Читать книгу Innocent Mistress - Margaret Way - Страница 8

JUDE let the procession of mourners’ cars get away before he made a move towards the hire car. As usual Ralph rubbed him up the wrong way as soon as he opened his mouth. Now he wanted to get the reading over before he returned to his family home. He’d taken Bobbi’s advice and asked for his overdue vacation. Leonard Gooding had agreed on the spot, buoyed up by the fact Jude had managed to pull off a big, but complicated merger and in the process bring in new highly profitable business for the firm.

The path through the cemetery to the towering front gates was wide, but winding, flanked by enormous poincianas in full bloom. Their hectic blossoming had turned the very air rosy. The town cemetery was never a gloomy place even when the flowering was over. He should have had his eyes firmly on the drive but he happened to glance reflexively at his watch. When he looked up again, his heart skipped a beat, and every nerve ending tensed as he hit the brakes.

Right in front of him, a young woman was leaping back from the driveway to the grassy verge, her frozen expression betraying her shock at his car’s near silent approach.

“Damn!” Within seconds he was out of the vehicle, watching in dismay as first she staggered then fell to the grass, thickly scattered with spent blossom. Her heel must have caught on something, he realized, probably an exposed root of one of the poincianas.

He had a sensation of falling himself. He was always a careful driver. There was no excuse. “Are you all right?” Shoulders tensed, he bent to her, studying her with concern. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise anyone was still about.”

“My fault.” Graciously, instead of berating him, she accepted his hand, wincing slightly as he brought her to her feet. “I shouldn’t have been walking on the driveway at all. There are plenty of paths.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You didn’t injure your ankle?” They were a touch away but neither moved back.

“It’ll be fine,” she said quietly after a minute.

It was balm to his guilt. “That’s a blessing.” They both glanced down at her legs; classy legs on show in her short skirt. She wasn’t wearing stockings in the heat, the skin tanned a pale gold. There was no swelling as far as he could see, but it could develop. “Jude Conroy,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Cate Costello.” She took his hand briefly, the expression in her beautiful green eyes not soft and lingering like the women’s glances he was used to but quietly sizing him up.

“You’re new in town?” He found himself staring back, all sorts of emotions crashing down on him like a wild surf. Up close she was even more lovely than his glimpse at the gravesite, like a vision from some tantalising dream. Her eyes had an unusual setting that bestowed an extra distinction on her delicate features. He realized straightaway she possessed an attraction that went beyond the physical though there was no denying that was potent enough.

There was the unblemished creamy skin he’d first noted in the church. Her large eyes, the feature that really stopped him in his tracks were a clear green, with a definite upward curve at the corners. The brows matched. Her face was a perfect oval, the finely chiselled contours off set by a contradictory mouth. The top lip was finely cut, the bottom surprisingly full and cushiony. Looking at her it was difficult not to dredge up the old cliché “English rose” but just as attractive to Jude was the keen intelligence in her regard.

He knew he was taking far too much time studying her, but she seemed quite unselfconscious under his scrutiny. She had to be around twenty two-or -three, but she seemed very self-contained for her age. Her voice, matched her patrician appearance; clear and well modulated. He wondered at the colour of her hair beneath the silk scarf and even found himself wanting to remove it. There was no question she had him in a kind of spell. Maybe it was the witchcraft of the eyes? If he could keep talking to her until midnight maybe she would simply disappear?

As it was, she stood perfectly still, looking up at him, but he had the feeling she was equally well poised to run. “I’ve been here for six or seven months now,” she said calmly in response to his question. “I know who you are.”

Women habitually used that line with him. The old cynicism kicked in. “Really? Want to tell me how?”

“Anyone who comes to live in this town gets to know about you and your father,” she explained matter-of-factly. “Your father was much loved and respected. You’re the local celebrity.”

He shrugged that off. “And you are?” Despite himself the words came out with the touch of steel he reserved for his job. Immediately he was aware of little sparks starting to fly between them. Whether they were harmful or not he couldn’t yet say.

“I told you. Cate Costello.” Her expression became intent as though she was deciding whether she liked or disliked him.

