Wildcat Wife

by Lindsay Armstrong

  'Malice?' Saffron repeated, her eyes wide and very green.

  'I'm afraid so.' He looked down at her hand in his. 'Directed squarely at you, Saffron.' He raised his eyes to hers and they were wry.

  'M-me...me?' Her voice stuck in her throat.

  'Yes, you. My enormous ego got dented once again.'

  'Because I...?' She couldn't go on.

  'Because you were so determined to resist even my most friendly impulses. Would you like a drink?'

  She blinked rapidly. 'Uh—yes, thanks.'

  He got up and went over to the minibar. 'A glass of wine?'

  She nodded.

  He came back with wine for her and a beer for himself. 'And all the while you were working away, thoroughly enjoying yourself, no doubt,' he said softly as he pulled the ring-top and poured the beer into a glass. Saffron took a sudden and urgent sip of her wine. 'I did do a lot of work, yes. I also spoke to Delia. You may not believe this but your father is taking her out to dinner this evening.' She stopped abruptly, aware that she was babbling and that she'd had no intention of telling Fraser Ross that anyway.

  'Ah. I thought that might be on the cards. He was rather taken with your Mrs Renfrew.'

  'I see. Well...' She took a breath and thought, Seeing that I started this I might as well say my piece. 'I have to tell you that Delia has been badly hurt once and I wouldn't be at all happy to see her getting hurt again.' She stared at him defiantly.

  'Saffron...' He stopped, looked at her exasperatedly then laughed. 'Two things,' he said at length. 'I'm not my father's keeper, but he's not the type who deliberately goes around breaking hearts, believe me. Neither of us is if it comes to that. I know you have that opinion of me but it's not a very accurate one.'

  'How did you—?' Again she stopped abruptly.

  'How did I guess? It wasn't hard,' he said.

  Saffron stared into her wine, speechless for once in her life. It didn't last for long. 'You did—' she looked up into his eyes '—you did blackmail me into this.' She sought for the right words and produced ones that made him smile slightly. 'If I've been difficult it hasn't been without cause.'

  'I have yet to seduce you, however,' he said a shade dryly. And as her eyes widened he added, 'Did you honestly think I would put you out of business, Saffron?'

  Her mouth fell open. 'Yes. Well. It wasn't entirely why I—agreed, but, yes, I did!'

  'I hesitate to ask this but why did you agree?'

  'I...' She paused, frowned then said, downbeat, 'I couldn't resist showing you I could fight back, I suppose.'

  'How?' he asked simply.

  A bleak little shadow touched her eyes. 'If you don't know, don't ask. I'm renowned for my retaliatory instincts, most of the time. So it's only been a game for you?'

  'Not entirely. Does it feel like a game when you're in my arms?'

  She coloured and looked away.

  'Tell you what,' he said after a moment, 'why don't we try to make a fresh start? Why don't I order dinner? Are you hungry?'

  'I'm starving,' she said sadly.

  'All right—seriously starving? What happened to lunch?'

  'I forgot about it.'

  'I might have known. You need a keeper, Saffron Shaw! Why don't I order dinner to be sent up here, and we could go over all your hard work of this afternoon at the same time?'

  Saffron sat as still as a statue for a moment, then she brightened visibly.

  'Yes, please.'

  'Is there any...? I'm still a bit worried that this will turn into a show home, not a real home,' she said perplexedly a couple of hours later. 'I don't really like to work that way. Are there any of your own things you'd like me to know about? You see, in the matter of homes, it's actually easier to work with a woman. Even Mrs Whitney Spence had some favourite pieces she wanted me to work around.'

  They had dined sumptuously. Fresh, delicious oysters to start with then grilled fish for Saffron and roast beef for Fraser. Dessert had been a pavlova stuffed with strawberries and topped with whipped cream.

  'Sarah had some ideas of her own?' Fraser got up to push the trolley with the remains of their meal away and pour their coffee.

  'Some ghastly ones. I don't know if you saw the bedrooms, but Josephine would never have lost Napoleon if she'd had Sarah's bedroom,' Saffron said with a shrug. 'I very much regret that house, you know.'

