Secrets Of The Outback

Now all those hazy questions he’d sealed away in his mind broke out of the vault. He turned in blind anguish, his feelings of betrayal so powerful that they were beyond words. He looked for and found Travis Copeland. The destroyer was standing by himself. Without hesitation Steve moved in. He would have liked to shout “Adulterer!” but his throat closed up. Travis was sweating and shaking, just standing there staring at him. Knowing what was coming.

Before anyone could stop him, Steve Bishop, superbly fit, launched himself at the man who had dishonored his wife, ruined his life. He grabbed him powerfully by the shoulder, then—as mourners turned, both aghast and agog—punched Travis so hard in the face that he was knocked clear off his feet. Copeland’s patrician nose was most assuredly broken. Steve had felt the crunch, but without any satisfaction.

A woman in a chic black suit began to wail. Not the widow. Not the wife. Perhaps they realized this sort of display was bound to happen sooner or later. While Travis Copeland sprawled on the stone steps, his nose gushing blood, police descended on Steve Bishop. They overpowered him swiftly although he offered no resistance. He rocked back and forth on his feet, his face ashen, not a shadow of regret in his eyes. Steve Bishop was in an altered state from which he would never give himself time to recover.

It was impossible to hide things. In the end they always came out.

CHAPTER ONE

The present

MONDAY MORNING. Traffic was heavier than normal. Jewel swung a U-turn, not exactly sure if it was legal, and took a different route, only to find some of the lights were out on Station Road, which put her farther behind. Another couple of delays would precipitate a minor crisis. She would be late for her Monday morning “chat”—a quaint tradition—with her boss, Blair Skinner, a man she found extremely abrasive. Few in the prestigious law firm of Barton Skinner Beaumont didn’t, but they all wanted to hang on to a career. Instead they made jokes about him behind his back.

A vacant parking space in the small basement of her office building almost caught her unaware. She drove into it nearly dizzy with relief. The only real way to secure basement parking was to arrive early. Which she always did. Except today…. Someone, bless him or her, had obviously called in sick.

Jewel grabbed her handbag, so expensive she really should insure it, then locked her car by remote. She made directly for the lifts, feeling reassured, despite her workouts at the gym, that there were a few fellow workers about. Must’ve been stalled by the same set of lights. A few weeks back, another young woman who worked in the building had had a bad scare when a man approached her, pulling a gun from an inside pocket. As it later turned out after a comparatively easy citizen’s arrest—the young woman’s rescuer was a prominent footballer—the gun was a fake and the man had a long history of psychiatric problems. Still, no one needed an experience like that. There really should be security, she thought for perhaps the hundredth time, knowing full well it wasn’t going to happen.

In the handsomely appointed ladies’ rest room—thank God Barton Skinner Beaumont hadn’t gone unisex like they did on Ally McBeal—Jewel checked herself in the mirror. Skinner demanded that the three female associates of the prestigious law firm that bore his name—well, his grandfather’s—be groomed to perfection. Impeccable himself in all matters of dress, manners and taste, Skinner was very severe about it. Up until recently, Barton Skinner Beaumont hadn’t even allowed bright young women through their hallowed portals. All vacancies had been filled by bright young men. But Jewel, who held firmly to the belief that women could achieve anything, had become a prime target for Skinner’s “wit.” Not that the male associates were entirely spared. They, too, received a fair sprinkling of Skinner’s sarcastic comments without a one of them game enough to tell him to mind his own business. Extraordinarily enough, Jewel had. That was what came of being born in the bush.

Skinner wasn’t going to catch her out today, even if he tried an average of three times a week. Today she’d dressed in a brand-new suit, which had substantially set her back, fine-quality midnight-blue wool, austere but beautifully cut. Under it, to add flair, she wore a brilliant silk blouse, turquoise striped with fuchsia, matched exactly by her lipstick. Incredibly, Skinner noticed things like that. The turquoise intensified the blue of her eyes. She’d had her hair cut recently to just past chin length. It fell thick and heavy in a side-parted classic pageboy. She used to wear it much longer, the way the ex–man in her life liked it, but this was a fresh start. Why did women always cut their hair on such occasions? Perhaps she could find out with a few sessions on a psychiatrist’s couch. Not that she trusted psychiatrists. Not after the way they’d sorted out her mother’s problems—from depression to grand psychosis.

