A Secret Vengeance Read online

  Luke had loved those weekends, but not because of the fishing. It was his dad's company and attention he'd loved. In all honesty, Luke found fishing about as fascinating as watching grass grow.

  Luke's discovering basketball in a big way around twelve had finally forced him to confess that he didn't want to go away fishing any more. He'd wanted to spend his weekends at the local youth club, practising his basketball skills and competing in tournaments.

  His dad had been very understanding, as he'd always been understanding. He'd been a great dad. And a great husband too.

  Of course, his mum had been a wonderful wife as well, one of the old-fashioned kind who hadn't worked, and had devoted herself entirely to her husband and son, a woman who'd taken pride in keeping her home spotless and doing all the cooking and cleaning herself, even though they could well have afforded paid help.

  Yet she hadn't been the strongest of women, health-wise, suffering from terrible migraines. Luke could remember as a boy having to be extra quiet around the house when she was having one of her attacks. His father would often come home from work to sit with his wife in her darkened bedroom.

  Such a devoted couple.

  And now they were both dead, victims of some stoned individual in a four-wheel drive who'd crossed over to the wrong side of the road and had collected his dad's car, head on.

  Come tomorrow, the accident would have happened two weeks ago. It had been on a Saturday night, just this side of midnight. It had happened on the Mona Vale road. They'd been returning from a dinner party at Narrabeen.

  They'd only been in their mid-fifties. Hardly old. Talk about life being unfair.

  Luke shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. What had Harvey been asking him? Oh, yes...about the weekender at Pretty Point.

  "I guess Dad didn't get round to selling the old place after all," he said. "He could be sentimental at times. So what did he want to do with it?"

  "He wanted to gift it over to a lady friend of his."

  Luke was taken aback. "Who?" he demanded to know.

  "A Ms Jessica Gilbert."

  Luke frowned. Who on earth was Ms Jessica Gilbert?

  "I don't recognise the name," he ground out, trying not to think the impossible, but thinking it all the same.

  "Don't jump to conclusions, Luke," Harvey advised. "You and I both know your father wasn't that kind of man."

  Luke certainly hadn't thought so. Till now. He'd hero-worshipped his father, and had always wanted to be just like him, in every way.

  "Did Dad tell you anything about this Ms Gilbert?" he asked, his gut tightening.

  "Not all that much. He said she was a lovely lady, to whom life hadn't been very kind, and whom he wanted to help. Apparently, she doesn't own a home of her own and he'd been letting her live in the place at Pretty Point for the last few years, rent free. He thought it best if he gifted the property over to her and then she'd have a secure roof over her head for life."

  Luke's inner tension began to ease. His father was well-known for his charitable gestures. But, for a moment there...

  "Your father was worried that if he died suddenly and the present rent-free arrangement came to light, your mother might do exactly what you just did: jump to all the wrong conclusions."

  "I feel terrible for thinking the worst," Luke confessed, "even for a moment."

  "Don't be too hard on yourself. I had a few doubts myself when Lionel first told me, especially when he asked me to be very discreet and not mention it to a soul. But I only had to think of how totally devoted he was to your mother to know I couldn't be more wrong. So, shall I go ahead then," Harvey asked, "and gift the property over to this Ms Gilbert?"

  "Yes, yes, draw up the necessary papers and I'll come back and sign them when they're ready."

  "I thought you'd say that. Your father would be proud of you, Luke. After all, waterfront properties of that size on Lake Macquarie, regardless of how remote, are worth a bundle these days."

  "I'm only doing what Dad wanted. And it's not as though I haven't inherited enough property." As well as the family home in St Ives, Luke now owned several investment units all over Sydney, some right in the CBD. It seemed every time his father had designed a large block of units, part of his fee had been to keep one of them.

  "I must go, Harvey," Luke said. "I'm meeting Isabel downstairs at one."

  "Ah. The lovely Isabel. What a glorious bride she's going to make. It's such a tragedy to have this dreadful thing happen so close to your marriage."

