Читать книгу Six Australian Heroes - Margaret Way - Страница 40

‘“FOOD, glorious food!”’ Sharon sang from the musical Oliver in a clear, high soprano.

She was an enthusiastic member of the local operatic society, Rhiannon had learnt in the hours they’d worked together.

She also put her height and lean, rangy build to good use on the basketball court.

And she was nice. Sharon confessed to Rhiannon that she desperately needed the kind of input Margaret Richardson had given her now Southall was to be lived in again.

‘She always knew what to serve, she always did the flowers herself and decorated the tables, and the cleaning staff really cleaned while she was around. I don’t seem to have the same effect on them and neither does Mary,’ she’d confided ruefully to Rhiannon.

Rhiannon had told her warmly that she’d done a great job nevertheless. And she’d opened her mouth to ask Sharon about Andrea Richardson, who seemed to have disappeared along with the yellow Lamborghini, but changed her mind.

Then they’d started talking food, found they were kindred spirits and they’d set to work in great harmony.

Sharon had dug out six big copper-based silver-lidded food warmers that operated on spirit lamps set into the base below them. They were old-fashioned perhaps but effective and stylish.

What had prompted Sharon to burst into song was the fact that their efforts were all but complete and a marvellous array of dishes stood on counters and the kitchen table, all set to be refrigerated overnight when they’d cooled down then warmed in the copper-based servers tomorrow.

From a previous job in the state, Rhiannon had discovered that Queenslanders really loved their seafood, and there was an abundance of it to choose from. The local shops had yielded a bonanza.

Rhiannon had made a seafood casserole containing crab and Moreton Bay bug meat with fresh asparagus in a cream, herb and brandy sauce that smelled divine, and tomorrow she intended to assemble platters heaped with fresh peeled prawns and oysters, with bowls of lemon wedges and tangy dipping sauces.

There were two large legs of ham that had been scored and pricked with cloves, all set to be basted with brown sugar and pineapple juice as they cooked tomorrow.

Sharon had cooked three different rice dishes that only needed to be heated up in the microwave to be fluffy and perfect. She’d also concocted a chicken and Marsala casserole, as well as a beef and black-bean sauce one with Asian crisp vegetables. Rhiannon had made a potato frittata and tomorrow she would put Cliff’s fresh produce to good use as promised in a cauliflower au gratin dish, several salads and a ratatouille.

And between them they’d baked four pavlovas to be heaped with strawberries and served with cream and ice cream for dessert.

‘There.’ Rhiannon stood back and looped her hair behind her ear. ‘Most of it only needs to be heated up just before you set it out, then we can keep it warm in the servers. Really, apart from the prawns and the vegetable and salad dishes, all that needs to be done just before time is the fried chicken legs so they’re nice and crispy, and carving the ham as well as buttering the rolls. We’ve done well!’ she added with a grin at Sharon.

She’d already explained to Sharon that she wouldn’t be much help in the kitchen but she’d pop in as frequently as she could.

‘We sure have. Just one thing—what about snacks?’ Sharon replied. ‘Peanuts and so on.’

‘No snacks,’ Rhiannon said. ‘It’s so easy to fill up on nuts and things so that you’re not hungry for anything else that will soak up.’ She paused.

‘The alcohol? Too true.’ Sharon agreed.

‘OK.’ Rhiannon untied her apron and glanced at her watch. It was five o’clock. ‘Thanks, Sharon. Off you go and have a pleasant evening! I’ll see you tomorrow—don’t worry about being early, it’s going to be a long day. Who looks after your child, incidentally, when you’re working?’

‘My mother, so it’s no problem. Um—are you going to cook Lee’s dinner? He’s a big steak fan and—’

‘Actually, Lee has other ideas,’ Lee himself said as he strolled into the kitchen, ‘but I just wanted to give you this, Sharon, a small token of my appreciation of all your efforts, plus a little something for your mum.’ He slipped an envelope into Sharon’s hand.

‘Oh, you didn’t have to do that!’ Sharon looked all flustered.

‘Yes I did.’ He closed her hand over the envelope then gave her a little push towards the back door.

‘That was nice of you,’ Rhiannon approved once the door had closed on Sharon. ‘I would definitely recommend keeping her on. So, I take it you’re going out and don’t need dinner here?’

‘We are going out.’

‘We? Who’s we?’

He looked around quizzically. ‘There’s only you and me left, Rhiannon, so it has to be us.’

‘But I don’t want to go out and you haven’t asked me!’ she protested.

‘Then I’ll ask you now, not that I intend to take no for an answer. Come and have dinner with me in the village, Ms Fairfax. For one good reason, I can’t imagine anyone who’s done as much cooking as you have today being remotely interested in more; and for another, I’d like to be assured you don’t still wish me dead.’

Rhiannon ground her teeth. ‘I didn’t say that.’

‘Wishing I were six feet under has to be the same thing,’ he said gravely.

‘You were the one.’ She broke off. ‘All right, I may have—’

‘You did.’

‘I didn’t really mean it. Satisfied?’ She eyed him.

‘Not unless you have dinner with me.’ He’d propped himself against a kitchen counter with his arms folded.

He’d changed into khaki trousers and a long-sleeved, light blue linen shirt. He looked big, relaxed yet entirely immoveable.

Rhiannon made a kittenish little sound of frustration.

He straightened, went to the fridge and brought out a bottle of wine. He poured a glass and handed it to her.

