The house was secluded from the main road by a long driveway edged with thick rhododendron bushes and huge redwood trees. Tanya Steele pushed open the heavy front door and entered the dark oak paneled hallway. She found it depressing, even worse was that the owners, Mary and Donald Wicklow, had recently been killed in a train crash while traveling through Italy.

Not that Tanya really felt the loss. They'd just been two more in a long line of relatives who'd housed her through her twenty years. Their deaths were another crisis she would have to cope with. Still, she had been with the Wicklows for five years, and did feel some fondness for them. She even shed a few tears at the funeral this morning.

Now she was alone once more, as she'd been alone since the time her parents hadn't wanted to take their new baby out to Australia with them. Her mother's sister, not wanting to see their baby enter an orphanage, took pity on the child and had looked after her with a promise from her sister and brother-in-law that they'd come back for the baby when they had settled in their new life. But they never returned. Tanya's aunt died and she was transferred to another aunt and uncle. And after that, some cousins had put up with her for a year, but they had so many children of their own that one more was just too much. Finally, when she was fifteen, she'd come to live with the Wicklows who were distant cousins of her father's. They had been wealthy and had sent her to good schools, then to Oxford University, where she'd been for a year now.

No one else from the funeral party had arrived back at the house yet. Tanya had gone on alone, choosing to leave early and walk rather than ride in the procession of black Bentleys that had wound its way to the cemetery.

She took off her hat, freeing her auburn hair to flow in uncontrolled waves on her shoulders. She unbuttoned the navy raincoat and walked up the wide staircase, wondering what would happen now. She'd finished her term at Oxford and had been packing to come home when she'd heard of the tragedy.

The Wicklows' daughter, Cheryle, had been waiting at the house yesterday morning when Tanya arrived. Cheryle was a model in London. She had taken only a few minutes to brief Tanya on the funeral proceedings before driving off in her little sports car for an appointment with a magazine. Cheryle had attended the funeral dressed in black, with high leather boots and a hat with a little veil. Tears had welled in her brown eyes; her lips had been set in a tragic pose. She should have been an actress, Tanya had thought, observing the dramatic droop of her shoulders. The Wicklows also had a son, but they never spoke of him. His father had wanted him to enter the family business but instead he had gone off to America at the age of nineteen. They had never reconciled. Which was sad, thought Tanya, entering her bedroom and throwing the wide brimmed black hat onto the bed. Now that they were dead, all the family bickering seemed pointless.

She shed the raincoat and smoothed the skirt of the navy wool dress that she'd worn beneath it. She hoped that she'd looked subdued enough because she knew with her brilliant auburn hair, green eyes and striking features, she was often accused of looking showy. She threw her raincoat down on the bed. What a depressing room this was compared to the little bed-sitter she'd rented up in Oxford last term! The bedsitter had been brightly decorated by some students before her, and she'd only had to add a few cushions and posters to make it habitable. But this room! The mahogany furniture was heavy and the bed might as well be a four-poster it was so large. The walls were covered in wallpaper of brown flowers, the carpet was maroon with some type of a pattern running through in worn threads, and the curtains were a heavy maroon velvet. For all his wealth, Donald Wicklow had been very tight with his cash. The house had remained as it was in his father's day.

A door banged downstairs. Probably Cheryle and that man Jonathan. She'd introduced him as her fiancé.

Tanya walked to the window, a girl of medium height in slim fitting black suede boots and calf-length woolen dress. She'd pinned the V neck with a small silver brooch to make the style a little more demure for attending the funeral, because although basically thin, her body was well-developed and her creamy cleavage was often being misinterpreted by amorous boyfriends and lusting middle-aged men. Not that it disturbed her. She was quite uninterested in most of the men she met. Since she'd first started going out with boys, they'd fallen instantly in love with her rich silky hair and sensual good looks, hoping for a response from her strange green eyes. But she'd gained a reputation of being extremely cool and self-sufficient. Although there was always some brave man willing to attempt to break down her reserve, she'd never found anyone who could arouse her. Not that being cool was her nature, she was really a warm-hearted woman, but never having had anyone or anything to love, she'd become withdrawn when it came to giving an emotional response.

