From Waif To His Wife

by Lindsay Armstrong

  ‘Maisie!’ Jim called.

  ‘Uh-Jim, it’s OK, I’ve met a-a friend and he’s going to drive me home.’

  But Jim came back to be reassured and Rafe introduced himself.

  ‘Well, I like to keep an eye on her at this time of night but if you’re sure?’

  ‘I’m sure, Jim,’ Maisie said quietly. ‘I probably couldn’t be safer than with-Rafe.’

  They found a quiet corner of the Cumberland’s lounge still serving beverages and he ordered coffee, she ordered hot chocolate.

  ‘Have you been here all night?’ she queried.

  ‘No, I came late.’

  ‘Still, it’s a bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, I knew you were playing here tonight-you’re very good.’

  ‘Thank you. I started piano lessons when I was six. Does that mean you’re checking up on me in some way?’

  He studied her comprehensively, the expert make-up she’d touched up only an hour ago, her hair, her lovely, rather provocative dress-and, with a twist of his lips, remembered the Maisie Wallis he’d fished out of Moreton Bay.

  And he recalled with some astonishment that if it hadn’t been for her hair, he mightn’t have recognised her immediately tonight.

  There was also her command of the piano, he thought, and the sense of rhythm that seemed to flow from her fingertips. That led him to consider her mental make-up. Of course there had to be natural talent but there must have been a lot of dedication and hard work expended to achieve her musical fluency.

  Did she dance with the same fluency? he caught himself wondering out of the blue. And what would it be like to have that lovely little body in his arms, all that vitality under his direction right up close and personal? She’d been nice enough to hold fast asleep…

  He grimaced and conceded that he’d proved one thing in the rather tiresome exercise he’d undertaken tonight. Most men could be forgiven for thinking Mairead Wallis, as opposed to Maisie, was sophisticated and worldly, a girl who might know the score until you got to know her better.

  Then he noticed the faint blue shadows of tiredness beneath her eyes. ‘I suppose so. There is quite a difference between Mairead and Maisie Wallis. But should you still be doing this?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Maisie moved restlessly. ‘There’s going to be even more of a difference shortly.’

  ‘Is that a suggestion that we get down to business?’ he asked wryly.

  Maisie waited as their beverages were served and she took a fortifying sip of hot chocolate. ‘What is it you want to know?’

  ‘I want to know everything he told you.’

  ‘I can’t possibly remember everything,’ she protested.

  ‘Let’s start with anything to do with Karoo or the Dixon family.’

  ‘He never mentioned the Dixon family. I-I’m not sure if he grew up on Karoo Downs, but it sounded as if he spent a lot of time there one way or another, holidays and so on. Did you? Grow up there?’

  ‘No, but I spent a lot of time there one way or another. Could he have worked there?’

  Maisie opened her mouth and closed it. ‘That wasn’t the impression I got, although, now that I come to think of it, there was the odd nuance of…of something…odd, something-I got the feeling there might be something uneasy…’ She broke off and shook her head. ‘I don’t really know what it was.’

  Rafe Sanderson gazed at her for a long moment in a way that was rather unnerving-as if he was looking right through her.

  ‘So you think it could have been someone who worked there who bears you a grudge?’ she asked then with her eyes widening. ‘But-how does that explain the resemblance?’

  He looked away at last. ‘Maybe coincidence. Uh-the wedding you played at, where you first met him…can I have the details?’

  She gave them to him, the date and the venue, then put a hand to her mouth. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘You didn’t realise you were dealing with an impersonator at the time?’ he suggested.

  ‘True,’ she nodded, ‘but now, well, he could be anyone, couldn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, but now you can leave it to me, Maisie,’ he murmured. ‘All right, when you’ve finished your chocolate, I’ll take you home.’ He signalled a waiter and asked for his car to be delivered to the entrance.

  She drank her chocolate then looked around suddenly. ‘Are you on your own?’

  ‘Entirely.’ He stood up.

  ‘Do you usually come to balls alone?’ she asked with a surprised expression.

