by Margaret Way
Christine hadn’t married either, though he hadn’t the slightest doubt her phone kept ringing off the hook. For years he’d secretly followed her career as revealed by the tabloids. Her name had been linked with several highly eligible bachelors on the international scene, including an up-and-coming American actor who apparently featured in some TV soap five afternoons a week.
Strangely enough, the actor wasn’t unlike him. His mother had pointed him out on a magazine cover. The same physical type—tall, blond hair, blue eyes. Was it possible it had struck Christine too in passing? Say, this guy looks a bit like Mitch. Remember Mitch? Your first lover. He would have fought for you. Slaved for you. Died for you. He would have sold the family farm for you. He would have done all of that. He really loved you.
In the end she had taken off. Defection. What she had left behind her was poor old Mitch Claydon with a broken heart.
Across the room his mother gave him a wave, indicating they were about to fly home. His expression, unconsciously taut, softened. He loved his mother. She was a good woman with a brightness about her. These days he did all the piloting. His dad preferred to go along as a passenger.
He and Christine had barely exchanged a word. He’d had more to say to her young cousin Suzanne, who had to be all of sixteen. In the old days he and Christine had thrown their arms around each other, kissing, hugging, even when they’d seen one another the night before. They hadn’t been able to get enough of each other. Then. Loving to spend all their free time together. They’d even had their own fairy tale going. He was to rescue her from the clutches of her wicked grandmother…
Pure wishful thinking! Now so much time had passed. Time and change and pain. Christine was back. How in the world was he going to deal with it?
Christine hoped he wasn’t aware of it, but she’d been watching him endlessly, full of aches and regrets, memories she’d never been able to put out of her mind. Years of separation might have begun yesterday. Mitch still had the same magnetic drawing power that had captured her heart in the first place.
He was hard to miss. Mitch Claydon was a legitimately dashing guy. Golden-boy handsome, compellingly heterosexual. Almost rare in her world, where good-looking male models abounded, scarcely a one of them straight. Mitch would never enter her kind of world. Mitch had grown up accomplishing things, with a wonderfully pleasing and sunny nature. Mitch was a bred-in-the-bone cattleman, from a family with a rich pastoral tradition, a family very much like her own. Except the Claydons didn’t fall into the dysfunctional category. Mitch’s parents were and remained loving partners, committed to their family, openly demonstrative.
After their big break-up, somewhere along the line Mitch had developed an air of total inaccessibility. His gaze told her very plainly, Look, I might have loved you once, but I’ll never let you in again. Even the way he’d greeted her earlier in the day had told the same story. A white smile on his golden-skinned face, eyes sea-blue, sometimes turquoise, depending on his mood, always brilliantly twinkling as if there were stars at their centre, that thick soft golden pelt a woman would die for brushing his collar, but behind the smooth façade a great big sign that said: Back Off!
It made her incredibly unhappy, but she thought she was covering it well. Her model training was the perfect camouflage. She could provide expressions on demand.
In her experience men like Mitch were outside the ordinary. They stood out in life, not simply because of their looks, which were remarkable enough, but because of their aura of self-confidence. In some it almost bordered on arrogance, except it was the arrogance of achievement, of skills beyond the norm. The McQueens and the Claydons had established pastoral empires. Men like Mitch and her brother Kyall made it work. Without them, and men like them, their considerable enterprises would go under, their properties be dispersed.
It had happened with her own father’s family, the Reardons. Such was the McQueen name, and her grandmother’s power, her brother Kyall had actually been christened Kyall Reardon-McQueen, to be universally known as Kyall McQueen by the time he was three years old. And nothing to be done about it! Whereas she, the girl, and therefore not in the running for the top job, was Christine Reardon. Extraordinarily enough, even her father understood Kyall was a McQueen, with all that entailed. She had never heard him snipe about it.