She looked out of the window and down on to the driveway. Yes, that was Jonathan's silver Acton Martin parked outside the house. Cheryle had obviously hit the jackpot with that one. When she'd introduced him, she'd mentioned something about him being a photographer. The butler, Harry Wales, and his wife Louise were also back, their car parked neatly behind the Acton Martin. Cheryle hadn't been too pleased that Tanya had chosen to walk home from the funeral, but Tanya had ignored her disapproval. Walking was her release when she was upset. She was about to turn away from the window when the sound of an engine attracted her attention. A red Ferrari came roaring up in front of the house, the engine throbbing as though angry at having to stop. The driver turned off the engine and got out. He was a tall man dressed in a black belted trenchfoot, black trousers and shoes, the darkness of the clothes emphasizing his golden head of hair. He closed the car door with a bang and walked slowly toward the steps to the house. Tanya noticed a pronounced limp as he forced his way up the steep steps. Even from the height where she was standing, she noticed a spasm of pain cross his face and wondered how a man obviously very muscular and athletic had suffered such an injury.

The doorbell rang when the man finally made it to the top of the steps. Someone opened the front door. There was a screech of pleasure from Cheryle, a deep voice said something, and then the man must have been taken into the lounge. The door closed and all was quiet. Was he one of Cheryle's ex-boyfriends come to pay his respects?

Tanya left the window and struggled out of the suede boots now beginning to feel tight around her calves. She slipped out of her dress and panty hose and dressed in jeans and a blue shirt blouse. As she brushed the tangles out of her hair she hoped that lunch would be served soon because she was hungry. Then deciding to find out, she left her room and went downstairs. She met Louise in the hallway.

"Oh, there you are, Tanya," Louise said, her elderly face set in a permanent expression of sympathy for the family she had been with for thirty years. "I'm serving lunch by the fire in the lounge. Just some sandwiches. Miss Cheryle said that would be all right."

"Fine, thank you, Louise."

Tanya opened the door to the lounge and paused. The people in the room formed a little tableau as they turned to look at her. Cheryle had discarded her coat and was wearing a black dress splashed with colorful flowers which complimented her straight blond shoulder-length hair. Jonathan lounged on the couch by her side. He had loosened his tie and thrown his jacket across the back of a chair. His dark eyes lit up with masculine appreciation when he saw Tanya enter. But it was the man sitting in a straight-backed dining-room chair who'd caught her glance. The man who'd arrived in the Ferrari. He'd taken off his raincoat and he wore a black high-necked sweater and well fitting black trousers. His hair was pure gold, straight and thick, brushed back covering his ears and resting on the back of his sweater. He held a coffee cup on one knee, his other leg stretched out straight in front of him. He turned to look at Tanya with cool gray eyes.

Cheryle stood up. "Come in, Tanya," she said and turned to the blond man. "Richard, this is Tanya. She's the cousin who has been living here with Mum and Dad for the last few years."

The blond man didn't stand up, but acknowledged Tanya with a nod of his head.

"Richard's my brother, Tanya," Cheryle went on, giving Tanya a rather exasperated glance which meant she didn't approve of her changing into jeans and a shirt. But Tanya didn't care. She turned to the man.

"How do you do," she said politely.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Richard spoke with a North American accent.

"Why don't you sit down, Tanya?" Cheryle interrupted. "Louise will be serving us lunch shortly."

Tanya pulled up a straight-backed chair and sat down next to Richard. Cheryle's expression was haughty as always. She'd never got along with Cheryle. Already the woman was taking on the role of mistress of the house. Wouldn't it be a joke on her if her brother inherited the house? But that would never happen. Cheryle had been the favored child. Besides, who'd want this house? Those heavy, green velvet drapes, that massive furniture, the faded worn maroon carpet! Tanya would be glad when she was back at school.

Cheryle sat down on the sofa and looked across at Tanya.

