by Various
“I had that feeling about Bessie from the moment I met her. It’s beautiful, the stone, isn’t it? So unusual.”
It looked magical, sitting perfectly between her creamy breasts, inviting a man’s worshipping hands. His, if he was going to admit to it. She was showing more of those high creamy breasts than usual. Not a lot. Just enough. Nevertheless his mouth went dry. Her appearance was wreaking havoc with his senses. He, McAlpine, who could have any number of willing women, had to get a grip. “It throws out a different light with your every movement.” He gave a nod of approval when he wanted desperately to be alone with her and hang all his guests. He couldn’t even prevent a sigh. “I suppose we shouldn’t linger. Our guests will be waiting.”
“Your guests,” she pointed out, trying to control a flush.
“You are the hostess.”
“Well, I hope I make you proud,” she murmured huskily, aware beneath the smooth layers of banter he was finding her as desirable as she found him.
Chapter Seven
PREDINNER drinks, then on to dinner.
Olivia willed herself to calm as Marigole broke away from the group to hurry towards her as though Olivia was her latest best friend. She had taken a minute to check on the kitchen. All in order, just as she knew it would be. Kath and the girls had given her the thumbs up.
“You’re a star!” Kath, the spokeswoman, had delivered the unanimous verdict.
But it was the golden flare in McAlpine’s eyes that had put her on cloud nine. She’d even caught a flicker of surprise in the knockout Chloe’s eyes. Didn’t think she had it in her? Well, she hadn’t until Bessie had stepped in as fashion guru.
In the end it was Marigole who wore the little black dress, a saucy number if ever there was one—very short to show off her dancer’s legs, the neckline curving in low. Killer black evening sandals with strapping adorned her small feet; radiant silver lustred pearls dropped in a shepherd’s hook hung from her ears. Olivia was impressed. Marigole was a very glamorous woman and she could obviously afford the best.
And, surprises for everyone—who obviously went back years with Marigole—she had greeted Olivia affably, complimenting her on her outfit and what great hair she had. “You can’t know how many times I’ve cried into my pillow about mine,” she exclaimed, waiting a second or two for someone to offer amazement. They didn’t. “Ever since I had Georgina it simply won’t grow.”
“The bob suits you beautifully,” Olivia said. It was no less than the truth.
“And it comes at a price!” Marigole tossed off a laugh. “I have to say I’m taken aback by the thing you have around your neck! A bit tacky, dear! Then I suppose you didn’t bring any of your jewellery with you?”
“Strange if I did.” Olivia had been prepared in advance for Marigole to bare her true self. As an insult, it didn’t carry a lot of sting. “I’ll only be here for a short time. I don’t share your opinion of the necklace. I think it’s beautiful.”
Marigole half cupped her hand around her mouth as though fearing she would be overheard. “My dear, it’s just a piece of junk you can pick up at street markets.”
Although the smile was bright, smile and tone didn’t match up. There was something vaguely threatening about Marigole’s demeanour, causing Olivia to do as Bessie had instructed—gently rub her flashing magic crystal.
Even afterwards she wasn’t sure what happened. Had she imagined it? A trick of the light? All she did know was a ripple of apprehension ran down her back. Pinpoints of blue light had manifested themselves in Marigole’s dark eyes like some weird phenomenon.
“God!” Marigole suddenly screeched. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Doing?” For the life of her Olivia couldn’t clear up that mystery. She watched transfixed as Marigole threw out her arm as if stung by a wasp. At the precise moment McAlpine swiftly closed in on them, alerted by his ex-wife’s all-too-familiar screech. He had been carrying a crystal flute of champagne, but the flailing of Marigole’s arm knocked the flute clean out of his hand. Sparkling wine flew out of the flute, splashing onto the carpet, giving Marigole a good spray on the way down.
“OK, so it’s not Krug.” McAlpine tried to make a joke of it but his ex-wife wasn’t having any.
“She shone something in my eyes,” Marigole erupted, to all appearances in dead earnest.
“You’re seriously asking me to believe that?” McAlpine looked at Olivia as if in apology. “Do not make a scene, Marigole,” he stressed.