‘Go and have a soak in a warm bath, wash your hair and whatever else girls do. The restaurant I have in mind is informal but pleasant and the food’s good. We’ll leave at six-thirty—no, don’t say no or I’ll come and help you.’

She tossed him such a sparkling look of outrage, he laughed softly and said, ‘On the other hand, I’ve had my shower and changed.’

‘I never thought you actually meant it!’

‘I wouldn’t put it to the test, shower or no shower, Rhiannon. And I wouldn’t be too sure you wouldn’t enjoy it, either.’

Their gazes clashed but, although his was still amused, she’d had at least two demonstrations of the lengths Lee Richardson would go to to get his own way today.

Not only that but she was also afflicted by a sudden vision of them showering together, of him soaping her body and.

She switched her mental vision off with an audible click, audible only to her. But her heels did click on the kitchen tiles as she turned away from him and swept out.

It was when she was spraying on her perfume, a precious bottle given to her for Christmas by her aunt, that Andrea Richardson came back to mind suddenly.

She’d done everything Lee had suggested—soaked in the bath, washed her hair and changed her clothes for taupe linen trousers and a lime-green silky knit top cinched into her waist with a wide bronze belt.

But she couldn’t help wondering suddenly what place Ross Richardson’s widow held in the family now. Obviously not a happy one but surely she deserved some status?

She shrugged, checked her reflection and took a deep breath.

‘Not such a bad idea after all,’ Lee said to her over a red and white checked tablecloth and an oil lamp on the restaurant veranda.

‘No,’ Rhiannon had to agree.

She’d managed to put her somewhat tortured animosity towards this man on hold but she had to admit he’d helped by being strictly companionable in a non-threatening way.

And, true to Sharon’s prediction, he’d tackled a large steak while she had made a much smaller meal of whiting fillets but enjoyed it.

She smiled, albeit a little reluctantly. ‘The amazing thing is that I was actually hungry.’

‘It must be a problem for a passionate cook, a soupçon here and there too many.’

‘Yes,’ she fingered her wine glass delicately, ‘you need to be strong-willed.’

‘I believe you are, Rhiannon, and not only when it comes to cooking.’

‘Probably. It may also take one to know one.’

He raised a dark eyebrow at her. ‘Are we trading insults again?’

She raised her glass and sipped her wine as she looked at him through her lashes. ‘I don’t know. Are we?’

He smiled, that sudden, unexpected smile that wreaked so much havoc. ‘Oh, I think so. I think we rather enjoy it. But war has its other side.’

‘Not in my case,’ she denied.

‘Liar,’ he accused softly and sat back.

She found herself studying the tanned line of his throat revealed by the V-neck of his shirt before she switched her gaze away abruptly. ‘Can we talk about something else?’

‘Sure.’ He shrugged those broad, tantalising shoulders. ‘You choose.’

She hesitated, then, ‘Tell me about your lifestyle.’

‘Well, it’s changed a bit since I took over from my father. I used to spend a lot more time outback—that was the area I concentrated on, but I make a lot of decisions from a boardroom these days. Have you,’ he paused and frowned fleetingly, ‘any position on an outback lifestyle?’

Rhiannon looked startled. ‘Cattle stations? I once spent a wonderful holiday on a cattle station called Beaufort, in the Kimberley. It’s owned and operated by the Constantin family. I had a ball!’

‘I know it,’ he said. ‘Tatiana and Alex Constantin are friends. Of course, he’s into pearls in a big way as well as cattle.’

‘Yes.’ Rhiannon grimaced. ‘My parents gave me a string of their South Sea Pearls for my eighteenth birthday. They were stunning but I had to sell them. That was hard,’ she said ruefully, ‘but I did really enjoy the whole outback experience. Of course, it helps if you ride and I do—What’s wrong?’ she added when she suddenly realised he was studying her rather intently.

‘So you don’t find cattle stations dusty and boring?’

‘Good heavens, no! Mind you, the Kimberley is unique but—why do you ask?’

He took in the genuine enthusiasm in her eyes. ‘No reason. Mary is not a fan.’

Rhiannon rubbed the bridge of her nose, then she said with a wry little chuckle, ‘To be honest, I can’t help feeling a little sorry for Mary even though I’ve never met her. She seems to be up against some rather large odds.’

‘Oh, I think Mary can look after herself in her own way. Incidentally, what exactly did my stepmother say to you today?’

Rhiannon hesitated and thought about declining to be drawn on the subject but she intercepted a narrowed, determined look from Lee Richardson she was learning not to take lightly.

‘She—well, she was obviously in a bit of a temper but the gist of it was that you, particularly, regard her as the wicked stepmother who trapped your father into marriage.’ Rhiannon looked uncomfortable.

‘But that’s not all?’ he said.

‘She did—I think—look, it’s got nothing to do with me,’ she gestured, ‘but maybe she feels she’s entitled to some place at Southall?’

He said nothing, merely stared over her shoulder with his eyes focused on the distance.

Rhiannon drained her wine, fought a small battle with herself, but curiosity got the better of her. ‘What—does she do these days?’

He withdrew his gaze from the distance and it was intensely blue as it rested on her face. ‘When she’s not making mischief? Not much. She flits between the south of France and Australia, but she does believe that Southall should be her home.’

Rhiannon frowned. ‘What kind of mischief? And does she have any basis to believe that?’

‘She’s rather enslaved Mary for her own ends and there’s a slightly awkward clause in my father’s will, granting her residence under certain conditions.’

‘When you say she’s enslaved Mary, what do you mean?’

