by Nikki Logan
‘You’re a tourist operation?’
‘We have chalets over the far side of the ridge,’ Bill continued. ‘Trout fishing. Mountain hikes. Wildlife tours. That sort of thing.’
She lifted her eyebrows and looked sweetly at Flynn. ‘Chalets. Really?’
Oh, he was a dead man. She was enduring the ice-breaker from hell when she could be curling up in front of a fireplace and watching a movie in peace and quiet across the ridge.
‘They’re all full this time of year,’ Flynn threw in quickly by way of covering his butt.
The whole table suddenly seemed to pick up on the tension between the two of them. She rushed in to move things on while he still did nothing to intervene. ‘Well, that explains the wonderful hospitality. Thank you, you’ve made me feel very welcome.’
‘You are welcome, Belinda. Just unexpected.’ Denise turned a pointed look to her son, who only dug in harder to the meal on his plate.
She jumped in again rather than have more awkwardness. ‘Please, call me Bel. Everyone does.’
‘Flynn doesn’t.’
Bel swivelled around to look at Alice, who continued, ‘He calls you Belinda.’
And in that moment Bel realised who was the true matriarch of the Bradley family because, where Flynn had only rewarded his mother’s subtle prods with silence, he immediately answered his grandmother’s, gently and respectfully. And fraudulently.
‘It’s because everyone else calls her Bel that I’ve chosen not to.’
Alice smiled. ‘I see. That’s lovely. Special.’
His lips thinned. ‘It’s not special, Nan. It just is.’
Alice turned to her left. ‘Do you have a nickname for Flynn, dear?’
Bel’s eyes came up in the same moment Flynn’s did.
The opportunity for revenge—albeit petty, albeit passive aggressive, albeit intensely juvenile—was way too good to pass up. She took a carefully staged sip of water and then said brightly, ‘Well, I started out calling him the Thunder from Down Under—’ Flynn practically choked on his peas ‘—but he didn’t seem to like that. So then we worked our way through Flynn-the-Maudlin, Errol, and finally I settled on Hunky-buns.’
A stunned silence filled the room. Then, like a shared consciousness, two generations of Bradleys burst into inappropriately loud laughter. Tiny flecks of potato launched into the atmosphere from the direction of Bill Bradley and Denise slapped her husband hard on the arm with one hand while her other hand covered her mouth to prevent her from doing exactly the same thing.
It was disgusting.
It was wonderful.
Bel couldn’t remember laughter at her own dining-room table growing up. Only her sister’s barely suppressed giggles when they’d been sent to their rooms for not behaving. And if someone made any kind of mess, a maid spirited out of somewhere and cleaned it discreetly up.
She sat back in Drew’s seat and grinned at Flynn—utterly triumphant.
He was the only one at the table not smiling.
But when he spoke it was deep and measured, and still obscenely sexy. He met her eyes head-on and it caused a wave of flutters in her belly.
‘You aren’t eating, Belinda.’
Exactly as he intended, that immediately switched the focus back to her as both older women launched straight into mother-mode, plying her with spoonfuls of vegetables and slices of roast lamb and oversized chunks of home-baked bread. She protested in vain that she wasn’t hungry and, as her plate grew and she swung her eyes around the table from Alice at her right to Denise across the table, she caught the first glimpse of a smile from Flynn since they’d left England.
Tiny.
Barely deserving the name.
But most definitely there.
So that was how he wanted to play this? Fine. She let all the defiance and competitiveness she’d had nagged out of her as a child have its head. The little burst of adrenalin that came from besting someone gave her a much needed energy spike.
Game on, Hunky-buns.
‘Excuse me,’ Flynn said, pushing back his chair and standing. He’d barely lowered his fork after cleaning his plate of its contents, but he couldn’t risk Bel finishing first, possibly coming with him. He needed space and he needed it fast. ‘I’m just going to go and check on the platypus.’
He strode straight out of the kitchen with the slightest of touches for his mother as he passed.
