about Eugenie. You see that, don’t you?”

He turned, studying Jewel’s resolute stance. “I do, in a strange sort of way,” he admitted. “Just bear in mind that Ms. Bishop, for all her beauty and avowed brightness, could pry us all apart.”

Shaking inside but using her characteristic self-confidence as camouflage, Jewel went in search of Blair Skinner, finding him in the boardroom frowning over a coffee.

“Well?” He looked distressed, and was without his usual bold quip. “Can I go back into my office?”

“They’re gone, Blair.” Jewel resisted a groan. “Connellan had an appointment.”

“Mr. Connellan to you,” Skinner reminded her stonily and stood up. “I don’t understand this. They left without speaking to me?”

“I’m sure Mr. Connellan will be remedying that,” Jewel answered abruptly, bringing a chill to Skinner’s eyes.

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“Beats the hell out of me, Blair.” She gave a brittle laugh. “It’ll be mentioned, so I’m not betraying a confidence. It seems that both of them—Lady Copeland and Mr. Connellan—figure we’re playing some kind of game with them. I’m quoting Mr. Connellan himself.”

Skinner actually blanched. “My God, Eugenia, you can’t be serious.”

“I’m deadly serious,” she said.

He looked at her with a grim expression. “You’re hiding something from me, aren’t you,” he accused. “I suspected it right from the beginning.”

“Nevertheless you hired me. Why?” The why was starting to worry her.

“Because I thought there was something special about you,” he answered testily. “Don’t act like a dolt. It doesn’t suit you. What caused Lady Copeland to faint? Keefe looked at me quite murderously. It was all about you, wasn’t it. And your father. What on earth did he do? If you tell me he made off with Copeland money, I promise I won’t scream. God knows, old Sir Julius broke a few laws. But then, he had us legal eagles to get him out of trouble. What does hurt is the fact that you’ve never seen fit to confide in me, Eugenie.”

“I never thought I had much to confide.”

“Sit down,” Skinner advised briskly. “I know you well enough to realize beneath that brazen exterior you’re falling to pieces.”

Jewel took a seat. “I think you’re right. What about getting me a cup of coffee—to show you care?”

This was received with a scowl. “You’re really something. You know that?” He disappeared, then returned a moment later with two steaming china mugs. “Give it to me straight. Any lies, and I promise you’ll be out of here just like that!” He snapped his fingers.

“You and me both.” Jewel took a tentative sip. Too hot. At least the coffee was good. “Blair, I’m going to ask you something.” She switched her eyes from the mug to him. “And I’d appreciate the truth. Have you been aware of the resemblance between Lady Copeland and me?”

Skinner’s jaw dropped in amazement. Either he was a wonderful actor or he had just suffered a severe shock. “What are you saying, Eugenie?”

“Have—you—ever—noticed?” She leaned closer to him, deliberately spacing her words.

“Sweet, sweet Lord! What a fool I am.”

“Welcome to the club. I take it you haven’t. However, the cat is out of the bag. Whatever cat it might happen to be.” Jewel had just enough left in her to speak flippantly. It was her way of overcoming her own tremendous shock. “Lady Copeland told me she thought I was the image of herself when young.”

Skinner put his knuckles in his mouth. He rose to his feet shouting, “That’s right!” then fell back, lowering his head and holding it in his hands. “And they think the two of us set up a meeting!” he muttered despairingly.

“I think they saw themselves as two blackmail victims.”

“If I’ve made enemies of those two, I’ll have to move abroad. Oh, my God!” he cried. “I could weep.”

“Ordinarily I’d enjoy that, but bear with me,” Jewel said, taking another gulp of the strong coffee. “I told them you’d never, ever remarked on even a passing resemblance. You are a man of great integrity. I kept assuring them of that. I told them you respected Lady Copeland far too much to ever want to upset her. I explained that I’d never laid eyes on her in my entire life. The whole thing was one monumental coincidence.”

“My dear, my mother taught me to be very suspicious of monumental coincidences,” Skinner said. “This is not the end,” he predicted. “So, how can we make sense of this? Now that the scales have fallen from my eyes, I can see you’re a dead ringer for Davina. I knew there was something familiar about you, right from the beginning. I even ran through a few film stars. The young Lana Turner with blue, blue eyes. That kind of look. Soft, sexy yet challenging.”

Jewel gazed at him in astonishment. “You thought all this, Blair? Shame on you. I’ve always seen you as a good, solid father figure.” A dreadful lie.

