Читать книгу Wedding at Wangaree Valley - Margaret Way - Страница 5

CHAPTER TWO

WANGAREE’S lovely mansion homestead stood on top of a knoll in the most beautiful part of the Valley. Everyone knew the magnificent rural property had been acquired by an Englishman, Nicholas Compton Radcliffe, in the early 1850’s. Radcliffe, a man of vision and enviable private means, and set about building a homestead to rival any in the colony of New South Wales, and the style he’d chosen was Colonial Georgian. A double-storey central section dominated a serenely imposing façade flanked by one-storey wings with big handsome bays at both ends. To accommodate the hot Australian climate, canopied verandahs had been added at a later date. Rosy brick married wonderfully with the frosting of classical white pillars and beautiful white cast-iron lace. When the building had been completed it had been described in the colonial gazette of that time as “a splendid gentleman’s residence.”

These days only a rich family could maintain it, Alana thought, staring up the hill at the mansion. It was ablaze with lights, putting her in mind of the great liner Queen Mary II at night. She and Kieran had seen the ship make its majestic entry into Sydney Harbour a few months before.

They were late. She had fretted about it at first, and then she had begun to worry when Simon hadn’t turned up on time. Finally he had arrived at the farm, a good forty minutes overdue. He’d looked handsome in his dinner suit, but pale and upset. It had only taken Alana a few seconds to establish why. Simon and his mother—known rather cruelly behind her back as The Widow—had had “words”. But then Rebecca would much rather have “words” than bid her son a fond, Goodnight, darling. Drive carefully. Have fun.

“About what?” Alana had asked.

“Oh, let’s forget it,” Simon had begged, putting his arm around her and giving her an exquisitely gentle kiss.

She hadn’t been able to think of a thing to say that wouldn’t have sounded dreadfully impolite. It was high time Simon stood up to his mother.

Now they were going to be the last to arrive. She could see all the parked cars, among them Kieran’s. He had left on his own, almost an hour before, with the wry comment, “Simon won’t want me along as a passenger.”

Did even her own brother think she and Simon were an item? Alana found herself oppressed by the idea. As fond as she was of Simon, she shrank from being so labelled. The only one on her side appeared to be Simon’s mother, who always greeted her so grimly she might have been hatching some plot to snatch Simon away. Even on the odd occasion when Rebecca offered afternoon tea, she never left them alone, but stood guard.

Together, they mounted the broad sandstone steps to the pedimented portico, waiting quietly in line behind other late arriving couples to gain admittance to Wangaree’s delightful entrance hall. Alana had been inside the house often enough to be familiar with it—the black and white marble floor tiles, the coffered ceiling with rosettes, the dazzling chandelier and the romantic sweep of the staircase.

There was an antique console that stood against the wall to the right of the front door, with its lovely fanlights and side lights, flanked by Chippendale chairs. She knew they were Chippendale. Guy had told her years ago when she had asked. A tall gilded mirror hung above the console, and tonight it reflected a marvellous arrangement of yellow and white liliums trailing green vines. Gilt framed watercolours of the valley had been placed precisely to either side of the antique mirror.

It suddenly struck her she really loved Wangaree homestead. She just loved it. There was no question Violette that would look perfectly at home there. Perhaps not perfectly, she consoled herself.

“You look gorgeous!” Simon mouthed reverently.

She might have been a National Treasure. “Thank you, Simon.”

It was maybe the fourth time she had thanked him, but she wasn’t going to knock back a compliment. She thought she looked rather gorgeous too, considering it was her eighteenth birthday party dress, halter necked, golden green, with a tiny waist and a lovely full skirt. She hadn’t put on an ounce of weight. Rather she had lost a few pounds since then.

For tonight she had gone to a lot of trouble. An incredible lot of trouble, for her. Who was she trying to impress? Not her best mate, Simon. The results, however, were pretty good, if she said so herself. And she could rely on her hair not to let her down. Great hair, inherited from her mother. Its honey-gold thickness and shimmer gave a girl a lot of confidence.

They were moving now. Alana counted herself lucky to be invited. Did Guy think she was Simon’s girl? Perhaps she should seize a moment to set him straight? Why, exactly? Would the knowledge make him rush to rearrange his life? Hardly. Simon took her arm, drawing her so tightly to him she might have been trying to make a break for it. For a minute she considered socking him—but there was the mesmerising Guy.

