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‘It was just an impression. Some quite elderly people have young-sounding telephone voices.’
Jessica nodded. That was so true. The owner of the Sydney Grand was well into his sixties but sounded much younger on the telephone.
‘There’s a flight leaving for Norfolk Island next Sunday morning at seven,’ the solicitor informed her. ‘If you like, I can call the airline right now and see if they have a spare seat. If you go now, you’ll only have to stay four weeks to satisfy your aunt’s will. February this year only has twenty-eight days.’
So it had. But four weeks away from the hotel at this time of the year? Her boss would be most put out. Still, what alternative did she have?
‘All right,’ Jessica agreed.
Now that her mind was made up, she was quite eager to be on her way, her female curiosity more than a little piqued. She wanted to see the place for herself. And the island. And the mysterious Mr. Slade.
Actually, she felt a bit guilty about him. If he’d genuinely loved her aunt and nursed her during her last days, surely he deserved more for his devotion than one month’s free board. Jessica decided that if he proved to have been a genuine friend to her aunt and was in any way hard up for money, she would give him a cash legacy. It was the least she could do.
‘Would you like the telephone number of your aunt’s house?’ the solicitor asked once his call to the airline had been successfully completed. ‘That way you can call this Mr. Slade yourself and arrange for him to pick you up at the airport when you arrive.’
‘All right,’ Jessica agreed again. It would be interesting to see how young he sounded to her. Maybe the solicitor thought fifty was young. He was nearing sixty himself.
He jotted down her aunt’s number on the back of one of his business cards and handed it over to Jessica, who slipped it into her handbag.
‘Don’t hesitate to call me if you need any help,’ he said, standing up when she did so.
Jessica shook his extended hand. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I will.’
As she turned and walked out of the office, the sudden thought came that her life was never going to be the same again. Suddenly, she was a rich woman, an heiress.
Strange. The realisation was vaguely unsettling. Jessica decided then and there not to tell anyone at work, or even any of her friends. Aside from the jealousy it might inspire, people treated you differently when you were rich, especially the opposite sex.
Of course, there were a couple of people who already knew of her new financial status. That couldn’t be helped. But the solicitor was hardly going to present a problem in her day-to-day life. He wasn’t likely to make a play for her, either.
Which left only Mr. Slade.
Jessica almost laughed at the instant tightening in her stomach. Now she was being fanciful. Logically, Mr. Slade had to at least be in his fifties. Neither was he likely to be too enamoured with the woman who’d robbed him of a sizeable inheritance. He might very well resent her.
Suddenly, the month she had to spend on Norfolk Island in the same house as Mr. Slade loomed as very awkward, indeed.
Well, that was just too bad, Jessica thought fatalistically. She had every right to go there, and every right to find out what she could about her own and her mother’s past!
CHAPTER TWO
JESSICA’S watch said nine-thirty as she unlocked the front door of her flat. Her sigh was a little weary as she stepped inside and switched on the lights. She’d stayed extra late at the hotel tonight, getting things organised so that her PA could manage without her for the next month.
In the end, she’d asked for her full four weeks’ holidays, saying she was suffering from emotional stress after the sudden death of a dear aunt. The hotel management hadn’t been thrilled with the short notice, but they hadn’t been as difficult about her request as she’d imagined they’d be. Clearly, they valued her as an employee and didn’t want to lose her.
Jessica was well aware she did a good job, but it had always faintly worried her that she’d won her present position more for her model-like looks than her qualifications. Not that she didn’t have plenty of those, as well. A degree in hotel management and tourism, plus years of experience working in every facet of the hotel industry from housekeeping to reception to guest relations.
Jessica closed the door of her near-new North Sydney apartment—an airy two-bedroomed unit with a lovely view of the bridge and harbour. She’d bought it only four months previously, the deposit alone taking every cent she had saved during her working life.
But she’d craved her own place after sharing rented accommodation for years.
Funnily enough, whilst she adored the bathroom and bedroom privacy, she wasn’t finding living alone quite as satisfying a way of life as she’d thought it would be. She missed not having anyone to talk to in the evenings. Lately, she’d felt awfully lonely, which was unfortunate. In the past, whenever her chronic loneliness reached these depths, she had launched into an affair with some highly unsuitable man.
Of course she never knew they were unsuitable at the time, since they always declared their undying love and devotion at first, to which she invariably responded.
It was only later, when she found out they were married, or an addict of some sort, or allergic to long-term commitment, that she recognised her own folly for what it was. Just desperation to feel loved and not be alone, and a deep desire to find the man of her dreams, marry him and have so many children she would never be alone again!
At that point the scales would fall from her eyes and she would see her great love for what he was—usually no more than a handsome and highly accomplished liar who was using her for what he could get and giving her very little in return, not even good sex!
Jessica knew from talking to girlfriends and reading women’s magazines that she had always been shortchanged in the bedroom department. Perhaps she should have complained at the time, but you just didn’t when you imagined you were madly in love.
The thought of going that road again made her shudder. Better she remain alone than involved with one of those. Better she remain unmarried and childless than shackled to some selfish guy who would make a lousy father and who didn’t even satisfy her in bed!
