From Waif To His Wife

by Lindsay Armstrong

  But what would be so bad about turning this into a real marriage, he wondered. The kind of suitable marriage he was beginning to think was going to be the solution for him.

  Because it was becoming increasingly obvious to him that, for reasons known only to him-and Sonia-a fall madly and wildly in love marriage might not be on the cards for him.

  I’ll tell you why it mightn’t work, he responded to himself: Tim Dixon’s baby. You might be able to cope with it and all the scenarios it raises in your mind in a marriage of convenience with no real love lost, but otherwise, who’s to say it wouldn’t become a real thorn in your side?

  What does “otherwise” mean? he asked himself incredulously. That you could, against all probability, find yourself falling in love with Maisie Wallis?

  The thought, and its implications, shook him. Another came hard on its heels: if she was hedging her bets but a secret part of her could never forget Tim, they could have the makings of a private little hell between them.

  So was she right? he wondered with self-directed irony. Not only right but also honest when she’d said she was going to have to turn certain things off like a tap-to wit, feeling safe in his arms, although, he thought with further irony, she hadn’t been able to get that quite right yet.

  Mind you, circumstances hadn’t helped on either occasion, he acknowledged.

  But-he clenched his jaw and eased himself a little away from her-she wasn’t the only one going to have to nip certain things in the bud; so was he…

  At least until he’d sorted whether this marriage could prove to be workable rather than a minefield.

  When Maisie woke, dawn was lightening the sky and Rafe was fast asleep beside her. She sat up cautiously but he didn’t move.

  The fire had died but there were sounds coming from beyond the shelter. She heard horses whickering, the creak of leather and the clink of metal shoes on rock. She heard subdued voices and a dog bark.

  Al had explained to her last night that they would have to move the mob of cattle on to the next drinking hole as early as possible and she guessed that operation was getting underway, which meant that they’d also be striking camp.

  She turned reluctantly to wake Rafe, to find that he’d opened his eyes, and she found herself drawn into a long exchange of glances with him that somehow took in the night they’d spent together in such close proximity.

  Colour mounted in her cheeks as she remembered cuddling up to him this time and how wonderful it had felt.

  But what she saw in his eyes, as she couldn’t hide what was in hers, affected her deeply. It was as if a shutter had come down so they were unreadable and steely grey.

  ‘Tea’s up!’ a voice called. ‘Tea’s up!’ And Al appeared carrying a blackened billycan with a rag wound round its handle, and two tin mugs. ‘Sorry to wake you guys but-’

  ‘That’s OK!’ Rafe sat up then got up and stretched. ‘Thanks, mate. We’ll get going pronto.’

  And Maisie, after Al had departed, desperate for something to say to ease her discomfort, grumbled, ‘I don’t know why, but when there’s absolutely nothing between us we keep getting caught in bed by an audience!’

  Whether it struck the right note or not, she didn’t know.

  Rafe smiled briefly, a rather ironic little smile, then a moment of genuine mirth overtook them, followed by a touch of concern.

  ‘You-you look like a North American Indian,’ she said incredulously.

  ‘And if you could see yourself!’ He held down a hand to help her up, his eyes alight with laughter, then he ran his tongue over his teeth. ‘I can even taste the blasted dust.’ He paused as she put her hand to her back and grimaced. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing! Well, just a twinge. Probably even two swags on the ground take a bit of getting used to.’

  ‘Hmm…OK, have your tea-at least it’s hot and wet-and we’ll get going.’

  It wasn’t until they’d farewelled the muster camp and the helicopter rose like a bird above it, that he told her of his change of plan. They were going home.

  She protested that she was fine. He said he’d like to get it checked out all the same, and there was absolutely nothing she could do.

  But she was unable to stop herself wondering if this was somehow bound up with that steely, shuttered look that had come to him and had made her feel so-what?

  Rejected?

  Could he be using it to get out of being in her close company for the next week?

  I knew I should never have married him, she thought. I knew I was beyond the pale…

  ‘Maisie, how would you like to live?’