  'I wouldn't. A lot of people thought it was wonderful. I see—' he flipped through some sketches '—you've been very restrained with my bedrooms.'

  'Yes. I decided not to set myself up as a proxy wife in that regard. I also thought that the climate up here,' she continued swiftly, 'didn't lend itself to too much frippery.'

  'So, simple, masculine but comfortable,' he murmured.

  'Is...is it all right?'

  'In case I decide to share it with a female person on the odd occasion?' His gaze was wicked.

  'A bed is a bed is a bed, and I promise I'll get you the most comfortable and spacious one I can find,' Saffron replied dryly. 'But to get back to what we were discussing.' She sat forward intently. 'I want you to feel this is a home. I think you're discerning enough to know the difference.'

  He studied her thoughtfully.

  'I mean, even men must know what they like and feel comfortable with,' she added.

  He gestured to the sketches. 'I think these exhibit both comfort and style. I'm happy with them, Saffron. You can go ahead with my approval.'

  She sat back feeling curiously let down but couldn't exactly pinpoint why. Then, out of the blue, it occurred to her that what she really wanted to know was more about the man. She bit her lip as this hit her as well as the realisation that it wasn't precisely out of the blue, this desire. She picked up her coffee cup.

  'Saffron?' He looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

  'I...it's nothing. When will we go home?'

  'Tomorrow if you like. Unless you'd like to take one more look at the place. By tomorrow your ankle could be a lot better.'

  'No. Um...no. If you are happy, there's no need.'

  'So why do I get the feeling you're not?' he asked after a short pause. She put her cup down and stared at the tablecloth, then she looked up directly into his eyes. 'This...couldn't work.'

  He sat back and watched her narrowly. 'I gather you're talking about us?'

  'Yes.'

  The silence lengthened as he thought to himself, You're probably right. But what is it about you, Saffron Shaw, that makes me determined to keep trying? Those soft, severe lips that I've plundered so pleasurably? That lovely, heavy hair, the apparently unquenchable spirit? The fact that you're one of the very few who's ever said no...?

  'Tell me why you think it couldn't work,' he said at last. She formed her hands into a steeple and he saw the concentration in her green eyes, which made him want to laugh yet was curiously endearing. She said quietly, 'I could never fit into your lifestyle. I've been accused of being hyperactive for one thing. I would never consider letting my business go after all the work it took to get to this stage and—' she shrugged '—I'm just not the kind of wife I could visualise for you.'

  'Aren't we jumping the gun a little?'

  'Well, that's the other thing. I'm not built for speculative affairs.'

  'That's very moral, Saffron, and—'

  'Don't patronise me, Fraser,' she warned with a little glint of anger.

  'Sorry,' he murmured with a twist of his lips. 'Tell me about the kind of wife you visualise for me, then.'

  She stared at him steadily then said frustratedly, 'I don't know you that well.'

  'But you must have formed some opinions to make a statement like that.'

  She bit her lip then thought for the second time that night, In for a penny in for a pound! 'Working on the fact that you appear to be looking for a wife, the fact that your sister is concerned that you find one soon— and, of course, the right kind of wife—'

  'My sister would be the last person I'd consult, Saffron,' he said dryly.

 
'All the same, I can't help thinking that the position requires someone with a suitable background—someone with the skills to fit into your very wealthy lifestyle, someone who is a good hostess, very decorative, beautifully presented, very discreet, intelligent and above all an asset to the house of Ross—but not necessarily someone you love madly.'

  There was a dangerous little pause, then he said, 'Go on.'

  'I don't fit into a lot of those categories.'

  'You're intelligent and can be very decorative,' he said with a suddenly wry look.

  'Only when I want to be. And I'm far from discreet, the only kind of hostessing I like to do is the impromptu kind, I don't give a damn about the Ross empire, I—'

  'Saffron.' He held up a hand, and there was open laughter in his eyes now.

  'Spare me.'

  'Can I say one more thing, though? I will anyway. I think loving you would be a bit of a heartache. I don't think it would be easy to get through to the real you at all; I think it would be like hitting your head against a brick wall.' She paused. 'I think too many women falling all over themselves to get both you and your millions might have left their mark—left you somewhat cynical,'

  she said very quietly.

