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up from the paper. “A trip into town. I have an appointment with Hugh Evans.”
    “Would you like me to drive you?”
    Camille shook her head. “I need you to be on hand here, Tommy.”
    He nodded. “As it happens, I want to run a check around the house. Not that it’s ours anymore.”
    “It was never ours, Tommy. It was my father’s. As soon as the paintings and antiques go, we move out I never wanted to stay in the first place, but Bruce Barnard seemed to think it a good idea. As trustee he has all the say. He’s been very kind to me.”
    “That’s not so surprising,” Browning said. “He’s a gentleman. He has daughters around your age. It doesn’t hurt, either, to have Christie’s Auction House auction things right here on the premises. It adds to the drama. The house is the best setting. You saw the turnout last night.”
    A visible tremor passed through Camille’s body. “Yes. And Nick Lombard of all people!”
    Browning frowned. “All the same, I have to say he seems a very fine man. Very courteous. Very much the patrician, not a hint of arrogance. I had to showhim to the library to take a phone call from London. Apparently it was urgent.”
    “They could have picked a better time.”
    “He mentioned that himself. As for Garner and that dreadful gloating girl, it was all I could do not to throw them out!”
    “Much better to ignore them. The thing is, Tommy, we have no say anymore. We do what we’re told.”
    All too true. A year later and Browning still felt a tremendous sense of outrage. Harry Guilford had not provided for his daughter. She’d received a fine education. She had a wardrobe full of beautiful clothes and accessories. It had been important for Harry Guilford’s image that he have a well-turned-out daughter—but he had not taken a single step to ensure her financial security should anything happen to him or his empire. There was jewelry—a few beautiful pieces. Ones that had been her mother’s, plus various expensive baubles Guilford had given her to sustain the myth that he was an indulgent father. One had to get very close to home to see how very sad Camille Guilford’s upbringing had been. So it was little wonder he and Dot, while despising their late employer, had served him well; the child had been impossible to resist. For all the emotional deprivation of her life, Camille had emerged full of character, full of fight Browning was proud of her.
    A FEW HOURS LATER Camille was in need of that fighting spirit, when it was apparent how completely she had lost status. From the moment she walked into Guilford Tower on her way up to see Hugh Evans, president of Comtek, staff who had once jumped toattention or gone out of their way to call a greeting now had far more important things on their minds.
    I’m just one of the mob, Camille thought. No one special.
    Hugh’s secretary, Ruth Maynard, took long moments to even look up from her work when Camille walked in. Finally she told Camille to take a seat. Mr. Evans was busy, she said. He would buzz through when he was ready.
    Camille countered the woman’s less-than-welcoming demeanor with a smile. She walked back to one of the handsome leather armchairs, picked up a magazine from the table.
    Keep cool, she told herself. She realized now that Hugh’s secretary had never liked her. Maybe it was professional jealousy. Camille, with a first-class degree in commerce, had worked at a fairly rarefied level within Comtek, one of the few companies that had actually survived the debacle. It dealt with New Age technology—computer software. Camille had been introduced to computers very early in life when she had regarded them as fascinating playthings. Before her father’s momentous crash she’d been considered something of a whiz kid.
    Now, for some reason, Hugh seemed intent on stripping her of any decision-making. No doubt about it She wasn’t so much slipping as being forced down the ladder. Hugh had overlooked her for what once