‘She’s preyed on Mary’s desire to blend her old life with her new one; she’s egging her on, in other words, to persuade Matt to move to Brisbane. Other than that,’ he shrugged, ‘at present, she’s conceived the idea of a memorial service for my father around the anniversary of his death.’

‘Do you regard her—I mean, do you resent her marriage to your father?’ Rhiannon asked.

‘Wouldn’t you in the circumstances? She was half his age, my mother hadn’t been gone that long and she contrived to marry him without Matt or me knowing what was going on.’

Rhiannon blinked, then blinked again. ‘It sounds,’ she grimaced, ‘tricky.’

‘No, it’s not tricky at all,’ he disagreed and the coldest gleam of blue fire lit his eyes for a moment, causing Rhiannon to shiver inwardly.

Then it was gone and he said, ‘Well, I guess you wouldn’t mind an early night?’

Rhiannon glanced at her watch to see that it was nine o’clock. The time had gone fast. She said, ‘You presume right but thanks for dinner—it was probably just what I needed.’

They drove through the wrought-iron gates but Lee slammed on the brakes before they reached the garage.

‘Did you see that?’ he snapped.

‘What? No, I didn’t see anything—hang on,’ she paused as a shrill whinny tore the air, accompanied by pounding hooves, ‘it’s a loose horse by the sound of it.’

‘It’s not a horse, it’s that blasted she-devil of Christy’s impersonating one—she’s got out somehow.’

‘Poppy! But how?’ Rhiannon stopped abruptly as a chorus of barks rent the air.

‘She’s the ultimate escape artist and the dogs are chasing her. They’re all having a fine game, no doubt,’ Lee said grimly.

‘But what about the stable lad and Christy and Cliff? Wouldn’t they—?’

‘The stable lad goes home at night, the dogs are supposed to be patrolling the place and Cliff and Christy go to the club every Saturday night. It’s the night they run chess and Scrabble competitions.’ He got out and slammed the car door and started to whistle.

Two highly excited dogs, the ones she’d seen that morning, streaked through the night towards him, grinning all over their faces.

‘Sit,’ he commanded.

They obliged smartly.

‘You’re safe, Rhiannon,’ Lee called. ‘They’re trained not to attack. OK, guys,’ he added to the dogs, ‘heel! We’ll get you shut up then—Rhiannon, would you mind giving me a hand? Poppy can also be the ultimate vandal when she sets her mind to it. She can actually turn on taps with her teeth.’

‘Certainly.’ Rhiannon stepped out of the car. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s in the vegetable garden as we speak.’

‘Whow! Having turned on a few taps, on the way,’ he cursed as he stepped into a large puddle that shouldn’t have been there. ‘I don’t know why I put up with this blasted horse!’

‘Because you’re rather fond of Christy?’ Rhiannon suggested with a smile.

They discovered how Poppy had got out when they reached the stables. She’d kicked a hole in the lower half of her stall door and somehow scrambled through.

‘You have to give her some marks for sheer ingenuity,’ Rhiannon laughed, although Lee was swearing as he locked up the dogs.

‘OK, let’s arm ourselves.’ He took down two leads and a headstall from hooks on the wall and gathered two biscuits of lucerne hay from the feed room.

As Rhiannon had predicted, they found Poppy in the vegetable garden—where she’d turned on another tap thereby creating something of a quagmire—expertly digging up carrots.

‘Oh, poor Cliff,’ Rhiannon breathed as she summed up the devastation in the moonlight.

‘It might just prompt him to consider getting his daughter a decent, well-mannered horse,’ Lee said caustically. ‘Let’s back her into that corner.’ He pointed. ‘I don’t think she can get through that hedge. Oh, Poppy,’ he called in dulcet, singsong tones as he advanced with his lucerne, ‘if you know what’s good for you, you old witch, you’ll come quietly!’

Poppy had other ideas, but with two experienced horsemen in front of her and a thick, scratchy hedge behind her, she was finally cornered, although Lee caught his shirt in the hedge, ripping it severely and finally abandoning it on a wicked thorn.

Neither of them said a word as they marched the pony back to the stables, nor as Lee put her into the sand-roll and closed the metal door on her, but it wasn’t a silent time. The dogs were barking; the other horses were all stirred up.

They checked them out individually and mixed some small feeds to settle them all down.

Then they stood in the middle of the stable yard and eyed each other.

Rhiannon was the first to crack. ‘Talk about a snow man—you look like a mud man!’ she gurgled. ‘It’s in your hair, all over your chest, everywhere.’

‘I know that,’ he countered. ‘And talk about a mud maiden—you look as if you’ve gone through some bizarre tribal ritual. There’s only one thing to do.’ He shrugged. ‘What does a little more water matter anyway?’

He reached for the stable hose, turned it on and sprayed himself from head to toe.

‘Your turn now!’

She couldn’t stop laughing long enough to tell him not to—and it was the only sensible thing to do anyway, so she accepted her hosing down.

But something changed between them, an awareness grew between them out of nowhere.

She was struck by the beautiful proportions of his upper body, clean and slick now. She could only drink in the width of his sleekly muscled shoulders, his taut diaphragm, his lean waist and the mat of dark hair disappearing into the waistband of his trousers.

‘You look like a siren,’ he said huskily, causing her to look up guiltily.

‘A well-dressed one.’ She glanced down at herself and bit her lip. Her top was moulded to her breasts, her nipples clearly outlined, so were her thighs.

‘Maybe not so well-dressed,’ he murmured.

Her eyes flew to his. ‘No, I mean—’

‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘Luscious and very lovely.’

