From Waif To His Wife

by Lindsay Armstrong

  But how did the real Rafe Sanderson fit into it all? For her?

  ‘An impossible dream,’ she answered herself quietly, ‘but it’s shattered now, anyway.’

  Yes, she couldn’t deny the attraction that had sprung up for her, so surprisingly, out of a heart that she’d thought had been turned to stone and at the last time in her life that it should have happened to her.

  Perhaps it had started life as a slender shoot brought to life by the fact that he’d made her feel safe and not only in his arms after rescuing her?

  Perhaps it was compounded by the fact that he was the only person, apart from her doctor, who knew?

  At least someone, she thought, had taken into account the vagaries of pregnancy and made her feel looked after, however briefly. He’d also divined how she felt about this baby…

  Was it only natural she’d felt something for him?

  On the other hand she knew so little about him, it was wildly insane even to think of him in any other terms than as a man who had briefly been kind to her.

  And now she was angry with him. Now she didn’t know how far she could trust him. Who was to say, for example, his impersonator wasn’t a married man? If so, and he was family, he would have all the resources at Rafe Sanderson’s disposal-and she had no doubt they were formidable-close ranks around him.

  Would she even get a name?

  She pulled a tissue from the box on the desk and blew her nose.

  But the thing is, Maisie, she told herself, that’s not the point.

  The point is-there are several.

  No man, least of all Rafe Sanderson who could have anyone, is going to want you, pregnant with another man’s child. Why do I have to keep reminding you of that? she asked herself with a touch of impatience.

  But the most important point of all is that you have to stop bobbing around like a cork, emotionally and in every other sense. You have to set goals and if you firmly believe a child deserves to know who its father is, this is the way to go.

  She packed carefully that night.

  She was an organised traveller and used to travelling light.

  Then she looked through her small jewellery bag and took out her mother’s gold signet ring. It was like a lucky charm for her and she always wore it when she was away, sometimes on her left hand, where, when it was turned under, it looked like a wedding band. It had proved handy on several occasions to protect her from men on the prowl.

  For some reason, she put it straight onto her left hand for her trip to Tonga…

  CHAPTER FIVE

  M AISIE noticed the sleek, fast-looking jet on the tarmac as she disembarked a little stiffly from her flight at Lupepau’u Airport on the main island of the Vava’u group.

  But the light had faded and anyway, all it bore was a logo she didn’t recognise. Nor was she expecting to encounter Rafe Sanderson until the following day. She was unaware that he’d amended his booking at The Tongan Beach Resort to include that night, Monday.

  Therefore, she nearly died of fright when a hand descended onto her shoulder and a familiar voice said her name incredulously and swore audibly.

  She turned and there he was, as tall and as impressive as he’d ever been, from his thick short hair, a yellow T-shirt and khaki trousers down to his boots. As lean and strong and beautiful as ever, but-she went pale at the blaze of fury in Rafe Sanderson’s grey eyes as he scanned her from head to toe.

  He registered her jeans and boots, her denim jacket over a pink blouse, her hair tied back into a pony-tail but escaping it. He scanned the backpack on a frame she’d collected from the luggage area and her shoulder bag.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he growled.

  ‘I…I,’ she stammered and swallowed. ‘I have just as much right to be here as you do.’

  ‘I told you I would deal with this,’ he ground out.

  She stiffened. ‘It’s how you intend to deal with it that bothers me-Oh!’ She realised there was a gap in the queue in front of her and she moved forward.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he shot at her as she turned back to him.

  ‘I mean I formed the distinct impression that you may know the man who fathered my baby and may even be going to protect him somehow!’

  He didn’t precisely deny it. His eyes narrowed as he said tersely, ‘What gave you that idea?’

  ‘I wasn’t born yesterday!’ She tossed her head proudly as her eyes glinted angrily. ‘Furthermore, I can’t be shoved aside while you-close ranks.’

  ‘If you’ve quite finished?’ he queried smoothly.

