Daniel's Bride

by Joanne Hill

  In that instant her jaw tightened and she looked as if she wished she could retract the statement.

  “You stuck up for your friend,” he commented. “You let me think they were your children.”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “Diane just broke up with her husband. She’s got two children, she’s pregnant with a third and she’s trying to get her life back together. All I did was mind her kids for an hour so she could go up to the town on her own and do some shopping. You can see what it would be like going anywhere with Britney and Eli.”

  “That was an honorable thing to do.” He meant it too. Especially considering the dearth of honor permeating the Christie clan.

  Mel shrugged. “I don’t really know her. We only met two days ago when she arrived at the campsite. We have – similar things…” She hesitated, added, “Going on in our lives.”

  Had her own marriage broken up as well? It would be just his misfortune to walk into a feminist pow-wow of women dumping on men. He glanced around the site but could only see the old people in the campervans.

  “I’d like to take you out to dinner,” he said suddenly.

  Her eyes flashed with shock. “Sorry?”

  He felt the shock himself. Since when did he invite strangers out to dinner? “To apologize,” he said.

  “You already have.”

  Saying sorry didn’t seem enough. At the back of his mind, he knew why he was doing it. He was making a grand gesture, if only to himself, to rub in just how selfish his brothers were being; to him, to their grandfather, to the business. I’m the oldest brother, the one who cares, the one who takes responsibility when I screw up. Which only made him just as immature as Sean and Everett but he could live with it just this one time.

  He took his phone from his pocket. “I’ll take your number and give you a call in a few days.”

  “Look, that’s really not necessary,” she began.

  He arched his eyebrows. “I screwed up back there.” Saying it aloud made him wince. “It’s only dinner. We both have to eat.”

  He saw her mind working, and he got the feeling she was just playing with him, that she wasn’t about to accept dinner invitations from strangers. Which suited him fine; he was not in a particularly social frame of mind. She shrugged. “Okay.” She gave him her number and he wondered if it was even real. Not his problem. He was making the offer, end of story. “My last name is Green but I’ll only be at that number two more weeks. I have to… that is, I’m... shifting.”

  He caught the hesitation as he pocketed the phone. “Are you moving away from Sydney?”

  “No.” She bit down on her bottom lip. “I don’t know. I haven’t decided.”

  His interest piqued even further. She was leaving her home in a fortnight and she had nothing arranged?

  But then, if she was at a campsite in the middle of a working week, maybe she was running from more than she was letting on. “I’ll call.”

  She hesitated. “Honestly, you don’t have to. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.” There was an element of “don’t bother” about it.

  “Is there a good time?”

  She stared at him with a none-of-your-business look. “I don’t go out with strangers,” she told him.

  “Then reject me. I can handle it.”

  “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Daniel,” he told her, as he strode away. He’d wasted enough time here. “I’ll call.”

  Daniel’s Rolex said three pm. Behind him, company lawyer Hugh Devereaux closed the heavy oak doors and turned the lock. Daniel spared a brief glance out through the tinted floor-to-ceiling windows of the Christie Group boardroom, in the Christie Towers, on an enviable chunk of prime Circular Quay real estate that had been in his family for over a century. It afforded him a glimpse of the bridge, of the opera house, of the city he loved. He was in his element.

  He focused back on the men at the table as Hugh joined them. Three members of the board of Christie Corp. The only members not present were his grandfather who had suffered a relapse and was ensconced in his Vaucluse mansion with his team of medical staff running around to patch him up.

  And Sean and Everett. His lazy, irresponsible, utterly selfish younger brothers.

  Daniel turned back to the men. They were waiting for an update, waiting expectantly for the acting head of one of Australia’s largest corporations to tell them what was happening in their billion dollar world.

  “Sean,” he began, his jaw tightening at having to mention his brother’s name, “has not responded to my calls, emails, or texts. I suspect he’s abandoned that number and doesn’t feel it necessary to enlighten us. As long as his allowance is paid into the bank each month…” He reached for the pitcher of water on the table in front of him, and poured a glass. The sound of ice cubes clinking together in the Waterford was obscenely loud. “Unfortunately the situation with Everett isn’t much better.” If it was his, Daniel’s, choice, he’d cut them off from their allowance altogether, but it wasn’t his choice. And he was not about to go against his grandfather’s wishes.

  As he set the decanter down, his gaze caught the painting of his great, great grandfather. William Christie had founded this company using his own blood, sweat and tears, and none of them would ever forget it, would ever be allowed to forget it. Loyalty gripped his chest. His brothers, however, appeared to be the exceptions in over a century of Christie men. He had trouble believing they were from the same pool of DNA, but oh yes, they were.

  “Before my grandfather’s current relapse,” he continued, “we talked at length about the future plans of Christie group. With our five year plan, we are looking at becoming one of the most significant trading companies in the Asia Pacific region.”

  He glanced at each board member, men he respected, who deserved to be here. Men as devoted to this company as if the blood of William Percy Christie ran through their own veins.

  “Your grandfather remains extremely concerned about Sean and Everett,” Hugh commented, stroking his moustache.

