Save The Date!

It took a moment for that inference to sink in. In a twisted way, she could see how he could make that leap. Without a word she went to her important documents drawer and pulled out a folder. She opened her mouth to try and explain its contents only to snap it shut. She shoved the folder at Rick instead. The contents could speak for themselves.

He stared at her for a moment and then riffled through the enclosed sheaf of papers. A frown lowered over his face even as his chin lifted. For a moment he looked like a devil. One who’d cajole with dark temptations that could only end in destruction and ruin. Her heart kicked in her chest.

She swallowed and looked away.

‘This is a paternity test your father had done...twelve years ago.’

‘That’s correct. He arranged for that test when he and my mother divorced. As he said at the time, he had no intention of being financially responsible for a child that wasn’t his.’ Only the tests had shown beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was his daughter.

And that he was her father.

Rick slammed the folder shut. ‘God, Nell, that man’s a nightmare of a father!’

She turned back and raised an eyebrow. ‘Snap.’

He rocked back and then a grin crept across those fascinating lips of his and a light twinkled in those dark eyes and some of the awkwardness between them seeped away. ‘Okay, you got me there. I’ll pay that.’

And then he laughed, and the laugh completely transformed him. It tempered the hard, insolent edges and made him look young and carefree. It made him breathtakingly attractive too, in a dangerous, thrilling way that had her blood surging and her pulse pounding.

She swallowed. ‘On that head, though...’ She nodded at the folder. ‘I can’t say I blame him. My mother isn’t the kind of woman who has ever let the truth get in the way of a...good opportunity.’

Her mother was in the Mediterranean with husband number four the last she’d heard, which was about three times a year. Oh, yes, her family—they were the Brady Bunch all right.

Rick clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back. She wondered if he knew precisely how enticing that pose was to a woman—the broad shoulders on display, those biceps and the hard chiselled chest flagrantly defined in the tight black T-shirt angling down to a hard flat abdomen...and all in that deceptively open, easy, inviting posture.

She bet he did.

Even with all of that masculine vigour on display, it was his eyes that held her. He surveyed her until she had to fight the urge to fidget. She reached for another shrug—a pray tell, what on earth do you think you’re staring at? shrug. She was pretty certain she pulled it off with aplomb, but it didn’t stop him staring at her. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. ‘I’m starting to get the hang of those.’

She squinted at him—a what on earth are you talking about? squint. ‘I’m sorry, you’ve lost me.’

He lowered his arms. ‘For all of these years, here I was thinking you had the best of everything.’

She flicked her hair over her shoulders. ‘Of course I did. I had the best education money could buy. I had designer clothes, piano lessons and overseas holidays. I had—’

‘Parents who were as good at parenting as mine.’

She swallowed. ‘One shouldn’t be greedy.’ Or self-pitying. ‘Besides, they were merely products of their own upbringing...and they had their good points.’

‘Name one.’

‘We’ve already uncovered one. They didn’t betray each other so badly that I was the cuckoo they thought I might be. I’m not John’s secret love child and therefore I’m not your mystery sibling.’

‘Just thought I’d ask.’

She hesitated. ‘I did wonder...’

‘What?’

‘Would your mother be able to tell you anything that might be of use?’

She didn’t like to ask about Rick’s mother—she’d been a prostitute. Nell had a lot of bones to pick with her parents, but she’d never had to watch her mother sell her body. She’d always known where her next meal was coming from. She’d had a warm bed to retreat to. She’d been safe. She gripped her hands together. She was very grateful for those things.

Rick shook his head. ‘She developed dementia a few years ago. It’s advanced rapidly. Nine times out of ten, she doesn’t recognise me these days.’

Oh. Her heart burned for him. ‘I’m sorry.’

He merely shrugged. ‘What are you going to do?’ He said it in that casual, offhand way, which only made her heart burn more fiercely.

She clapped her hands together in an attempt to brisk the both of them up. ‘Well, I had another thought too. We should go and check out John’s cottage. It’s been empty since he went into hospital. I mean, I know it was cleaned, but maybe it’ll contain some clue.’

‘It could all be a hoax, you know?’

‘For what purpose?’ She didn’t believe it was a hoax. Not for a moment. And when she made for the door, Rick rose and followed.

They picked their way through the overgrown garden—across the terrace to the lawn and then towards the far end of the block. Whittaker House had been built on generous lines in more generous times. The house and grounds sprawled over the best part of a city block. No wonder her father wanted her to sell it.

