CHAPTER 1
Australia
Miranda Fox had the dream again that night. She dreamed of freedom and went striding off towards the horizon in a delicate flush of dawnlight to meet the daughter she'd given away at birth. She held her close – a young woman now, not a baby. Where had all those years gone? As always her daughter's face was indistinct, but she too had wavy ash-brown hair and wasn't tall.
Joy and energy pulsed through Miranda and she laughed aloud for sheer happiness. Then her half-brother Sebastian intruded on her dream, standing over her with folded arms, looking at her scornfully – as usual. The feeling of joy faded and the shackles of duty gripped her so tightly that when her daughter slipped from her grasp and walked away into the mist, even in a dream she could only watch sadly.
Then Sebastian grabbed her arm, dragged her back in spite of her struggles and she became Minnie again, because her family insisted on shortening her name.
Only her mother had ever used her full name, but her mother had died forty-two years ago when she was five. Her father had found another wife within six months, making his third marriage and creating his third child – to his disappointment another daughter. But Regina's mother had left him after five years, not daring to take her daughter with her because Judge James Fox was a powerful man.
From then on, he had eschewed women and had nothing good to say about them. He boasted that he'd brought up his three children on his own, with the help of a series of housekeepers, and had created a son and heir anyone would be proud of. He never expressed pride in his two daughters.
Miranda woke suddenly, staring round the bedroom for a moment, feeling as if she was in an alien place. She'd slept later than usual. What had woken her? She sighed as she realized it was her father calling for help in getting to the commode chair next to his bed. He'd turned ninety-four two days ago and was as cantankerous as they came. Someone had to take care of him and Sebastian had made sure it was her.
What kept her going was her father's promise that after he died she'd be looked after and would be a woman of independent means. It wouldn't make up for all the tedious, lost years, but it'd help. And he never broke his promises.
He hadn't always been this bad-tempered. She remembered another father, intelligent and quite good company as long as things went his way. But she'd lost that man during the past year or two and a querulous stranger had taken his place, a stranger who didn't always remember things clearly.
'I'm ready to die,' he grumbled as she helped him. 'What's it coming to when my daughter has to pull my trousers up?'
'I'm happy to help you.'
'It's still not right.'
No, she thought. Her whole life wasn't right. What he and her brother had done to her wasn't right. But you couldn't change the past.
Her days had now blurred into a round of small tasks, small thoughts and even smaller hopes. Besides, she knew her father would have gone mad in a nursing home – and driven everyone else mad, too. She'd been locked away once herself and wouldn't put anyone else in that terrible situation. So she waited to be released from this duty with as much patience as she could summon up.
Mid-morning she caught sight of herself in the hall mirror and grimaced. Her hair was scraped back into a tangled clump, the grey streaks at her temples showing all too clearly. Her expression was grim and she looked older than her years. She tried to smile and when she failed, turned away from that unflattering reflection.
Her father spent the morning in his sitting room, which had once been the spare bedroom. When she peeped in, he was staring into space, which wasn't like him. 'Are you all right, Father?'
'Of course I'm all right. Stop fussing. Can a man not have a peaceful think in his own home?'
Just before one o'clock, he moved slowly along the corridor, leaning on his Zimmer frame, his breath coming in gasps with the effort. But he refused to let her take him in a tray and would not use a wheelchair, let alone even contemplate one of the little motorized vehicles that would allow him to go outside again.
Five minutes after he'd taken his place, Miranda brought in the quiche she'd made for lunch.
He was drumming his fingers impatiently. 'You're late. You know I like to eat at one sharp.'
She knew better than to argue that five minutes made little difference. He set a great store on what he called maintaining standards. 'The food's here now. Quiche. Your favourite.'
Before she could even set it down, he pressed one hand to his chest, tried to speak and leaned sideways, starting to fall slowly.
She dumped the tray on the table, but before she could get round to catch him, he'd fallen to the floor.
He didn't cry out as he hit the carpet or move from the twisted, awkward position.
She stood stock still for a moment, her breath catching in her throat, then knelt to feel for the pulse in his neck. Was he ... could he be ...?
No pulse. No life in his eyes.
For a moment she could only stare at him in shock. Then she reached out to close the staring eyes.
She didn't feel sad or weep. Her father had had a long life, dominating the whole family until a couple of years ago, when Sebastian, also a lawyer, had taken on that role.
No, her main emotion was relief, huge waves of it washing over her.
She was free at last!
Oh, she had so many plans, so much lost time to make up for. Her father had promised to leave her enough to buy a home of her own and to live on. She wasn't going to rush into anything but would take time to explore the possibilities for an interesting and fulfilling life.
She kept telling herself forty-seven was the new thirty-seven, but she didn't really believe that. She felt nearer to fifty-seven.
Then guilt crept in and her moment of euphoria vanished. How could she think like that? For all his faults, he was her father.