She glanced over at her parents. They were deep in conversation with the Claydons. Her heart quivered as she stared at her father. He had never had an easy time of it. Not with her domineering mother and grandmother. Things had never been good at Wunnamurra, where disharmony prevailed. She often wondered how her parents had come together in the first place, their personalities were so different. Eventually she and Kyall had decided it was more a marriage of suitable families than a love match.
Her grandmother, Ruth, had made everyone uneasy. She hadn’t attempted to disguise her contempt for her granddaughter’s “tawdry career”—and tawdry did enter into it at some points. That couldn’t be denied. Alcohol, drugs, sexual predators—even among the very people there to protect you. Some of her friends in the business found it a battlefield, but she’d always been able to keep her feet firmly planted on the ground. All that mattered was to love and be loved in return. For all her successes she had never achieved that.
Not since Mitch, who had clearly put her behind him.
Love was a beautiful plant. If it wasn’t nurtured it would eventually wither and die. She hadn’t arrived at that point. It seemed Mitch had. She didn’t blame him.
A part of her had never left her Outback home, just as a part of her had always feared to return. Too much stress she didn’t want to handle. Although she thought she had changed a good deal—certainly she had become self-reliant—she knew it mightn’t take long before the old sense of worthlessness began to pervade her. Such was her mother’s and, to a much greater extent, her grandmother’s corrosive effect on her. Now her grandmother had been removed from the scene. Laid to rest. Or she was off some place else, terrorizing people.
A warm cheerful voice spoke as a hand touched her shoulder. “Christine, we’re off! It’s so lovely to see you again, dear.” In a flurry of genuine affection Mitch’s mother, Julanne, a handsome blonde woman with beautiful skin, embraced her. “Please don’t run away too soon. It’s so wonderful to have you home. I’d love it if you could visit us for a few days. There’s so much I want to talk to you about. Please say you’ll spare us a little time?”
Out of the corner of her eye Christine saw Mitch approaching with his familiar dashing, athletic grace. “I don’t know if Mitch would like that, Mrs Claydon.” Her tone was a mix of rueful and very wary. She’d seen the masked hostility spilling out of Mitch’s beautiful light-filled eyes.
“You don’t have to worry about Mitch,” Julanne whispered back, following Christine’s glance. “Deep down you two could never be anything else but friends. I always understood why you went away, my dear.”
“I had to, Mrs Claydon. The simple, unvarnished truth.”
“I know that.” Julanne Claydon appeared to consider her next words with great care. “But things will be easier now, with your grandmother gone. She was a truly extraordinary woman, but she could cause great tension.”
Christine nodded. “She wanted perfection—or her kind of perfection. Sadly for me, I couldn’t deliver. Mum and Gran saw eye to eye on one point. They wanted a doll they could dress up.”
“And what they got was an absolutely beautiful young woman. Inside and out.”
“Thanks for that, Mrs Claydon.” Christine smiled at this very kind, supportive woman who had always been her friend.
“Julanne, please, love. No need to call me Mrs Claydon any more. I watched you grow up.”
“And up!” Christine the supermodel raised her eyes heavenward, such was the drubbing she’d received about her height.
“It’s because of your height and those lovely long limbs you’ve become so famous, dear,” Julanne pointed out. “You must know that.”
> “I do.” On an impulse Christine kissed the older woman’s cheek. “I’ve never forgotten your kindnesses to me.”
“You were very easy to be kind to, Christine,” Julanne responded, remembering how Christine had been virtually ignored while all the love and attention was focused on her brother Kyall. “So you’ll come? I’m starved for some colour and excitement. Think of all the stories you can tell me.”
“Some stranger than fiction,” Christine only half joked. “Well, then, it’s a date—and thank you for always being so nice to me. Give me a little time to sort out an agenda and I’ll let you know.”
“Mitch can come for you,” Julanne suggested, never having given away her dream that some day her son and Christine Reardon would patch up their differences and make a match of it. After all, for many long years they’d been a perfect circle of four. Mitch and Christine. Kyall and Sarah.