She wasn’t selling! But it all needed so much attention. She bit back a sigh. It was all she could do not to let her heart slump with every step they took. It had all been so beautiful once upon a time.

‘Hell, Princess, this looks more like years rather than months of neglect.’

‘John was sick for a long time before he had to go into the hospice. He had a young chap in to help him, but...’ She shrugged and glanced around. Her father hadn’t maintained any of it. ‘There are a lot of vigorous-growing perennials here that have self-seeded and gone wild. It looks worse than it is.’ She crossed her fingers.

‘Do you see any self-seeding marigolds?’

He’d adopted that tone again. ‘I’m afraid marigolds are annuals not perennials. They need to be replanted each year.’

‘Why go to all that bother?’

‘For the colour and spectacular blooms. For the scents and the crazy beauty of it all. Because—’

She slammed to a halt and Rick slammed right into the back of her. ‘What on earth—’

He grabbed her shoulders to steady her, but she didn’t need steadying. She spun around and gripped his forearms. ‘You’ll find a clue where the marigolds grow.’

His face lost some of its cockiness. And a lot of its colour. She couldn’t concentrate when he stared at her so intently. She sat on the edge of the nearest raised bed and rubbed her temples. ‘When did I find out my mother didn’t like marigolds? John told me when I wanted to plant some of my own.’

Rick sat beside her, crushing part of a rampant rosemary bush. The aroma drifted up around them.

‘And why did I want to plant marigolds?’ Oh, but... ‘He couldn’t have known, could he?’

‘Couldn’t have known what?’

She turned to him. ‘After he chased you away that day he gave me my very own garden bed to tend.’

‘And you grew marigolds?’

She shook her head. ‘I wanted to, but I didn’t. You see I had this old chocolate box tin and it had pictures of marigolds on it and I showed it to John and told him that’s what I wanted to grow.’

Beside her, Rick stiffened. ‘A tin?’

She nodded.

‘What happened to the tin, Nell?’

‘I put all of my treasures in it and...’ But it had been a secret. John couldn’t have known. Could he?

‘What did you do with them?’

‘I buried them here in the garden. After the policeman left. I snuck out in the middle of the night and buried them when nobody could see what I was up to.’ She turned to meet his chocolate-dark eyes. ‘And I never dug it back up.’

He swallowed. ‘Okay, so all we have to do is try to find where you buried it.’ He leaned back on his hands as if he hadn’t a care in the world, but she’d seen beneath the façade now. ‘I bet you’ve long forgotten that?’

No. She remembered. Perfectly.

She leaned back on her hands too, crushing more rosemary until the air was thick with its scent. She drew a breath of it into her lungs. ‘Doesn’t that remind you of a Sunday roast?’

He didn’t say anything.

‘What are you afraid of?’ She asked the question she had no right to ask. She asked because he kept calling her Princess and it unnerved her and she wanted to unnerve him back.

‘Where I come from, Nell, Sunday roasts weren’t just a rarity; they were non-existent.’

He said her name in a way that made her wish he’d called her Princess instead.

He leaned in towards her. ‘And what am I afraid of? I’m afraid this isn’t some hoax your gardener has decided to play and that everything he’s said is true. I’m afraid I have a thirteen-year-old brother somewhere out there growing up by the scruff of his neck the way I did and with no one to give him a hand.’

Her stomach churned.

‘I’m afraid he’s going to end up in trouble. Or, worse, as a damn statistic.’

She pressed a hand to her stomach and her mouth went so dry she couldn’t swallow.

‘Is that good enough for you?’

It wasn’t good. It was horrible. Her parents might not have been all that interested in her, but she hadn’t been allowed to roam the streets unchecked or at risk of being taken advantage of. Her parents might not have been interested in her, but she had been protected.

‘I remember exactly where I buried it, Rick.’

He stared and then he half laughed. ‘You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?’

She leapt up and dusted off her shorts. ‘We’d better hope John put it back in exactly the same spot or we’re going to be spending a lot of time digging.’

She led the way to the garden shed. She grabbed a spade, secateurs and a couple of trowels. And gloves. Rick merely scoffed when she asked if he’d like a pair too. ‘On your own head be it,’ she warned. ‘We’re heading for the most overgrown part of the garden.’

He took the spade and secateurs before sweeping an elegant bow. ‘Lead the way, Princess.’

It was crazy, but it made her feel like a princess. Not a princess on a pedestal, but a flesh and blood one.

