Читать книгу By Request Collection 1 - Jackie Braun - Страница 47

HOLLY jumped to her feet but Brett Wyndham was even quicker.

He plunged into the shrubbery, issuing a terse warning to her over his shoulder to be careful because the dog, in its pain, could bite.

The next few minutes were chaotic as Brett captured then subdued the terrified dog, a black-and-white border collie. How, Holly had no idea, but he did, and a lot of people milled around. None of them was its owner, or had any idea where it had come from, other than it must have got loose from somewhere and possibly got run over as it had crossed the road.

‘OK.’ Brett pulled his phone out and tossed it to Holly. ‘Find the nearest vet surgery.’ He pulled out his car keys and tossed them to her. ‘And drive my car down here as close as you can get. It’s the silver BMW.’

Holly grabbed her tote and did so, and ended up driving the four-wheel-drive so Brett could attend to the dog on the way to the surgery. He was staunching a deep cut on its leg with his handkerchief and she heard him say, ‘You’re going to be all right, mate.’

She found the surgery with the aid of the GPS and helped carry the dog in. ‘Is he really going to be all right?’ she asked fearfully as they handed it over.

‘I reckon so.’ He scanned her briefly then looked more closely. ‘You better sit down; you look a bit pale. I’m going in for a few minutes.’ He turned to the receptionist, who was hovering. ‘Could you get her a glass of water?’

‘Of course. Sit down, ma’am.’

Holly was only too glad to do so. A mobile phone with an unfamiliar ring sounded in her tote. She blinked, remembered it must be Brett’s phone and after a moment’s hesitation answered it.

‘Brett Wyndham’s phone.’

‘Where is he and who are you?’ an irate female voice said down the line.

Holly explained and added, ‘Can I give him a message?’

‘Oh.’ The voice sounded mollified. ‘Yes, if you wouldn’t mind. It’s his sister, Sue. I’m waiting for him at Southbank, but I’m going out to dinner so I won’t wait any longer. Could you tell him I’ll catch up with him tomorrow?’

Ten minutes later Brett reappeared and held his hand out to Holly. ‘Let’s go. He’s got a broken leg, as well as the cut, but he’ll be fine. He’s in good hands, and he’s got a microchip so they’ll be able to track down his owner.’

‘Thank heavens.’ She got to her feet.

‘How are you?’ he queried.

‘OK.’

He studied her narrowly. ‘You don’t altogether look it.’

‘I…I once lost a dog in an accident. He was also a border collie. I called him Oliver, because as a puppy he was always looking for more food. He was run over, but he died. It just took me back a bit.’

Brett released her hand and put an arm around her shoulder. He didn’t say anything, but Holly discovered herself to be comforted. Comforted and then something else—acutely conscious of Brett Wyndham.

She breathed in his essence—pure man—and she felt the long, strong lines of his body. She was reminded of how quick and light on his feet he’d been, how he’d used the power of his personality and expertise to calm the dog—but above all how he’d impressed her on a mental level, and now on a physical one.

‘Better?’ he queried.

‘Yes, thanks.’

They stepped out onto the pavement, but he stopped. It was almost dark. ‘My sister,’ he said with a grimace and reached for his phone, but it wasn’t there.

Holly retrieved it from her bag and gave him the message.

‘OK.’ He steered her towards his car.

‘If you drop me off at the parking lot…’ Holly began.

He shook his head. ‘You still look as if you could do with a drink.’

‘No. Thanks, but no. Anyway, we left the restaurant without paying!’

He shrugged and opened the car door. ‘They know me. In you get—and don’t argue, Holly Golightly.’

Holly had no choice but to do as she was told, although she did say, ‘My car?’

‘Mike will collect it.’ He fired the engine.

‘Who’s Mike?’

‘The miracle worker in my life.’ He swung out into the traffic. ‘The PA par excellence.’

Not much later, Holly was sitting on a mocha-colored leather settee in what was obviously a den. The walls were café au lait, priceless-looking scatter rugs dotted the parquet floor and wooden louvres framed the view of a dark sky but a tinsel-town view of the city lights.