  They were alone in the apartment on the river; it was the same evening. His doctor had checked her out meticulously in an evening house call, something she’d thought was unheard of these days. He’d pronounced that the baby appeared to be fine and she’d probably just been a bit stiff from a night of sleeping virtually on the ground.

  ‘Well, at least we know,’ Rafe said, and added his question.

  ‘How would I like to live?’ she echoed. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

  They’d had dinner, sent up from the restaurant on the ground floor, causing her to marvel how easy life was for the rich. She’d also been drawn like a magnet to his magnificent sound system and asked if she could play some music. He’d told her she didn’t have to ask so she chose a CD of classical piano pieces.

  ‘We have a couple of options: this apartment, or I have a house at Raby Bay.’

  ‘Oh, look, whatever is best for you! I-don’t mind.’

  He came to sit down on the settee set corner-wise opposite her.

  There was a single lamp lit on the end table between the settees and its soft golden glow bathed them before receding into the coral shadows of the lounge.

  Through the terrace doors, the lights of Brisbane twinkled against a midnight-blue backdrop although it was only about eight o’clock.

  Maisie had changed into her heather outfit and, although her feet were bare, she was sitting rather primly upright with her hands in her lap, as if she didn’t feel particularly at home, which she didn’t.

  Rafe also had bare feet but he looked much more relaxed in cargo shorts and a white knit shirt. In fact he had his feet propped on the coffee-table and one arm stretched along the back of the settee.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I can base myself anywhere within reason. You’re another matter. You’re going to need to feel at home, perhaps a bit involved with that home, and comfortable. This,’ he gestured towards the view, ‘may be a fabulous setting but I don’t know if it’s going to do that for you.’

  Maisie took a startled breath. ‘How did you know?’

  He raised an eyebrow at her.

  ‘That, well, a little while ago I was looking around and wondering what on earth I was going to do with myself here for the next five months.’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m not entirely insensitive.’

  ‘I didn’t say you were.’ She shook her head.

  He watched her curls settle. ‘So would you like to look at Raby Bay? There’s a garden; it’s right on the water with a jetty, so I could move the Mary-Lue there for-any free time we have. The other advantage of it is that Sonia only lives a couple of blocks away.’

  ‘Yes, please. It’s also closer to my stamping ground, the bay-side suburbs of Wynnum, Cleveland and so on, so-I would feel more at home, I guess.’

  ‘All right, we’ll do it tomorrow. Tell me something else. Were you serious about wanting to get your Master’s Degree in music?’

  She sat forward eagerly. ‘Yes!’

  ‘How would you go about it?’

  ‘I’d have to enroll as an external student, I’d have to get a tutor, I’d have to practise,’ she looked comical, ‘day and night. And it could take years.’

  ‘I gather you’d also need a piano?’

  ‘No, my piano is fine. I’d just have to get it tuned after it’s moved. Am I dreaming or is this all possible?’ she asked.


  He studied the excited little glint in her eyes as he thought, all? It didn’t take much to please Maisie Wallis.

  ‘It’s all possible. Now, Miss Mozart, it’s been a long day, you need to get to bed. Incidentally, I checked with the Flying Doctor. They operated on the ringer at Charleville Hospital and he’s regained movement in his legs.’

  ‘That’s wonderful!’ Maisie brightened, and discovered for some strange reason that the news made her feel better about being dismissed to bed like a child, despite the fact that she’d started to feel weary. ‘OK. Goodnight! And thanks!’ she called over her shoulder.

  ‘Goodnight,’ he murmured, and watched her all the way out of the lounge.

  Then he rubbed his jaw, set his teeth for a moment but finally congratulated himself on his executive abilities even when it came to his home life…

  Maisie fell in love with the two-storey Raby Bay house as soon as she saw the stone walls and blue shutters.

  It stood on two blocks in the prestigious canal-side estate-the canals opened on to Moreton Bay. From the street side it was enclosed by a high stone wall and it was surrounded by trees, some carrying a light cloak of new spring green.

  The path to the front door was covered by a thatched pergola.

