Wildcat Wife

by Lindsay Armstrong

  Stick strictly to business, she admonished herself, and laid her hands on an outfit that was, if nothing else, businesslike.

  'Very nice,' Delia said approvingly as she took in the taupe suede skirt—short but not too short—and the matching short-sleeved buttoned and belted jacket.

  With it, Saffron wore the palest fawn sheer tights and a pair of Chanel patent court shoes, which were two-toned—taupe with black toes and heels. She had a smart black patent purse and a shiny black raincoat over her arm which she dumped over the back of a chair. Her hair was plaited and tied with a narrow black ribbon.

  She wore more make-up than normal, Delia noticed, although it was expertly done—and done she suspected, to hide the faint blue circles beneath her boss's eyes that were so often there these days.

  'Thanks, Delia,' Saffron said briefly, then smiled faintly. 'I gather you approve of this more than my flying suit?'

  'Yes, I do. You look not only lovely but very executive-like. As befitting the owner of that highly successful interior design firm, The Crocus Shop!'

  'If you're trying to bolster me up a bit, Delia, you're doing a fine job. Thanks, pal!' She hugged Delia lightly and sat down behind her desk. 'In the meantime—'

  'I know—let's get to work!'

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FLORA MACTAVISH also approved, apparently as she let Saffron in and took her raincoat.

  'So you can look like a lady, Saffron,' she said.

  'I thought you didn't mind me when I didn't,' Saffron couldn't resist saying with an impish little grin.

  'There's a time and place for all things; now's the time for business, I gather. He's in the study; I'll take you down.' And she proceeded to do so. 'By the way, afterwards his father would like to say hello—Mr Ross, Miss Shaw,'

  she added grandly after a brief tap at the study door.

  'Come in, Saffron,' Fraser's disembodied voice said.

  She took a deep breath and walked through the door. Flora closed it behind her.

  He was on the phone, swivelled round behind the desk to look out over the drenched courtyard, but he swung back and gestured her to a chair opposite him. He didn't interrupt his conversation.

  Beyond a bare glance. Saffron did as she was told and started to unpack a pad, pens, a calculator and some notes from her briefcase. She set it all out before her in an orderly fashion then clasped her hands in her lap and waited with her head bent.

  'Fine. I'd like it all on my desk by next Monday— yes, I'll be back in Brisbane by then. Cheers.' Fraser put the phone down and said, 'Well, Saffron?'

  She restrained herself from saying, Well, what, Fraser? and confined herself to another brief glance— or tried to. But their gazes clashed and she found she couldn't look away. He was casually dressed in jeans and football jersey, making him look younger but big and dangerous.

  She tore her gaze away at last and said tersely, 'Let's just stick to business, Mr Ross.'

  'So we're back to that, Saffron,' he murmured. 'Have I suggested otherwise? By the way, you look very...grown-up.' He eyed the lovely soft and supple suede suit, her neat hair with a few raindrops netted in it, her make-up and the tiny pearls in her ears.

  'That's precisely what I meant—' She broke off, calmed herself down with an effort and put a folder in front of him. 'Would you go through that, please? It's a list of all the furniture, ornaments, appliances and household goods, et cetera I've deemed necessary for your house, plus their prices. They're all on order but can be changed or cancelled now. Once they're paid for it will be too late.'

  He raised an eyebrow but started to read. Then he closed the file, passed it back to her and said, 'Down to the last teaspoon. That's fine, Saffron.'

  'Good. I've also taken the liberty of investigating ways and means of getting the whole caboodle up there, and it seems to me the simplest way is to use a carrier. I have a very reliable firm I use a lot. I could arrange for it all to be delivered to their warehouse. They could then pack it into a container and ship it by road to—Airlie Beach?' She glanced at him enquiringly.

  'Shute Harbour.'

  'OK, Shute Harbour—' she made a note on her pad '—where it can be picked up by barge. If you let me know the name of the barge company you use...?'

  He told her and she wrote that down. 'Any questions?' she asked briskly. He smiled faintly and lay back in his chair at the same time as he twirled a pen in his long fingers. 'It's all very businesslike and impressive, Saffron. Uh, just one—what's the name of the carrier you use?'