  ‘No, I usually do not.’ He shrugged and looked bored and irritable for a moment. ‘This was different, just business you could say.’ He held down his hand to her.

  Maisie chose to rise without his assistance, her annoyance showing clearly in the tilt of her chin and that certain glint in her eyes.

  ‘Well, don’t let me delay you any longer, Mr Sanderson,’ she said evenly. ‘I’m quite happy to take a taxi home; in fact, I’d rather.’

  And she drew her velvet cloak around her with a flourish and picked up her music case.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Maisie,’ he drawled. ‘It’s nearly three o’clock in the morning.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not being silly. I’ll ask the concierge to call me one and I’ll only step outside when it arrives. I’ll be perfectly safe.’

  ‘What, exactly,’ he said with exaggerated patience, although he shoved his hands into his pockets less than patiently, ‘are you mad about now?’

  ‘I’ll tell you. You make me feel like a statistic-perhaps I am in one sense, I certainly made my mistakes-but I’m also flesh and blood and I’m dealing with…with life the best way I can. So you can write me off as an irritating, boring bit of “just business”, it’s up to you, but don’t expect me to agree.’

  ‘Who said anything about-?’

  ‘You looked bored and irritated,’ she stated.

  ‘I got stuck at a table that was both and I’d already endured a formal dinner party,’ he answered. ‘It doesn’t usually happen to me and I probably should have sent Jack Huston along to check out Mairead Wallis-I didn’t for some reason. But you, as a matter of fact, were neither boring nor irritating.’

  Maisie started to speak several times but she’d effectively had the ground cut away from her feet.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he added.

  The Ferrari was waiting for them.

  They said little on the way home and he got out and escorted her to her door.

  When she’d turned some lights on, he said, ‘Take care again. I’ll be in touch.’

  She said nothing, but she watched him stride down the path, so tall and devastatingly attractive in his dinner suit.

  Then she whirled herself inside, closed the door and leant back against it with her heart banging in her breast.

  What had he meant? Nothing, probably. Well, as a musician, she was neither boring nor irritating-that must have been it. Unless-no, Maisie, she chided herself, you’ve been down this path before, no…

  She got a call from Rafe on Sunday morning, asking her to meet him at his apartment.

  ‘I do have some news this time,’ he said. ‘Can you make it at ten o’clock?’

  She started to say yes then changed her mind and told him she had a standing date on Sunday mornings to play the piano at their happy hour for a retirement home. But, she said, she could meet him at twelve-thirty.

  He agreed.

  At twelve forty-five, Maisie buzzed his riverside apartment.

  As always, her retirees had loved her Sunday happy-hour session, and as always she came away with little gifts-she had a whole collection of crochet-covered hangers and soaps and embroidered, sweet-smelling herb sachets.

  She left those in her car, but carried his sister Sonia’s clothes, all carefully laundered, in a holdall.

  This time it was Rafe who answered the buzzer and he directed her to the penthouse suite.

  As the lift bore her upwards, she did a couple of mental checks. No loss of tem
per was even to be entertained.

  Neither was any insidious response to Rafe Sanderson’s dynamic masculinity or any crazy little flutters of hope.

  She stepped out right into the penthouse and took an unexpected breath. The panorama that met her eyes was breath-taking. A wide blue sky, the city and the Brisbane River wending its way around leafy Kangaroo Point and beneath the Storey Bridge.

  There was a sumptuous coral-pink lounge suite that dominated the room. The walls were a darker coral and the carpet was cream. More lovely New Guinea rosewood featured in cabinets and occasional tables and some eye-catching art hung on the walls.

  ‘Maisie,’ Rafe greeted her as he rose from a settee.

  But he frowned faintly because it was Mairead who’d come when he’d been expecting Maisie Wallis.

  She wore a suede, amber, tulip-shaped skirt and a figure-hugging cinnamon long-sleeved knit top. Her hair was teased out and gold hoop earrings glinted through it. Her make-up was lighter than it had been a few nights ago, but subtly emphasised her eyes, the shape of her face and her mouth.

