by Margaret Way
“Isn’t that our cue to walk out?” she whispered back. They were finished anyway. The hours had rippled by like silk.
“Sure. What I really want to do is get a better look at your apartment.”
“You sound hopeful.”
His green eyes were amused. “I am.”
“And then seduce me?”
He gave her that dizzying smile. “Ms Wyatt, if you knew how I want to! But I won’t. Scout’s honour. I really liked your apartment. You’ve got great taste. Besides, the night is young.” He turned his handsome raven head. “I wonder if they have a back door. I wouldn’t be in the least surprised if there were photographers waiting for us out there. Someone is bound to have tipped them off.”
Anyone would have thought she was a rock star. Even a TV star, albeit not in the ascendant wasn’t safe anywhere. The paparazzi, as he’d predicted, were waiting.
“What do we do? Make a run for it?” She pushed herself into the sheltering crook of his arm. It was so-o good to have a man around. Especially one so big and strong. The limo wasn’t too far off. He had instructed the chauffeur to meet them in the alleyway at the rear of the restaurant, where the more enterprising had gathered.
“Might as well let them get a few shots. But don’t say a word,” he advised.
“You got it, boss!” He was perfect in the role.
Afterwards, she thought she would be forever astonished by the speed and efficiency with which he shielded her from the mob, successfully steered her past all their shouted questions, then smoothly bundled her into the waiting limo. Even so, they got their shots. No matter! Wasn’t that the reason she and the Cattle Baron had decided on a night on the town? She had proven beyond any doubt that she wasn’t the girl to run and hide.
True to his word, he was the perfect gentleman. Clearly, he was a man to be trusted. She watched him roam her spacious living room, studying the artwork. Downlighters picked out the colours and brought the paintings to life, especially the large oil of a field of yellow tulips.
“That’s good enough to step in and pick a bunch,” he commented, thinking she had an excellent eye and a fine sense of style. She would love the paintings at Jingala. “Yellow would be your favourite colour, right?”
“How did you know?”
He took in a sharp breath. He had spent so much time turning his feelings into a fortress it was unnerving to know the whole damned apparatus could crumble into dust. Roaming about, he paused at her prize piece of sculpture, a large gilded bronze horse. As someone who was practically born in the saddle, he found the anatomy of the horse, the sense of movement, spot on.
“It cost me six months’ salary and then some but it was worth it,” she said.
“If you ever want to sell it, you have a buyer.”
She shook her head.
“You ride?” He shot her a quick enquiring look. The down-lights were caught in her glorious hair, which was brushed back from her smooth wide forehead and cascading loose.
Amber nodded. “I love horses. I belonged to a pony club as a child. My dad bought me my first pony when I was six.”
“I bet he was so proud of you.”
She bit her lip. “My dad thought I was a star. His shining star.”
“I’m not surprised,” he said very gently. “Have you been able to keep your riding up?” He picked up a jade snuff bottle, one of a small collection, examined it, then put it down again. “Nineteenth century?”
“Yes. Bought them in Hong Kong. I don’t keep up my riding as much as I’d like. I don’t—didn’t—have a lot of free time. But nothing would stop me getting out now and then.”
“Good!” He clipped it off as though he would have held it against her had she not tried.
The lush plants on her balcony too found favour—the luxuriant mass of philodendrons, large succulents and a variety of other plants. Later, he came to sit opposite her on one of her new sofas—soft, supple leather in an inviting shade of vanilla. One long arm shifted two of the silk cushions to one side. She hadn’t the slightest desire to send him on his way. Instead, they fell back effortlessly into conversation…
It was all pretty astonishing stuff.
She had fully expected to cry herself to sleep that night. Instead, she found herself confiding to the Cattle Baron things she had never told anyone before.
Ships that pass in the night? That theory had been advanced.
He, in turn, didn’t appear to hesitate in filling her in on his own life. Like her, he was an only child. He rarely saw his mother. He said it without visible upset or apology. Clearly, he had never forgiven her for deserting him and his father. More so for his father’s sake, she thought. He spoke so glowingly of his father. It must have been a great relationship. That she could well understand. “I want him back,” he said.