She led him across to the far side of the garden. ‘I’ll trade you a trowel for the secateurs.’ He handed them to her and she cut back canes from a wisteria vine gone mad. ‘That’s going to be a nightmare whenever I find the time to deal with it,’ she grumbled. She cut some more so he had room to move in beside her. ‘Believe it or not, there’s a garden bed there.’

She trimmed the undergrowth around it, found the corners. It wasn’t as big as she remembered, but that still didn’t make it small.

She moved into the centre of it, stomping impatiens and tea roses. She closed her eyes and shuffled three steps to the right. She took a dolly step forward and drew an X on the ground. ‘X marks the spot,’ she whispered.

CHAPTER THREE

RICK STARED AT the spot and cold sweat prickled his nape. What the hell was he doing here?

To run now, though, would reveal weakness and he never showed weakness. In the world where he’d grown up weakness could prove fatal.

Not showing weakness and acting with strength, though, were two different things. When Nell took one of the trowels from his nerveless fingers, he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. He couldn’t move to help her. He couldn’t ask her to stop.

‘The spade will be overkill, I expect. The ground is soft and although it felt like I’d dug for a long time I was only ten so I expect the tin shouldn’t be buried too deeply.’

It was only when she dropped to her knees in the dirt that Rick was able to snap back to himself. ‘Princess, you’ll get dirty.’

She grinned, but she didn’t look up. ‘I like getting mucky in the garden.’

She certainly knew how to wield a trowel.

‘Cupcakes aren’t the only things I’m good at, you know?’

‘I didn’t doubt for a moment that you’d be a gardening expert too.’ He wondered if he should climb into the garden bed and help her. Except she looked so at home and he had a feeling he’d only get in the way. ‘Can I help?’

Her grin widened. ‘Nah, you just stand there and look pretty.’

He couldn’t help it. He had to grin too.

‘I can cook other things too. I’ll cook you a Sunday roast some time and then you’ll know what I meant about the scent of rosemary.’

Something hard and unbending inside him softened a fraction. Digging in the garden, grinning and teasing him, she was the antithesis of the haughty, superior woman she’d turned into yesterday. He could see now that he’d done something to trigger that haughtiness because Nell used her supercilious shrugs and stuck her nose in the air as a shield. The same way he used his devil-may-care grins and mocking eyebrows.

As he continued to stare at her, some parts of him might be softening, but other parts were doing the exact opposite. He adjusted his stance and concentrated on getting himself back on an even keel.

He wasn’t letting a slip of a girl—any girl—knock him off balance.

‘Princess, I admire cooking and gardening skills as much as the next man, but it’s all very domestic goddessy.’ A bit old-fashioned. He was careful to keep the judgement out of his voice and the mockery from his eyebrows. He didn’t want her getting all hoity-toity again.

‘Oh, that’d be because—’

She froze. It was only for a second but he was aware of every fraction of that second—the dismay on her face, the way the trowel trembled and then the stubborn jut of her jaw. She waved a hand in the air, dismissing the rest of whatever she’d been about to say.

He frowned. What on earth...?

Metal hitting metal made them both freeze. With a gulp, Nell continued digging. Rick collapsed onto the wooden sleeper that made the border for the bed and tried to ease the pounding in his chest.

Within a few moments Nell had freed the tin, brushed the dirt from its surface along with the dirt from her knees. She dropped the trowel at Rick’s feet and settled herself beside him. The tin sat in her lap. They both stared at it as she pulled her hands free of the gloves. She reached out to trace the picture on the lid.

‘Marigolds,’ he said softly.

She nodded.

‘Why didn’t John let you plant marigolds here?’

‘Because my mother didn’t like them, remember?’

‘Nobody would’ve seen them all the way down the back here.’

She lifted a shoulder. ‘I found it was always best not to make waves if one could help it.’

‘I decided on an opposite course of action.’

She glanced up with a grin, her green eyes alive with so much impish laughter it made his chest clench. ‘You did at that. I’m going to take a leaf out of your book and fill this entire garden bed with marigolds.’

Good for her.

She held the tin out to him. ‘Would you like to do the honours?’

His mouth went dry. He shook his head. ‘They were your treasures.’ He couldn’t help adding, ‘Besides, you could be wrong and maybe John never knew about the tin.’

‘I’m not wrong.’

Her certainty had his heart beating hard and fast.

She sent him a small smile. ‘Well, here goes.’ And she prised the lid off.

