Читать книгу Master Of Maramba - Margaret Way - Страница 7

SHE didn’t see the car until it purred right up to her. A big opulent Jaguar. Platinum. This year’s colour. Only seconds before she had scanned the jacaranda-lined street: traffic moving at a clip along the terrace, nothing in this narrow side street where she always tried to park when visiting her favourite uncle, in fact her only uncle. James Halliday of Halliday, Scholes & Associates, solicitors and tax advisers to the seriously rich. The busy professional area which included architects, engineers, town planners, and two very trendy but non-flashy interior designers, was fully parked except for the spot she’d had the great good fortune to drive into as another driver moved out. There was a space of sorts behind her suitable for a pokey little car like her own. She’d tried that in the past with the rear end showing the scars. No way could the driver of the magnificent Jag, she could see it was a man, squeeze into the spot. The thought gave her a certain perverse satisfaction.

Carrie locked her car, hoping the Jaguar would glide past, instead the occupant drove alongside, coming so close she could feel the familiar agitation start up inside her. She flattened her whole body against the side of her own car watching in sick fascination as the driver turned his coal-black head over his shoulder preparatory to putting the limousine into reverse.

The usual male derring-do. This one had more than his share.

No way could he miss hitting the trunk of the jacaranda tree unless he knew the exact dimensions of the Jag and the spot down to the last millimetre. She knew she was staring after him, her upper body now slumped sideways giving every appearance of a woman who had narrowly missed being run over. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She only knew she couldn’t control her reactions. Ever since her accident she’d lost her emotional equanimity becoming almost a stranger to herself, fearful, wary, her nerves running on overdrive.

While she awaited the ker-uuun-ch the driver confounded her by manoeuvring that great big car into that teeny little space, startling her into unwilling admiration. But it happened sometimes. Especially with men. Even the total idiots among them seemed to know exactly how to reverse park. Had it been another woman she would have burst into applause but no such luck for his lordship.

Carrie looked away, pretending utter indifference. Her heartbeats had quietened now she was free to go about her business, realising at the last minute she’d forgotten her sunglasses and the spring sunshine was dazzling. Shafts of it flashed through the lacy canopy of the trees. Another month and they would be out in glorious lavender-blue flower, an event the whole subtropical city of Brisbane looked forward to. Except maybe the students. Jacaranda time. Exam time. She knew all about that. An honours graduate from the Conservatorium of Music. Winner of the Gold Medal for outstanding achievement. Winner of the National Young Performers’ Award for her playing of the Rachmaninoff 2nd Piano Concerto. Accepted into the prestigious Julliard Academy in New York. A young woman with a very bright future.

Until the accident.

With an unhappy shrug, Carrie opened the door, reached in, and picked up the glasses, before giving the door a good healthy slam to work off excess energy, panic, irrational hostility, whatever. She’d have a lifetime to come to terms with her broken dreams. A whole world opened to her. Now shut.

She turned, watching the man get out of the car. He was looking straight at her, something questioning in his expression as though he saw things going on in her face. Or her heart. The thought shook her. She had instant impressions of her own. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, dark tanned skin but with a healthy glow. As tall as Mount Everest and just as impressive. Very likely a huge source of income. An aura like that only came with tons of money. But he wasn’t deskbound. Too powerful. Hard muscles rippled beneath his beautiful, elegant city clothes. The walk was purposeful, athletic, the action as superlative as the powerful cylinders of the Jag. If a halo of light had surrounded him she wouldn’t have been a bit surprised. The tan hadn’t come from lying around on the beach, either. He put her more in mind of some godlike explorer gazing off into sun-scorched infinity. The Red Centre. The Dead Heart. She particularly liked that image. It seemed to suit him yet she stared back as though he were transparent. She had to find someone to hate today. He was it. Mr. Heartbreak, Mr. Trouble, Mr. Larger than Life. Men who irradiated their surroundings always were.

“Have a problem?”

Like the rest of him his voice riveted her attention. Overly authoritative from where she was coming from. Super-confident, super-resonant, dark in colour. A man of substance and it showed. She assumed he was the boss of a huge corporation. A guy who gave orders all day while other people jumped. Not her. She prided herself on kowtowing to no one, though her body carried the odd conviction something significant was happening to her. Why was he looking at her like that? She was feeling the impact right through her body.

Yet she answered coolly giving off her own aura. “Not in the least. I share your enthusiasm for parking in cramped spaces. Only I didn’t think you could make it.”

“Why not? It wasn’t difficult.”

He sounded amused. Carrie watched him approach her, billowing that male aura. He stopped just before it completely enveloped her. Above-average height for a woman he made her feel like a doll with a slight case of hysteria. It was way too humbling. And it stiffened her backbone.

His brilliant eyes—how could black eyes be filled with such light?—continued to sweep her, missing absolutely nothing including the tiny heart-shaped beauty spot above the swell of her right breast.

“I had the decided impression you thought you were about to be run over?”