"We were just discussing the funeral," she told her. "Richard couldn't get here this morning. He ... he had other commitments."

"I had to visit a doctor," Richard told Tanya.

"I see," Tanya said and then with curiosity, "why?"

"Tanya," Cheryle said.

"It's okay," Richard smiled halfheartedly, his thin firm lips in a straight line. "I was involved in a car crash and have trouble with my back."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Tanya said.

"Richard's a racing driver," Cheryle said. "Aren't you, Richard?"

Richard nodded, looking slightly bored with the w hole affair.

Louise came in just then wheeling a tea trolley with plates of sandwiches piled on it and a coffeepot and cups.

"Thank you, Louise." Cheryle got up and settled the trolley between the four of them and the older woman left the room.

Tanya ate six sandwiches. She was ravenous as she had only had a slice of toast before the funeral that morning. She noticed that no one else was quite so greedy and hoped they hadn't noticed. When they'd finished and the coffee had been served, Cheryle stood up again.

Up and down like a nervous yo-yo! Her brother's presence seemed to be undermining her usual self-confidence. He dominated the room. In spite of his injury his muscles beneath the black clothes were firm and hard. The tilt of his head was alert to all that was going on around him.

Cheryle stood with her back to the fire. Tanya saw that there was a distinct family resemblance between the brother and sister. The hair was the same, except that Cheryle's had been lightened considerably artificially. They both had the same aristocratic bone structure that put Cheryle up high on the list of the best models in London.

"Tanya, I've been telling Richard about Dad's will," Cheryle said.

Tanya nodded.

"I get the house," Cheryle went on, "and Richard gets the value of the house in money plus what else is left split between us, which includes the price of the business that Dad just sold. There is five thousand pounds for you."

Tanya lowered her eyes. She hadn't expected anything, but she had been hoping. Five thousand pounds wasn't much. While it was certainly better than nothing it wouldn't finance the rest of her university education.

"That's fine," she said br

The house was secluded from the main road by a long driveway edged with thick rhododendron bushes and huge redwood trees. Tanya Steele pushed open the heavy front door and entered the dark oak paneled hallway. She found it depressing, even worse was that the owners, Mary and Donald Wicklow, had recently been killed in a train crash while traveling through Italy.

Not that Tanya really felt the loss. They'd just been two more in a long line of relatives who'd housed her through her twenty years. Their deaths were another crisis she would have to cope with. Still, she had been with the Wicklows for five years, and did feel some fondness for them. She even shed a few tears at the funeral this morning.

Now she was alone once more, as she'd been alone since the time her parents hadn't wanted to take their new baby out to Australia with them. Her mother's sister, not wanting to see their baby enter an orphanage, took pity on the child and had looked after her with a promise from her sister and brother-in-law that they'd come back for the baby when they had settled in their new life. But they never returned. Tanya's aunt died and she was transferred to another aunt and uncle. And after that, some cousins had put up with her for a year, but they had so many children of their own that one more was just too much. Finally, when she was fifteen, she'd come to live with the Wicklows who were distant cousins of her father's. They had been wealthy and had sent her to good schools, then to Oxford University, where she'd been for a year now.

No one else from the funeral party had arrived back at the house yet. Tanya had gone on alone, choosing to leave early and walk rather than ride in the procession of black Bentleys that had wound its way to the cemetery.

She took off her hat, freeing her auburn hair to flow in uncontrolled waves on her shoulders. She unbuttoned the navy raincoat and walked up the wide staircase, wondering what would happen now. She'd finished her term at Oxford and had been packing to come home when she'd heard of the tragedy.

The Wicklows' daughter, Cheryle, had been waiting at the house yesterday morning when Tanya arrived. Cheryle was a model in London. She had taken only a few minutes to brief Tanya on the funeral proceedings before driving off in her little sports car for an appointment with a magazine. Cheryle had attended the funeral dressed in black, with high leather boots and a hat with a little veil. Tears had welled in her brown eyes; her lips had been set in a tragic pose. She should have been an actress, Tanya had thought, observing the dramatic droop of her shoulders. The Wicklows also had a son, but they never spoke of him. His father had wanted him to enter the family business but instead he had gone off to America at the age of nineteen. They had never reconciled. Which was sad, thought Tanya, entering her bedroom and throwing the wide brimmed black hat onto the bed. Now that they were dead, all the family bickering seemed pointless.