Brett had poured her a brandy then she’d washed her face and hands and handed her car keys over to his PA. Brett had gone to take a shower.

She’d only taken a couple of sips but she was thinking deeply when he strolled back into the room. He’d changed into jeans and a shirt; his hair was towelled dry and spiky.

‘Will you stay for dinner?’ he queried as he poured his own brandy.

‘No thank you,’ Holly said automatically. ‘You know, it’s just struck me—this could look strange.’

‘What could?’ He sat down opposite her.

‘Me flitting around with you.’

‘In what respect?’

She glanced at him then looked away a little awkwardly. ‘People might wonder if I’ve joined the long list of, well, perhaps not beautiful—I mean they were all probably stunning—but the long list of women you’ve squired around.’

‘What long list is that?’ he enquired in a deadpan kind of way that alerted her to the fact he was secretly laughing at her.

Holly went slightly pink but said airily, ‘Just something I read somewhere. But, believe me, I have no ambition to do that. Unless…’ she stopped, struck by a thought, and relaxed a bit. ‘I’m not stunning enough or upmarket-looking enough to qualify? Don’t answer that,’ she said with a lightning smile. ‘I’m just thinking aloud.’ She sobered and contemplated her drink with a frown.

Does she have no idea of how unusually attractive she is? Brett Wyndham found himself wondering. Maybe not, he conceded. She certainly didn’t appear to expect him to counter her claim that she wasn’t stunning enough to qualify as someone he would “squire around”.

On the other hand, she’d had to fight off a bandit and a sheikh, if she was to be believed, so…

He shrugged. ‘I never bother with what people think.’

‘You may be in a position not to bother—your reputation is already set,’ she retorted. ‘Mine is not.’ Then she took a very deep breath. ‘Please tell me why you’re doing this.’

He rolled his glass in his hands then looked directly into her eyes. ‘I’m intrigued. I can’t believe you’re not.’ He paused. ‘And I guess that’s brought out the hunter instinct in me. At the same time, I don’t ever force myself on unwilling women, if that’s what’s worrying you.’

Holly looked away. She paused and pressed her palms together tightly. ‘And if I told you I don’t have any interest in…Well, the thing is, I got my fingers pretty badly burnt once due to “chemistry”. It’s—it hasn’t left me yet. I don’t know if it ever will.’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘Not the bandit or the sheikh, I gather?’

Holly waved her hand. ‘Oh, no,’ she said dismissively.

‘I think you better tell me.’

She glanced at him from under her lashes, then smiled briefly. ‘I don’t think I should. It’s supposed to be the other way round—you telling me stuff. And you have no intention of going into your private life.’ She looked at him with some irony.

A silence lingered between them.

‘So, should we just leave it there?’ she suggested at last.

He stared at her pensively. ‘Don’t you want the interview now?’

‘I thought you might have changed your mind.’

His lips twisted. ‘Because I got my wrist slapped metaphorically? No, I haven’t changed my mind.’

‘But you won’t—I mean—bring this up again?’ she queried, her eyes dark and serious.

‘Tell you what,’ he drawled. ‘I won’t say a word on the subject.’

Holly frowned. ‘That sounds as if there’s a trap there somewhere.’

‘Sorry, it’s the best I can come up with. So, are we on or off?’

She hesitated then put down her glass, stood up and walked over to the louvres that framed the city view. She was in two minds, she realized. She sensed an element of danger between her and Brett Wyndham, but she had to admit he’d been honest, whereas she hadn’t—not entirely, anyway.

On the other hand, her career was vitally important to her. It had been her mainstay through some dark days.

She turned back to him. ‘On. My journalistic instincts seem to have won the day,’ she said ruefully. ‘Can I go home now?’

‘Of course.’ He stood up, called for Mike Rafferty, and when he came asked him if he’d found Holly’s car.

‘Sure did,’ Mike replied, and handed Holly the keys. ‘It’s parked downstairs, Miss Harding.’

‘Thank you,’ She hesitated then turned back to Brett Wyndham. ‘Well, goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Holly,’ he said casually, and turned away.

After he’d dined alone, Brett took his coffee to his study, where he intended to work on his next trip to Africa, only to find himself unable to concentrate.