“Me, too. I want my dad back.”
He had an uncle Eliot, his father’s much younger brother, a mid-life child who lived with him on the MacFarlane cattle station. She made a mental note to learn more about Jingala, a historic station, she seemed to remember.
“Eliot lost his first wife, Caro, to breast cancer. It hit us all very hard. Caro was a lovely person, incredibly brave. And such a fighter. She should have won. We were afraid Eliot might do something…” He hesitated, his expression grim.
“Might harm himself,” she gently supplied.
“You read that right. Janis came along almost two years ago. She’s a few years older than I am. She’s very good-looking in a high-strung sort of way. Jan got pregnant almost at once. They have a baby boy, Marcus, named after my father. My dad and Eliot were very close, more like father and son than brothers. The age difference and the fact that my father was the strong one, the stuff of legend. I love my uncle but he certainly has his problems.”
“They weren’t straightened out with his new wife and the baby?” she asked. “I would have thought he’d be just so proud and happy.”
“Well, of course he is proud and happy,” he returned a shade tersely. “None of us thought he would ever remarry.”
“What’s worrying you?” she asked, studying his frowning face. Gosh, he was a handsome man! The more she looked at him, the more she was coming to develop a taste for the hardwired dynamic male.
“Do I look worried?”
“It wasn’t a match made in heaven?” she suggested soothingly.
His expression turned ironic. “Aren’t matches made in heaven said to be like ghosts? One hears about them but never sees them. Jan is having a lot of difficulty bonding with little Marc.”
“Well, now, that’s sad.” She was taken aback. “It’s possible she’s suffering post-natal depression. It’s not at all uncommon, but it can’t be allowed to go untreated. There is help.”
He pushed an impatient hand through his thick dark hair, tousling the crisp waves. He should leave it like that, she thought. It looked great. “You don’t think we’ve had it? The problem is that Jan rejects help. Anyway, I’ve said enough about that.”
“But isn’t there someone to persuade her—her own mother, a close friend? Surely they’d want to help?” It seemed very much as if her husband couldn’t. Neither could the Cattle Baron, but it was obvious that he didn’t want to interfere in his uncle’s marriage.
“Jan and her mother aren’t close,” he said. “I think she stopped talking to her mother years ago. At any rate, she wasn’t invited to the wedding. Another problematic family. Jan’s mother and father divorced when she was around ten. Marriage break-ups always have repercussions.”
She took a deep breath. “And you’re not looking for a wife? Don’t let—Brooke, wasn’t it—sideline you.”
“Don’t let Sean sideline you,” he retorted very smartly indeed.
“Well, both of us have jobs to do.”
“I can only hope you have yours on Monday,” he said. “Offending my grandfather is to encourage disaster.”
“If the worse comes to the worst I guess I’ll have to live with it,”
she said.
CHAPTER FOUR
THERE was a great shot of them in the Sunday papers: Amber Wyatt and her Mystery Man. They looked like a pair of movie stars. Anything to keep the public on the edge of their seats.
Monday morning came and she found to her horror that the Cattle Baron had been right. She didn’t have a job any longer.
“What possessed you, Amber?” Paddy Sweeney, the station manager, asked in dismay. “You’ve really blown it this time, girl. Insulting old man Erskine! How bright is that? I’m worried about you. The public love you. The station would have tolerated just about anything from you, including appearing topless, but I have to tell you no one ticks off Clive Erskine. You did it Big Time. It doesn’t make me happy—far from it—”
“Who likes to be the hatchet man?” She gave him a wry smile.
“Don’t say that, love. You know how I’ve always fostered your career, but the order has come down from on high.”
“The Almighty?” Anger was expressed in derision.
Paddy grunted. “Always supposin’ the Big Fella exists. Or, to His everlasting credit, He doesn’t like to interfere.”
“Perish the thought! So, no warnings, no last chances, no last-minute reprieves?”
