‘Why not?’ he mused gently. ‘We both probably need a good night’s sleep.’
Ellie set her lips at the innuendo—that she had spent as uncomfortable a night as he had—and decided to counter it. ‘I certainly do.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s my market morning tomorrow so I have to be up at the crack of dawn.’ And she strolled away to her bedroom.
She’d always loved a market atmosphere, and to have her own stall amidst the bustle was an extra pleasure.
There were a myriad products for sale: clothes, fresh produce, pot plants, cut flowers, art and craft work, homemade jams, chutneys and preserves, biscuits and cakes—but only one kite stall. And she’d recently ac-quired a folding canopy so she and her kites were pro-tected from the elements. She also had two folding chairs and a picnic hamper. In fact, during a lull, she was pouring herself a cool drink from a Thermos flask when Chantal strolled past, did a double take, and came back.
‘Ellie!’
Ellie looked up, and froze for a moment. ‘Hi!’ she said belatedly. And added, because she felt guilty on several fronts in regard to Chantal Jones, ‘Have you got time for a cold drink?’
‘Sure do!’ Chantal plonked herself down in the other chair, removed the picture hat she wore with very short, tight shorts and a bikini top, and fanned herself with it. ‘It gets bloody hot in this part of the world!’
Ellie delved into the basket and produced another plastic glass. ‘Here you go. Very cold, home-made lem-onade. Chantal…’ she paused and sat down herself ‘…I hope you don’t hate me?’
Chantal studied her glass, then raised her remarkable violet eyes. ‘I thought about it,’ she said slowly, and Ellie held her breath. Then the other girl giggled suddenly and went on, ‘Do you have any idea how persis-tent Dan Dawson can be?’
Ellie grimaced. ‘I’m afraid I told him to be…well, I actually told him to be persistent but not too obvious,’ she confessed.
‘That explains why I’m here—’ Chantal looked around ruefully ‘—at a market.’
Ellie’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You’re here with Dan? At his suggestion?’
‘Yep! Nice, clean, not too obvious fun, I guess. Although we are going to South Bank for lunch.’
Ellie’s lips quivered, although she still looked a bit mystified. ‘But he knows I have a stall here—and where is he?’
Chantal waved a hand. ‘There’s a toy-train exhibition over there. He was entranced so I left him to it—told him I’d wander around on my own for a bit. And he obviously doesn’t mind the thought of me bumping into you—men are really weird sometimes.’
Their gazes locked.
‘What did Brett tell you about us?’ Ellie asked nervously.
Chantal continued to study her. ‘He told me he was going to marry you come hell or high water, Ellie,’ she said at last.
Ellie’s mouth dropped open.
Chantal frowned. ‘You didn’t know?’
Ellie looked confused. ‘I know now—I mean, not the come hell or high water bit, although I’ve started to sus-pect it lately—but, for Simon’s sake, he’s decided it’s a good idea.’
‘And for your sake?’
Ellie dropped her gaze from the acute little query in Chantal’s eyes and sipped some lemonade.
‘How long have you been in love with him?’
Chantal’s words hung in the air.
‘From the day he rescued me beside a parking meter eleven years ago,’ Ellie said barely audibly and closed her eyes briefly. ‘That is so unbelievable,’ she added.
‘Why?’
Ellie hesitated. ‘I told you about Tom? Well, he’d barely gone from me, it was only a few months so it makes me feel…terrible.’
Chantal sat forward. ‘Honey, these things happen.’ She grimaced. ‘If it’s any consolation, I was coming home to get engaged to a guy when I happened to sit next to Brett Spencer on a plane. Next minute,’ she said dryly, ‘I’ve forgotten all about that guy.’
Ellie had to smile, although faintly. And she said, ‘I know you’re trying to help but that makes it worse, not better. I feel as if I’ve joined a club.’
‘Oh, eleven years puts you into a category of your own, Ellie,’ Chantal assured her, and paused thoughtfully. ‘But, for all that I sometimes go over the top there’s one thing I hold very dear.’
Ellie looked at her questioningly.
‘In relation to men especially—my self-esteem.’
