Читать книгу His Cousin's Wife - Lynsey Stevens, Lynsey Stevens - Страница 6

CHAPTER ONE

HIS strong, tanned body loomed over her, shutting out the shaft of moonlight that had been dancing between the rustling leaves above them, the light salty breeze playing along their naked bodies.

Her hands rose to touch his sleek skin, to slide over his taut buttocks, along the indentation of his spine, around his narrow hips, upwards over his firm midriff. The soft mat of fine hair on his chest curled damply about her fingers as her hands rested there for long moments before continuing their erotic expedition.

She exalted in the heady knowledge that she was exciting him, and she luxuriated in the rippling contours of the smooth flexing muscles of his shoulders and arms as he held himself poised above her.

She followed the tensed sweep of his neck, fingertips tracing the shape of his ears, the line of his square jaw, his firm chin, to settle on his full lips.

He took her fingertips into his mouth then, nibbled gently with his strong white teeth. When his lips released her, her hand went instinctively to her own mouth, tasting the dampness of him still lingering there, and then she trailed a path downwards over his chin, his throat, his chest. Her other hand, which had been delighting in the thick texture of his fairish hair, joined in again, returning to tease his small, sharp nipples.

He groaned, a low, primitive, so masculine sound that echoed in his chest, escaping to mingle with, to compliment, the murmur of the steady ebb and flow of the waves on the beach beneath them.

Then he drew a shuddering breath, his lips descending to cover hers, his body settling over her as they began to move as one...

Shea woke with a fright, clutching at the light sheet that covered her. She fought to draw air into her aching lungs as she gulped shallow breaths. Peering agitatedly into the darkness she blinked until her eyes gradually became accustomed to the night.

Her heartbeats were racing in her chest and she gazed about her, seeking and then finding the familiarity of her bedroom. It was her bedroom, she told herself. There was her wardrobe, her dressing table, her curtains stirring in the cooling breeze.

And this was her bed.

Yet still her band slid tentatively sideways across the tousled sheets, feeling, seeking, and eventually relaxing just a little as she convinced herself that she was indeed alone.

The curtains shifted again and a ray of moonlight skittered across the wall, the breeze making her shiver as it touched her damp skin. Shakily she brushed back her tangled fair hair and dried her damp forehead on the sleeve of her old cotton nightshirt.

With a soft moan she rubbed at her eyes. She hadn’t had that particular dream in years. Dream? She reproached herself unsteadily. No, it was definitely a nightmare, one she hadn’t experienced since she’d heard he’d married.

Somehow the knowledge that he’d committed himself to someone else had seemed to lay that specific ghost, had generally allowed her to get on with her life to some extent. And over the years she’d doggedly convinced herself it was all behind her. But it appeared that this evening’s disturbing events had proved her so terribly wrong.

She squinted at the glowing dial of her bedside clock: 1:00 a.m. Less than eight hours since her comfortable life had been shifted so disturbingly off its equally comfortable axis.

And yet she’d had no premonition, no inkling of what lay ahead as she parked her car in the garage and walked up the front steps. In fact she was even humming a tune she’d heard on the car radio as she deposited her briefcase in her room and continued down the hallway towards the back of the house.

‘Tell me that’s not the decadent odour of cooling Anzac biscuits?’ she beseeched her mother-in-law as she stepped into the kitchen. The room was light and airy, filled with warmth from the large old stove and the homey aroma of baking.

‘I cannot tell a lie,’ laughed Norah Finlay, wiping her floury hands on her apron. ‘I know how much you like them, love.’

Shea groaned. ‘To which my spreading hips will attest,’ she said as she sat down, reaching out for one of the still warm biscuits.

‘Spreading hips indeed,’ Norah scoffed. ‘I don’t hold with this modern fixation with being thin as a matchstick. It’s not natural. A woman should look like a woman.’

‘And I’m more womanly than most.’ Shea took another bite of her biscuit and murmured her enjoyment. ‘So much for my threatened diet.’

Norah tsked. ‘Forget about dieting. You’re just right the way you are, Shea Finlay, and I won’t hear a word that says you’re not.’

‘When you’re a twenty-eight-year-old matron...’ Shea began, and Norah laughed aloud.

‘Matron? For heaven’s sake. You’re an attractive young woman and I know I’m not the only one who thinks that.’

