The Millionaire's Mistress. Miranda LeeЧитать онлайн книгу.
wonderful to have a mother who loved you to death but who didn’t interfere. Justine liked running her own show. She liked it very much.
Her smile was full of indulgent affection as she skipped down the sweeping central staircase, sliding her hand down the carved mahogany banister on the way and thinking of all the times she’d slid more than her hand down that perfectly polished and thankfully sturdy construction. What a wonderfully carefree and punishment-free childhood she had had! Some people called her spoilt and wilful, but Justine didn’t see it that way. She thought she was the luckiest girl in Sydney, and maybe even Australia!
The front doorbell rang just as she jumped off the bottom step into the marble-tiled foyer. She stood there for a moment, startled. Who on earth could be calling at this time of night?
A strange chill invaded Justine as she made her way with uncharacteristic hesitation towards the door.
‘Who is it?’ she asked through the door, a burst of nerves making her voice sharp.
‘The police, ma’am.’
The police! Oh, my God...
She shot back the door chain and wrenched open the door, paling at the sight of the two uniformed officers standing on the front porch. Their serious faces betrayed that their mission was not a pleasant one.
‘Mrs Montgomery?’ the older officer queried with a frown.
‘No. Mum’s upstairs in bed. I’m Justine Montgomery, her daughter. What is it? Has something happened to my father?’
When Justine saw their exchanged glances her head began to swim.
Pull yourself together, she ordered herself. Mum is going to need you.
‘He...he’s dead, isn’t he?’ she blurted out, a silent scream in her head.
The officer nodded sadly. ‘I’m truly sorry, miss.’
‘I...I suppose it was a car accident,’ she choked out, thinking how often she’d chided her father for driving too fast.
The two police officers exchanged another, more meaningful glance, and Justine stiffened.
‘Er...no, miss. Not a car accident. I’m sorry. I really think that—’
‘Tell me, for pity’s sake!’ she interrupted. ‘I need to know the truth!’
The older officer sighed. ‘Your father had a fatal coronary in a Kings Cross club where gentlemen go to be...er...entertained.’
Justine rocked back, gripping the front door for support, her eyes wide upon the bearer of this almost unbelievable news.
‘Let me get this straight, Sergeant,’ she said slowly, her mouth parched. ‘Are you saying my father died in a brothel?’
He looked painfully embarrassed and reluctant to repeat his news. ‘Um...yes, miss,’ he finally admitted. ‘That’s what I’m saying. Look, I realise this has come as a shock. Unfortunately, there—’
‘Who’s that at the door, darling?’
The policemen broke off. Justine whirled round.
Adelaide Montgomery was coming down the stairs, sashing her dressing-gown, a frown on her plumply pretty face. ‘Is there anything wrong?’ she asked worriedly in her little-girl voice.
Justine watched her mother blanch at the sight of the two policemen at the front door, watched as Adelaide’s eyes filled with panic and fear. She clutched at the neckline of her robe with both hands as she swayed on unsteady feet. ‘Oh, dear God, no! Not Grayson...’
Justine hurried to hold her mother before she fainted, knowing that their lives would never be the same again.
CHAPTER TWO
‘A BOARDING house!’ her mother exclaimed in horror. ‘You want to turn my home into a boarding house? Oh, no, no, no. That would never do, Justine. It’s out of the question. Goodness, whatever will my friends think?’
‘Who cares what they think?’ came Justine’s frustrated reply. ‘Most of them are just fair-weather friends anyway. How many phone calls or visits have you had from your so-called friends lately?’ Justine asked her mother. ‘How many invitations? They all came to the funeral, mouthing platitudes of sympathy and support, but as soon as they found out all our money was gone, they dropped us like hot-cakes. It’s as though we’ve suddenly got a brand on our foreheads. Poor, it says. To be given a wide berth.’
‘Oh, Justine, you’re imagining things. Why, only yesterday I received an invitation in the mail from Ivy, inviting us both to Felix’s fiftieth birthday party this coming Saturday evening.’
Justine refrained from pointing out that that was probably Trudy’s doing, Ivy being Trudy’s mother. The invitation had been suspiciously late. Yesterday was Wednesday, after all. No doubt Trudy had made a fuss when she’d found out Justine and her mother were not on the guest list for her father’s party and insisted her mother ask them.
Justine didn’t like Ivy Turrell one bit. She was an awful snob. Her husband wasn’t much better. Felix had made a fortune selling insurance, and only invited people to his home who could be of benefit to him. Naturally, there’d been a time when the well-to-do Montgomerys had always been on the Turrells’ guest-list. Not so for much longer, Justine thought ruefully.
‘People are giving us a little time to get over our grief,’ her mother went on, seeing through her usual rose-coloured glasses. ‘We’re not really poor, and it’s only been two months since your father...since he...he...’ She slumped down on the side of her unmade bed, her hands twisting together in her lap. ‘Since the funeral,’ she finished in a strangled tone.
Justine sat down beside her, sliding a comforting arm around her sagging shoulders.
‘Mum, we have to face facts. We are poor, compared to the people we’ve been mixing with. Okay, so technically you still own this house and its contents. But we have no income any more. And Daddy died owing nearly half a million dollars.’
‘But I don’t understand,’ her mother wailed.
‘Where did all the money go? I inherited a considerable amount from my parents when they passed away. It all came to me. I was their only child.’
‘Daddy spent it all, Mum. And in a way, so did we. Neither of us ever asked where he got the money for our generous allowances, did we? We never budgeted, never went out to work ourselves, never questioned our lifestyles of sheer luxury. We just accepted all this as our due,’ she finished, waving around at the opulent bedroom, with its silk furnishings and antique furniture.
‘But Grayson never liked my asking him questions,’ came the tremulous excuse.
Justine patted her mother’s hands. ‘I know, Mum. I know.’
‘He...he used to get angry if I asked him questions.’
Bastard, Justine thought bitterly.
She’d once loved and admired her father, but not any more. She knew the real man now, not the smiling sugar-daddy who’d obviously thought being a husband and father was covered by keeping his wife and daughter’s bank accounts topped up. The truth was he’d shamefully neglected his family, relying on his empty charm to keep sweet the women in his life.
Justine was forced to accept now that her father had married her mother for money, never love. Grayson Montgomery’s greed had been as prodigious as his lust. One of the worst rumours she’d heard since his death was that he’d taken advantage of several elderly and very wealthy widows who’d consulted him about investments, worming his way into their affections and becoming a beneficiary in their wills—money which he’d subsequently frittered away.
Justine didn’t doubt any of it. She only had to look at their own dire financial situation to know the truth about the man. Over the last few years, her father had cashed in every viable asset