He shook his head. “Just an objective judgment. I have eyes. Or so I believed.” He stared at her directly. “What would you advise?”

“You mean, you’re going to listen?” This all felt like a strange dream, except that she was actually hurting.

“What I’m saying is you were there the whole time. How did it all end?”

“In Lady Copeland inviting me to visit her.”

Skinner made a whistling sound through his mouth. It could have been admiration. “And Keefe?”

“What a gorgon!” Jewel said with a shudder.

“A gorgon, my dear, was one of three snake-haired sisters in Greek mythology. Of course, you didn’t have a classical education.”

“All right, make that a bastard.”

Skinner snorted. “Don’t get on the wrong side of Keefe Connellan,” he warned her. “He loves Davina. They love each other. I could almost feel sorry for Travis. At one time, his father was threatening to disinherit him. Damn, I’m talking too much. Should I ring him?”

“Who, Connellan? I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction,” Jewel said disgustedly. “But expect a phone call…”

IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE to concentrate on anything for the rest of the afternoon. There seemed no rational explanation for what had happened in Blair Skinner’s office, but it all had to do with the striking resemblance between her and Lady Copeland and the fact that her father had once worked for the family. Jewel was outraged by the way Keefe Connellan had treated her. Outraged by everything about the man. Being with him was like being in an emotional and intellectual combat zone. He acted as though she was cruelly impersonating someone closely linked to Lady Copeland’s life. Someone Lady Copeland really needed or cared about. A daughter, a granddaughter who’d died? Jewel couldn’t figure it out.

More than anything, she wanted to call her mother to see if Thea could offer an explanation. A couple of times she’d even picked up the phone but knew there was little point in it. Her mother, even if she came to the phone, would be made highly anxious by any kind of questioning. Thea experienced bouts of severe anxiety, and talking to her would do no good at all. In fact, it might make a difficult situation worse. Her mother lived in a permanent state of depression, a kind of helplessness, even worthlessness, that Jewel often found overwhelming.

“Thank God you never took after your mother. I’d go crazy.”

That was what Aunt Judith always said. A single woman with a crackling persona, sometimes cyclonic, far from unattractive—she’d once had a fiancé who had simply “vanished,” a calamity at the time. It had been two weeks before the wedding and the theory was that he’d been taken by a crocodile on one of his nighttime fishing trips. Judith was thin, terribly thin, but always on the go, impatient, trying to do her best but totally unequipped by nature to deal with a sister who had “emotional problems.” In all fairness Aunt Judith had tried to cope with Thea’s physical and mental inertia, but her initial sympathy had passed quickly, mainly because she, like Jewel, was a person who was anything but stationary.

Her aunt Judith. Jewel owed her a great deal.

They’d gone to live with Judith after her father’s death. Her mother had little money, but she still retained a half-share in the family home, a marvelous spooky old colonial Queenslander some miles out of town. Jewel would never forget her first sight of it. She was an imaginative child, and it had seemed to her the house of a witch. Set in a great blossoming forest with gem-colored birds and enormous blue butterflies circling the riotous overgrown gardens, it was filled with towering palms and soaring ferns and great mango trees whose fruit littered the ground. And there was Aunt Judith confirming her childish suspicions, standing on the deep shadowy front veranda overhung by a scarlet bougainvillea that had woven itself through the length of the white wrought-iron banisters and threatened to bring down the huge pillars that supported the luminous green roof. She stood there, thin arms outstretched, a wild mane of curly dark hair cascading down her back, her clothes like clothes Jewel had never seen before. Long and loose and floating with big stars all over them, like a magician’s. She soon learned that outfit was called a caftan and Aunt Judith had painted the stars herself. After the harshness and the terra-cotta colors of her Outback home, it was like being invited into the Garden of Eden—where there were plenty of snakes. It was and remained a magical house, the place her mother and Aunt Judith had been born and where her mother now hid.

Aunt Judith had welcomed them, glad of their company. The day they arrived, the ceiling of the huge living room dripped colored streamers and bunches of balloons hanging from the lovely Chinese lanterns with painted wooden panels that shielded the lightbulbs. But Aunt Judith had quickly come to the realization that Thea wasn’t going to be any company, let alone help. To herself, her little daughter or indeed anyone else. And Judith came to realize, not without shock, that her pretty sister, who’d run off to get married when she was barely nineteen, no longer cared if she lived or died. There was only the child to be salvaged.

Me, Jewel thought.