“Are you a friend of the family?”

She stepped back out of the brilliant sunlight into the shade. “Is this an interrogation, Jude Conroy?”

“Why would you see it that way, Ms Costello?” he countered, with a mock inclination of the head. “It’s a perfectly normal question.”

“If you’d said it in a different tone perhaps. Anyone can see you’re a lawyer.”

“You have a problem with lawyers?” He didn’t bother to hide the challenge.

“I’ve never had occasion to call on one. But I appreciate they’re necessary.”

“I do believe so,” he drawled. “And you, what do you do?” He made his tone friendly.

He was pouring on the charm, she thought, feeling tiny tremors ripple down her back. “Does it matter? We’ll probably never see each other again.”

He laughed, suddenly wanting nothing more than to get to know her better. “I can’t help be curious.”

“Well then,” she relented, “I own a small gallery near the beach. It’s called the Crystal Cave. I buy and sell crystals from all over the world.”

“As in gazing?” Amusement showed in his gaze. He wasn’t too far off in his assessment of her. “Obviously you don’t have the slanted green eyes of a storybook witch for nothing.”

A faint warning glitter came into those eyes. “I have no powers of clairvoyance, otherwise I’d have known you were a metre off running me over. I simply have a loving affinity with crystals.”

“Ouch, I don’t think I deserved that,” he chided. “I braked immediately.”

“I’m sorry.” Her lovely face registered her sincerity.

“However did you start with your crystals?” An onlooker might have supposed they were good friends or even lovers so intent were they on each other.

“I knew some people who were great fossickers and collectors. They introduced me to the earth’s treasures. I shared their love of gemstones and crystals. After all crystals have been used and revered since the beginning of civilisation.” She looked away from him and those intensely blue searching eyes. The admiration in them was clearly flattering, but there was keen appraisal, too.

“So how can I find the Crystal Cave?” he asked. “I’m on vacation for a month.”

“You intend to spend it here?” She looked back in surprise.

“Why not?” He slipped off his jacket, slinging it over his shoulder. “I was born in this town. I’ll probably die here. You sound a little like you’re wishing me on my way.”

“Not at all.” Colour rose to the cut-glass cheekbones. “It’s I who should be on my way.”

“On foot?” He took another look at her neat ankles. “Where’s your car?”

“It’s just around the corner.” She gestured vaguely.

“Okay so I’ll give you a lift. You’re not going up to the house then?”

“The family don’t know me, Mr Conroy.”

“I’m fine with Jude,” he told her. “I’m sure I’ll find your gallery.”

She made an attractive little movement with her hand. “That shouldn’t be a problem. Everyone knows it. It used to be Tony Mandel’s Art Gallery. The living quarters are at the rear. You’d have known Tony?”

“Of course I know Tony,” he lightly scoffed. “He was a constant visitor at our house. My dad bought a number of his paintings in the early days before he became famous. I thought he was overseas.”

She nodded. “He is. In London. His last showing was a sell-out. We keep in touch.”

“So there’s a connection?” Accustomed to asking questions, they were springing out.

“A family friend.” Her smile conveyed she wasn’t about to tell him more. “You really don’t have to drive me. I can walk. It’s not far.”

“I insist. Can’t have you hitchhiking.” His speculative gaze lingered on her face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she questioned, with the tiniest frown.

“Forgive me, but I can’t help wondering who you are and why you’re at Lester Rogan’s funeral when you don’t know the family?”

She tilted her chin to look up at him. The knot in her stomach tightened. He had that confident demeanour tall men often have plus the superb body of an athlete. “Does it matter?” she asked, sounding a lot cooler than she felt.

“Damned if I haven’t got the feeling it could.”

“So you’re the clairvoyant now.” She smiled sweetly. “What’s your astrological sign?” She restricted herself to a brief glance into his eyes. She’d heard he was dazzling, but in his favour he appeared unconcerned with his good looks. What she hadn’t expected was the magnetism, the powerful attraction of that white, lopsided smile, the dimple that flicked deeply into his cheek.