Ellie glanced up and down the gorgeous length of Chantal Jones. ‘You…you have the firepower to be able to do that,’ she suggested.
‘Don’t you believe it. If I let myself, I could be just as vulnerable as the next girl, if not more so. I don’t. If I make a mistake, I pick myself up and start all over again. What I’m trying to say is, don’t feel guilty because you fell in love with another man when you thought you shouldn’t. If that’s what’s colouring your feelings for Brett, a lack of self-esteem because of that, throw it out of the window with the bath water because it happens, is all.’
Ellie opened her mouth to deny the charge but she paused suddenly, and frowned.
‘I thought so,’ Chantal murmured.
‘It’s not the only reason,’ Ellie said slowly.
‘Maybe not but it’s a start. What else is there?’
‘He…seems so certain he can make me deliriously happy!’
They looked at each other, and started to laugh together.
‘All right,’ Ellie said, ‘maybe he can. I don’t know if I can do the same for him.’
‘What’s that got to do with the price of eggs?’ Chantal asked.
Ellie stared at her.
‘If you don’t, you don’t—so you pick yourself up and move on.’
‘There’s Simon, though.’
‘Kids live through it all the time. And correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think Brett Spencer is one to fool around lightly with a kid’s well-being and happiness.’
‘Are you suggesting I marry him?’ Ellie asked bluntly.
Chantal waved her hat. ‘I did my best—worst, maybe,’ she said wryly, ‘and now it’s time to move on, if that’s what you mean.’
‘With…Dan, perhaps?’
Chantal shrugged. ‘Who knows?’ She looked around. ‘I guess no one could have dragged me to a market if I wasn’t just a touch intrigued.’
Ellie gave a genuine smile.
‘But I’ll tell you something else, Ellie,’ Chantal commented. ‘If it’s not your money they’re after, men marry for a variety of reasons—sex, sex and sex. If you get that right, you’re in with a heck of a chance.’ She stood up. ‘But if there’s one thing Brett Spencer taught me—they still like to be the hunters rather than the hunted.’
Ellie stood up herself, laughing. ‘I’ll remember your words of wisdom. It’s been a pleasure knowing you, Chantal—I hope we meet again!’
‘Sell many kites today?’ Brett asked when she got home.
He was lazing beside the pool in a pair of colourful board shorts with the Sunday papers spread haphazardly around him and weighted down with stones from the rockery.
‘Four. An average day. How’s your finger?’
He looked at her gravely. ‘Improving. Why don’t you have a dip yourself? You look a little hot and bothered.’
‘Yeah, I think I will when I’ve unloaded the car. Where’s Simon?’
‘He and Martie Webster have gone with Martie’s father to watch some trail bike trials up Mount Coot-Tha. I didn’t think you’d mind so I gave my permission on your behalf.’
Ellie pulled a face.
‘You do mind?’
‘No! I just hope Simon doesn’t put in an order for a trail bike, that’s all.’
Brett laughed and levered himself off the lounger. ‘I’ll give you a hand with your stuff. I’ve never said that literally before.’ He looked at his immobilized hand wryly.
‘I can manage, don’t worry. You relax,’ she said and turned away.
‘But I do worry, Ellie,�
� he said slowly. ‘You take so much on yourself.’
‘Well, I guess I’m used to it,’ she replied prosaically, and turned to back to him suddenly. ‘You seem to be in a much better mood!’
He looked quizzical. ‘That’s one of my good points. I may not be all lightness and joy at times but I don’t sulk.’
‘I’m glad to hear it!’ She chuckled.
And, companionably, they unloaded her car. Then she changed into her scarlet one-piece swimsuit, had a dip and came out to find he’d prepared a couple of Margaritas for them.
‘This is decadent,’ she proclaimed as she dried herself and sank down into a lounger.
‘But a nice way to spend a Sunday afternoon?’ he suggested.
‘Mmm.’
‘I was thinking,’ he said after a while.
Ellie tensed.
But he surprised her. ‘This coming Tuesday is the first Tuesday in November.’
‘Melbourne Cup day?’