“I wish!” Paddy groaned. “It’s such a shame. We’re top of the ratings. But it was a horrendous idea, showing up at the wedding, Amber. Why didn’t you speak to me about it?”
“Hello, Paddy? I did.”
He paled. “But I thought you were joking! You’re always joking.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Amber, I’m sorry. To think I could have stopped you from causing a scandal”
“Oh, yeah?” Amber was getting angrier by the moment. It went with the red hair. “It was Mr and Mrs Sean Sinclair who caused the scandal,” she snapped back. “Don’t call my behaviour brazen, Paddy.”
It was barely ten o’clock but Paddy looked as if he’d had a really rough day. “Amber, I know exactly what they put you through.” He crunched up a memo and lobbed it at a waste paper basket. Missed. He always did. “Sinclair’s a blaggard.”
“No argument here. The thing is, he is now Sir Clive Erskine’s grandson-in-law.”
Paddy responded with a despondent wave of his hand. “You could have got away with most anything. But not this. Not for a good while, anyway. Even your chances of getting in to another channel are zero. No one will dare touch you. You crossed a very powerful man. Woe to the station who tries to pick you up. The old bugger would buy it just to make sure he got his way.”
“So he’s only posing as a pillar of the church?”
Paddy gave a sardonic laugh. “It’s the way things work, Amber. Billionaires don’t have to throw their weight around. They just give the order. People like Erskine are too powerful to fight.”
“So I’m bounced for a misdemeanour?” Amber was trying hard to adjust to it.
“Erskine considers it a near crime. You got yourself engaged to a cad. He betrayed you. You’re better off without him. He was never good enough for you.”
“So I clear my desk? I take it I’m off air tonight?”
Paddy’s cheeks turned ruddy. “I’m sorry, Amber. Really, really sorry. We all are.”
“Not dear old Jack, I bet! Jack will be delighted to have the news slot to himself.”
Paddy nodded his assent. “Only redeeming feature, he’s a pro. He never stuffs up and he’s got a great speaking voice.”
“I prefer mine.”
She stood up and Paddy stood too, coming around his desk to her. “Take a holiday,” he advised.
“I’m thinking space travel.”
“Keep that for a future project. Let things cool down. This isn’t going to last for ever, love. The public will want to know where you are.”
She gave a snort of disgust. “I bet it’s all over town as we speak.”
“And you can bet your life the whole country will be taking sides. Lie low, that’s my advice. You know you’ve got a champion in me.”
She gave him a forgiving smile. Paddy had to obey directives like everyone else. “Thanks for trying. You’ve been a great boss.”
“Lemme work on it.” Paddy escorted her to the door, genuinely upset. Taking Amber Wyatt off air just went to prove that no one, however popular, was indispensable. It was a tough game.
Stepping out of the lift as Amber was stepping in was the man himself, Jack Matthews.
“Hi, there, if it isn’t the beauteous Ms Wyatt!” He greeted her with his trademark toothy smile. “Getting your sorry little ass out of here?”
No point in losing it. “No sound as sweet as your own voice, Jack.”
“Good luck, anyway.” He sketched a sardonic salute as the lift doors began to close. “You’ve no future in the television industry.”
“Good to have an unbiased opinion, Jack.”
There was something deeply satisfying about getting the last word.
Except that didn’t happen.
“I’ll miss you,” Jack called.
Hang tough!
She was barely back in the apartment when someone pressed her door buzzer hard. Australia Post? Flowers and a sympathy card signed by the entire Channel? Maybe a get-out-of-town type delivery, hopefully not one that exploded. She checked the image that came up on the tiny video screen. Good heavens! The Cattle Baron. Erskine’s grandson. Never forget that vital point.
“Didn’t we agree you’d stop following me?” she said into the receiver.
“I’m not following you.’
Even over the crackle, he sounded good. “Never thought to phone ahead?”
“Took a chance with the visit. I’m here with a plan.”
She rubbed her aching forehead. “Few things more un-workable than a plan, Mr MacFarlane. Please go away.”
