by Alison Kelly
Bart was incapable of response. His voice was frozen even as his blood rose to almost boiling-point. Across the room Alessandra stood speaking to Lisa, completely unaware she had drawn the attention of everyone in the room.
She was wearing a midnight-blue sarong splashed with a random gold design. It was caught at her neck and left a tempting expanse of honey-toned shoulders bare while concealing everything else all the way to her ankles, both of which bore fine gold chains. As Rachel had observed, her feet were indeed bare. Bart brought his attention back to her face and felt a pinch of jealousy at her animation as Lisa introduced her boyfriend. Bart had reluctantly agreed to the boy coming, figuring that, if he stopped objecting so strongly to the relationship, then perhaps Lisa might find dating the boy less of a challenge. That, however, didn’t mean Todd could monopolise Alessandra. Excusing himself from the Shaffers, he started towards Alessandra.
Alessandra tried to concentrate on what Lisa and Todd were telling her, but the truth was Bart had lobbed into her peripheral vision and her mind was busy counting down the seconds until he was at her side. Four…three…two…
‘Hello, Alessandra…Todd.’
Alessandra smiled while a nervous Todd babbled a suitably polite but stilted greeting before allowing himself to be literally dragged away by Lisa on the pretence of getting a drink.
‘You look different out of jeans,’ Bart said, letting his eyes warm her with their slow appraisal.
‘You’ve seen me out of my jeans on more than one occasion.’
‘Yes, but not in the company of other people.’
‘Which way do you prefer? With or without company?’
The glint in his eyes told her she was being dangerously provocative, but he pretended to give great consideration to his answer.
‘Dance with me while I think about it.’
She shook her head and smiled.
‘No way. As far as I’m concerned the only people who could enjoy dancing to country and western music must be manic depressives.’
‘Bite your tongue!’
‘I’d rather bite yours.’ She grinned.
Bart shoved his hands into his coat pocket; it was the only way he could think of to keep them from reaching out and gliding across the delicate curve of her shoulders. Again he ran his eyes over the length of her and unconsciously gave a loud groan, drawing the attention of several people standing near by.
Embarrassed, Alessandra blushed. ‘Bart! You have everyone staring.’
‘Me? I could walk across the room on my hands and there isn’t a man in the room who would draw his eyes away from you. Are you wearing anything under that get-up?’ Bart kept his tone low.
‘That’s for me to know and you to find out…later.’
With that she whirled away in the direction of the kitchen.
Three hours later Alessandra was again making her way to the kitchen, on this occasion laden with several dishes bearing the remnants of the dessert, when she met Marilyn carrying a tray of assorted cheeses. The two of them had worked flat out most of the evening. Lisa, who had promised her assistance, was conspicuous by her absence.
‘If you see Lisa anywhere, be sure and thank her for all her help,’ Alessandra said facetiously.
‘I will. Right after I wring her neck,’ Marilyn responded. ‘At least this is the last of it. Stay put; I’ll be back with refreshments.’
Marilyn arrived back in the kitchen wearing a satisfied grin and carrying a bottle of champagne.
‘Let’s drink a toast to a successful night. We achieved our objective.’
Alessandra accepted the glass of chilled champagne with a raised eyebrow.
‘And what, pray tell, was that?’
‘Bart’s seen you in a totally different role tonight.’
Alessandra realised that, somewhere between chatting with people she’d never met before and making sure everyone was having enough to eat, she’d forgotten that she had wanted Bart to see her as something other than the unladylike tomboy he perceived her to be. Yet it was only a few short hours ago that she’d draped herself in hand-painted silk, meticulously applied more make-up than she would normally wear, and blow-dried her ridiculously short hair with just that purpose in mind. Catching sight of her pale pink nails, she gave a rueful half-smile; even painted they too were too short to be feminine. And certainly all the women who’d graced Bart’s arms on the dance-floor during the last couple of hours had been feminine with a capital F. Of course he’d asked her earlier in the night and she’d stupidly refused because of her aversion to country and western music. Right at this moment, however, if he were to ask her to perform a solo, she’d have been sorely tempted to oblige just to please him.
