A Night, A Secret...A Child Read online

  I’m sure that if you come and be our judge we would make a lot of money. If you can come, you could stay at our house as we have a spare bedroom. Below is my email address if you think you can make it. I hope you can. Please let me know soon, as the concert is only three weeks away.

  Yours sincerely

  Felicity Harmon.

  PS. I used a pink envelope because I thought it might stand out and have a better chance of finding you.

  PPS. If it does, please come!

  Please come! That was a laugh. Wild horses couldn’t keep him away.

  If Greg Harmon had still been alive, Nicolas would not even have dreamt of going back to Rocky Creek. He would politely have declined Felicity’s undeniably touching plea, then have posted her a large, disappointment-saving cheque.

  But the carrot had been waved, hadn’t it? Serina was now a widow. How could he not return?

  She’d always been his Achilles’ heel. Always driven him crazy. One day, she’d probably be the death of him.

  It was a prophetic thought…

  CHAPTER TWO

  SERINA stared with disbelieving eyes at her daughter. Felicity’s bald announcement over breakfast that she’d secured Nicolas Dupre as the judge of her school’s fund-raising talent quest had rendered her temporarily speechless.

  ‘But how did you know where to contact him?’ she finally managed to blurt out.

  Felicity’s impossibly smug expression reminded Serina quite fiercely of her father. Her biological father, that was, not the man who’d raised her.

  ‘I didn’t,’ Felicity replied. ‘I wrote him a letter and addressed it care of Broadway, New York. And he got it!’

  Serina scooped in a deep breath whilst she prayed for calm.

  ‘And?’

  ‘I gave him my email address and he sent me a reply last night.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me all this last night?’

  ‘His email didn’t come till after you’d gone to bed.’

  ‘Felicity! You know I don’t like you being on the Internet after I go to bed.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. Sorry,’ she apologised without a trace of guilt in her voice.

  Serina glared at her daughter. Felicity was a wilful child and far too intelligent for her own good. On top of that she was a brilliant pianist. Mrs Johnson often said she was the most talented musician she’d taught since…

  Serina swallowed. This couldn’t be happening to her!

  ‘Felicity, I…’

  ‘Mum, please don’t be mad at me,’ Felicity broke in. ‘I had to do something or no one would’ve come to our talent quest except for the parents. This way lots of other people will come. We might even make enough money to buy one of those brand-new fire trucks. One which has sprinklers on top like Dad always wanted. I’m doing this for Dad, Mum. He can’t do it from heaven, can he?’

  What could Serina say to that? Nothing, really. Felicity had adored Greg, had been devastated by his death. She’d been the apple of Greg’s eye and he’d never known the truth about his daughter’s parentage. Serina had managed to keep her guilty secret from everyone, even Nicolas himself, who’d broached the subject of his possible paternity when he’d returned briefly to Rocky Creek a decade ago to attend his mother’s funeral.

  Fate—and genetics—had helped her with her deception and denials. First, she’d carried her baby for ten months, something that happened occasionally on the maternal side of her family. Her great aunt had had a couple of ten-month pregnancies. On top of that, her daughter had been born with dark hair and eyes, the same as herself and Greg, not with Nicolas’s fair colouring. Also, Felicity had been little more than a baby at the time of Mrs Dupre’s death, so she hadn’t started taking piano lessons. There was no evidence of her then having taken after Nicolas, nothing at all to make him suspicious. Even now, everyone in Rocky Creek thought Felicity had inherited her musical talent from her. Given that her relationship with Nicolas had broken up years before, this was only logical. Who would imagine that the very respectable Serina Harmon would have gone to Sydney and made mad passionate love with her ex-boyfriend a mere month before her wedding? It was unthinkable!

  But then, Nicolas had always made her to do the unthinkable.

  She would have done anything for him at one stage. Anything except abandon her family when they’d most needed her.

  How could she have gone to England with him after her father’s stroke? It had been impossible. Nicolas had been stunned when she’d refused, then furious. He’d claimed she didn’t love him enough.

  But she had. Too much. In a way, the power of her love for Nicolas had terrified the life out of her. She wasn’t herself when she was with him. She became his slave, a nothing person with no will of her own. He only had to take her in his arms and she was reduced to being a robot, incapable of saying no to him.

  Knowing this, she’d made her initial stand against him over the phone. Nicolas had just won a concerto competition in Sydney and the prize would take him to England to study and perform. He’d rung her immediately and insisted she accompany him, though there’d not been an offer of marriage, she’d noted. She’d be his travelling companion as well as his personal assistant—and, most of all, his extremely accommodating love slave.

  ‘I can’t go with you, Nicolas,’ she’d choked out even as the tears had run down her cheeks. ‘Not now. I have to stay in Rocky Creek and help run the family business. There’s no one else, only me.’ She’d had no brothers or sisters to help, having been an only child. And her mother had had to stay home and nurse her father.

  Nicolas had raged at her for ages—raged and argued. But she’d stayed firm that time. Much easier with him so far away. When he’d threatened to return to Rocky Creek to persuade her, she’d claimed he would be wasting his time, adding the desperate lie that she was sick to death of their long-distance relationship anyway. In truth, since he’d gone to Sydney to study, she only saw him on the odd weekend when he came home, and during holidays. He sometimes didn’t even come home for those. More than once he’d gone away to a music camp.

