In other words, he thought drily, she would make a perfect wife, so did it matter if at times he found her-what he wondered.
A bit too perfect, a bit too suitable? A bit too compliant?
She never really surprised him. He suddenly realised that she never occupied his thoughts when he was away from her. She never annoyed him, not that he was looking for someone to annoy the life out of him, but-the admission caused him to grimace because it didn’t show him in the best light even to himself-in every area other than bed, she bored him, and maybe even there now.
‘Alicia,’ he said suddenly, ‘what would you say if I suggested we took a year off and went to sub-Saharan Africa to work amongst refugees?’
Alicia Hindmarsh turned slowly with her brush in her hand and disconcerted Rafael Sanderson for the first time.
‘If you married me, Rafe, I’d say yes.’ She drew her brush slowly through her fair hair.
You can’t mean that, Alicia, he thought incredulously. You can’t honestly believe I’m serious, anyway! Or are you saying you’re prepared to pay any price to get me to marry you when you know, and I know, you’d be lucky to last a week in that kind of scenario?
‘You mean you’d actually like to do that?’
‘No, I’d probably hate it. There are some people who are good at that kind of thing, I don’t think I’m one of them. But I would like to marry you, Rafe.’
He looked away and could have kicked himself. He might have belatedly discovered she bored him, he might find her mindset incredible, but he wasn’t going to enjoy hurting her.
‘I was only kidding,’ he said.
‘About marrying me, as well?’ she asked, her big blue eyes shadowed.
‘You were the one…’He stopped. ‘Alicia, you’d hate being married to me; I’d make a terrible husband. For one thing I’d never be there.’
‘I wouldn’t mind that. I’d be perfectly happy to take you as you come.’
He took a breath and suddenly found himself on her side, although she might not realise it for what it was.
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘Listen to me, Alicia, don’t take that kind of rubbish from any man.’ He paused and realised he meant every word of it. ‘Don’t marry anyone, in other words, who can’t live without you, whose world doesn’t fall down if he can’t have you because you belong to him and he belongs to you.’
He got out of bed and shrugged into his clothes. ‘That’s what you deserve, nothing less. Don’t sell yourself short.’
He walked over to her and took her hand. ‘Believe me.’
‘Do you think you’ll ever tie the knot, Rafe?’ she asked.
‘I…’ He waved away the question. ‘One day.’
‘Do you know what I hope for you?’
‘What?’
‘You fall for someone you can’t have,’ she said bitterly.
He smiled lopsidedly, and kissed her hand. ‘I know I deserve that. But remember what I said the next time you think you’re in love, please. In fact, ask yourself this-is he good enough for me? If he’s not, give him the flick.’
He walked home with an unpleasant taste in his mouth as a chill dusk settled.
He had no doubt he’d be the worst kind of husband for Alicia Hindmarsh. He’d walk all over her and make her life a misery. So why did he feel…regretful, yes, that was perfectly natural-but was there something else?
He frowned as he strode along the deserted inner-city pavements on a Sunday evening.
Why the hell should he find himself wondering how Maisie Wallis was spending her evening?
Why should he recall the meal they’d shared on the Mary-Lue last night with unexpected pleasure?
CHAPTER FOUR
M AISIE, on that Sunday evening, was making lists of everything she had to do.
Put the house on the market; ditto the boat.
That was going to entail a significant amount of sorting and cleaning, enough to keep her busy for weeks.
Find herself somewhere else to live-if only there was some way she could keep the house, she thought wistfully. But no, she was going to need the money because, apart from anything else, she was shortly going to have to give up her job.
Single mothers might be accepted in other walks of life but not at the strict private school she taught at, she knew.
That didn’t mean to say she couldn’t give private piano lessons and that was what she would do. But it was going to take a while to build up pupils and a reputation.
She would also shortly have to give up her part-time job with the band for obvious reasons. That reminded her, though, that she did have a ball to play at during the week.