  ‘Actually, I could think of a lot more to say, but this isn’t the time or place.’ She tilted her chin at him.

  He half smiled. ‘In the meantime, it’s your turn.’ He gestured.

  She blinked then clicked her tongue exasperatedly to see she’d reached the Customs officer who was waiting for her.

  She heaved her backpack onto the counter and handed in her entry card, upon which she’d clearly documented the fact that she had nothing to declare.

  The customs officer politely enquired if he might check?

  Maisie agreed and had to suffer a full check of her baggage that displayed her personal items, including a green bra and knickers with frangipanis on them, to public view.

  She refused to look at Rafe Sanderson, standing right beside her, but a tinge of pink entered her cheeks.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, once she was waved through and was repacking her bag, Rafe sailed through his own encounter with Customs without getting his bags inspected-he was even greeted like a long-lost friend.

  This caused her to mutter irritably beneath her breath, and caused him to laugh softly.

  ‘If you could see your face, Maisie. Here, allow me.’

  Her backpack had wheels and she was perfectly capable of handling it, but she only just restrained herself from indulging in a small, undignified battle for control of it as he took it over.

  ‘I’m staying at the Backpacker’s Hostel,’ she said definitely, however, ‘and I’ll make my own way there.’

  ‘Have you booked?’

  ‘No, but-’

  ‘You may stay where you like,’ he countered, ‘but I have a car and a driver organised, and, since we’ll be passing the place, you might as well come with me.’

  At that moment, a beaming Tongan bearing a placard with the name Sanderson printed on it approached and introduced himself as Rafe’s driver.

  ‘Welcome back, Rafe!’ he enthused and his eyes fell on Maisie and went unerringly to her left hand, where her mother’s signet ring had slipped round so only the gold band was showing.

  Rafe followed his glance. He hadn’t noticed the ring before, and he raised his eyebrows.

  But the driver did more. He came to an entirely wrong conclusion. ‘Could this be Mrs Sanderson?’ he enquired joyfully. ‘Welcome, ma’am-oh, this is a real pleasure. I’m James.’ He held out his hand.

  ‘First names are important to Tongans,’ Rafe murmured audibly only to Maisie.

  ‘I-I,’ Maisie stammered, taking the hand, ‘I’m Maisie, James; lovely to meet you, but-’

  ‘Well, let’s get this show on the road,’ James overrode her. ‘My car awaits you. This way!’ And he turned away, taking Maisie’s bag from Rafe.

  ‘Do something!’ Maisie urged Rafe.

  ‘James,’ Rafe said and paused. ‘Incidentally, James, what’s the accommodation situation on Vava’u like at the moment?’

  James turned back. ‘Thanks to this new direct connection from Fiji and a wonderful whale season, I do believe we’re booked out. I know the Backpacker’s Hostel is full to overflowing, all the accommodation in Neiafu is pretty much the same, and most of the islands! Just as well you have a reservation, Rafe and Maisie!’

  The trip into Neiafu was tense-for Maisie.

  She’d climbed into the backseat of James’ car, expecting Rafe to follow her, but he closed her door courteously and got into the front, where he and James started to ch
at.

  As they drove through the darkened, mostly unpopulated landscape, her mind seethed. How was she going to get herself out of this? Just come out and tell James he’d made a mistake?

  But although she opened her mouth to do it a couple of times, something held her back. What if there was no accommodation available?

  She swallowed. She might be a seasoned traveller, but the prospect of finding a beach or a bench in a completely strange country she hadn’t seen in the daylight was not a pleasant one.

  Then they rolled into Neiafu. As they drove through at a sedate forty kilometers per hour, she could see the No Vacancy signs sprinkled through the little town. In fact, the first one she saw was on the Adventure Backpacker’s Hostel board.

  She sat back and bit her lip. Then she tuned into Rafe’s conversation with James. James was explaining that Tongan Beach Resort had come under new management recently but it was still a fine establishment, and Rafe would recognise many of the staff.

