The Third Heiress Read Free Page B

disappeared from sight. It was taking Hal’s body to the funeral home, while she and Lauren were going to the Sheldons’ house in London.
    Jill did not want to be separated from the hearse. She almost felt like banging on the door, demanding to be let out. Her heart was thundering in her chest, and her sense of loss was, amazingly, worse. It was insane. Jill continued to stare after the disappearing hearse. She bit down hard on her lip, determined not to make a sound. She was shaking uncontrollably and afraid she might once again escape her grief by blacking out.
    Jill forced herself to settle back in her seat and breathe deeply, her eyes closed, continuing to shake as she fought for equilibrium. She was not even going to make it through the next twenty-four hours if she did not somehow come to grips with herself and Hal’s death. When she had regained a small amount of her composure, she glanced at Lauren. In the thirty minutes since they had left the airport, Hal’s sister had not said a single word. She sat with her back toward Jill, her shoulders rigid, staring out of her driver’s side window. She had not removed her sunglasses, but then, neither had Jill. They were like two hostile zombies, Jill thought grimly.
    So much for kindness. They could comfort one another. After all, they had both loved Hal. But Jill did not feel up to making the first overture, not yet, and she was too aware of her role in his death. Tears burned her eyes. The funeral was tomorrow. She was booked to return home the following night. She hated the thought of leaving him behind, an entire ocean between them, yet on the other hand, if the Sheldons were all as compassionate as Lauren, it was for the best.
    She opened her carry-on, a huge fake Louis Vuitton bag that she had bought for fifteen dollars from a street vendor, and searched for and found a Kleenex. She dabbed at her eyes. Lauren hated her. Jill was certain of it. She could actually feel the other woman’s simmering resentment.
    Jill did not blame her.
    When Jill tucked the tissue back in her bag she looked up and found Lauren watching her, facing her directly for the first time.
    Jill did not think. Impulsively she said, low, “I’m sorry.”
    Lauren said, “We’re all sorry.”
    Jill bit her lip. “It was an accident.”
    Lauren continued to face her. Jill could not see her eyes through the opaque sunglasses she wore. “Why did you come?”
    Jill was startled. “I had to bring him home. He spoke of you—all of you—so often.” She could not continue.
    Lauren looked away. Another silence fell.
    “I loved him, too,” Jill heard herself say.
    Lauren turned to her. “He should be alive. A few days ago he was alive. I can’t believe he’s gone.” Her words were angry and had she pointed her finger at Jill, the blame she felt could not have been more obvious.
    “Neither can I,” Jill whispered miserably. It was true. In the middle of the night she would wake up, expecting to find the solid warmth of Hal’s body beside her. The coldness of her bed was a shock—as was the sudden recollection of his death. There was nothing worse, Jill had realized, than the oblivion of sleep followed by the absolute cognition of consciousness. “If only,” Jill whispered, more to herself than to Lauren, “we hadn’t gone away that weekend.”
    But they had. And she could not change the past few days, she could only have regrets. She would have regrets for the rest of her life—regrets and guilt.
    Had he really been thinking of breaking up with her?
    “Hal should have come home months ago,” Lauren said tersely, interrupting Jill’s thoughts. “He was scheduled to come home in February—for my birthday.”
    “He liked New York,” Jill managed, avoiding her eyes.
    Lauren removed her glasses, revealing red-rimmed eyes that were the exact same amber shade as Hal’s. “He was homesick. The last few times we spoke, he told me so.”
    Jill was motionless. What else had he told his