“What, on the basis of a raised eyebrow?” she parried.

“Actually you appeared to crumple. You couldn’t really have been frightened. Were you?”

“Of course not.” She tasted a faint bitterness at the back of her throat.

“I’m glad,” he answered. “You were in absolutely no danger. Perhaps you have a thing about male drivers.” He answered mildly, she considered. For him. “Pretty much all of us can park better than our womenfolk. Your left rear tyre is rammed into the gutter by the way.”

Carrie didn’t give him the satisfaction of turning to look. “I’m not one of the world’s greatest parkers I admit.” She made it sound as if one only needed to be if one drove an armoured truck.

“That’s perfectly clear,” the vibrant voice lightly mocked. “Be assured I’m not sore at you.”

“I didn’t imagine you were.”

“Then confess. Why so nervous? I’m almost positive you’re nervous. Why? It’s broad daylight. I don’t normally make women uneasy.”

“Are you sure?” He couldn’t fail to hear the astonished irony in her tone.

“It’s obvious you don’t know me.” The jet-black eyes glinted over her as though no one but no one spoke to him this way. “Look there’s no traffic,” he pointed out in an unexpectedly gentle voice, glancing up and down the street. “Would you like me to escort you to the other side?”

And let him touch her? This dominating man. She didn’t dare. She held up her two palms, then dropped them in one graceful gesture.

“Surely you jest?” She spoke sweetly when she could cheerfully have pushed him over. An enormous not to say impossible job.

“I jest not.” His mouth was handsome, sensual in cut, but very firmly held. “You on the other hand seem to be kneading the hem of your skirt.”

She glanced down. She was, too. Another nervous habit. “All right, if you must know I thought you came much too close to me.”

“You should talk to somebody about it.”

“About what?” Colour whipped into her cheeks, antagonism into her tone.

“I suppose the best word would be phobia.” He looked squarely at her.

It was a big mistake to have spoken to him at all. “You’re saying I have a phobia?” She gave him what she thought of as her dagger look. “That’s a bit much for a complete stranger?”

He seemed mightily unimpressed, shrugging a nonchalant broad shoulder. “Seems very much like it to me.”

That was the final straw. To be caught out. So easily. By a stranger. Carrie turned away so tempestuously her thick silky amber hair whipped around her like a pennant in a sea breeze. “Have a nice day,” she clipped off.

“You, too.” He sketched a brief salute, watching her stalk away, on her beautiful long legs. Sort of angry. And it showed. She was muttering something to herself as she went.

Then abruptly she turned, like a woman determined on having the last word. Point of honour. He almost laughed aloud.

“I hope you’re not planning on parking there too long?” she threw at him with that rather tantalising hauteur. “An inspector might just wander by. It’s not actually a parking space, you know. I should warn you. I might be forced to back into you in order to get out. You’ve virtually jammed me in.”

“Not at all.”

He moved with dark energy to double-check, giving her a sudden smile that did strange things to her. Formidable in height and demeanour—his employees probably addressed him staring at his feet—that smile was extraordinary, making nerves twitch all over her skin.

“Anyway I’m not worried,” he pronounced casually. “Just leave your name and address under the wiper should anything go wrong.”

“I’ll try very hard to see it doesn’t.”

How could he be enjoying this? he thought. He almost never got into conversations with strange young women. And this one was not only hostile, but intriguingly familiar. A firehead to match her rare colouring. Hair like a good sherry with the light glinting through it. Beautiful clear skin with an apricot blush. Golden-brown eyes, almost a topaz. Her hadn’t seen a woman with such clarity for years. And she was just a kid. She carried the beautiful scent of youth with her. Probably ten or more years his junior. He would be thirty-two his next birthday. A thirty-two-year-old divorcee with a child, Regina. He cared about her deeply. But the devastating fact was Regina wasn’t his child. She was the result of one of Sharon’s affairs. Funny the young woman who was stalking away from him had put all thought of Sharon out of his mind.

“Take care!” he called after her. “You city girls are so damned aggressive.”

Carrie despite her avowed intention found herself stopping. Wasn’t that strange. City girls. “So where do you hail from?” she challenged, wondering what imp of mischief had taken possession of her. He was Someone. She was sure of it.

“A long way from here,” he drawled.

“And here was I thinking you’re the sort of man who always knows what to expect.”

“Careful,” he said. “I might be still here when you get back.”

Carrie waved a backward hand as though everything he said was of no real importance. She supposed she was being very rude but crossing swords with that man had helped to bring a little pleasure into her blighted young life. She’d never had an experience quite like that. But then as far as she knew, he hadn’t, either. Maybe he would be there when she returned. The little flurry of excitement made her furious at herself.

James Halliday’s secretary announced her arrival like an aide might announce a candidate for a court investiture, Carrie thought. She’d known Ms. Galbally since she was a little girl but the secretary had never once veered from the very formal. As a child and adolescent she’d always been Catrina, not Carrie. Once she turned eighteen she became Miss Russell. Ms. Galbally was a middle-aged saturine woman of handsome appearance and Carrie knew other people found her intimidating, but according to her uncle she was just about “perfect.” So much for appearances, Carrie thought trying but not succeeding in looking honoured.