She started to colour. His eyes glinted wickedly.

Rhiannon clenched her fists. She battled to control the tremors that were starting to run through her as that dark blue gaze of his swept her body again—it was almost as if there was an electric current running between them.

The moonlit stable yard with its puddles of water, the sounds of munching, now contented horses, all had a surreal quality and for a blinding moment she wished she were young and refreshingly open again. So that she could reach that open, honest plane with Lee Richardson.

If he made one step forward, she thought, she’d be lost. She’d be vulnerable to all those fantasies about him she’d thought, wrongly, she’d banished.

She’d be as helpless—no!

‘I think it might be timely to remember,’ she said with an effort, ‘that basically, I’m the housekeeper here on a job. Goodnight.’

She swung on her heel and squelched through the yard towards the kitchen door.

Lee made no attempt to follow her, although he stared after her with a muscle flickering in his jaw.

She saw little of him the next morning and was grateful for all the work she had to do towards the party—it was one way of keeping her thoughts on other things at bay. It hadn’t been an easy night.

Not only that, but there was also a devastated Cliff to counsel and a subdued Christy to handle.

‘One more incident like that and she has to go,’ Christy told her tearfully. ‘Not only is Lee mad but so’s my father. She trampled his prize begonias and his vegetable garden is wrecked.’

‘I know,’ Rhiannon said ruefully.

‘Actually, I’ve never seen Lee in such a bad mood,’ Christy confided.

Rhiannon paused and grimaced inwardly. ‘Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if they get over it, both Lee and your dad. But in the meantime it would be a good idea to be firmer with Poppy, Christy. Don’t let her get away with murder. If I had more time I’d help you. Maybe after the party I’ll be able to sort something out.’

Christy went away looking happier.

But Rhiannon still had the girl on her mind when she did bump into Lee and it led to a tense little encounter.

She was sorting cutlery and wrapping each knife and fork in a linen napkin on the dining-room sideboard when he walked through the room on his way to the kitchen.

‘Ah. Basically the housekeeper,’ he said sardonically, coming to a stop beside her.

She flicked him a quick glance and went on wrapping cutlery. ‘Good afternoon.’

‘How is your day going so far, Ms Fairfax?’ he enquired.

‘As well as can be expected, Mr Richardson. How’s yours?’

‘Not without its complications. Things would appear to be a little tense.’

‘Just don’t take it out on Christy!’ she flashed at him then could have shot herself.

He opened his mouth, closed it and said smoothly, ‘What would you recommend? That I give her a certificate? Pretend Poppy’s escapades were laudable?’

Rhiannon set her teeth. ‘No. But don’t transfer any annoyance you might be feeling towards me onto her.’

‘Now, what on earth made you think that?’ he drawled.

‘Men can have fragile egos,’ she retorted. ‘And, since I got myself into this impossible conversation, I might as well keep going. Someone needs to give Christy some help with Poppy, so why don’t you?’

He put his head to one side. ‘You really are the most complete housekeeper, aren’t you?’ he said, annoyed. ‘Will there be any aspect of our lives you haven’t reorganised by the time you leave?’

‘She is only eleven, she doesn’t have a mother, she loves Poppy—any one of you could have worked that out, I would have thought.’

‘Are you suggesting I become a horse whisperer in my spare time?’

‘Yes.’

He regarded her bent head and busy fingers thoughtfully. ‘Since you’re such a fountain of wisdom, Rhiannon, how would you suggest I deal with a difficult night filled with visions of you, clothed but soaking wet then unclothed in my arms?’ He waited then went on,

‘Or, since you’re so touchy this afternoon,’ he paused as she lifted her head and their gazes clashed, ‘maybe you had a similar night? In which case, perhaps you could tell me what the hell we’re fighting about.’

Her throat worked but nothing came out.

He smiled drily and walked away but they both stopped what they were doing, she folding napkins and he turning back, and they spoke simultaneously.

‘Look,’ he said.

‘Listen,’ Rhiannon said.

The silence grew after their words had clashed until he said, ‘Be my guest.’

‘I think we should—put aside all this,’ she said with an effort. ‘It’s going to be a huge day one way or another and.’ She gestured helplessly.

‘My sentiments entirely. Should we sign an entente cordiale for today at least?’

‘I think we should agree to one, anyway. And,’ she frowned, ‘talking of guests, are you still sure you want me as one? It really would be much easier—’

‘I’m afraid to say on that point I’m rocksolid,’ he murmured. ‘I see you as invaluable on the social scene.’

She blinked. ‘But why?’

‘You’re very talented, Rhiannon. It just,’ he shrugged, ‘shines through. As a matter of fact, you remind me of my mother. She managed to blend considerable social skills with a streak of solid-gold practicality and genuine warmth.’

‘But,’ Rhiannon objected frustratedly, ‘that’s Mary’s role!’

He shrugged again. ‘One day, maybe. It hasn’t yet happened. So that’s signed and sealed?’

She stared at him. ‘Well …’

He smiled at her, the hundred-and-fifty-watt version.

‘Oh, all right!’ She turned away hastily and went back to wrapping cutlery.

Two hours before the guests arrived Rhiannon was happy with all her preparations, and she decided to take a break, checking up on the veranda, where Cliff was setting things up, on her way out for a breath of fresh air.

Three long trestle tables clothed in dark green linen had been set up for the food and a portable bar was tucked into a corner. Smaller round tables and chairs were scattered about as well as some potted lemon trees.