  ‘And this news,’ he added and turned briefly to Maisie, ‘will bring them much joy!’

  Maisie sat back under the sensation of feeling totally sandbagged.

  ‘At least it’s got single beds.’

  Maisie stood in the middle of the room they’d been allotted, in a low, bungalow-style block of four rooms with verandas, and dropped her shoulder bag onto one of the beds.

  She’d somehow survived the “joy” with which she and Rafe had been greeted-no one seemed to give it the least thought that the room had been booked in one name only. No forms had had to be signed, no one had asked to see their passports.

  She’d digested the news that now The Tongan Beach Resort was full!

  She’d survived the embarrassment caused by the staff when, to their genuine consternation, they’d realised the last room available had single beds. They offered to change them to a double bed, but Rafe had declined.

  She looked around. It was pleasant and comfortable. The walls were painted a delicate apricot and there was a dado running around the room made of tapa, a bark fabric with traditional Tongan painting and symbols on it.

  The floor was tiled, there was a cane setting of two chairs and a glass-topped table, and on each bed with its colourful cover there was a fluffy white towel decorated with a hibiscus bloom.

  ‘I suppose so,’ she said wearily.

  He came to stand in front of her. ‘There was nothing else to do, Maisie.’

  She twisted her fingers together and his gaze dropped to her mother’s ring.

  ‘Incidentally, why are you wearing a wedding ring?’

  ‘I’m not.’ She explained about the ring. ‘I’d completely forgotten I was wearing it on my left hand.’

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘In the circumstances-protecting the local sensibilities, not to mention my reputation-it might have been a good idea.’

  ‘No, look, somehow we have to end this farce-’

  ‘Maisie,’ his eyes hardened, ‘this is another perfect example of leaping before you look. You’d never have got stranded on the Mary-Lue otherwise and you’ve done the same thing again!’

  ‘But-’

  ‘No buts,’ he ordered. ‘It’s not my fault the place is booked out and what did you expect me to do? Abandon you?’

  Maisie bit her lip. ‘Well, no-and thanks for that, I mean, really, but masquerading as your wife is…’ She trailed off helplessly.

  ‘It’s done now,’ he said tersely. ‘And we’ll be getting out of Tonga as soon-as soon as I’ve sorted things out. Besides which,’ he added with a lethal little smile, ‘we’ve already spent a night together from which,’ he paused as she opened her mouth, but the look in his eyes was so quelling she shut it again, ‘from which,’ he continued, ‘despite cuddling up to me as if it came naturally, you emerged completely unscathed.’

  ‘I didn’t cuddle up!’

  ‘Oh, yes, you did,’ he contradicted.

  To her mortification she went bright scarlet. ‘I-well, I apologise. I had no idea. I don’t know what made me-’

  ‘I do. You’d had a long, traumatic day, you were overtired, your mind was playing tricks on you-and you are pregnant.’

  She could come up with absolutely nothing to refute this.

  He smiled drily. ‘OK, here’s what I suggest. Have a shower while I go and order dinner. Is there anything you don’t eat?’

  She shook her head.

  He glanced at his watch. ‘We still have time but don’t be too long, there’s a good girl.’ And he strolled out of the sliding glass doors.

  Maisie watched him go with a sudden little glint of fire in her eyes, then she stepped across and drew the curtains closed with something of a snap.

  The en suite bathroom was modern and gleaming white and the shower was steaming hot.

  She had to admit when she emerged, glowing, from it that she felt better. She pulled on her clean best jeans and her silky knit black top with silver studs. She pushed her feet into a pair of sandals and she rubbed her hair almost dry, then ran her hands through it several times until she was satisfied with it.

  She moisturised her face and hesitated briefly. Then she applied some lip gloss, some silvery green eye-shadow and brushed on some mascara. It was during these ministrations that she realised she was starving and that gave her further impetus to leave the room and continue her masquerade as Rafe Sanderson’s wife.

  She stopped dead for several moments a few feet from the veranda.

