Max saw her take a breath—just a light, short breath—before she plunged on. There was still the same chilling light in her eyes, in her voice.
‘When Pauline married my father he was, indeed, a very wealthy man. It was his main attraction for her, his money—she just loved spending it. And so she spent and she spent and she spent! She spent it all. All of it! She spent it on endless holidays to expensive places—spent a fortune on interior designers both at Haughton and for the flat in Mayfair she insisted on. And she spent it on couture clothes for herself and Chloe, and on flash cars that were renewed every year, and more and more jewellery for themselves, and endless parties and living the high life at my father’s expense.
‘She burned through the lot. He sold everything in the end—all his stocks and shares, and some of the most valuable paintings. He cashed in all his funds and his life insurance, just to keep her in the luxury she demanded for herself. He died with almost nothing except Haughton—and he left two-thirds of that to Pauline and Chloe. Pauline made sure of that when he had to make a new will once he’d remarried. Made very, very sure!
‘So you see, Max—’ there was a twisting in her voice now, like the wire of a garrotte ‘—there is absolutely nothing left of my father’s wealth except what Haughton represents, so it would be hard for me to buy out Pauline and Chloe on my teacher’s salary. That goes on paying for groceries and council tax and utility bills—and for my stepmother and stepsister’s essential expenses. Like having their hair done. Their little jaunts abroad, of course, are paid for by systematically selling off the antiques and paintings left in the house.’
Her voice changed again, becoming mocking in its viciousness.
‘To be fair to them, that’s how I’ve decided I’m going to pay for the clothes I bought here in London. After all, why shouldn’t I get just a fraction—a tiny, minute, minuscule fraction—of what my father’s wife has taken? And by the same token, Max...’
The pitch of her voice chilled his blood once more, and the venom in her eyes was toxic.
‘Why shouldn’t I be just a tiny, teeny bit...reluctant...to let that pair of blood-sucking vampires sell my parents’ home out from under my feet? Why damn well shouldn’t I? Because it’s all I’ve got left. They’ve taken everything else—everything! They bled my father dry and made his life hell—and mine! And I will loathe their guts for it till my dying day.’
A shuddering breath escaped her, as if she were at the end of all her strength.
‘So now, if you don’t mind, Max, I’m going to go back to the place where I was born and raised, where I was once entirely happy until those...vultures...invaded it. The home I so fondly thought would one day be mine to raise my own family in, where I’d live out my days, but which is now going to be torn from me by my grasping, greedy, vile stepmother and stepsister, because it’s the only thing left they can take. And I’m going to make the most of it—the very most of it—until the law courts, or the bailiffs, or your security guards or whatever it damn well takes drive me out of it.’
Her face contorted. She whirled around, seizing up her suitcase. He watched her stalk across the room, yank open the door, slam it shut behind her. Watched her while he stood motionless.
Quite, quite motionless.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HAUGHTON WAS BATHED in watery sunlight, turning the ho
use and gardens to pale silver, but as she stepped inside misery filled Ellen to the brim—for her father’s ruin, her stepmother’s avarice, for her angry parting with Max, for parting with him at all.
And for the loss of her home, which must come—now, or later, come it must.
As she went into the kitchen she could feel a dull, dread awareness forcing itself into her consciousness. A new, bitter truth pushing itself in front of her.
I can’t go on like this. I just can’t—not any longer.
Stark and brutal, the words incised themselves into her consciousness. She felt a pit of cold, icy water in her insides, a knot of dread and resolve. She had to face it—accept it. She could not stay locked in her vicious, destructive battle with Pauline and Chloe. It was a battle she could not win in the end. A battle that was indeed twisting her, deforming her.
I can’t stop them taking it from me. I can’t stop them and I can’t go on the way I have been. So all I can do is give in. Give up. Give up my home.
More words echoed in her head, stinging even more painfully. Max calling this house a tomb. Her tomb. She felt her hands clench as if in desperate denial. But his accusation stabbed again. Forcing her to face what he had launched at her. Forcing her to face another truth as well.
I’ve changed. Max has changed me—changed not just my outer appearance but what is inside as well. I’m not the same person any more. Being with him, seeing the world with him, has changed me. He’s opened my eyes to the world beyond here, given me the means to make the most of it, to stride through it with confidence and assurance.
I won’t have him and I won’t have Haughton—but I will have myself. And that must be enough. It must be enough because it is all that I can have now.
She knew it, accepted it—had no choice but to accept it.
But it was with a heavy heart and a sick feeling of dread and painful anguish that she went to make the phone call she knew she must make.
* * *
Max sat with an expression of polite interest on his face, as his meeting with the Sheikh’s development minister proceeded. The meeting was going well, mutual benefits from his proposal were being agreed, relations were all extremely cordial and everyone all around was very pleased.
But Max’s thoughts were far, far away, burningly consumed by a project that was small fry compared to the one being set up here, but ultimately far more important to him. One that was crucial to his future. His UK head of legal affairs had phoned him just as he’d arrived for his meeting and Max had mentally punched the air with relief.
The meeting finally over, with an entirely satisfactory conclusion, Max walked out to his waiting car. The heat of the Persian Gulf engulfed him. So did spearing emotion.
Ellen should be here. She should be at the hotel, by the pool. I’d join her and then enjoy a sundowner as the day cooled, looking forward to dinner together followed by an early night.