'Goodbye,' she said softly and went to phone her half-brother at his rooms. 'Sebastian? It's Father. He's just died, I'm afraid.'
'What? Are you sure?'
'Of course I am.'
'Don't touch anything. I'll come round at once. Oh, hell, I can't! I've got an important client coming in ten minutes, only time I could fit her in. Look, I'll be round in an hour, hour and a half max. Don't touch anything.'
'Shall I call the doctor?'
'No! Leave everything to me.'
She put the phone down and went to change her clothes. A rose-coloured top didn't feel right on such a day. Her father had hated to see her in bright colours anyway, muttering comments like 'Mutton dressed as lamb'.
When she was more sombrely clad, she hesitated in the doorway of her father's bedroom. She'd been itching to clear it out for years. The drawers and shelves were crammed with decades of rubbish and old clothes because he would never throw anything away from his magpie hoard.
The top drawer was slightly open. Her father usually kept that particular drawer locked. She went to shut it, but saw something beneath the papers: a box. She recognized it at once. Her mother's jewellery box. Why was it here? Her father had told her years ago that he'd put it in the bank for safety, because some of the pieces were quite valuable.
The jewellery was hers, left to her by her mother, and was nothing to do with her half-brother and sister. She clutched the box to her chest, happy to see it again.
Guilt kicked in once more. He wasn't even cold and she was going through his things.
But the box and its contents were hers. She'd have claimed them years ago if her father hadn't made such a fuss about looking after them for her. And anyway, what chance had she ever had to wear expensive jewellery? None, that's what. She'd always been shy, had dated a few guys in her teens, had had that one disastrous relationship and never had the chance to go out with anyone else since.
Feeling like a thief, she took the box into her bedroom and went through it. Two of the most valuable pieces were missing. Where could they be? She went back to check her father's drawers, but the matching diamond brooch and necklace weren't there.
She hesitated, unable to face going through the whole room. If the jewellery was there, they'd find it when they cleared out her father's things. She'd better put the box away safely. Where? In the end, she put it into her suitcase on top of the wardrobe, locking the case carefully and putting the key in her purse. Once he found out two pieces were missing, Sebastian would want to whisk the rest of the jewellery away for safe keeping but she wouldn't let him. From now on, she intended to look after her own life and possessions.
She sighed, not looking forward to Sebastian arriving. He was so like their father, both of them chauvinists, and while there was some excuse for a ninety-four-year-old man having that attitude, there was no excuse for a man of fifty-two, who'd been born in an era of women's liberation and should know better. Perhaps being a lawyer had made him so conservative, or perhaps it was his elderly father's influence, or maybe he'd simply been born that way. How his wife put up with him, she didn't understand, because Dorothy was an intelligent woman.
She heard a car draw up outside and hurried to open the front door to let her brother in.
'Where's Father?'
'In here.' She led the way into the dining room.
Sebastian knelt beside the body. 'Must have been a heart attack. Leave everything to me.'
While he made the necessary phone calls, Miranda wandered along to her bedroom and stared out of the window. It was a relief when the undertaker took away the body. Sebastian said he'd arrange the funeral and she nodded as she saw him out.
He stopped halfway down the path to call, 'Don't touch anything, Minnie! I'll be round this evening to start on Father's papers.'
Then she was on her own. How long since she'd had time to herself? Too long.
With a tired sigh, she went to sit in an armchair and spent a lazy couple of hours with the latest book by her favourite author. No interruptions. No sharp rapping of a walking stick on the floor.
Bliss.
In the afternoon she did some gardening, another favourite pastime.
The phone rang at six. Sebastian.
'I can't come round tonight, after all. Dorothy and I have a dinner engagement that's too important to cancel. Remember what I said. Don't touch anything.'
What did he think she'd do to her father's papers? She knew roughly how things had been left and that was all that mattered. Anyway, she didn't want to go into her father's bedroom again. Every time she passed the door, she kept expecting him to call out, wanting something.
She poured herself a glass of wine, found her library book and settled down for another quiet read. She didn't even want to switch on the TV. What she craved was peace and silence.
In England, Nikki Fox leaned against the kitchen door-frame, staring defiantly at her mother. 'All right, so I'm pregnant. I wasn't going to tell you yet.'
For a moment the silence seemed to hum with her anger, then Regina snapped, 'You stupid girl! Didn't I teach you better than that? Couldn't you at least have gone on the pill?'
'I was on the pill. But I forgot to take the tablets with me when I went for that weekend in Brighton. I didn't think a couple of days without would matter.'
Her mother sank on to the bed, groaning. 'We'll have to arrange the abortion quickly. You can't be more than six weeks gone, so it'll be a very minor procedure.'
Nikki stared down at her feet in the fluffy pink slippers. 'I'm not sure I want to get rid of the baby.'