She shed the raincoat and smoothed the skirt of the navy wool dress that she'd worn beneath it. She hoped that she'd looked subdued enough because she knew with her brilliant auburn hair, green eyes and striking features, she was often accused of looking showy. She threw her raincoat down on the bed. What a depressing room this was compared to the little bed-sitter she'd rented up in Oxford last term! The bedsitter had been brightly decorated by some students before her, and she'd only had to add a few cushions and posters to make it habitable. But this room! The mahogany furniture was heavy and the bed might as well be a four-poster it was so large. The walls were covered in wallpaper of brown flowers, the carpet was maroon with some type of a pattern running through in worn threads, and the curtains were a heavy maroon velvet. For all his wealth, Donald Wicklow had been very tight with his cash. The house had remained as it was in his father's day.

A door banged downstairs. Probably Cheryle and that man Jonathan. She'd introduced him as her fiancé.

Tanya walked to the window, a girl of medium height in slim fitting black suede boots and calf-length woolen dress. She'd pinned the V neck with a small silver brooch to make the style a little more demure for attending the funeral, because although basically thin, her body was well-developed and her creamy cleavage was often being misinterpreted by amorous boyfriends and lusting middle-aged men. Not that it disturbed her. She was quite uninterested in most of the men she met. Since she'd first started going out with boys, they'd fallen instantly in love with her rich silky hair and sensual good looks, hoping for a response from her strange green eyes. But she'd gained a reputation of being extremely cool and self-sufficient. Although there was always some brave man willing to attempt to break down her reserve, she'd never found anyone who could arouse her. Not that being cool was her nature, she was really a warm-hearted woman, but never having had anyone or anything to love, she'd become withdrawn when it came to giving an emotional response.

She looked out of the window and down on to the driveway. Yes, that was Jonathan's silver Acton Martin parked outside the house. Cheryle had obviously hit the jackpot with that one. When she'd introduced him, she'd mentioned something about him being a photographer. The butler, Harry Wales, and his wife Louise were also back, their car parked neatly behind the Acton Martin. Cheryle hadn't been too pleased that Tanya had chosen to walk home from the funeral, but Tanya had ignored her disapproval. Walking was her release when she was upset. She was about to turn away from the window when the sound of an engine attracted her attention. A red Ferrari came roaring up in front of the house, the engine throbbing as though angry at having to stop. The driver turned off the engine and got out. He was a tall man dressed in a black belted trenchfoot, black trousers and shoes, the darkness of the clothes emphasizing his golden head of hair. He closed the car door with a bang and walked slowly toward the steps to the house. Tanya noticed a pronounced limp as he forced his way up the steep steps. Even from the height where she was standing, she noticed a spasm of pain cross his face and wondered how a man obviously very muscular and athletic had suffered such an injury.

The doorbell rang when the man finally made it to the top of the steps. Someone opened the front door. There was a screech of pleasure from Cheryle, a deep voice said something, and then the man must have been taken into the lounge. The door closed and all was quiet. Was he one of Cheryle's ex-boyfriends come to pay his respects?

Tanya left the window and struggled out of the suede boots now beginning to feel tight around her calves. She slipped out of her dress and panty hose and dressed in jeans and a blue shirt blouse. As she brushed the tangles out of her hair she hoped that lunch would be served soon because she was hungry. Then deciding to find out, she left her room and went downstairs. She met Louise in the hallway.

"Oh, there you are, Tanya," Louise said, her elderly face set in a permanent expression of sympathy for the family she had been with for thirty years. "I'm serving lunch by the fire in the lounge. Just some sandwiches. Miss Cheryle said that would be all right."

