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The funeral director moved in to usher them to the car for the mourning family. The back door of the hearse had been closed. It was time to go to the cemetery.
Would he be there when they arrived?
Sally didn’t think so.
Jack Maguire had done what he’d come to do… making his presence felt as a force to be reckoned with and leaving them squirming over what might happen in the solicitor’s office tomorrow.
One weight had just been added to the lighter side of the scales.
CHAPTER TWO
ALL the way to the solicitor’s office, Sally’s mind had been hopelessly torn, her family’s needs warring against the natural justice in Jack Maguire’s right to be his father’s heir.
Her mother, of course, had been railing against the black-sheep son’s right to get anything, almost convincing herself that yesterday’s scene at the funeral had just been a brazen front, a vengeful slap in the face for denying him a place with the family. There was too much evidence of something very different, Sally thought, but she’d held her tongue, careful not to feed the rage being vented, reducing her sister to a trembling mouse.
“What will we do if he gets it all?” Jane had asked her fearfully when they’d finally escaped their mother’s tirade.
“I don’t think that will happen,” Sally had answered soothingly.
“But what if it does?”
She’d sighed. “Well, let’s face it, Jane. We’ve been very lucky to have had it good all these years. If our luck runs out, we’ll just have to take charge of our own lives instead of being looked after.”
Her sister had shaken her head hopelessly. “I’m not strong like you, Sally.”
True. Jane had spent her whole life trying to please, seeking approval, happy when she got it, crushed when she didn’t. She simply wasn’t geared to standing on her own two feet. The training, discipline and determination required to compete successfully on the showjumping circuit had put a lot of steel in Sally’s backbone. She knew she wouldn’t crumble under adversity. Unfortunately, wishing she could give Jane some of her own steel was futile. Her sister’s nature was too different… sweet, gentle and, more often than not, exasperatingly weak.
“Don’t worry, Jane. We’ve been sisters all these years. I won’t abandon you, no matter what,” she’d said, and then had to mop up a flood of grateful tears.
Abandonment had run through all of Jane’s nightmares. Sally had often wondered if it was a common fear of adopted children. She had the same insecurity, which had probably driven her to make the most of all the wonderful opportunities being in the Maguire family had brought her, never quite sure when or if they would be taken away.
There’d always seemed to be a price to be paid for being adopted…dutifully meeting her mother’s demands, doing her utmost to hold on to her father’s approval. The only unconditional love she’d ever felt was with Jane, even though they weren’t blood sisters. Should the privileges they’d been granted come to an end now…well, they’d still have each other.
They were asked to wait in the reception area until Mr. Newell’s secretary came to collect them. Her mother interpreted this as VIP service, which put her in a less fractious mood, especially when the secretary, a rather plump woman in her fifties, treated her with great deference as she escorted them into an elevator and poured out sympathy over Sir Leonard’s unexpected passing while they rode up to the right floor.
Lady Ellen was responding very graciously to the secretary who ushered them to what looked like a men’s club private meeting room. Five dark-green leather chairs were placed around an oval table of highly polished mahogany. Bookshelves full of serious leather tomes lined the walls. An elegant traymobile was set up with various refreshments.
Five chairs. Would the secretary take one of them or was the fifth chair for Jack Maguire? Had he been bluffing about being at this meeting yesterday, giving them a night of worry as a payback for the rotten feelings her mother had undoubtedly inflicted on him with her letter?
The secretary directed them to the three chairs around one end of the table and proceeded to the tray-mobile, asking for their preferred drinks. Sally and Jane decided on simple glasses of water but their mother went for the whole ceremonial fuss of requesting Earl Grey tea with a slice of lemon. They were all served with little plates of finger sandwiches and dainty pastries. Neither Sally nor Jane felt like eating anything but their mother suddenly found a cheerful appetite. Apparently she had decided there was no longer any cause for concern.
Satisfied with her ministering, the secretary excused herself to go and tell Mr. Newell they were waiting for him.
“Will she come back?” Jane whispered anxiously, nodding to the fifth chair.