But she suddenly pushed her lists away with a sigh and went out onto the veranda. As she leant on the railing and watched the lights in the harbour below, she thought back over the last forty-eight hours and the incredible interlude on the Mary-Lue.
Would she ever hear again from Rafe Sanderson she wondered.
They’d parted company in the marina car park after she’d given him her address and phone number, and received a certain Jack Huston’s mobile number, his PA or something, in return.
He’d got into a sleek silver Ferrari and his last words to her, accompanied by a fleeting smile, had been, ‘Take care of both of you, Maisie Wallis.’
She felt herself grow warm as she remembered the fantasies she’d experienced about the man who was not the father of her baby.
It still amazed her, she realised, to find herself capable of feeling like that about another man. She forced herself to think about it.
Of course, she acknowledged, three and a half months of the growing realisation she’d been abandoned had coloured her feelings towards the man responsible for her pregnancy. To the extent that she had got mad, and she’d even got to the stage of hating him as much as she hated the fact that she’d been so foolish.
But should she hate him entirely? Because she might have found herself rather fiercely and protectively viewing the baby she was carrying as hers, but wasn’t it also always going to remind her of its father?
She sighed deeply as she contemplated the maelstrom of emotions she’d been flung into.
But she was left with two inescapable facts. What man was going to want her with another man’s child?
In other words, she told herself plainly, it was no good even thinking about the real Rafe Sanderson even if he did do the strangest things to her.
The other inescapable fact was that in a little less than six months she’d be responsible for another life and-sad as it was to have happened the way it had-she would have someone to love.
She sniffed as some tears escaped the ban she’d placed on them and rolled down her cheeks. And she acknowledged that it was the one thought that had kept her sane, it was the thought to hold on to, a baby in her arms. It was her lifeline.
Five days later, Jack Huston reported to Rafe Sanderson on the Mairead Wallis situation.
They were in Rafe’s office. It was half the size of a football field but, despite being more suitable for a luxury hotel lounge, it was the nerve centre of Sanderson Minerals and the Dixon pastoralist empire.
His boss was in his shirtsleeves with his tie loosened as he sat back in his chair and listened.
‘She is pregnant-don’t ask me how I got that information! I’m not proud of it.’
‘You might as well tell me,’ Rafe said ruefully.
Jack shrugged. ‘The agency I employed put a tail on her. She happened to go to her doctor. When she came out, the receptionist made an appointment for her to have an ultrasound scan in a fortnight. I’m told this corresponds with her being roughly four months pregnant.’
Rafe half smiled. ‘Go on.’
‘There’s absolutely nothing in her background to suggest she’s a con artist of any kind. She lived with her parents until they died six months ago in an accident. She has a bachelor’s degree in music, she teaches at a school renowned for its strict moral values and she plays back-up pianist in a b
and.’
‘So she told me. What kind of a band are they and has she any particular attachment to any member?’
‘No, they’re all married and it seems to be a respected band, in fact, highly sought-after. She also plays once a week at a church-run retirement home-out of the goodness of her heart-and ditto at dances for a Police Youth Citizen Club.’
Rafe raised an eyebrow. ‘Quite a do-gooder.’
Jack Huston paused. ‘Look, the profile that emerged from people who know her is of a girl who lived a sheltered life with doting parents, a rather straitlaced girl if anything, but at the same time capable of sparkling. Reading all the reports, I formed the opinion she might have been a little unworldly and she might have been particularly vulnerable when it happened. Nor,’ he added, ‘is she destitute, if we’re considering that as a motive for trying to attach herself to you.’
Rafe sat forward and dropped the pen he’d been toying with onto the desk. ‘Go on.’
‘If she sells her parents’ house, which she inherited, she’ll get a fairly tidy sum. It’s old and needs renovation, but the position is excellent.’
Rafe brooded for a moment. ‘So you are of the opinion someone using my name did take her for a ride?’