“Let me get you a napkin.” Olivia, innocent of any wrongdoing, was feeling positively guilty. “I don’t think the wine did any lasting damage to your beautiful dress. I’ll get someone to mop the wine from the carpet.”
“And how would you know about the damage to my dress?” Marigole’s petite body was coiled in fury. “It cost a fortune. I’m appalled. You shone a light in my eyes. Enough to blind me.”
“As in some high-powered ray?” McAlpine’s expression was caustic. “Though where Olivia could be hiding it, I can’t imagine.” As he spoke he produced a snowy-white handkerchief, handing it to his ex-wife. “She can’t have shoved it down her camisole.”
Olivia took a deep breath. “Marigole, I did nothing but watch you throw out your arm. I thought something had stung you.”
“Then where’s the mark?” Marigole cried, holding up her right, then her left, arm for inspection. “What’s that?” Marigole couldn’t hold back her disbelief.
“I’d call that a bite,” McAlpine said, his voice a dark rumble. A red welt about the size of a five-cent piece had appeared on Marigole’s right arm. “You need to put something on it.” He wondered how any stinging insect had got into a room like this.
“I’ll get it.” Olivia turned away at once. She would have to put what she thought she saw out of her mind. It was a trick of the light. Nothing else. But the red welt made no sense at all. She’d had Marigole under close observation the entire time. There had been no red welt on her arm. It had only appeared when Marigole had demanded to know where the mark was.
Maybe there’s some ancient curse attached to the stone?
Don’t be silly!
The aboriginal people are much concerned with magic.
I’m not listening.
At least think about it.
By the time the main course was out of the way and dessert was being served by Kathy’s well-trained girls, Marigole had regained her equilibrium. Even more extraordinary to Olivia’s eyes was the fact the red welt had entirely disappeared. Was the local snake oil as effective as all that? She should order in a couple of bottles.
Much to her satisfaction, each course had been received with enthusiasm.
McAlpine caught her eye, raised his wineglass in a silent toast to her. He saw with pleasure how the lovely colour warmed her cheeks. Tonight she was as beautiful and serene as a swan. Breeding showed. She would make some man a splendid wife. He could have mourned the fact he hadn’t met a woman like her years ago, but then he reminded himself she would have been a student at Oxford. Just a girl. Selfless, devoted, overseeing too much for a demanding father. Not that Oscar wasn’t very proud of her. But Oscar had shaped the life his daughter was now finding she wanted to be free of. He didn’t fool himself that a woman like Olivia Balfour could settle in a desert kingdom, though his business affairs took him all over the world. He would want a clever woman like Olivia at his side. He was long past wanting an affair. He wanted her. Heart, mind and body. Only wanting and getting were two different things.
Marigole, unlike the others, wasn’t so much eating and enjoying the various dishes as rearranging what was presented to her into a more pleasing pattern on her plate. Either way she didn’t take more than a bite, demonstrating her awesome self-discipline. A very different story, however, with the wines. His ex-wife obviously rejected the theory that one to two small glasses of wine a day was enough for a woman as classic scare tactics from the medical profession. He genuinely wished Marigole well. But he wanted h
er out of his life. She had done enough damage. It was Georgina who had to be considered.
The conversation ranged easily and fluently over a broad number of topics, touching on the political and also, of great interest to Olivia, dressage, or as it was often referred to, “horse ballet.” Olivia herself had been an upper-level dressage competitor in her early twenties.
“Babs is a wonderful equestrienne,” Barbara Corbett’s husband said proudly, no mean horseman himself, having come second to his friend, McAlpine, in several top-notch cross-country endurance races.
Everyone at the table was a seasoned world traveller which provided an additional source of discussion. McAlpine and his friend Brendan juggled the conversational balls back and forth between them. Both were charming, witty and clever. It was McAlpine who started talking about the adventures they had shared since boyhood. And there were many, including an unforgettable trip to Antarctica.
“But if you want to know how the world began, you might try visiting the Galapagos Islands,” McAlpine said. “Bren and I once watched a volcano erupting from the deck of a yacht we’d chartered.”