  ‘I want a normal boyfriend,’ Serina had wailed. ‘One who isn’t obsessed with music. And one who lives in Rocky Creek! Greg Harmon’s always asking me out,’ she’d added quite truthfully.

  ‘Greg Harmon! He’s old enough to be your father!’

  ‘No, he’s not.’ Greg did look older than he was. But actually he was only in his late twenties, a local fellow who worked as a teacher in nearby Wauchope High School, where both Serina and Nicolas had studied. Although she had never actually been in any of Greg’s classes—he taught agriculture and woodwork—she’d always known he fancied her.

  He’d started asking her out the moment she’d graduated from school.

  ‘He’s a very nice man,’ Serina had snapped defensively. ‘And very good-looking. Next time he asks me out, I’m going to say yes.’

  It had almost been a relief when Nicolas had stormed off to England by himself. But then she’d never heard from him again: no letters or phone calls begging her forgiveness; nothing but a bitter silence.

  Serina had taken a long time to get over Nicolas. But, in the end, sheer loneliness had forced her into saying yes to Greg’s persistent requests to take her out. In the back of her mind, however, she’d always believed Nicolas would return one day to claim her. So she didn’t sleep with Greg at first, or accept any of his regular proposals of marriage.

  But as time went by and Nicolas didn’t return to Rocky Creek, Serina let Greg put an engagement ring on her finger. And take her to bed, after which she’d cried and cried. Not because it was awful. Greg turned out to be a tender and considerate lover. But because he wasn’t Nicolas.

  Still, in time, she managed to push Nicolas right to the back of her mind and began making concrete plans for her wedding to Greg. Although not ecstatically happy, Serina was reasonably content with her life. She was loved by her fiancé, family and friends, and respected in the community. She was also findin
g great satisfaction in expanding the family’s lumber yard into a more extensive building supply business, local demand increasing as Rocky Creek gradually became a very desirable ‘tree-change’ destination for retirees and tired city dwellers.

  If only she hadn’t made that fateful trip to Sydney in search of the right wedding dress… If only she hadn’t seen Nicolas’s interview on television in her hotel room… If only she’d stayed away from his performance that night at the Opera House…

  Serina glanced across the breakfast table at her daughter and wondered, not for the first time, if she’d done the right thing, passing Felicity off as Greg’s daughter. It hadn’t been a deliberate act on her part. By the time she’d realised she was pregnant, the wedding was upon her and she hadn’t had the heart to hurt Greg as she knew the truth would have hurt him. And hurt everyone else: her parents, his parents, their friends.

  Life in a small country town was not as simple as people sometimes thought.

  No, I made the right decision, she accepted philosophically, the only decision.

  Greg was a devoted husband and father and I had a good life with him, a nice, peaceful life. I still lead a nice, peaceful life.

  But that peace was about to be broken. Big-time.

  Fear clutched at her stomach. Fear of what might happen when she saw Nicolas again—this time without the moral protection of a husband in her life. She still hadn’t forgotten how she’d felt when she’d seen him at his mother’s funeral. That had been ten years ago, when she’d been twenty-seven and Nicolas an incredibly dashing thirty. Greg had insisted they both attend, Mrs Dupre having been a well-loved member in their small community. They’d taken Felicity with them. She’d been around two at the time. It was at the wake that Nicolas had cornered her, getting her alone after Greg had carried their daughter outside to play for a while.

  Nicolas had been cold to her, as cold as ice.

  She hadn’t felt cold, however. Even whilst he’d questioned her about Felicity’s birth date in the most chilling and contemptuous fashion, she’d burned with a desire that she’d found both disturbing and despicable. It still upset her to think of what might have happened if Nicolas had made any kind of pass at her.

  Fortunately, he hadn’t.

  But who knew what he might do now that she was a widow. Had Felicity told him Greg was dead? It seemed likely that she had.

  ‘Do you have a copy of the letter you sent Mr Dupre?’ she asked her daughter somewhat stiffly.

  Felicity looked pained. ‘Oh, Mum, that’s private!’

  ‘I want to see it, Felicity. And the email he sent back to you.’

  Felicity pouted and stayed right where she was.

  Serina rose from her chair, her expression uncompromising. ‘Let’s go, madam.’

  Serina found her daughter’s letter very touching, till she got to the part where Felicity offered Nicolas accommodation at their house.

  ‘He can’t stay here!’ she blurted out before she could get control of herself.

  ‘Why not?’ Felicity demanded to know with the indignation—and innocence—of youth.

  ‘Because.’

  ‘Because why?’ her daughter persisted.

  ‘Because you don’t ask virtual strangers to stay in your home,’ she answered in desperation.

  ‘But he’s not a stranger. He lived here in Rocky Creek for years and years. Mrs Johnson said you were very good friends. She said you dated for a while.’