‘Did he say platypus?’ he heard Belinda ask in her uptight British accent as he left the room.
‘It’s an animal, dear,’ his nan said. ‘Have you not heard of it?’
He crossed through the kitchen, heading for the nearest outside door.
‘I have,’ she said, ‘but I thought it was like your Bunyip—mythological.’
His traitorous family laughed and his father answered. ‘No, the platypus is very real. Although just as strange …’
He let the kitchen door slam shut behind him, locking in all the mirth and Belinda’s rounded vowels, which mocked him without even trying. She sounded just like her sister. How could none of them pick it up?
He’d expected them to cool towards her the moment she’d opened her mouth. But they were practically gushing over her. She had them totally snowed, even acting all coarse to get them more on side and laughing loudly at Pop’s lame jokes. A thousand miles from her sister’s permanent aloof smile the single time she’d visited.
When his father had sprayed the table with half-chewed food his heart had practically shrivelled into a tight, mortified fist. Then he’d wanted to slap himself senseless for giving a toss. This was Oberon, Australia. Country home, country rules. If she didn’t like it, too bad.
Except that she wasn’t showing any signs of not liking it. On the contrary. She seemed every bit as taken with them as they were with her. And despite her obvious nerves she was sliding pretty easily into his family.
Which absolutely could not be real.
He marched resolutely down a well-worn track towards the string of trees lining a stream that branched across his parents’ lower paddock, memory guiding his way, the sliver of moon helping little.
Belinda Rochester had no place in his family. It half killed him to watch her sit in Drew’s chair, knowing how they’d lost him to the Rochesters long before they’d lost him from life. Never mind that he had triggered Drew’s long journey away from them himself, the Rochesters had consumed him, just like they consumed cars and flash houses and copious amounts of liquor at their society bashes. A man like Drew was a waiting meal for people like that. If he wasn’t he never would have stayed away so long. Moved away.
Drifted away.
He’d fawned over Belinda’s petite sister that time they’d come to visit, not long after their surprise wedding on holiday in Corfu, after they’d robbed his mother of her opportunity to see her oldest boy—her favourite—get married. She’d hidden her heartbreak well but ten minutes in the company of Gwen Rochester and things were already strained. His brother said the quickie wedding was to keep things simple but Flynn had his suspicions—like his parents did—that Drew had been keen to avoid bringing the two sides of the family together. As if they couldn’t possibly mesh.
Yet here was a Rochester doing a bang-up job of ingratiating herself in the Bradley camp. How ironic.
Flynn slowed his steps thirty metres from the stream and gentled his breathing. Their sensitive bills wouldn’t miss the surge of electromagnetism that was him approaching, but platypus were touchy at the best of times, they really didn’t need him worked up and pumping out sparks like a neon sign.
And they brought him such peace, which he could use a whole heap of right now.
He sagged down onto the bank and closed his eyes, letting the silence resolve itself into the burbling stream, his steady breathing and the occasional shriek of a foraging bat overhead.
Lying because it was necessary was one thing. Turning it into a sport was quite another. And glittering with such glee … Well, that was altogether not
on.
He’d never seen someone come alive like she had. The Belinda he knew was silent and pale and dead-eyed, in the hospital then a week later on the plane. To see her now with her hair freshly washed and flaming out behind her, touches of freshly applied colour on her lashes and lips, eyes sparkling and smile beaming … He’d been shocked at his own physical response at the dinner table when she’d teased him with alleged nicknames, stirred by the blatant challenge in her deep blue eyes. The snapping jaws of attraction came out of nowhere until he wrestled them to heel—made himself remember who she was—hence his haste in getting the hell out of the cosy family moment back in the dining room.
As if his family needed any more encouragement to meddle.
