The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  Dressed to kill. What a marvellous analogy, she decided. One look at her mirrored reflection revealed a slender young woman in a black beaded gown that was strapless, backless, with a hemline that fell to her ankles. A long chiffon scarf lay sprawled across the bed and she draped it round her neck so both ends trailed down her back.

  Make-up was, she determined, a little overstated. Somehow it seemed appropriate. Warriors painted themselves before they went into battle, didn’t they? And there would be a battle fought before the night was over. She could personally guarantee it.

  Teresa was setting the table in the dining room. ‘Mamma, I’m on my way.’

  Was it something in her voice that caused her mother to cast her a sharp glance? When it came to maternal instincts, Teresa’s were second to none. ‘Have a good time.’

  That was entirely debatable. Dinner à deux followed by an evening at the ballet had definitely lost its appeal. ‘Thanks.’

  Fifteen minutes later she garaged her car in the underground car park, then rode the lift to Carlo’s apartment. The envelope containing the photographs was in her hand, and the portrayed images on celluloid almost scorched her fingers.

  He opened the door within seconds, and she saw his pupils widen in gleaming male appreciation. A shaft of intense satisfaction flared, and she took in the immaculate cut of his dark suit, the startling white cotton shirt, the splendid tie.

  The perfectly groomed, wildly attractive fiancé. Loving, too, she added a trifle viciously as he drew her close and nuzzled the sensitive curve of her neck.

  The right touch, the expert moves. It was almost too much to expect him to be faithful as well. His love, she knew, would never be hers to have. But fidelity... That was something she intended to insist on.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  Add intuitive, Aysha accorded. At least some of his senses were on track. She moved back a step, away from the traitorous temptation of his arms. It would be far too easy to lean in against him and offer her mouth for his kiss. But then she’d kiss him back, and that wouldn’t do at all.

  ‘What makes you think that?’ she queried with deliberate calm, and saw his eyes narrow.

  ‘We’ve never played guessing games, and we’re not going to start now.’

  Games, subterfuge, deception. They were one and the same thing. ‘Really?’

  His expression sharpened, accentuating the broad facial bone structure with its strong angles and planes. ‘Spit it out, Aysha. I’m listening.’

  Aysha rang the tip of one fingernail along the edge of the envelope. Eyes like crystallised smoke burned with a fiery heat as she thrust the envelope at him. ‘You’ve got it wrong. You talk. I get to listen.’

  He caught the envelope, and a puzzled frown creased his forehead. ‘What the hell is this about?’

  ‘Hell is a pretty good description. Open the damned thing. I think you’ll get the picture.’ She certainly had!

  His fingers freed the flap and she watched him carefully as he extracted the sheaf of photos and examined them one by one.

  His expression barely altered, and she had to hand it to him... He had tremendous control. Somehow his icy discipline had more effect than anger.

  ‘Illuminating, wouldn’t you agree?’

  His gaze speared hers, dark, dangerous and as hard as granite. ‘Very.’

  Her eyes held his fearlessly. ‘I think I deserve an explanation.’

  ‘I stayed in that hotel, and, yes, Nina was there. But without any prior knowledge or invitation on my part.’

  How could she believe him when Nina continued to drip poison at every turn?

  ‘That’s it?’ She was so cool it was a wonder the blood didn’t freeze in her veins.

  ‘As far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘I guess Nina just happened to be standing outside your room?’ She swept his features mercilessly. ‘I don’t buy it.’

  ‘It happens to be the truth.’ His voice was inflexible, and Aysha’s eyes were fearless as she met his.

  ‘I’m fully aware our impending marriage has its base in mutual convenience,’ she stated with restrained anger. ‘But I insist on your fidelity.’

  Carlo’s eyes narrowed and became chillingly calm. There was a leashed stillness apparent she knew she’d be wise to heed.

  Except she was past wisdom, beyond any form of rationale. Did he have any conception of what she’d felt like when she’d sighted those photos? It was as if the tip of a sword pierced her heart, poised there, then thrust in to the hilt.