She had never seen a man look so intensely, magnificently male. Guy Radcliffe could be the archetypal hero of some heart warming romance. She thought she could safely speak for all the women of the Valley.

With that, however, came a warning.

Fall In Love With Him At Your Peril!

Wasn’t she blessed that she attended that warning? She had no intention of allowing herself to fall in love with Guy Radcliffe—not even in an abstracted kind of way, like a daydream. Nevertheless, her eyes absorbed him. He looked wonderfully elegant in his evening clothes. They fitted as though they had been cut for him by a master tailor—which they probably had.

She wanted to present herself in the best possible way, but instead of the cool composure she prayed for, she felt as though she had come madly alive, and shifted up several gears.

Warily, she continued her inspection. Charisma clung to him. What an asset! His beautiful sister, Alexandra, who lived and worked in Sydney, was standing beside him to receive their guests. She too possessed the same charisma. It worked like a beacon. How extraordinarily seductive was grace and breeding! And the Radcliffes had received more than their fair share.

Alexandra was the first to greet them, Guy being caught up with a few extra words to the couple in front of them. She flashed a lovely welcoming smile, putting out her hand. Huge soulful dark eyes lit up her magnolia-skinned face. “Lana, how lovely to see you again.” It wasn’t just the usual thing said on such occasions. Alana could see Alex really meant it, and felt warmed by it. “And how are you, Simon?’

Simon’s tanned skin pinked with pleasure. He made a funny little obeisance. “Great—just great, Alex.” It was obvious Simon was in some awe of his cousins.

The two young women exchanged feather light kisses. “I’m only here for the weekend,” Alexandra said, holding Alana’s hands. “You must come over tomorrow and have lunch—mustn’t she, Guy?’

Now the Lord of the Valley was free to give her his attention. He bent his face to her with languorous, almost regal grace.

It was the most stunning face imaginable. Alana put up a valiant struggle to meet that brilliant glance head on.

“It’d be a pleasure to have you, Alana!” he assured her, his veiled eyes moving over her.

She felt the impact of his gaze so keenly it might just as well have been his hands touching her. Part of her was ready to swoon. The weak, womanly part. Wasn’t it the curse of womanhood to swoon over such men? She’d be darned if she would. She responded with a few graceful words of thanks.

“That’s all settled, then.” He smiled at her, rather ironically, she thought, but perfectly relaxed.

Oh, he had a beautiful mouth! It drew the eye irresistibly. Little brackets framed it on either side, drawing extra attention to its sexy shape. A touch ashamed, she fought down the little flares of excitement but found it a real effort. Everything about him sent a thrill through her. Her heart didn’t just canter when Guy was around. It broke into a gallop. She just hoped to God he didn’t know it. He had far too many female worshippers already. And a lot of them would be here tonight. She was bound to collide with her cousin, Violette. Violette had very sharp eyes.

“I want to know how life’s been treating you,” Alex was saying.

Alana turned to her. “I’m always kept busy, Alex.” She smiled into that beautiful, poignant face.

Guy offered another comment designed to do damage. It never stopped. “May I say how beautiful you look, Alana?” He spoke in his usual smooth, self-assured way, yet she had never seen quite the type of look he was giving her. It was sort of full-on, and it provoked another chaotic flurry of sensations. She knew they were going to take a good while to settle down.

“Why, thank you, Guy!” she countered, almost as if they were sparring partners.

No use channelling your charm on me, Guy Radcliffe.

Yet his charm was drawing her into some powerful whirlpool. She had to make a serious attempt not to be caught up in it. She knew for a certainty it would be dangerous. She didn’t need Violette to tell her that.

Simon chose that moment to clamp a firm arm around her shoulders, exclaiming with great gusto, “Doesn’t she just? I love the dress she’s wearing. Her mother made it for her eighteenth birthday party, remember?”

Alana could have kicked her dear friend in the shins—only she saw recognition of her annoyance in Guy’s amused eyes. “I do,” he replied. “Your mother was very gifted, Alana.”

“Indeed she was,” Alex added gracefully. “I treasure the beautiful shawl she made for me.”