  In all her earlier confusion she’d taken little in about the resort, but now, by the light of a full moon, the magic of it hit her.

  The graceful palm trees, the beach almost on the doorstep, the white day-night lilies that lined the sandy pathways and the palm-thatched dining room with its shutters open to reveal the gleam of candlelight, the glint of polished glass-ware and the glorious aroma of food…

  Rafe was waiting for her at a table for two. He’d ordered a glass of red wine for himself and a lemon, lime and bitters for her.

  He rose to pull out her chair and, as she sank into it, he told her that he’d ordered fillet steak in a mushroom sauce for them. ‘Sound OK?’ he added.

  Maisie hesitated then had to smile ruefully. ‘I feel as if I could demolish a whole cow.’

  He laughed and she looked around. There were only three couples still dining.

  ‘It’s very nice,’ she murmured and sipped her drink.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed.

  She hesitated, remembering her resolve made in a flash of anger a short time ago, to refuse to allow herself to be treated like a naughty schoolgirl. But how to implement it? Get a conversation going that would show him she was a lot more mature than he gave her credit for?

  She said the first thing that came into her head. ‘Are you musical?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘No more than most. I can hold a tune, I can dance, but I can’t play anything. You-have the edge over me in that, Maisie.’

  She looked amused. ‘Not much of an edge. But,’ she smiled openly, ‘it’s nice to know it’s there.’

  He rubbed his jaw. ‘You’re actually looking for some edge over me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, damn,’ she laughed ruefully, ‘it hasn’t come out quite as I planned. I mean-I didn’t mean to admit it. I meant to show you through my informed conversation, my poise et cetera, et cetera, that I should not be treated like an irresponsible child. And,’ she added with a suddenly straight little look, ‘to have it remembered that I do have every right to be here.’

  He grimaced. ‘You wanted to put me in my place well and truly?’

  She pursed her lips. ‘I did. I have to tell you I’ve been angry and upset ever since you gave me the brush-off in Brisbane.’

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘I should have known,’ he murmured ruefully. ‘I not only saw you jump into Moreton Bay, I fished you out. Well, my apologies, Maisie, I was in the wrong.’

  She stared at him wide-eyed. ‘Do
you really mean that?’

  His eyes were wickedly amused. ‘Are you asking me to cross my heart and hope to die? Consider it done.’

  She blinked, and their steaks arrived. She closed her eyes in appreciation of the divine aroma that rose from her plate. ‘Maybe it’s food!’ she said and her lashes flew up.

  He looked into her green eyes. ‘Food?’

  ‘It’s quite impossible for me to stay angry with anyone in the presence of food, especially given this marvellously delectable meal in front of me.’

  He laughed and murmured, ‘I’ll remember that. You’d better tuck in.’

  From then on, conversation just seemed to come naturally to them. He asked about her parents and she told him something of her earlier life on a variety of army bases and the only shadow came when she told him about losing them.

  She even glowed a little as he laughed at some of her reminiscences, but, once, she did ask herself what she thought she was doing. She had been distinctly annoyed with him for landing her in this situation, even if she had contributed to it. She still didn’t know whom he might be shielding.

  But the questions disappeared from her mind because she simply couldn’t stop enjoying herself…

  Halfway through a deliciously decadent dessert, she started to yawn.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ he said with a wry little smile.

  ‘What does that mean?’ she queried.

  ‘It means-when you need to sleep, you need to curl up like a cat.’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s been a long day, but I’ve always been a good sleeper. When, that is, I’m not sleepwalking. No, just joking,’ she added as he frowned, ‘it’s only happened at rare intervals. I’m quite sure I’m safe tonight. Or rather, you’re quite safe tonight.’ A sparkle of humour lit her eyes.

  He smiled perfunctorily and, despite her weariness, Maisie detected that the air had suddenly become threaded with tension between them as his grey gaze remained on her.

  She was not to know that he’d been in a position to take in the reaction, of the other couples dining, to her arrival in the dining room.