The fact that it was a girl coming between him and his plans was unusual.

He swirled his coffee and lay back in his chair, Well, a change of direction in his life was on the cards; whilst he knew it was one he needed to make, would he ever be able to resist the call of the wild? Was that why he was unsettled?

It was a juggling act holding the reins of all the Wyndham enterprises based here and being away so frequently. Also, there was something niggling at him that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he suspected it was the need to establish some roots.

In the meantime—in the short term, more accurately—a girl had come to his attention. A girl he wasn’t at all sure about.

A girl who continued to hold him at arm’s length, now with the claim that she’d had her fingers burnt due to “chemistry”. How true was that? he wondered.

Could it all be part of a plan to hold his interest? He’d come across many a plan to hold his interest, he reflected dryly.

None of that changed the fact that she was attractive in a different kind of way—when did it ever? Good skin, beautiful eyes, clean, very slim lines; at times, sparkling intelligence and a cutting way with her repartee…

He smiled suddenly as he thought of her ‘Holly Golightly from Tahiti’ act.

He finished his coffee and contemplated another possibility. It was so long since any woman had said no to him he couldn’t help but be intrigued. Especially as he could have sworn there’d been that edgy, sensual pull between them almost from the moment they’d first crossed swords.

Why, though, he wondered, had he gone to the lengths of dangling an interview before her?

Because she was likeable, kissable, different?

He drummed his fingers on the desk suddenly; or did he have in mind using her to deflect his ex-fiancée?

‘I’m off to Cairns—well, Palm Cove—then the bush for a few days tomorrow,’ Holly said to her mother that evening over a late dinner. She pushed away the remains of a tasty chicken casserole. ‘You’re not going to believe this, but I got the Brett Wyndham interview after all.’

Sylvia uttered a little cry of delight. ‘Holly! That’s marvellous. I wasn’t sure I did the right thing. I know you tried to gloss over it, but I wasn’t sure whether you really approved.’ Sylvia paused and frowned. ‘But why do you have to go to Cairns?’

Holly made the swift decision to gloss over that bit and murmured something about Brett being short of time.

Sylvia mulled over this for a moment, then she said, ‘He’s very good-looking, isn’t he? I mean he has a real presence, doesn’t he?’

‘I guess he does.’

‘Holly,’ Sylvia began, ‘I know that awful thing that happened to you is not going to be easy to get over. Actually, you’ve been simply marvellous with the way—’

‘Mum, don’t,’ Holly interrupted quietly.

‘But there has to be the right man for you out there, darling,’ Sylvia said passionately.

‘There probably is, but it’s not Brett Wyndham.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

Holly moved the salt cellar to a different spot and sighed. ‘It’s just a feeling I have, Mum. For one thing, he’s a billionaire, so he could have anyone and there’s nothing so special about me. And, for me, I suppose it started with the way he behaved that day of the lunch. Then I read that he’d broken off his engagement to a girl who would have thought she was the last in a long line of women he’d escorted. And it seems,’ she said bitterly, ‘He’s a master at getting his own way.’

‘In view of all that,’ Sylvia replied a shade tartly, ‘I’m surprised you’re going to Palm Cove and the bush.’

Holly shrugged. ‘I once made the decision I wouldn’t be a victim, and what really helped me was my career. I can’t knock back this opportunity to further it.’

Glenn Shepherd said to Holly the next morning, ‘So it’s all set up?’

‘Yes. But there’s no personal side to it, Glenn, other than “ancient history”—I guess that means how he grew up—and he wants to have final say. It’s his work he wants to talk about, and some new project.’

‘Even that’s a scoop. So, you’re off to Palm Cove and points west?’

Holly nodded then looked questioningly at her editor. ‘How did you know that? I mean, so soon?’

‘His PA has just been on the phone. They offered to pay for your flights; I knocked that back, but they will provide accommodation in Palm Cove—they own the resort, after all.’

Holly grimaced. ‘I’d rather stay in a mud hut.’

‘Holly, is there anything you’re not telling me?’ Glenn stared at her interrogatively.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘No,’ Holly replied. ‘No.’

‘Enjoy yourself, then.’