Another heavy silence while her mother looked at her incredulously.
'Let's get one thing straight. I'm not having a baby here. I've done my share of child-raising with you. Without any help from your father I've built a career for myself – and got a life. I'm not going back to sleepless nights and a baby screaming its head off.'
Nikki swallowed hard. She'd guessed her mother would react like this, which was why she'd not said anything.
'Who's the baby's father? Tim Whatsamajig'
Nikki shrugged. She did a lot of shrugging when her mother got a bee in her bonnet about something, because whatever she said was usually wrong. She wasn't sure about having an abortion, but she was very sure she didn't want to get married, not at eighteen.
'I can't believe you've got yourself into this.'
She tried to think of an answer to that but couldn't. She'd asked herself the same question again and again.
'We'll arrange for you to have an abortion. It's the only sensible thing to do. You're an intelligent girl, sure to get into university, with your whole life ahead of you. You did brilliantly in your AS grades, and you're right on course for top A Levels. There'll be plenty of time to have children later when you meet someone who —'
'Mum, I just can't get my head around the idea of killing a baby.'
'It's not a baby yet, it's a tiny blob.'
'It's a baby. Its heart is beating already. I looked it up on the Internet.' She glanced at her watch in relief. 'I've got to go to work now. I need to earn as much money as I can.' Thank heavens for fast food outlets! She might not enjoy the job, but the money did give her some independence. At the moment she was saving as much of her wages as she could ... just in case.
'I'll look into what we need to do,' her mother promised. 'You'd better get off to work. You don't want to lose your job.'
Nikki left the house without another word. She knew she wouldn't change her mother's mind. She never had before, so why should she succeed now?
Would she change her own mind?
The phone rang and Regina hesitated before picking it up, not feeling like chatting to anyone. Then she looked at the caller ID. Her brother. What did he want? He never called just to chat. 'Hi, Sebastian.'
'It's Father. He died yesterday. I didn't ring you straight away because, given the time difference between Australia and England, you'd have been in bed.'
'Well, it's not unexpected at his age. How did it happen?'
'He dropped dead at lunchtime. His heart's been failing for a while. Luckily, he'd seen the doctor recently, so they don't need to do a post-mortem. I need to know if you're coming to the funeral.'
She hesitated, then sighed. She'd never forgive herself if she didn't attend. Bad enough that she hadn't seen her father for several years and had left his care to poor Minnie, who had definitely not had a good life. Unthinkable to miss the funeral.
'Yes, of course I'm coming.'
'You can stay with us, if you like.'
She hesitated. Sebastian wasn't a comfortable person to live with. He seemed to think that she was as meek as his wife and barked orders at her. 'I'll probably split my time between you and Minnie, though that rambling old house of Dad's gives me the creeps. Is it still full of rubbish?'
'Worse than ever. He was getting very strange; Alzheimer's starting, the doctor thought.'
'What about the will? How are things left?'
'I'll tell you when you get here.'
'What's the big secret?'
'Nothing you need to be upset about. You'll get your share.'
She put the phone down, chewing her thumb. Not a good time to be nipping off to Australia. But still, if Nikki was only six weeks gone, there was still plenty of time to sort out an abortion after she got back. She'd make it a quick trip, just a week or so.
She went on line and booked herself a seat to Perth, then began to pack.
The following day, which was a Saturday, Sebastian and his wife arrived while Miranda was having her breakfast and walked straight in without even knocking. She pushed her plate aside, losing her appetite completely at the sight of him.
'I rang Regina,' he said by way of a greeting. 'She's coming to the funeral.'
'Oh, good. I'll get a room ready for her.'
'No need. She's staying with us.'
'But —'
'Finish your breakfast. I'll start going through the things in Father's bedroom and sitting room. Dorothy will do the living room. We'll leave the kitchen till later.'
Did he think there were papers or valuables in the kitchen? she wondered. 'I've nearly finished eating. I'll come and help you.'
'It's not your job. I'm the executor as well as the main beneficiary, so it's up to me to make all the decisions about what's thrown out.'
'What if I want to keep something?'
He looked round scornfully. 'Most of this stuff's rubbish, but you can go through the discard piles afterwards, if you must. Anything valuable will be considered part of the estate, however.'
Her appetite gone completely, Miranda scraped the rest of her scrambled eggs into the rubbish bin as she listened to the sound of his heavy footsteps. In the living room Dorothy was opening and shutting cupboards and drawers. She and Sebastian were avid collectors of antiques and had been dying to get their hands on this house and its more valuable contents for years.
A door squeaked. Miranda recognized that sound and hurried along to her bedroom. Inside she found Sebastian opening a drawer.
'What on earth are you doing in here? This is my room!'
'I'm just looking at this chest of drawers.' He made as if to pull the drawer right out and she prevented him.
'I don't appreciate having you go through my things.'