So they’d all settled into their strange new life—Jewel confronting lots of hair-raising experiences in what was virtually a wilderness. Aunt Judith ran a small, successful business in the town. It was a sort of treasure shop selling the handiwork of the artists of the district—a dizzying array of wonderfully dressed dolls and stuffed toys to patchwork quilts, imaginative clothing, exotic cushions, watercolors, oils, pottery, handmade jewelry, clocks, so-called sacred objects, you name it. As a child Jewel had always enjoyed helping Aunt Judith in the shop. Her mother had tried, frowning with concentration over the least little thing, but she couldn’t manage it. Thea Bishop’s slump into depression had not been gradual. It had been dramatic, dating from the very day her father was killed. Before that, her mother had seemed a different person. Sweet, loving, fun to be with. Then the terrible descent into a kind of quiet madness when only glimpses of her former self showed through. Jewel had lived all her childhood with the knowledge that her mother wasn’t like other mothers, but a heartbreakingly sad person, a woman who could never be relied on to help Aunt Judith, to turn up at speech days or concerts or fetes or to fetch her from school in the afternoons. This she had accepted as testament to her mother’s grief. A thinking child who had adored her father, Jewel could remember her own terrible pain and sadness when she was told her daddy had gone to heaven. How much worse for her mother to lose her beloved husband, her life’s companion, at such a young age. The trauma held her mother in thrall. It refused to let go.

“For God’s sake, Thea, other people suffer terrible losses and go on!” Aunt Judith, voice imploring, would urge her sister to try to keep her physical and mental integrity intact. “The child needs you!”

Her mother would stare back at them, lost in some subterranean labyrinth. She had started crying the day she learned of her loss and she had never stopped, falling deeper and deeper into an inertia that was agonizing to watch. Jewel, who loved her mother and was fiercely protective of her, never put her own confused and frightened thoughts into words, even during her mother’s worst periods. Aunt Judith did that for her, coming home every night to a sister “off on another planet,” under the influence of all the pills that were prescribed by her doctors. At the age of ten, Jewel had taken charge of her mother, reversing their roles, while Aunt Judith strove to keep all three afloat. This arrangement had endured until Jewel won a full scholarship to a leading girls’ school, which she’d entered as a boarder with her aunt’s full approval and support.

“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.

CHAPTER THREE

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.”

“Particularly as you appear to be stalking me.”

His laugh was unexpected and profoundly attractive. “I prefer to say ‘running a few checks.’”

“Well, I hope you’ve dropped Blair Skinner from your investigation,” Jewel said. “He’s as straightforward as anyone you could meet.”

He pondered that a while. “I wouldn’t have thought him the sort of man to pull something like this.”

“Something like what?” Her eyes opened wide in indignation. “This colossal con? Is that what it’s supposed to be?”

He smiled slightly, no humor in it. “Perhaps if I keep you off balance, you’ll crack.”

“To hell with that!” Jewel muttered, one arm extended toward the door. “There is where I get off.”

“Of course.” He nodded his coal-black head. “Perhaps you’ll invite me inside for a drink. I haven’t seen the place since they renovated. One of our subsidiary companies did the job. Leave the door,” he advised. “You can depend on Jacob to open it.”

Jewel took a deep breath, glancing at him slowly. “Oh, what it is to be rich!” she said in a bitter voice. “Attendants on every side—and the power to inspire fear.”

“When did you decide you wanted that, too?” he asked tautly.

“I have enough money to live on.” She shot him a disgusted look.

“You’ve got no money,” he corrected, rather indolently.

“I beg your pardon.” She thought she’d been holding her own but that got to her. He had taken the time to find out everything, it seemed. A massive invasion of her privacy.

“A very nice town house,” he continued in a deceptively pleasant tone. “You’re paying it off. And look at your beautiful clothes!” He shifted slightly to gaze at her, making her very conscious of her body. “Buying clothes must take a lot of your pay.”

Jewel stared back for a few moments, her cheeks burning. “God, you’re offensive.”

“I just keep thinking about what you’re trying to do,” he countered quietly.

“What? Join the Copeland family?” She spoke crisply. “Come on, give me a clue. Instead of looking down your arrogant nose at me. Why don’t you share your suspicions? That would be a good start. Obviously, your thoughts differ appreciably from mine.”

He wondered how much longer she’d be able to keep up the act, drawn and repelled at the same time. Then he said what he had never intended. Judgment clouded by a beautiful woman? “I’m prepared to talk over a quick drink.”