Which left what to cure her present loneliness?
‘A flatmate!’ she decided aloud. ‘A female, of course,’ she added dryly as she strode down the small hallway and into her bedroom, tossing her handbag onto the double bed and kicking off her shoes.
‘Stuff men!’ she muttered as she began to strip.
One particular man suddenly jumped into her mind.
Her Aunt Lucy’s lover—the enigmatic Mr. Slade. She’d been going to ring him earlier at the office, but had kept putting it off. It irked her that she felt nervous about ringing him.
Ring him now, her pride demanded. What’s wrong with you? So he might give you the cold shoulder—you can’t help that. Just be polite, anyway. You’re used to being polite to some of the rudest and most arrogant men around. Your job has trained you for it. Use some of that training now!
Jessica glared over at the telephone, which sat on the bedside table nearest the window. Lifting her chin, she moved over to snatch up her handbag from the bed, opened it and drew out the business card the solicitor had given her. She didn’t delay once the number was in her hands. She sat down and dialled straight away before she procrastinated further.
‘Hi there,’ said a male voice at last. ‘Seb here.’
Jessica frowned. If ‘Seb here’ was Mr. Slade, then he did indeed sound young. Far too young to be the lover of a woman in her fifties. Unless…
Her stomach contracted at the thought her aunt might have fallen into the clutches of the type of unconscionable young man who preyed on wealthy widows. Jessica was not unfamiliar with the species. They often hung around the bars in the hotel, waiting and watching for suitable prey. They were invariably handsome. And charming. And young.
If Mr. Slade turned out to be one of those, she thought crossly, he would get short shrift after the month was over. He would not get a cent from her. Not one single cent!
‘This is Jessica Rawlins,’ she said, simmering outrage giving her voice a sharp edge. ‘Would I be speaking to Mr. Slade?’
‘You sure are. Pleased to hear from you, Jessica. I presume Lucy’s solicitor has been in touch. So when are you coming over?’
Jessica’s eyebrows lifted. Well, he was certainly straight to the point, and not at all resentful sounding. If she hadn’t been on her toes, she might have been totally disarmed by his casual charm.
‘I’m catching the seven o’clock flight from Sydney on Sunday,’ she said stiffly.
‘I’ll meet you then. Oops, no, I can’t. I promised Mike I’d go fishing with him Sunday morning. Tell you what, I’ll get Evie to meet you.’
‘And who, pray tell, is Evie?’ she asked archly.
‘Evie? She was your aunt’s chief cook and bottle washer. You’ll like Evie,’ he went on blithely. ‘Everyone does. Now perhaps you’d better tell me what you look like, so she won’t have any trouble recognising you on Sunday. Are you tall?’
‘Reasonably,’ Jessica bit out after smothering her frustration. She supposed she’d find out everything she wanted to know soon enough. And she could trust her eyes far more than a conversation on the telephone.
‘Slim?’ he went on.
‘Yes.’
‘What colour hair?’
‘Black.’
‘Long or short?’
‘Shoulder-length, but I always wear it up.’
‘How old are you? Approximately,’ he added quickly with humour in his voice.
‘Twenty-eight,’ Jessica said, having no reason to hide her age.
‘Really. You sound older.’
She tried not to take offence, and failed. ‘Well, you don’t,’ she snapped.
‘I don’t what?’
‘Sound as old as I thought you’d be. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were no more than thirty.’
His laughter might have been infectious under other circumstances. ‘You’ve no idea how many people say that to me, Jessica,’ he said. ‘But it’s some years since I saw thirty.’
Jessica wasn’t sure if she was mollified by that statement or not. She should have been relieved to find he was respectably middle-aged, but she didn’t feel relieved. She felt decidedly nettled. Mr. Slade was rubbing her the wrong way, for some reason.
‘I look young for my age, too,’ he volunteered. ‘But I try not to worry about it.’
She could hear the smile in his voice and bristled some more.
‘By the way, bring your swimmers and shorts with you,’ he added. ‘It’s pretty warm here at the moment. How long will you be staying?’
‘Just the month.’
‘Ah,’ he said with a long sigh. ‘What a pity. Still, we can talk about that more when you get here. I’m glad you rang, Jessica. I’m really looking forward to meeting you. I’m just sorry I can’t welcome you myself at the airport. I’ll try to get back by the time you arrive at the house. Au revoir for now. Have a good flight.’
He hung up, leaving Jessica not sure what she thought about him now. Clearly, he was middle-aged. He’d been most amused at her saying he sounded thirty.
If she were honest, she had to admit he’d been very nice to her, and not at all resentful of her inheritance. She wondered what he wanted to talk to her about. Did he hope to persuade her to stay and run the guesthouse? If he did, then he’d be wasting his breath. She had no intention of doing any such thing.
But she did want to talk to him. She wanted to find out everything he knew about her aunt. Maybe this Evie would know things, as well, depending on how many years she’d been Aunt Lucy’s cook.
