While she wanted to think maturity was the reason she was now able to handle her stepmother’s obvious manipulation and open antagonism without immediately becoming defensive or losing her temper, it was more likely her tolerance stemmed from knowing her visits home were irregular and blissfully short. The exception being this dumb, annual two-week Christmas/New Year family reunion, which her father had so embraced he’d actually made it a condition of his will that the remaining members of his ‘loving family’ maintain the tradition. Amanda-Jayne might have laughed at the irony of that had she been able to understand anything of what her father had been thinking when he’d drawn up his last will and testament.
While she’d fight anyone who said her father hadn’t been of sound mind when he’d drawn up the document, her own opinion was that he must have been at least midway through a crate of imported cognac when he’d insisted the family solicitor couldn’t pay her monthly allowance until Patricia had verified she’d fulfilled their family obligations. She wondered if her father would be surprised to learn his precious wife had conveniently forgotten to instruct the solicitors to transfer Amanda-Jayne’s allowance every month since his death?
In the past it had taken no more than a couple of curt phone calls to rectify the problem, but Amanda-Jayne hadn’t seen a cent of her trust money for three months. If it wasn’t in her account when she got back to Sydney her father and every soul in both heaven and hell would hear the commotion she was going to kick up. Her ex-husband had already cost her the money she’d taken into their marriage; she wasn’t about to placidly sit around showing ‘good faith’ while she got financially routed a second time.
For the life of her she had no idea why her father had tied up her inheritance the way he had. Sometimes she thought it was because he’d had his own doubts on the success of her marriage and had wanted to safeguard her income, but that didn’t really make sense since he’d practically hand-picked his son-in-law. Which just went to prove, she thought ruefully, that his judgment in son-in-laws had been every bit as appalling as his taste in second wives.
Opening the refrigerator, Amanda-Jayne studied its contents for several moments before deciding that strawberries and cream along with some non-alcoholic wine from the cellar was as good a way as any to celebrate the New Year solo. No sooner had the self-pitying thought flashed into her head than an inner warmth and the recollection of precisely why she was spending the night at home ousted it.
‘Sorry, sweetie,’ she whispered, looking down and placing a hand on her still flat belly. ‘You’re a wonderful surprise… It’s just that I’m still getting used to you.’
‘You tart! You cheap, good-for-nothing tramp! How dare you humiliate—?’
Amanda-Jayne’s first, sleep-clouded thought was that she’d forgotten to switch off her TV. It wasn’t until her arm was almost reefed from its socket that it registered the diatribe of abuse was being directed at her!
Instantly awake, a startled scream burst from her as her eyes fought the sudden intrusion of light and her body resisted Patricia, who for some reason was trying to drag her from her bed.
‘Patricia, stop it!’ she demanded.
‘Get out!’ Patricia shouted. ‘Get out now!’
‘Let me go! Let—’
Though her stepmother released her arm, it was only to snatch the doona and pillows from the bed and hurl them to the floor. ‘Get out!’ she screeched again. ‘Out of bed! And out of this house!’
Amanda-Jayne was only too willing to concede that Patricia had a lot of vices, but drinking wasn’t one of them, so she could only conclude that the teetotalling witch had rabies. Except rabies didn’t exist in Australia, which meant—
‘Mum! Stop!’
As Josh grabbed his mother’s wildly flaying arms, survival instincts sent Amanda-Jayne scampering off the far side of the mattress.
On the other side of the bed a worried-looking Joshua was restraining his vermilion-faced mother, but shock was making it hard for Amanda-Jayne’s sleep-hazed brain to get any handle on what was going on. In all the years of their mutual animosity Patricia had never done anything this…this bizarre. But then again Amanda-Jayne had never imagined so much anger and contempt could radiate from a person’s eyes as was being directed at her now.
It was a hatred so intense Patricia was physically shaking from it and it didn’t require too much mental effort to work out what had triggered it; somehow her stepmother had discovered she was pregnant.
‘How dare you humiliate Joshua and me like this?’ she berated her. ‘How are we supposed to maintain our dignity in this town when you’ve disgraced the family by…by bedding common scum? A loutish, barbaric hoodlum!’
Amanda-Jayne reeled at her words. It was one thing for her to have found out about the baby, but the baby’s father…! Dear God, how had that got out? Yet even as she asked the question she knew. Why should she have thought that Reb Browne was above recounting his sexual conquests and the consequences thereof? Yet the irrational sense of betrayal she felt was a thousand times worse than that which her philandering ex-husband had ever caused her.
Anger at her own naivety, her stepmother and men in general rose up until she tasted its bile. Until—
Hand across her mouth, she flew to the bathroom, slamming the door against Patricia’s judgmental words. She wanted to cry. And at the same time wanted to punch something—or better yet someone who wasn’t female and was responsible for getting her into this condition!
When she re-entered the bedroom fifteen minutes later with an empty but still queasy stomach and a thumping headache Joshua had left, but her stepmother was still there and had obviously managed to keep herself busy; all the wardrobe doors were wide-open and dresser drawers pulled out and emptied. What clothes weren’t tossed on the bed lay in hateful disarray on the floor.
‘I want you packed and out of here within the hour.’
‘Fine,’ she stated coolly, refusing, absolutely refusing, to give Patricia the satisfaction of seeing her buckle under. ‘I assure you I’ve no more desire to be here than you have for me to stay, but…’ she paused, more in a bid to maintain her composure than for emphasis ‘…I’ll leave with a cheque for the three months’ allowance I’m owed.’
‘Oh, no, you won’t! Your father left me with the responsibility of seeing the high standard of dignity the Vaughan family has preserved for generations was maintained by—’
‘Well, then, Patricia, considering your display tonight, you’ve let him down badly, haven’t you?’
‘How dare you accuse me of such a thing, after the way you’ve disgraced yourself? You’ve sullied the family name and reputation—my name and reputation!’ she added. ‘I’m not going to give you one cent!’
‘My father left me that money and—’
‘And he gave me the power to decide whether you fill the requirements to receive it!’ Patricia shrieked, whatever control she might have regained while Amanda-Jayne was in the bathroom fast dwindling. ‘Now I want you out of my house, immediately. Do you hear me? Immediately! How dare you desecrate my reputation like this, you…you…?’
‘Obviously, your memory is failing since you consider this your house, so I’ll be helpful and remind you that tart and tramp were your nouns of choice earlier. But your opinion means less than nothing to me and—’
‘My opinion reflects what any decent person’s will be now it’s known you’re…you’re…having a relationship with a common criminal!’
As much as she hated to defend the man whose bragging mouth had put her in this situation, she wasn’t in the mood