Candle glasses sat on the tables and lined the edge of the veranda. A bowl of roses and a lovely silver six-branch candelabrum with pink candles dominated the main table.

She moved the roses and the candelabrum to show them off more effectively and repositioned the baskets of linen-wrapped cutlery and stood back to study the effect.

Satisfied, she looked at the sky but it was clear and there was no breeze.

‘Good night for it, thank heavens!’ she said to Cliff who was working behind the bar.

‘Not only that, we’ve got a full moon tonight. It’s quite a sight from up here,’ he replied.

Rhiannon looked enchanted. ‘I believe you!’

She decided to enjoy the rose garden for a few minutes before she went indoors again. The sun was starting to set. A flock of corellas, white parrots without the sulphur crests of cockatoos, was wheeling and squawking as they made the best of the last of the daylight before they put themselves to bed.

There was a sprinkler system watering a section of the garden and lawn and raising the rich scent of damp earth and wet grass.

She stopped and breathed in deeply—it really was the most beautiful place and it brought back memories of her home before the crash. Although it hadn’t been as grand as Southall, her parents had had a lovely estate perched in the Blue Mountains above Sydney.

She sniffed suddenly as she thought of it, and her father and mother.

Tears trickled down her cheeks.

She brushed them away with her fingers and turned to go in, only to bump into Lee Richardson.

He put out a hand to steady her. ‘Rhiannon?’ He frowned down at her. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’ She pulled a hanky from her pocket and blew her nose. ‘Some pollen, maybe, that’s all.’

He looked unconvinced and she rushed into speech, the first thing that came to mind.

‘What on earth have you been doing?’

He looked down at his sweat-soaked T-shirt, track pants and bare feet. He also had a towel slung round his neck. ‘Boxing.’

Her lips parted in surprise. ‘You’re a—boxer?’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘It’s a horrible sport!’

‘There you go, making snap judgements again,’ he drawled. ‘Done scientifically and with all the proper rules, it’s actually a great way for boys to let off steam and curb their sometimes naturally destructive instincts—as I should know. Walk with me,’ he added. ‘I’m going for a swim.’

She hesitated then fell into step beside him. ‘What do you mean? And who have you been fighting?’

He laughed. ‘A bunch of late-teen boys at a sports club the family set up and endowed some years ago. I always try to show my face when I’m here.’

Rhiannon blinked a couple of times. ‘That—sounds rather laudable if only it wasn’t boxing. And why should you know about boys needing to let off steam et cetera?’

They’d reached the pool and he unwound the towel and dropped it onto a sun lounger. He also looked at her quizzically.

‘Obviously apart from having been a boy yourself,’ she amended. ‘What I mean is, it sounded rather pointed the way you said it.’

He shrugged. ‘It was. I had a pretty torrid late-teen period myself. I thought I was invincible when it came to cars, bikes and speed, to girls and the high life.’

Rhiannon stared at him wide-eyed.

He grimaced. ‘It’s not so unusual, you know.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ she said slowly. ‘I know it’s not—especially when you’re rich.’

‘Oh, absolutely,’ he agreed.

‘So boxing saved you?’

He nodded. ‘Plus a wise mentor. Not that I went on with boxing but I did learn to channel all that energy more productively. I took up polo.’

Rhiannon looked heavenwards. ‘How very élite!’

‘But competitive, physically challenging and dangerous,’ he murmured.

‘I’d still like to bet it didn’t change your dangerous ways with girls,’ she said involuntarily.

‘Maybe not,’ he conceded and pulled off his T-shirt, ‘although this may interest you. They didn’t seem to mind.’

She was about to say ‘Tell me another!’—but a vision of Lee Richardson as a virile twenty-year-old with all those dark good looks and a bit of a bad-boy reputation planted itself in her mind and she shivered suddenly.

They would and they wouldn’t, she thought. Yes, they’d have known they were playing with fire but when he smiled at them as she’d seen him do two days before in an airport lounge, they’d have melted.

They still melted. She herself had melted.

She shook her head to dissolve the image. ‘Surely you had plenty of opportunity to channel your energy productively on all those cattle stations in the family?’ she objected.

‘Of course.’ He smiled fleetingly. ‘I was mustering cattle as a kid. But I also spent long years at boarding-school then university.’

He stripped off his track pants, revealing a red and white pair of hipster board shorts, and he placed his hands on his hips. ‘Why don’t you swim too? After a long, hard day slaving over a hot stove you deserve it.’

Rhiannon realised she was staring at him. Again. And again it was hard to stop because he was a work of art. Lean and tall with long, strong legs. Those wide shoulders tapering to a taut, narrow diaphragm; dark, springy hair on his chest and thighs; sleek, smooth, tanned skin sheathing streamlined muscles.

‘I—I don’t have a costume,’ she stammered as she backed away a couple of steps and was brought up short by a pillar.

‘You mean you weren’t at all tempted to try out our fabulous beaches if nothing else?’ he queried gravely but she knew he was laughing at her confusion as he followed her and came to stand right in front of her.

‘I was actually going to splash out and buy a new bikini,’ she replied as tartly as she was able to, considering that her breathing was ragged and her senses were leaping about like any teenage girl’s.

‘There’s not a lot of difference between some bikinis and a bra and undies,’ he said meditatively.

‘There is for me,’ she contradicted. ‘Besides which, with your reputation—’

He started to laugh. ‘Not only am I reformed and a lot older but I never did make a practice of leaping on girls even in their underwear without an invitation.’