Cairns, in Far North Queensland, was always a pleasure to visit, Holly reflected as she landed on a commercial flight and took the courtesy bus out of town to Palm Cove. With its mountainous backdrop, its beaches, its lush flora, bougainvillea, hibiscus in many colours, yellow allamanda everywhere and its warm, humid air, you got a delightful sense of the tropics.

It was also a touristy place—it was a stepping-off point for all the marvels of the Great Barrier Reef—but it wasn’t brash. It was relaxed, yet still retained its solid country-town air.

Palm Cove, half an hour’s drive north of Cairns, was exclusive.

Lovely resorts lined the road opposite the beach and there was a cosmopolitan air with open-air cafés and marvellous old melaleucas, or paper-bark trees, growing out of the pavements. There were upmarket restaurants and boutiques that would have made her mother’s mouth water. The beach itself was a delight. Lined with cottonwoods, casuarinas and palms, it curved around a bay and overlooked Double Island and a smaller island she didn’t know the name of. On a hot, still, autumn day, the water looked placid and immensely inviting. Whilst summer in the region might be a trial, autumn and winter—if you could call them that in the far north—were lovely.

The resort owned by the Wyndhams was built on colonial lines. It was spacious and cool and was right on the beach.

Holly unpacked her luggage in a pleasant room. It didn’t take her long; she was used to travelling light and had evolved a simple wardrobe that nevertheless saw her through most eventualities. She’d resisted her mother’s attempts to add to it.

She was contemplating going for a walk when she got a phone message: Mr Wyndham presented his compliments to Ms Harding; he had some time free and would like to see her in his suite in half an hour.

Ms Harding hesitated for a moment then agreed.

As she put the phone down, she felt a little trill of annoyance at this high-handed invitation but immediately took herself to task. This was business, wasn’t it?

She had a quick shower and put on jeans and a cotton blouse. But the humidity played havoc with her hair, so she decided to clip it back in order to control it.

That was when she found a surprise in her bag. Her mother had been unable to let her come to Palm Cove without some maternal input: she’d tucked in a little box of jewellery. Amongst the necklaces and bangles was a pair of very long, dangly bead-and-gilt earrings.

Holly stared at them then put them on.

Not bad, she decided, and tied her hair back.

Finally, with her feet in ballet pumps and her tote bag on her shoulder, she went to find Brett Wyndham’s suite.

It was on the top floor of the resort with sweeping views of Palm Cove. Although the sun was setting in the west behind the resort, the waters of the cove reflected the time of day in a spectrum of lovely colours, apricot, lavender and lilac.

It was a moment before she took her eyes off the panorama after a waiter admitted her and ushered her into the lounge. Then she turned to the man himself, and got a surprise.

No casual clothes this time. Today he wore a grey suit and a blue-and-white-striped shirt. Today he looked extremely formal as he talked into his mobile phone.

Merely talking? Holly wondered. Or in the process of delivering an extremely cutting dressing-down as he stood half-turned away from her and fired words rather like bullets into the phone? Then he cut the connection, threw the phone down on a sofa in disgust and turned to her with his dark eyes blazing.

Holly swallowed in sudden fright and took a step backwards. ‘Uh—hi!’ she said uncertainly. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Maybe I’ll just go until your temper has cooled a bit.’ She turned away hurriedly.

He reached her in two strides and spun her back with his hands on her shoulders. ‘Don’t think you can walk out on me, Holly Harding.’

Holly stared up at him, going rigid and quite pale with anger. ‘Let me go!’

Brett Wyndham paused, frowned down at her then let his hands drop to his side. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly and went over to a drinks trolley. ‘Here.’ He brought her back a brandy.

‘I don’t—’

‘Holly…’ he warned.

‘All I ever seem to do is drink either champagne or brandy in your presence,’ she said frustratedly.

A faint smile twisted his lips. ‘Sit down,’ he said, and when she hesitated he added ‘Let me explain. In certain circumstances I have a very short fuse.’

‘So it would appear,’ she agreed wholeheartedly.

