The Secret Heiress

She weaved and darted on her secondhand bike, moving with surprising speed for one so small. She was barely five foot two, hardly more than a hundred pounds, and although she was petite, her body was toned and muscular.

Legs pumping, she headed for the Royal Darwin Hospital where her mother lay in the critical care unit. A heart attack had felled Colette Lafayette, her third—and worst—attack in as many years.

Although it was February and still “the Wet,” the rainy season, today the sun shone, and the clouds were distant. But Marie knew better than to trust the Northern Territory’s fickle weather. She had a secondhand rain poncho in her secondhand backpack.

In the hospital parking lot, she chained her bike to a rack, and headed for the main entrance. The building, one of the tallest in Darwin, was a miracle of engineering, designed to withstand the cyclones that were the curse of the city.

Marie made her way to the elevator, pulling off her helmet and shaking her head. Her hair was thick and golden, and she trimmed it herself into a short, smooth bob. Her eyes were her most arresting feature; they were long-lashed and a pure crystalline light green, unmarked by even a touch of hazel.

Her high cheekbones, straight little nose and full lips gave her a delicate femininity in spite of her boxy unisex clothes. She wore the university uniform for cookery classes, a white shirt and plain black trousers.

She got off at the critical care facility. She no longer had to identify herself at the desk. The entire staff recognized her by now. She headed down the hall and quietly opened Colette’s door.

Colette lay with her eyes closed, and Marie’s heart tightened in alarm. Her mother looked even frailer than she had yesterday. But her eyes immediately fluttered open, as if she sensed that Marie was there.

“My good girl,” she said in a small voice.

Marie caught Colette’s hand in her own, as if she could pump some of her own strength and energy into her mother. “Mama,” she said softly and bent to kiss her.

Colette smiled and stared up at her. “My good girl,” she repeated. “This is a school day. Isn’t it? How were classes?”

“Good, Mama. And my job at the Scepter’s going well. Last night they told me they wanted to train me for management when I finish this round of certification.”

Marie worked evenings waiting tables at the restaurant in the Scepter Hotel and Resort, one of Darwin’s finest. The manager considered himself a perfectionist, but he’d said Marie had exceeded even his expectations.

Now the older woman sighed and smiled. “Ah. You’re so smart, and you work so hard.”

“Mama, let me bring you something homemade tomorrow. You’re getting too thin. You’re not used to hospital food.”

Colette grimaced. “I have no appetite. Eating tires me.”

Marie squeezed her hand more tightly. “Home cooking will make you feel better.”

Colette shook her head. “What makes me feel best is how well you do. You’ve got an education, opportunity, prospects. That’s what’s important. You’ll have a good future—secure.”

Marie swallowed. Education, opportunity, prospects, security. These were things her mother had never had. But she’d worked unstintingly for Marie, and now it was Marie’s turn to care for Colette. And she would—she was prepared to drop out of school for a semester, even take a leave of absence from her job if she had to.

“I’m doing fine, Mama. And you’re going to be fine.”

Colette’s mood shifted strangely. “I’ve been thinking. I have something to tell you. Something I’ve held back. You know about Reynard and me.”

Marie nodded, but was concerned: Colette had been repeating herself lately—was this a bad sign? She kept talking about the past as if she were struggling to make it clearer to Marie, although Marie knew it well.

Reynard was Colette’s brother by law, but not by birth. The Lafayettes had first adopted Colette, then four years later, Reynard. But the family had almost been ruined by the 1950 cyclone. The cyclone, unnamed, destroyed the little building where the Lafayettes lived above their pastry shop—everything they had.

Colette’s father, overwhelmed by depression, never recovered. The family began a spiral into near poverty. Neither Colette nor Reynard could finish their schooling.

“I told you I never knew who my birth mother was,” Colette murmured.

Marie nodded; she knew that part of the story by heart. But then Colette surprised her. “But maybe I do know. I didn’t know how to tell you. I started writing to people. A nurse in Queensland answered me—two years ago. This is her letter. Remember that little wooden box I asked you to bring? The letter was in it. But don’t read it here. Read it at home and think about it. Yes, it’s time I put it in your hands. I feel it.”

It was time? She felt it. What did Colette mean? Marie fought down a wave of alarm. She forced a smile, as cheery as she could make it. “You’re being very mysterious.”

With an unsteady hand, Colette picked up an envelope from the bedside stand. “I didn’t know what to believe, what to do, so I did nothing. I just have no idea…”

Colette seemed exhausted. “So I’m passing it on to you. To find out or—I’m so tired,” she said. “I’m sorry. You’ve come all this way, but I think I’m going to fall asleep. It’s all I do lately.”

“Don’t apologize. You need rest. Sweet dreams.” Marie bent and kissed her mother’s cheek again. Already Colette’s eyelids were lowering, but she managed a smile.

Marie studied the envelope, feeling an indefinable uneasiness, and then tucked it into her backpack. She stared at Colette’s face, once smooth and delicate, but now shadowed by illness.

Making her way to the elevators, Marie punched the down button, her stomach queasy with anxiety. She and Colette were not only mother and daughter, but the closest of friends. Colette had to recover. She had to. Life would be empty and loveless without her.

The elevator doors slid open, and Marie blinked in surprise. A cupid, a very tall, chubby cupid, stood inside. At first glance he seemed naked except for a large white diaper and two inadequate wings sprouting from his back. Cupid’s blue eyes widened, and he gave Marie a smile and a leer.

She quickly realized he wasn’t naked, but dressed in flesh tights and a leotard.

A gilded bow hung from one shoulder. Slung over the other was a little gold quiver of darts with pink heart-shaped tips. His mop of curly blond hair was clearly a wig.

“Hello, Dearie,” he said, looking her up and down. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“It’s a bit early for Valentine’s Day,” Marie returned, hardly in a mood for silliness. She noticed he carried two large pink tote bags, each labeled BNC for Bullock News Corporation and showing a jolly, smiling caricature of its founder, Jackson Bullock.

Cupid jiggled one of the bags, which seemed to be empty. “BNC’s sending me to children’s wards to hand out goodies—candies and crackers and balloons.”

“Very admirable,” Marie said between clamped teeth.

“I got a lovely Scallywag biscuit left. Want it?”

“No, thank you,” she said in the same tone.

“Aww,” he said. “Troubled? You look worried. Shame, a pretty thing like you. You need Dan Cupid in your life. All of him you can get. How about a spot of supper tonight?”

She looked at him as if he were a bug. She rolled her eyes and muttered, “Puh-leese.”

“Please pick you up? With pleasure. What time? Where do you live? Do you like the Pizza Shack?”

She flashed him a disgusted glare. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not in the mood. Please just leave me alone.”

“Oh, ho!” he said in a hostile tone. “Aren’t you little Miss Snip? What’s the matter? Don’t you like men?”

She was saved by the door opening into the lobby. She was smaller than he was, but trimmer and faster. She sprinted toward the hospital’s main entrance.

“Hey!” he bellowed. “You shouldn’t run off from Dan Cupid. You’ll be sorry.”

She dashed out the door and toward the bike racks. She glanced over her shoulder in case he was following her, but she could see no trace of him. Thank God, she thought. Could life get any more surreal?

She was sick with forebodings about her mother, and now she’d been harassed by an overweight man in a diaper. Things could not get worse.