‘I don’t care where the hell you sit, as long as Bryn is with me!’ Carina had snapped at her as they had entered the study, lined with a million beautifully bound books her grandfather had never read.
Bryn, however, had taken his place on Francesca’s right. ‘Okay, I hope?’ he’d asked with faint mockery, causing Carina, who had seated herself dead centre, directly in front of the desk, and had patted the seat beside her, indicating for Bryn to take it, to jump up and grab the other chair, pure venom in her eyes.
In the end everyone was arranged in a two-tiered semicircle in front of the huge mahogany desk. It was difficult to believe Sir Francis was dead. One of the great-nephews, Stephen, kept looking behind him, as though expecting Sir Francis’s ghost to walk right through the heavy closed door.
Francesca had noticed her uncle Charles had poured himself a stiff whisky before positioning himself to one side, as though instead of being her grandfather’s only surviving son and heir he didn’t think he would figure much in the will. How very odd!
A quick glance at Bryn confirmed it. ‘Could be a rocky ride!’ he murmured, just beneath his breath. He looked tremendously switched on. Ready for the performance to begin.
The elder of Sir Frank’s two sisters, Ruth, choked off a little sob, probably thinking there was still time to show a little grief. She hadn’t been able to manage it up to date. Carina, however, wasn’t impressed by the display. She swung about to frown at her great-aunt. ‘For God’s sake, not now!’
Ruth leaned towards her, murmuring a falsehood. ‘But I’m missing him so!’
‘Rubbish! You haven’t so much as spoken to him for months,’ Carina flashed back, before turning to address the always dapper solicitor, with his full head of snow-white hair of which he was justifiably proud. ‘Well, what are we waiting for, Douglas? Read it out.’
Bryn leaned in towards Francesca, his voice low. ‘A command—and a very terse one at that! Frank couldn’t have done better.’
Francesca prayed fervently there wouldn’t be more outbursts from Carina. If their grandfather had been a tiger, Carina was a tigress in the making.
As though in agreement, Charles Forsyth sank back heavily in his chair. The room stank of danger! Ruth gave another hastily muffled moan. She too was unnerved by the fact that her great-niece had turned into what looked very much like the female version of her late brother. Frank might have come back from wherever he had gone.
Francesca stole another glance at Bryn, thinking that in some strange way they were acting very much like a pair of conspirators. Bryn reacted by raising his brows slightly, his smile laced with black humour. He was inoculated against Carina’s outbursts.
Francesca sat quiet as a nun, pale as an ivory rose, her elegant long legs to one side, and her head, with her hair in a sort of Gibson Girl loose arrangement, inclined to the other, showing off her swan’s neck and the delicate strength of her clean jawline. She might have been the subject of a painting herself, Bryn thought. A study of a beautiful, isolated young woman. He vowed to himself that state of affairs wasn’t going to continue. The sleeping princess had to wake up.
Douglas McFadden responded impassively to Carina’s rudeness. He had had half a lifetime of it from Sir Francis. ‘Very well, Carina,’ he said obligingly, picking up his gold-rimmed glasses. He did, however, take his time to settle them on his beak of a nose. Once done, he appeared to take a deep breath, then launched into the reading of the last will and testament of Sir Francis Gerard Oswald Forsyth …
Already Francesca had begun to panic. She desperately wanted it all over. Great wealth ruined people. She had seen it with her own eyes. But none of them, with the exception of Charles Forsyth, was prepared for what was to come.
It was Carina who tempestuously brought proceedings to a halt.
‘It can’t be true!’ She catapulted out of her chair, sending it crashing to the floor. Her blonde hair flew around her visibly blanched face. Her furious blue eyes lashed the solicitor. ‘What kind of bloody lunacy is this?’ she shouted, her voice loud enough to shock the profoundly deaf. Her arms flailed wildly in the air, causing her copious eighteen carat gold bracelets to out-jangle a brass band.
‘Carrie … Carrie.’ Charles Forsyth very belatedly tried his hand at remonstrating with his headstrong daughter, while the great-aunts moved their chairs closer together, in case things got so bad they might have to cling to each other for support. Their menfolk stared steadily at the Persian rug, their faces varying shades of red.
Bryn moved smoothly to pick up Carina’s chair, setting it right. ‘Why don’t you sit down again, Carrie?’ He placed a kindly restraining hand on her shoulder. He didn’t appear at all shocked by Carina’s outburst, Francesca noticed. Indeed, he was looking about him, as though deciding on the next object Carina might send toppling.
‘You’re supposed to be here to support me, Bryn!’ she protested, not sparing a glance in her father’s direction. She ignored him. As she would from that day forward. Nothing her father said from now on would hold much value for her.
‘Please. Sit down,’ Bryn advised, bringing his powerful influence to bear.
Carina obeyed. ‘Just when did Gramps make such a will?’ she cried out the moment she was seated. ‘I know what was in his will—the real will—and it surely wasn’t this! This stinks to high heaven of conspiracy.’
Douglas McFadden pursed his lips and looked profoundly displeased. ‘I beg your pardon, Carina.’
‘Carrie … Carrie,’ Charles Forsyth bleated. His fair handsome face was ruddy with distress. ‘It’s all in order, I assure you.’
Carina’s blazing blue eyes narrowed to slits. ‘You knew about this, Dad? What kind of a fool are you? You’re the great loser! You’ve been cut out, and you look like you’re accepting it. Gramps has publicly dismissed and humiliated you. You are the rightful heir. You administer the Forsyth Foundation. You have to fight this. By my reckoning you’ll win.’
‘Don’t bet on that.’ Bryn sent her a lancing glance.
‘But … But …’ Carina actually sputtered, looked fearfully taken aback.
‘I’m not fighting anything, Carina,’ Charles Forsyth told her quietly, but with surprising finality. ‘I’m very happy with my lot.’
‘Which is a lot indeed,’ Bryn murmured. Maybe Charles would become a better man, a more self-confident man, without his father forever glowering over his shoulder, stripping him of any hope of self-esteem.
Carina glared her contempt for her father. ‘Why would you be happy?’ she cried, turning into the daughter from hell right in front of his glazed eyes. ‘Gramps was right about you. You don’t fire on all cylinders. Don’t you understand what’s happened here? You don’t even look upset. You’ve been treated disgracefully. I’ve been treated disgracefully.’
‘You’ve been left a great fortune, Carrie,’ Bryn pointed out. ‘Give yourself a moment to let that sink in.’
She blushed hotly. ‘Do you mind? We’ve been passed over.’
‘Not really, Carrie. What more do you want?’ her father added, grateful for Bryn’s intervention.
‘A damned sight more than you seem to think.’ Carina swung her blonde head back to face the solicitor. ‘You ought to be disbarred, McFadden. You’re as big a fool as Dad.’
The great-aunts gasped. They had never heard anything so nasty. And to dear Douglas!
‘I