“Leo,” he was saying, still sounding indulgent, amused. “There’s no scientific basis for astrology, Ms Costello.”

The sapphire eyes were full of mischief. “I was going to tell you names of crystals you might find useful,” she said coolly. “But no matter.”

“Gee, thanks. That’d be fun,” he lightly mocked. “Can you tell me something now?”

“If I can.” She managed to sound at ease, even though the air around them was so sizzling it burned.

“What’s the colour of your hair?” He could see he’d caught her off guard. “I’m intrigued by your covering it up.”

“Ever consider a bad hair day?” She cast him a quick glance.

“I’d be amazed if you were having one.”

“It’s obvious surely? I didn’t particularly want to be noticed. But as you seem to be so curious.”

Purposefully she raised a hand, lifting the silk scarf from her head. Another movement released the clasp at her nape.

He sucked in his breath sharply.

She shook her hair free, turning her head from side to side to loosen it. The breeze that swept along the driveway sent her hair swirling like a burnished veil. Sunlight reflected off myriad highlights like the prisms of a precious gem; gold, rose, amber, even pinks and orange. He supposed her long glorious mane would be best described as a gleaming copper.

“I can see what you mean about being noticed.” Entranced, he nevertheless kept his tone sardonic. “You speak like the scarf was protection?”

She met his eyes again, tucking her hair casually behind her ears. The richness of the colour made her eyes and skin zing. “It doesn’t do any harm to protect oneself. I really don’t need a lift, you know. Thank you for the offer.”

“No sense in walking in the heat. Deal?”

Her quick assessing glance skipped across his face again. “Okay.”

They turned back towards the car. “As a copper-head it’s a wonder your skin doesn’t burn?” he asked conversationally, moving ahead to open the passenger door.

She slid in. “Strangely enough it doesn’t, but I do use a good sunblock. The only hats I own were much too festive for a funeral.”

“That’s too bad. I’d like to have seen you in one.” He had a sudden mental image of her in a wide-brimmed hat weighed down with huge pink roses, something marvellously feminine and romantic. Ironically a hat like his mother used to wear to protect her skin. With a sudden twist of the heart he remembered how he’d fallen early and irrevocably in love with the image of a beautiful women in a picture hat. There were years when his parents had been passionate about their garden, working happily together. They’d even managed a beautiful sheltered rose garden, large, luxuriant shrubs and blooms, despite the humidity and attendant problems of the tropics. To this day he took a lot of pleasure out of sending roses to his dates.

It wasn’t until Jude had dropped the mysterious Cate Costello off at her car that he realized she still hadn’t revealed what exactly she was doing at Lester Rogan’s funeral.

Ten minutes later he arrived at the Rogan mansion, the overt display of the late Lester Rogan’s wealth. The house was huge. In his view no architectural gem but impressive for sheer size alone and the tropical splendour of the five acre manicured grounds. The entrance was electronically guarded, the long driveway lined by majestic Royal Cuban palms. A caretaker-gardener’s bungalow was off to the left through the screening trees. There was a pool and a guest-house at the back, but surpassing all the obvious signs of wealth, was the glorious blue sea.

There were plenty of cars littering the driveway and the grass. Jude found a spot, his mind still engaged with his meeting with Cate Costello. What could possibly have motivated her to attend Rogan’s funeral if she didn’t know the family? Or could he take that to mean she just didn’t know Myra, Ralph and Melinda, but she had known Lester? In what context? Lester could have bought out Tony Mandel’s beachside property that was the most obvious connection. These days with tourism in tropical North Queensland hectically blossoming the land would be very valuable for redevelopment at some future date. If the late Lester had been her landlord, why didn’t she say so? What was the big mystery? What was she doing sheltering amid the trees? He hadn’t the slightest doubt he’d find out.

An hour later hurried along by a less than subtle Ralph, all the mourners had departed, some of them definitely over the drink driving limit.

“Now’s as good a time as any to read the will,” Ralph rasped. “You’ve got it with you?” He threw Jude an impatient glance.

“Of course. I left my briefcase in the hall.”