  Inside, on the ground floor, the walls were the same uneven stone as outside, the floors were tiled and the water views-views she loved-were seen through arched, wood-framed, floor-to-ceiling windows.

  And everywhere in the living rooms lovely wood was blended with the stone and other natural elements like terracotta and pottery; there were paintings and exquisite pieces of furniture in an uncluttered, spacious interior.

  The patio that led off the main lounge was tiled with grey slate and had a grapevine trained to shelter one end from the sun.

  Leading off the kitchen was a small walled courtyard Rafe called the “orangery” because of the lemon, lime and orange trees in tubs. There was also a number of herbs growing in a variety of unusual containers like a pot-bellied little black stove.

  Upstairs was different, more conventional. The walls were lined, plastered and painted, the floors covered with thick wall-to-wall carpet, but lovely and luxurious all the same.

  Maisie came down the curved staircase with its wrought-iron bowed banister and stood in the middle of the lounge.

  Rafe followed her and came to stand beside her. ‘Well?’

  She turned to him and tilted her chin imperiously. ‘I’ll take it,’ she murmured grandly, then burst out laughing. ‘Oh, Rafe, it’s wonderful! Why don’t you live here?’

  He grimaced. ‘It’s-somehow it’s not the kind of place you enjoy rattling around in on your own.’

  ‘Someone does, though, by the looks of it. It’s all spotless and the garden’s well cared-for.’

  ‘A cleaner comes in once a week, ditto a gardener.’

  ‘So whose idea was it?’

  ‘My mother’s.’ For a moment she thought she saw a shadow cross his eyes, but it was gone before she could be sure. ‘It was her favourite home. Right. How soon do you think you’d like to move in, ma’am?’

  ‘As soon as possible, Mr Sanderson. As soon as possible.’

  It took a week, but before they moved to Raby Bay Maisie had to endure a rather taxing event, a meet-the-family soirée organized by Sonia but a strategy agreed upon by Rafe as well.

  He said, with a wry twist of his lips, ‘Of course they’re all wildly curious, I can’t keep you under wraps from them for ever so we might as well get it over and done with.’

  ‘But a soirée! And how many?’ Maisie asked a little faintly. ‘Do they know I’m pregnant?’ She put her hands to her head in a gesture that was extremely expressive of dazed disbelief or as if she was contemplating being thrust into a den of lions.

  Rafe grinned. ‘They’re not going to eat you. Yes, some of them can be a bit daunting but just be yourself. And, since you still don’t look pregnant at times, particularly to anyone who doesn’t know you, we may just let that bit of news filter through in due course.’

  She coloured a little.

  If he noticed it, he gave no sign as he went on, ‘Sonia does that kind of thing really well. In fact she’s a genius at handling parties so they go without a hitch.’

  ‘She might need to be,’ Maisie murmured. ‘Do you really think we need to do this?’ she asked with a frown in her eyes. ‘Because we aren’t-we don’t…’ She stopped awkwardly.

  ‘We don’t know each other in the biblical sense?’ he supplied a little drily. ‘I really think,’ he paused, ‘all we need to show is that we’re friends.’

  ‘There,’ Sonia said just before her soirée was about to get underway. ‘You look lovely.’

  They were in Sonia’s bedroom at Raby Bay. Maisie stared at her image in the long mirror and conceded to herself that she was happy with the way she looked, although how she felt was another matter.

  The outfit she and Sonia had chosen was black voile over a taffeta lining; a sleeveless, hip-length blouson top and a slim skirt. The silky voile was sheer from the tops of her breasts over her shoulders, and black really highlighted her glowing, smooth skin, plus the voile over a taffeta lining felt floaty and looked wonderfully dressy.

  Her legs were bare and her high, slender-heeled strappy sandals were black patent with rhinestones studded on them.

  She and Sonia had spent a couple of hours in Sonia’s favourite beauty salon so they were perfumed and beautifully groomed. Once again Maisie’s hair was teased out and her red curls shone. Her make-up was less than full-stage but accentuated her eyes, and her lips were painted a shimmering, deep-tawny colour.