Alana blinked back a shimmer of tears. Guy had been invited to her eighteenth birthday party. Not Alexandra. Alex had already moved to Sydney by that time. Her abrupt departure for the bright lights had come as a big shock to the Valley. Everyone had thought Alex loved her home. But Alex had left them. Alana’s party had been held at the Radcliffe Estate’s award winning restaurant. It had been an unforgettable night. When Guy had presented her with her present—a porcelain Art Nouveau statuette of a nymph with long golden hair—he had bent to kiss her cheek.

It had been a token birthday gesture, but she still remembered how it had felt. What could she call it? The very essence of sensation? It had touched every part of her, as if she was naked, even reaching down into the most intimate part of her body. She had never realised until then that a kiss on the cheek could cause such an immense erotic rush. It had been quite scary. It still was, when she thought of it—which was usually at night. Guy Radcliffe was the one person who had ever had such a galvanic effect on her. It had to be what, exactly? Fascination? Infatuation? Neither answer satisfied. It certainly didn’t venture into the realm of love. As she told herself frequently, there was a lot of distance between her life and Guy’s.

“Come through and meet our guests,” he invited now, his dark eyes still lingering on her in that special way.

What was she supposed to do about it? She wasn’t in her element flirting.

“Yes, do.” Alex took her arm companionably. “The Hartmanns are lovely people. I hope you’re going to enter The Naming, this year, Alana. You could win the trip to beautiful Napa Valley.”

Mercifully Alex didn’t add, You could take Simon.

The huge reception rooms swam with bright faces and happy voices. It was a smallish function—only around forty people had been invited. Alana knew them all, except for Guy’s special guests, who turned out to be a delightful couple in their early thirties, good looking, outgoing, and very friendly. The wife was wearing a particularly stunning yellow chiffon dress that moulded her willowy body beautifully. Alana caught Violette studying it in detail. For once she understood Violette’s avid interest in fashion. She would have loved to own a dress like that herself—especially as yellow was her colour.

“Ah, there you are, Lana,” Violette said, when she encountered her. “Surely you could have risen to a new dress, dear? What is that, exactly? Muddy gold? Or is it muddy green? I’m sure I’ve seen it before.” Her blue eyes bored into the lovely shot- silk taffeta of Alana’s dress. “You know, you’ve given a whole new meaning to the word thrifty!”

“And you to bitchy, Vi, dear,” Alana returned, long used to her cousin’s caustic style and almost bulletproof against it. “But I do love what you’ve got on.”

It would have been too churlish not to mention it. Violette was wearing a couture strapless number in aubergine. It suited her wonderfully well. All three Denby sisters were blonde and blue eyed, but they didn’t boast Alana’s magnificent honey gold mane. Rose came closest, but neither she nor Lilli were present that evening. They were staying with a socialite aunt in Sydney.

Simon took her into supper, which was simply scrumptious—as expected from the restaurant’s top chef, who was handling the catering. Across a table laden with delicious food, she saw Kieran talking to Alex. The really odd thing about Alex and Kieran was that, although they had known one another all their lives, these days they acted like strangers. Even now, with their eyes glued on one another, neither was smiling. Alex was tall for a woman, taller yet in silver stiletto evening shoes that matched her short glittery dress, but Kieran, at six-three, easily topped her.

Both she and Kieran took after their mother, Alana thought with nostalgia. Kieran’s blond hair was swept back carelessly from his broad forehead, thick and long, like a lion’s, but it suited him. His eyes, though, were their father’s, an unbelievable blue. He wasn’t wearing a dinner suit—he didn’t own one— but he looked great, in a summer-weight light beige suit. She had one handsome brother, she thought with pride. And beside his goldenness, Alex’s dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty looked very exotic.

Kieran had once called Alex, “The most mysterious creature I’ve ever known.” Alana had thought at the time she understood. Alex had a way of looking at you, with her great lustrous, almost tragic eyes. Actually, there was something mysterious about the way her brother and Alex related to one another, Alana had often thought. Not that they met up frequently, living so far apart. They were both super-attractive people, but it was as if both of them had long since made the decision to walk separate paths.