  ‘My fidelity isn’t in question.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘Would you care to rephrase that?’

  ‘Why?’ Aysha countered baldly. ‘What part didn’t you understand?’

  ‘I heard the words. It’s the motive I find difficult to comprehend.’

  With admirable detachment she raked his large frame from head to toe, and back again. ‘It’s simple. In this marriage, there’s only room for two of us.’ She was so angry, she felt she might self-destruct. ‘There’s no way I’ll turn a blind eye to you having a mistress on the side.’

  ‘Why would I want a mistress?’ Carlo queried with icy calm.

  Her eyes flashed, a brilliant translucent grey that had the clarity and purity of a rare pearl. ‘To complement my presence in the marital bed?’

  His gaze didn’t waver, and she fought against being trapped by the depth, the intensity. It was almost hypnotic, and she had the most uncanny sensation he was intent on dispensing with the layers that guarded her soul, like a surgeon using a scalpel with delicate precision.

  ‘Nina has done a hatchet job, hasn’t she?’ Carlo offered in a voice that sounded like silk being razed by tempered steel. ‘Sufficiently damaging, that any assurance I give you to the contrary will be viewed with scepticism?’ He reached out a hand and caught hold of her chin between thumb and forefinger. ‘What we share together,’ he prompted. ‘What would you call that?’

  She was breaking up inside, slowly shattering into a thousand pieces. Special, a tiny voice taunted. So special, the mere thought of him sharing his body with someone else caused her physical pain.

  ‘Good sex?’ Carlo persisted dangerously.

  Her stance altered slightly, and her eyes assumed a new depth and intensity. ‘Presumably not good enough.’ she declared bravely.

  It was possible to see the anger build, and she watched with detached fascination as the fingers of each hand clenched into fists, watched the muscles bunch at the edge of his jaw, the slight flaring of nostrils, and the darkening of his eyes.

  He uttered a husky oath, and she said with deliberate facetiousness, ‘Flattery isn’t appropriate.’

  Something moved in the depths of his eyes. An emotion she didn’t care to define.

  ‘Nina,’ Carlo vented emotively, ‘has a lot to answer for.’

  Didn’t she just! ‘On that, at least, we agree.’

  ‘Let’s get this quite clear,’ he said with dangerous quietness. ‘You have my vow of fidelity, just as I have yours. Understood?’

  She wanted to lash out, then pick up something and smash it. The satisfaction would be immensely gratifying.

  ‘Aysha?’ he prompted with deadly quietness, and she forced herself to respond.

  ‘Even given that Nina is a first-class bitch, I find it a bit too much of a coincidence for you both to be in Melbourne at the same time, staying in the same hotel, the same floor.’ Aysha drew in a deep breath. ‘Photographic proof bears considerable weight, don’t you think?’

  He could have shaken her within an inch of her life. For having so little faith in him. So little trust.

  ‘Did it not occur to you to consider it strange that a photographer just happened to be in the hotel lobby at the time Nina and I entered it... coincidentally together? Or that her suite and mine were very conveniently sited opposite each other?’ It hadn’t taken much pressure to discover Nina had bribed the booking receptionist to reshuffle bookings. ‘Perhaps a little too con
venient the same photographer was perfectly positioned to take a shot Nina had very carefully orchestrated?’

  ‘You were kissing her!’

  ‘Correction,’ he drawled with deliberate cynicism. ‘She was kissing me.’

  Nina’s words rose to the forefront of Aysha’s mind. Vicious, damaging, and incredibly pervasive. ‘Really? There didn’t seem a marked degree of distinction to me.’

  He extended his hands as if to catch hold of her shoulders, only to let them fall to his sides. ‘A few seconds either way of that perfectly timed shot, and the truth would have been clearly evident.’

  ‘According to Nina,’ Aysha relayed bitterly, ‘you represent the ultimate prize in the most suitable husband quest. Rich, handsome, and, as reputation has it...a lover to die for.’ Her smile was a mere facsimile. ‘Her words, not mine.’

  Something fleeting darkened his eyes. A quality that was infinitely ruthless.

