By Marriage Divided

by Lindsay Armstrong

  But, both the wine and the delicious, home-made steak and kidney pie she’d ordered did put her in a better mood. It even made her feel that she’d been rather churlish, and she set out to make amends, although in the most general way. She followed his lead on several topics of conversation ranging from sport, to books, to politics, then found herself, without quite knowing how it had happened, telling him about her business.

  ‘They’re girls’ clothes,’ she said, ‘and marketed under the “Primrose” label. I cater for girls from four to twelve, which is about the upper limit for most girls to enjoy lovely, frothy, feminine creations.’

  He raised a dark eyebrow.

  She grinned. ‘From then onwards they go through a grunge stage or trying to look as adult as possible,’ she explained.

  ‘How did you work that out? Market research?’

  ‘No. Memories of my childhood and just looking about.’

  ‘So how did you start? With an old sewing machine in the garage?’

  ‘Hardly.’ She grimaced and paused as their gazes clashed and she saw a flicker of something that could have been caustic in his grey eyes, although she had no idea why.

  She frowned faintly but he didn’t explain so she went on, ‘After university, where I studied design and marketing, I teamed up with a friend who is a much better seamstress than I am. And, after an assessment of where there might be a gap in the market, we hired a studio and a few more sewers and went into production. I do the designing, marketing and handle the business aspects, she handles the actual making of the clothes.’

  ‘Sounds very professional,’ he murmured. ‘How did you come up with the capital to start it?’

  ‘My Lidcombe grandmother left me a small inheritance but I also applied for and got a bank loan. That’s been paid off, though, I’ve recouped my initial investment and we’re making a steady, although at this stage not exactly spectacular, profit. Since I recently persuaded two major department stores to stock our clothes, which gives us a much higher profile now, and even although we’ll need to expand, I expect our profits to rise quite considerably.’

  ‘You sound as if you’ve got two feet on the commercial ground, Miss Harris,’ he commented.

  ‘Thank you.’ But Domenica sighed suddenly. ‘I just wish…’ She broke off and sipped her wine.

  ‘I’d like to know,’ Angus said. ‘As someone who started off with one eccentric truck way outback, and built it into a transport empire, I applaud your enterprise and common sense.’

  But Domenica frowned and forgot what she’d been going to say as something else struck her. ‘Keir…not that Keir—Keir Conway Transport?’

  He merely nodded, although with a tinge of rueful amusement.

  ‘Heaven’s above, why didn’t I connect you with that Keir?’ she asked more of herself than him, then focused on him sharply. ‘If I’d known that, I would have held out for not a penny less than—’ she named a figure ‘—for Lidcombe Peace.’

  ‘I’m all for knowing as much about the opposition as possible, Miss Harris,’ Angus Keir said, ‘but it wouldn’t have done you any good. I paid what I considered to be a realistic price for Lidcombe Peace.’

  She regarded him broodingly. ‘I had a feeling this wasn’t a good idea.’

  ‘Having lunch with me?’ he queried with his mouth quirking.

  ‘Precisely,’ she agreed.

  ‘May I offer you a piece of advice?’ He was still looking amused. ‘Don’t regret what’s done and can’t be changed—that’s good personal advice as well as for business, by the way. And Lidcombe Peace was in a price bracket that could have seen you wait for years to get your price.’

  Domenica pushed her plate away, and shrugged eventually. ‘I suppose so. And I didn’t have much choice. Oh, well, Mr Keir,’ she added in her mother’s tone of voice, ‘thank you so much for lunch but I really need to—’

  ‘Domenica, don’t go all upper crust and la-di-da on me,’ he interrupted wryly.

  She stared at him. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘I’m sure you do and, anyway, I’ve ordered coffee.’

  She closed her mouth, then opened it to say, ‘If you’re implying that I’m—’

  ‘Trying to put me firmly in my place? Taking refuge behind a plummy accent and a certain turn of phrase designed to keep the peasants in their place; retreat to your coterie of privilege, et cetera,’ he drawled, ‘yes. You may not realize it, but it’s not only that. You look down your nose and those beautiful blue eyes contrive to look through me as if I don’t exist.’