Thinking of cooks reminded Jessica how hungry she was. Levering herself up from the bed, she headed for the door and the kitchen, dressed in nothing but her camisole and pantihose. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored wardrobe as she passed and recalled the rather bland details she’d given Mr. Slade. Twenty-eight, tall, slim, black hair, worn up.
Not much of a description. Difficult to form a complete picture. But she could hardly have added she had a face that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the cover of Vogue, and a body one of her lovers had said he’d kill for.
He had certainly lied for it, she thought tartly.
‘And what do you look like, Mr. Slade?’ she mused out loud as she continued on to the kitchen. ‘Tall, I’ll bet. And slim. Men who look young for their age are always slim. And you won’t be bald. No way. You’ll have a full head of hair with only a little grey. And you’ll be handsome, won’t you, Mr. Slade? In a middle-aged sort of way. And just a little bit of a ladies’ man, I’ll warrant.’
Jessica wondered anew if he’d really been her aunt’s lover, or just a good friend. He’d said nothing to indicate either way. Really, she hadn’t handled that call very well. She’d found out absolutely nothing! Mr. Slade’s youthful voice and manner had sent her off on a cynical tangent, and by the time she’d realised her mistake, the call had been over.
Still, it was only three days till Sunday. Not long. In no time she’d be landing at Norfolk Island airport and be right on the doorstep of discovering all she wanted to know.
A nervous wave rippled down Jessica’s spine, and she shivered. It had not escaped her logical mind that something pretty awful must have happened for her mother to lie like she had. Maybe she’d done something wicked and shameful, then run away from home. Or something wicked and shameful had been done to her, with the same result.
Jessica wasn’t sure what that something could have been. Whatever had happened, she meant to find out the truth. Oh, yes, she meant to find out everything!
CHAPTER THREE
JESSICA’S flight on Sunday morning took two and a half hours. Two and a half long hours of butterflies in her stomach. Some due to her fear of flying; most to fear of the unknown that awaited her on Norfolk Island.
She stared through her window the whole way, despite high cloud preventing a view of the ocean below. Not that she was really looking. She was thinking, and speculating, and worrying. It was only when they began their descent that the sight of the island itself jolted her back to the physical reality of her destination.
Goodness, but it was picturesque, a dot of deep tropical green within a wide blue expanse of sea. But so small! Jessica knew from the travel brochures that the island only measured five kilometres by eight. This hadn’t bothered her till she saw that the airstrip was even smaller. She hoped the plane could stop in time, that it wouldn’t plunge off the end of the runway into the sea.
The plane began to bank steeply at that moment, a wing blocking Jessica’s view of the island. All she could see was water—deep, deep water. Her insides started to churn. She did so hate flying, especially the landing part.
The plane landed without incident, thank heavens, quickly taxiing over to a collection of small terminal buildings. There was a short delay while everything was sprayed for God knows what and some lady with a foreign accent gave a brief talk over the intercom about the island and its rules and regulations.
Jessica rolled her eyes when she heard the speed limit was only fifty kilometres an hour around the island generally, and a crawling twenty-five kilometres an hour through the town and down on the foreshores at Kingston. Drivers were warned they had to give way to all livestock on the roads.
Lord, she thought with rueful amusement. This was as far removed from Sydney as one could get!
The formalities finally over, she hoisted her roomy tan handbag onto her shoulder and alighted, relieved to find that it wasn’t all that hot outside, despite the sun beginning to peep through the parting clouds. She’d worn a summer-weight pants-suit for travelling, a tailored cream outfit that didn’t crease. But it had a lined jacket and wasn’t the coolest thing she owned.
Her hair was cool, though, slicked back into the tight chic knot she always wore for work. Her makeup was expertly done to highlight her big dark eyes and full mouth. Her jewellery was discreet and expensive. A gold chain around her neck. Gold studs in her lobes. A gold watch around her slender wrist.
She looked sleek and sophisticated, and a lot more composed than she was feeling.
The short walk across the tarmac to the small customs building was enough for Jessica to see that whilst the air temperature felt moderate, the humidity was high. As soon as she arrived at her aunt’s house she’d change into something lighter.
In no time Jessica had secured her suitcase and was through customs. It seemed there was some advantage coming to tiny places like this. She’d barely walked into the terminal building when a funny little barrel-shaped woman with frizzy grey hair touched her on the arm.
‘You’d have to be Jessica,’ she said, smiling up at her.
‘And you must be Evie,’ Jessica responded, smiling back. Impossible not to. Mr. Slade had been right about that. Evie was the sort of person one liked on sight. She had a round face with twinkling grey eyes and a warm smile. She wore a shapeless floral tent dress and might have been sixty.
Jessica was given a brief but all-encompassing appraisal. ‘You don’t look much like your mother, do you?’
She certainly didn’t. Her mother had been petite and fair with blue eyes.
Still, Jessica’s heart leapt at Evie’s observation.
‘You knew my mother?’
‘Well, of course I knew your mother, lovie! I’ve lived on this island for near nigh forty years now. Everyone knows everyone around here. You’ll soon learn that. I knew your grandparents, too. Come on,’ Evie urged, taking her arm. ‘Let’s get out of this crowd and into some fresh air.’
