birth certificate says “father unknown”.’
‘So why come forward now?’ Julius asked.
‘She died recently of a terminal illness,’ Jake said. ‘She told Kat on her death bed who her father was.’
‘So this girl Kat is after money.’
‘What else?’
Julius scored a hand through his hair. ‘How many more like her could there be out there? Why can’t Dad keep it in his trousers? He’s nudging seventy, for God’s sake.’
‘I just thought I’d give you the heads up on it in case the press come sniffing around you for an exclusive,’ Jake said. ‘They’ve been parked outside my place since the first Tweet went out.’
His brother’s words sent an army of invisible ants across Julius’s scalp. A drumbeat of panic started up in his chest. His blood ran hot and cold. He felt beads of sweat break out across his brow. If the press came here they would find Holly—living with him. A girl not much older than his father’s love child. In fact, Holly looked younger than twenty-five. What would the press make of her holed up here with him? Especially if they caught a glimpse of her flaunting her flesh at every available opportunity. They wouldn’t wait for the truth. They would jump to sensational conclusions to razz up a storm of scandal.
He had to keep her away from the press. God knew what she would say to them to stir up trouble for him. One look at her and they would assume he was indulging in a lust fest and was no different from his Lothario father. With her sexy little body and her cheeky personality, why wouldn’t they assume he was making the most of the situation? Why, oh, why, had he agreed to have her here? It was a disaster of monumental proportions.
‘You okay, bro?’ Jake cut through Julius’s racing thoughts. ‘I know it’s a shock but think how Miranda’s taking it.’
That was enough to snap Julius back into protective big-brother mode. ‘How is she taking it?’
‘I haven’t spoken to her yet,’ Jake said. ‘She wasn’t answering her phone. Probably switched it off to keep the press off her back. But think about it. She’s always been the baby of the family. How’s it going to feel to know there’s a new half-sister who’s now the youngest?’
‘I’ll call her as soon as I finish with you,’ Julius said, expelling a long ragged breath. ‘Poor kid. You know how embarrassed she gets by Mum and Dad’s behaviour. This will be hardest on her. We’ve already been through one divorce with them so we know what we’re in for. She has no idea of how ugly this could get.’
‘Yeah, tell me about it,’ Jake said. ‘But it might not come to that.’
‘You seriously think Mum won’t want a divorce after Dad produces a secret love child out of the woodwork?’ Julius said. ‘Come on, Jake. This is our mother we’re talking about. Any chance for a scene and she’s right there in full costume and make-up.’
‘I know, but Flynn’s trying to smooth things over,’ Jake said. ‘Another divorce will be costly to both of them, and not just financially. Their popularity could rise or fall according to how they handle this scandal. You know how fickle the fans are. Flynn’s hoping he can silence the girl with a one-off payment. Something big enough to keep her mouth shut and go away. Preferably both.’
Julius was relieved to hear it was all in good hands. Flynn Carlyon was the family lawyer; he’d been a year ahead of them at school. He handled Julius’s parents’ legal affairs as well as run offices in London. Flynn wasn’t just a solicitor to the stars. He had won several high-profile property settlement cases that had given him the tagline around the courts: Flynn equals win. He had a sharp mind, an even sharper tongue and a cutting wit.
‘Have you met this girl?’ Julius asked.
‘Not yet,’ Jake said. ‘You might want to drop by next time you’re in town and say hello. After all, she’s your new baby sister.’
How could I possibly forget? Julius thought with a despairing groan.
* * *
Holly put the finishing touches to dinner before she went up to her room on the second floor to have a shower. The room she had chosen was four doors down from Julius’s suite but on the opposite side of the wide corridor. It didn’t have a balcony—thank God—but it did have a nice view over the front gardens and the tree-lined driveway. It had its own en suite, which was decorated in a Parisian style with lovely ceramic-and-brass tap handles and a claw-footed bath that was centred in the middle of the floor, with a telephone-handle fitting as well as taps. There was a separate shower stall big enough for a football team and lots of gorgeous, fluffy white towels, fragrant French soaps and expensive hair products. A gilt-framed oval mirror hung over the pedestal washbasin and there was another full-length one in the bedroom.
The only issue Holly had was with her clothes. They didn’t feel right for her surroundings. All this high-end luxury made the clothes she’d brought with her look even dowdier than usual. She had never been financially stable enough to follow fashion. Fashion was something other people followed. Shopping was a pastime other people indulged in. Rich people, people who had money, security and the safety net of family. Holly had taught herself not to want things she could never afford. She had deadened her desire for nice feminine things. It was pointless to wish she could dress like the women she saw about town. Smart women; educated, sophisticated, polished and poised, with hair, make-up and nails done like models and movie stars. She could never compete with that. It was so far out of her reach, she didn’t bother trying.
But right now she would have loved a nice dress to put on and some high heels to go with it. Some classy underwear—not cheap, faded cotton but some slinky, cobwebby lace. She would have liked some make-up—not much, just enough to highlight her features, to put some colour on her eyelids and some tinted gloss on her lips. She would have liked to get a decent haircut, perhaps get some professional foils done to cover the pink streaks she’d done with a home kit that hadn’t turned out quite the way she’d planned. Maybe a bit of jewellery—pearls, perhaps—to give her a touch of elegance.
But what was the point of wishing she could dress like a glamour girl when all her life she had been the girl with the charity shop clothes? The girl with the bad haircut, the bitten nails and the cheap shoes with the soles worn through? She had always felt like a donkey showing up at a posh dressage event.
Why should now be any different?
After her shower Holly slipped off her towel in front of the mirror. At least she had a good figure. It was her only asset. Good bones; long, slim limbs; a neat waist; nicely shaped breasts; mostly clear skin, apart from that ridiculously childish patch of freckles over the bridge of her nose.
Her gaze went to a pattern of damson-coloured marks around the tops of her arms. She reached up and touched them, her stomach doing a funny little dip and dive when she realised what they were. Julius’s fingerprints had branded her flesh with light but unmistakable bruises.
She bit her lip, looking at the grey cotton tank top she had been planning to wear with another pair of jeans—her only pair without holes in them, although they did have a frayed hem. She put on the tank top and picked up a green cardigan, even though the evening was warm, and slipped it on. It wasn’t the nicest weave—the acrylic in it always made her skin feel itchy. But it was either that or a denim jacket or a pilled woollen sweater that would have her sweating within seconds. Finally, she bunched up her hair and secured