“Carrie, sweetheart!” Her uncle himself opened the door, handsome, genial, charming, fifty and looking nothing like it, four years older than her late mother but very much like her in appearance which was to say like herself, ushering her into an office as big as Central station but cosy as a den. It had a great view over the river; the walls were mahogany-panelled, lined with deep antique bookcases holding leather-bound legal tomes, a series of excellent quite valuable architectural drawings took up the rest of the wall space along with a few striking oil paintings, seascapes in gilt frames. James Halliday was a well-known yachtsman.

A magnificent Persian rug, all wonderful dark blues and rich rubies adorned the discreetly carpeted floor. Glass display cabinets set off a few choice pieces of James Halliday’s collection of Ming dynasty Chinese porcelain, heralding the fact James Halliday was a collector, as well. An enormous partner’s desk held centre court with a splendid high-backed chair ranged behind it. It was abundantly clear her uncle was doing very well. But not as well as her father who owned a large city electrical firm.

The two men did not get on. Different personalities; different interests; different callings. Carrie loved both of them but from her mother’s side of the family she had inherited a great love of the “arts,” a sphere that held little interest for her father, her stepmother Glenda and her stepsister, Melissa, three years her junior.

“Like some coffee, darling?” James Halliday asked, looking at his niece searchingly but with great affection. She had suffered a devastating blow and in many ways it showed. Her characteristic sparkle had banked down but he knew in his heart she had the inner resources to pull through this major setback to her life’s plans.

Carrie sank into a plush, leather-upholstered armchair, sighing gently. “I’d love it. No one drinks coffee at home anymore,” she added after James put through his request. “Glenda has convinced Dad it’s bad for him. Bad for everyone. She doesn’t like my buying it, either. I’ll have to move out. It was always going to happen. Now I’m not going to New York, the sooner the better. Dad won’t be happy but he’s not around much to know just how things are between us.”

“It’s the greatest pity you and Melissa aren’t close,” James mourned.

“Isn’t it? Glenda’s fault, I’m sure. Mel would never have felt the way she does if Glenda hadn’t stirred up such feelings of jealousy.”

“I know your stepmother has made life difficult for you.” James confined himself to a single remark when he wanted to say lots more.

“She never wanted me, Jamie. She didn’t want a ready-made child who just happened to be the image of her husband’s first wife. I swear to this day she’s jealous of my mother.”

James nodded his agreement. He’d seen too many upsetting signs of it. “She can’t help it. It’s her nature. We both know, too, she’s deeply resented your talent. All the attention you got because of it, prizes and awards. It singled you out.”

“And not Mel. Still, she doesn’t have to worry now,” Carrie said wryly.

“You’re still a highly accomplished pianist,” her uncle reminded her, himself devastated by the crushing results of her accident.

“It doesn’t seem like much of a compensation. To think I had to be involved in a car crash the very day I got news I’d been accepted into the Julliard. Fate taking a nasty turn.”

“It was a tragedy, sweetheart, but you can’t let it ruin your life,” James warned. “You need time to recover, then you have to pick up the pieces. It could have been very much worse than broken ribs and a crushed little finger.”

“That won’t stand up to the rigours of a career. I know. I’m trying, Jamie. Really I am, but it’s hard. The funny part is, Dad is sad for me but he’s relieved, too. He didn’t want me going off overseas. He wants me at home. Safely married. He wants grandchildren in time.”

He wants. He wants, James thought. He’d wanted my beautiful sister but never made her happy. Trying to confine her fine spirit as he had never succeeded with his daughter.

“Your father has many good qualities but he isn’t musical.”

“You mean he hasn’t got a musical bone in his body.” Carrie gave a broken laugh. “Dad has always been proud of me but he can’t come close to the music I play. Played. I haven’t touched the piano since the accident.”

“Nearly a year ago.”

“No time at all.”

“I agree.” James couldn’t meet her glistening topaz eyes. “Not for your heartache and bitter disappointment, to heal.”

“I don’t enjoy teaching, Jamie. I suppose I was too much of a performer.”

“And you’re so young,” James returned. “Twenty-two is no age at all.”

“Old enough to move out,” Carrie retorted. “I’d have done it before today only I didn’t want to hurt Dad. Glenda is never going to like me. We can’t be friends.”

James snorted in disgust. “I don’t want to be unkind but Melissa is very much like her mother or she’s rapidly becoming that way. I think a shift might be best for all. Where would you like to go? You know you can come to Liz and me. We’d love to have you. Not blessed with children of our own, you’ve been everything to us.”

“And you’ve been wonderful to me. Liz has been far more of a mother figure than Glenda could ever have hoped to be, but it’s time I struck out on my own, Jamie. You know I’m right.”

“Your father would buy you an apartment, surely? He’s a wealthy man.”