“I’ll get it Jude,” Melinda offered. She was nearest the wide archway, one of a pair that led from off the entrance hall to the major reception rooms.

“Sure you’re up to this, Mrs Rogan?” Jude asked, taking another concerned look at Myra’s extreme pallor. “I can very easily come back tomorrow, or the next day.”

Ralph’s dark eyes shot red sparks of aggression. Here was a young man who was permanently angry. “For cryin’ out loud, Jude, how many times do I have to tell you? We’re ready to hear it? Right now.”

The school bully was still holding up. “I was talking to your mother, Ralph. Not you.” Unperturbed Jude looked towards Myra who was giving every appearance of being the next to follow her husband to the grave.

“Mum tell him.” Ralph scratched his forehead violently.

“No, Ralphie—no.” Myra pleaded, her voice tremulous.

Ralph stared at his mother for a bit, giving a can-you-believe-this roll of his eyes. “Listen,” he said very quietly as though addressing someone mentally challenged. “This won’t take long then you can take to your bed. For the rest of your life if you like.”

“I think she needs her bed right now,” Jude said, trying to keep the disgust out of his voice. “This has been a bad shock.”

“Get it over with, Jude,” Melinda advised, returning with his briefcase. In her own way she appeared as eager to hear the will as her brother. “I’ll look after Mum. She’s stronger than she looks. Dad hammered away at her for years.”

“Yes, get it over, Jude,” Myra’s opposition suddenly collapsed, as if she thought both her children were about to ostracize her.

“Okay.” Against his better judgment Jude deferred to their wishes. “Mel, you might like to settle your mother in a more comfortable chair.” Myra was perched like a budgie on the edge of a small antique chair that looked like it was only good for decoration.

Melinda put her arm around her mother, leading her to an armchair. Myra took her time, her movements those of a woman twenty years her senior. Jude suspected Dr Atwell had given her medication to get her through the service. She was pretty much out of it. Meanwhile, Ralph was shaping up to be as nasty as his late father.

“Sit the hell down, Mum,” Ralph confirmed Jude’s assessment by crying out in utter exasperation.

“You’re awful, Ralph,” his sister croaked, as if she couldn’t get past the big lump of misery in her throat. “A real pig.”

“Like Dad.” Ralph looked back at her out of his deep-set dark eyes. “Okay, Mr Hotshot, read the will.”

Jude stepped right up to him, two inches taller, a stone or more lighter, but obviously fitter by far. “Jude will do, thanks, Ralph, and a little more respect all around. I’m your late father’s lawyer, not your lackey.” Jude didn’t give a damn about how much money the Rogans had. Never had. It showed in the sapphire glitter of his eyes.

“So take it easy.” Swaying slightly from side to side, Ralph backed off. “Surely you can understand I’m anxious to hear how Dad left things between the three of us.”

“Of course.” Jude took a seat in the armchair nearest the big Oriental style coffee table so he could put the document down to read it. He withdrew the will from his briefcase, the collective eyes of the family trained on him. They wouldn’t be seeing shades of his father. Jude bore little physical resemblance to him, apart from his height. He even had his mother’s dimple in his left cheek just so he could never forget her.

“Hang on a moment I’ll get myself a drink. Anyone else want one?” Ralph lumbered off looking over his shoulder.

“Haven’t you had enough, Ralph?” Myra roused herself sufficiently to ask.

Ralph snorted. “Been countin’, Ma?” He poured himself a generous shot of whiskey from a spirits laden trolley, tonging a couple of ice cubes into it. “You, Jude?”

“Thank you. No.” As instructed, Jude wanted to get on with it, his expression as professional as any lawyer’s could get.

Ralph positioned himself on the opposite side of the coffee table, swirling the amber contents of his crystal tumbler, hunkering down his broad shoulders.

Jude showed them Lester Rogan’s will with the seal intact. He viewed their faces intently, then he broke open the long, thick envelope, beginning to read with suitable gravitas…

“This is the last will and testament of me, Lester Michael Rogan…”

Instantly he was interrupted by Myra’s stricken cry, one of many to be ripped from her throat. Was this for real? Jude agonised, wanting to shake his head in amazement. She had no reason to love her husband. Mel grabbed her mother’s hand and held it. It didn’t appear to be a gesture of comfort, more to shut her mother up.