"Fine, thank you, Louise."

Tanya opened the door to the lounge and paused. The people in the room formed a little tableau as they turned to look at her. Cheryle had discarded her coat and was wearing a black dress splashed with colorful flowers which complimented her straight blond shoulder-length hair. Jonathan lounged on the couch by her side. He had loosened his tie and thrown his jacket across the back of a chair. His dark eyes lit up with masculine appreciation when he saw Tanya enter. But it was the man sitting in a straight-backed dining-room chair who'd caught her glance. The man who'd arrived in the Ferrari. He'd taken off his raincoat and he wore a black high-necked sweater and well fitting black trousers. His hair was pure gold, straight and thick, brushed back covering his ears and resting on the back of his sweater. He held a coffee cup on one knee, his other leg stretched out straight in front of him. He turned to look at Tanya with cool gray eyes.

Cheryle stood up. "Come in, Tanya," she said and turned to the blond man. "Richard, this is Tanya. She's the cousin who has been living here with Mum and Dad for the last few years."

The blond man didn't stand up, but acknowledged Tanya with a nod of his head.

"Richard's my brother, Tanya," Cheryle went on, giving Tanya a rather exasperated glance which meant she didn't approve of her changing into jeans and a shirt. But Tanya didn't care. She turned to the man.

"How do you do," she said politely.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Richard spoke with a North American accent.

"Why don't you sit down, Tanya?" Cheryle interrupted. "Louise will be serving us lunch shortly."

Tanya pulled up a straight-backed chair and sat down next to Richard. Cheryle's expression was haughty as always. She'd never got along with Cheryle. Already the woman was taking on the role of mistress of the house. Wouldn't it be a joke on her if her brother inherited the house? But that would never happen. Cheryle had been the favored child. Besides, who'd want this house? Those heavy, green velvet drapes, that massive furniture, the faded worn maroon carpet! Tanya would be glad when she was back at school.

Cheryle sat down on the sofa and looked across at Tanya.

"We were just discussing the funeral," she told her. "Richard couldn't get here this morning. He ... he had other commitments."

"I had to visit a doctor," Richard told Tanya.

"I see," Tanya said and then with curiosity, "why?"

"Tanya," Cheryle said.

"It's okay," Richard smiled halfheartedly, his thin firm lips in a straight line. "I was involved in a car crash and have trouble with my back."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Tanya said.

"Richard's a racing driver," Cheryle said. "Aren't you, Richard?"

Richard nodded, looking slightly bored with the w hole affair.

Louise came in just then wheeling a tea trolley with plates of sandwiches piled on it and a coffeepot and cups.

"Thank you, Louise." Cheryle got up and settled the trolley between the four of them and the older woman left the room.

Tanya ate six sandwiches. She was ravenous as she had only had a slice of toast before the funeral that morning. She noticed that no one else was quite so greedy and hoped they hadn't noticed. When they'd finished and the coffee had been served, Cheryle stood up again.

Up and down like a nervous yo-yo! Her brother's presence seemed to be undermining her usual self-confidence. He dominated the room. In spite of his injury his muscles beneath the black clothes were firm and hard. The tilt of his head was alert to all that was going on around him.

Cheryle stood with her back to the fire. Tanya saw that there was a distinct family resemblance between the brother and sister. The hair was the same, except that Cheryle's had been lightened considerably artificially. They both had the same aristocratic bone structure that put Cheryle up high on the list of the best models in London.

"Tanya, I've been telling Richard about Dad's will," Cheryle said.

Tanya nodded.

"I get the house," Cheryle went on, "and Richard gets the value of the house in money plus what else is left split between us, which includes the price of the business that Dad just sold. There is five thousand pounds for you."

Tanya lowered her eyes. She hadn't expected anything, but she had been hoping. Five thousand pounds wasn't much. While it was certainly better than nothing it wouldn't finance the rest of her university education.

"That's fine," she said bravely.

"It means you'll have to find somewhere to live."

"It means you'll have to find somewhere to live."