Later, Alana was much in demand for dancing. Simon called her a miracle in a man’s arms. Actually, it was just that she loved dancing when she got the chance. She found it astonishingly easy, but Simon found it extremely difficult.

“You’ve got to let yourself go,” she advised. She really hadn’t encountered anyone quite as uncoordinated as Simon on the dance floor.

“You’re so brave!” he said. “If I let myself go I’d only be sorry. And so would you.”

A familiar voice spoke over Alana’s shoulder. “As host, it must be my turn.”

It would be just her and Guy. So close! Instantly she felt that enormous rush. She could weep for her own susceptibility if she had the strength. Guy didn’t have a loud voice, yet its special timbre, well-bred but a little edgy, sliced through the surrounding chatter.

Simon beamed at his cousin, ready to do anything he asked, and Alana spun around to face Guy, conscious of damp little tendrils of hair clinging to her cheeks and her nape. She could never look perfect when she wanted to. She knew she had a good clear skin, but it was inclined towards looking dewy instead of wonderfully matt, like Alex’s or even Violette’s. Perhaps her foundation was all wrong? Oh, hell—what did it matter?

Guy took her hand.

It was like being zapped. She even fancied she could see little blue arcs of static electricity crackling between her hand and his. It made her feel strangely weak—as if all her strength was draining away and her legs were about to give way. She couldn’t have moved even if she had wanted to, though her heart was pounding so hard even her ears hurt. This was madness, pure and simple. It would have been much wiser to have spent the evening safely at home, tucked up with a good book.

Simon gave her a much-needed moment to collect herself. “You won’t find a better dancer than Lainie in the whole valley,” he told Guy fondly, only too pleased to retreat from the dance floor and leave Alana to his celebrated cousin. “You can enjoy yourself at last, Lainie,” he promised, giving them a wave that looked something like a Papal benediction.

Guy couldn’t help it; he laughed. “He really puts you on a pedestal, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” The time was ripe to tell him she and Simon weren’t an item.

“Oh, nonsense!” His tone was amused, those brackets beside his mouth deepening into sensual creases.

“Maybe Simon and I should split up for a bit,” she said airily. “People seem to think we’re a fixture.”

He drew back his dark head, staring into her eyes. “Aren’t you?”

Cool. Keep cool.

So much for that! She found herself answering with intensity. “What if I dared ask if you and Violette are an item?”

“Who says we ever were?” he challenged.

She drew a long breath. “Most of the Valley. Simon and I aren’t and never will be an item, Guy. Simon and I are best…pals. Yes—pals is a good word for it. I’ve been looking after him ever since I can remember. Certainly pre-school.”

“He loves you.” There was a quiet seriousness in Guy’s voice.

Uncertain, she searched his eyes. They were beautiful eyes, black as night, but with a diamond sheen. “You sound serious?”

“I’m always serious with you, Alana.”

Heat swept her like a flame. She could feel the flush spread out all over her body. “Well, I never knew that! In fact, it’s a bit too much to take in. Generally you speak to me as though I haven’t made much progress since my eighteenth birthday.”

“A bad habit I picked up,” he rejoined suavely.

“So you admit it?”

“Absolutely. You didn’t really want me to treat you like an alluring woman, did you?”

She nearly folded, deeply surprised. “Hey, I’m not the alluring one. You are.” The heat off her body could be throwing off sparks.

“Alana, that’s plain crazy!” He spun her then, in what felt like some elegant choreographed step. In fact the two of them were beginning to look like ballroom champions, she thought, aware people were looking their way, expressions openly admiring. “Men aren’t alluring,” he scoffed gently.

“Aren’t they?” He gave off male allure in metre-high waves. “You should try reading some of Vi’s romances.”

“Violette reads romances? How delicious!”

As was his laugh. “Well, she might, for all I know. I was having a little joke. But, just so there’s no misunderstanding, I want to make it perfectly plain. Simon and I have no plans that involve romance.”

That little smile was tugging at his mouth. “Does one have to plan it?’ he asked. “Surely it just happens? You wake up one morning wishing you could reach out for that special someone.”

Her body quickened. She knew his hands would be just lovely. “Well, you must have done a fair bit of that—” There was the faintest trace of hostility in her voice. She broke off, horrified. He was her host.