  She told him, adding that although they were expensive they had a fine reputation for delivering goods intact and on time.

  'I'm glad to hear that. They're part of the Ross Group as it happens.'

  'Oh!' She looked at him with the first spark of genuine interest in her eyes.

  'Oh, good, that'll save a bit of money for you, won't it?'

  'Are you interested in saving me money, Saffron?'

  'Of course,' she replied severely. 'Good taste may sometimes come at a high price—although not always, believe me—but I am always on the lookout for ways to save my clients money. It's only good business sense, I would have thought. For example, you're getting nearly everything there—' she gestured to the folder '—at reduced rates.'

  'Do you go out and haggle with your suppliers?' he enquired.

  'Why not?'

  'Why not, indeed?' But the thought of it obviously amused him. Then he sat forward and flipped open the folder again. 'I didn't see any mention of Zanzibari doors.'

  Saffron drew a deep breath, and their eyes locked. 'I decided against them.'

  'Why?'

  'I thought they were excessively expensive.'

  'But they could be got?'

  'Yes,' she said rashly. 'I mean—'

  'Then why don't you let me be the judge?'

  There was a moment's silence as they indulged in a non-verbal clash of wills, a deadly little duel fought by eye contact—Saffron's a brilliant, angry green, Fraser's mocking and dark.

  'Very well.' She shrugged as if to say it meant nothing one way or the other to her, and she delved into her briefcase to produce a fax. 'There you are.'

  'For a pair of doors no one else in Australia has, for a pair of doors that can even repel elephants or the equivalent, and considering how far they have to come, that's not excessively expensive, Saffron,' he said after a time.

  'It would also take three months to get them made and delivered.'

  'Is that a problem? It's not as if I'm going to be without front doors for three months.'

  Saffron drummed her fingers on the table and chewed her lip, and he watched her dryly.

  Then, when she couldn't seem to find anything with which to refute this, he said, 'I bumped into Simon Harris the other day.'

  Her lips parted and her eyes widened. 'Where?'

  'Where one generally bumps into doctors—in a hospital,' he said with considerable irony. 'Did you think I'd sought him out?'

  'No. Well, no. But why are you telling me this?'

  'Why shouldn't I?'

  'But...you spoke to him about me?' Saffron asked dangerously.

  'Not precisely, although we did talk about you in the context of both knowing you.' He shrugged.

  'I just hope it wasn't in the context of both of you being ex-lovers,' she said in a suddenly suffocated voice. 'How could you?'

  'Acquit me,' he answered with a tinge of rough impatience. 'He was the one who brought the subject up.'

  'Why?' Saffron blinked confusedly.

  'He was part of the team that operated on Dad. Somehow or other after the op, during the course of a conversation along the lines of him recommending that Dad get away for a holiday, the subject of the Whitsunday house came up, and your involvement with it. Strange how life's full of these little coincidences, isn't it?' He looked at her sardonically. Saffron subsided. 'So what did he say?' As soon as the words left her lips, she could have killed herself, but, of course, it was too late. And the little
look he sent her spoke volumes. 'He was interested to hear how you were getting along,' he drawled. 'He also said that you'd been a memorable acquaintance—something I had to agree with— but I doubt whether he realised the significance of us both having such memorable—memories of you, Saffron. By the way, he's still unattached, if that's of any interest to you.'

  'It's not—'

  'And still, I would imagine, wondering whether he did the right thing,' he cut across her.

  'Wh-what makes you say that?' she stammered.

  Fraser shrugged and watched her narrowly for a moment. 'Why would he have gone out of his way to bring you up otherwise? Why would he have looked as embarrassed and troubled as he did? But, you know, I still think you made the right decision that time.' He stretched, clasped his hands behind his head and studied her reaction with a dry little smile in his eyes. If only you knew, Saffron caught herself thinking, and felt herself colour. She dropped her gaze, clasped her hands rather urgently and swallowed. 'I'm sure you're going to tell me why,' she managed to say ironically then. He laughed softly and sat forward. 'Would you really like me to? I don't think he could have understood you in the slightest, for one thing. I don't believe he really set you alight, for another. Did you ever seduce him. Saffron?'

