Ocean Child Read online

  ‘But aren’t you just a little curious as to who gave it to me?’

  ‘No,’ she snapped. ‘And neither should you be.’

  ‘It could be a gift from a secret admirer.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘How can you dismiss the idea out of hand like that?’

  ‘Because secret admirers exist only in trashy fiction. This so-called gift came long before your name was bandied about in the press, and I hardly think it possible you would attract that sort of attention in Tasmania.’

  Lulu could see her logic, but was prevented from replying by Clarice abruptly rising from her chair and leaving the lounge. It took Lulu a moment to gather her things and catch up with her in the crowded lobby. ‘You can’t really expect me to just forget about it?’

  ‘We will not discuss it here,’ she said flatly. ‘In fact, I’d prefer not to discuss it at all.’ She pressed the brass bell for the lift.

  ‘But we must,’ persisted Lulu.

  Clarice did not reply, and they rode up to the fifth floor in silence.

  Lulu had only witnessed Clarice like this once before – and had hoped never to experience it again. It had been the day she’d been rescued from her mother’s house, and the memory of that awful argument between the two women was still sharp. She had cowered beneath the kitchen table, unnoticed, helpless and without a voice as they tore into one another with lacerating words made more powerful by their calm, almost flat delivery. She had been left fighting not only for breath but for some sense of worth in the light of her mother’s calculating coldness.

  ‘I’m not angry with you,’ Clarice said the moment the bedroom door closed behind them, ‘but with whoever is playing this nasty game with you.’

  ‘It’s an expensive game,’ retorted Lulu.

  Clarice walked across the room to the window and looked out to the rooftops and spires of London. ‘I agree,’ she said finally. ‘There can be no doubt this horse exists, but it’s the reason behind it that worries me.’

  ‘So, you believe Mr Reilly is telling the truth, and that he really is training it?’

  ‘The Reillys have a good name in racing circles. If he’s anything like his grandfather, Joe can be trusted to tell the truth.’

  ‘I didn’t realise—’

  ‘Why should you? I knew them long before you were born.’ Clarice turned from the window, her demeanour stiff and unapproachable. ‘It seems Mr Reilly is just as much a victim as you in this disgusting charade.’

  ‘What about Carmichael? Did you know him too?’

  Something shifted in Clarice’s eyes, but it was fleeting, and Lulu couldn’t identify it. ‘Never heard of the man.’

  ‘Reilly says in his letter that he’s checked him out. So he must exist.’

  ‘I have little doubt of it,’ Clarice murmured.

  The hint of sarcasm in her reply told Lulu she knew far more than she was saying. But Clarice was unpredictable in this mood – one wrong word and she might clam up all together. ‘What do you think I should do?’

  ‘I will contact my solicitor and get him to validate the documents. If they prove to be genuine, then my advice is to write to Joe Reilly and instruct him to sell the horse. By doing so, it will free both of you from this mischief-making once and for all.’

  ‘But then I’ll never discover who gave it to me and why.’

  Clarice studied the diamond rings on her fingers, then looked up with a troubled expression. ‘It is sometimes better not to know.’

  Realisation hit with such force Lulu had to sit down. ‘You think my mother’s behind this, don’t you?’

  Clarice snorted in a most unladylike way. ‘I might have done if I didn’t understand Gwendoline so well.’ She stood and rummaged in her handbag for her address book. ‘Gwendoline’s spite is deeper than her pockets – she’d never pay for anything unless she could guarantee a profitable return.’

  Lulu was deep in thought as Clarice telephoned her solicitor despite the late hour. The question was burning to be asked, but how would Clarice react? She gathered her courage and blurted it out as Clarice put down the receiver. ‘Could it have been my father, do you think?’

  ‘I knew you’d bring him up,’ Clarice sighed. ‘As Gwen has kept his identity a secret, he’s unlikely to know you even exist – let alone give you such an expensive present.’ Clarice began to root about in her handbag again.