“Would you mind keeping a lid on it, Ma. Is that too much to ask?” Ralph slewed another disgusted look at his mother. “Continue, Jude.”

Jude continued, managing from experience to keep his voice perfectly level despite the rippling shock he felt. “This will is to be held in terrorem,” he announced, looking up for a reaction.

“What the hell’s that? I haven’t a clue.” Ralph waved his glass, empty now except for a melting ice cube.

It means this will is going to be one big surprise, Jude thought without immediately responding. Any member of the family who contested Lester Rogan’s wishes could finish up with nothing. Ralph pre-set to take over his father’s real estate empire was visibly disturbed.

“Why don’t you let me read on,” Jude suggested. “I’ll explain all the legal jargon later.”

“Fine,” Ralph muttered through gritted teeth.

“This relates to disposition of property,” Jude advised them. “To my wife, Myra…” Not the usual beloved, that would have been too much to ask. This highly dysfunctional family knew little about love, Jude thought. It took five seconds for Myra to let out another agonized wail this one so sharp Jude winced. Both of her children however ignored her, continuing to stare fixedly at Jude. “To my wife, Myra,” Jude started off again, “I bequeath sole possession of the family home, land and all the contents therein plus the adjoining five acres. In addition she is to receive the sum of ten million dollars which should allow her to see out her days comfortably. In the unlikely event she remarry, the house and all land reverts to my son, Ralph. Myra can do what she likes with the contents.”

Ralph made a dramatic grasp at his heart. He had expected his mother was due for heaps more. Lester had to be worth around $85 to $100 million. Everyone knew he’d been shovelling money in! Wasn’t Myra legally entitled to a sizeable percentage of the estate? Ralph wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was she wouldn’t put up a fight. More for him. Like his dad, Ralph couldn’t seriously believe another man would lavish love on his mother.

Jude continued. “To my daughter, Melinda—” again no expression of affection, this was becoming a habit “—I bequeath an annual income of seventy-five thousand dollars to be paid from the trust established for this purpose. The payments will continue up until such time as she marries. On her wedding day she will receive as final payment five million dollars.” No gifts, no mementos, not even a pair of Lester’s favourite cuff links. What code had Lester stuck to?

Peanuts, Ralph was thinking, a triumphant laugh escaping him. “Mean old bastard.” That only meant one thing. He was the big winner. At long last after all these years of humiliation he was going to score big time. He’d have control of everything. As long as he lived he’d never have to take anything from another living soul. He was powerful. Rich. Ralph’s bloodshot eyes began to gleam. He could buy and sell Golden Boy Conroy.

“To my son, Ralph, named after a man he couldn’t in any way hold a candle to, I bequeath my collection of sporting trophies and motor cars, my motor yacht, Sea Eagle, my portrait by Dargy in the study and the sum of five million dollars in the hope he can do something with himself in the future.” Jude glanced up. The tension in the room was so thick he could have cut it with a knife.

“Go on, go on.” Ralph jumped to his feet as though he’d been attacked with an ice pick. “There’s more. There’s gotta be more. I’m the heir!”

“Of course there’s more, dear,” Myra consoled him, albeit fearfully, the pale skin of her face and neck mottled red.

“Of course there’s more,” Melinda chimed in, characteristically satisfied with her lot. “Please sit down again. Go on, Jude.”

Jude felt a certain tightness in his chest. He didn’t want to say this. “To Jude Kelsey Conroy, son of the only man I’ve ever trusted, Matthew John Conroy, a most honourable man, and in recognition of Jude’s devotion to his father and his own outstanding merits I bequeath the sum of one hundred thousand dollars knowing he will use it wisely. The residue of my estate, land, houses, rental properties, share portfolio I hereby bequeath to Catherine Elizabeth Costello, spinster, of the…”

Whatever else Jude, more dismayed than pleased with his windfall, was about to say, it was cut off by Ralph’s bull roar. It would have been pretty scary to a lot of people.