An assortment of oddments met his gaze. Silly stuff one would expect a ten-year-old to treasure. And from it all she detached a small gold locket that he recognised immediately. She held it out to him and his heart gave a gigantic kick. ‘When I buried this I swore that if I ever had the chance I’d give it to you.’

‘Nell, I couldn’t—’

She dropped it in his hand. ‘Even now it brings me no joy. It reminds me of the trouble it caused. Throw it away if you want and spare me the bother.’

His hand closed about it and his heart thumped. In kid-speak their exchange of gifts had been a token of friendship. Not that the adults had seen it that way. But the locket shone as brilliantly for him now as it had back then.

‘While I keep this.’

She held up the tin aeroplane he’d given her and a laugh broke from him. He took it from her and flew it through the air the way he used to do as a boy. ‘You really did keep it.’

‘I wasn’t a defiant child. I generally did as I was told.’ Her lips twisted. ‘Or, at least, I tried to. This was the one thing I dug my heels in about.’

Along with this big old relic of a Victorian mansion. He wondered why it meant so much to her.

‘I should’ve dug my heels in harder about the rest of it too, Rick. I’m sorry I didn’t.’

He handed her back the plane. ‘Forget about it. We were just kids.’ And what chance did a timid ten-year-old have against bullying parents and glaring policemen?

‘Hey, I remember those—’ he laughed when she pulled out a host of cheap wire bangles in an assortment of garish colours ‘—the girls at school went mad for them for a while.’

‘I know and I coveted them. I managed to sneak into a Two Dollar Shop and buy these when my mother wasn’t looking, but she forbade me from wearing them. Apparently they made me look cheap and she threatened to throw them away.’

So instead Nell had buried them in this tin where no one could take them away from her...but where she’d never be able to wear them either. Not even in secret.

She dispensed quickly with a few other knick-knacks—some hair baubles and a Rubik’s Cube—along with some assorted postcards. At the very bottom of the tin were two stark white envelopes. The writing on them was black-inked capitals.

One for Nell.

One for him.

With a, ‘Tsk,’ that robbed the moment of its ominousness, she handed them both to him and then proceeded to pile her ‘treasures’ back into the tin and eased the lid back on. ‘Do we want to rip them open here or does it call for coffee?’

‘Coffee?’ His lip curled, although he tried to stop it.

‘You’re right. It’s not too early for a drink, is it?’

‘Hell, no. It has to be getting onto three o’clock.’

‘I don’t have any beer, but I do have half a bottle of cheap Chardonnay in the fridge.’

‘Count me in.’

He carried the spade, the secateurs and the letters. She carried the trowels and the tin. It touched him that she trusted him with her letter. He could simply make off with both letters and try to figure out what game John Cox was playing at. But the gold locket burned a hole in his pocket and he knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

Besides, Nell had been the one to decipher the clue and dig up the tin. So he helped her stow the garden tools and followed her across the weed-infested lawn, along the terrace and back into the kitchen. He set both letters onto the table. Nell washed her hands, collected two wine glasses and the bottle of wine.

He took the bottle, glanced at the label and grinned. ‘You weren’t joking when you said cheap, were you?’

‘Shut up and pour,’ she said cheerfully. ‘When it’s a choice between cheap wine and no wine...’

‘Good choice,’ he agreed, but a burn started up in his chest at all this evidence of the Princess fallen on hard times.

He handed her a glass, she clinked it with his and sat. He handed her the letter. She didn’t bother with preliminaries. She set her glass down, tore open the envelope, and scanned the enclosed sheet of paper.

Rick remained standing, his heart thudding.

With a sound of disgust she thrust it at him. ‘I don’t like these games.’

Rick read it.

Dear Miss Nell,

If you think he’s worth the effort, would you please pass these details on to him?

Yours sincerely,

John Cox.

She leapt up and snatched the letter back. ‘He calls you “him” and “he’s”.’ She slapped the sheet of paper with the back of her hand. ‘He doesn’t even have the courtesy to name you. It’s...it’s...’

‘It’s okay.’

She stared at him. She gave him back the letter. ‘No, it’s not.’ She took her seat again and sipped her wine. She didn’t grimace at its taste as he thought she would. In fact, she looked quite at home with her cheap wine. He’d have smiled except his letter burned a hole in his palm.

‘And just so you know,’ she added, ‘the details there are for his solicitor.’

