Poppy marched from the room and along the hallway to confront the source of the heavy bang at the door. Just through the frosted glass, she could make out a towering figure with a mop of dark hair. She guessed who it was. This will be fun, she thought. Pulling the door wide open, she stepped back to invite him in.

He stared for a moment at the pretty blonde-haired young woman, with an unusual blueness in her eyes that probably never gave anything away. She looked nothing like Kendall except for the cold expression. But when the light caught her face, something suddenly stirred inside him.

Lance Ryder took a deep breath and stomped his way through the hallway and straight into the kitchen. It was apparent an argument had ensued, judging by Rebecca’s flushed cheeks and red eyes. He turned his head to face Alastair. Through exhaustion, grief, and fatigue, Lance seethed at the man who appeared to be unmoved by the death of his daughter. His big frame stood there defiantly with a veil of conceit cloaking his expression. Then he looked over at his former wife. Lance clenched his fists and squared his jaw. The sharp edge of rage poked him, as she stood there brooding and looking sorry for herself. The atmosphere was thick with poisonous fumes.

Still reeling, Rebecca directed her anger towards Lance. ‘Who the hell do you think you are, just walking in here?’

Standing six foot six with broad shoulders and a thick chest, Kendall’s father studied them like an interested bystander would a road rage incident. He didn’t answer right away, merely absorbing his surroundings, and drinking in Alastair’s smug demeanour.

‘Well?’ spat Rebecca.

Lance turned to face her. He was quite surprised to see that the woman who was once so attractive and unbelievably feminine had now become decidedly ugly and manly. Her solid waist and dowdy clothes, along with her shorter hair, did her no favours at all. She had gone from being a gentle and slim girl who, had she been older, could easily have been a product of the flower power movement, with not a care in the world, to some tyrant with a massive chip on her shoulder. She so reminded him of his old schoolmistress.

‘I believe I’ve every right to walk into this house. Remember, I still bloody well own half of it.’

‘That will change pretty soon,’ she mumbled under her breath. ‘What do you want?’

Relaxing his shoulders, he massaged the back of his neck. ‘I want to know if you’ve made arrangements for Kendall’s funeral?’

Her sudden fury subsided as quickly as it had begun; she’d been so caught up with everything that she’d failed to contact Lance and discuss the details. ‘Yes, of course I have. It’s next week on Thursday.’

Lance lifted his chin. ‘Nice of you to inform me!’

‘Well, I would have told you, but—’