Marilyn interrupted her musings. ‘Thanks for your help tonight. You were great,’ the brunette said.
‘Ripper. I’ve finally reached the heady heights of waitressing at private parties. Forgive me if I don’t jump up and clap my hands, but I’m ready for bed.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous; we have the fireworks to go yet. Don’t groan; Bart’s organised a few of the hands to handle that. All you have to do is sit back and watch.’
As if hearing his name, Bart materialised in the doorway of the kitchen. He had disposed of his tie and jacket and his white shirt was open at the neck. The sight of him, even before he bestowed a lazy smile on them, created a fluttering in the pit of Alessandra’s belly.
‘And I thought you girls were out here working,’ he said, eyeing the bottle on the table amid various plates of left-overs.
‘Bart, don’t you have anything in your album collection that isn’t hard-core Nashville?’ Alessandra asked as she popped a cube of cheese into her mouth.
‘You don’t like it?’ Bart’s expression indicated she wasn’t quite right in the head.
‘How could anyone like anything that’s so…so down? You’d find a more optimistic outlook on life at a convention of manic depressives.’ Seeing him torn between the humour of her analogy and what was obviously a strong love of the music in question, Alessandra rushed on. ‘I mean, every other song deals with lost love, desertion by a spouse, death or poverty—usually both— and just about any other woeful subject you can think of. Aren’t I right, Marilyn?’
The other woman, despite her gleeful grin, held her hands up as if warding off something.
‘Pass. I refuse to answer on the grounds that taking sides could be dangerous to my health.’
Bart propped himself against the refrigerator and folded his arms across his chest. An impish look sparked his eyes.
‘You’re such a coward, Marilyn. Fancy being afraid of your little brother,’ Alessandra chided.
‘Little? Move closer and have a better look at him,’ Marilyn told her, beginning to clear the table.
Alessandra stood to help, but Bart moved, successfully manoeuvring her between himself and the bench. Although he stood a good foot or more from her, she felt the heat from his body warm her. Since his back was to his sister the seduction in his eyes was apparent only to Alessandra.
‘Is this close enough?’ His voice was bland.
It wasn’t and he knew it, but his expression also warned her to be careful of what she said in Marilyn’s presence. For a moment she was tempted to call his bluff, since she’d already confessed her obsession with him to Marilyn, but evidently he still wasn’t prepared to publicise their relationship. She felt as if she were ‘the other woman’ in an illicit love-affair, and it made her angry. Shoving him aside was easy, since he’d not expected it.
‘Size rarely reflects intellect,’ she said and enjoyed his momentarily startled expression.
‘Do me a favour——’ Marilyn turned to them ‘—and take this debate outside. With all this dessert around I fear it may degenerate into a pie fight.’
‘I’m tempted,’ Alessandra told Bart, casting a furtive glance at a plate of lemon meringue. ‘So clear out so I can help Marilyn clean up.’
‘No need, Alessandra,’ Marilyn
said. ‘Rachel Shaffer is coming in to help.’
Alessandra groaned. ‘In that case I’m outta here.’
The night air was pleasant against her bare shoulders and the slate tiles of the patio still retained a hint of the day’s earlier heat beneath her feet. Around them several groups were engaged in conversations; from the snippets reaching her ears, she gathered they ranged from rural business to international politics. Everyone was enjoying themselves and eagerly awaiting the night’s grand finale, the fireworks display, which was being prepared about fifty metres away. It was in that direction Bart motioned her before looking pointedly at her feet. His face eased into a smile.
‘Seems a dang shame someone with such pretty feet would want to keep shoving them in her mouth so much.’
Alessandra gave him a tired look, and remained silent, which made her unexpected kick to his backside all the more effective. She scooted out of his reach while his face was still registering his surprise.
