A Mortal Sin Read Free Page B

the car feeling let down. Calvert. Paul Calvert. It didn’t sound familiar. Had he once answered to that name?”
    When he arrived at the house, it appeared derelict and over-grown with creepers, the garden an absolute jungle. He parked under the shade of a huge tree and dubiously walked up the broken path. The verandah sagged, and most of the floorboards were missing or broken. The door hung crazily on one rusty hinge, and judging by the odor emanating from within, animals lived here now.
    He wandered around the back. The windows, strangely enough, were intact but filthy. Something drew him to a large peppercorn tree, and yes, there it was, much the worse for wear, but still recognizable. A swing.
    A memory started stirring. “Higher, I want to go higher.” No mistaking it, the feeling proved to be so strong, he knew for certain he had spent time here.
    He explored for half an hour or so, picking his way amongst the tumble down outbuildings until he came to an old orchard. Pictures flitted through his mind, but they were misty and unattainable, no matter how hard he grappled to remember.
    His journey into the past had come to an abrupt halt, yet he wasn’t sorry for starting it. Maybe Sir Phillip had been right after all; leave the past buried where it belonged.
    He didn’t doubt for a moment that he could find Allison if he really tried, not with the resources at his fingertips. Could hire a private investigator, pay someone to trawl through government records but he wouldn’t. Allison had obviously started a new life for herself somewhere else. Who was he to interfere with it after all these years?
     
    * * *
     
    On impulse he decided to look up some family friends in Sydney. He flew there, and after only a few days, regretted it. Things never changed. Once the society women knew he was Sir Phillip Ashfield’s son, they threw their daughters at him, inviting him to every imaginable function. If he went to another presentation ball he would surely be ill. As for the Saturday afternoon tea dances. He almost burst out laughing when someone described them as being respectable but slightly decadent. Good manners forced him to tolerate it, instead of telling them all to leave him alone.
    Ian Jamieson proved to be a lifeline, and with almost indecent haste and apologizing profusely for having to hurry away because of some business emergency, Paul headed back to Melbourne to visit his friend. Ian, an architect, lived in a double storey terrace house in the inner suburb of Parkville.
    Attired in casual slacks and an old shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, Ian greeted him cheerfully. “Heard you were in Sydney, old boy. Did you have a good time with the society ladies?”
    “They were boring as hell.” Paul grinned at his friend. The third son of wealthy parents, Ian had nevertheless kicked over the traces of his social background. Pity I can’t do the same thing. Being an only son, he did have certain responsibilities, even if he sometimes found them onerous.
    “Why don’t you temporarily delete Ashfield from your name, and use your second one, Thomas, isn’t it? It would keep the Melbourne society matrons off your back and give you plenty of freedom,” Ian suggested with a grin. “You might as well enjoy your time out here in Australia. I bet Sir Phillip has already got some blue blood lined up for you to marry.”
    “Unfortunately he has. Caroline Bowater.” Paul grimaced.
    “Say no more, dear boy, say no more. Leave yourself in the hands of Uncle Ian and I’ll introduce you to the most liberated women in Melbourne.”
     
    * * *
     
    Ian was a great one for parties, and the tempo of Paul’s social life became hectic.
    “How are you enjoying Australia, darling?” Kitty, a blonde divorcee drawled.
    “Very much.”
    Kitty was fun. She liked to think of herself as modern and completely liberated. Her hair was bottle blonde, cut in a short, almost mannish style. She constantly smoked cigarettes