  Her fingernails, although short, as they had to be for a pianist, were beautifully manicured and painted to match her lips. So were her toes.

  ‘You probably wouldn’t know,’ she said as she turned to look at herself side-on, ‘that I’m pregnant.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t,’ Rafe said, coming into the room. ‘You look…you both look wonderful.’

  Sonia laughed. ‘If I’m any judge, your wife is going to steal the show, Rafe. OK.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Heavens above, it’s a quarter to four-only fifteen minutes! Excuse me, you two.’ And she bustled out.

  Maisie hesitated. ‘You don’t look too bad yourself,’ she said, and winced inwardly because she thought he looked sensational in a light grey suit with a navy shirt and tie.

  He shrugged. ‘Thanks. I’ve got something to add to your outfit.’ And he pulled a leather box from his pocket. He opened it to reveal a diamond pendant on a silver strand circular necklet.

  Maisie gasped as the stone lay in his palm, reflecting fire from its facets. ‘Who-whose is that?’ she stammered.

  ‘It was my mother’s but-’

  ‘I can’t wear that-if that’s what you had in mind,’ she amended.

  ‘It is what I had in mind,’ he said with some irony, ‘because to those in the know, it will really set the seal on our marriage-and that’s what we want, don’t we, Maisie?’

  ‘Well, yes, but it must be worth a fortune and-no, no, I couldn’t accept your mother’s jewellery.’

  ‘It’s not precisely in the nature of a gift,’ he said. ‘You’re right, it is worth a fortune, so after this…outing it will go back to the bank.’

  ‘Thank heavens!’ she breathed. ‘But I still wouldn’t feel right about wearing it!’

  ‘Maisie,’ he eyed her with a mixture of exasperation and something she couldn’t identify, ‘trust me and just do it!’

  She eyed him back with her chin tilted.

  ‘Please,’ he added with a sudden smile lurking at the backs of his eyes.

  It undid her, that smile. It actually turned her to jelly inside, and she nodded, barely perceptibly.

  ‘Turn round,’ he said.

  She did, slowly.

  He looped the circlet around her neck and did up the catch. His fingers were warm on her skin and she closed her eyes briefly then opened them to squint down at the stone
lying just below the round neckline of her dress.

  Then she looked up and their gazes caught and held in the mirror and it shook her to think that they looked-what was the word?-so fit for each other, she in her beautiful outfit and perfectly groomed, he, so tall and masculine…

  And she found herself holding her breath for a moment as he looked down at her, and his hands moved at his sides and she thought, she really thought he was going to put his arms around her.

  It didn’t happen, and when he looked into her eyes again, his were as shuttered as she’d seen them once before, at the muster camp.

  She let out a long, uneven breath and he turned away.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘Yes.’

  But she was far from ready for anything, until, as they went downstairs together, she remembered her last practical music exam for her bachelor’s degree.

  She’d been so nervous she’d been convinced she would fail dismally, but at the last minute before she sat down at the piano she’d thought to herself, you can do this. Just put yourself in a bubble and don’t let anything else intrude, not moderators, not the fact that it’s a strange piano, nothing but you and your music.

  And that’s what I need to do now, she thought as she reached the bottom of the staircase at her husband’s side. Take Rafe’s advice and put myself in a bubble where I can only be myself despite ubiquitous Dixons, despite being pregnant to a man who is not my husband, despite Rafe…

  Sonia had a conservatory overlooking the water and there were about twenty people gathered amidst the potted plants and the cane and rattan furniture. It was an elegant, charming area and there was a piano at one end.

  There was a white-coated steward serving champagne and a pretty girl dispensing canapés.

  About an hour into the soirée Rafe Sanderson watched his wife from across the room, and marvelled a little.

  He and Sonia had stayed close throughout the introductions to three of his aunts and their husbands, assorted cousins and their partners and several nieces and nephews.

  Then Sonia had moved away to work her entertaining magic, that knack she had of getting her guests to relax so that soon the conservatory had come alive with animated conversation and laughter. And Maisie had got separated from him but she’d handled it with the poise of-of course, he thought to himself-Mairead Wallis.