“I’m not going to ask him, Jamie. Glenda would bitterly resent that. I bought my own car. I’ll rent my own flat.”

Protective James didn’t like the sound of that at all. “What about if I bought you one? I can afford it. Of course I wouldn’t like to go against your father. Add to the…” He almost said, chip on his shoulder.

“List of resentments,” Carrie supplied. “Bless you for everything, Jamie, but I’m ready and able to stand on my own two feet. Lord knows I spent long enough as a student. I suppose I should undertake a doctorate. I may not be able to make the grade as a concert artist but music has been my life. I worked so hard. All those years of practice! I guess I’m stuck with a teaching career so I’ll need all the qualifications I can get.”

“Agreed. But how can you support yourself if you won’t allow help?” There was worry in Jamie’s voice. “Part-time work won’t be enough. Lessons here and there.”

“I still have Grandma’s money.” Carrie referred to her inheritance from her maternal grandmother who had pined away from grief at the loss of Carrie’s mother, her only daughter. “It’ll see me through. The thing is, Jamie, I want to get away. I need to find a bolthole. At least for a while. I have to get away from the whole music scene until I can come to terms with what has happened to me.”

There was deep feeling in her uncle’s answering tone. “I can understand that, darling. The funny thing is I have a client, our most valuable client I should add, who’s looking for a governess for his little daughter. Not that you’re governess material,” he quickly considered.

“Who said?”

“Sweetheart.” James gave a fond laugh. “You’re not. Take it from me. You’re so gifted. So beautiful. A young woman to show off not hide in the wilds.”

“The wilds?” Carrie’s arched brows shot up. “Tell me more.” She fought down a very sharp ache inside.

“I’m sorry I started this,” James paused as a tap came on his door. A young female office worker entered wheeling a trolley set with what looked like a mini-banquet. James Halliday had a sweet tooth but showed not an extra ounce for it.

“Over there, thanks, Ann.” He gave the girl his charming smile. “Looks good.”

“All lovely and fresh, Mr. Halliday,” Ann smiled, turning her pretty face to Carrie who returned her pleasant greeting.

“How you don’t get fat!” Carrie wondered affectionately, after Ann had departed. “Just as well you have your sailing.” She got up from her chair to pour.

“I’m going out on the bay this weekend. Want to come?”

“Yes, please!” Carrie’s golden-brown eyes brightened. She loved boats. Loved the water. She had sailed with her uncle since she was a child right up to the Whitsundays in the glorious Great Barrier Reef.

When they were both seated, coffee in hand, three delicious little pastries to James’ left, Carrie picked up where he had left off. “I take it the governess job is on an Outback property.”

“Property doesn’t say it, love.” James stirred his coffee with vigour. “More like a private kingdom. The family are big operators. They control over four million hectares spread across ten stations around the state. My client is one of the nation’s largest private land barons. Queensland remains home to the country’s biggest cattle kings, as you know.”

“So we’re talking the Channel Country in the far southwest,” Carrie concluded. “Couldn’t get farther away.” Well over a thousand miles.

“No.” James shook his thickly thatched head. “The chain does extend to the Cattle Country but the family base is in North Queensland. It’s the linchpin in the whole operation. Not their biggest holding but perhaps the best. A marine flood plain that provides pretty well constant lush green feed. Cattle from all over their holdings can be fattened there. It’s a Brahmin stud.”

“Called?” Carrie savoured her coffee. As usual it was very good.

“Maramba Downs. Maramba.”

“I’m sure I’ve heard of it.”

“Very likely,” James answered complacently selecting a mouth-watering patty. “Royce is often in the news.”

“Royce who? Come on, you’re being very cagey.”

“Carrie, love, this job wouldn’t suit you,” James said, wondering why he had even mentioned it.

“The fact is I’m becoming more interested by the minute.”

“It’s not going to happen. I understand the little girl is…difficult. Other governesses haven’t lasted long.”

“What does the little terror do?” Carrie asked, having a special soft spot for “little terrors.” She had been one herself.

James laughed. “I know what you’re thinking. Didn’t Glenda complain a lot about you? Royce sees it differently of course. The governesses are at fault.”

“Aaaaah! Does the dragon have a surname?”

“Royce McQuillan. Splendid fellow. One of the finest young men I’ve ever met. Hasn’t had an easy life, either. He lost his father and mother a few years back. They were killed in a plane crash holidaying overseas. Then his marriage broke up.”

“Oh, dear!” Carrie slumped, knowing what heartache meant. “The mother didn’t take the child? That’s unusual.”

“Didn’t want her, it appears.” James’ kind eyes grew soulful. “I don’t know the full story in that area, Royce doesn’t explain much. You’d have to know of her, though she’d be some years older than you. Thirty, maybe thirty-one. Very glamorous woman. Almost a beauty but too brittle. Sharon Rowlands, that was. Hugh Rowlands heads the Standford Pastoral Company. Ruth Rowlands and her daughter spend most of their time following the social scene. You see them in all the magazines.”