‘And it’s a dang shame someone with such a cute butt should need to have it kicked so regularly.’
She moved away anticipating good-natured retaliation, but Bart’s expression told her he was torn between taking this light-hearted banter further, and the knowledge that doing so would attract attention, thus raising suspicion that their association extended beyond that of employer and employee. Her heart prayed that he would go with his true feelings and damn the consequences. He didn’t.
‘You’re lucky there are so many people about, otherwise——’
‘Well, it’s a good thing I’ve got bad luck,’ she interrupted, feeling the threat of tears. ‘Because otherwise I’d have none!’
Turning she walked quickly towards the friendly, chatting party-goers, wishing them to hell alongside Bart Cameron.
A fountain of gold and silver burst into the sky and someone again topped up her champagne glass. She’d rather be drinking beer, but switching now would be a mistake; some people might be able to mix their drinks, but from experience Alessandra knew she wasn’t one of them. Seated beside the wives and girlfriends of some of the hands, she felt a restlessness she didn’t quite understand. It went beyond the fact that her heart was telling her to accept whatever Bart was willing to give under whatever conditions he set, while her pride told her she should have more respect for herself. Glancing across to where Bart sat with Doug Shaffer and some others, she wondered what would hurt less in the long run—selling out her heart or selling out her pride?
When the fireworks finished, the Shaffers and several others started to leave. It was then that Dunc, Jim and another of the hands produced guitars and began playing.
Grateful that she was being spared another chorus delivered in the nasal tones which, to her, typified Bart’s favourite music, Alessandra moved her chair to join the small group gathering around the musicians. Sadly, their tastes seemed to run along exactly the same lines as Bart’s. She had to admit they all played well; however, despite her efforts to hide her dislike of the music, her feelings must have been evident, because, when the song was finished, Dunc leaned towards her and winked.
‘I’m with you, Alessandra, I’d rather play some good ole rock ‘n’ roll, but the guys won’t be in it.’
She decided that the least she could do was help Dunc out. ‘Know where I can get another guitar?’ she asked.
‘You play?’
‘Not for years, but I’d like to give it a bash.’
Even as she said the words Dunc was snatching Jim’s guitar from him.
‘Take a rest and listen to some real music! Here, Alessandra, what’ll it be?’ he asked, thrusting her the instrument with unconcealed delight.
Alessandra looked to Jim, silently asking if he objected. He didn’t and with a gleeful smile she lifted the strap over her head and stood up.
‘You can’t play rock ‘n’ roll sitting down.’ She laughed at the surprised look on the faces of Bart and Marilyn, then turned to Dunc. ‘How about we start with a classic. What about “All Shook Up”?’
Dunc started playing and as Alessandra joined in Bart realised it wouldn’t need a musical genius to recognise she was very, very good. Yet another facet to the woman. He wondered how many more there were. There had been a few people engaged in other conversations, but the minute Alessandra added her strong vocals to Dunc’s they turned as one.
‘Wow, can she belt out a song or what?’ Marilyn asked from beside him.
‘I take it you didn’t know she could sing either?’ Bart said rhetorically.
‘Sing? My kids have got CDs by artists who are international names and they couldn’t hold a candle to this girl!’
Judging by the applause when the song ended, everyone agreed. They urged her to do another and Alessandra asked for requests. Although he was aware she’d been drinking champagne, Bart knew that her excitement came from the fact that she was high on adrenalin. Clearly she harboured a great love and talent for playing and singing, so he found it strange that she didn’t have a guitar of her own.
It seemed that even the most dedicated country music fans had an affection for twelve-bar blues and pure rock ‘n’ roll if the various requests being shouted were any indication.
‘You probably won’t know it, bein’ so young, but what about “Reelin’ And A Rockin’”, the old Chuck Berry number?’ Jim asked.
Alessandra grinned and led into the song. That was followed by ‘Memphis Blues’, ‘Roadhouse Blues’ and several Rolling Stones songs. Perspiration was flowing off her as she worked through ‘Route 66’, one of her favourites, she’d said, when she introduced it.