Jude wasn’t one of them. “Do you want to hear the rest of this, Ralph?” he asked crisply. “I should say I knew nothing of my bequest.”

“When your dad drew it up?” Ralph snarled with a curl of the lip. “I bloody well don’t want to hear any more of this.” He picked up his crystal tumbler and hurled it across the living room where it smashed to smithereens against a large bronze sculpture of a rodeo rider atop a bucking horse. Rage, shock, contempt was written across his face.

“Did the old fool go mad?” he demanded of them all, though no one came up with an answer. “Catherine Elizabeth Costello. Who is she? Some fancy whore he had on the side? What hold did she have on him? I can’t believe this. It’s like my worst nightmare. Who is this woman? The woman he wanted to marry? Not Ma?”

Jude was struggling hard to master his own shock. Now he knew for certainty that Cate Costello and trouble went together. He stared at each member of the family in turn. “Do none of you know her?”

Myra shook her head vigorously. At least she seemed to have snapped out of her catatonic state.

“I know of her,” Melinda admitted, staring at Jude. She looked the very picture of bewilderment, which seemed to be her general condition. “She runs a gallery, the Crystal Cave, near the beach.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Ralph bellowed, reaching down for his father’s will with the obvious intention of tearing it to bits.

Jude swiftly removed it from harm’s way, while Ralph glared at him. “You knew about this?” he demanded.

Jude shook his head ready to give Ralph a good shove if he decided to get nasty. Not that he altogether blamed him. Who was Catherine Elizabeth Costello and what had she been to Lester Rogan? “You saw me break the seal. I’m as shocked as you are.” For various reasons he didn’t announce to the family he had already met Rogan’s heiress. One of them was to protect her, another was to avoid getting into a fistfight with Ralph. Ralph in this mood was as destructive as a boxer with a sore head.

“She’s young,” Melinda frowned hard in concentration, gripping her mother’s hand as if it might assist her recollections. “Younger than I am. She’s beautiful. She has the most wonderful hair. The colour’s sort of indescribable, red-gold. I’ve seen her in the town any number of times but we’ve never actually met.”

“She moved here,” Ralph growled, banging his muscular arms together. “I remember now. The chick at Mandel’s old place. I’ve had her description from quite a few of the guys. To think I meant to check her out when I had the time! Dad saw I had as little spare time as possible. I don’t get this? What would a good-looking young chick have to do with my big ugly geriatric dad?”

Myra whistled indignation through her nostrils. “No one could have called your father old or ugly,” she burst out, in her loyal, long-suffering wife mode. “He wasn’t even sixty. Sixty these days is young I might remind you. Your father was handsome as you’re handsome but you’d better lose some weight. And very soon. I’m amazed you can still get into your clothes. For Heaven’s sake, Jude,” She turned her attention away from her near apoplexic son. “You have to advise us. This has taken us all by shock. You’re telling me Lester has left the bulk of his estate to a young woman none of us knows?”

“That’s it, Mrs Rogan.” Jude threw up his hands. “I don’t understand what’s happened here. I confidently expected the estate to be divided between the family. I have no idea why your husband did what he did, but as the appointed executor of your late husband’s estate, I promise you I’ll find out. I have my responsibilities.”

“You bet you do!” Ralph dredged up a lifetime of jealousy and irritation. He was breathing hard through his large, straight nose, making a surprisingly loud whistling noise. “I always knew my dad was a mean bastard. I never figured he was a lunatic as well. He’s shafted me. He’s shafted the whole family. Even when he’s dead he’s punishing us.” The destruction of his hopes and dreams was written all over Ralph’s face. “He won’t get away with it. The money is rightfully mine.”

“Ours,” Melinda piped up to keep the record straight. “Mum’s.”

“What the hell would you two know to do with it?” Ralph glared at his sister, standing up to get himself another drink. “You and Ma know nothing about business. You’ve spent your life on your backsides. He mightn’t have loved you but you had everything else you wanted. You never even had the guts, Mel, to find yourself a job. How many chicks your age haven’t actually had a job? Anyone would think you couldn’t read or write.”