“I do hope at a safe distance,” Olivia offered to general laughter.
“Safe enough.” McAlpine winged a smile in her direction. “You should have been there, Olivia, to hear the way the lava roared and hissed as it poured into the cold current. The violence of it, the shooting flames of molten red in the darkness! God, it was exciting! It’s volcanos like that and the others that make up the archipelago where Darwin cracked his code of evolution.”
Brendan picked up on that to add the disturbing news that the giant Galapagos tortoises were being senselessly slaughtered by pirates on floating fish factories.
“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t let’s talk about tortoises,” Marigole interrupted with great impatience, much put out by the way the superposh Balfour woman managed to shine throughout the evening. Worse, her ex-husband’s gleaming eyes were alighting on her far too frequently. “Save the whales, save the trees, save the tortoises! How boring! You weren’t being entirely truthful telling us you were here on a study tour were you, Olivia?” she accused, a teeny slurring to her words.
Lucas, who had been thoroughly enjoying himself, suddenly looked perturbed. His neck, half covered by an expensive silk cravat, went a deep red. It was apparent to all of them he was seriously worried about what Marigole was about to say.
None more so than McAlpine, who had survived his marriage for a relatively long period. “You have a great nose for gossip, haven’t you, Marigole? I’m sure, in this case, none of us wants to hear it. Certainly not Lucas, who is looking alarmed.”
More like freaked out! Olivia thought, strongly suspecting what was to come next. Her stomach muscles clenched in anticipation of an attack.
“My dear chap—” Lucas addressed McAlpine directly, apparently desperate not to be part of anything Marigole might say.
But Marigole, not to be denied her moment of triumph, cut in. “As I hear it, you were banished for bad behaviour.” The Bs were given full explosive throttle.
“If that’s the case, I’ll say a prayer for you, Olivia.” Brendan yawned, as if uninterested in anything Marigole might say.
But Olivia wasn’t her father’s daughter for nothing. “Not the sentence I would have applied myself, Marigole,” she said, not losing her cool composure. “My father simply wanted his daughters out of the spotlight for a time. I’m certain there’s nothing unusual about that? Obviously you’ve been doing some checking. One wonders why?”
“Blue Blood Turns Bad!” Again the Bs shot out like bullets. It was obvious Marigole had no thought whatever for anyone’s feelings. “Wasn’t that the way the headlines ran? The high-and-mighty Balfours and their illicit affairs! Not one but two illegitimate daughters! I’m shocked. I don’t know if I want my daughter near you.”
It was Brendan who blew his top. He had worn best-man regalia for his closest friend and ever after wished he had expressed his heartfelt doubts about Marigole long before the event. “Marigole, what a vicious bitch you are!” There was a fierce scowl on his face. “What you really need—”
“Is an early night.” McAlpine held up an authoritative hand to indicate his friend should stop there.
Red flags mounted to Marigole’s cheeks. “And who do you think you are? You’re not God, Clint.”
“How would you know? You don’t speak to Him.”
Marigole was not to be deflected. “Why is this woman here?” She was displaying all the bitterness and sense of betrayal appropriate in a wife. “Are you sleeping with her?”
Brendan’s current girlfriend, Chloe, who wasn’t exactly renowned for her IQ, uttered a shocked four-letter word beneath her breath. She thought the ex-Mrs McAlpine, though still a stunner at thirty-eight, should keep well clear of the booze.
McAlpine gave them a taste of the dominant male. He slammed a fist onto the table. “That’s quite enough. Olivia is a guest in my home.”
“And I’ve been sleeping very soundly at night, Mrs McAlpine,” Olivia assured her. “Alone. Does that answer your question? Not that I can see it’s your business.”
“Damned right!” Brendan gave Olivia a look of stout support.
Only Marigole was staring back at Olivia, apparently oblivious to anyone else. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.” Olivia was debating whether to call on her magic crystal again. She had an urge to touch it but backed off in case it knocked Marigole clean out of her chair.