  She gasped.

  ‘Moreover,’ he continued leisurely, ‘I know exactly what kind of a tangle your mother’s financial affairs are in, and that the sale of Lidcombe Peace, while removing the immediate threat of bankruptcy, will not solve all her problems.’

  She stared at him, struck dumb.

  ‘I know, for example, that there’s a mortgage on your mother’s principal place of residence that was raised to cover some disastrous investments your father made, so that the profit from the sale of Lidcombe Peace will mostly be swallowed up in repaying that mortgage and all the outstanding interest.’

  ‘How…how…?’ Domenica stopped in the act of saying, How dare you? and rephrased stiffly. ‘I don’t know how you know all this but if you think it makes me like you any better, you’re mistaken! I—’ She stopped exasperatedly as their plates were removed by the waitress and a plunger pot of aromatic coffee was put down.

  ‘It may not matter a whole lot whether we like each other,’ he said and poured two cups of coffee.

  Domenica’s fingers hovered over a little dish of finely dusted pale pastel Turkish Delight that had come with the coffee. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  He didn’t answer. But his smoky-grey gaze travelled from her glorious dark hair to the smooth pale skin of her throat and the outline of her figure to her waist beneath the camellia voile. She had very fine, narrow hands, he observed, and on the little finger of the hand still poised above the dish of Turkish Delight she wore a rather unusual plaited gold ring. Then his gaze drifted back to her mouth and he contemplated it silently.

  Domenica dropped her hand to her lap sweetless and suppressed a tremor that was composed of both outrage and awareness. Because she knew exactly what Angus Keir meant and, while she’d contrived to ignore it until now, one all-encompassing glance from him had spelt it out. ‘Liking’ one another was not what it was about between them.

  Liking one another had nothing to do with wondering about a man on a physical level, which, heaven help her, had plagued her again while she’d watched him discard his jacket to hook her car up to a towline he’d produced from his vehicle. It hadn’t been a great physical exertion for him, but enough to make her conscious of the long lines of his back and the sleek, powerful muscles beneath the midnight-blue cotton of his shirt.

  And at the garage she’d stood silent and feeling oddly helpless as he’d made arrangements with the local mechanic with the kind of authority, not only of a man as opposed to a woman who knew nothing about starter motors anyway, but the kind of man who almost had the mechanic bowing and scraping.

  Then, for some reason, his wrists and hands had specifically plagued her during their lunch. He’d taken off his jacket again and, beneath the cuffs of his shirt, his wrists were powerful and sprinkled with black hairs, but his hands were long and well-shaped and he wore a plain watch on a brown leather band. Strong, but nice hands, she’d caught herself thinking a couple of times.

  But she now had to put it all into context, she realized, and find a way to make him believe that ‘liking’ a man was important, for her anyway.

  She compressed her lips and decided to opt for honesty and forthrightness and didn’t give a damn how she sounded. ‘I don’t go in for that kind of thing, Mr Keir.’

  ‘Mutual attraction and admiration?’ he suggested lazily.

  She paused, then shot him a telling little look. ‘Not with people I do busin
ess with, no. And not with people I don’t happen to like. But most of all, not with people—’

  ‘Men—shouldn’t we be specific?’ he put in blandly.

  She shrugged. ‘All right, men, then, who I don’t know from a bar of soap!’

  ‘That’s commendable,’ he remarked. ‘I even applaud you, Miss Harris. But I’m not suggesting we leap into bed, only that we get to know each other.’

  Domenica felt the surge of colour rising up her throat but she ignored it to say coolly, ‘Thank you, but no, and, while you may not be suggesting we leap into bed, it is how you’ve been looking at me. And I find that—unacceptable.’

  He laughed, but with genuine amusement that caused his eyes to dance in a way that was rather breathtaking. ‘I’d be surprised if most men don’t look at you that way, Domenica.’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘On the contrary, Mr Keir, most men are a bit more…mannered.’