‘It’s how you go about getting that invitation,’ she began but he stopped her short.

‘Rhiannon,’ he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear—for once she hadn’t done it herself, ‘I would say we’re both a long way from either the indiscretions or disappointments of our earlier years. So don’t blame the effect I have on you,’ he looked at her breasts as they moved up and down agitatedly in tune with her uneven breathing, ‘on anything but a spontaneous attraction. I will do the same.’ His gaze came back to hers and it was curiously sombre and probing.

‘I don’t trust spontaneous attractions,’ she said a little raggedly. ‘Not only that—if you must know!—the whole concept irritates the life out of me.’ She shook her head frustratedly.

‘Because you don’t feel you’re completely in charge of yourself?’ he suggested drily.

Her eyes widened. Had he hit the nail on the head?

‘Maybe you should guard against being taken over by your job,’ he said then, and smiled lethally. ‘A little too much liking for that sense of power it gives you.’

She went to slap his face but he caught her wrist in a hard grip. ‘On the other hand,’ he said softly, ‘you’re not kidding me, Rhiannon Fairfax. There’s an electric current between us that tells me if you let your guard down your beautiful body would writhe with delight in my bed.’

He looked her up and down and, with sardonic intent, mentally stripped her.

She told herself to breathe evenly in a bid to destroy the images mounting in her mind but it seemed nothing could stop her from visualising herself naked in his arms, drinking in the sleek power of his body, even glorying in his scent of sweat, leather and chalk while he explored her body at whim …

‘In the meantime,’ he continued after a long, fraught moment as they stared at each other, he coldly and clinically, ‘I’m going for a swim. You please yourself but perhaps a cold shower would be a good idea.’

He released her, turned away and dived cleanly into the pool.

* * *

Rhiannon could only come up with one outfit that remotely resembled a party outfit.

‘Why didn’t I just say no to this?’ she asked herself bitterly as she studied her reflection in her bedroom mirror. ‘Because he would have cancelled the party, thereby causing considerable chaos or—because I wanted to prove to him he does nothing to me?’

She closed her eyes briefly as she contemplated her disarray beside the pool, and the feeling that she’d like to demolish Lee Richardson one moment, then wake up in his bed the next. Not to mention that insidious little sense that he’d firmly slammed a door in her face again.

She had on a knee-length A-line black skirt that she usually enjoyed wearing but not tonight—other than jeans she had nothing else to cover her legs—and black tights.

She’d teamed it with a coral fine-cotton camisole top with shoestring straps and a drawstring waistline. She wore a four-string fine silver necklace threaded lightly with jade beads and matching long, dangly earrings. Her black shoes had slender heels and were the same ones she’d worn with her grey trouser suit.

She had no evening bag so she tucked a lacy black hanky into her waistband.

She’d washed and dried her hair so it shone and felt bouncy and she’d applied her make-up carefully.

Then there was nothing more to do to herself but she delayed a few minutes longer as she tided her bedroom and bathroom scrupulously. But her conscience got the better of her desire to hold off from any more disturbing encounters with Lee Richardson. The more help she could give Sharon before the party started, the better.

It also struck her that Matt and Mary hadn’t arrived yet.

* * *

At a quarter to seven, Rhiannon stepped out onto the east veranda.

The candle glasses were lit, the roses scented the air delicately, all the accoutrements of the meal were in place and the veranda looked lovely.

Lee Richardson was already there, looking impossibly handsome in a grey suit with a black shirt and a silver tie.

She rushed into speech as his gaze flickered down to her legs. ‘Aren’t they here yet? Do you think they’re coming?’

‘I—’ he broke off and listened ‘—would say they’ve just arrived. For someone who had nothing to wear, you’ve done well, Rhiannon.’

‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, moving restlessly under his gaze.

He smiled slightly then turned as two people came out onto the veranda.

Matt Richardson didn’t resemble his brother much. He was shorter and squarer with curly brown hair, hazel eyes and a wide, engaging smile as he introduced himself to Rhiannon.

‘Thank you so much for all this,’ he enthused. ‘Mary is really grateful, aren’t you, sweetheart?’ He turned to his wife.

Mary Richardson was stunning. She had red-gold hair, almost turquoise eyes, milky-white skin and a shapely figure that showed no sign of her pregnancy.

She was wearing a low-cut turquoise strapless dress that matched her eyes. It had a frothing ballerina-length skirt, a tight waist and the bodice glittered with sequins. Her high strappy sandals were silver and an exquisite diamond pendant on a platinum chain nestled in the valley between her breasts. She looked sensational.

‘Hi!’ she said enthusiastically to Rhiannon. ‘Wow!’ She looked around. ‘You have done well! Actually, I’ve had a great idea,’ she said excitedly. ‘Why don’t you come and work for us permanently, Rhiannon? I’m sure you’d make a great housekeeper!’

Matt flinched and Lee Richardson cast his sister-in-law a speaking look she didn’t see because he was standing behind her.

Then another voice said, ‘I happen to agree—why don’t you give it some thought, Rhiannon?’ And Andrea Richardson strolled onto the veranda.

If Mary looked sensational, Andrea topped it. Her hair was piled on top of her head, her strapless, décolleté black gown was moulded to her figure, her skin glowed like ivory and a magnificent ruby necklace matched her lips.

‘Thank you,’ Rhiannon murmured with a faintly ironic little smile, ‘but I have other plans.’

Andrea shrugged and turned away. Her eyes fell on the main table and she tilted her head to one side, then moved forward and repositioned the roses and moved the candelabrum. ‘That’s better,’ she said and turned to glance at Lee with her chin lifted.