‘You’re prejudiced, Norah. But thanks anyway.’ Shea grinned. ‘Just don’t tell Niall I’ve had one of these or he’ll give me that long-suffering look of his that will quite rightly imply “do as I say, not as I do”.’

Norah chuckled. ‘He would at that.’ The oven timer dinged and she slipped on her oven mitt, turning to open the oven door.

‘Oh, no.’ Shea groaned again. ‘Not chocolate chip cookies, too. Have mercy, Norah.’

‘These are Niall’s favourites. And it’s your own fault.’ She glanced up at the kitchen clock. ‘If you hadn’t come home early I’d have had these all safely secreted away. And why are you home at this time? It’s not like you. Or is my clock wrong?’

‘No. I am early.’ Shea picked up a hot cookie and juggled it until it was cool enough to hold. ‘I can’t believe I’m about to eat this. I can feel a kilo settling on each thigh just from the smell.’

Norah laughed again. ‘So why are you playing hooky? I thought you were convinced that shop would fall down if you weren’t there to hold it up.’

‘Well, Debbie’s more than capable of closing up so I decided I’d take extra time to have dinner, shower and get ready for the meeting tonight.’ Shea pulled a face. ‘So you see I’m taking your advice and slowing down. I have been a bit tired lately and I know I’ve been pushing myself to get this new children’s range organised. So, before I get into negotiations over the new factory space, I’m giving myself this afternoon to catch my breath and relax a little.’

‘And about time.’ Norah slipped the used cooking trays into some soapy water to soak. ‘Is this the Progress Association meeting tonight?’

‘Mmmm. I suppose it will be the usual talking around in circles. I sometimes wonder why I bother to go but I suppose I should show some interest in the development of the area. I do make my living here.’ Shea shrugged good-naturedly and grinned. ‘I guess these meetings once a month are the price I have to pay.’

Norah laughed. ‘There’s that way of looking at it. But I have to agree that some of the members are a trifle long-winded.’

‘You’re being kind, Norah,’ Shea chuckled. ‘Sometimes I’m hard pressed to stay awake.’

‘And is David Aston going to pick you up and take you to the meeting again?’ Norah asked casually, and Shea nodded with equal nonchalance.

‘Yes. He kindly offered me a lift. He sort of goes past.’

‘He goes out of his way by three or four blocks,’ Norah said, and added shrewdly, ‘You know, I think that young man fancies you.’

‘Norah!’

‘Well, he does. And it’s only natural. I told you before, you’re a very attractive woman.’

‘I’m not interested in David Aston. Or anyone else for that matter.’

Norah gave a sceptical exclamation.

‘Oh, come on, Norah. David Aston’s years younger than I am.’

‘Two years younger and no more. That doesn’t exactly qualify you as a cradle snatcher.’

‘I’m not into that scene, Norah. You know that,’ Shea said softly, and her mother-in-law sighed.

‘It’s over four years since Jamie’s death, love. He was my son and I know how happy you made him. I also know he wouldn’t want you to lock yourself away from life.’

‘I know he wouldn’t, Norah. And I’m not really doing that.’ She shrugged a little wistfully. ‘I just don’t feel I’m ready to change that part of my life so drastically. Not yet anyway.’

‘Jamie, well, we all loved him and I know he’d want to see you happy.’ Norah paused. ‘But Niall’s growing up. Perhaps he needs a father.’

‘Niall’s doing all right. He has us and his teachers at school. Male and female, we’re all good role models. He’s OK as he is.’ Shea looked up at the older woman. ‘He is, isn’t he, Norah?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, he’s a fine young man. Although my opinion may not hold water when you consider I’m his doting grandmother,’ she added with a laugh, and Shea smiled.

‘I do sometimes look at him and wonder if I should take the accolades for having such a bright, well-adjusted son. Or if it’s just Niall’s innate good sense.’

‘A little of both, I’d say.’ Norah began to wash her baking dishes. ‘And if I was into that previous life stuff, I’d say young Niall Finlay had been here before.’

Shea picked up the tea towel and started to wipe the dishes.

‘Jamie would have been so proud of him,’ Norah added softly, and Shea let her gaze fall to the tray in her hands.