  Lulu wasn’t really fazed by her answer. Her father’s identity had always been a closed book as far as her mother was concerned, but over the years she had found it exasperating not to know who he was and had often fantasised about him. Lulu sighed. There were so many things her mother and Clarice had left unexplained, and these missing links in her life always left her feeling incomplete. Now there was yet another mystery, and Clarice seemed determined to close the door on this too. It was time to stand firm.

  ‘I don’t really want to sell the horse,’ she said evenly. ‘This whole thing is intriguing, and I simply can’t walk away from it.’

  Clarice stiffened.

  ‘I had a very successful night last night,’ Lulu continued. ‘I can afford to go to Tasmania and solve this mystery for myself.’

  ‘Don’t you dare.’

  Lulu blinked. ‘Why ever not?

  ‘You’re far too sickly to travel. The doctor won’t allow it.’

  ‘I’ve made the journey once before, remember, and I’m stronger now – much stronger.’

  ‘Look at you.’ Clarice waved a distracted hand. ‘A light breeze would blow you away, and you’re far too pale. I will not permit it.’

  Lulu kept her nerve. ‘I’m twenty-six,’ she reminded her, ‘old enough to do as I please.’

  ‘Your age is not the issue here,’ Clarice said firmly. ‘It is your health that concerns me, and as I am your legal guardian I have the right to forbid you to take such risks.’

  ‘Forbid is a strong word, Aunt Clarice. Why are you really so adamant I shouldn’t go back?’

  ‘There is nothing for you in Tasmania.’

  ‘There’s a horse, and a mystery.’

  ‘There is also an unbalanced mother who hates you and untold memories which are best kept buried.’ Clarice was clearly struggling to remain calm. ‘Nothing good will come of this, mark my words. Sell the horse, be thankful for what you have here and let sleeping dogs lie.’

  Lulu regarded her steadily. ‘There’s more to this than you’re telling me. Why not explain? Then perhaps I can make my own judgement.’

  Clarice held her gaze. ‘There is nothing to explain.’

  ‘I’m not a child, Aunt Clarice. If you have any idea of what this is about, then you should do me the courtesy of enlightening me.’

  The blue eyes regarded her steadily. ‘You have asked my opinion and I have given it to you. Perhaps you should have the good grace to accept that I know as little as you, and have only your welfare at heart.’

  ‘What is it you’re afraid of, Aunt Clarice?’

  ‘I’m not afraid of anything,’ she said, lifting her chin defiantly. ‘I just don’t want you getting excited and hopeful over something that is probably nothing more than a cruel hoax.’

  Lulu could feel her chest tighten, and made a concerted effort to relax. ‘Even if it is a hoax, then surely I have a right to know who’s behind it,’ she argued, ‘and the only way I can find out is if I go home.’

  ‘That is not your home. Why do you persist in this childish nonsense? You’re an English girl now. This is where you belong.’ Clarice was breathing heavily, clearly furious at having her authority questioned.

  Lulu was shocked at her vehemence. This was a very different Clarice to the rigidly controlled woman who had raised her – but the uncharacteristic show of emotion merely reinforced Lulu’s determination to speak her mind and face up to her for once.

  ‘It’s where I live, certainly, and you have made it my home. But you always knew I wanted to go back for a short visit at some stage.’ Lulu began to pac
e, avoiding meeting Clarice’s furious glare. ‘It’s not that I don’t have the money to go—’

  ‘You silly girl. This isn’t about money. If I’d thought it wise, I’d have given you the fare long ago.’ Clarice grasped Lulu’s arm and forced her to stand still and face her. ‘Forget this foolishness, Lorelei. You’re on the brink of tremendous success with your sculptures – don’t spoil everything you and Bertie have worked so hard for.’

  Lulu’s resolve wavered. ‘I realise this is bad timing, but I haven’t agreed to the commission pieces yet. As for the others, I’m sure Bertie will oversee the foundry for me and make sure they are delivered.’

  ‘How can you even contemplate throwing everything away after all I’ve done for you?’

  Clarice had never used that as a weapon before. It had to be a sign she was getting desperate – but why? ‘It isn’t that I’m not grateful for everything you’ve done, and I love you for it. But I’ve never made a secret of wanting to go back, and now I have a reason, and the means to do it. I’m not throwing anything away, merely postponing it. But I do need your blessing. Please.’