Rhiannon took a sharp breath but fortunately Cliff approached at this point. He wore a snowy white shirt, black trousers and a black cummerbund. He had a white napkin over one arm and he carried a small silver tray bearing five frosted glasses of champagne.

‘Thanks, Cliff.’ Lee took two glasses and handed one to Rhiannon. ‘Come and look at the moon,’ he added to her.

She hesitated then walked away with him until they were out of earshot of Matt, Mary and Andrea.

The moon was huge and orange as it rested on the dark horizon.

‘My apologies,’ Lee Richardson said. ‘Mary was tactless, so was Andrea.’

Rhiannon flicked her hair back. ‘Did you know she was coming, your stepmother?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, they probably had no idea they were being tactless—unlike you, earlier. But it doesn’t matter.’ She took a sip of her champagne.

He looked down at her smooth, fair, bent head. ‘Are you talking to me?’

‘Only if absolutely necessary.’

He smiled slightly but said, ‘Sometimes the truth hurts.’ And added before she could take issue with that, ‘Why were you crying earlier?’

‘Oh, don’t start me off again.’ She blinked a couple of times and sniffed. ‘It was nothing.’

‘Thinking of your father?’

Her head came up and she regarded him out of startled brown eyes. ‘How did you know?’

He shrugged. ‘Not exactly rocket science.’

She sighed. ‘Yes, I was. Sometimes it’s hard not to feel incredibly sad. But,’ she took another sip of champagne and squared her shoulders, ‘I’m fully prepared to concentrate on the task to hand tonight. I just hope things don’t get out of control. Not that you and your brother couldn’t cope but they could be a high-spirited group of people.’

‘You can rest easy,’ he said. ‘I’ve brought in a security firm.’

Rhiannon’s eyes widened. ‘Do Matt and Mary know?’

He shook his head. ‘Only you and I know and they’ll be essentially discreet. Besides which, it’s my prerogative. As you mentioned yesterday, there’s a lot of very valuable stuff lying around and I would have done it for any group of strangers. The fact that they’re Mary’s friends is immaterial.’

Rhiannon heaved another sigh but this was a relieved one. She said, however, ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

He studied her for a long moment. The coral camisole top showed off more of her delicious curves than he’d seen to-date. The skin of her shoulders was smooth and creamy, her neck was long and slender.

Despite a hard day she looked glossy and perfectly groomed and she smelled nice.

He’d fully expected her to wear trousers or a long skirt, so the shortish skirt—his lips twisted at the thought—was a concession she’d probably been forced, against her better judgement, to make. Her legs, he thought wryly, were enough to tempt any man to think of her in his bed.

‘Maybe we make a good team?’ he suggested. ‘I can fill in the—very few—gaps you leave.’

She half smiled at him then turned her profile away to look at the moon as if suddenly remembering she wasn’t talking to him.

He frowned. There’d been an elusive quality in her expression that tantalised him. There were the changes four years had brought to her. Her face had fined down a little and it wasn’t as easy to read, but there was still an irrepressible quality to her at times.

There was maturity now, and competence—you couldn’t doubt that—but there was still that hint of vulnerability.

Why the hell should she be turned off men? he wondered suddenly.

Wasn’t it something a twenty-two-year-old with a painful experience might lay claim to but a twenty-six-year-old, who had patently got her act together, would be able to put behind her?

He grimaced suddenly. He, of all people, should know how hard some things were to strip from your consciousness; how hard it was not to tar certain situations with the same brush.

He stared down at his champagne glass with narrowed eyes and a hard cast to his mouth. Was he trying to say to himself it was all right for him to decide to leave love alone but another matter for Rhiannon Fairfax?

He started to analyse the thought but the first guests chose that moment to arrive.

Several hours later, the food had been consumed with gratifying enthusiasm and a happy, well-fed throng got down to the dancing end of the evening.

So far so good, Rhiannon thought, and crossed her fingers.

Mary Richardson was in her element; she literally glowed as she mixed with her friends, none of whom had shown any tendency to be wild so far. Some did look way-out, some had raised their eyebrows at the formality of things; they were obviously high-spirited but if that was the worst you could say about them, it was going to be OK.

Both Matt and Lee Richardson had been perfect, Matt in an obviously welcoming, enthusiastic role that seemed to come naturally to him, and he had already met some of the guests, whereas Lee had provided a laid-back yet at the same time subtly commanding presence.

Rhiannon had seen both men and women eye him with unwitting respect, although in the case of some of the women there’d been open speculation that had then transferred to her—Lee had rarely left her side. “Lucky you” some of those gazes had patently said, causing her to squirm inwardly a little.

And Andrea Richardson, who appeared to have come partnerless to the party, was certainly no wallflower, but, for those in the know, from the way they ignored each other you could feel the dislike and hostility between Andrea and Lee. You could also see that Mary and Andrea were close.

As the dinner was cleared the DJ, who’d been playing softly in the background, started to wind up to a more throbbing beat.

‘You can relax now,’ Lee said into her ear as he took her hand.

‘I thought I’d been a model of relaxation,’ she replied.

‘No,’ he contradicted. ‘You’ve been a great hostess but anyone who knows you could detect a certain preoccupation with the food and the service.’

Rhiannon had to laugh. ‘Sorry.’

‘That’s all right but that area of responsibility is at an end now.’

‘There’s still the coffee and—’

‘Rhiannon,’ he ordered, ‘switch off. Do you dance?’

