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“Okay,” She’d nodded.
“I’m Kate Harris,” Cass had said, and the second she’d plucked the name out of nowhere, she knew it was who she would become from now on. They’d been firm friends from that day on, attending lectures and study groups together, helping each other with assignments, and finally, moving in to the same apartment. Cassandra was an only child, but she’d always imagined her relationship with Cherie must have been what sisters really were like.
Cass looked across at the handsome face poised just out of reach. “We met at university. On enrolment day.”
His full lips curved down at the corners, as though he’d expected to hear something different. She looked away, swallowing down the lump in her throat. His description that she was unworthy of love was burned into her grey matter, and being so close to him, speaking to him as though they were polite strangers, was almost too much to bear.
CHAPTER SIX
Later that day, Cassandra lingered on the thresh hold of the enormous living space, dressed in her waitressing uniform of black pants and white blouse.
“Where are you off to?” Peter asked, regarding her over the wire rimmed specs he had started to wear sometime in the past four years.
“Work.” She stated matter-of-factly, then sighed at the look of confusion that clouded his face. “I’m a waitress.”
“Yes, Ben mentioned something about that,” Alyssia said, pouring herself a measure of vodka, because it was an alcohol that she could enjoy freely without worrying too much about weight gain, Cassandra knew.
Cassandra looked at them, so happy together, and Alyssia’s words from that morning came back to her. Had she, Cassandra, really made their lives so unpleasant? She didn’t think she had. She’d been relegated to boarding school for all but two weeks of the year. True, she’d been caustic and snappy for the entirety of that fortnight, but she was a teenager then. Wasn’t that all par for the course?
She was an adult woman now, and she was better than that. She looked at the clock on the wall. She had a few minutes to spare. “Are you enjoying Sydney so far?” She surprised them both by asking conversationally.
Peter’s eyes looked to sparkle suddenly. “Very much, Cass. It’s a lovely city. So modern.”
“Don’t let an Aussie hear you say that. They’re quite proud of their rich history. It’s funny that buildings only a couple of hundred years old here are so revered.”
“Not everyone grew up in villages that date back to Roman times,” Peter agreed, and for the first time in years, father and daughter smiled genuinely at one another.
Cassandra let out a deep breath. “I’d better go. I’ll see you both in the morning.” She nodded curtly, unable to bring herself to farewell them with anything more promising than that small movement of the head
There! She had done it. She’d initiated a conversation and it hadn’t killed her. She doubted she’d ever forgive them for freezing her out as they had, and at such a vulnerable time, but perhaps she could forge a relationship going forward that was at least civil. They might even spend Christmas together one year. Who could predict the future?
Benedict’s study was the last room along the hallway, before the front door of the penthouse. Loathing the idea of seeing him again, and still smarting from his words that morning, she tiptoed past with all the stealth of a secret service operative. Even James Bond wouldn’t have possessed such skills.
It was not enough, though.
Benedict’s voice issued from the study. “Going out is not such a wise idea, Cassandra.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. The temptation to ignore him was strong, but she reminded herself forcefully that she was trying to demonstrate her maturity, and not let this crazy situation undo her.
“I’m working tonight,” she called back, placing her palm on the door knob of the front door.
“You were in the papers this morning. I daresay you’ll be working at an event packed with Sydney’s elite. All of whom read either the society pages or the business section.”
She spun, her pulse racing. “What are you talking about?” She shook her head, and barrelled into his office. He was leaning against the floor to ceiling window, staring out at the twinkling lights against a peach coloured dusk sky.
“On my desk,” he commented without turning to face her.
She saw then that two major newspapers had run stories about her. One had the headline, “Runaway Heiress! Lady Cass Hervey Found!” The other was less kind. “Lady Sticky Fingers?” It said, and went on to repeat allegations that she’d stolen millions of pounds of jewellery and artworks.
She raised an eyebrow as she read the second article, and despite being the subject of the unfortunate piece, she couldn’t help a small smile playing on her lips. “Well, that’s just sloppy journalism,” she joked as she finished off the last sentence, which made unfavourable comparisons to Lady Cassandra Hervey and a First Fleet Convict.
His expression was incredulous when he came to stand before her. “Cassandra, are you laughing?”
“It’s an amusing piece of fluff. It’s clearly not something anyone will take seriously. Definitely not a candidate for a Walkley.” She pushed that paper aside and looked at the other. It was far better work. Well researched, with photographs accompanying the piece. There was even one of her and Benedict, running together, taken in much happier times. It claimed that they were still an item. She supposed shacking up with him would create that impression.
“How did they...” She petered off, as she looked at the photo in closer detail.
“You forget that I am also a person of interest to newspapers. Though I generally make an effort to avoid being caught up in scandals such as this.” His words cut her to the quick.