What moon there was showed itself from behind a shifting bank of cloud and illuminated the stream a little more. Enough that Flynn was able to make out the small sleek creature wiggling its way through the shallows upstream. This platypus and its mate nested just off the property but they foraged nightly within the rich pickings of Bunyip Reach’s streams. Because they ran ever-hungry trout in the Reach’s bigger waterways it meant the smaller ones were extra abundant with small fish, worms, glassy six-legged wrigglers, and all manner of aquatic or mud-loving bugs. A platypus smorgasbord.
Which was good, because there were precious few places left in this country where the little brown fellows could eke out a decent existence.
‘Hey.’
The animal shot away faster than something with legs that short should be able to as Belinda appeared out of nowhere, waggling a large torch to light her way. So much for peace and quiet.
‘Your grandmother suggested I come down. See the platypus.’
Of course she did.
His nan had been beside herself when she realised the woman he’d appeared with wasn’t a lost tourist or an opportunistic chalet booking. She had a terrible poker face and her wide-eyed nonchalance was fooling no-one. Except possibly Belinda. She’d been pushing him for years to find a nice girl and settle down. And, because they didn’t know otherwise, Nan would be working on a plan right now to make sure he settled down with Belinda. The girl who laughed at Arthur Bradley’s corny, decades-old jokes would get a big fat tick in the perfect granddaughter-in-law box. Even on five minutes’ acquaintance.
Until she learned the truth, anyway. His conscience muttered, but he shoved it down deep the way he’d learned years before. It could complain all it wanted down there; he’d never hear it.
‘I think they just want to give us some alone time,’ Bel said.
‘No doubt.’
Silence descended.
After a few moments Bel said, ‘I was thinking that maybe we should create our own alone time. That way we can control it, rather than having it thrust upon us.’
An annoyingly good idea. He didn’t want her to be sensible and quick to see things. He wanted her to be thoughtless and reactive and stupid. And he sure as heck didn’t want to spend much time alone with her.
‘You can come down to my place. Hang out down there when I’m out working. They’ll assume we’re together.’
‘Is there not something I can do—to be helpful?’
‘You can stay out of the way. That’s helpful.’
She took it on the chin, flicking her eyes out to the still-empty waterway before bringing them, carefully schooled, back to him. ‘I’m going to get bored with nothing to do. And when I’m bored I get restless. And when I’m restless I get annoying.’
She smiled brightly. The threat was implied. He could so imagine a ‘restless’ Belinda. And ‘annoying’ he’d already seen. It killed him that he wanted to echo her smile, but he managed to keep his face neutral. ‘I would have thought doing nothing would be a Rochester specialty.’
Her eyes narrowed and hardened, even in the dim gloom as the clouds moved back over the moon. But she didn’t bite. ‘Why? Didn’t Gwen help out when she was here?’
‘Nope. And she kept Drew busy so he wasn’t much use either.’
She frowned. ‘It’s not surprising. They were practically on their honeymoon.’
‘So are we. Technically.’
‘Ha ha. There must be something I can help with. I don’t like to freeload.’
‘You don’t have a job.’
‘Because I don’t need one to live on. That doesn’t mean I don’t make a contribution. Or want to.’
‘Helping out on a farm isn’t the same as knitting quilt-squares for Africa or …’ he searched his limited knowledge of what rich people did to pass the time ‘… hosting fund-raisers.’
She looked at him as if he were mad. Which he must be to have started all of this in the first place. ‘Lucky. Because I can’t knit and I loathe crowds.’
He sighed. ‘Have a word with Nan. She’s always got something happening. I’m sure she’d be delighted to have more opportunities to grill you on the finer details of our acquaintance.’
‘Oh. Well, that’s not a good idea, is it?’
He shrugged. ‘You seemed to enjoy it tonight.’
She stared at him. ‘You deserved tonight. Leaving me to swing in the breeze like you did. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you want me to fail abysmally.’
She shot straight. Just like Drew. But it didn’t appeal to him any more now than when Golden Boy used to do it when they were kids. ‘I don’t want you to fail. But I don’t want any games either.’