“Mitch can do what?” There was challenge, maybe an edge of animosity beneath the silken enquiry.
She steeled herself to turn around, tension showing in every line of her body. Earlier in the day she had known moments of pure exultation when they’d first come face to face. They might never have been parted; her attraction had been running at full throttle and she’d found herself remembering all the wonderful times, the bad times, full of shouting and tears. Now, heart thumping, she looked steadily into the compelling eyes that had haunted her. “Your mother will tell you, Mitch. I fear I don’t dare.” He looked absolutely marvellous to her, even with his bronze brows drawn together.
“That’s not the Christine I knew. She wasn’t scared to say anything.”
It was out in the open. Cold war.
Julanne felt it like a stiff breeze. She took her son’s arm in her cajoling fashion. “Mitch, darling, I’ve asked—no, begged—Christine to visit us while she’s home. There’s so much for us all to catch up on.”
“That’d be great,” Mitch said in a honeyed drawl. “I suppose.”
“You don’t sound too sure?”
He pretended to think a moment. “Of course we’d love to have you, Chrissy. It’s been so very long. But we’ll take no notice of that. I suppose you’re keen to get back to the Big Apple. And that guy—what’s his name?” He made his tone admiring.
“I don’t have a guy,” Christine retorted with determined cheerfulness, recognising the taunt. How could she when the same old feelings for Mitch were smashing through her? Wave after wave of white-water thrills, going deeper and deeper into her body, leaving her feeling shaky and so vulnerable. Mitch had always been good for that. Wonderful, glorious thrills.
Now he smiled affectionately at his mother. “Let’s refresh your memory. What’s his name, Mum? You showed me his picture in some magazine.”
“Oh, sure. I know. Ben Savage,” Christine cut in, before Julanne could answer. “I don’t see Ben any more.”
“That’s sad. What happened?” He faced her, neatly trapping her gaze.
“None of your business, Mitch.”
He gave her a slow smile, dangerous, taunting. “Except there was something familiar about the guy…”
“The first thing that drew me to him was his resemblance to you.”
“Hell, I would have thought it was enough to condemn him!” The tension between them was mounting so quickly it was monstrous, nearly physical, startling them all.
“Ah, Mitch.” Christine gently moaned, she felt so bad. “Ben’s very nice. Just like the character he plays. Warm, caring, comforting.”
His eyes rested compulsively on the small velvety beauty spot high up on her right cheekbone. He’d always loved it. Nothing had changed, however much he wanted it. His heart, for all its loneliness and isolation hadn’t frozen over. “Then why the break-up?” he asked.
“When I figure it out you’ll be the first to know.”
“I’d appreciate that, Chrissy.”
“Listen, children,” Julanne intervened hurriedly, flustered by the frozen sparks, “be nice to each other. You’re friends, not enemies. I’ll leave you to say goodbye. Please be in touch, Christine.”
“I’ll call you,” Christine promised, very nervous now that Julanne had moved away.
Mitch laughed sardonically in his throat. “Some day Mum’s going to wake up to the fact we’re not kids any more. No longer girlfriend and boyfriend heading towards the altar.”
“Mothers do that all the time. Some mothers,” she added, reflecting for a minute on her own. “What about you, Mitch? How have you managed to stay a bachelor?”
“I get offers all the time,” he said flippantly.
“Have you any idea why?”
Even her voice, with its acquired layer of American accent, glittered. Just like the old days whenever he’d rattled her. “Touché!” He gave a short laugh. “I want you to know I’ll reject any offer of yours.”
“You sound like you’re expecting me to make one.”
“Believe me, I’m considered eligible and you’re not getting any younger. Must be about time to have thoughts of settling down, Chrissy. You can’t stay a top model permanently. I make it you’ll be thirty in two years’ time.”
“Did you get my card for your thirtieth?” She’d been in London at the time, for an important shoot.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Stupid me. I must have forgotten to send it.”