‘Well.’ She hesitated.

‘Either one does or one doesn’t.’

‘It’s not as simple as that,’ she objected. ‘One can but maybe not that well, for example. One—’

‘Forgive me for interrupting but I can’t imagine any finishing-school worth its salt sending you out without that skill.’

She stared into his eyes with a tinge of exasperation. ‘That’s a long time ago. I—’

But this time he put his finger to her lips and drew her into his arms.

They danced well together. Too well together, she came to think as she felt his body against hers, his hand on her waist. It was heady stuff.

She’d have liked to be able to stare over his shoulder but her gaze took to roaming over his thick, short dark hair and she wondered how it would feel to run her fingers through it. Then she found the strong, tanned line of his throat fascinating and, although her hand rested lightly on his shoulder, she could feel the play of his muscles through the stuff of his shirt and the fine silk and mohair of his jacket, and it produced a little thrill of sensation down her body.

That got worse, or more thrilling, as she thought of his lean, hard body only in his swimming shorts as she’d seen it earlier. He’d smelt of sweat then and leather and chalk. Now there was a hint of an astringent cologne and fresh linen, but whichever, she thought with a little trip of surprise she immediately corrected, he was potently attractive to her.

There was still another sensation to deal with. She recalled the mastery of the way he drove his powerful car and the embarrassing comparison it had brought to mind; his mastery over her body in bed.

They definitely weren’t in bed but it was his direction, his expert handling of her as they danced that was making her feel as light as gossamer and open to the rhythm of the music. She felt undoubtedly sexy as she moved, not only her feet, but also her body to the beat.

‘You didn’t honestly believe you weren’t any good at this?’ he queried as her skirt and her hair belled out and he held her around the waist with both hands.

‘I—that wasn’t the point I was trying to make,’ she replied breathlessly.

‘Granted.’ He smiled sardonically, pulled her back into his arms and spoke into her ear. ‘You were trying to come up with a way to get out of dancing with me. But you’re more than a good dancer, Rhiannon.’

‘Actually, I’m surprised,’ she confessed. ‘It’s been so long, I did think I’d be all thumbs or whatever the equivalent it is with feet. Must be like riding a bicycle.’

‘Why has it been so long?’

‘All sorts of reasons!’ she said lightly.

‘No, tell me,’ he insisted, and he slowed the tempo deliberately so that they were barely moving and she was pressed against him with his arms wrapped around her back and his hands on her hips.

‘You … you can’t make me.’ She bit her lip as she felt his breath on her neck.

He eyed the flush of exertion in her cheeks and the faint dew of sweat just below her hairline. He noted the slight quiver of her lips and felt the tremors running through her body, the look of surprised uncertainty in her eyes.

He had no need to question the effect on him of her skin and her perfume.

He said, ‘I don’t need to make you. When two people affect each other the way we do, surely we have to talk about it?’

Rhiannon tried to think straight. The music had moved to another powerful beat but he danced them to the spot where they’d watched the moon rise earlier, where the level of noise was not so high and they could talk more normally.

She stared over his shoulder for a moment. The area they’d left was crowded and the coloured strobe lights the DJ had set up were turning people pink, purple and green.

Mary danced by in the arms of a stranger, no longer turquoise but orange then magenta, still obviously in her element.

Then Andrea drifted past in the arms of a distinguished, silver-haired man, causing her to think briefly about Lee and Andrea. The dislike they felt for each other was almost tangible in the way they so blatantly avoided each other.

She took a deep breath. ‘I got really close to a man once. We were engaged and due to get married but it became apparent that I wasn’t the heiress he thought I would be so he broke it off. To complicate matters, after he did that I discovered I was pregnant, although I subsequently miscarried.’ She paused.

‘I wondered about that,’ he said quietly.

Her eyes widened. ‘How could you possibly.?’

‘You spoke about the mood swings pregnancy can bring as if from experience. Two nights ago, in the kitchen,’ he added.

‘Oh. Yes, I suppose I did.’ She looked away. ‘Anyway, it turned me right off—no,’ she said as he moved, ‘I wasn’t going to say men; it turned me right off trusting physical attractions, not to mention my own judgement. So—’

‘You must have been a lot younger, Rhiannon,’ he broke in. ‘I’m not saying it wouldn’t have been painful but—’

It was her turn to break in. ‘I was twenty-one, and if the level of pain I went through was anything to go by, I’d be mad ever to let it happen to me again.’

He studied the shadows in her eyes but at the same time the imperious tilt of her chin. ‘There could have been extenuating circumstances that made it all—all the more catastrophic for you. Your mother, your father.’

‘Perhaps,’ she conceded, ‘but if I ever do marry …’

His lips twisted. ‘I’m glad to hear you haven’t entirely struck it off your agenda.’

‘If I do,’ Rhiannon heard herself say, ‘it will only be to someone who could never hurt me like that again. Obviously, someone I like and trust, someone who had the potential to build a good life with me, some common ground, but I won’t be expecting him to fall madly in love with me and I certainly won’t do that either.’

He cupped her shoulders in his hands. ‘That sounds like a declaration of independence worthy of a nation let alone a girl.’

‘Mr Richardson—Lee,’ Rhiannon chose her words with care and she strove to keep her expression neutral, ‘I’m not interested in casual affairs and the only reason I’m here is to do a job. N-now,’ her voice wobbled slightly for the first time, ‘now we’ve sorted that out, I intend to go back to doing that job. Please excuse me.’ And she slipped out of his grasp and away.