“I don’t know,” Sally murmured, nowhere near as sure as her mother that Jack Maguire was out of the picture.
“What are you girls muttering about?” their mother demanded.
Jane instantly shrank back in her chair.
“We’re just a bit nervous about what’s going to happen next,” Sally answered.
“Obviously we are the beneficiaries of your father’s will.” Declared with confidence.
“Yes,” Sally quickly agreed. Raising doubts would instantly snap that good humour, so she kept them to herself. Better to keep quiet and simply wait, but she couldn’t help feeling tense. Until the fifth chair was occupied by someone else, the spectre of Blackjack Maguire was hanging over it, certainly darkening Jane’s dreams.
As for her own…what did she want?
The bottom-line truth was she wanted to see Jack Maguire in that chair even though it meant he was a threat to the life she’d had up until now. She wanted him to get something from his father. It would be wrong if he didn’t. But more than anything else she wanted to see him again, wanted to feel the physical thrill of his presence, wanted him to pursue an acquaintance with her as he had suggested yesterday.
It was undoubtedly sheer madness to be craving some involvement with him, given the family history. Her mother would have a fit if she knew. Jane would be frightened for her. Yet the strong tug of the man kept pulling at her mind, her heart. Her whole body buzzed with excitement at the thought of connecting with him. No one else had ever affected her like this.
Maybe it was a dark dream, better set aside.
She’d probably be wiser after this meeting.
If he came.
Her heart leapt as the door to the meeting room opened, but the man who entered was not Jack Maguire. He was tall and lean, meticulously dressed in a dark-grey suit, white shirt, dark-red and grey striped tie, the tip of a matching dark-red handkerchief peaking out of his coat pocket. Sally judged him to be in his fifties, grey hair getting sparse, making his high forehead even higher, rimless spectacles resting on a hawkish nose, narrow jaw, thin lips.
This had to be the solicitor, Victor Newell. She’d never met him but he certainly had the distinguished air of authority that went with heading one of the most reputable legal firms in Sydney—the kind of man who was accustomed to people coming to him, not the other way around.
He gestured to someone still outside in the corridor, and Sally held her breath, wanting it to be Jack Maguire, no matter what that meant.
Yes!
It was him!
A weird exultation bubbled through her.
She told herself she was glad that his father had not disowned him.
But the truth was far more personal than that.
He was here, in the same room as herself, and there was a chance that something might happen between them.
The moment of truth, Jack thought sardonically, stepping inside and sweeping his gaze around the three women, waiting for the reading of the will.
Lady Ellen had lightened her funeral garb this morning. Her black hat had a white edging around the rim, matching the white edging around the lapels of her suit coat—the stylish grande dame. Her eyes flared hatred and her mouth compressed to an unattractive thin line when she saw him.
Jack smiled.
Sally wasn’t wearing a hat, her glorious red-gold curls tumbling free, and Jack instantly envisaged them spread in disarray across a pillow. She wore a sage-green linen shirtmaker dress, very prim and proper for this occasion, though the button-through style was quite provocative since he instantly started imagining undoing all her buttons. The colour matched her eyes, which were pinned on him with guarded interest. No thinning of those lush lips. He wondered how she’d respond if he crushed them with his own.
The younger sister looked about to faint with fright, staring at him as though he was the devil himself, complete with horns and pitchfork. Her lips were parted, gasping in air. She wore a beige outfit—no hat—and with her brown hair and brown eyes, seemed totally colourless next to Sally. Jack had the impression Jane wished she could disappear. He actually felt a stab of sympathy for her. Which was absurd. She’d had a good twenty-one years with the Maguire wealth.
“Good morning, all,” he said cheerfully, strolling around the table to the chair facing the two sisters.
Sally was the only one who returned the greeting, and promptly flushed when she realised she was on her own in acknowledging his presence. But she didn’t shoot an apologetic look at her mother. Her gaze remained fixed on him, a rebellious glint in her eyes.