Just thinking about it was an agony, even though it had been going on for years and years. Determinedly Jewel redirected her attention to the mirror. With her suit she wore good daytime jewelry. Nothing tacky. So what if she could only afford 9-carat gold? It was tasteful, understated. Anyone might think she’d been hired as a clotheshorse instead of a pretty good corporate lawyer, she thought with a grin. No, not pretty good. She was underrating herself. She was darn good, and moving up the ladder. A welcome raise after the Stanbroke deal had allowed her to indulge her weakness for beautiful shoes—which might’ve had something to do with the fact that she’d had to go barefoot for much of her childhood.

OUTSIDE SKINNER’S DOOR, Jewel knocked, then stood back, certain Skinner would permit himself the pleasure of making her wait. She didn’t think it was worth brooding about it; it made her laugh. Finally came his peremptory “enter,” as though he could ill afford the time to see her. Jewel opened the door and walked into Skinner’s plush inner sanctum. It was furnished with an array of handsome Georgian bookcases holding weighty legal tomes, several favorite paintings by maritime artists and too few chairs, clearly signaling that anyone who wanted to visit him might have to stand up.

As expected, Skinner had his head down, perusing some file he seemed to want to keep secret; he held one arm around it, presumably to prevent Jewel from catching sight of the client’s name. Blair Skinner, in Jewel’s opinion, was the sort of man who could sour a woman on the entire male sex, but she had to concede that at forty-five he could be rated handsome by the casual observer. He oozed wealth. He loved fashion. He dressed in expensive Italian suits that she knew for a fact cost the best part of two thousand dollars; she’d checked when she’d visited an exclusive men’s store with her ex. Skinner had never been known to make a single mistake with his shirts, ties, shoes and socks. He had good regular features that were always darkly tanned, thanks to his yachting expeditions, and a fine head of hair, but the close observer would have rejected those eyes, small and set too close together. Then again, other factors weighed in. He was a brilliant lawyer with a career that went swimmingly and he was, of course, grandson of one of the firm’s founders. Nevertheless, Jewel always thought he could have posed for a shot of an upmarket Dirty Rotten Scoundrel. She never stood forlornly in Skinner’s office waiting for his attention. She amused herself with thoughts such as this.

Finally Skinner looked up, favoring her with an all-over glance that took in her appearance to the last detail. Not offensive. Not overtly sexual. Just a quick rundown of her appearance and grooming. “My, aren’t we glamorous today?” he said with a languid wave of a well-manicured hand.

“Delighted you think so, Blair.” Jewel didn’t make the mistake of taking a seat before being invited to do so. That was exactly what Skinner wanted.

Skinner leaned back in his wonderfully comfortable-looking leather. “Yes, you’ve come on well under my tutelage,” he said. “I nearly wept when I first saw you come through my door—what, all of three years ago.”

Jewel nodded, not believing he was going to bring up her outfit again—white shirt, designer jeans, navy blazer. A bit on the informal side, but classy.

He was. “I know daggy dress is all the rage in the sticks, but I was frankly horrified to see someone so scruffy standing in my office.”

As usual, he was exaggerating wildly, and on the strength of her recent achievements, Jewel tried a little taunt. “A good thing for the firm I wasn’t marched off in shame.”

“The only thing that saved you was your rеsumе,” he reminded her.

“And the fact that I topped my law class, along with winning the University Medal.” She would never have been so self-congratulatory with anyone else, but it was part of the routine with Skinner.

“Such revelations! And so many people to speak for you! Wonderful recommendations.” He shook his head. “Generally speaking, our young males are the outright winners.”

“Were,” Jewel emphasized. “But if you look at the results, Blair, they’ve finally been overtaken.”