  Daniel glanced at him. His grandfather’s oldest friend and confidante. If anyone knew what was going on behind the scenes at Christie Group, it was Hugh. Their legal brain.

  “I know.” He rapped the table with his fingers. “And his health is declining because he’s worried. Their complete lack of interest in Christie Corp beyond what it forks out for their allowance is breaking his heart. He doesn’t show it but I know it. And even though they are fully aware that Arthur’s time is…” Darn. Did his voice have to crack? He ground out, “That Arthur’s time is limited, it seems it isn’t making a blind bit of difference.” Daniel eyeballed each man one by one. “So we need to do something and something fast for grandfather. I’ve given up on the redemption of those two but he hasn’t and I do not want him going to his grave suffering the disappointment my brothers are wreaking on him.” It would break his heart. Make him feel as if he had failed the one person he owed so much to. He would do what it took to ensure that did not happen.

  Hugh pushed himself away from the table, rose abruptly to his feet. “Daniel.” He walked to the window and with his back to them said, “There is something we’ve discovered that you’re not aware of. We weren’t aware of it until this morning.”

  “What is it?

  The older man came over, and gripped the back of a chair with both fists. He paused, then shook his head. “We’ve learnt that Arthur has hired two investigators to follow Everett and Sean. They’ve been on his payroll for the past two months.”

  Shock went through Daniel and for seconds, he couldn’t speak. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

  “Your grandfather knows exactly where they are and what they are doing.”

  The blood drained further from his body. No. It wasn’t possible.

  He hadn’t realized he’d said it aloud until Hugh shook his head. “I’m afraid so.”

  “All this time, we’ve been twisting the details to spare him the truth.”

&n
bsp; Hugh nodded. “I’ve no doubt he realizes we’ve done it to protect him. And I’ve no doubt Arthur appreciates that. But the fact is, he’s known. And known more than us.”

  “But…” Daniel’s hand shook as he drank down water. What he’d give for some scotch on that ice. “He never said anything. Never so much as discussed the possibility. Never hinted he knew what they were up to.”

  “He’s determined to save them. He can’t bear to see the family name dragged down and he can’t bear to see your father’s offspring become…” Hugh stopped but Daniel knew what he’d been about to say. Sean and Everett were cut out of a mold the Christies had never encountered before. True, their father, Duncan, had resented being born into the family but he’d taken his position in the firm and he’d played his part, even though he’d loathed every minute of it until his unexpected death ten years ago. Sean and Everett were something else altogether.

  “Frankly, this is killing Arthur.” Hugh rubbed his palms roughly down his face. “It’s no coincidence that since he had the boys followed, his health has failed further. And that worries me. It worries me a hell of a lot.”

  Daniel felt something slip away from him. There was only one person responsible. Himself. If he’d kept better control over his brothers, they wouldn’t have fallen apart, succumbed to the temptations that kids with too much money and no sense were easy victims of. He should have seen it, reined them in, sorted them out so that Arthur didn’t have to pay some stranger to keep tabs on them. He was their older brother.

  Nausea cemented in his stomach and he breathed in against the sudden light-headedness. He’d failed them. The buck had just stopped and it was up to him to fix this for his grandfather.

  Before it was too late.

  A week away in the tent had not provided Mel with the enlightenment she’d been hoping for over which direction to head with her life. All it had done was blast home that she had utterly wasted those days getting in touch with nature and wallowing in her own pity when she could have been job hunting and looking for a place to live. She’d been out of a job two months now, used up her savings and her holiday pay. Being a school counselor was not a high paying job at the best of times and with government cut backs in the education sector, the chance of getting a decent position was close to zero. Last week she’d emailed applications to be a barista, an assistant at a souvenir store, and a receptionist at a podiatrist’s surgery. She hadn’t even been granted an interview and had been told by one agency she was overqualified.

  To top it off, her tenancy was almost up. She already had half her gear packed in boxes, ready to cram into the small storage unit she was about to rent. She had barely enough money to put down on an apartment, even if she got a job by the end of the week. Of course, she’d get the deposit money back from the landlord when she handed him the key but it wouldn’t last long.

  She was broke. And there was no one else she could blame.

  With frustration, she pushed open the door of her flat, dropped her keys on the table and went through to the lounge where the packing was taking place. Not everything was hers. She glanced at a box labeled Salvation Army, filled with Julia’s things. Her clothes, her books, her crockery from the kitchen. Julia hadn’t had much time to pack up her stuff. After all, when you left by stealth with your flatmate’s boyfriend – fiancé – it hardly left any time to get organized.

  Mel bypassed the box.

  The worst thing of all was just how much her life had revolved around the new future she’d been planning, the new married life that had vanished down the drain in a gurgle of vile water. Just thinking about the things Max had said in his note, the reasons he’d wanted out of their relationship…

  She shivered and concentrated on sorting a stack of paperbacks. When she had to leave the flat, she could stay with her mother a few nights. There was a couch in her mother’s tiny apartment, and Ellie would still assume Mel was getting over the pain of being jilted. She grimaced as she sorted the novels into a keeper and giveaway pile. She’d shied away from relating the whole sordid story and had kept her flatmate’s name out of it.