Excitement fizzed through Jack. She had fire. And backbone. A mind of her own. The idea of pursuing a connection with her grew stronger legs. It had been circling around in his mind since yesterday’s funeral service. As perverse as it was of him to find Sally Maguire so desirable, there was no denying the sexual chemistry she’d stirred. He’d wondered if it was because of who she was—forbidden territory. It certainly added a piquancy to the attraction. But right now it was pure gut stuff. Everything about her appealed.
He knew this morning’s meeting could very well turn him into a hated antagonist in her mind. Any normal man-woman approach to her would be wiped out. But that only made the situation between them even more interesting, challenging, exciting. He needed to get into her mind, find out what was important to her, play on it.
Victor Newell made a little ceremony of greeting each one of them before taking the chair at the head of the table, directly facing Lady Ellen, who obviously took this to mean she was the major player in the will, throwing Jack a snooty, condescending look as though she imagined he was here for a few insignificant crumbs.
The solicitor leaned forward with an earnest air, his hands linked over the manila folder which contained Sir Leonard Maguire’s last will and testament. He addressed Lady Ellen.
“Please accept my sympathy over Sir Leonard’s passing. I know he expected to live for many more years. It is most unfortunate that his time was cut short.”
She nodded with sombre dignity.
Victor sighed and opened the folder. “This will was made and signed a year ago. It’s very simple. There are only two beneficiaries. It reads…to my son, Jack Ryan Maguire, I give one dollar…”
“One dollar!” A wild peal of laughter erupted from Lady Ellen’s throat. Her eyes danced malicious triumph at Jack. “How brilliant of Leonard! You can’t contest his will since he’s put you in it.”
“I have no intention of contesting it, Lady Ellen,” he returned carelessly, his gaze shifting to Sally to catch her reaction.
She looked embarrassed, pained by her mother’s gloating. Her eyes flashed dismay at him before her lashes lowered, hiding her feelings. But they’d already been clear enough to Jack. She cared that he was apparently getting next to nothing from his father. A soft heart, not a greedy one. It made her even more appealing. And gave him another weapon to use in winning her over to what he wanted.
The muscles around his groin tightened.
He couldn’t recall ever wanting a woman so much.
One way or another he was going to have Sally Maguire.
Every part of her.
Victor Newell cleared his throat with a come-to-attention cough and continued reading the will. “Contingent upon my wife, Ellen Mary Maguire surviving me by thirty days, I give her the remainder of my estate absolutely, and if she does not survive me by thirty days, I give the remainder of my estate in equal shares as tenants in common to my daughters, Sally Ann Maguire and Jane Therese Maguire.”
He closed the folder and linked his hands across it, having completed the task of reading the legal document. A grimace of distaste preceded his next words. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Lady Ellen, but I now have the onus of explaining to you that Sir Leonard’s estate does not encompass a great deal.”
The smug satisfaction on her face wavered. “What do you mean?” she asked sharply.
Jack focussed his attention on her. This was the pay line. This was why he’d stipulated that his father leave him a dollar, giving him the right to be here, to watch this woman get her comeuppance. She wouldn’t be walking away with nothing, as his mother had, but her greedy heart was about to bleed. Not fatally. Just enough to balance the scales she had loaded against Jack all these years.
Victor Newell got straight to the point. “When Sir Leonard made this will a year ago, he was faced with bankruptcy and being charged with fraud.”
“What?” The word exploded from Lady Ellen, shock followed by a gabble of disbelief. “He would have told me if he was in so much trouble.”
“I’m sorry that he withheld this information from you,” Victor said sympathetically. “Nevertheless, it is true. In building his transport empire, Sir Leonard was in the habit of skating close to the wind in regard to the law. He took risks, and eventually those risks caught up with him. He overextended with the airline, and everything was about to crash around him.”
“But there was no hint of this,” Lady Ellen argued vehemently, unable to accept what she was being told. “We kept living in the same manner.”
“A matter of pride, I imagine. And I understand Sir Leonard always kept his home life separate from his business life. He was, in fact, facing a lengthy prison term on several counts, apart from losing everything. At this point in time, his son…” He nodded to Jack. “…offered him a rescue package.”