He pulled off his jacket. ‘Yes, well.’ He gestured towards the phone. ‘That was news that a breeding pair of black rhino—highly endangered now in Africa—has been injured in transit. I bought them from a zoo where they were patently not breeding due to stress, too small a habitat and so on.’

‘Oh,’ Holly said and sank into a chair, her imagination captured—so much so, she forgot her fright of a few minutes ago. ‘Badly injured? In a road accident or what? A road accident,’ she answered herself. ‘That’s why you were informing the person on the other end of the phone—’ she glanced over at his mobile phone lying on the sofa opposite ‘—that he must have got his driving licence out of a cornflake packet. Amongst everything else you said.’

Brett Wyndham grinned fleetingly. ‘Yes. But no, not badly injured. All the same, their numbers are shrinking at such an alarming rate, it’s a terrifying thought, losing even two. And it only adds to their stress.’

‘I see.’ She frowned. ‘Not that I see where I come into it. Are you trying to tell me that when your short fuse explodes anyone within range is liable to cop it?’

‘It’s been known to happen,’ he agreed. ‘However, there was a grain of truth in what I said. By the way, your hair looks nice. But I have an aversion to long, dangly earrings.’

Holly raised her eyebrows. ‘Why?’

He said, ‘A girl invited me home for dinner once. I arrived on time with a bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine. She opened the door. She had her hair all pulled back and all she wore were long dangly earrings, high heels and a G-string.’

Holly gasped.

‘Exactly how I reacted,’ he said gravely. ‘Only I dropped the flowers as well.’

‘What did you do then?’ Holly was now laughing helplessly.

‘I was younger,’ he said reflectively. ‘What did I do? I suggested to her that maybe she was putting the cart before the horse.’

‘Oh no! What did she do?’

‘She said that if all she’d achieved was to bring to mind a cart horse—not what I’d meant at all—she was wasting her time, and she slammed the door in my face. Of course, I’ve often wondered whether it didn’t fall more into a “looking a gift horse in the mouth” scenario or “horses for courses”.’

‘Don’t go on!’ Holly held a hand to her side. ‘You’re making me laugh too much.’

‘The worst part about it is I often find myself undressing women with long, dangly earrings to this day—only mentally, of course.’

‘Oh, no!’ Holly was still laughing as she removed her earrings. ‘There. Am I safe?’

He took his tie off and unbuttoned his collar as he studied her—rather acutely—and nodded. ‘Yes.’ He paused and seemed to change his mind about something. ‘OK. Shall we begin?’

Holly felt her heart jolt. ‘The interview?’

‘What else?’ he queried a little dryly.

‘Nothing! I mean, um, I didn’t realize you wanted to start tonight—but I’ve made some notes that I brought with me,’ she hastened to assure him and reached for her bag.

He sat down. ‘Where do you want to start?’

She drew a notebook from her tote and a pen. She nibbled the end of the pen for a moment and a subtle change came over her.

She looked at Brett Wyndham meditatively, as if sizing him up, then said, ‘Would you like to give me a brief background-history of the family? I have researched it, but you would have a much more personal view, and you may be able to pinpoint where the seeds of this passion you have for saving endangered-species came from.’

‘Animals always fascinated me,’ he said slowly. ‘And growing up on a station gave me plenty of experience with domestic ones, as well as the more exotic wild ones—echidnas, wombats and so on. I also remember my grandmother; she was renowned as a bush vet, although she wasn’t qualified as one. But she always had—’ he paused to grin ‘—a houseful of baby wallabies she’d rescued, or so it seemed to me anyway. She used to hang them up in pillow slips as if they were still in their mother’s pouch.’

‘So how far back does the Wyndham association with Far North Queensland go…?’

An hour later, Brett glanced at his watch and Holly took the hint. She put her pen and notebook back into her tote, but she was satisfied with their progress. Brett had given her an insight into how the Wyndham fortune had been built, as well as a fascinating insight into life on cattle stations in the Cape York area in the early part of the twentieth century—gleaned, he told her, from his grandmother’s stories and diaries. And he’d included a few immediate-family anecdotes.

‘Thank you,’ she said warmly. ‘That was a really good beginning. It’s always important to be able to set the scene.’ She drained her brandy. ‘And I’ll try not to require any more medicinal brandy for our next session.’