  Ellie Green had enough to contend with, without worrying about the mess her only daughter had gotten herself into.

  The phone rang suddenly, shrill in the silence, and Mel hesitated. It could be a telemarketer. Or it could be her mother, or even the rest home.

  She cursed her cost saving when she’d gotten rid of caller ID, picked up the phone and tucked it under her chin. “Melinda Green speaking.”

  It was Daniel.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mel took a bite of her hamburger and used a paper napkin to wipe away a dribble of ketchup from her chin. Steak, tomato and lettuce, a warm bun, pickles, tons of sauce – what more could you want?

  She took a sip of cola - diet cola – from the paper cup, set it back in the holder, and glanced discreetly at Daniel. What she’d give to read his mind now, right this minute, as they sat on hard plastic seats in a stadium with sports crazed fans surrounding them. Most of them were vocal; a lot of them were just plain drunk. She took another bite of hamburger. This was the dinner he’d promised her?

  Not that she was complaining when it was the most excitement she’d be getting for a while. Their thighs had touched before and brief as it was, she hadn’t wanted the feeling to end. But watching a game meant they weren’t getting to talk and in the days since he’d phoned, imagining their dinner had been a welcome distraction from everything else. In complete violation of the rest home rules which stated no visitors allowed she had spent last night at her mother’s apartment. It had been a trial run, being her mother’s new roomie, and it would be fine; in a fortnight, she’d have no choice.

  Daniel finished off his hamburger and began to tuck into the rest of his fries. She was drawn to his profile, to the way his hair sat around his neck, the way his jaw moved as he slowly chewed, the short lines around his eyes as he focused on the game. Her gaze dipped. The t-shirt emphasised his flat stomach, sitting nicely around muscular arms and wide, powerful shoulders. He leant forward, and the t-shirt slipped up from his jeans. Beneath it, a nice tanned section of male skin. He sat back, and finished off his fries. How did he manage to eat that stuff and not get fat?

  The crowd roared and she jumped in shock. Around them people rose to their feet, Daniel went with them and Mel followed suit, not sure what she was meant to be looking at.

  She stared at the field, and at the players running around on the green turf. Suddenly a player was brought to the ground in a tackle, a collective groan rose in the crowd, and she sat back down with relief, and consoled herself with the rest of the hamburger.

  “I take it you’re enjoying that?” Daniel commented.

  Mel froze, mid chew. Heat rose startlingly quick up her neck as she turned to face him.

  He pointed to an area to the right of his mouth. “You’ve got something…”

  She grabbed her paper napkin and dabbed, and for good measure dabbed the other side, and took a sip of cola to wash away the shame. Not that she was out to impress him, but she didn’t have to embarrass herself.

  “It’s delicious,” she said finally. “Yummy. I haven’t had a hamburger in ages.”

  “It wasn’t bad at all,” he agreed. He screwed up his wrapper and took his cup from the holder.

  And that was the thing. If you were going to bring a girl out on a date, wouldn’t you go to some swanky French restaurant with four courses, a waiter who draped a fine linen napkin across your lap, and served wine in crystal flutes? The Christies were loaded - she’d Googled them. When he’d said his name was Daniel Christie she hadn’t for a second assumed he was actually one of those Christies. But he was. They weren’t the flashy rich who paraded themselves at functions or indulged in scurrilous activities and married supermodels. They were far too conservative and old money for that. But they packed impressive financial punch, gave heavily to charity, and appeared to have inherited one heck of a mighty gene pool, judging from t
he photos that had come up on line. Even the great grandfather in the grainy sepia shot was pretty easy on the eye.

  “You’re not enjoying yourself, are you,” Daniel remarked. It was a voice that was neither accusing nor disappointed. For such emotive words, in fact, it was said with amazing blandness.

  “I’m enjoying myself.” She took another sip of cola.

  He ran a considering gaze over her. “I thought you’d like football. You were wearing a football shirt at the campground and I noticed you had supporters’ stickers on your car bumper.”

  Mel closed her eyes a second. Of course he would think that. It all made perfect sense now. Except that it was her mother who was the huge fan, relying on the cable TV Mel insisted she have to indulge her passion for the game.

  “I’ve watched a lot of sport in my time,” she told him diplomatically. “My mother is one of those crazy supporters with all the scarves and the posters and the coffee cups and…” She stopped. She didn’t need to impart personal information to him. Didn’t need him to know that it was the one thing that kept her mother sane, and when she was learning how to get her life back on track, it counted for a lot.

  She took the final sip of her cola, and he glanced at the scoreboard and said, “Looks like we lost.” He stood up, slid effortlessly into his leather jacket, and held out his hand. “Let’s go.”

  She put her hand in his. Heat pulsed through her as he pulled her up. Everyone around them was getting up from the hard seats, too. He said, “I’m only sorry I couldn’t deliver a win for your team.”

  “Our team,” she corrected in between praying he didn’t ask her to name which teams had played.

  He dropped her hand. Her skin still tingled, still felt hot. He smiled the amused smile that could have been from a brother to a sister. Her heart dipped even further. “Of course. Our team. Let’s go.”