Dunc had long ago stopped playing, bowing to a superior talent. She was all raw energy, Bart thought, watching as her body moved without conscious effort to the rhythm and her fingers found the chords unerringly. She wasn’t just playing the instrument, it was as if she made love to it, and Bart envied the guitar her touch.
She reached over and picked up his beer when she finished the song.
‘You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?’ he asked. She nodded and gave him a hundred-watt smile that caused his loins to ignite.
‘This next one’s for you,’ she whispered so that he alone heard her words, then she moved to a chair and sat down. Above calls for an encore, Alessandra started to strum softly.
‘One of my idols is a guitarist called Joe Walsh; he was in a band called the Eagles and they did this…“Desperado”…’
It was hard to believe that only moments ago the woman now singing in a hauntingly soft voice had been belting out rock ‘n’ roll as everyone tried to sing along with her. Now their silence was the ultimate tribute to her.
Bart felt himself swamped with so many different emotions that he couldn’t have put a name to any one of them. But as the song ended and he met Alessandra’s eyes he knew they all evolved from her.
The kitchen clock was pushing its way towards two a.m. and the last guests had departed as Marilyn and Alessandra sat nursing mugs of hot tea. Alessandra couldn’t remember ever having felt so tired and Marilyn’s words told a similar story.
‘Well, that’s me for the night,’ she said, pushing her chair from the table. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘It’s already morning,’ Alessandra corrected her.
‘Whatever. God, it’ll be good to climb into bed.’
‘You’re not wrong,’ Alessandra agreed. ‘I think I could sleep for a——’
The look on Bart’s face as he strode into the kitchen stopped Alessandra’s words dead.
‘Do either of you know where Lisa is?’
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘IN BED would be a good bet.’ Marilyn yawned the reply.
‘She’s not. Alessandra?’
His tone sent a chill through Alessandra. He was livid, positively furious, as he glared down at her. She shook her head as an image of Todd flashed through it.
‘She was with To—’
‘I know exactly who she was with! That’s what worries me!�
�
‘I saw them when the fireworks started.’ Marilyn’s voice was feeble.
‘Have you seen either of them since?’ Bart demanded, but received only a negative response. ‘I’m going to check outside.’
He was halfway out of the door as he spoke. Exchanging a worried look with Marilyn, Alessandra hurried after him.
‘Wait up! I’ll come with you,’ she called, wondering how on earth she would be able to stop Bart from strangling Todd if he found him in a compromising position with his daughter.
She was almost running to match Bart’s angry stride as he headed towards the stables, and every few feet tiny pebbles dug into her still bare feet. The only illumination against the night was the floodlight on the patio and two smaller lights outside the machinery shed and the garage.
‘You check in there.’ Bart barked out the order. His tone would have brooked no argument from even the bravest of men, but Alessandra wasn’t prepared to take a chance on being in the machinery shed while Bart was breaking Todd’s jaw in the garage. She stayed with him.
‘Calm down, Bart. You’re thinking the worst…’
‘And you aren’t?’
‘There could be a lot of explanations…’
‘Yeah, and over-active libido heads the list.’
They entered the garage and, flicking a switch, Bart created light in the previously blackened building. Only his tense, angry breathing broke the silence; there was no sign of anyone. Swearing, he pulled open the doors of the Range Rover and found it empty, so too were both utilities and Marilyn’s station wagon.
Alessandra felt her heart cramp at the worry and tension displayed on Bart’s face. He ran both hands behind his neck and for a second their eyes met. She thought she saw a plea of help in them, but he quickly blinked it away.
‘Come on, there’s still the stables and the machinery and maintenance sheds to check.’
Lisa wasn’t in any of those places, so Bart decided to take one of the vehicles and drive around looking. Placing a hand on his arm, Alessandra stopped him halfway back to the garage.