She considered him. ‘Then don’t make it such fun. Honestly, sitting there looking like a giant black thundercloud. How are they going to buy for a moment that you care enough about me to marry me when all you do is glare?’
Something occurred to him. ‘You seem very comfortable with putting on an act. Almost a natural at it.’
She shrugged. ‘Practice makes perfect.’
‘What does that mean?’
She glanced at her hands while she composed her thoughts. ‘My family was in the veneer business. The glossier and happier the better. How many glossy, happy teenagers do you know? I learned early how to create it on demand.’
Didn’t she think this moment demanded it? The poorly hidden sorrow on her face hit him low in his chest. He knew all about faking it. He’d been doing it for years. ‘Your sister, too?’
She frowned. ‘Gwen was different. She fitted the mould better. She didn’t need to try so hard.’
Was she finally admitting Gwen really was the society heiress they’d met? ‘I’m surprised you two got along, if you were that different,’ he said. Although the jury was still out on how different they truly were. Belinda still had debutante written all over her, regardless of how many fights with Mummy and Daddy she’d had.
‘It was Gwen or no one. But she was easy to love. I think that was why Drew and I got on so well together. We had that in common.’
Easy for them, maybe. ‘And now?’
She stared into the tumbling stream. Then glanced down at her belly. ‘And now I have the next generation of Rochesters to worry about. If I can bring them up to be the same sort of people as their parents then I’ll be really happy with that.’
Assuming she got to bring them up at all. Which was a big call now she had some competition. ‘In their image, not in your own?’
She lifted her head. ‘Never in my image. That’s not what this is about.’
He turned more fully towards her. ‘What is it about, Belinda? Why are you doing this?’
‘Because they have a right to stay in the family. To stay together. They’re Rochesters.’
‘And Bradleys.’
Her face creased. ‘Yes. But until a week ago I had no idea what that meant. As far as we knew, Drew was estranged from his family.’
Flynn shifted uncomfortably. He pressed his lips together.
‘What happened with you guys?’ she risked. ‘Why would he just … opt out?’
‘Because of your sister.’ The answer came way too easily. Way too loaded. He flexed his clenched fingers.
‘But she met him i
n London. He’d already left here.’
Left you. She might as well have said it. ‘There’s not a lot of calling for merchant bankers in Oberon.’
‘Sydney’s not that far away. Why go to the other side of the planet?’
‘Spirit of adventure?’
‘Maybe. But there had to be more to it. Gwen was a wonderful person but she wasn’t the sort of girl you give up a kingdom for.’
‘Kingdom?’
She looked around her. At the green, rolling fields. The tumbling brook. ‘All of this. Your family.’
Was that what she equated a loving family with? Riches? He battled the hint of softening deep inside. ‘Maybe you didn’t see her the way others did?’
‘I looked at your family tonight and I couldn’t imagine them not accepting her. What did she do that was so awful?’
‘She took him from us.’
‘Everyone grows up. Leaves home.’
‘Not everyone wipes their family from existence. As soon as he entered your family he exited mine. It was like we barely existed. His trip home with your sister was like a farewell tour.’
Her brows folded down over eyes that wanted to understand. ‘And you blame Gwen?’
‘We blame all of you. The lifestyle that your family offered. The connections you represented. The money. Everything our family couldn’t offer.’
She frowned again. ‘But look at what your family does offer, Flynn. I’ve never had a meal like it.’
The image of his father’s god-awful food spray filled his vision. He hoped she wasn’t actually expecting him to buy that she’d enjoyed it. ‘I’ll bet.’
‘It would have been foreign to Gwen, but I can’t imagine her not embracing it. They’re good people.’
What could he say to that? They absolutely were. Which was why what Drew did stank so much.
‘That makes it even harder to do what you’ve asked me,’ she went on. ‘Can we not change our approach? Tell them? Your mother has heaps of support. She’ll get through.’
‘You weren’t here. You didn’t see what she was like. How low she sank. Drew was the light of her life.’
Yet he’d still rejected her and the whole family in favour of his own life.