“Chrissy, darling, that’s bloody obvious. Hard to believe we were once best friends. I’d say lovers, only I’d bite off my tongue.”
“I haven’t forgotten, Mitch,” she said quietly, her blue eyes finding his.
“Please!” His voice had a contemptuous lilt. “Spare me the long poignant look. I’m Mitch, remember? The poor fool who used to love you? For years I couldn’t seem to stop, but eventually the heart sickens.” He could have kicked himself; it had come out way too bitterly. “I was the one left broken up, Chrissy. I figure you got what you always wanted. To be someone.”
She looked away from his taut, exciting face. The old Mitch had been so sweet, so carefree. “If you feel this bad I shouldn’t visit.”
He responded with a decided edge in his voice. “Listen, Chris, we might hate each other, but Mum loves you, and my mother is very dear to me. If she wants you to visit, I want you to visit. I swear I’ll be on my best behaviour, no matter how great the effort.”
“That might present a few problems.” Even so she knew nothing would stop her.
“A dilemma.” His agreement came swiftly.
“And to think I brought you home a present.” She had searched for something to please him.
“I swear I won’t open it.”
“Then you can burn the damned thing. Really, Mitch, I don’t mind.”
“Such a world of sorrow in a dead love!” he lamented. “Some heroine you were! Remember, I was your knight? I was going to save you from the fire-breathing dragon. Or dragoness. Your grandmother. Well, now she’s gone.”
“Poor Gran,” Christine said. “No one mourns her.”
“That would be kind of silly, wouldn’t it? She hurt so many people.”
“Of course she did.” Even now Mitch didn’t know the whole truth.
“Let’s forget Ruth, even if it is her wake. How long are you staying?”
“I’ve got nothing to hurry back to.” She wasn’t about to tell him her career had palled. Just how many designer outfits could she continue to get in and out of? How many more photographic shoots could she bear? Freezing in summer clothes in the middle of winter! That might get a cruel laugh. The old Mitch had never been cruel.
He just looked at her. “What does that mean?”
“It seems to me I’ve worked long and hard enough to deserve a holiday.” She did her best to sound casual.
“Aren’t you worried they might find a fresh face, in the meantime, a great body to match it?”
“No.” She answered with truth. “To become a top model wasn’t the reason I ran off.”
His expression was downright
scornful. “Chrissy, you amaze me! I distinctly remember your saying that was all you were good for, and it was so patently untrue. It wasn’t just Kyall who shone at school. You did too. Though I know apart from Kyall and your father the rest of your family took no damned notice. You could have been anything you wanted to be. I’d have waited.”
“No, you wouldn’t!”
That burst from her, and she couldn’t call the fiery taunt back. It was her first show of anger, the first indication he was getting to her. By sheer force of will she pulled back.
“You had to have what you wanted,” she said bleakly. “It just so happened you wanted me all gift-wrapped and home-delivered. But I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t breathe. Not in my own home. Not anywhere. I was too stressed out, mentally and emotionally. You didn’t really understand. How could you? You come from a happy, loving family, full of respect and mutual admiration. You were born self-confident, sure of your place in the world. I was pretty well abandoned, just like poor Suzanne. I’ve got to do something for her.”
“Thank God she’s too short to move into the modelling world,” he retorted brutally, out of a kind of bewilderment and grief.
“You didn’t have to say that.”
‘No, I didn’t. I’m sorry. Anyway, you saved me from having a real guilt trip about not being supportive enough.”
“We were too young to get married, Mitch.” She turned her palms up helplessly, her beautiful face imploring.
“I wish my memory of it was that good.” Bitterly he concentrated on her hands, not the powerful seduction of her face. That too was a mistake. He remembered how those long fingers had felt on his skin, the way she’d used them to excite him. “Like a fool, I thought you were as madly in love with me as I was with you. You could have warned me. In those days I must have been a total dolt.”