  "Yes. I was going to postpone the ceremony, but things are a bit too far along for that. Isabel's parents have already spent a small fortune, and they're not wealthy people."

  "Your own parents wouldn't have wanted you to postpone a single thing, Luke. Your father was especially delighted you were settling down to family life here in Australia. He missed you a lot when you went overseas to work. He was worried you might marry some foreign girl and never come back."

  "He should have known I would never do that," Luke said swiftly, and stood up. "I'll see you and your wife at the wedding, then?"

  Harvey stood up as well. "Looking forward to it."

  Both men shook hands across the desk and Luke left, grateful to have at least temporarily finished with the legal and practical problems that had followed his parents' deaths. There'd been so much to do, so many arrangements, so many decisions to be made. Too many, really.

  But being an only child, there'd been no one else. The buck stopped with him.

  He hoped he'd done everything well, and properly. He hoped his father was proud of him.

  Luke's mind returned to Ms Jessica Gilbert on the ride down in the lift and he wondered who she was and how his father had come to know her. Had she been an ex-employee? A loyal secretary who'd worked for him during his early days as a struggling architect? Maybe the cleaning lady who'd looked after the place at Pretty Point all those years ago? Luke recalled some local woman had come in to clean up after them.

  Or was she some poor unfortunate whose hard-luck story had come to his dad's attention through one of the various charities he'd given money to? Some elderly spinster who'd never had much, and never would.

  Luke thought this last scenario a likely one. His father liked to help little old ladies.

  Even so, it was only a guess. He wished Harvey had known more. It was irritating, not knowing the full circumstances behind such a substantial bequest. The weekender at Pretty Point, though small and a bit ramshackle, was sitting on a parcel of valuable land.

  Maybe, when the time came, he'd take the gifted deed up to the woman personally. That way his curiosity would be well and truly satisfied, and this tiny but nagging doubt that his father might not have been so perfect after all would be safely banished.

  Luke still hadn't made up his mind on the issue when the lift doors opened and there, straight ahead, stood Isabel, looking classy and coolly beautiful, as usual. She was wearing a simple black dress and her long blonde hair was sleekly up, showing off her elegant neck, and the diamond earrings he'd given her recently for her birthday.

  She smiled at him, one of those serene smiles that had a soothing effect on Luke, no matter how stressed out he was. He smiled back as he walked towards her, thinking how lucky he was to have found a woman like Isabel to marry. Not only beautiful, but so sensible and level-headed.

  He never had to put up with jealous scenes or possessive demands with her as he had with previous girlfriends. On top of that, Isabel could cook like a cordon bleu chef and actually considered being a wife and mother a career in itself. Just like his mum.

  She'd already quit her job as receptionist at the large architectural firm Luke was currently contracted to and where they'd met at last year's Christmas party. She had no plans to go back to work after their marriage. They were going to start trying for a baby straight away.

  Of course, Isabel was thirty, with a whole lifetime of experiences behind her, so she was ripe and ready for settling down, as Luke was himself at thirty-two. Like him, she'd travelled extensively, and admitted to several lovers, something that didn't bother Luke one little bit. He liked the fact Isabel was experienced in bed. He liked it that she wasn't insecure with him. He especially liked the fact she wanted the same things he wanted: a marriage that would last, and a family of at least two children.

  Okay, so he wasn't in love with her, and vice versa. But dam it all, he'd fallen in love a few times in the past, and he hadn't really liked the feel of it. It wasn't stable for starters. And it never lasted. By the time Luke had decided it was time to settle down, he'd concluded romantic love was not a sound basis for marriage. Isabel had reached the same conclusion after a few disastrous love affairs of her own.

  Which meant they were perfectly in tune with each other. They had the same goals, and they never ever argued, which was something Luke valued very highly.

  Arguments and disagreements always upset him. Quite a lot. He wanted none of that in his marriage. He wanted peace, and harmony. He wanted what his father had had with his mother.