  Clarice’s expression hardened. ‘You will never have it.’

  Lulu had to sit down again. Her heart was struggling and it was difficult to breathe. ‘And if I go without your blessing?’

  ‘You will no longer be welcome at Wealden House.’

  A long silence followed, broken only by Lulu’s ragged breathing. She was the first to break that silence. ‘What are you afraid I’ll find?’

  ‘Trouble,’ Clarice snapped. ‘It’s why I rescued you from your mother in the first place.’

  ‘But we’ve already agreed Gwen probably has nothing to do with this.’

  ‘Nothing is certain where she’s concerned.’ Clarice seemed to be back in control of her emotions. ‘It would be a tragedy if you got entangled with her again,’ she added softly.

  Lulu felt a rush of love for her aunt and took her hand. ‘You don’t need to protect me any more, Aunt Clarice,’ she said. ‘I’m a grown-up now and perfectly capable of dealing with Gwen.’

  ‘I doubt it. She can be a formidable enemy, and you are simply not strong enough.’ Clarice moved her hand from Lulu’s grasp and rang for the porter.

  Lulu wanted to protest that Gwen no longer had the power to terrify and belittle her, but the fearful memories silenced her, and she wondered if she could indeed face her again.

  ‘If you go, then you know the consequences.’

  Lulu stared back at her. ‘You can’t really mean to banish me from Wealden House.’

  ‘I do not make idle threats, Lorelei.’

  Lulu tried to make light of it. ‘You’re being rather melodramatic, don’t you think?’

  ‘Sometimes only drastic action will do, when faced with such an impossible situation.’ Clarice began to put the last of her things into a case.

  Lulu rose from the chair and touched Clarice’s arm. ‘Talk to me, Aunt Clarice. Tell me the real reason you don’t want me to go.’

  ‘More than enough has been said this evening.’ She turned from Lulu and looked at her watch. ‘Where is that porter? I’m going to miss my train.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t leaving until tomorrow morning? What about dinner?’

  ‘I have no appetite for dinner,’ she said coldly. ‘If you want something to eat, call room service. I’m going home.’ She put on her hat and coat and picked up her gloves.

  ‘You can’t just walk away like this, Aunt Clarice. It’s not fair.’

  Clarice’s gaze was arctic. ‘Don’t you dare talk to me of fairness, Lorelei Pearson. I gave you my name and my home. I’ve lavished you with every luxury I could, from a first-class education to an apartment in London, and you repay me by deliberately going against my wishes.’

  ‘I am merely asking for your blessing,’ Lulu replied as she blinked back the tears.

  ‘You don’t have it.’ Clarice snapped the lock on her case and glared at her. ‘I’m warning you, Lorelei: if you decide to go to Tasmania, then you will find Wealden House closed to you.’

  The conversation was brought to an abrupt end by the arrival of the porter. Lulu followed Clarice out of the room, noting how the elder woman’s every move spoke of her fury and disapproval.

  As they waited for the concierge to hail a taxi, Lulu began to wish she had never heard of Joe Reilly or of Ocean Child. She loved Clarice, and had no wish to cause her distress, but despite everything she had done for her over the years, there were questions about her past that had never been satisfactorily answered – and it seemed to Lulu that the only way to discover the truth was to return to Tasmania, thereby risking the only maternal love and secure home she had ever known.

  *

  The last train for Sussex was preparing to leave Victoria Station as the railway porter helped Clarice into the empty first-class compartment and put her bag on the overhead rack. Doors slammed like rifle fire, the guard’s whistle echoed through the cavernous station and the great steel wheels began to turn as she took her seat.

  As the smoke and steam billowed past the window and the train slowly gathered pace, Clarice leant back and tried to quell the rising anxiety. She had broken every one of her rules by reacting so harshly to Lorelei’s innocent questions – but she hadn’t been prepared, had had no time to formulate the answers that might have satisfied the girl and turned her from the destructive course she seemed so determined to follow.

  What a fool I’ve been to ignore my instincts, she thought. Joe Reilly’s first letter was a warning, and I should have done something about it. Now I’ve merely made things worse by speaking without thought and losing control of the situation.