She blinked hard and looked away. “Otherwise, say goodbye to my career, my reputation?”

“That’s a take-it-or-leave-it offer,” he answered.

EVERYONE LOOKED AT THEM when they walked into the quiet elegance of the Caxton’s lounge. There were a few male guests mixed in with the women. All were seated in comfortable leather armchairs ranged around circular tables, nursing drinks and talking in a relaxed fashion. Most of them Jewel knew. She smiled, waved and nodded her way across the room with its attractive contemporary carpet, while most of the eyes widened and the smiles grew.

“It’s Jewel—and just see who she’s with!”

What they couldn’t know was that she wasn’t enjoying it. She felt like a fictional character, aware of the little eddies of excitement that ran through the room. Keefe Connellan knew quite a few people, too, because he lifted his hand, that beautiful white smile flashing.

No sooner were they seated at a quiet table for two overlooking the small rear garden than a waiter appeared, bending over deferentially. “Good evening, Mr. Connellan. Miss Bishop.”

Jewel nodded, doing her best to smile. “Good evening, Archie.”

“That’s it—Archie.” Connellan took a long look at the waiter. “You worked at the Polo Club for a while?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And the Queensland. You get around, Archie.”

Archie nodded, grinning delightedly. “I like a change. Could I take your order, sir?”

Keefe Connellan looked at the quietly seething Jewel, with her golden hair. “No one drinks much anymore. Not when they’re going on to an evening appointment,” he said, a little sarcastically.

“A martini,” she said. “A very, very dry martini. One olive.”

“Fabulous!” Connellan said. “I’ll join you.”

“When can we stop all this?” Jewel asked, after Archie had gone, his expression conveying his absolute fascination at seeing them together. “I think we’ve moved beyond the conspiracy theory.”

“All right.” He leaned forward, stared into her deeply blue, black-lashed eyes, aware that every man in the room was staring at her. Why not? Physically she was an inspiration. It was her character that worried him. “One doesn’t have to be a super-sleuth to realize you’re somehow related to Lady Copeland. Either that or you’ve had plastic surgery.”

She forcibly shut down her mounting panic. “What do you think?”

“I can’t even see the tiniest wrinkle. You have beautiful skin. This, of course, we already know.”

Despite the mocking banter, Jewel felt chilled. “I swear I have no idea what you’re talking about. I know of no connection. I’ve lived my life a thousand miles from her. I’ve already told you that. It would save a lot of time if you answered my questions honestly instead of shrouding everything in mystery.”

“You didn’t happen to discuss all this with your mother?” he asked, eyes piercing. “I’m prepared to believe she didn’t tell you until very recently.”

“Tell me what? That I was snatched from the cradle? There was a mix-up at the hospital?” She looked highly skeptical. “That I’m someone’s love child?”

“Hadn’t you already suspected it?” he asked quietly.

Jewel felt the pain attack her temples. “I’m going to get up and go now. What you’re saying is impossible. Unforgivable, really.”

“Please don’t.” He reached out, putting his hand over hers, an action she knew would be totally misinterpreted by everyone watching them. “God only knows what people here would make of it,” he murmured.

Her cheeks were flushed, and not only with anger. “I don’t understand any of this. I only met Lady Copeland today.”

“And it was a wonderful performance,” he informed her, releasing her hand. “She took to you immediately. It must give you hope.”

Jewel turned her head to gaze out the window. Outside in the small Italianate courtyard, a fountain was playing peacefully. No peace inside. “You’ve allowed yourself to see some kind of conspiracy where there is none. My appearance and the fact that I met Lady Copeland are nothing more than coincidences.”

Little brackets appeared at the sides of his mouth. At another time she would have found them sexy. Not now. “I don’t think you’re going to get many people to accept that,” he said. “Feature by feature, the similarity is extraordinary. Skinner had to be blind not to notice it right from the start.”

“Why should he?” Jewel met his eyes. “He wasn’t expecting any such thing. Lady Copeland must be well into her seventies. I know she still looks wonderful, but one would have to know us both very well for the resemblance to register.”

“Exactly,” he said, his voice dry. “Hasn’t it ever worried you that you resembled no one in your family?”

Jewel attempted to speak; for a moment she couldn’t. Why should she tell him her most private confusions? “I could be the very image of my father, for all you know,” she said angrily although she still had enough control to keep her voice down. “And this has something to do with my father, doesn’t it?”

“It has everything to do with your father,” he answered, grim-faced.