Rick didn’t think for a moment that John had left him any money. It’d just be another hoop to jump through. Gritting his teeth, he slid a finger beneath the flap of the envelope addressed to him and pulled the letter free.

At least it was addressed to him.

Rick

If you’ve got this far then you have the approval of the only woman I’ve ever trusted and the only woman I have any time for. If you haven’t blown it, she’ll provide you with the information you’ll need for the next step of the journey.

It was simply signed John Cox.

He handed the letter to Nell so she could read it too. It seemed mean-spirited not to. She read it and handed it back. ‘Loquacious, isn’t he?’

Rick sank down into his chair.

‘The solicitor, Clinton Garside, is wily and unpleasant.’

‘Just like John Cox.’

She shook her head and then seemed to realise she was contradicting him. Based on all the evidence Rick had so far, ‘wily and unpleasant’ described John to a T. ‘I never knew this side of him. He was quiet, didn’t talk much and certainly wasn’t affectionate, but he was kind to me.’

Maybe so, but he still hadn’t let her plant marigolds.

* * *

Nell glanced at Rick and it suddenly hit her that he was only a step or two away from abandoning this entire endeavour.

She didn’t know why, but instinct warned her that would be a bad thing—not bad evil, but bad detrimental. That it would hurt him in some fundamental way. As the messenger of the tidings she couldn’t help feeling partly responsible.

You have enough troubles of your own.

Be that as it may. She owed Rick. She owed him for what had happened fifteen years ago. She owed him for letting herself be browbeaten, for not being strong enough to have defended him when that had been the right thing to do. She might only have been ten years old, but she’d known right from wrong. She had no intention of making the same mistake now.

She straightened. ‘Clint will give you the runaround. He’ll tell you he won’t be able to see you for weeks, and that’s not acceptable.’

‘Nell, I—’

‘If you have a sibling out there who needs you—’ she fixed him with a glare ‘—then it’s unacceptable.’

His lips pressed together in a tight line. He slumped back in his seat without another word.

Nell pulled her cellphone from her handbag and punched in Clint Garside’s number. ‘Hello, it’s Nell Smythe-Whittaker. I’d like to make an appointment to see Mr Garside, please. I know he’s very busy, but it’s rather important and I was hoping to meet with him as soon as possible.’

‘I’ll just check his appointment book,’ the receptionist said.

‘Thank you, I appreciate that.’ She searched her mind and came back with a name. ‘Is that you, Lynne?’

‘It is, Ms Smythe-Whittaker.’

‘Please, call me Nell. How’s your husband coming along after his football injury? Will he be right to play the first game of the season? All the fans are hoping so.’

‘We think so, fingers crossed. It’s nice of you to ask.’

Exactly. And in return...

‘There’s just been a cancellation for Wednesday afternoon at three-thirty. Would that suit you?’

‘Wednesday at three-thirty,’ she repeated, glancing at Rick. He shrugged and nodded. ‘That’s perfect! Thank you so much, Lynne. I really appreciate it.’

She rang off and stowed her phone back into her bag. ‘Three-thirty Wednesday,’ she repeated.

‘So you’re intent on holding my hand?’

An edge had crept into his voice. She sat a little straighter and lifted her chin. ‘It’ll speed things up.’

‘Why are you so intent on helping me get to the bottom of all this?’

She reached out to clasp the stem of her wine glass, twirled it around and around on the table. She lifted a shoulder. ‘There are a few different reasons. Guilt, for one. Your father has been dead for eight months and I’ve only found the time to give you his letter now.’

‘If he was my father.’

If.

‘You had no idea what that letter contained. If you did...’

‘I’d have tried to deliver it the same day! And I’d have quizzed John to within an inch of his life, but that’s beside the point. I should’ve found the time to deliver it to you sooner.’

‘You’ve had a lot on your plate these last eight months. You’ve no need to feel guilty.’

‘The locket,’ she whispered. ‘It caused you so much trouble.’

‘We were just kids, Nell. None of it was your fault.’

That wasn’t true. ‘I still feel badly about it.’

He reached out and for a moment she thought he meant to take her hand; at the last moment he pulled his hand back. ‘I wish you wouldn’t.’

He hadn’t touched her but warmth threaded through his eyes. His mouth had lost its hard edge, replaced with a gentle sensuality that threatened to weave her under its spell. She knew in her bones that Rick would know how to kiss a woman and mean it.

It took all her strength to suppress the thrill that rippled through her. She fumbled to find the thread of their conversation again. ‘The police labelled you a thief and a liar,’ she forced herself to say. ‘They thought you bullied me into handing the locket over. Those labels stuck.’