  She turned to the window. It was dark outside, the June night broken only by intermittent grey veils of smoke coming from the engine, and as Clarice stared at her reflection she saw the guilt in her eyes and the pallor of a woman tormented by regret and indecision. She shouldn’t have threatened banishment – it was too harsh – and she knew Lorelei would be trying to make sense of what lay behind her position.

  Clarice closed her eyes and willed her thoughts into order. Reilly had no reason to lie about the horse – therefore the documents would prove to be genuine – but did he know more than he was saying? Was he deliberately shielding the person who had given Lorelei the horse, and if so, why?

  She pulled off her gloves, and her hands trembled as the memories of those years in Tasmania flooded back. She had used them to reconcile with her sister Eunice, to heal the wounds and make reparation, for Clarice had destroyed the ties between them and she’d needed Eunice to forgive her before it was too late. The bitterness Clarice still felt was for the part she had played in weakening Eunice’s ability to overcome the tragedies and shame that had finally overwhelmed her – and should her suspicions as to the identity of the mysterious Mr Carmichael prove correct, then he too must share the blame.

  Eunice’s daughter, Gwendoline, should also bear that guilt, but Clarice knew her niece far too well, and doubted she felt anything. Clarice sighed. She had never taken to Gwen, even as a child, and over the years her low opinion of the girl had been sadly justified. Gwen had been a spoilt brat and, as she’d matured into womanhood, had proved to be vindictive, grasping and utterly selfish.

  Clarice listened to the regular clatter of the wheels as the train steamed through the night – but far from soothing her, they seemed to taunt her with their whispering. She stared out of the window, seeing nothing but haunting scenes from the past.

  Drawing the mink coat around her, she shivered. She had to find a way to stop Lorelei, protect her from her mother’s spite. Gwendoline knew far too much and would have no compunction over exposing the secrets Clarice had worked so hard to bury – in fact she would relish the chance to wreak revenge.

  Clarice battled to control her emotions as she sat in the empty carriage. Lorelei might consider the old scandals unworthy of such shame and discomfort – but to Clarice they remained as potent as
ever and she knew she could never speak of them. But her continued silence came at a price – a terrible price she had never imagined she would have to pay – yet pay it she must, for Lorelei had to be stopped.

  Chapter 3

  Dolores Carteret lived in a large house in Mayfair. It was owned by her parents, but as it was empty for most of the year she had decided it was silly not to move in permanently and take advantage of its proximity to all London had to offer. She had always felt restless in the country and, following her London debut, she discovered the city suited her vivacious personality, which made her a firm favourite with the social set.

  Lulu waited impatiently on the doorstep. The day had begun badly, with a heated argument with Maurice over the wisdom of digging into the mystery of the horse. His opinion on the matter mirrored Clarice’s, but Lulu suspected his was rooted in his own need for her to remain close, and she’d left the house feeling quite battered by it all.

  She rang the bell again. Where on earth was the maid?

  The door opened a crack and Dolly’s wan face peered around it. ‘Hello, darling, come in.’ She flung the door wide, unconcerned that the pedestrians of Mayfair could see her silk underwear beneath the diaphanous peignoir. ‘You must excuse my dishabille, but I’m not feeling quite the ticket, and simply couldn’t get out of bed.’

  Lulu hurried past her into the house so she could shut the door. ‘You’ll cause an accident one day, receiving visitors in that get-up.’

  Dolly’s green eyes lacked their usual sparkle, but she managed a wry chuckle. ‘I do so hope so, darling, otherwise life would get frightfully tedious, don’t you think?’ She didn’t wait for a reply, but threw her arms around Lulu and gave her a hug. ‘Lovely to see you, darling, and congratulations on a terrific success. Bertie is absolutely thrilled for you.’

  Lulu drew back from the embrace and noted her friend’s swollen eyelids and pale complexion with some alarm. ‘What’s the matter, Dolly? You don’t look at all your usual self.’

  Dolly shrugged and refused to meet her gaze. ‘It’s nothing. Just a rather tedious little problem that will no doubt sort itself out.’