But Peta had moved on. To the next important thing. ‘Will you come to Hattie’s funeral tomorrow?’ she whispered.
‘Funerals aren’t my scene.’
‘Hattie was your mother.’
‘Yeah.’ Another sneer. ‘And she’s dead. I’m over it, just like you should be. And, as soon as the funeral’s over, the farm’s on the market. It’d be on the market today if it wasn’t for that clause.’
‘Clause?’ Marcus queried.
This was the sort of negotiation he was good at. He’d learned from long practice that it was better not to jump in early-to simply sit back, listen and absorb. Focus on essentials. And probe everything.
Charles flashed him an annoyed glance. ‘My mother put a stupid codicil in her will. I left before the lawyer finished, and she did it…’
‘Tell me about it,’ Marcus said gently and Charles glowered.
‘It’s none of your business.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘If I’m married then I inherit,’ Peta said, obviously distressed. ‘It makes no sense. Just before Hattie left to come here, I went out with one of the local farmers. Twice. It was enough to make Hattie think about me getting married. As if I could. But she thought… Well, she worried about me, my Auntie Hattie. She thought I’d spend my life caring for the family and not myself. So she must have thought she’d push. By putting in a stupid clause at the end. If I’m married then I’ll inherit. But it’s not an option.’
‘What-never?’
‘In a week?’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Hattie… Well, she was terminally ill. She was a bit muddled, even before she left Australia. That was probably how Charles persuaded her to come. She’d have worried about me, but she was here in New York, alone, and Charles would have pushed her hard to leave him the farm. So she wrote a will leaving everything to Charles, but apparently, after Charles left her alone with the lawyer, she added a codicil. The codicil says if I’m married within a week of her dying then the farm reverts to me. But… A week? Maybe she meant a year. Maybe… Well, who knows what she meant, but she said a week. That’s by Wednesday.’ She turned to her cousin again, her eyes dulled with the knowledge of what he would say. She already knew.
‘Charles, please.’
‘Just leave. You’re wasting my time.’ Charles rose, smoothed his already too smooth waistcoat and walked around to the door. He was really overweight, Marcus noticed. Short. Pompous. A slime-ball. It was as much as he could do not to flinch as the little man stalked past him to open the door.
‘I’m sorry she’s wasted your time, Mr Benson,’ Charles told him. ‘I’m sorry she’s wasted mine. Go back to the farm, Peta, where you belong. Enjoy it for the last few weeks before it’s sold. But get used to it. It’s on the market the moment the week is up.’
‘I’m sorry I wasted your time.’
They’d been silent as they rode the lift to ground level. They emerged on to the street to brilliant sunshine and Peta blinked as if she couldn’t believe sun could exist in a place such as this.
‘I assume the farm is worth a lot,’ Marcus said mildly, and she blinked again.
‘What? Oh, yes. You heard what he said. It is.’
‘So you’ll be well off?’
‘Split…no. I won’t be well off.’
‘Do you have any professional training?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Do you have a career?’
‘Yes. I’m a farmer.’
A farmer. He might have known. Of course. ‘Can you get a job somewhere? Farming?’
‘Are you kidding? With four kids? Who’s going to take me on?’
‘Four kids?’ he said cautiously, and she shrugged as if it was none of his business. As indeed it wasn’t.
Or it shouldn’t be.
‘Look, I said I’m sorry.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Okay. Enough. You’ve been really nice to me. Much nicer than I possibly could have hoped for. I’ve come over here and I’ve been with Hattie while she died. Thanks to you, I’ve seen Charles and I’ve asked him what I had to ask. I knew it was hopeless but I had to try. For the boys. Now I’m planning to bury my Auntie Hattie with all the love that I can, and then I’ll get on an aeroplane and return to Australia. There’s an end to it.’
‘You have four kids?’ He was stuck in a groove, he thought, but had to know. How old was she? Twenty-five? Twenty-six?
Four kids.
His eyes moved involuntarily to her waistline and he thought, no. No way.
She saw his gaze shift. ‘What are you staring at?’
‘Your figure,’ he admitted with a rueful smile. ‘You’ve held up pretty well for four kids.’
Her eyes widened. She looked stunned. And then her face, which had looked strained to the point of breaking, suddenly creased into laughter. A gorgeous chuckle rang out, making others on the pavement turn and stare.
She had the loveliest smile. The loveliest laugh.
‘You’re thinking I’m a single mum with four kids?’
‘Well…’
‘They’re my brothers,’ she told him. ‘Daniel, Christopher, William and Harry. Twenty, eighteen, fifteen and twelve in that order. All students. The farm supports them all.’ She caught herself. ‘Or, I guess, I support them all. They help. They’re great kids but it’s mostly over to me. Until now. Now I guess the capital will pay for their education but heaven knows where we’ll live. The university vacations are four months long. That’s when we’re a family. And Harry loves the farm so much. It’ll break his heart if we have to leave.’
Silence. Marcus stared at her in disbelief.
Four brothers? She was supporting four brothers?
Good grief! So great a load on such slim shoulders. He winced and she managed a smile. Her laughter had gone again. The burden was back in place.
‘I’ve said it before. It’s my problem. Not yours.’
‘You could always marry.’ His voice was still faint with shock and she gave a rueful smile.
‘By Wednesday? I don’t think so. It was a crazy codicil made by a confused old woman who would have been desperate to make things right for everyone. Which was always going to be impossible.’ She took his hand in hers and shook-a warm, firm handshake that was a shake of dismissal. ‘Thank you very much for helping me, Mr Benson. You’ve done more than enough and I’m really grateful. Goodbye.’
And that was that. She turned and manoeuvred her crutches away from him, limping down the pavement, which was crowded with late afternoon shoppers.
She stood out, he thought, and it wasn’t just her crutches. In truth, it wasn’t her crutches at all. It was her flame hair. Her figure. The lovely curve of her slender neck. And her strength. The way she braced her shoulders, as if expecting to be struck.
It was so like David and Goliath, he thought again, but she had no slingshot. She had no weapon of any kind.
He stood and watched her go. He’d been dismissed. She was asking nothing of him.
She was on her own.
He couldn’t bear it. He didn’t have a clue what he was doing-what he was saying-but he knew only that he had to do it.
‘Peta, stop,’ he called, and she paused and half turned towards him.
‘Yes?’ She had the air of someone who’d already moved on. She looked slight and pale and somehow almost ethereal. As if any moment she’d vanish.
She could, he realised. He had this one moment to prevent it or she’d be gone and he need never see her again.
Which was what he wanted-wasn’t it? He didn’t get involved. He never got involved. He’d made a vow a long time ago and he’d never been tempted to break that vow.
