pulled the plug on the bath and stepped out as the water swirled down the drain with a satisfying gurgle. She shook her head at the decadence of it. It would make better sense to find some way to utilize the waste water from this sort of thing on the property. Maybe she could make some suggestions to Wade and see what he thought. He’d probably have a hard time believing she could even care about something like waste water.
Piper dried herself off and padded naked into her bedroom. She extracted some clean underwear from her drawer, a small puzzled frown fracturing her brow when she couldn’t find the stuff she’d brought in her backpack. The pack itself had been emptied at some stage yesterday, its clothing contents now nowhere to be found. Maybe Mrs. Dexter had taken it all to be washed, she thought. She wondered what the housekeeper would think of the wardrobe that consisted mainly of jeans, camo-patterned trousers and an array of T-shirts that would probably better serve as polishing cloths than anything else.
She looked at the underwear she’d taken from the drawer. An exquisite shell pink, the matching bra and panties were a brand she’d never bought before, even though they were all in the size she’d worn before she went away. She slipped into the panties, thankful that at least they fit without threatening to fall off her hips, then adjusted the straps on the bra and started to put it on.
She turned and looked at herself in the mirror. She’d lost weight in recent years. Hard work and a limited diet had a way of doing that. The bra, while beautiful, was far too big for her, even on the tightest fitting. She could pad it up, she supposed, but then what if something slid free while she was wearing it? No, far better to go without, she decided and turned to her old wardrobe for something to wear.
A swimming sense of déjà vu enveloped her as she opened the doors. There, arranged by color and functionality, hung every article of clothing she’d failed to pack and take away with her. According to the dry cleaning tags on the garments, everything had been freshened recently. But why, when no one knew when she was coming home?
Piper selected the least flippant items and pulled on a pair of charcoal gray trousers with a neat matching jacket that used to nip in perfectly at her waist. Eight years ago, it had been form-fitting enough to wear without a top beneath it, but it certainly wasn’t now. She flicked through the hangers until she found a crisp white blouse to team with it.
An old belt threaded through the loops in her trousers cinched them in a little tighter at her waist, and when Piper pulled on the jacket and studied her appearance, she thought she’d scrubbed up quite well—aside from the hair. She grabbed a black and white long silk scarf from her dresser and tied her dreads into an approximation of a ponytail before nodding at her reflection. Well enough to see the lawyer, anyway.
Her feet had always been long and narrow and she pulled on a pair of stocking socks before pushing her feet into a slim fitting pair of black patent pumps. No longer used to the heels, she teetered a little before regaining her composure. How had she ever walked in these things on a daily basis? she wondered as she made her way down the stairs.
Wade wasn’t in the breakfast room, nor the kitchen, when she got downstairs.
“Looking for Mr. Collins?” Mrs. Dexter said with a smile as she bustled about pouring a fresh cup of tea and placing it at Piper’s old place at the huge worn kitchen table.
“Yes, we have an appointment together this morning.”
“He had to get away early to the office. Some problem or other. He said if he couldn’t get back on time, he’d send a car for you so you could still meet with Mr. Chadwick in his rooms.”
“Oh, thanks.”
Piper fought back the unreasonable feeling of disappointment that he wasn’t here. He had a business to run so she could hardly expect him to wait upon her hand and foot. Strangely, though, she had been looking forward to his approval that she’d made an effort to “scrub up,” for want of a better term. Which reminded her. Her clothes.
“Dexie, can you tell me what you did with my clothing from my backpack?”
“Oh, that lot.” Mrs. Dexter wrinkled up her nose in her rosy cheeked face. “I gave it all to Dexter to incinerate. Your father would never have stood for you dressing like that.”
Piper bit back the retort that her father hadn’t had the right to dictate her appearance for many years now. Swallowing the words she’d wanted to say didn’t come easy. Those items of clothing were virtually all she’d had to her name in the way of physical possessions. She’d come back here to take control of her life and yet, even in something as simple as her clothing, she’d been railroaded.
“Besides,” the older woman continued, “you have a wardrobe full of beautiful things to wear. I must say, lovey, it’s wonderful to see you looking more your old self. Apart from the hair, that is.”
A wry smile formed at Piper’s lips. “You don’t like it?” she teased.
“Humph, as if Mr. Mitchell would ever have tolerated such a thing.”
Piper’s smile died on her face. No, her father wouldn’t have tolerated it. He wouldn’t have understood the sheer practicality of wearing her hair this way in the circumstances in which she’d lived. Now she was home she supposed she’d better do something about it, but first there was the appointment today to get through.
“Get through” being the operative words, she realized later that day as her father’s lawyer sat opposite her at his highly polished desk, a sobering expression on his face.
“What do you mean I have no money?” she demanded. “When I left, my trust fund was healthy. It had been operating since my mother’s death, earning interest all the way. Surely I didn’t spend it all?”
“No, Miss Mitchell, you didn’t. But you didn’t exactly use the funds wisely, or reinvest, either, did you?”
It felt as if she’d been victimized from the instant she’d arrived home. First Wade, then Dexie’s disapproval, and now this.
“They were mine to use,” she said, a defensive note in her voice.
“Of course, of course.” The old man made a shushing sound in a vain attempt to placate her.
But Piper would not be placated.
“So where is it?”
“It?”
“The money,” she clarified, holding onto her temper by a thread.
“You know that with your father as a Trustee, the funds were managed very carefully. Over the years he frequently diversified the investments, but as you must be aware, financial markets worldwide have been hit very hard. Even investments that appeared to be sound suffered, and you subsequently lost some rather large sums.”
Piper shook her head. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her father had always been the most prudent and cautious of investors.
“So, I have nothing?”
“I’m so very sorry.”
“But what about my father’s estate?”
“Miss Mitchell, what your father didn’t use to carry Mitchell Exports through some tough times, he used to fund alternative treatments for his illness. There