  "All finished?" Isabel asked, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek.

  "For the time being," he returned, his thoughts sliding once again back to the mysterious Ms Gilbert. Frustrating, really. Why couldn't he forget about her? He opened his mouth to tell Isabel about the woman, then he closed it again. Why, he wasn't sure. Perhaps because he didn't want to see that awful doubt about his father in her eyes as well.

  Ms Gilbert was just a charity case, Luke reassured himself, some poor little old lady who didn't have the wherewithal to help herself. To think anything else was untenable.

  But the more Luke tried to picture Ms Jessica Gilbert as some poor little old lady, the less he was convinced. His father wouldn't have been worried about his mother jumping to the wrong conclusions if the woman was elderly. He would only have worried about jealousy if the woman was young. And attractive.

  "Is there something wrong, Luke?"

  "Would you mind very much if I took a rain check on lunch, plus the ring-buying expedition?" he said on the spur of the moment. "There's something I simply must do which can't wait"

  "What, for heaven's sake?" She wasn't angry, just puzzled.

  "I need to drive up to Lake Macquarie."

  Isabel blinked her surprise. "Lake Macquarie! But why?"

  Why, indeed?

  "There's a property up there, an old fishing cabin where Dad used to take me when I was a boy. I haven't been there for years. I just found out that he didn't sell it like I thought he had. I know it sounds crazy but I have this compulsion to see it again."

  "And you have to go see it this very day, this very afternoon?"

  "Yes."

  He expected her to ask more questions but she just smiled a wry smile. "You're a lot more sentimental than you think you are, Luke Freeman. Look, why don't you drive up there and stay the weekend? Have a rest. It'll do you the world of good. These last two weeks must have been dreadful for you."

  Yes, he could stay the night at least, if he wanted to.

  He knew where his father had always hidden the key and he doubted that would have changed.

  "You wouldn't mind?" he said.

  Isabel shrugged. "Why should I mind? In just over two weeks' time, I'll have you for the rest of my life. I think I can spare you for a couple of days' R and R. But, Luke, I don't want to put off buying the rings. They might need to be resized. Would you trust me to choose them without you?"

  Luke couldn't think of any other female he'd ever known who was so blessedly lacking in being a drama queen about things. "You are one incredible woman, do you know that? Here. Take this credit card and put the rings on that. And put lunch on it too.''

  "If you insist," she said, smiling saucily as she whipped the card out of his fingers.

  "I insist," he said, and smiled warmly back at her.

  Another thing about Isabel that Luke appreciated was the fact she didn't pretend she didn't like money. She did. Even before the tragedy, which had turned him into a multimillionaire overnight, Isabel had openly appreciated the fact that he was earning a high six-figure salary, owned a town house in Turramurra, drove a recent-model BMW, and could afford to take her to Dream Island on their honeymoon.

  Now, of course, he could afford a whole lot more.

  "I'll call you later," he promised.

  "You'd better."

  "And you're right I might stay up there for a day or two." Depending on what he found once he got there, of course.

  "I've already told you to."

  "I'll miss you," he said, and kissed her on the cheek.

  "You call that a kiss?"

  He laughed, then kissed her on the mouth. Her tongue touched his and Luke momentarily regretted not making love with Isabel the night before. But, at the time, he hadn't wanted to. He hadn't wanted sex in any way, shape or form since the funerals.

  "Mmm." His lips lifted and he smiled wryly down at her. "I might come back tonight after all."

  "Waste of time, handsome. I'm taking Rachel out to dinner and the theatre tonight, remember? I can't put it off. I've already arranged everything."

  "I wouldn't want you to put it off," he told her. Rachel was an old school friend of Isabel's from her boarding school days. She'd once been a top secretary at the Australian Broadcasting Corporation, but she hadn't worked for some years. Nowadays, she spent twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, looking after, her foster mother who had Alzheimer's.