A tiny pain flickered in her chest, grew tentacles that clutched at her heart. ‘Yes,’ she agreed evenly, not meeting her mother-in-law’s eyes, and they continued to work side by side, each lost in her own thoughts until the silence was broken by the slam of the front screen door.

‘Gran. Mum. I’m home.’

Niall Finlay ran into the room and shrugged off his windcheater. His fair hair was standing on end and the wind had whipped colour into his cheeks.

‘Wow! It was so windy down by the beach it would blow dogs off chains.’ His hazel eyes widened appreciatively. ‘Cookies. Excellent, Gran. Can I have one?’

Shea exchanged a glance with Norah and grimaced. ‘One only,’ she acquiesced guiltily. ‘I don’t want you to spoil your dinner.’

‘No way. I could eat a horse and chase his rider,’ the young boy quipped as he took a bite of his biscuit.

‘I don’t know where you pick up all those colourful sayings,’ his mother commented and he grinned.

‘From Gran.’

‘So where have you been?’ Norah put in quickly to change the subject.

‘Riding my bike. Pete and I went down to the beach and around the place and guess what?’

His mother and his grandmother raised enquiring eyebrows.

‘Someone must be going to live in the big white house around the bay.’

Shea’s breath caught somewhere in her chest and she felt the warmth of colour rise in her face. For long moments she couldn’t bring herself to look at the older woman. When she did, she saw the concern in Norah’s eyes.

‘There’s a plumber’s ute and an electrician’s van and guys everywhere,’ Niall continued. ‘And they’ve started to paint the place. And guess what else? It’s not going to be white anymore. It’s sort of yellowy-cream. We won’t be able to call it the big white house now.’

‘That will be a pity,’ his mother replied carefully, and Niall nodded.

‘People are going to be all confused,’ he said in a voice of doom. ‘If you ask for directions around here they say, “Go down to the big white house and turn left” or “Don’t go as far as the big white house” and stuff like that.’

‘Yes. When you put it like that, it does sound as though we’ll all have to get used to the change,’ his grandmother agreed.

‘Well, how about your homework,’ Shea reminded her son and he went towards his room with a grumble, leaving behind a heavy silence in the kitchen.

‘This doesn’t mean anything,’ Norah said at last as Shea kept rubbing the tea towel over the already dry cookie tray.

‘No.’ Shea agreed quietly.

“The big white house has only been leased for short times on two or three occasions. And Joe Rosten himself hasn’t been near the place in over ten years. Why come back now? He’s most likely sold it.’

‘Yes, he probably has,’ Shea agreed again.

‘And I shouldn’t think Alex would be coming back here.’ Norah glanced concernedly at her daughter-in-law. ‘If he had, I’m sure he’d have already called in to see us. I am his aunt. And now that his father has remarried and is living in the States he really has no ties here in Byron.’

‘There’s still the cottage,’ Shea said absently.

‘The tenants are still there,’ Norah reflected with a frown. ‘David hasn’t mentioned anything about the cottage being on the market, has he? I mean, working for the major real estate agency in the town, David would surely know if a cottage a few doors down from our place was up for sale.’

Shea shook her head. ‘No. And he hasn’t said anything about the big white house changing hands, either.’ She set down the cookie tray and looked at the other woman. ‘Which is a little strange in itself, don’t you think?’

Norah shrugged. ‘Perhaps not. Maybe the new owners didn’t want any publicity. And you know that’s what a lot of famous people like about this area. The town closes ranks and can be as secretive and protective as a mob of minders.’

‘Yes, that could be it. Perhaps a pop star or someone like that has bought the white house.’ Shea relaxed a little, a ray of hope growing stronger in her heart.

‘Who knows.’ Norah gave a soft laugh. ‘Pop stars. Movie stars. All sorts of entrepreneurs. Stranger things have happened around here, you have to admit.’

Shea smiled faintly, too. ‘That they have.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Well, I think I’ll go and have a quick shower and then I’ll come and help prepare dinner.’

Two hours later Norah called from the front room. ‘Here’s David now, Shea.’

Niall made a noise into his book.

‘Did you say something?’ Shea paused and he sighed theatrically.

‘Is that David Aston again?’ he asked, twisting his pencil in his hand.

