rang him. “All sewn up, Nick,” he said, sounding pleased with himself. “They’re allowed to stay on six months or until they relocate, according to your instructions. Marvellous place. Allow me to congratulate you. And beg for a visit.”
“Make it a weekend,” Nick responded, leaning back in his swivel chair. “Bring Jenny and the kids.”
“They’d love that,” the solicitor whooped. “Won’t hold you up, Nick. I know you’re doing great things.”
Am I? In some ways, he thought, but that doesn’t absolve me. How many times over the years had he envisioned bringing Marcus Sheffield to his knees? Now it was done. He owned Bellemont Farm lock, stock, and barrel. He thought it would mean a lot, now suddenly it didn’t mean much at all. He couldn’t get Martin’s violent death out of his mind and the circumstances that had led to his having an affair with young Cindy Carlin from the town. He could just barely remember Cindy. Blond, pretty, a school drop-out, he thought. Poor little Cindy. What a terrible end. He was shocked. Martin must have been dreadfully unhappy. He had never looked at anyone but Suzannah. Challenged any of his friends who tried to get near her. Martin had sold his soul to the devil to get Suzannah, hiding the jewellery from Marcus Sheffield’s safe in the Konrads’ old toolshed. He must have hidden there for quite a while before he was able to gain his stealthy access. Martin, his face a white mask, accusing him of bragging about some “coup” he had pulled off. Suzannah on her feet, violet eyes flashing with the light of battle for him. The light had gone out later when her father accused him quietly and contemptuously of grossly abusing their trust.
“I wouldn’t care about you, young man,” Marcus Sheffield had said with icy disgust. “You could go to jail for my money. It’s the place, after all, where thieves go. It’s your mother I pity. Hasn’t she had enough to endure?”
He remembered defending himself vigorously, offering arguments to Frank Harris the police chief, who just stood there stiffly, almost miserably, as if he were in Sheffield’s employ. Finally it became starkly apparent his defence was falling on deaf ears. He was guilty. Even Suzannah never challenged her father again. She just gave up. As he did. He had stolen because he and his mother were in a precarious financial position. The ultimatum was put to him bluntly. For his mother’s sake, since every piece of jewellery had been recovered, he would leave town immediately. If he was prepared to do that, no further action would be taken.
He knew all about justice even then. He had his parents’ experiences as an example. Justice was in the hands of the powerful. Marcus Sheffield was the wealthiest and most influential man in the town. He owned many businesses, whole parcels of real estate. Hundreds of people one way or the other relied on him for an income. Suzannah had tried to speak to him the day that he left, begged him to meet her but he had hung up on her, whitefaced and furious. In the moment of crisis the girl that he loved, that he ached with passion for, had trusted her father above him. She had actually believed he was a common thief. For weeks after she had tried to speak to his mother, weeping with frustration when his mother refused to tell her where he had gone, where he was staying. Although his mother had come to love Suzannah as a daughter, a deep well of fear and anxiety had stopped her from ever allowing Suzannah to get close to her son again. It wasn’t long after that he landed his job with Ecos Solutions and his mother was able to come to him. And Suzannah, who had blazed with love for him, had married Martin White. Absurd to think of it now but he had always rated Martin’s chances as next to nil. So his parents were close friends of Marcus Sheffield’s? So Martin had been in love with Suzannah for most of his life? Suzannah had promised to be “his girl for all time”. And poor fool that he was he had believed her.
CHAPTER THREE
“YOU’RE very quiet, darling. Is everything all right?” Suzannah glanced away from the road to check on her small daughter riding in the passenger seat. Usually Charley chattered endlessly on their trips to school. This was their private time together free from the constraints of Marcus Sheffield’s uncertain tempers and pinched moods. The reversals in their lifestyle had changed him greatly, his unhappiness exacerbated by the effects of his stroke. They were living now in one of the “cottages” Marcus Sheffield, still owned, a comfortable small residence set on a quiet cul-de-sac near the river. Most people would have been very pleased to own it—it had an exceptionally beautiful garden—but Marcus Sheffield was making himself truly ill with misery. Sheffields had owned Bellemont Farm since the early days of the colony. The quality of wool from Bellemont sheep had been famous. Bellemont horses, too. The yield from their wines had been small but of great quality. Above all the property and the homestead were magnificent. Bellemont had a lot of history attached to it and Marcus Sheffield, had enjoyed tremendous standing. And then to have lost it all?
“Grandpa is very cranky,” Charley said and heaved a great sigh. Grandpa had thundered at her to eat up all of her breakfast. “It’s really funny living at the cottage. It’s such a little house. I can run from one end to the other in a minute.”
“But pretty, darling.” Suzannah threw her a comforting smile. We’ll get used to it. We have one another.”
“I’d like us to be alone,” Charley said in a little voice, looking down at the hands in her lap.
“But, darling, who would look after Grandpa?”
“I’m sorry,” muttered Charley.
“You have nothing to be sorry about. You’re such a good girl. I know Grandpa has been speaking sharply lately but he’s very upset.”
“So are you but your voice is always lovely. Grandpa is just plain rude.”
“I’ll talk to him about it, sweetheart. It’s just that he yearns to be back at Bellemont.”
“So do L It’s the bestest place in all the world,” Charley answered quite passionately. “I’m going to miss it when all the jacarandas are out.”
“We can take walks along the river,” Suzannah told her consolingly. “The road is lined with jacarandas.”
“It’s not the same,” Charley maintained sadly. “When is this person who bought Bellemont going to move in? Is he going to live there? Does he have children? I’ll bet they want a pony, but they can’t have mine.”
“No one is going to have your pony, Charley,” Suzannah reassured her. “Lady is being well looked after. You can get to ride her at the weekend. As for the owners, I know nothing about them. The farm was bought in a company name. I’m going to take a run out there after I drop you off at school.”
“What for? Won’t it be terribly sad?” Charley turned huge blue-green eyes on her mother, loving the way she looked, the scent of her, the way her shining dark hair curved in under her chin. Her mother was beautiful. Everyone said so.
“It will be sad, darling.” Suzannah could hardly deny it. “But we have to be brave.”
“Okay.” Charley leaned over and touched her mother’s hand, sharing their love. “Do you miss Daddy?” she asked.
It caught Suzannah unawares. “Of course I do, darling,” she said on a wave of love and protectiveness. It was unlikely Charley had been spared all the rumours at school. Small children could be cruel.
“He didn’t like me very much.” Charley pulled vigorously at her plait, her eyes darkening to jade.
“Darling, he loved you.” Suzannah bit at her lip.
“Did he really?” The question sounded more philosophical