  Her legs took on a new meaning in pale tights and high, slingback cream shoes. They were slender and lovely.

  And he found himself wondering what exotic underwear she was wearing today…

  ‘I ordered us lunch,’ he added, belatedly as well as abruptly, and pointed to a table set for two outside on the terrace.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly-truth be told, despite her mental checks and amazingly, after only a couple of days of his absence, it was a bit like a kick in the stomach to be in his presence again.

  He wore light grey trousers and a black polo shirt. His belt was black leather, so were his shoes. He was shaved, she thought she detected a faint lemony cologne, and groomed-he looked every inch the powerful multimillionaire he was, and for some reason it struck a cold little chime in her heart.

  Because she suddenly suspected she would cherish the memories of the other Rafe Sanderson she’d met. Not the first one but the wet one, the unshaven one, the grease-stained one, the man with a body to die for.

  But not only that, something in his manner gave rise to a premonition this might be the last time they’d meet.

  She turned that set of thoughts off with a mental click and held out the holdall to him. ‘Your sister’s clothes. I’ve washed them.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He gestured for her to proceed him onto the balcony.

  She stepped through and sat down, unfurling a beige napkin.

  He took the lid off a porcelain serving dish and revealed a creamy pasta dish with herbs, prawns and asparagus tips.

  Maisie drew a deep breath and Rafe smiled. ‘I’m with you-it smells delicious.’

  But, as he dished up the pasta and sat down, his face settled into unreadable lines and once again she had the feeling they’d got onto a new, rather chilling footing.

  Maisie picked up her fork and he said, ‘Our quarry, the man who might have been impersonating me, could be found in Tonga. So I’ve made arrangements to fly out tomorrow.’

  Her fork clattered to the table and her eyes nearly stood out on stalks. ‘You believe me now! But-Tonga!’

  ‘The proud Kingdom of Tonga, yes. Situated in the South Pacific just west of the international dateline.’

  Maisie picked up her fork. ‘What’s he doing there?’

  He ate for a moment then sat back. ‘That remains to be seen.’

  ‘Well, who is he? And how do you know about him?’

  Rafe hesitated. ‘That’s classified information at the moment.’

  Maisie stared at him with her lips parted. ‘Hang on, this could be the father of my baby! You can’t keep that as classified information from me!’

  He smiled drily. ‘Actually, I can until I’ve verified things, but rest assured, if this is the guy, I’ll make the appropriate decisions on your behalf. In other words, Maisie, you can leave it up to me now.’

  Maisie fought a pitched, private battle with herself and, for once in her life, won it. To contradict him angrily was not the way to go, not with this businesslike man who looked almost frighteningly capable of getting his own way.

  Anyway, if she lost the battle she’d be left with no clues as to what this actually signified, this disengagement, but she had the strong feeling it meant something that might not be beneficial to her…

  ‘Well, that’s a relief,’ she said. ‘So-how will you get to Tonga?’

  ‘The company jet.’

  She made a face. ‘How does a normal person get to Tonga?’

  His eyes rested on her face in a rather narrowed, probing way then he said, ‘From Brisbane you have to fly via Nadi in Fiji or via Sydney. There aren’t daily flights, so it can be a time-consuming business.’

  ‘I’ve always thought it sounded rather fascinating-lucky you! It’s a bit surprising, though, that you’ve got the time to do this.’ She said it rather whimsically but in fact her mind was racing.

  ‘I’ll be able to combine it with some business. I’ve been there several times before. In fact, I’ve sailed the Mary-Lue there, to the Vava’u group of islands. They have the finest natural harbour in the South Pacific.’

  ‘How wonderful,’ she enthused. ‘Tell me about it.’

  So he did as they finished their lunch. About the marvellous volcanic and coral isles of Vava’u, about Tongatapu, the main island of Tonga and Nuku’alofa, the capital. About the pigs that wandered freely and the people who still often wore traditional garb-a woven palm mat tied round their middle over their clothes, and the choir singing in the local churches that was awesome. And above all the warmth of the local people.