Jack lifted his shoulders. ‘Yes. She’s, according to all reports, well-liked, the opposite of what you’d call conniving and there’s no evidence she’s promiscuous. And the shock,’ Jack added, ‘of losing her parents was devastating, especially since they hadn’t been in Queensland that long and she doesn’t appear to have any other relatives.’
Jack paused for a moment then continued, ‘Which could have made her particularly vulnerable to, well, whoever.’
‘Yes,’ Rafe mused, ‘whoever. OK, thanks, Jack,’ he added abruptly, ‘you can leave it to me now.’
Jack Huston kept his own counsel as they prepared to move on to other business.
From his father’s side, Rafe Sanderson hadn’t inherited much family at all, so to speak, but the Dixon side of things was another matter.
His mother, Cecelia, had inherited the largest portion of the Dixon empire and she’d bequeathed the bulk of it to her son. That hadn’t been all she’d bequeathed to him, however. She had been the eldest of six children so Rafe had also inherited “head of the clan” status of a large, often turbulent family.
Rafe bore it with equanimity, mostly, although at times he was moved to exasperation. But, as Jack well knew, in times of adversity Rafe closed ranks around the family in the way only the ultra-wealthy could.
And, thinking of the fact that Mairead Wallis had claimed there was some resemblance between the father of her baby and Rafael Sanderson, he knew that that was exactly what was going to happen now. It moved him to a feeling of pity for a girl he’d never met…
Not that he imagined her plight would be completely ignored. Within reasonable limits his boss was a fair and just man, so if her seducer came from within the family he would no doubt make some arrangements for Mairead Wallis. But if she’d ever imagined she was going to be welcomed with open arms into the bosom of the Dixon-Sanderson clan-well, he had grave doubts.
As to who her seducer was, there was a fairly strong family resemblance amongst the Dixons-Rafe himself was said to be almost a carbon copy of his Dixon grandfather-but there were also a lot of them.
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘as for the band, they’re playing tomorrow night at a dinner-dance and I believe Miss Wallis is filling in for the regular pianist, who’s on holiday. Would you like me to…?’
‘What kind of dinner-dance?’
‘A ball really, a very posh black-tie charity “do” at the Cumberland. I believe they’re still selling tickets at-’ he gestured as if to say, no wonder! ‘-two hundred dollars a head.’
‘What have I got on tomorrow night?’ Rafe asked after a moment’s thought.
Jack flipped through his diary. ‘Uh-dinner with the McPherson-Ridges, also black-tie incidentally.’
‘OK, get me a ticket to the Cumberland bash, I’ll go on afterwards.’
‘Just one?’ Jack asked, then could have kicked himself as a cutting grey glance flew his way.
And Rafe Sanderson murmured, ‘That’s what I said.’
But after Jack’s departure, Rafe Sanderson took a couple of minutes to gather his thoughts on Maisie Wallis.
Yes, on what he now knew to be true, perhaps she was the kind of girl who might have got herself into this situation in all innocence-he grimaced-well, got swept off her feet by someone experienced, charismatic and the rest at a time when her world was bleak and grey and lonely.
It happened.
So what was niggling him?
Wouldn’t you have thought she’d be more heartbroken? Or was she more of a pragmatist than getting herself pregnant in this manner seemed to suggest?
The phone on his desk buzzed and he dismissed his thoughts, and picked it up.
Maisie made her preparations for the night’s performance carefully the next afternoon.
She went to the hairdresser. Once home, she ran through Programe C on her piano, dinner music including some light classics then a gradual upping of the beat as the dancing got underway. Jim Wilson’s band was nothing if not versatile and although Maisie’s first musical love was the classics she was perfectly at home with whatever the band chose to play.
Then it was time to dress and, as she checked her reflection in the mirror, she was struck as she often had been before by the fact that few people might recognise this Mairead Wallis from her everyday Maisie Wallis.