  She blushed brightly this time, at the same time as she discovered she would like to kill Fraser Ross. 'And you think you really did set me alight, Fraser?'

  she said tautly. 'Why, I wonder, if that's the case, did I walk away from you?'

  'Because you fell in love with me and were afraid I hadn't completely lost my head over you, Saffron?' he suggested with a lethal little smile. She gasped.

  'Hit the nail on the head, I see,' he said gently. 'As for setting you alight—were I to employ my pirate tactics just to see, for example, whether you have little rosebuds embroidered on your bra today beneath your suit of suede armour— Well, we both know how those encounters can get out of hand for us.'

  'You...you...' She couldn't go on.

  'For that matter,' he drawled, 'were I to kiss you first, it might require no pirate tendencies at all; you'd probably do the honours yourself.'

  Saffron slammed her chair back and stood up. 'Go to hell, Fraser Ross. And take your blasted house with you.' She picked up the file and flung it at him.

  'I'm resigning right here and now!'

  But he uncoiled himself from his chair and came round the desk like a dark panther. 'Oh, no, you don't, Saffron.' He took hold of her and sat her down again and kept his hand on her shoulder. 'You'll finish this house otherwise word will get spread that The Crocus Shop is unreliable to say the least.'

  'You know...' Saffron stopped because her voice was shaking; she was shaking with a mixture of anger and fright. But her combative nature got the better of her. 'You know what's talking, don't you, Fraser? Your fragile ego.'

  The hand on her shoulder tightened its grasp briefly then it was withdrawn abruptly and he walked round the desk to sit down and study her expressionlessly. To study the mixture of outrage, injured dignity and bravado in her expression, but also the way she was trying to hide the fact that her hands weren't quite steady.

  He set his teeth and wondered briefly if he was going mad. 'All right. Let's get back to business.'

  Saffron opened her mouth to say something along the lines of, That's what I've been trying to stick to all along, but, at a sudden, searing dark glance, changed her mind.

  'Very wise,' he murmured, and shuffled papers together savagely. 'I didn't see a quote here for your services, incidentally.'

  'Ah. I haven't got around to working that out yet,' she replied after a moment, and somewhat evasively.

  He frowned. 'Let's work it out now. I see you have your trusty calculator with you.'

  'Um—'

  'Saffron,' he warned.

  'All right,' she muttered, thought for a bit, then wrote something down and passed the pad to him.

  His eyebrows shot up. 'This is ridiculous! For three weeks' work, including weekends, all day and most of the night if I know you, not to mention your inspiration et cetera.'

  'It's been a bit of a rushed job so I didn't like to charge you too much.' She swallowed a little nervously at the way his hard eyes played over her, then tilted her chin proudly. 'Besides which, I'm perfectly entitled to charge as little or as much as I see fit.'

  'As a statement—another one?' he asked eventually. 'A statement of how little this has all meant to you, Saffron?'

  She stared at him and thought, No. A statement to the effect that it's not your fault you didn't fall in love with me, and to the effect that I'll never forget... some things, but...

  She looked away suddenly and said stubbornly, 'That's all I'm charging. If the house does get into a magazine, it'll bring me a lot of publicity.' She picked up her briefcase and started to pack it. 'If I could have your cheque, though, for the furniture and goods, I can get all the stuff up there by the end of next week.'

  'And?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Who supervises the placement of everything up there?'

  'Delia will do that. I'm afraid you'll have to pay her fare, but she's very good; she always follows my sketches and instructions to the letter. Of course you'll have to provide some strong men to give her a hand.' She stood up. He, on the other hand, lay back. 'So you don't intend to see the finished product?'

  'I—well, usually I would,' incurable honesty made Saffron say. 'But in this case— Look, I trust Delia.'

  'But not me. Or perhaps it's yourself you don't trust?'

  Saffron took a breath and ignored the jibe. 'You'll also need a carpenter to install the blinds.'

  'Is this goodbye, then, Saffron?'