“Except I’ve been too busy to read them. The little girl must have been devastated when her parents split up. How old is she?”

“A very precocious six going on seven,” James said.

“So they were married young?” Carrie observed, making calculations.

“According to Liz the marriage was arranged while they were both in the cradle.”

“That’s how it works in some families. It didn’t take them long to grow apart.”

“No.” James truly, genuinely, felt very sorry for his client. “Royce has very big responsibilities, big commitments. The talk is Sharon got bored.”

“Bored?” Carrie was stunned. What sort of life did this Sharon want? “So you’ve met her?”

“A few times,” James said.

“What did you think of her as a person?”

“Too shallow for Royce. Liz thought so, too. She’s an excellent judge of character.”

“Yes, she is.” Carrie had turned very serious. “The mother must have a heart of stone if she could bear to leave her child.”

James stared into his coffee cup. “I hate to say it but the word is the little one might interfere with her pleasure. I expect she’ll remarry though Liz thinks she’ll never get over Royce, let alone find another man like him.”

“Maybe if she still cares about him they could get back together,” Carrie said reasonably. “Make a go of it for their child. They can’t have any of the financial worries that put a strain on most couples.”

“Money doesn’t ensure happiness, my darling,” James said heavily, thinking of any number of his wealthy clients who had finished up in the divorce courts. “I thank God for my marriage every day of my life.”

Carrie gave him the old warm smile. “You’re beautiful people, Jamie. You and Liz. Beautiful, tolerant, generous, caring people.” Determinedly she pushed all thought of her stepmother’s mean-spiritedness from her mind. “I love you. Always will.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, the atmosphere full of an easy companionship. “You know I’m like your father in this respect,” James confided after a while. “I couldn’t bear the thought of your going away. I know you had to for your career. I was terror stricken when I got that phone call….” He broke off, the news of Carrie’s accident embedded in his consciousness.

“I know, James. It could have been much worse.” Carrie forced a smile.

“Much, much worse, my darling. Losing my sister was a terrible blow. I couldn’t face anything horrible happening to you.” James spoke huskily. “There’s something else in store for you, kitten.” He used an old pet name. “Something wonderful. It may not seem like it now.”

“It doesn’t.” Carrie swallowed. “It’s hard for me, Jamie. Very hard.”

“Yes, yes.” James reached over to grip his niece’s left hand. “Liz and I understand what the loss of your career means to you.”

“Of course. I may not have had a career.” Carrie tried to look at it another way. “I mightn’t have made the grade. There are many, many fine young pianists out there. One almost has to have a gimmick.”

“Your beauty? Your personality?” James suggested, then stopped abruptly, realising it was all over.

“But I don’t need a gimmick after all.” For a moment Carrie had a stark image of the crash. Horror then sudden darkness. Then the full realisation when she woke up in hospital. “I need a job, Jamie,” she said. “You can help me. You’re handling this matter for your client?”

“I was going to allow Galbally to conduct the interviews,” James said.

Carrie allowed herself a little gasp of dismay not lost on her uncle.

“Dearest, I don’t have time,” James explained. “Women are so much better at these things.”

“Not Ms. Galbally.” Carrie raised her eyebrows.

“She takes her responsibilities very seriously,” James said loyally.

“I’m sure she does. Can’t you recommend me, Jamie?”

James dropped his head forward. “Your father wouldn’t like it at all. I can just image his response.”

“Glenda would.”

James responded to the irony. “But it mightn’t work out at all, Carrie. I don’t want to put you into a situation where you might be unhappy. Cut off and depressed.”

“Unhappier, don’t you mean? I can look after a little girl. She must be especially vulnerable. Like me. Maybe I can bring something to her. Two female creatures under pressure.”

James nibbled his nether lip. “Royce is coming to the office in a half hour. We have business to attend to. The revival in beef prices has boosted sales in the rural property sector. He’s thinking in terms of expansion.”

“Does he want to own the whole country?” Carrie asked with mild sarcasm.

“We need men like Royce McQuillan, dearest.”

“I know,” she relented. “Would it be okay if I waited?”

James sat back, focusing totally on his niece. “You’re serious about this?”

“Yes.” She touched the little finger of her right hand, and rubbed it in a distracted fashion. Strange, it still looked okay. “Of course I won’t know how serious until I lay eyes on the great nation builder, but as you like and approve of him he must be okay.”

“Indeed he is, which is not say he’s an easy man,” James considered. “He’s only into his thirties but already he has extraordinary presence. Such an aura! It takes most men years of achievement to acquire that.”

“Must be all the money,” Carrie quipped dryly.

James nodded. “That helps. The break-up of his marriage changed him in significant ways. Less likely to relax. Let down his guard. He’s more formidable.”

“He sounds an uncomfortable person. Is he bitter?”

James pursed his lips. “Not bitter as in surly or unpleasant. Nothing like that. He has great charm when he cares to use it. But the marriage break-up took away a certain lightness of spirit. The capacity for easy laughs.”

