Oh, of course. Which stepfather was this? Tammy bit her lip, anger welling. Isobelle didn’t bother to marry her lovers any more, which was just as well. Tammy’s mother had been up to husband number four when Lara was born.
Lara was dead?
Lara was buried.
And there’d been a funeral. She should have been there, she thought bleakly. She should have been there as she’d been there for Lara since birth. Of all the things her mother had done to her, maybe this was the worst. To bury Lara with only her mother…
‘You were fond of your sister?’ Marc didn’t understand. He was staring at her with the same confusion she was feeling-maybe even more so.
‘Once,’ she said brusquely. ‘A long time ago.’
‘You’ve completely lost contact?’
‘Yes.’
‘And with your mother?’
‘Do you think my mother would admit she has a daughter who was a tree surgeon? That she has a daughter who looks like this?’
His calm gaze raked her from the toes up, but his face stayed impassive and his voice stayed gravely calm. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. ‘I can’t say,’ he told her. ‘Maybe not.’
Maybe definitely. ‘Look, I think I need time to take this in.’ She was glaring at him now. Maybe her anger was misdirected, but she needed space to come to terms with what she’d learned. ‘Have you got a card or something to tell me where I can contact you? I need…’
She hesitated, but she knew what she needed. To be alone. She’d learned early that solitude was the only solution to pain. It didn’t stop anything, but alone she could haul her features back into control, adjust the mask and get herself ready to face the world again. ‘Can you just leave me be? Contact me tomorrow if you must. But for now…’
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘I need to be back in Sydney tonight, and then I’m leaving for Broitenburg immediately,’ Marc told her. ‘I’ve brought the release papers with me. You need to sign them. Then I’ll take Henry back to Broitenburg and let you have all the solitude you want.’
CHAPTER TWO
HE HADN’T expected this. Marc hadn’t known what to expect of Lara’s sister but it certainly wasn’t the woman standing before him.
She looked bereft, he thought, and he accepted that she really hadn’t known about her sister’s death. Which led him to Isobelle. Their mother.
What sort of mother would not tell one daughter about another’s death?
It wasn’t any of his business, he told himself savagely. His job was to get the papers signed and get out of here. Heaven knew a trip to Australia at this time was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Jean-Paul’s death had left a huge mess at home. He needed to collect the child and go.
He just needed the signature, but, judging by the look of devastation on the face of the girl before him, it was going to be tricky.
Maybe he could just push the papers in front of her and say sign. Maybe she would. She looked so shocked he could push her right over and she wouldn’t fight back.
He shouldn’t do it-he should give her time-but it was his country he was fighting for. Henry’s country. Henry’s inheritance.
And his own freedom.
‘I need you to sign,’ he repeated, this time more gently, and he motioned to the car. ‘I have the papers here.’
‘What papers?’
‘The release papers.’
‘I still don’t understand what you’re talking about.’ She was standing as if she’d been turned to stone. Her face was totally devoid of colour and he thought she looked as if she was about to topple over. She looked sick.
He made an involuntary gesture of comfort, holding out a hand-and then he pulled it away. What was he thinking of? He needed as little contact here as possible. He couldn’t possibly comfort this woman.
‘I need the release papers to allow me to take Henry back to Broitenburg.’
She thought about that. ‘Lara did have a child?’
‘Yes.’
‘I didn’t know.’ She looked up at him, her eyes bleak with shock. ‘I didn’t know anything about a baby.’ It was a despairing wail. ‘Surely if she’d had a child she would have contacted me. If she was in trouble…’
‘Your sister wasn’t in trouble,’ Marc told her. ‘She married Jean-Paul and she had everything she’d ever wanted. A royal marriage. Servants. Luxury you can’t begin to imagine.’
‘She never would have wanted a child.’
Marc nodded. That fitted with what he knew of Lara, but there was an explanation. ‘Jean-Paul needed an heir,’ he told her. ‘He was Crown Prince of Broitenburg. He wouldn’t have married Lara if she hadn’t been prepared to give him a child.’
Tammy thought about that, too, and it almost made sense. Maybe with Lara’s warped sense of values marrying royalty would be worth the cost of having a child. She knew her mother and Lara so well. She knew the way they thought. Money and status were everything. For Lara to be a royal bride… Yes. It was a price Lara might well have been prepared to pay.
‘So she had a child? Henry?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you said Henry was here. In Australia. In Sydney.’
‘Lara sent him back to Australia about four months ago.’
‘Why?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Yes, it does matter.’ Anger and sadness were surging back and forth, and now anger won. ‘You tell me my sister married and had a baby, and was royal, and is now dead. You tell me you want the baby. And when I ask questions you say “Does it matter?”’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why are you here? Obviously my mother didn’t think it was worth telling me of my sister’s death. And my sister didn’t bother to tell me of her marriage or the birth of her child. So why are you here now? What are you demanding that I sign? What does all this have to do with me?’
Marc took a deep breath. He didn’t want this. He just needed a signature and then he’d leave. He had enough complications without this, and, looking at her face, he knew a complication was looming right now.
‘Your sister named you as Henry’s legal guardian in the event of her death,’ he told her. ‘If Henry was still in Broitenburg it wouldn’t matter, but because he’s here your Department of Foreign Affairs say I can’t take him out of Australia without your permission.’
It was all too much. Tammy stared at Marc for a long, long moment and then silently slipped her harness from her shoulders. She lifted a radio handset from her belt.
She didn’t look at Marc.
‘Doug?’ she said into the radio, and Marc thought back to the foreman he’d met down the road, organising the rest of the team-two young women and an older man. That’d be Doug, then. ‘The people in the big car who were looking for me?’ she was saying. ‘They’ve told me that my sister and her husband have been killed and their baby-my nephew-is alone in Sydney. Can I leave my gear here and have you pick it up? I’m going to Sydney and I need to leave now.’
There was a crackle of static, and then a man’s voice raised in concern.
‘Yeah, I know it’s the pits,’ Tammy said bleakly. ‘But I’ve got to go, Doug. No, I don’t know how long I’ll be away. As long as it takes. Put Lucy onto the tree I’m working on now. She has the skills. But for now… I’ll be in touch.’
Then she laid the handset on the ground with her harness. She lifted a backpack that was lying nearby and heaved it over her shoulder. It was an action that spoke of decision.
‘You’re going back to Sydney now?’ she asked, still with that curious detachment.
‘Yes, but-’
‘But nothing,’ she told him. ‘Take me with you.’
‘Take you to Sydney?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’ she snapped. ‘You tell me I have a nephew and I’m his guardian-’
‘He doesn’t need you.’
That was blunt. She paused and bit her lip. ‘So he has someone who loves him?’ she demanded, and it was his turn to pause.