“You can stop that now, Ralph,” Myra admonished in an astonishingly severe voice. “I needed Mel at home.”

“So both of you could watch the flowers grow?” Ralph threw back his head and laughed. “Ah hell!” He reached out in extreme frustration sending a pile of glossy magazines flying. “You’re the big shot lawyer, Conroy, what’s your advice?”

“Nice of you to ask me, Ralph. The will would only be invalid if your father had been of unsound mind when he made it,” Jude pointed out in a deceptively calm voice. “As far as I know there wouldn’t be a soul around who could prove he was. Your mother has rights by law, family home, etc. In that regard, she’s been provided for. You and Mel don’t actually have rights as such, Ralph. Your father was free to do as he liked with his money. You and Mel have been provided for. In terrorem means in layman’s language if any of you contest the will you’ll get nothing.”

Ralph executed a full turn, swearing violently. He slammed his fist down on the mahogany coffee table, the steam of anger rising off him. “What if the old devil was insane? What if this girl had him wound around her little finger? What if she bamboozled him into making the will in her favour? I wish I knew where she came from.”

That makes two of us Jude thought. “You could contest the will on that basis, Ralph,” he offered a legal opinion, actually feeling sorry for the guy. “Work the duress angle. But I’m duty-bound to tell you legal proceedings could risk your inheritance. What’s more, your mother has first claim on the estate. If you wanted to fight it your mother has to initiate the action. She could lose. That would be a terrible result. What I have to do is meet with this young woman and establish the connection.”

“Even your dad, that honourable man, betrayed us.” Ralph looked across at Jude with open hostility.

Jude’s whole body tensed. “Don’t bring my father into this, Ralph. You’d better know right now I won’t stand for it. My father carried out your father’s wishes.”

“Shame on you, Ralph.” Melinda’s soft voice turned shrill with rebuke. “You know the respect Dad had for Mr Conroy. Dad was always interested in Jude, too. Dad put a lot of store in brains.”

“You were behind the door when they were handed out,” Ralph taunted his sister. He turned his glance back on Jude. “I bet your dad told you all about it.”

“I’ve got a couple of things to say, Ralph.” Jude, who’d had just about enough of Ralph even given the years in-between, looked at him out of steely eyes. “Mel was actually considered a good student, remember? She got good grades.” He never added “unlike you” but it hung in the air. “My father said nothing whatever to me.” Jude stood up, quietly returning the time bomb of a will to his briefcase before snapping it shut. “It’s called lawyer-client privilege. My father was absolutely clear about his role. I’m very sorry, believe me, your father’s will wasn’t what you all wanted, and confidently expected. As your father’s executor I have to pay Ms Costello a visit.”

“Just be sure you report back to us straight away,” Ralph threw up his big head belligerently.

“I’m not your lawyer, Ralph,” Jude pointed out. “I act as executor for your late father’s estate.” He turned to Myra, his hand out, a sympathetic smile in his eyes. “As a family friend, Mrs Rogan, if you do wish to retain me I’ll do everything in my power to help you.”

Myra stood up, still holding his hand. “Thank you so much, Jude. We do need your help. My boy needs help. I can’t take all this in. Everything has been such a shock.”

“I can appreciate that, Mrs Rogan.” And how!

“I’ll walk you to the door, Jude,” Melinda offered catching hold of Jude’s arm. “I’m so glad you’re here for us. I guess we’ll find out soon enough what this Catherine Costello was to Dad.”

What indeed! Jude felt all kinds of horrors creep along his skin. He and Cate Costello were strangers though they had spoken briefly. Nevertheless he wasn’t sure he could deal with the possibility she might have been Lester Rogan’s mistress. It wasn’t as though such things didn’t happen. Rich powerful men, even geriatrics as Ralph had suggested, didn’t have much of a problem picking up female trophies. But how could a young woman so beautiful and seemingly so refined as Cate Costello be part of anything so totally ugly? The very idea didn’t so much disgust as numb him. Life was so complicated. He doubted he would ever reach a period in life when it wasn’t.