‘Not my fault, Nell. And not yours.’

Because he seemed to want her to, she nodded.

‘Anything else?’

‘John,’ she sighed. ‘I can’t help feeling he’d want me to help you and...I don’t owe him, but he was kind to me.’

He shot back in his chair, his eyes cold.

Her heart thumped. ‘I’m not trying to justify his behaviour to you. That’s shocking and unforgivable.’ But Rick would never have found the marigold tin without her help and what if there was further nonsense to be endured during the solicitor’s appointment?

All of the hard angles had shot back into Rick’s face. A lazy devil’s smile hovered about his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes. She pulled herself up, lifted her chin and gave the most speaking shrug in her armoury. ‘Of course, if you’d prefer I didn’t attend the appointment on Wednesday, obviously I won’t.’ She reached for her glass and took a sip, pretending it was something French and priceless.

Just like that, Rick laughed and the devil leached out of him. ‘What a pair we are.’

‘What are you talking about?’

He dismissed that with a flick of his fingers. ‘If you think it’ll make the meeting more profitable then I’d appreciate your presence.’

She took another sip, glad this time that it was just plain old Chardonnay. ‘Okay.’

‘What’s more, I’ll thank you in advance and mean it. Thank you, Nell.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘This, however—’ he lifted his glass and drained the last mouthful ‘—is awful.’

She feigned outrage, but he only grinned. ‘I know where Garside’s office is. It’s on the high street, right?’ She nodded. ‘Would you like to grab a coffee beforehand?’

‘Oh.’ Her face fell. ‘That’s a really nice idea, Rick, but—’

‘You have other plans. No sweat.’ He rose as if it were of no consequence. She wished it felt that way to her. Coffee invitations had been few and far between these last few months. ‘I’ll see you out the front at three-twenty-five.’

She rose too. ‘Right.’

* * *

‘Correct me if I’m wrong, Nell... You don’t mind if I call you Nell, do you?’

Nell suppressed a shudder at the wet smile Clint Garside turned on her. ‘Not at all.’

‘I was under the impression that the business you wished to discuss concerned yourself.’

She forced her eyes wide. ‘Oh, but it does, Mr Garside. It’s just before we get to that I was hoping we’d be able to clear up this little matter for Mr Bradford and my family’s former employee, the late Mr John Cox. It’s been such a weight on my mind.’

‘Well...of course, of course.’

He smoothed his hair back and sent her another greasy smile. He barely glanced at Rick. She’d forgive him the smarminess, but she wouldn’t forgive him for ignoring Rick. He had no right to his snobbery. He had no right thinking he was better than Rick.

‘You have to understand, however, that it may take my staff and I some time to locate the file. It’s an older case and I’m sure you appreciate—’

‘Oh, I do hope not.’ Nell crossed her leg and smoothed a hand down the bodice of her dress. ‘Once that document is found I was hoping to discuss the possibility of selling Whittaker House with you. I wanted to know if you’d be interested in handling the conveyancing of the property for me?’

She traced fingers along the V-neck of her dress, drawing the solicitor’s eyes there, and she could’ve sworn that beside her Rick was trying not to laugh. She didn’t dare glance at him for fear that a fit of giggles might overtake her.

She tossed her hair back and assumed the most superior posture she could. ‘Of course, I couldn’t possibly consider that while I have loose ends like this one hanging over my head.’ She sighed and made to rise. ‘Perhaps you’ll be so kind as to call me once you’ve found the relevant documentation and then we can take it from there.’

‘Oh, please sit, Nell. Let’s not be too hasty.’ Clint Garside rushed around the desk and urged Nell back into her seat. ‘Let me just have a quick look to see if they’re near at hand after all.’

‘Why, of course.’ She beamed at him. ‘I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all the trouble you’re taking.’

Rick snorted. Clint glanced at him sharply and Nell reached out to touch the solicitor’s arm and recapture his attention before elbowing Rick in the ribs. ‘The file?’ she reminded him gently.

‘Oh, yes.’ He was all smarmy smiles again. He patted her hand before trotting over to a filing cabinet on the other side of the room. Ugh! Behind his back, she wiped her hand down her skirt. The man had a touch like a dead fish.

‘Bingo!’ Clint turned with another wide, wet smile and held a file aloft. And for no reason at all her heart started to hammer. Was this the moment Rick would discover the identity of his sibling?