nothing your father would miss, you understand. I just thought... Well, I thought you might need them down the track.’
Good grief! Paul was her father’s thief?
Dear Lord, if he knew her father had written Barbara out of his will, thinking her the guilty party... Oh! And if Barbara knew what Paul had done...
Caro closed her eyes and tried to contain a shudder.
‘Paul, you could’ve gone to jail if my father had ever found out what you were doing!’
‘But there’s no harm done now, is there? I mean, now that you’ve inherited the estate I don’t need to find a way to...to get those things to you. They’re legally yours.’ His smile faded. ‘Are you upset with me?’
How could she be? Nobody had ever gone out on a limb like that for her before. ‘No, just...frightened at what might’ve happened,’ she lied.
‘You don’t have to worry about those sorts of what-ifs any more.’
Maybe not, but she still had to find a way to make this right. ‘It’s only fair that I split the estate with Barbara.’
A breath shuddered out of him. He glanced around the kitchen pensively. ‘Does that mean selling the old place?’
What on earth did she need with a mansion in Mayfair? She didn’t say that out loud. This had been Paul’s home for over thirty years. It hit her then that her father had made no provision in his will for Paul either. She’d remedy that as soon as she could.
‘I don’t know, Paul, but we’ll work something out. I’m not going to leave you high and dry, I promise. Trust me. You, Barbara and I—we’re family.’
He snorted. ‘Funny kind of family.’
She opened her mouth and then closed it, nodding. Never had truer words been spoken.
‘Will you be staying the night, Miss Caro?’
Heavens, where Paul was concerned, Miss Caro was positively gushing—a sign of high sentiment and emotion.
From somewhere she found a smile. ‘Yes, I think I’d better.’ She had her own room in the Mayfair mansion, even though she rented a tiny one-bedroom flat in Southwark. ‘Hopefully Barbara will... Well, hopefully I’ll get a chance to talk to her.’
Hopefully she’d get a chance to put the other woman’s mind at rest—at least about her financial future.
* * *
‘Mrs Fielding refuses to join you for breakfast,’ Paul intoned ominously the next morning as Caro helped herself to coffee.
Caro heaved back a sigh. Barbara had refused to speak to her at all last night. She’d tried calling out assurances to her stepmother through her closed bedroom door, but had given up when Barbara had started blasting show tunes—her father’s favourites—from her music system.
‘You will, however, be pleased to know that she did get up at some stage during the night to make herself something to eat.’
That was something at least.
‘Oh, Miss Caroline! You need to eat something before you head off to work,’ he said when she pushed to her feet.
‘I’m fine, Paul, I promise.’ Her appetite would eventually return. Although if he’d offered her cake for breakfast...
Stop thinking about cake.
‘I’m giving Freddie Soames a viewing of a rather special snuffbox this morning.’ She’d placed it in her father’s safe—her safe—prior to the reading of the will yesterday. ‘After that I’ll take the rest of the day off and see if I can’t get Barbara to talk to me then.’
As a director of Vertu, the silver and decorative arts division at Richardson’s, one of London’s leading auction houses, she had some flexibility in the hours she worked.
She glanced over her shoulder at Paul, who followed on her heels as she entered her father’s study—her study. ‘You will keep an eye on Barbara this morning, won’t you?’
‘If you wish it.’
She bit back a grin, punching in the combination to the safe. Ever since Paul had caught Barbara tossing the first Mrs Fielding’s portrait into a closet, he’d labelled her as trouble. ‘I do wish it.’
The door to the safe swung open and—Caro blinked, squinted and then swiped her hand through the empty space.
Her heart started to pound. ‘Paul, please tell me I’m hallucinating.’ Her voice rose. ‘Please tell me the safe isn’t empty.’
He moved past her to peer inside. ‘Dear God in heaven!’ He gripped the safe’s door. ‘Do you think we’ve been burgled?’
Something glittered on the floor at her feet. She picked it up. The diamond earing dangled from her fingers and comprehension shot through her at the same moment it spread across Paul’s face.
‘Barbara,’ she said.
And at the same time he said, ‘Mrs Fielding.’
She patted her racing heart. ‘That’s okay, then.’
‘She’ll have been after those jewels.’
‘She’s welcome to those jewels, Paul. They’re hers. Father gave me Mother’s jewels when I turned twenty-one.’
He harrumphed.
‘But I really, really need that snuffbox back—this instant.’
She sped up to Barbara’s first-floor bedroom, Paul still hot on her heels. She tapped on the door. ‘Barbara?’
‘Not now, Caro. Please, just leave me in peace.’
‘I won’t take up more than a moment of your time.’ Caro swallowed. ‘It’s just that something has gone missing from the safe.’
‘That jewellery is mine!’
‘Yes, I know. I’m not referring to the jewellery.’
The door cracked open, and even the way Barbara’s eyes flashed couldn’t hide how red they were from crying. Caro’s heart went out to the other woman.
‘Are you accusing me of stealing something? Are you calling me a thief?’
‘Of course not.’ Caro tried to tamp down on the panic threatening to rise through her. ‘Barbara, that jewellery belongs to you—I’m not concerned about the jewellery. Yesterday I placed a small item in the safe—a silver and enamel snuffbox about so big.’ She held her hands about three inches apart to indicate the size. ‘I have to show it to a potential buyer in an hour.’
Barbara tossed her hair. ‘I didn’t see any such thing and I certainly didn’t take it.’
‘I’m not suggesting for a moment that you did—not on purpose—but it’s possible it was accidentally mixed in with the jewellery.’ Behind her back she crossed her fingers. ‘I’m really hoping it was. Would you mind checking for me?’
Barbara swept the door open and made a melodramatic gesture towards the bed. ‘Take a look for yourself. That’s what I took from the safe.’
The bed didn’t look as if it had been slept in. Caro moved tentatively into the room to survey the items spread out on the bed. There was a diamond choker, a string of pearls, a sapphire pendant and assorted earrings and pins, but no snuffbox. Her heart hammered up into her throat.
‘It’s not here,’ Paul said, leaning over to scan the items.
Caro concentrated on not hyperventilating. ‘If...if I don’t find that snuffbox I’ll...I’ll lose my job.’
Not just her job but her livelihood. She’d never get another job in the industry for as long as she lived. In all likelihood legal action would be