“That’s true, my dear, and I’m sorry for you. But Nick’s a great prize, as you know. I make no secret of the fact that he and I are close friends.”
“You have my commiseration,” Camille said.
Clare Tennant laughed. “I heard you were spunky but they’re only words of course. Seeing you and Nick together the other night, I had the feeling you two struck sparks off each other.”
“I know I was angry enough to go up in flames. Nick Lombard isn’t among my favorite people.”
“I can understand that when your whole world has gone sour.”
“He certainly didn’t help.” Camille began to gather her things. “It’s been nice to see you, Mrs. Tennant, but I must rush. My time at the parking meter will be up.
The older woman looked both surprised and offended. “Yes, I spotted your little BMW with the personalized license plate. How did you manage to hang on to that?”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought under the circumstances just about everything would have been repossessed.”
“But my car belongs to me, Mrs. Tennant.” Camille took refuge from her anger in a cool courtesy. “I paid for it. Not my father or anyone else.”
“There’s no need to get hostile,” Clare Tennant murmured in a conciliatory voice. “I’m one of the people who’s on your side. In fact, I was shocked when I heard Hugh Evans had sacked you.”
For a moment Camille was stunned. “I’m very surprised you know.”
Clare Tennant paused a moment, her brow furrowed in a little frown. “Nick must have told me.”
“One wouldn’t have thought you’d be interested in my fate.”
The other woman shook her head. “Oh, but I am.I’m always interested in the women who take Nick’s attention.”
Camille couldn’t ignore the glitter in the blue-gray eyes. “Is that some kind of message?”
“How clever of you to recognize it.”
“You’ve got it wrong if you think Nick Lombard has any interest in me beyond my accusing him of having my father’s blood on his hands.”
The woman snorted. “Nonsense! Your father killed himself. We all know that. Personally I thought he was left with little option. No one feels particularly sorry about it. Harry Guilford drove a lot of good people to the wall—but you shouldn’t be blamed. It’s quite unfair.” She paused and smiled. “I’d like to be your friend, Camille. Perhaps we could see each other soon for lunch?”
Camille found it an appalling idea, but she made an effort to conceal her revulsion. “That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Tennant, but I have to set about finding myself another job.”
“Surely Nick offered to help you.” Clare Tennant spoke quickly, as though trying to throw Camille off balance. “I mean, you saw him at Hugh Evans’s office.”
“He told you that, as well?” Incredibly Camille felt wounded. She took a deep calming breath. “As far as I’m concerned, Nick Lombard’s the last person I’d turn to for help.”
Clare Tennant favored her with another smile, this one approving. “My dear, I applaud your pride. May you always keep it. Will you be attending the auction, or haven’t you the heart?”
Camille lifted her chin. “I promised the organizersI’d be there. Apparently they see me as some sort of draw.”
Claire Tennant nodded, with pity. “I know. People love to gloat. Call me if I can help you in any way. I’m in the book.”
T HERE WAS LIGHT RAIN the morning of the auction, but by ten o’clock the sun was shining brilliantly. The people from Christie’s had arrived at the Guilford mansion, and not long after them the first of the viewers. The sale of the paintings and antiques was to be held over two days, and a large marquee had been set up in the garden to offer refreshments.
The morning session got under way promptly at eleven in the packed ballroom. Camille took a seat by herself at the rear of the room, trying to take an objective view of all that was happening. The art collection was immensely dear to
“You have my commiseration,” Camille said.
Clare Tennant laughed. “I heard you were spunky but they’re only words of course. Seeing you and Nick together the other night, I had the feeling you two struck sparks off each other.”
“I know I was angry enough to go up in flames. Nick Lombard isn’t among my favorite people.”
“I can understand that when your whole world has gone sour.”
“He certainly didn’t help.” Camille began to gather her things. “It’s been nice to see you, Mrs. Tennant, but I must rush. My time at the parking meter will be up.
The older woman looked both surprised and offended. “Yes, I spotted your little BMW with the personalized license plate. How did you manage to hang on to that?”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought under the circumstances just about everything would have been repossessed.”
“But my car belongs to me, Mrs. Tennant.” Camille took refuge from her anger in a cool courtesy. “I paid for it. Not my father or anyone else.”
“There’s no need to get hostile,” Clare Tennant murmured in a conciliatory voice. “I’m one of the people who’s on your side. In fact, I was shocked when I heard Hugh Evans had sacked you.”
For a moment Camille was stunned. “I’m very surprised you know.”
Clare Tennant paused a moment, her brow furrowed in a little frown. “Nick must have told me.”
“One wouldn’t have thought you’d be interested in my fate.”
The other woman shook her head. “Oh, but I am.I’m always interested in the women who take Nick’s attention.”
Camille couldn’t ignore the glitter in the blue-gray eyes. “Is that some kind of message?”
“How clever of you to recognize it.”
“You’ve got it wrong if you think Nick Lombard has any interest in me beyond my accusing him of having my father’s blood on his hands.”
The woman snorted. “Nonsense! Your father killed himself. We all know that. Personally I thought he was left with little option. No one feels particularly sorry about it. Harry Guilford drove a lot of good people to the wall—but you shouldn’t be blamed. It’s quite unfair.” She paused and smiled. “I’d like to be your friend, Camille. Perhaps we could see each other soon for lunch?”
Camille found it an appalling idea, but she made an effort to conceal her revulsion. “That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Tennant, but I have to set about finding myself another job.”
“Surely Nick offered to help you.” Clare Tennant spoke quickly, as though trying to throw Camille off balance. “I mean, you saw him at Hugh Evans’s office.”
“He told you that, as well?” Incredibly Camille felt wounded. She took a deep calming breath. “As far as I’m concerned, Nick Lombard’s the last person I’d turn to for help.”
Clare Tennant favored her with another smile, this one approving. “My dear, I applaud your pride. May you always keep it. Will you be attending the auction, or haven’t you the heart?”
Camille lifted her chin. “I promised the organizersI’d be there. Apparently they see me as some sort of draw.”
Claire Tennant nodded, with pity. “I know. People love to gloat. Call me if I can help you in any way. I’m in the book.”
T HERE WAS LIGHT RAIN the morning of the auction, but by ten o’clock the sun was shining brilliantly. The people from Christie’s had arrived at the Guilford mansion, and not long after them the first of the viewers. The sale of the paintings and antiques was to be held over two days, and a large marquee had been set up in the garden to offer refreshments.
The morning session got under way promptly at eleven in the packed ballroom. Camille took a seat by herself at the rear of the room, trying to take an objective view of all that was happening. The art collection was immensely dear to
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