“Made him more wary of women I expect?”

“Beautiful women.” James looked full at her, captivated as ever by the lovely classical features, the bright colouring, most of all the close resemblance to his much-loved sister, Caroline.

That same lovely face now fell. “You mean he’s looking for someone very plain?” The idea was unsettling.

“I think pleasant would be his choice.” James glanced off.

“Then pleasant I’ll be,” said Carrie, all of a sudden sure life on an Outback cattle station would solve her problem.

She was holding the fort for Debra, Halliday, Scholes & Associates’ receptionist when he came through the door, confounding her. The blood drummed in her ears. The world tilted again.

“Why, hello there.” He spoke very smoothly as she looked up. “This is just so unexpected.”

Somehow mercifully the moment passed. She was able to breathe again. “It is…odd,” Carrie agreed, aware those brilliant black eyes were filled with amusement and mockery. “May I help you?” She was rather proud of the calm detachment of her voice.

“It’s your boss I’m after. James Halliday.”

“You have an appointment?” It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.

“Of course I have an appointment.” He gave a brief laugh. “You must be new. Royce McQuillan.”

She was struck by dread. There goes the job. The bolthole. “Of course, Mr. McQuillan.” She stared back at him. “The receptionist will be back in a moment but I’ll ring through for you.”

“No matter!” He dismissed that with a slight impatient gesture of his hand. “I’ll go along. Mr. Halliday is expecting me.”

“Then allow me to take you,” Carrie offered, coming around the reception desk as Debra approached from the opposite direction, increasing her pace as she recognised the client.

“Good morning, Mr. McQuillan,” she carolled, packing a lot of feeling into her voice. “Or is it afternoon?”

“In a few minutes.” He glanced down at his watch. “How are you, Debra?”

“I’m well. And you?” The receptionist came to a halt, staring up into his face, obviously thrilled he had taken the time to say a few words to her.

“Fine.” There was a brief glimpse of his devastating smile. Very white against the dark tan. “Busy as usual. This young lady here,” he turned to Carrie now standing at his shoulder, “is going to escort me to Mr. Halliday’s office.”

“That’s nice of you, Carrie,” Debra said, her colour warm, eyes bright. “Carrie is…”

“In the office for the day.” Carrie cut the other girl off smoothly. She didn’t want her relationship to James explained quite yet.

Debra smiled touching a hand to her soft bubbly curls. “Nice to see you, Mr. McQuillan. I won’t be here when you get back. I’ll be going off for lunch.”

“Joining the madding crowd?” He gave her a little salute.

“What part do you play in the scheme of things?” he asked Carrie as they moved off. “I recognise you from somewhere and I don’t mean our previous encounter.”

“I’m not famous,” she said. It came off her tongue rather acidly.

“Is that what’s tearing you apart?” He glanced down at her from his arrogant height.

“You’re wrong. Believe me.” Carrie kept on walking, slightly intimidated by his long stride.

“I don’t think so.”

Little flames glowed in the pupils of her eyes and she tilted her head. “You must spend your time trying to psychoanalyse people?”

“I haven’t actually met anyone who acted quite like you,” he returned blandly.

“I’m sure—absolutely sure—I don’t understand you.” She raised her delicate arched brows.

“Then I’ll explain. In simple terms, you’re hostile.”

“You could very easily arouse those feelings in anybody.” It slipped off her tongue before she could consider.

“For all I know you could be frightened of me?”

“Nonsense.”

“Street terrorism?” the dark voice mocked.

“Have your bit of fun.”

“Are you a lady lawyer?” He gave her his all-encompassing sidelong glance. “You don’t look old enough, yet I’d say you’re a match for most people.”

“I’m not a lawyer.” She turned to him sweetly. “I don’t work for this firm.”

“But you’re somehow connected to James? I’ve finally figured it out.” He paused so she was forced to pause, too. “I know he doesn’t have a daughter. Come to think if it,” he laughed suddenly as full comprehension set in. “There’s quite a resemblance. You must be the niece. The brilliant young pianist?”

Except now I’ve been whittled down to size. “You are a detective,” she said lightly. “Poirot on his best day.”

“Why so snappy?” The striking face tautened as he stared down at her. “You have a wonderful future ahead of you, I understand?”

“An unfortunate part of my nature.” They had turned into the top hallway, and now James Halliday himself emerged from his suite, anxious to greet such a valuable client personally.

“Royce,” he cried with genuine pleasure, moving forward, hand outstretched. “Good to see you.”

The two men shook hands.

“I see you’ve already met my niece?” James’ smile widened to include the two of them.

“We haven’t gotten around to formal introductions yet,” Royce McQuillan drawled.

“Please allow me.” Suddenly conscious of a certain tingle in the air, James performed the introductions, while Carrie, ashamed of the way she’d been acting and doing her utmost to avoid being overwhelmed, gave him her hand.