“Teased out” might be how her hairdresser described her hair but what she produced was a glorious tangle of windswept curls that looked perfectly natural.
Then there was her make-up, stage make-up designed to enhance her features. Silver eyelids, emerald eye-liner, the strategic use of blusher, deep red lips and carefully darkened eyelashes. She’d taken some lessons when she’d first started performing.
And there was the dress. It was shocking pink, long, it moulded her figure and had a slit up the side. The bodice was encrusted with sequins, it was round-necked and sleeveless. It had also been made for her so, although it had undoubted “look at me” qualities, it was comfortable and solidly constructed.
And it somehow transformed her rather boyish little figure into a delightfully slim, willowy, more feminine outline.
Not, she paused to think, that she wasn’t going to have a distinctly feminine outline shortly. In fact, it was probably lucky she’d lost some weight early on because otherwise she might not have been able to fit into this dress…
Finally, those who thought shocking pink and redheads did not go together always changed their minds when they saw Mairead Wallis wearing it.
‘OK, all in place,’ she murmured to herself, and donned the black velvet cloak her parents had given her. She checked her music one last time and heard the band’s minibus toot. ‘Coming!’
The Cumberland had turned its ballroom into a magic dell in the forest.
The tables were decked in deep rose-pink cloths with cream napkins, with real pink and cream rosebuds as their centrepieces.
There were floral streamers forming a canopy over the ballroom with an exquisite crystal chandelier at the apex of the canopy. There were silk panels against the walls, hand-painted, by the look of it, with birds and trees and butterflies. There were candles on the tables in branched silver holders.
And it was an elegant throng that streamed into the ballroom as the band played softly in the background.
Dinner suits and beautiful gowns were the order of the night. Silks and taffetas shimmered in the candlelight, lace and voile sculpted figures. Diamonds glittered and pearls glowed in gold and platinum settings. Emeralds and rubies and sapphires complemented necklines and wrists, fingers and ears-all set off beautifully against mostly black dinner suits.
‘Who are these people?’ Paul, the guitarist, asked sotto voce.
‘The crème de la crème,’ Jim replied. He played
percussion and was the lead singer. ‘So let’s give ’em a night to remember!’
It was Maisie thought she glimpsed Rafael Sanderson.
Dinner had been cleared away, the speeches made and the band had just played a number that had got the throng dancing their hearts out, then giving the band a breathless but ardent ovation.
Jim raised a hand for Maisie to take a bow along with the band, and she did so, several bows. Just as she was about to sit down again a tall figure with that familiar dark-blond hair caught her eye and she suffered an incredible pang of déjà vu for an instant, followed by an incredulous question-which Rafe Sanderson was it?
‘Maisie?’ Jim breathed.
‘Oh!’ She turned away and sat down hurriedly. ‘Sorry. Uh-where are we?’
‘Here!’ He indicated her sheet music. ‘Take a deep breath; you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
She swallowed. ‘No, I’m fine!’ And she struck a chord that led the band into some classic pop, to the crowd’s further delight.
They packed up at two o’clock, an hour later than they’d planned. As they were leaving the ballroom, she felt a tap on her shoulder and looked up into the eyes of Rafael Sanderson, CEO of Sanderson Minerals.
‘Can I buy you a drink?’ he murmured.
Her throat worked and she closed her eyes briefly. ‘That’s not funny.’
He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘That’s what he said-so it was you,’ she added. ‘I thought for a moment, I wasn’t sure-uh, no, thanks. I-’
‘Perhaps I should have specified an orange juice and no seductive ulterior motives. Come.’
‘Hang on, I was leaving with the band, otherwise I’ll have to take a taxi and it’s late anyway!’
‘I’ll drop you home.’
‘Is-is there any news?’ she asked with her eyes widening.
‘No, but I need to ask you a few more things. It won’t take long.’
From Waif To His Wife Page 5