  His lips twisted. ‘Oh, well, if nothing else, at least you know where you stand with me, Domenica. Incidentally, I believe your mother owns another property, a warehouse in Blacktown?’

  ‘Yes.’ Domenica blinked as she tried to make the adjustment. ‘It’s leased to a catering and party hire company. So?’

  ‘Sell it,’ he said.

  She did a double take. ‘Why? At least the rent provides some steady income!’

  ‘You may not realize it,’ he broke in, ‘but you’re sitting on a small gold-mine there. A new road proposal resuming land nearby has given several companies around you the headache of having to put their expansion plans on hold, or move entirely to another industrial estate, a costly exercise. But don’t sell it for a penny under this figure.’ He drew a black pen from his shirt pocket and wrote a figure on the back of the bill that had come with the coffee.

  Domenica stared at the figure, swallowed, and, raising wide eyes to his, said huskily, ‘You’re joking! I know the valuation—’

  He stopped her by gesturing a little impatiently. ‘Things change. It’s an established estate with good facilities and the new road will make it better and even more accessible. And you’ll be in the position of being able to play several potential buyers off against each other. Believe me.’

  ‘How…how do you know all this?’ she asked after a long pause.

  He smiled slightly. ‘I do my homework.’

  ‘You…you wouldn’t be in the market for some extra space in this estate, by any chance?’

  ‘No, Domenica, I wouldn’t. Do you think I’d be advising you to ask this for it—’ he tapped the bill ‘—if I were?’

  They stared at each other, she tensely, he rather mockingly. Until she said a little awkwardly, ‘I just can’t imagine why you would…just because you wanted Lidcombe Peace…investigate us so thoroughly.’

  He didn’t answer immediately. Then he shrugged. ‘It had some bearing on what I’d get Lidcombe Peace for.’

  ‘You said you—’ her voice quivered ‘—you paid what you thought was a realistic price.’

  ‘Yes. Taking everything into consideration.’

  Her awkwardness changed to contempt. He could see it in her eyes and the way her beautiful mouth set severely. And he knew what to expect before she said it. ‘That’s despicable, Mr Keir. I assume you mean taking into consideration that I was fairly desperate!’

  He shrugged. ‘Life can be a bit of a jungle, Miss Harris. But if you take my advice on the warehouse, and if you invest some of the profits as I would be prepared to advise you, your mother should be well provided for, for the rest of her life. She may even be able to continue to live in the manner to which she’s accustomed.’

  Domenica breathed deeply and fought a tide of emotion, an unusual, for her, desire to scream and shout at this man—but what if he was right? she wondered suddenly.

  Her mother was one of those people you loved, especially as a daughter—excepting on those days when you wondered why; days when she was impossibly impractical, when she was being a raving snob as if she still queened it over society and had her parents’ great wealth to fall back on, when she was unbelievably extravagant. But the thing was, it was impossible to see Barbara Harris unhappy. It was a bit like closing down the sun…

  She said slowly, ‘I might just take you up on that, Mr Keir. Unless you have a certain kind of repayment in mind?’ Her blue gaze was steady, and satirical.

  ‘Your body for my financial expertise?’ he hazarded gravely.

  ‘I can’t imagine why else you would do it,’ she said levelly.

  ‘You could be right.’

  Domenica put her cup down and stood up, only a hair’s breadth from slapping his face.

  But Angus Keir remained seated, with his eyes laughing at her. Just as she was about to swing on her heel, though, he stood up and said, ‘To clarify things, Domenica, no, I wouldn’t expect that kind of payment. But I would like to get to know you, that would certainly be a way of going about it, and you just might enjoy getting to know me. What would happen from there on—who knows?’ He shrugged into his jacket and picked up the bill. ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘Your car has been delivered, Dom.’

  Domenica looked up from her drawing-board. It was seven o’clock the same evening. She and her partner, Natalie White, were working late although their other staff had left and it was Natalie who was standing beside her dangling a set of car keys.