“You don’t need help?” It was a challenge.
Common sense came to the rescue. “Lucky for you, I need all the help available. Does this plan involve travel?”
“How did you guess?”
“So long as it’s not outer Mongolia.” She released the security door. This guy had mesmerized her. The way he kissed. The way he talked. The way he looked. One hundred different warring sensations were assailing her all at once.
His sheer physicality was nigh on overwhelming within the confines of her small entrance hall. He was wearing a crisp blue and white checked shirt in fine cotton, great-fitting jeans, a beige linen bomber jacket over the top. He could have posed for an ad for Calvin Klein. “You’ve got ten minutes. The clock’s ticking. I take it you know I’ve been shunted?”
“The news was broken to me. Rather roughly, as it happens. I did warn you. Dire consequences usually accompany rash deeds.”
“Words to live by.”
“At least you know what’s coming.” He followed her into the living room. The sun was pouring over the balcony, the reflected light setting the tulip painting on the wall ablaze.
She turned to face him with a coolness bordering on hostility. He was a member of the Erskine family. “So what are you doing here? Boredom, filling in time before take-off?”
“Take-off is tomorrow first thing. I had an early morning visit from my grandfather.”
“Trying to rein you in?”
“He’s given up on that. But he wanted to make it quite clear that he’s not pleased with me. He’s not pleased with you. But that we know.”
“Fancy that!” she said sarcastically. “Well, you know what they say—No good deed goes unpunished.”
“Oscar Wilde.”
“Certainly attributed to him. And didn’t he get it right! It’s also one of the primary rules of physics. Every force begets an equal and opposite force.”
“So why don’t we listen?” He let his eyes roam over her with pleasure. She hadn’t changed out of her city clothes. She was wearing a very smart ensemble—a short black and white jacket cropped at the waist over a white silk blouse with some sort of ruffle down the front. The black
skirt was tight and short, showcasing legs most women would die for.
“I was an excellent student,” she said, without any fanfare at all. “I did my dad and his memory proud. In being kind to me, Mr MacFarlane, you were bucking the system. The Erskine system, of which you are one of the main players. Surely you expected Grandpop to come back at you?”
“Oh, I was absolutely convinced he would,” he said, showing no sign of worry. “Are you going to ask me to sit?”
She waved an expansive hand. “Take your pick.”
“Any chance of a cup of coffee? That would be nice. Maybe a sandwich. Better yet, let me take you out for lunch.”
“I think you’ve done enough damage, don’t you?” Hang tough or not, she was shaking inside.
“Nonsense and let’s cut back to first names. After all, we have been up close and personal. I was kind. Now I’ve done you damage?”
“I’m sorry. I did it all to myself. I threw caution to the winds. Not the best way to succeed in life. Come into the kitchen,” she invited in a resigned tone. “We can discuss your plan there. Tell me how is Grandpop going to get square with you?”
“Disinherit me?” he suggested.
“That’s wonderful,” she crowed, then swiftly showed concern. “I’m only joking! What kind of a monster is he?”
“Put it this way. Hell will get hotter when he arrives.”
“That bad?” She couldn’t help but laugh.
“Some of the things he’s done would have taken the Devil aback.” He flashed her a smile that held more than a hint of the said devilment. Made a girl think white teeth and a great smile made the man. “Even if he disinherits you, you’re rich too, aren’t you?”
“Depends on what you call rich. I don’t have Grandad’s astro bucks but let’s hear it for the MacFarlanes. The MacFarlanes don’t need the Erskines. We do okay on our own.”
“Well, that’s great. So you’re a race apart?”
“In a way.” He glanced appreciatively around the shining kitchen—white with a yellow trim, polished golden timber floor, a couple of bright scatter rugs, big, sunny-face yellow gerberas arranged in a copper kettle. “Grandfather Erskine sees himself as the patriarch of the family. My own dad and my paternal grandfather are gone. I don’t kowtow to my grandfather. I actually like him some of the time. I won’t say he’s a lovely man—”