‘Yes. You know he usually gives me a lift to the Progress Association meetings,’ she replied perfunctorily. ‘Why?’

‘You’re not going out with him, are you? I mean, on a date or anything?’

‘No. Of course not.’ His mother frowned. ‘What on earth makes you ask that?’

‘Oh, nothing.’

‘Niall, what’s the problem?’ Shea asked gently.

‘I just don’t think I’d like you and David, well, you know. I mean, he’s all right I suppose but he’s kind of, well, a bit of a wuss.’

‘A what?’ Shea raised her eyebrows at the unfamiliar term, and Niall grinned sheepishly.

‘A wuss. He’s wussy.’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea what that means, Niall,’ Shea told him firmly, ‘but it doesn’t sound complimentary.’

“It’s not that bad really, Mum. Depends how you look at it. But he is a bit of a wimp and,’ Niall gazed up at her seriously, ‘I guess I mean he’s not good enough for you.’

‘Oh.’ Shea swallowed a laugh. ‘Is that right? And who, in your opinion, young man, is good enough for your aging mother?’

Niall grinned again. ‘Tom Cruise.’

Shea did laugh then. ‘Mrs Tom Cruise might have something to say about that.’

‘How about someone like Pete’s father then?’ Niall tried again. ‘He takes Pete fishing and stuff.’

‘A small problem there, too.’ Shea pulled a face at him. ‘Pete’s very nice mother.’

‘’Spose she is pretty nice.’ He sighed again. ‘Gosh, Mum! Are all the good blokes taken?’ he asked with his grandmother’s intonation.

Shea ran a hand over his fair hair and bent to kiss him on the cheek. ‘Rumour has it that that is unfortunately so,’ she said with a smile. ‘If I’m home late I’ll see you in the morning. OK?’

‘Sure. Have a good time.’

‘At a meeting?’ Shea grimaced sceptically. ‘But, to return to the subject of good blokes, on the remote chance I do see one, I’ll try not to let him get away.’

Niall chuckled and gave his mother a thumbs up sign. ‘Excellent decision, Mum. See you.’

Shea was still smiling when she climbed into David’s car.

‘What’s the joke?’ he asked, and she shook her head.

‘Nothing interesting,’ she answered a little absently and for the first time Shea found herself really assessing him.

David Aston was quite good-looking with dark hair and eyes and he was, she knew, a relatively quiet and unassuming young man.

A wuss? A wimp? Niall’s description came into her mind and she pushed it guiltily away. No, David was simply, well, somewhat dull. That didn’t mean he was a wimp.

Yet one thing was certain, Shea acknowledged. She knew she wasn’t attracted to him. To any man, for that matter. And hadn’t been for such a long time...

Shea shifted agitatedly and quickly forced her disquieting reflections out of her mind. She made herself make pleasant conversation to distract herself from her unsettling thoughts. ‘So, what do you think will be on tonight’s agenda at the meeting?’

‘We had a few points to discuss that were carried over from last month,’ David said earnestly as he turned the car onto the road into the town centre. ‘I believe I heard someone suggested picketing the council offices about the new sewerage pipes. I can’t say I find that acceptable behaviour.’

Shea raised her eyebrows. ‘So you’re not into passive resistance?’

‘Of course not. I can’t see any point in making an exhibition of one’s self. There are other more, well, urbane ways of doing things.’

‘Mature discussion?’ Shea suggested, and David brushed a hand over his dark hair.

‘Of course. People do associate picketing and rallying with the, well, the unsavoury hippie element. Don’t you think, Shea?’

Shea bit her lip reflectively. There were a number of alternative lifestyle groups in and around Byron Bay but Shea didn’t consider them to be unsavoury. She glanced sideways at David and saw his lips were pursed in disapproval. ‘I think most people would stand up and be counted if a point was to be made,’ she said carefully.

‘But there are proper channels. So distasteful to see all those long-haired, untidy-looking people standing about.’

Shea sighed. She really didn’t have the energy or the inclination to argue with David.

‘I know I’m a relative newcomer, I’ve only been here a year or so,’ David was continuing, ‘but I chose to come here because it was a quiet, beautiful little town with none of the so-called bright light attractions.’

‘Well, Byron Bay certainly is that.’ Shea glanced at the row of modest houses in the street as they drove past. She loved the place, with the laid-back lifestyle that was usually associated with Australian beach communities.