  Domenica looked at the keys then at Natalie, dazedly. ‘But it can’t be. They said it could take at least a day or two to get the part.’

  ‘Nevertheless…’ Natalie grinned ‘…it has just been delivered by a driver wearing a Keir Conway overall who told me to tell you that, on instructions from the boss, he rushed the part down himself, supervised its installation and drove the car back. He also said that, while you should have no more immediate problems with it, it’s probably about time you gave some thought to acquiring a new vehicle. Oh, and the bill has been settled, compliments of the boss, too.’

  Domenica looked around the colourful chaos of the studio with its big half-moon windows, and said something unprintable not quite beneath her breath.

  ‘Darling,’ Natalie murmured, ‘I know you explained briefly about this Angus Keir and what you hold against the man, but are you sure you’re not spurning a knight in shining armour? When a country garage tells you it could take at least a day or two to track down a part, in my experience and certainly for a car that’s not in its first flush of youth, they’re actually talking in terms of weeks!’

  Domenica started to say something but Natalie went on, ‘And considering that your hatchback doubles as our delivery vehicle, considering—’ she gestured around ‘—how much stock we have to deliver at the moment and the cost of hiring a vehicle—’

  ‘Stop,’ Domenica broke in but chuckling. ‘You’re right! It still doesn’t make me enjoy being beholden to the man!’

  Natalie, a five-feet-two bubbly blonde, perched on the corner of a cutting table and studied Domenica thoughtfully. ‘I would say this Angus Keir is well and truly smitten, Dom. Is that such a bad thing? Sounds as if he’s rolling in dough.’ She shrugged and eyed her friend and partner shrewdly. ‘What exactly did happen between you two?’

  Domenica frowned, because her encounter with Angus Keir had started to take on a surreal quality. They’d said little on the drive back to Sydney, and she’d recovered her composure sufficiently to thank him both for the lift and lunch, although with a cool little glint in her eyes as if to warn him off. But either he’d heeded it or he’d needed no warning off, because he’d responded in kind, and left it at that. All the same, she’d had the feeling she was amusing him and that would not be that—as she now knew.

  But even with this reminder—she took her keys from Natalie and stared at them—the whole encounter seemed more like a dream than reality, except for the fact that it had been difficult to concentrate all afternoon because even a dreamlike recollection of events had made her feel restless and edgy.

  She sighed suddenly. �
�I don’t really know, Nat. But for some reason he—makes me nervous.’

  She was to repeat that sentiment later in the evening, at home with her mother and sister Christabel.

  At twenty-two, three years younger than Domenica, Christabel still lived at home with Barbara Harris at Rose Bay in a house overlooking the harbour.

  Close to the shopping delights of Double Bay and because she’d lived there for the past twenty years, Barbara Harris had mentioned several times that she’d die rather than be parted from her Rose Bay home although it was far too big for just her and Christabel.

  She’d also tried to make Domenica feel guilty about moving out to a flat of her own several years previously and had tried desperately to persuade her to come home after Walter’s death. But Domenica knew that it had been a wise move to stay put because she and her mother were at their best with each other when they each had their own space. Although she often spent the night or the weekend with them and would do so tonight.

  Whereas Christabel, who had always been quiet and studious and looked set to follow in their father’s footsteps, was able to shut herself off from Barbara’s more difficult moods. Still at university pursuing an MA in History, she was also working part-time as a research assistant for a writer, and, Domenica thought affectionately of her sister who was also dark but short, thin and amazingly unsophisticated, she often lived in a world of her own.

  Tonight, though, as they ate a late meal together it was Christy who said, ‘If he’s right and he can give good investment advice, it could be the end of all our problems.’

  Domenica grimaced. She’d just passed on the salient points of her encounter with Angus Keir, which had not included the personal, and contrived to strike her mother dumb.

  It didn’t last long. Barbara reached for her wineglass and said in a wobbly voice, ‘This is amazing. This is sensational! I’m saved! Unless—’ she looked at her elder daughter piercingly ‘—there’s something you haven’t told us!’