Her man of the moment, Lucas, wore the deep remorseful expression of a basset hound. One could only marvel at the contrast between McAlpine and his successor! “I’m so sorry, Olivia. I’m afraid in an unguarded moment—”
“Lucas, if you would escort Marigole to her room,” McAlpine asked suavely, “before she nods off?”
A bitter laugh from Marigole. “What a beast you are, Clint! I’m not a child to be sent from the table.”
“Off you go.” He waved a hand. “We’ll see you at breakfast perhaps.”
Such an embarrassing incident should have put paid to the success of the evening. With Marigole out of the way no such thing happened. They all adjourned to the great room for coffee and liqueurs, the subject of Olivia’s “banishment” dropped as if no one knew or cared what Marigole had been talking about. Alternatively they did know but didn’t consider it a big deal in the light of daily catastrophes and revealed illegitimacies. Even among the high and mighty. Lucas, however, did not return. Very possibly a lover’s tiff? Marigole would have seized on her new target with renewed vigour. It would have been obvious to a blind man—why not Lucas?—that Marigole was still deeply in thrall to her ex-husband. Love or hate? Lucas, nice as he was, could never in his life have inspired either. And he had been married twice.
The evening finally came to an end well after midnight with everyone deciding to meet up for breakfast around 8:30 a.m. A swim in a safe freshwater lagoon? Not for me, thought Olivia, feeling her stomach lurch. And who could blame her? The odd saltwater monster had found its way into a few peaceful havens. She didn’t know then that someone in the party always carried a rifle. Just in case.
Maybe take the horses out? More to her liking. All were accomplished riders, except Brendan’s girlfriend, Chloe, who claimed she didn’t know one end of a horse from the other.
“Then I shall teach you, little darling,” promised Brendan.
Everyone had retired when Olivia suddenly remembered she had left her crystal necklace on a table in the great room. She had taken it off so Barbara, who was fascinated by it, could examine the stone more closely. She had meant to put it back on, but had become distracted by a question from Chloe about life in London. She wasn’t anxious about the necklace. No one would touch it. Nevertheless she felt the urge to go get it as though she should always keep it by her side. The huge house was softly aglow. The main lights had been switched off, leaving on soft down-lights. No guest would be called on to wander about in darkness.
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She had discovered she loved this house. Although she had lived all her life in a grand country house—very large, very dark, very old—much as she loved Balfour Manor and its great park, the house with its enormous panelled rooms and endless corridors could at times be oppressive. It was also crowded to the hilt with valuable furniture, paintings, tapestries, marbles and porcelains, dating back centuries, to say nothing of a couple of resident ghosts. Everywhere one looked at the manor, there were so many splendid things to behold it was near impossible to focus on any one object. Growing up as she had she had become quite a connoisseur of art and could speak very knowledgeably about it. So it came as something of a shock to realise, though born a Balfour, she could easily and happily move into this extraordinary house in its even more extraordinary Northern Territory setting. There were beautiful and valuable things here as well, but there was no danger of bumping into anything. And the air! The pure golden air, the quality of the sunlight, the colorations of the vast empty landscape! It was like living inside an Albert Namatjira painting.
She had lived a life of privilege, but it had its downside in constriction, relentless media attention, living up to her father’s very exacting standards. Really, she’d had none of the freedom she found here. She didn’t want to be disloyal but it was as if she’d been handed a get-out-of-jail-free card. And to think in a few months’ time she would have to pack up again and go away!
Doesn’t bear thinking about.
She was passing McAlpine’s study, necklace in hand, when the brass knob on the door turned. She jumped like a startled cat.
“Olivia!” He stood there, the most dashingly romantic-looking man in the world, delivering her name on a slow-drawn breath. “Were you about to knock on my door? Could I be so lucky! How did you know I was still up?”
Her heart started up its now-familiar thumping routine. For a moment she was too off balance to smile or even speak. “I haven’t been keeping tabs on you, if that’s what you mean. I left my necklace in the great room. I’d been showing it to Barbara. I thought I should come and get it, seeing as it’s my very special talisman.”