‘The race that stops the nation,’ he agreed. ‘I have tickets.’
‘So?’
‘Could you get a few days off?’
She sat up and regarded him askance. ‘You mean—go to the Melbourne Cup with you?’
‘Ellie—’ he grinned ‘—what’s so impossible about that? It’s not the moon.’
‘It is about a thousand miles away!’
‘Two hours by plane—I’m not suggesting we drive or hitchhike or—’
‘Why me, Brett?’ she broke in firmly and with an ‘I’m standing no nonsense’ look.
‘Why not?’
She floundered for a moment. Then, ‘It costs money to fly about the place on a whim!’
‘It won’t cost you a thing and, before you get your knickers in a knot,’ he stressed, ‘I won’t be paying either.’
‘How come? I don’t understand.’ She frowned.
‘The company I have some shares in is a sponsor and they’re providing it, but I also happen to be a member of the VRC—the Victoria Racing Club.’
‘What on earth for? You don’t seem to be a racing type—you’ve hardly been home for so many years!’
‘My mother passed it down to me. Her family came from Melbourne. There is actually a house down there that she also passed down to me. At Portsea. On the Mornington Peninsula. It’s been leased out for years but the lease has expired and I’d like to have a look at it before I decide whether to sell it or keep it. I also have some other business down there so I could kill several birds with one stone.’
He looked into the distance for a while, then back at her, and remarked gravely, ‘I’m so glad you didn’t fall back on the “nothing to wear” excuse. That’s terribly unoriginal.’
Ellie shut her mouth with a click. ‘The only reason for that is because I haven’t had time to consider that angle. Brett, no, thank you very much, but—’
‘We’d be flying down very early on Tuesday morning, Ellie. We’d spend Tuesday night at the Sofitel after the Cup, you’d have your own room. We’d go down to Mornington on Wednesday and you could fly home on Thursday morning—I might have to stay on until Saturday.’
‘Apart from anything else,’ Ellie said with exaggerated patience, ‘I’m just not in a position to go flying off at a moment’s notice.’
‘The Websters are fine to have Simon. Simon is fine about staying with them and feels the break will do you good.’
‘You…you…’ But she was essentially speechless.
‘And, by my reckoning, all the extra work you did while Simon was away at camp should earn you a few days off,’ he continued placidly.
Then something sharpened in his grey eyes. ‘But, let’s be honest. We seem to have reached a stalemate, you and I.’ He looked around. ‘It may be partly due to this environment. Perhaps things will clarify themselves in a different setting.’
Ellie reached for her Margarita and took a decent sip. Was it a threat? she wondered. Or—it made sense. They couldn’t go on the way they were. But what kind of pressure could he exert on her on a trip to the Melbourne Cup? It was—she shook her head—a bizarre suggestion, really.
‘You don’t think this is an attempt to seduce you, Ellie?’ he queried softly.
She gazed at him over the salty rim of her glass and decided to be honest in return. ‘It did just occur to me, yes.’
‘So I gathered.’
A fleeting smile tugged at her lips. ‘You must admit it’s an odd way to break a deadlock.’
‘Difficult circumstances often require unusual solutions.’ He looked at her steadily. ‘Or would you really prefer to slug it out here?’
She shivered suddenly and not because she was cold. ‘Brett, if I say no after we’ve taken a rather pointless jaunt to the Melbourne Cup, will you accept it?’
‘Yes. But it won’t be pointless, Ellie, believe me.’
Simon sat on the end of her bed the next evening while she packed, and offered helpful suggestions.
‘What are you going to do about a hat?’ he asked. ‘You can’t go to the Melbourne Cup without a hat. It’s unheard of.’
‘It probably isn’t, you know.’
‘Still, you are my mum so it’s only natural for me to want you to look your best.’ He gazed at her seriously.
‘Then just to put your mind at rest, kid—da-da!’ She pulled the lid off a box that had been sitting unnoticed on a chair, exposing a supremely chic pale green hat with a wide wavy brim and a green and white silk trim gathered around the base of the crown and tied in a stylish bow at the back.
‘Wow!’ Simon’s eyes widened.