  ‘An empty compliment, considering it’s completely false.’

  The celluloid print of that kiss rose up to haunt her. ‘A willing, voluptuous female well-versed in every sexual trick in the book.’ Her eyes swept his features, then focused on the unwavering depth of those dark eyes. ‘You mean to say you refused what was so blatantly offered?’ It took considerable effort to keep her voice steady. ‘How noble.’

  Carlo reached forward and caught hold of her chin, increasing the pressure as she attempted to twist out of his grasp.

  ‘Why would I participate in a quick sexual coupling with a woman who means nothing to me?’

  He was almost hurting her, and her eyes widened as he slid a hand to her nape and held it fast.

  ‘A moment’s aberration when your libido took precedence?’ she sallied, hating the way his cologne teased her nostrils and began playing havoc with her equilibrium.

  Oh, God, she didn’t know anything any more. There were conflicting emotions warring inside her head, some of which hardly made any sense.

  ‘Aysha?’

  Her eyes searched his, wide, angry, and incredibly hurt. ‘How would you feel if the situation were reversed?’

  A muscle bunched at the side of his jaw, and something hot and terrifyingly ruthless darkened his eyes.

  ‘I’d kill him.’

  His voice was deadly quiet, yet it held the quality of tempered steel, and she felt as if a hand took hold of her throat and squeezed until it choked off her breath.

  Her chest tightened and her heart seemed to beat loud, the sound a heavy, distant thud that seemed to reverberate inside her ears.

  ‘A little extreme, surely?’ Aysha managed after several long seconds.

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘That sort of action would get you long service, perhaps even life, in gaol.’

  ‘Not for the sort of death I have in mind.’ His features assumed a pitiless mask.

  He had the power, the influence, to financially ruin an adversary. And he would do it without the slightest qualm.

  A light shivery sensation feathered over the surface of her skin. She needed time out from all the madness that surrounded her. Somewhere she could gain solitude in which to think. A place where she had an element of choice.

  ‘I’m going to move into the house for a few days.’ The words emerged almost of their own accord, and she saw his eyes narrow fractionally.

  ‘It’s the house, or a hotel,’ Aysha insisted, meaning every word.

  He wanted to shake her. Paramount was the desire to wring Nina’s neck. Anger, frustration, irritation... each rose to the fore, and he banked them all down in an effort to conciliate.

  ‘If that’s what it takes.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She was so icily polite, so remote. Pain twisted his gut, and he swore beneath his breath.

  ‘We’re due at the ballet in an hour.’

  ‘Go alone, or don’t go at all, Carlo. I really don’t care.’

  Aysha walked into the bedroom and caught up a few essentials from drawers, the wardrobe, aware that Carlo stood watching her every move from the doorway.

  For one tragic second she felt adrift, homeless. Which was ridiculous. The thought made her angry, and she closed the holdall, then slung the strap over one shoulder.

  ‘Aysha.’

  She’d taken only a token assortment of clothing. That fact should have been reassuring, yet he’d never felt less assured in his life.

  Clear grey eyes met his, unwavering in their clarity. ‘Right now, there isn’t a word you can say that will make a difference.’

  She walked to the doorway, stepped past him, and made her way through the apartment to the front door. She half expected him to stop her, but he didn’t.

  The lift arrived swiftly, and she rode it down to the car park, unlocked her car, then drove it up onto the road.

  Carlo leaned his back against the wall and stared sightlessly out of the wide plate-glass window. After a few tense minutes, he picked up the receiver, keyed in a series of digits, then waited for it to connect.

  The private detective was one of the best, and with modern technology he should have the answer Carlo needed within days.

  He made three more calls, offered an obscene amount of money to ensure that his requests... orders, he amended with grim cynicism, were met within a specified time-frame.

  Now, he had to wait. And continue to endure Aysha’s farcical pretence for a few days. Then there would be no more room for confusion.

  He moved away from the wall, prowled the lounge, then in a restless movement he lifted a hand and raked fingers through his hair.

  Yet strength wasn’t the answer. Only proof, irrefutable proof.