“Catrina, may I?” he asked.

“Everyone calls her Carrie.” James smiled, extending an arm to usher them through the door.

She didn’t have a clue what she was doing. She had never felt remotely like this around anyone else. The shooting sparks of electricity didn’t stop even after he’d released her hand. She couldn’t look at him. It was the dynamic aura, she consoled herself. Even James felt it and James was the complete man of the world.

A little later by the time they were inside James’ office, she found her voice. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. McQuillan, but I should be on my way.”

James’ eyes found hers in perplexity. Something drastic must have happened to alter Carrie’s plan. “But I thought, kitten…”

Carrie felt McQuillan’s amusement. Kitten? How long since Jamie had called her kitten? Now twice in the one day. She turned to face Royce McQuillan square-on. “Goodbye.”

She didn’t offer the hand again but lifted a thick silky section of her hair from her collar as she spoke, tossing her head slightly to redistribute the mass.

An extraordinary alluring gesture, he thought. Kitten? She certainly had the colouring of a beautiful marmalade but this young woman had sharp claws. He noticed, too, the knuckles of her right hand were clenched white. They were beautiful hands. Long-fingered, strong-looking. A pianist’s hands.

“I was rather hoping you’d stay and have lunch with us,” he found himself saying. “My business with James won’t take long.”

“We’re going to Oskars, sweetheart. You like it there.” James weighed in, trying to encourage her. “They won’t have any difficulty changing two places to three.”

She wanted to go, unwillingly in thrall of him. “That’s very nice of you, but…”

“Please, sit down both of you.” James indicated the comfortable seating arrangement. “I was telling Carrie about your need of a governess for Regina,” he said, turning his eyes in Carrie’s direction.

“Were you? You can’t have thought she’d be interested?” McQuillan returned suavely, waiting for Carrie to take a seat in the armchair opposite him, before sitting down.

It was time for Carrie to speak, James considered, or let the whole thing slide. Knowing her so well, he could see her moods, however, were fluctuating wildly.

“Actually I’ve been working so hard on my career I’m in need of a complete change.”

Royce McQuillan stayed quiet for a moment wondering if she’d suffered some kind of nervous collapse. A burnout.

“I hardly see you as a governess,” he said. “What do you know about the job?”

“Nothing!” Her amber eyes sparkled. “But I like children.”

“Being able to handle them might matter more,” he observed, his eyes touching on her slender body in a summery two-piece outfit of blouse and skirt, white with dark blue polka dots, the short skirt showing off her beautiful legs, the V-neck of the top revealing the slight cleft between her milk-white breasts. She had the flawless skin of certain redheads. Not a mark on it for all she lived in a subtropical climate.

Carrie bore his scrutiny by sitting very quietly. A kind of balancing act. “Who said I couldn’t?” she retorted. “I’ve had quite a bit to do with talented children, coaching, giving lessons, master classes for the little ones.”

“Regina is a child who likes getting her own way,” he said matter-of-factly as though it needed to be said. “I don’t know what James told you,” McQuillan glanced in her uncle’s direction, “but her mother left her in my sole custody. Regina isn’t desolated but understandably she’s found that difficult to handle.”

As well she might, Carrie thought. Abandoned so early in life. This dizzyingly dynamic man for a father. “I had to live without my mother,” she said quietly. “I’ve had a stepmother for most of my life.”

“You don’t like her?” he asked bluntly.

“There’s no point in talking about it.” Carrie shook her head, not wanting to be humiliated by this man any further. He didn’t like her. She wasn’t being terribly likeable. Under no circumstances would he employ her. She made to rise. “It was just an idea I had. A spur of the moment thing. Besides something about the story moved me. Regina’s feelings that can’t be dismissed and I need to help someone.” To help myself, to survive, she thought but didn’t say. “I’m sure Uncle James will find you someone you consider suitable, Mr. McQuillan.” She stood up in one swift graceful movement. “I must decline your kind offer to have lunch. I have to see someone this afternoon at the Conservatorium.” Easy to make it up.

He, too, stood up, his expression a little darker. “What a pity. I would have liked to get to know you better instead of a few snatched words. James has spoken of you often. I’ve just recalled where I saw you though I can see it has since disappeared.” He turned to James. “Remember that photograph of a little girl you used to have on your desk. It had a lovely antique silver frame.”

“Carrie, of course!” James’ face lit up. “It’s at home. Liz went off with it. She loves that one.”

“I was ten at the time.” Carrie looked at Royce McQuillan in surprise.

“You haven’t changed at all.”

“I have, too.” I’m falling apart, Carrie thought, stunned how well she hid it. I just have to get away from this man.

“You’re wonderfully observant, Royce,” James said in his charming voice, fully conscious of the charge in the atmosphere.

“It’s not a face one forgets.”

“No.” James smiled at his niece, his heart in his eyes. “Carrie is the image of her mother, my darling sister, Caroline. Having Carrie, Caro is always near.” He reached out and slipped an arm around Carrie’s waist, drawing her to him.