He stood up and reached for his jacket. ‘I’m sorry; I have a dinner to attend, but you’re welcome to use the resort dining-room on us.’

Holly slung her bag on her shoulder. ‘Oh no, but thank you. I was planning to wander down the water-front and indulge in a thoroughly decadent hamburger at one of the cafés, then an early night. We are still flying to Haywire early tomorrow, I take it?’

‘Yes. I plan to leave here at nine sharp. I’ll pick you up at Reception.’ He hesitated and frowned.

Holly studied him. ‘Are you having second thoughts?’ she queried.

‘No. But you’re good,’ he said slowly. ‘Especially for one so young.’

‘Good?’ She looked puzzled.

‘You seem to have the art of putting a person at ease down to a fine art.’

‘Thank you,’ Holly murmured. ‘Why do I get the feeling you don’t altogether approve, though?’ she added.

‘Could you be imagining it?’ he suggested with a sudden grin, and went on immediately, ‘I am running late now; I’m sorry…’

‘Going; I’m going!’ Holly assured him and turned towards the door. ‘See you tomorrow.’

But, even though he was running late, Brett Wyndham watched her retreating back until she disappeared. Then he walked out on to the terrace and stared at the moon and the river of silver light it was pouring onto the waters of the cove.

She’d been right, he reflected. He wasn’t entirely approving of her skills as an interviewer. She did have an engaging, relaxing way with her. She did also have an undoubted enthusiasm for, and a lively curiosity about, his story and that of his family and its history. Not that he’d told her anything he hadn’t wanted to tell her, nor did he have any intention of exposing the dark secret that lay behind him.

But was she capable of digging it out somehow?

Or, in other words, had he unwittingly put himself into a rather vulnerable situation because he’d underestimated a leggy twenty-four-year old who intrigued him?

For some reason his thoughts moved on to the little scene that had played out when she’d first arrived in his suite, and how she’d reacted when he’d stopped her walking out. She’d been genuinely frightened and angry at the same time. She had told him she’d got her fingers burnt once and it was still with her. He had to believe that now. He also had to believe it had pulled him up short, the fact that he’d frightened her.

All the same—call it all off and send her home? Or deliberately shift the focus to the project he really wanted to publicize, as had been his original intention?

He shrugged and went out to dinner with his brother, his sister, his sister-in-law-to-be and several others. He was unaware that his ex-fiancée would be one of the party.

Holly had her hamburger, and was strolling along the beach side of the road opposite the fabulous restaurants of Palm Cove, when she stopped as Brett Wyndham caught her attention.

He was with a party of diners at an upmarket restaurant that opened onto the pavement and had an amazing old melaleuca tree growing in the middle of it. It was not only an upmarket restaurant, it was a pretty upmarket party of diners, she decided. One of the women was his sister, Sue Murray, looking lovely in turquoise silk with pearls in her ears and around her neck. Two of the other women were exceptionally sleek and gorgeously dressed, one a stunning redhead, the other with a river of smooth, straight blonde hair that Holly would have given her eye teeth for.

It looked to be a lively party as wine glasses glinted beneath the lights and a small army of waiters delivered a course.

After her initial summing-up of the party, Holly turned her attention back to Brett and felt that not so unexpected frisson run through her. She frowned. Was she getting used to the effect his dark good looks and tall physique had on her? She certainly wasn’t as annoyed about it as she’d been only a few days ago.

But there was something else to worry about now, she acknowledged. Ever since she’d left his suite she’d been conscious of a sense of unease. Was she imagining it, or had he rather suddenly developed reservations about the interview?

No, it wasn’t her imagination, she decided. Something had changed. Had she asked too many questions?

She shook her head and went back to watching Brett Wyndham, only to be troubled by yet another set of thoughts. How would she feel if he pulled out of the interview? How would she feel if she never saw him again?

Her eyes widened at the chill little pang that ran through her at the thought, leaving her in no doubt she would suffer a sense of loss, a sense of regret. If that was the case for her now, after only a few brief encounters, how dangerous could it be to get to know Brett Wyndham better?