He drew back to stare down at her. “It might be a good time to tell you, Ms Callaghan, that you’ve just about used up all my gentler feelings towards you.”

“So I should start to worry?” she challenged.

For answer he pulled her in so close that the room around them started to blur.

“It might be an idea,” he cautioned.

“Does that mean you can say and do what you like, but I can’t?”

He didn’t answer.

Silence had never seemed to say so much.

“Who would you reach for, Guy?” The words simply came.

“I won’t terrify you and say you.”

She, so wonderfully sure on her feet, stumbled. “You’re terrifying me just thinking about it. You’re joking—aren’t you?”

He saw the bright confusion in her lustrous eyes. “Of course.” His glance remained on her. It brushed her face and her throat, and her very feminine creamy shoulders. “But who could blame a man for wanting you near him, Alana?”

Every single nerve-ending in her body was wired. “You’re taking me somewhere, Guy,” she said, unable to control the tremble in her voice. “Where is it?”

“The big question is, do you want to come?” His handsome face was unusually intent.

“And leave my safe little world?” she asked shakily. She marvelled at the difference in him—in her. What had changed things so dramatically? Was this precarious kind of intimacy better or was she about to jeopardise her whole future? “It would be far too easy to fall under your spell, Guy,” she said. “The result could be a lot of pain.” Her sharp-talking, supremely self-confident cousin hid a lot of pain.

“And you’re scared of that?”

“Absolutely.” She released a pent-up breath.

“So what is it about me that scares you? You certainly haven’t given that impression over the years.”

“You’ve never invited me to come close.”

“You were too young. Come closer now.” He gathered her in. “You’re a beautiful dancer, by the way.”

“Have you just noticed?”

“I’ve always noticed.”

“You could have asked me to dance with you hundreds of times over the last couple of years, but you never have.”

“In the space of a few minutes the intervening years have disappeared. Maybe I thought you were being faithful to Simon?”

Her body abandoned all pretence, trembling in his arms. “Maybe I thought you were being faithful to Violette? Among others.” She couldn’t resist the little waspish sting in the tail.

His hand at her back exerted a little more pressure. “Remember what I said about being more careful?”

“Actually, I remember an astonishing number of things you’ve said to me,” she found herself admitting. “At my eighteenth birthday party you told me I was sweet. And smart.”

He gave her a disturbing smile. “Sweet, smart, and tart. Let’s see—I remember now. I could have added passionate, argumentative, with a good sense of humour and sexy but innocent too. Sad, beautiful, a wonderful daughter and sister. The best woman rider in the valley, and that’s saying something. I’ve always loved to see you competing. Poor Violette was always doomed to run second. Come to that, I love to see you working those Border Collies of yours. Not easy working dogs, but you instinctively know how to get the best out of them. You have a very attractive voice too. I’ve heard you singing to your own guitar accompaniment.”

She was totally disarmed. “Now you’re using your fabled charm on me, Guy.”

“Is it working?” He flicked her a downward glance.

“I’m not sure it would be wise to tell you.” She shook back her honey-blonde mane. “I feel sure you’re pledged elsewhere. Or you soon will be.”

Another couple whirled by, coming in too close. Instantly Guy’s arms drew her out of harm’s way.

Harm’s way? Her heart rate had risen as though she had run halfway up Mount Everest. They had known each other such a very long time, but she couldn’t imagine anyone who seemed so familiar yet so new to her. Her body fitted his so perfectly, it was beyond explanation. So perfectly she wondered if she should back off. All it needed was one tiny step over the dividing line. And there was a dividing line. She could never allow herself to forget that.

For the first time her graceful body offered resistance. “Cousin Vi’s over there, looking like she wants to bury a tiny hatchet in my head.” She tried to turn what must have been her perceptible withdrawal into a joke.

“I wouldn’t let her.”

Her breath shortened at his tone. “She could catch me on my own. Batter me in my sleep. Are you trying to make her jealous?” Did that explain his newfound manner?

“Don’t be ridiculous.” His reply was short. “I can’t even see her. You’re so dazzling.”

She had a sensation she was floating. What was he trying to do to her? And why? There were so many unanswered questions spinning around in her head. “I’m dazzling all of a sudden?” she questioned, lifting sceptical eyes no longer hazel but pure green.