“Not exactly,” he said silkily, “but no sooner do we train them than they mooch off and get married. I hope you’re not going to do that, Eugenie,” he said as though contemplating a crime.

“Not for a good while,” Jewel assured him. “I’m a touch nervous about marriage. I have a friend who was married for an hour.”

Skinner, divorced himself, almost giggled. “I take that to mean they were doing it for a stunt. I just love our Monday mornings, Eugenie. Even the run-ins. You seem to be one of the few courageous enough to speak your mind.” Skinner leaned back. “Sit down, Eugenie.” He paused, his expression reflective. “I simply can’t bring myself to call you Jewel like the rest of the office. It’s an over-decoration and you don’t need it.”

“That’s okay. Eugenie is fine. And I get a kick out of your French pronunciation. Besides, I haven’t heard it in a long, long time.”

“So who started calling you Jewel?” Skinner actually looked interested.

“My father,” Jewel announced casually, although any mention of her father made her feel lonely and sick inside.

“I understand he was killed?” Skinner stared at her.

Slammed his car into a power pole. “You’ve already read my file, Blair,” Jewel pointed out too sharply.

“My dear, please don’t take offense.” Unexpectedly he backed off. “I have indeed studied your file. Smart and ambitious as you are, with an ability to write excellent briefs, you’re still extremely lucky to be here. I have to hand it to you, Eugenie. For a little girl from the bush with absolutely no connections, you’ve turned yourself into a real achiever. A young lawyer with a future. Not easy.”

“But I have you on my side, Blair, rooting for me, showing me the way to professionalism, self-improvement, correct dress and behavior. As only someone born to life among the gentry can.”

He laughed. “Watch it!” His smooth cosmopolitan voice was mellow. “Snob, aren’t I?”

“Sincerely, yes.”

“For which you must be grateful.” Skinner began to hunt through the files on his splendid partner’s desk. “Don’t imagine for one minute that my influence hasn’t helped you impress the clients. No one who works here can afford to look like a loser—” He broke off. “Ah, here it is.” He withdrew a thick file from the pack. “Remember the Quinn Corp. thing? We handled their takeover of Omega Enterprises?”

“The Copeland Connellan subsidiary?” Jewel asked. “I should. I put a lot of research into that. Around two-hundred pages.”

“I wouldn’t have let you do it if I didn’t have confidence in you,” Skinner said a little testily. “However…things don’t appear to be working out. In fact, they’re going bad.”

“Really?” Jewel was surprised. “I would’ve thought it was airtight.”

“Except some of Omega’s top people didn’t fully appreciate that their jobs were on the line. They’re suing.”

“You mean Copeland Connellan canned them after the buyout?” Jewel sat back, frowning.

Skinner nodded. “Exactly. Their argument was that Omega’s top guns turned out to be duds.”

“With their salaries, the Omega people can’t have been pleased.”

“Don’t worry about them,” Skinner, never a man to dwell on the misfortunes of others, said equably. “They’re all millionaires. Copeland Connellan has a way of clearing out duds. Anyway, it looks like litigation—which, as we represent Copeland Connellan, we will win. Not saying it won’t be tricky. So let’s get started. Can’t have our biggest client saying they’re not getting our immediate attention. Then we’ve got Kussler Consolidated versus the ATA Group. Pull your chair up here. I’ll be shoveling a lot of work onto your desk, so don’t go making too many outside plans.” He glanced up at her. “By the way, Keefe Connellan will be coming in this afternoon on an unrelated matter. He’s accompanying Lady Copeland, which is somewhat surprising given the situation with Travis. I’d like to be able to tell him we’re already onto the Omega thing at the same time— Haven’t met Keefe, have you?” Skinner asked out of the blue.

“I haven’t had that great honor,” Jewel said, wondering if Skinner was doing his usual job of trying to confuse her.

“Of course you haven’t.” Skinner stared at her thoughtfully.

“Then, why ask?”

Skinner suddenly turned on a charming smile. “A clever young lady like you might find a way to contrive it.”

Jewel had no idea what he was getting at, and merely shook her head.