  Help me through these last moments, she prayed to a higher being. 'Yes, Fraser. I'll just go,' she added, and slipped out of the study, closing the door quietly behind her.

  * * *

  Fraser stared at the door then swung round to watch the teeming view from the window at the same time as he was thinking, It wouldn't work; she's right. A hellcat of a little girl when she's not...

  He flexed his shoulders as memories of Saffron Shaw in bed came to him. Memories of that curious mix of fire and spirit and uncertainty. A flowering that had taken his breath away, followed by a kind of vulnerability that he couldn't forget.

  All the same, he mused with some irony, how would she cope with not being able to do precisely her own thing? For that matter how would I cope? What did I have in mind for any wife I took? he asked himself cynically. Certainly not having to adapt my lifestyle to hers... No, we'd drive each other mad. So why am I still doing this? he asked himself grimly.

  'Fraser?' Flora stuck her head round the door. 'Fraser, there's been an accident. Saffron—'

  He swung round violently and got up precipitately. 'Saffron what?'

  'She's fine,' Flora said soothingly. 'It happened like this. She was backing out of the driveway in this pouring rain just as your car was being driven in. Your driver claims that, although he saw her and stopped, she didn't see him and just kept coming. But they are both completely unharmed.'

  'So?'

  'Your car is somewhat smashed, in a very minor way.'

  'My Mercedes,' he said slowly.

  'Uh-huh. Her car seems to have escaped damage, probably because it has a high-set tow-bar on the rear bumper.'

  'She...ran her tow-bar into my car?'

  'The near-side door, but only by accident,' Flora assured him. 'She's also covered by insurance, she said to tell you, which will take care of everything. She promised that her insurance company will be in touch immediately.'

  'Where is she, Flora?'

  'She left. She was terribly embarrassed. I'm surprised you didn't hear anything, but I suppose the rain helped.'

  'Get her on the phone for me, Flora.'

  Flora drew herself up. 'You wouldn't have chastising the poor child in mind, now, would you, Fraser?'

  'Probably. But I also want to make sure she is all
right,' he answered dryly.

  'It's only a car, I know, and I know how much they cost, and that it was custom-made for you, Fraser, or something, but it is only a car.'

  'Flora,' Fraser said between his teeth, 'if you must know, you got me into this whole bloody mess in the first place! Will you get her on the phone?'

  'I? Got you into what?'

  'Oh, never mind. I'll do it myself.' He glanced around with savage impatience.

  'Here.' Flora handed him the phone book regally. 'I must say you're behaving very oddly these days, Fraser. One has to wonder if Diana isn't right.' With this parting shot, she departed stiffly.

  Fraser sat down and took a very deep breath.

  * * *

  'Where on earth have you been, Saffron?'

  'Delia!' Saffron jumped. It was eight o'clock at night and she'd just let herself into The Crocus Shop. 'What are you doing here?'

  'Worried to death about you,' Delia replied bitterly.

  'Why?'

  'In case you're suffering from delayed shock, whiplash, a bump on the head, or whatever else people who have been involved in a collision can suffer from!'

  Saffron took off her raincoat and licked her lips. 'How do you know what happened?'

  'Fraser has rung at least three times, and Flora twice more.'

  'But Flora knows I was fine,' Saffron objected. Delia breathed heavily then took in her boss's look of tension and strain, and decided to change tack.

  'How did it happen?'

  'It was pouring.' Saffron sat down behind her desk and slumped wearily in the chair.

  'He had his lights on, apparently—Fraser's driver.'

  'I know. I mustn't have been concentrating.' Saffron paused and bit her lip.

  'Is he very angry?'

  'He's concerned. That you're OK. He didn't sound angry at all.'

  Saffron grimaced. 'I wouldn't blame him if he was. I can't believe I did it.' Or believe, she added to herself, that I should have been fool enough to be crying at the time, which is really why I didn't see the other car.

  'So where were you?' Delia asked. 'I went up to see my brother.'

  'All the way to Amberley in this weather?'

  Saffron shrugged. 'I needed to have a bit of a break. He's fine. Guess what? He's about to be engaged. To a girl in the RAAF.'