‘I saw Niall riding his bicycle down by the beach this afternoon,’ David had changed the subject.

‘Bicycle-riding is one of his passions at the moment,’ Shea replied thoughtfully and recalled her son’s revelations about the big white house. ‘How’s the real estate business at the moment?’ she asked as casually as she could.

‘Can’t complain. I sold the Martin house to Jack Percy’s son. He’s getting married at the end of the year and is going to renovate it in time for the wedding.’

‘That’s nice.’ Shea took a breath. ‘Niall said there were workmen at the big white house. Has that been sold?’ Her voice sounded thin in her ears but David didn’t seem to notice her pseudo-nonchalance.

‘Not that I’ve heard and I’m sure I would have. Unless it was sold privately. But the sale would have had to have been made months ago for work to be legally done on the place.’

Having her suspicions verified caused a sinking feeling to invade the pit of Shea’s stomach. She’d known all along that David would have been aware of any sale. And that he would have mentioned it. Businesses here were like small fraternities and they all knew how the other was fairing. A sale of the magnitude of the big white house would have set the whole town agog. Which meant only one thing—

‘It’s owned by an American, isn’t it?’ David broke into her thoughts and she nodded.

‘Yes. Joe Rosten.’

‘Rosten. That’s him. He’s the head of some big American stock-broking firm.’

‘Something like that,’ Shea replied carefully. ‘A chain of financial advisory services. He also has a lot of other businesses. Mining. Real estate.’

‘Someone told me he even had his own movie company. Is that true?’

‘Yes. A small one. More of a hobby, I think.’ Or a grandiose present for a much-loved only daughter, Shea added to herself, and a long dormant ache began to grow inside her. She firmly pushed her thoughts back into the dark, pain-filled recesses of her mind. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, allow herself to remember it all. Not now.

‘Some hobby.’ David turned into the parking area behind the meeting venue. ‘How old is this guy? I mean, does he have a family? And how come he never spends any time at the place?’

‘He has a daughter, actually,’ Shea began guardedly. What would David think if she told him the whole story?

‘Lucky daughter. And where can I meet her?’ David laughed as he climbed out of the car and hurried around to open the passenger side door for Shea to alight.

Fortunately, at that moment they were joined by a group of people also heading into the meeting so Shea was saved trying to formulate an answer.

The hall used for the Progress Association meeting was old and draughty and the seating left a lot to be desired. However, a large crowd of people had braved the venue’s shortcomings. As boring as the meetings sometimes were, quite a number of concerned citizens always turned up, Shea reflected as she took a seat beside David a few rows from the front.

Rob, the chairman, banged a glass on the table and the meeting got under way. It wasn’t long before the discussion bogged down and Shea found her attention drifting.

Of course her mind went straight to Niall’s revelations about the activity at the big white house. Joe Rosten, the owner and a friend of Alex’s father, would be nearing seventy years old now so he’d probably be retired. Maybe he intended returning to Byron Bay? This thought of course brought other disturbing considerations. Perhaps his only daughter would be accompanying him.

And his son-in-law.

‘Well, I’m not going to be involved in any protest march.’ David’s lowered voice drew Shea out of her reveries and she shifted in her seat, a little guilty that she had been so inattentive.

‘I’m sure it won’t come to that,’ she began, not having a clue about the subject of David’s frowning displeasure.

‘Perhaps that might be a little premature,’ suggested a deep voice from the back of the hall.

A tall, fair-haired man was striding towards the front, his long legs easily eating up the distance, trainer-clad feet silent on the dusty bare floorboards. He wore a pair of tight-fitting tailored blue jeans and an unadorned light sweatshirt, the sleeves pushed casually back along his forearms.

The harsh fluorescent light flashed on the gold watch on his left wrist and on the same hand, on his ring finger, he wore a gold signet ring.

All this Shea took in subconsciously. Her numbed body was apparently beyond reaction. If she had been alone and able to respond to the sound of that voice, the sight of that familiar, yet strangely unfamiliar face, she knew she would have dissolved into a shaking heap. Or simply fainted dead away. But she did neither.

Then the crowd seemed to part and their eyes met, steady coffee brown and startled sea green. And Shea’s heartbeats began to race.