  In business, it was essential to cover all the bases, and provide back-up. He saw no reason why it wouldn’t work in his personal life.

  CHAPTER SIX

  AYSHA was hardly aware of the night, the flash of headlights from nearby vehicles, as she traversed the streets and negotiated the Harbour Bridge. She handled the car with the movements of an automaton, and it was something of a minor miracle she reached suburban Clontarf.

  Celestial guidance, she decided wryly as she activated the wrought-iron gates guarding. entrance to the architectural masterpiece Carlo had built

  Remote-controlled lights sprang on as she reached the garage doors, and she checked the alarm system before entering the house.

  It was so quiet, so still, and she crossed into the lounge to switch on the television, then cast a glance around the perfectly furnished room.

  Beautiful home, luxuriously appointed, every detail perfect, she reflected; except for the relationship of the man and woman who were to due to inhabit it.

  A weary sigh escaped her lips. Was she being foolish seeking a temporary escape? What, after all, was it going to achieve?

  Damn. Damn Nina and the seeds she’d deliberately planted.

  A slight shiver shook her slender frame, and she resolutely made her way to the linen closet. It was late, she was tired, and all she had to do was fetch fresh linen, make up the bed, and slip between the sheets.

  She looked at the array of linen in their neat piles, and her fingers hovered, then shifted to a nearby stack.

  Not the main bedroom. The bed was too large, and she couldn’t face the thought of sleeping in it alone.

  A guest bedroom? Heaven knew there were enough of them! She determinedly made her way towards the first of four, and within minutes she’d completed the task.

  In a bid to court sleep she opted for a leisurely warm shower. Towelled dry, she caught up a cotton nightshirt and slid into bed to lie staring into the darkness as her mind swayed every which way but loose.

  Carlo. Was he in bed, unable to sleep? Or had he opted to attend the ballet, after all?

  What if Nina was also there? The wretched woman would be in her element when she discovered Carlo alone. Oh, for heaven’s sake! Be sensible.

  Except she didn’t feel sensible. And sleep was never more distant.

  Perhaps she did fall in
to a fitful doze, although it seemed as if she’d been awake all night when dawn filtered through the drapes and gradually lightened the room.

  She lifted her left wrist and checked the time. A few minutes past six. There was no reason for her to rise this early, but she couldn’t just lie in bed.

  Aysha thrust aside the covers and padded barefoot to the kitchen. The refrigerator held a half-empty bottle of fruit juice, a partly eaten sandwich, and an apple.

  Not exactly required sustenance to jump-start the day, she decided wryly. So, she’d go shopping, stop off at a café for breakfast, then come back, change, and prepare to meet Teresa at ten. Meantime she’d try out the pool.

  It was almost seven when she emerged, and she blotted off the excess moisture, then wrapped the towel sarong-wise and re-entered the house.

  Within minutes the phone rang, and she reached for it automatically.

  ‘You slept well?’

  Aysha drew in a deep breath at the sound of that familiar voice. ‘Did you expect me not to?’

  There was a faint pause. ‘Don’t push it too far, cara,’ Carlo drawled in husky warning.

  ‘I’m trembling,’ she evinced sweetly.

  ‘So you should be.’ His voice tightened, and acquired a depth that sent goosebumps scudding over the surface of her skin.

  ‘Intimidation isn’t on my list.’

  ‘Nor is false accusation on mine.’

  With just the slightest lack of care, this could easily digress into something they both might regret.

  With considerable effort she banked down the anger, and aimed for politeness. ‘Is there a purpose to your call, other than to enquire if I got any sleep?’ She thought she managed quite well. ‘I have a host of things to do.’

  ‘Grazie.’

  She winced at the intended sarcasm. ‘Prego,’ she concluded graciously, and disconnected the phone.

  On reflection, it wasn’t the best of days, but nor was it the worst. Teresa was in fine form, and so consumed with her list of Things to Do, Aysha doubted her own preoccupation was even noticed. Which was just as well, for she couldn’t have borne the string of inevitable questions her mother would deem it necessary to ask.