“Let’s just say you’ve been dazzling me for quite a long time—though, very modestly, you’ve appeared unaware of it.”

Modesty didn’t prevent a highly explosive recklessness surging into her. Whatever it was that was happening between them, it was moving way too fast. Mistakes carried penalties, she reminded herself. “Who are you tonight, Guy?” She tipped her head back, to ask, “Do I really know you?”

“I don’t think you do.”

His voice held the faintest rasp to it, yet it was very seductive. His evident experience made her acutely conscious of her own lack of it. She was still a virgin, probably the last one left in the Valley, but that had never mattered to her. To date she hadn’t met anyone she had wanted to enter into a serious love affair with. She hadn’t even glimpsed anyone who didn’t pale before Guy Radcliffe. Now she was discovering there was a lot of emotion locked up in her. Passion. Desperate hunger. She didn’t want to feel this vulnerable. Up until now she had been rock solid, in control. A whole person, not part of someone else. Falling madly in love didn’t guarantee happiness. Love could be abruptly withdrawn, leaving the rejected one to battle the pain.

“Wait.” She placed a shaky hand against the snowy-white of his dress shirt

Immediately his expression turned to concern. “What is it?”

“Nothing really. I just feel a little odd.” Her emotions, of course, were getting too hard to handle. But she couldn’t tell him that.

“Let’s go out onto the terrace. Get some air.” His hand moved beneath her elbow guiding her outside.

The mingled scents from the garden were like incense on the warm air. Couples were standing laughing, talking, on the lush sweeping lawn; others were wandering the many stone paths, one with a little bridge that spanned a man-made pond where black swans sailed majestically and came at your call. The way was lit by hundreds and hundreds of twinkling white lights that had been placed in the density of the overhead trees.

The night was all around them, the vast dome of the sky thickly studded with glittering stars. There was Orion, the mighty hunter with his jewelled belt. The Southern Cross was so bright she understood perfectly why the aborigines worshipped it, and the Milky Way was a broad sparkling stream, the resting place of the great tribal heros.

Thoughtfully Guy produced a handkerchief to dust off the wide surrounds of a stone pillar—one of eight that supported the roof of the loggia. “Sit here. There’s a lovely breeze.”

“How good it feels!” she sighed, letting the breeze slide over her to cool her heated skin. Hadn’t her inner voice always warned her it would be dangerous to get too close to Guy Radcliffe? And with good reason. Now that she had done so, however lightly, she realised she couldn’t go back. His magic had already worked its way into her. She should do something to counteract it. But what?

He stood with his tall elegant body eased back against the pillar, looking down at her. “You’re very like your mother,” he told her quietly. “She was such a radiant woman. The Valley isn’t as bright without her.”

The gentleness and the compassion in his voice overwhelmed her. She was so incredibly touched she feared she might burst into tears. She remembered how her mother had always laughed merrily when Alana had made her tart little comments about Guy Radcliffe, Lord of the Valley. Of course her mother, skilled at recognising the truth of it, had seen through her. Now she thought there was a possibility Guy might tell her what she had so recently learned about her mother and his father. She desperately wanted to know.

Had they once had a relationship? Even a brief flutter that had burnt itself out? She had always felt a decided resistance to her from Guy’s mother, Sidonie. Not that Mrs Radcliffe, who lived near Alex these days, wasn’t always gracious. But she was ultra-reserved, withholding any real warmth.

“Guy?” She lifted her head to him, her voice betraying strong emotion.

He looked down on her. The exterior lights were making a glory of her beautiful hair, and burnishing the golden-green of her evening dress, its long skirt pooling around her. “If it’s what I think you’re going to ask, the answer is no!”

She felt the powerful rejection. “You can read my mind?”

“This time I can. You forget, I’ve known you since you were a little girl. I’ve a pretty good idea where you’re heading. You were bound to hear something from your father at some point.”

“And so I have—just a comment. I want you to tell me.” She shifted position so she could look directly at him.

For a fraught moment he seemed to consider. “Alana, you shouldn’t listen to gossip,” he said finally.

“Gossip?” The tightness that had gathered in her throat was reflected in her voice. “There’s always gossip in the Valley, but my father never gossips. I’ve never heard this before.”

“And you’re not going to hear it from me.”