  His dark eyes narrowed. Then he said with a tinge of savage impatience,

  'You may think you know me better than you do, Saffron.'

  She shrugged and rubbed her face wearily suddenly. 'Sorry. But I can't help it if those are the vibes I get.'

  'You're sure you're not basing all this on your obviously vivid imagination?'

  'Yes. I'm in fact basing it on this—you tell me now it was only a game to threaten to put me out of business. I can't help thinking that only a man who is dangerously bored with women would go to those lengths. And I can't help knowing that I have neither the time nor the inclination to play those kind of dangerous games with you.'

  'So what do you suggest we do? Kiss and part company?' he drawled.

  'No, stick to strictly business, Fraser,' she returned evenly.

  'You think that's possible?' His gaze was sardonic. 'Is that why you were sitting in the dark feeling all lost and forlorn until I arrived? Or—'

  She got up unsteadily and reached for the walking stick. 'I—'

  'No, answer me, Saffron,' he said roughly. 'Were you or weren't you?'

  'The times I happen to feel sorry for myself have nothing to do with you,'

  she shot back.

  He stood up and removed the walking stick from her grasp. 'And are you very sure you're not convicting me of wanting the kind of wife a certain lover of yours tried to mould you into?'

  Her eyes widened.

  'Tell me about him, Saffron,' he commanded, and picked her up to sit down in an armchair with her in his lap. 'No, don't bother to struggle and fight,' he added. 'You're wasting your time.'

  Saffron subsided with a little pant of pure frustration. But, although she ceased to struggle physically, she said bitterly, 'That's the other thing—you do carry on like a pirate at times.'

  A sudden smile tugged at his lips. 'You're enough to bring out those tendencies in any man. But let's not sidestep the issue. You've made yourself very free with all sorts of wild assumptions about me, but I intend to get to the bottom of you. How old were you when this disastrous affair started?'

  She stared at him mutinously until he said dangerously, 'Saffron...'

  'All right! Twenty-one.'

  'How long did it go on for?'

  'Six months.'

  'How did you meet?'

  She blinked and sniffed. 'I was re-covering the upholstery on his boat, his fifty-six-foot yacht. You may not know this but that's how I got started.''Go on.'

  She sighed. 'He was thirty. We fell in love. I think he did genuinely fall in love with me. He taught me to sail, and we seemed to like a lot of the same things. I'd always wanted to travel to out-of-the-way places; so did he.'

  'Hence Zanzibar?'

  'Yes.' She grimaced. 'It was like a voyage of discovery. At the same time, it's when the rot started to set in. He asked me to marry him there, one moonlit night at a place called Lala Salama, which translates approximately to "sleep peacefully". It was beautiful, white beaches, a reef, palm-thatched rondavels. I said yes. He said—' she swallowed '"—Then as soon as we get home you can give up work and devote yourself to me.'"

  'And that's when reality hit?'

  'Yes. But I should have known sooner. He never took what I did seriously although he took his own work very seriously.'

  'What was he?'

  'A doctor. But his family are very wealthy pastoralists. To give him his due, they're also very conventional—or old-fashioned. His mother and his brother's wives make an absolute virtue of domesticity—always being there for the children, always putting their men first.'

  'We're not talking about Simon Harris, are we?'

  Saffron twisted her head to see him frowning down at her. 'Do you know him?'

  'Yes. Well, I know the family. You poor kid,' he said with unexpected compassion. 'They're famous for their stiff-necked ways.'

  Saffron sniffed.

  'So you refused?' Fraser suggested.

  'I tried to reason with him first. I told him that nothing could get in the way of how much I loved him, but I couldn't just sit at home and paint water-colours. I told him... Oh, well.' She moved restlessly.

  'Tell me.'

  'I...it ended eventually with him throwing things up at me—such as it wasn't as if I was going to make a successful career out of making seat covers, whereas his career was a genuine calling and he'd need my wholehearted support. That he had more than enough money to support us anyway and...'