A hiss of sharply indrawn breath from Lady Ellen.
Sally cocked her head, regarding Jack thoughtfully. She wasn’t shocked. He sensed she was putting two and two together, weighing up what he’d done and why.
Jane’s head was lowered, her eyes closed, her shoulders hunched over as though expecting a blow to fall. Victim slid into Jack’s mind and he frowned over the word. There was something very wrong about Sally’s younger sister. It wasn’t just about what was happening today. A victim mentality was built up over years. By his father or Lady Ellen? Indifference could be an abuse in itself—his father’s specialty—but Jack wouldn’t put active cruelty past Lady Ellen.
He turned his gaze back to the woman he hated, watching her being hit by a savage reversal of fortune, wanting her to feel like a victim for once!
Victor was spelling out the details of the rescue package. “In effect, all the debts would be paid, the business empire would be maintained with the work force intact. Sir Leonard would hold the position of CEO with a salary of five million dollars a year. No one need know how the situation had been resolved. On the surface, everything could continue seamlessly.”
“In return for what?” Lady Ellen snapped.
“A new will had to be written. This will.” Victor tapped the manila folder. “Which stipulates that one dollar be granted to his son, with the rest of Sir Leonard’s estate coming to you, Lady Ellen. However, that estate is very much diminished. Everything Mr. Jack Maguire had saved Sir Leonard from losing was legally signed over to him a year ago—every facet of the transport business, plus all personal assets, excluding only whatever Sir Leonard earned as CEO from the takeover onwards.”
“All personal assets?” Lady Ellen wailed. “You can’t mean our home.”
“And its contents. Everything,” the solicitor confirmed, then glanced appealingly at Jack. “You may be able to negotiate with Mr. Maguire about jewellery and other personal belongings.”
Jack made no response. Let her stew, he thought, ruthlessly intent on giving her a taste of being shut out in the cold with nothing to hang on to. The look he gave her telegraphed, You turned your back on me too many times, you mean-hearted bitch!
“The horses,” Sally said faintly, her face drained of colour.
They were important to her.
Jack filed that information away for future use.
“The horses were bought by Sir Leonard,” Victor gently reminded her. “They were listed as his property. They now belong to his son. You must understand that all of these possessions would have been forcibly sold up, had Sir Leonard been declared bankrupt. You have continued to have the use of them, only because Mr. Jack Maguire stepped in and allowed that to happen during his father’s lifetime.”
“It broke his heart!” Lady Ellen spat at Jack. “You killed him with your…your backstabbing takeover!”
Jack answered her heat with ice. “I believe a prison term and public disgrace would have broken his heart much earlier, Lady Ellen. My rescue package gave my father…gave all of you—” he shifted his gaze to Sally, wanting to hammer the truth home “—an extra year of the life you were accustomed to.”
A life that had been closed to him when he was seven years old.
Sally was now twenty-four. She’d had the best of it up until now.
Her eyes said she knew it. There was sadness in them, but no hatred or blame for what he’d done. Did she feel the weight of justice on his side?
“And that year has provided you with an inheritance, Lady Ellen,” Victor quickly pointed out. “Sir Leonard’s investment broker has the details, but I believe it is in the vicinity of four million dollars.”
“Four! But Leonard was worth billions!”
The burst of outrage confirmed her mercenary interests which, to Jack’s mind, had always motivated her determination to keep him out of his father’s life.
“Not at the end,” Victor stated firmly.
“I’ll fight this!” she declared vehemently, jumping to her feet, slamming her hands down on the table, leaning forward to fire her fury at the solicitor. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law. I’m going to keep my home. He made a mistake by letting us live in it.” She turned a venomous glare to Jack. “Don’t think for one minute you’re going to take it from me.”
“My father paid me rent for the Yarramalong property. You’ll find you have no legal right to it,” he advised her mockingly. “In fact, you’ll be receiving an eviction notice when you return to it today.”
“How dare you!” she fumed.
