table. A distance away to either side of the altar table stood a pair of traditional Chinese cabinets with horizontal open-work panels. Yellow curtains hung at the plate-glass doors that gave onto a small balcony where four yellow glazed pots planted with strelitzias were lined up against the balustrade.
“You’re taking an interest.” There was a faint taunt in her voice.
“Just admiring the decor. Someone has created a certain style. I love the Chinese pieces.” He bent to take a closer look at the cabinets. He thought the wood was huanghuali, the principal hardwood used by Chinese cabinet makers. He thought he was right dating them as late Qing.
“Me, too,” she said, offhandedly. “As for the decorating, someone had to make the effort. And find the money.”
“I’m sure your friends appreciate it.”
“Well…” She let a further comment slide. She knew her flatmates took advantage of her. She allowed it. “Like a cup of coffee? Glass of wine? Maybe a salad? You could join me. I haven’t had a thing to eat.”
It suddenly struck him he was hungry. “That’d be nice, Carol. May I call you Carol?”
“Caro,” she said. She made a point of being called Caro.
“Carol is such a beautiful name.”
“What do you want from me, Damon?” She moved behind the black granite kitchen counter. “Is there something you have to tell me? Something about the family?”
She didn’t look in the least perturbed, so he decided to give it to her straight. From what he’d seen of her, he thought she could handle it. “Your grandfather passed away late this afternoon, Carol—at Beaumont, his country estate.”
Her blue eyes, a wonderful contrast to her ruby-red hair, flew to his across the dividing space. “You’re absolutely sure about that?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“So it’s all over,” she said, turning to pull out plates.
“Not for you, Carol,” he pointed out with some gravity. “You’re a major beneficiary in his will.”
She swung back sharply, her porcelain cheeks flushed over her high cheekbones. “You’ve got to be joking!”
“In no way. I’m your appointed lawyer.”
She stared at him. He was no more than thirty, she estimated, though his manner had a self-assurance far beyond those years. He projected high intelligence and a quite staggering sexuality. He had everything going for him, the entire package: tall, dark and handsome; his classic features not bland but distinctive. He had a great head of hair, coal-black with a natural wave, brilliant dark eyes that took in everything at a glance.
She had the oddest feeling of recognition. Had she seen him before? She couldn’t have. She would have remembered; maybe a photograph in a glossy magazine, squiring some glamour girl? He looked just the kind of guy who attracted women in droves. The name, too, seemed familiar. Damon Hunter. Damon Hunter. It came to her in flash—Professor Deakin’s star pupil. The most outstanding student of law Professor Deakin had ever had the pleasure of teaching. That was pretty cool.
She appeared so engrossed in her speculations, Damon had to prompt her. “I hope I pass muster?” His resonant voice carried humour.
“You look like you make tons of money,” was her terse response. She had read about instant high-level arousal in novels. She hadn’t encountered it—until now. He was arousing feelings of which she had scarcely been aware. Not that he’d be interested in her. She was a twenty-year-old student, not some voluptuous beauty with a goodly share of experience in bed.
“Is that important?” he asked.
She had a sudden picture of herself as an instrument; a man like him could play a woman’s feelings at will. She shook her head so vigorously, her curls bounced. “No, but I thought Marcus Bradfield was my grandfather’s solicitor.”
“Was for many years,” he said. “But your grandfather appointed me in this case. I wanted to tell you about his death before anyone else did, or you simply saw it on TV. The media will have the news by now.”
“The great man is dead. Long live the king,” she said rather mournfully. “I shudder to think it might be Uncle Maurice?”
“We have to wait to see what transpires. Mind if I take off my jacket?”
“Go right ahead.” As she guessed he had a great body; all of his movements had an athlete’s grace. So, lawyer and action man. He had taken Tarik, who was strong, down without raising a sweat. She watched him place his tailored jacket over a chair before he loosened his silk tie. His every movement was imprinting itself on her brain. This was ridiculous. So ridiculous, she resented it.
She took the makings of a salad out of the crisper. “I don’t need a penny of his money. The way he treated me, the way the family treated me, was monstrous.”
He heard the deep hurt beneath the condemnation in her voice. “I agree, but I didn’t come here with apologies, Carol. The will speaks for itself. Your grandfather clearly wanted to make reparation.”
“My grandfather with the stone heart! Does the rest of the family know? My Uncle Maurice, Dallas and my creepy cousin Troy—I see him around. He’s even tried to chat me up. What a joke!”
“Has he really?” Damon found himself not liking that one bit. Her tone had implied Troy Chancellor’s approach hadn’t been cousinly.
“Alas, yes. I don’t like him. Let’s eat, before you tell me any more. I’m fast losing my appetite.”
“Can I help?”
She shook her head. “A salad is simplicity itself. Let me get you a glass of wine—red or white?”
“I’ll have red, if you’ve got it?”
“Mmm, I think so. Have a look in there.” She pointed to one of the Chinese cabinets.
He didn’t open the beaded doors immediately. He stood studying the piece of furniture that stood on rounded straight feet. “You know what you’ve got here?”
“I do indeed.” Her tone mocked. “I have a pair of pagoda-form side tables in my bedroom, but you’re not going in there.”
“You like Oriental furniture?” That was obvious. He knew Selwyn Chancellor had been a major collector.
“Who wouldn’t? If I get to know you well enough, I’ll show you my celadon jade carving. Qianlong.”
“Ah, another collector in the making.”
“I’m told I have the eye.”
“I’m sure you have. Like your grandfather. He was a renowned collector.” He opened one of the cabinet doors, studying the labels before selecting a bottle of Tasmanian pinot noir.
“I know.” Suddenly she was remembering the endless treasure trove her grandfather and his father before him had collected over the years. She had been just a little girl,