  She stopped and sighed. 'He was—is—a wonderful doctor, and perhaps I was a fool.'

  He ran a hand through her hair. 'You were only twenty-one.'

  'I'm only twenty-five now,' she said unhappily.

  'But amazingly successful! Think of that.'

  She laughed a husky little laugh and sighed. 'So I am.' And she sniffed again.

  'Here.' He pulled a hanky out of his pocket and handed it to her. 'You were also more of a realist than he was, Saffron. You did the right thing.'

  'Thanks.' She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

  'And there's been no one since?'

  'No. If nothing else, you must see now that I'm not built to take these things lightly.'

  'Yes,' he agreed.

  'So, getting back to what started all this, it couldn't work.'

  He was silent.

  'Fraser?' she said at last.

  'Are you expecting me to argue with you, Saffron?' Again he stroked her hair.

  She flinched inwardly. 'Of course not. Just to understand. I do like you, you see—when I'm not hating you, that is. Does that make sense? Probably not, but—'

  He laughed. 'Perfect sense, for you. All right, I accept defeat.'

  'Thanks,' she murmured, but made no move to get up. In fact, the awful truth of it was that she was not in the least thankful, she discovered. She was as lonely and sad as she had been earlier, or would be, once he left.

  'Saffron?' he said gently, and turned her face up to his.

  'I...I...' she stammered. 'I don't know what's wrong with me.'

  'Perhaps I can tell you,' he said quietly, his gaze taking in the confusion in her eyes, the uncertainty of her expression. 'As masterly a summing-up as that all was, it still ignored one basic fact. There is a certain way that we like each other very much, but it's a way that's notoriously resistant to plain common sense.'

  'I... you're right,' she said barely audibly. 'I don't know what to do.'

  A strange expression flickered through his eyes. 'Yes, you do,' he said after a moment. 'Get up and walk away, Saffron. I'm no seducer of unwilling girls but I am human.'

  She sat up. ' You were the one who put me here!' But she stopped abruptly and her cheeks flamed. 'All right,' she muttered, and got up off his lap. 'I'm sorry. I...that wasn't fair.'

  He lay
back and studied her with some irony as she clutched the edge of the table then his lips twisted wryly and he stood up himself. 'Goodnight. I'll book us on the ten-thirty flight tomorrow. If I were you I'd just go to bed. Although why don't you dream about your next project? That guest house with twenty-five different bedrooms. It might help.'

  He ruffled her hair with a careless hand, and left.

  Saffron got ready for bed in a troubled daze. And, knowing she'd have trouble sleeping she took some time to prepare herself meticulously. She brushed her hair and tied it back with a green ribbon. She cleansed her face, put some moisturiser on, then, thinking of her exposure to the sun that morning, she moisturised herself from top to toe and finally arrayed herself in her emerald-green satin nightgown.

  She also got into bed, turned off the light and tried to banish her woes by determinedly calling to mind the guest house. But it was no use. So she sat up, switched the lamp on and picked up the book she'd bought that morning. That proved to be an even worse idea, however. It was a love story, and some demon of perversity, after she'd read a chapter, made her flip through to the last couple of pages to discover that it ended happily. Some demon of sheer frustration then caused her to hurl the offending book across the room. And she lay back on the pillows with her arms folded across the sheet and thought, All right Have it out with yourself, Saffron Shaw. Fraser Ross intrigues you and excites you. He has done from almost the first moment, but to contemplate going to bed with the man is sheer madness. Your masterly summing-up was pretty close to the mark; after all, he didn't try too hard to deny it. So...

  She jumped as the phone beside the bed rang. It was Delia.

  'Delia! Is something wrong? You frightened the life out of me. It's...eleven o'clock.'

  'Saffron, I'm trying to get hold of Fraser. His father has had a heart attack—

  Look, they think it's a very mild one, but all the same—'

  'Oh, no! While you were having dinner?'

  'Yes,' Delia said, distraught. 'I thought he was going to die, but he isn't.' She swallowed audibly. 'Well, so far as they can tell. But he keeps asking for Fraser. And the switchboard up there has tried his room but there's no response. I wondered if you might know where he is.'