“And who is my father?” She was beginning to feel dizzy. “Come on, say it. There has to be some justification for this torture.”

“I can’t believe you don’t know. You’re a very clever woman. Fact-finding is part of your daily life. You’ve seen many photographs of Lady Copeland—who hasn’t? She’s always inhabited the world of glamour and power. Not only that, she’s always been a beauty with a needle-sharp brain.”

“No ornament like her granddaughter?” Jewel was stung into asking. Everyone knew that Amelia Copeland, the heiress, had claimed immunity from daily toil.

“I’m sure you made it your business to check out Amelia, as well.” His eyes were black as jet.

“Are you sure she is Lady Copeland’s granddaughter?” Jewel asked facetiously, raising her brows. “She doesn’t resemble her in the least. Not in coloring or bone structure. Perhaps I’m the real granddaughter and your girlfriend’s an impostor?” It was a deliberate thrust, and he didn’t like it.

“Even if you were Lady Copeland’s granddaughter, Eugenie, it wouldn’t get you far.”

“Really? I thought it would transport me overnight to the family home,” she retorted.

“Perhaps that’s what I mean,” he said. “The Copeland household is a dysfunctional one, to say the least.”

“Perhaps you yourself create some of that tension,” she accused him, herself on the attack.

“The fact that Travis Copeland and I are often at loggerheads has nothing to do with you. As you seem destined to find out. It’s no secret. For almost fifty years, Lady Copeland has carried with her a photograph of her little daughter. Her name was Angela. Her golden child.”

Jewel stared down at her hand. It trembled. “I had no idea Lady Copeland had a daughter.”

His eyes contested that. “I’m amazed. A fact you missed? It’s a matter of public record. The little girl died of bacterial meningitis when she was six.”

“How sad!” Even her voice trembled slightly.

“Indeed it was. Although Lady Copeland has led a very full and active life, I suspect she’s been weeping inside ever since. Angela was, from all accounts, a lovely little girl. A Botticelli angel. Sparkling with life. She looked pretty much the way you would have as a child.”

Jewel fought hard to master her emotions. “My God!” she breathed. “You’re very cruel.”

He gripped the arm of the chair, his knuckles showing white. “And you’re very—” He broke off immediately at Archie’s approach with their drinks.

“Could I get you anything else?” Archie put down the drinks on the club coasters, then glanced from one to the other, obviously picking up on their tension.

“No, no, thank you.” With a flick of his wrist Keefe Connellan produced a wallet, selecting a note that more than covered the price of the martinis. “Thanks, Archie.”

“A pleasure, Mr. Connellan. Good evening, Ms. Bishop.” Archie accepted the money and all but skipped off.

“I don’t want this drink,” Jewel said, feeling as nerve-ridden as if there were ghosts at the table.

“Just sip it,” he replied. “I’d like to continue this…unique conversation.”

“Why? I’m beginning to wonder if you’re slightly unhinged,” she suggested shortly.

The comment caused him to smile. “I don’t think so. Whoever you are, Eugenie Bishop, you’re not presenting your case—if you have one—in the right way.”

“I have no case,” she said angrily. “It’s all in your mind. In any event, I’m flying home this weekend. I’ll speak to my mother then.”

“So she can come up with an explanation? Or perhaps tell you what you should do next?”

She returned his stare coolly. “My mother isn’t a well woman.”

“I’m sorry. What’s wrong with her?”

Her blue eyes flashed. “She suffers from chronic depression. She’s done so for many years.”

“But surely she can be treated?” he asked, unexpectedly showing concern.

“There doesn’t seem to be anything the doctors can do—and they’ve tried.”

“Who’s looking after her?”

She stiffened, although this time his tone was anything but confrontational. “I wanted her to come and live with me. But she dislikes change. She lives with my aunt Judith, her sister, in the family home.”

“So there are only the three of you? No one else?”

“Unless you’ve come up with someone,” she said with more than a touch of bitterness. “My father’s death brought about great changes in our lives. My mother has been in deep mourning all these years.”

“I’m sorry. That’s tragic.” He drank a little of his martini, set it down. “It must have affected your whole world.”

“Of course.” Jewel didn’t touch her drink.

“So you sought to correct the past?”

Jewel suddenly reached flash point. She rose from her seat like the jet from the sparkling fountain. “My father was killed. It was a tragedy. Forgive me if I can’t speak about it.”

She left him sitting at the table, indifferent to the fascinated eyes that watched her progress across the room and into the lobby.

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