  Luke could well imagine how much Rachel looked forward to the one night a month off Isabel organised for her. He'd met her once briefly, and had thought how tired and old she'd looked. Yet she was only a year older than Isabel.

  "It'll keep, won't it?" Isabel added.

  "Sure." Luke shrugged, the need already fading. They'd never gone through one of those lust-driven stages where they'd just had to have each other, regardless of where they were, or what was going on around them. They'd become friends before they'd become lovers. Some engaged couples Luke knew couldn't keep their hands off each other, even in public. He and Isabel were never like that.

  Which perhaps explained why his father had taken Luke aside at his engagement party and had questioned him on whether he was completely happy with Isabel in bed. Luke had been taken aback at the time by his father's grilling over their sex life, but he had assured him that everything was fine in the bedroom department.

  Thinking of this instance, however, suddenly made Luke wonder if his father had been totally happy with his sex life. To all intents and purposes, Luke's parents had seemed happy with each other. They were openly affectionate with each other. Always holding hands and hugging. But who knew what happened behind closed doors?

  Luke imagined that a man dissatisfied with his sex life might be tempted to stray...

  "I think you'd better get going, Luke," Isabel said drily. "You've drifted off somewhere again."

  "Sorry."

  "You were thinking of your father, weren't you?"

  Luke stared at her.

  "You don't have to look at me like that. I know what he meant to you. And I know how much you'll miss him. Much more than your mother. Oh, I know you loved your mother too. How could you not? She was the nicest, sweetest lady. But your father was more to you than a parent. He was your best friend. And your hero. So go and talk to him for a while up at that old place on Lake Macquarie. He'll be there, I'm sure. And he'll listen to you, as he always did."

  Luke now wished he'd told Isabel the complete truth about Pretty Point. He hadn't realised she had such sensitivity. She always seemed so pragmatic about things.

  But it was too late now. She'd wonder why he hadn't been honest with her right from the start. And their relationship might suffer.

  But it was a valuable lesson learned. He vowed to always tell his fiancée the truth in future, no matter what.

  CHAPTER TWO

  WHEN the idea to go to Pretty Point for the weekend first popped into Celia's head, she'd immediately rejected it. But the more she'd thought about it, the more she'd realised that Lionel's love nest was the perfect getaway.

  And, brother, did she need to get away.

  The last two weeks had left her totally and utterly drained. She'd spent every evening and all the previous weekend over at Aunt Helen's, either sitting with her almost catatonic mother, or arguing with her aunt over what should be done about her.

  Celia wanted her mother to see a psychiatrist, and to get onto some medication for depression, but her sister disagreed.

  "Jessica isn't crazy," Helen had stated firmly last night. "Just broken-hearted. All she needs is time, and some tender loving care and she'll come good. You'll be the one needing medication shortly if you keep worrying about her the way you are. Now, I don't want to see hide nor hair of you this weekend, Celia. Go out with your friends. Or better still, go away somewhere. Anywhere."

  Celia lent back in the deck chair with a sigh and thought anywhere had never looked so good. What was it about a water view that relaxed nerves and soothed even the weariest soul?

  She had to give to Lionel. He'd built his love nest on one superb spot.

  He'd also had great taste in wine.

  Celia took another sip of the excellent Chablis she'd found chilling in the fridge door and thought how lucky it was that her last appointment had cancelled that afternoon. She always tried to finish up early on a Friday but it was a real stroke of luck to finish at lunch-time. By two o'clock, she'd been packed and on her way to Pretty Point, with only a small detour necessary for some groceries.

  And now here she was, mid-afternoon, with a lovely glass of wine in her hands, a million-dollar view to enjoy, and two days of blissful peace and solitude to look forward.

  Celia kept on sipping the wine and gradually, the tension melted out of her knotted neck and shoulder muscles till she was leaning back, feeling deliciously mellow. Alcohol, she decided, was proving much more relaxing than all the head rotating exercises she'd been trying on herself every night this week. And infinitely more relaxing than Joanne's solution.