  ‘I’m green with envy,’ she said. ‘So, I suppose there’s nothing more for me to do at the moment, but you will get in touch when you get back, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  She put her napkin on the table then appeared to be struck by another thought. ‘How will I be able to get in touch with you in case I need to?’

  ‘You won’t need to while I’m in Tonga,’ he said definitely.

  ‘No, I suppose not. But when you get back?’

  ‘Use the number I gave you, Jack Huston’s, but I promise you I’ll be in touch.’

  At that moment his own mobile rang and he pulled it out of his pocket, excused himself and got up to walk to the veranda railing.

  ‘Yes, Jack,’ he said into it. ‘Have you got the flight plan? OK. Book me into The Tongan Beach Resort for two nights-Tuesday, Wednesday, I’ll handle things from there. See you.’ He disconnected and turned back to her. ‘Well, Maisie, I’m sorry to end our lunch a bit abruptly but I have another appointment shortly.’

  Maisie controlled her emotions brilliantly. She allowed none of her Oh, no you don’t, Rafael Sanderson! emotions to show.

  She stood up and said casually, ‘Well, thanks for lunch. Don’t forget I’m relying on you to sort this out! Oh, and enjoy Tonga.’

  He didn’t respond immediately because for one instant, as he watched her, so pretty in her smart outfit but a different sort of girl and plucky with it, he was tempted to spurn his advice to himself.

  He knew he should forget the memory of her cuddled against him so sweet and trusting and lovely. Forget her poised, unusually attractive Mairead persona and the odd little thought that came with it-she could take her place anywhere.

  Forget the fact that she was never boring to be with…

  Because he could only further complicate her already complicated life.

  And if that doesn’t work, he advised himself drily, remember she is carrying another man’s baby…

  Not to mention the complications of who the bastard going round impersonating him could be, which was another good reason to take this tack.

  ‘My pleasure,’ he murmured, and started to walk her towards the lift. ‘I know I’ve said this before but look after yourself-and I mean properly,’ he added.

  Was she imagining it, she wondered, or was there an air of finality
to those words?

  No, she decided, she wasn’t imagining it.

  The lift arrived and she stepped in and waved at him, quite sure he never intended to deal with her in person again, never to know that she had other ideas.

  She went straight home and got on to her computer. While she was waiting for websites to load, she realised she was still magnificently angry, not only because she refused to be brushed aside like this, but also because she wasn’t a fool.

  It had become as clear as crystal to her that Rafe Sanderson knew the man who’d taken such advantage of her and could well have decided to protect him.

  How he knew had also become clear the more she thought about it. He must have somehow got the guest list from the wedding she’d been playing at, but, while it would have meant nothing to her, one of those names on it must have meant something to him.

  Take it a step further and recall the resemblance between the two men and it could only mean they were related…

  There could be no other reason for keeping that name from her as classified information. No other reason for a man to take three days out of his busy schedule to track someone down in the wilds of the South Pacific.

  Her eyes widened as she brought up The Tongan Beach Resort-it was on Vava’u. Bingo, she thought. But how to get to the fabulous group of islands without it taking for ever or breaking the bank?

  She was almost cross-eyed when she came up with a flight from Brisbane to Fiji that connected reasonably with a direct flight, a new service, to Vava’u.

  She sighed with relief, goggled a bit at the price, but she had started a holiday fund and could pay the balance in instalments on her credit card-she just hadn’t anticipated going to Tonga, but the more she saw of it, the more enchanted she was.

  She made the booking that would see her arrive in Vava’u the following evening. Then she scrolled through the accommodation options and found the Backpacker’s Hostel in Neiafu, the capital of Vava’u. It wasn’t possible to book online immediately, she discovered, but at least she knew of the existence of cheap accommodation.

  Finally she sat back and felt some of her anger drain away and some consternation seep in, in its place. Had she let her temper run away with her?

  She shrugged. She was as much, if not more entitled to find out who had been impersonating Rafe Sanderson; that was what it boiled down to and no one could tell her any different.