Hidden Legacy. Margaret Way
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dying old man in Sydney who needs a few answers before he goes. When you’ve had time to process all this information you claim you don’t know, you may feel inclined to help.”
She shook her head grimly. “Not at this point.” Not ever!
They had reached the entrance hall before he spoke again. “Elizabeth told me you worked pro bono for a women’s refuge. That makes you a compassionate person. Unless Elizabeth was totally paranoid about her past, in all probability she kept letters and papers that would confirm the truth. She wouldn’t have had time to arrange a bonfire. She didn’t know she was going to die, after all.”
Would the grieving ever pass? “And what if these mystery documents open up a Pandora’s box? Have you thought of that?” Her lips were trembling. “Families stand to get desperately hurt. What good is the truth when there could be a huge scandal? I don’t think the Langfords would thank you.”
He took a deep breath, keeping his hands rigidly by his side. “Some things demand clarification,” he said. “Julian only wants to know if Elizabeth’s child is his, a child she led him to believe died soon after birth. If this person is shown to be his daughter, she’s going to inherit a great deal of money.”
She looked at him with scorn. “And how should she take that, like a rain of diamonds out of the sky? What’s Julian after, exactly? Does he want to set the record straight once and for all? Does he want revenge? And more to the point, what do you get out of this?” she challenged. “You, the favorite great-nephew? Won’t you come out of it second-best? Wouldn’t it benefit you to simply go away? Concoct some story for your dear Uncle Julian? What if this mystery daughter would rather not know? After all, she must’ve been put up for adoption. Zizi didn’t keep her. This daughter, if she exists, has lived her life thinking she was one person, now your uncle wants to tell her she’s someone completely different? Can’t you see that this could turn out to be a total mess? The safest course might be to keep quiet.” She felt tears well in her eyes again.
“I’m sorry, Alyssa.” He moved quickly to the front door, in case he did something crazy, like sweep her into his arms. He had never in his life felt such desire for a woman. “Life isn’t simple,” he mused. “If you were adopted, wouldn’t you want to find out who your biological parents were?”
“I’m actually familiar with two cases when the people involved were devastated to discover that the parents who’d reared them weren’t their biological parents at all. Both took the truth very, very badly. Better to live in your comfort zone than know the brutal truth.”
“I would need to know,” he said somberly.
She was terribly afraid she would, as well. “Coming here was a bad idea of yours.”
“Elizabeth didn’t think so.”
“Only she isn’t around to back that up.” She frowned at him with accusing eyes.
He smiled. “Why not try finding whatever documents Elizabeth might have put away? Apart from that, she had many paintings stored here. Maybe there are some portraits. Who knows? I’m sure you haven’t seen them all.”
“Perhaps not.” She had never felt free to delve into Zizi’s large body of work. Zizi had showed her only what she meant to show her, she now realized.
“Will you tell me if you find anything?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t want to see you again.”
“Why don’t you look at me while you say that?”
It wasn’t a challenge. It was more an overt acknowledgment of their mutual attraction.
Betraying color came into her face. “I can’t make any promises.”
“I rely on your integrity, Alyssa.”
She nodded curtly. “Wait here. I’ll get the money I owe you.” She walked toward the staircase, desperate for him to leave, yet knowing if she never saw him again she’d always remember him.
“Do you feel safe here?” he asked abruptly.
In the act of mounting the staircase, she turned to look at him, one hand resting on the banister. He had taken up a position in the entrance hall beneath her, his aquamarine gaze keen as a laser. It seemed to go deep inside her; much deeper than she dared to go. “I’ve been coming here all my life,” she said in a deliberately offhand tone. “I’m rooted to the place. Besides, I’m not afraid of things that go bump in the night. No old house is without its resident ghost.”
He nodded, a vertical line between his brows. “Who, I haven’t the slightest doubt, is Richard Langford.”
Alyssa felt her throat dry up. She’d always accepted that, but now wondered if the original Captain Richard Langford who’d built the house was the only one who haunted it. Perhaps the more recent Richard Langford, the famous yachtsman, had joined his ancestor. “Did your uncle hate him?” she asked.
He continued to stare up at her. “Deep in his heart he did. He was madly in love with Elizabeth. Forget all the years in between. Talking to him now, the years were as nothing. He might have been talking about yesterday. She was the love of his life.” He shook his head. “I find it almost too much to grasp, but maybe there is such a thing as everlasting love. Julian blamed Langford for everything that went wrong in three lives. He even blamed Langford for his own death.”
She couldn’t have been more unnerved. “But…that makes no sense at all.”
“Langford was a married man with two small children,” he said tonelessly.
Something like shame burned in her cheeks. “Zizi would never have had an affair with a married man,” she protested, affronted by the very idea.
“Blame it on passion.”
Passion in the past. Passion in the present? Alyssa had a presentiment that life-changing emotion was waiting for her.
With a shiver she continued up the stairs. Richard Langford had been Zizi’s lover and possibly the father of her child? A married man, an adulterer? And Zizi had never told a soul? Had she been too ashamed? Zizi had supposedly let her child go, not knowing how that child grew up, if she was all right, no doubt praying she had love and security and all the things a child needed to be happy.
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