‘There’s more,’ Ellie warned, and she reached into her wardrobe to produce a slim linen dress that exactly matched the hat and a very elegant pair of white high-heeled sandals.
Simon clapped his hands and asked her to model the outfit for him. She did so, taking care to position the hat carefully.
‘There.’ She turned back from the mirror and stood regally in the middle of the room. ‘A mum to be proud of, you reckon?’
Simon jumped off the bed. ‘You bet!’ He hugged her carefully. ‘I’m sure Brett will be proud of you too.’
Ellie grimaced and took the hat off. ‘That’s the computer fund and a little bit of the kite fund gone—oh, well.’
‘It’s all in a good cause,’ Simon assured her.
She hesitated. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You need a break and a bit of fun! Now don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine at Martie’s—we’re going to work on the kennel with Martie’s dad. Martie is green with envy, by the way!’
Ellie smiled a bit mechanically but Simon didn’t notice.
And she tossed and turned a bit before she fell asleep later that evening because it all seemed to come back to one thing—how was she ever going to tear Simon away?
But a vision of Chantal swam into her mind—and her advice ran through Ellie’s mind. She grinned to herself as she remembered the more outrageous bits of it. Then she sat up suddenly at the question of self-esteem Chantal had raised. Did she lack self-esteem with regard to Brett? Was that as much the core of her problem as anything else?
She lay back and thought dryly that circumstance had had a lot to do with that, but she’d always been aware of it. How much had her perceived defection from Tom to Brett Spencer poisoned her confidence in herself as a woman, though, she wondered, and her ability to make choices? She certainly didn’t have a good record in that line.
Then it occurred to her that perhaps the one lesson she could learn from Chantal was, if a man let you down, you picked yourself up and moved on. And she fell asleep thinking of going to the Melbourne Cup…
Since they were going straight to Flemington racecourse by helicopter from Tullamarie airport, Ellie dressed for the races before she left home, although she carried her hat. She also carried a raincoat because the Melbourne weather was notoriously fickle and renowned for producing all four seasons in one day.
But it was a beautiful day as they stepped onto the
hallowed turf of Flemington, the roses were glorious, the crowd already huge and the buzz of excitement in the air was incredible—and infectious. Ellie started to feel excited herself and very pleased she’d splurged on a new outfit and hat as they were ushered into the members’ stand.
Not only on her own account was she pleased—Brett was looking particularly distinguished in a blue suit, a crisp white cotton shirt and the club tie. His bruised finger was the only finger now bandaged and encased in a leather finger-guard. He had also commented flatteringly on her outfit. And he was an attentive companion. But something else came home to Ellie during the afternoon. He’d always played his background down and, while she knew it was wealthy, she hadn’t realized the extent of it or how influential it was.
Now, she couldn’t doubt it as many obviously wealthy and influential people greeted him delightedly, people who hadn’t seen him for five years but remembered him well.
However, all of these impressions sank beneath the sheer excitement of the races; the august privileges of being in the members’ stand such as being able to get into the mounting yard to watch the horses parade; to actually touch and smell the roses that lined it and the corridor that led to the track. And she partook of a champagne lunch as the tension in the air grew and finally it was time for the big race.
She made her selection, backed the horse she liked and they climbed up into the stand to watch the pre-Melbourne Cup festivities. Against the background of the city of Melbourne, there were skydivers who landed on the track, there was a pipe band that paraded up and down the track; there were the weird hats and outfits amongst the huge—over a hundred thousand people—hugely good-humoured crowd. And finally, the horses.
‘Oh, I’m so excited!’ She bounced up and down in her chair. ‘What have you backed?’
He looked at her wryly. ‘I’ve never seen you like this, Ellie. Uh—’ He told her which horse he’d backed.
‘Very wise,’ she commented.
‘You know something I don’t?’
‘Not a thing!’
‘So?’
‘I backed it too, for the princely sum of five dollars—because I like the name.’ She bestowed a beatific smile on him. ‘Brett,’ she said on a sudden thought, ‘talking horses, are you going to get back into polo?’
Convenient Brides Page 47