“Love you,” she murmured, turning her head into her uncle’s shoulder. “Well, I must be off.” Her voice picked up briskly. “Enjoy your lunch.”

“Let’s see, I take it you’ve withdrawn your candidature?” Again Royce McQuillan cast his spell over her, his brilliant black gaze suggesting she was a highly volatile individual.

“I didn’t think you liked me?” she answered solemnly.

“Did I say so?”

“I believe you did. In certain ways.”

“Really?” One black eyebrow shot up. “I’m sorry you thought so. I didn’t mean it in that way. If you are serious, perhaps we can discuss the matter again as you absolutely must rush off.” It was obvious he hadn’t believed in her excuse.

“When do you fly back home, Royce?” James Halliday asked, not quite sure what was going on. But something certainly was.

“Tomorrow.”

His gaze held her as though she was pinned to the wall. “I think you want someone very different from me,” Carrie said, suddenly anxious to back out of a dangerous situation while she could. This man could change her life. She knew it. And not for the better. She wasn’t such a fool or so traumatized it hadn’t struck her, though her reactions were multiple, the overriding one was sexual. The slightest contact with his hand had somehow compromised her. This man still had an ex-wife in the background. An ex-wife who wasn’t over him yet. The mother of his child.

Carrie tilted her head to kiss her uncle’s cheek. “See you, Jamie. Give my love to Liz.”

“You are coming sailing with me?” James was mystified by her thoughts.

“Of course I am. Let’s hope for a perfect weekend.” Her skirt flaring as she changed direction, Carrie dared to glance in Royce McQuillan’s direction. “I’m thinking how I’m going to get out of my parking spot. You’re still there?”

“I don’t know if I should let you do it,” he said with a provocative stare.

“Do what? It would be nice if you’d let me in on this,” James complained.

“I met Mr. McQuillan earlier on,” Carrie explained. “We’re both parked in the side street.”

“I can come with you if you’re worried,” Royce McQuillan offered suavely. “Perhaps extricate your car.”

“This time I might have to allow you.” The accident had made her lose so much confidence. “I wouldn’t like to do the slightest damage to your car.”

“Not mine. A friend’s.”

“I see.” She nibbled her lip. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble. I have many talents but I’m not the greatest parker in the world.”

“So you’ve said.” He took her arm lightly though he might as well have shaken her such was her reaction. “Won’t be more than five minutes, James.”

“Take your time.” James was doing his level best to assess this surprising situation, but was content to let fate take its course.

“Are you really meeting anybody?” Royce McQuillan asked when they were out on the street.

“I wonder you doubt me.” If he hadn’t released her she would have had to pull away.

“I do.” He wondered what it would be like to kiss her mouth. Hard. Kiss the curve of her neck, the swell of her breast. Dangerous to have such thoughts about someone so young. Too young. He remembered James had told him all about his niece’s twenty-first birthday party. But hang on, that had to be a year or more ago. Time went so swiftly.

“Stay like that,” he ordered when they reached the footpath alongside the parked cars. “Just give me your keys.”

“You will be careful.” She couldn’t understand why she was trying to provoke him. She closed her eyes as their fingers touched.

He didn’t bother to answer. Instead he crammed himself into her tiny car, shot back the driver’s seat as far as it would go, then in a matter of moments had the car waiting, ready for her to get into it and drive away.

“How very nice of you,” she said, unable to get the cool satirical note out of her voice. She stood well back while he extricated himself from her car.

“A pleasure, Miss Russell. You quite interest me.”

“Surely I’m not important enough for that?” She slipped into the driver’s seat, aware she was being drawn into a dark whirlpool.

“I suspect not,” he gave a low laugh, “nevertheless you might tell me why a beautiful girl like yourself, a gifted performer, would want to hide herself away in the wilds. You have an aura of intense excitement swirling all around you yet you want to get away. You must have some idea what station life would be like? You’d be so isolated much of the time.”

“I know that.” Her eyes looked straight ahead.

“So what’s the reason?” His voice was like black velvet against her skin. “You’ve split with a boyfriend? You’ve changed your mind about your big career?”

Some things you couldn’t help. “My career is demolished, Mr. McQuillan,” she gritted, her voice harsh so she could keep it steady. “Thank you for helping me out. Of course if you hadn’t parked so close behind me you wouldn’t have had to worry.”

The whole attitude of his lean powerful body changed. “Look,” he said.

“No, you look.” She lifted a hand in farewell and drove off.

She could still see him in her rear-view mirror. He was standing in the middle of the quiet street looking after her. God! He probably thought she was mad. She didn’t have any appointment at the Conservatorium to keep. She couldn’t bear to go home. Glenda’s manner was so unpleasant these days. She’d thought to get rid of me but my accident changed that. It changed everything.

Tears sprang to Carrie’s eyes but she blinked them away furiously. No use crying. What’s done was done. Like Jamie said, she had to pick up the pieces and find strategies to propel her through life.