  ‘Only very casually,’ Serina lied. ‘And, as I said, that was nearly twenty years ago. I have no idea what kind of man Nicolas Dupre might have become in the meantime. For all I know he could be a drunk, or a drug addict!’

  Felicity looked at her as though she were insane. ‘Mum, I think you’ve totally lost it. But you don’t have to worry. Mr Dupre refused my offer to stay with us. Here! Why don’t you read his email and then you won’t say such silly things.’

  Felicity did a couple of clicks with her mouse and brought up the email from Nicolas. Serina read it.

  Dear Felicity

  Thank you for your lovely letter. I was saddened to hear of the tragic death of your father and send my deepest condolences to you and your mother. I have fond memories of Rocky Creek and would be glad to help you with your fund-raising project. You sound like a very intelligent and enterprising young lady of whom I’m sure your mother is very proud. Consequently, I would be honoured to be the judge for your talent quest.

  Unfortunately, I have business engagements in New York and London for the next fortnight and cannot arrive in Sydney till the day before your concert. Thank you for your kind offer of a room but I would prefer to arrange my own accommodation in Port Macquarie. I will contact you by phone as soon as I arrive there, at which time you can explain where and when you want me to be the following day. Please confirm this arrangement by return email and include your home phone number. My regards to your mother and Mrs Johnson. I am looking forward to meeting up with them both once again.

  All the best, Nicolas Dupre.

  Serina didn’t know what to say. The email was extremely polite. Too polite, in fact, and a bit pompous. It didn’t sound at all like Nicolas.

  Maybe what she’d said to Felicity was right in a way. She didn’t know him anymore. The passing years might have changed him from the impassioned and rather angry young man he’d once been into something entirely different. Someone calm and mature and yes…kind. Maybe he was coming all this way out of kindness. Maybe it had nothing to do with her being a widow now, nothing to do with her at all! Nicolas was just responding to the heartfelt request of a young girl whose father had been tragically killed.

  Serina tried to embrace this possibility but she simply couldn’t. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that his coming back to Rocky Creek had nothing to do with kindness. It was all about her.

  Not that she believed Nicolas was still in love with her. He’d made his contempt quite clear at his mother’s funeral. But maybe he’d spotted the hunger in her eyes. Maybe his plan was to take full advantage of that hunger, to do to her what she’d once done to him: indulge in a wild one-night stand, then dump her in the morning.

  A shiver ran down Serina’s spine, a highly disturbing, cruelly seductive shiver.

  Please, don’t let that be his plan. Let him be coming back for something else. To visit his mother’s grave perhaps. Don’t let me be his underlying motive, or his prey. Don’t let him be looking for sexual revenge. Because this time, I have nowhere to run to, and no one to hide behind…

  CHAPTER THREE

  NICOLAS could have hired a car in Sydney and driven to Port Macquarie. But that was a five- to six-hour drive, maybe longer, given that his early morning arrival at Mascot would mean he would hit peak hour traffic going through the city. He’d done just that when he’d returned to Rocky Creek for his mother’s funeral and regretted it. He’d regretted also hiring a stupid sports car, which hadn’t coped too well with the not-so-wonderful roads up that way.

  This time, he booked a connecting flight to Port Macquarie that left Sydney at 8:00 am and only took fifty-five minutes. Once there, he planned to take a taxi to his accommodation where the four-wheel-drive vehicle he’d already hired would be waiting for him. He hadn’t wanted the bother of picking it up at the airport. Experience had taught him that doing so could be a very time-consuming operation. Having made the decision to come, Nicolas knew that he couldn’t bear the thought of anything delaying his arrival in Rocky Creek. The weariness he’d been feeling the night Felicity’s letter had arrived was long gone, replaced by the kind of excitement he used to feel just before going on the stage to perform.

  Everything went according to plan. The flight from London set down at Mascot only a few minutes late and the connecting flight to Port Macquarie left right on time. Nicolas stepped out onto the tarmac at Port Macquarie airport right on nine. Fifteen minutes later, he and his luggage were speeding towards the centre of town.

  ‘Port’s grown since I was la
st here,’ he remarked as he glanced around. ‘But it has been nearly twenty years.’

  ‘Crikey, mate,’ the taxi driver replied. ‘You’ll be lucky to recognise anything.’

  Not true, however. The town centre hadn’t changed all that much, Nicolas thought as they drove down the main street. The rectangular layout was basically the same, the streets straight and wide, with parking at the curb sides and in the middle. The old picture theatre was still there on the corner and the pub across the road. But the evidence of a tourism explosion was everywhere, with all the high-rise apartment buildings and the upsurge in restaurants and cafés.

  And of course, the tourists themselves were there in full force. Summer had arrived in Australia and with it the hot weather that sent people flocking to seaside towns. Nicolas was already feeling a little sticky. He’d be glad to have a shower and change into something cooler than the suit, shirt and tie he was currently wearing.

  The taxi turned right at the end of the main street and headed up the hill to where Nicolas’s choice of accommodation was located, a relatively new boutique apartment block that was several storeys high and made the most of its position overlooking Town Beach. Nicolas had found it on one of the many travel Web sites available and booked one of the apartments from his home in London a couple of nights back.