So she changed the subject. ‘Julene, who do I remind Bryn of?’
A flicker of indecision passed through Julene’s eyes then she shrugged. ‘Tom’s mother, but that’s something you should ask Bryn about.’
Fleur started to say something then changed her mind. ‘Where is he? The place seems to be very quiet.’ She looked around.
‘He took Tom across to the mainland for a checkup.’
‘Any spots?’
‘Nope.’ Julene stood up. ‘He was as bright as a button this morning. Might have been a false alarm but he wanted to be sure. Oh, well, guess I’ll finish clearing up the mess—by the way, the boss has decreed that we are closed tonight even though it’s not a Monday.’ Monday was the one day of the week the restaurant didn’t open.
‘Glory be,’ Fleur said with feeling. ‘I’ll give you a hand with the mess.’ Her lips curved into a rueful smile. ‘Since I caused a lot of it.’
Bryn didn’t arrive home until late afternoon—minus Tom.
He came into Fleur’s office just as she was preparing to knock off for the day and was massaging the back of her neck. She didn’t hear him come back, didn’t know he was in the office behind her until he said, ‘Tired?’
She dropped her hand and turned to face him slowly. ‘A little. How…how is Tom?’
Bryn looked her over thoroughly before replying. If anyone looked tired, he did, she thought in the pause, in his moleskins, check shirt and deck shoes. There seemed to be shadows beneath his eyes and more lines beside his mouth than she remembered, and she flinched inwardly because she didn’t want to notice things like that about this man but didn’t seem able to help herself.
‘Tom appears to be fine,’ he said at last. ‘But friends of mine are holidaying on the mainland. They have a couple of kids round about his age and he knows them well, so I left him with them for a couple of days. They’ve both had chickenpox and their mum knows what to look out for in Tom.’
‘Oh. Well, I guess he’ll enjoy some company of his own age.’
Bryn smiled twistedly. ‘So he gave me to understand. Like a drink?’
Fleur blinked. ‘I…’
‘Eric is setting up a barbecue on the beach and Julene is going to cook. We’ll have the pleasure of Clam Cove to ourselves this evening.’
‘That sounds…that sounds wonderful,’ Fleur heard herself say with more enthusiasm than she could explain.
And after a moment Bryn Wallis smiled down at her more genuinely than he ever had before, causing her to catch her breath—and pray he hadn’t noticed.
It was a wonderful evening. They swam, while the water was smooth, silky and coloured oyster with touches of fire from the setting sun. Eric built a fire and Julene grilled fillets of fish, heated crusty bread in the coals and provided a delicious risotto as well as a fresh salad to go with the fish, plus her homemade tartar sauce. They opened a couple of bottles of wine and sat in deckchairs on the beach—more relaxed than Fleur would have thought possible only a day ago.
Bryn built up the fire after they’d eaten and the swift darkness of the tropics fell. Then, in a rather orchestrated way, Fleur felt, Julene and Eric yawned simultaneously, claimed they needed an early night in the same breath, and departed for bed.
She was still looking surprised when Bryn started to laugh softly.
‘What was that all about?’ she asked.
‘I have to agree they’re lousy actors,’ he said, still grinning.
‘But why?’ She looked even more puzzled.
‘Fleur, your steely mind must be taking a break—I should have thought it was obvious.’
‘Not to me. I feel as if I’ve suddenly acquired body odour.’ She shrugged whimsically.
‘Not at all. I’d say that Julene and Eric, with a consummate lack of subtlety, have decided to throw us together.’
Fleur’s lips parted incredulously. ‘But…I don’t understand… Why?’
‘They’ve obviously come to the conclusion we’d be good for each other.’
‘Only last night,’ she said, ‘and for the past three and a half weeks it’s been—’ She stopped and gestured helplessly.
‘The other side of a certain coin?’ he broke in to say. ‘Perhaps.’
In the silence that followed his statement, Fleur wished with all her heart that she could feign misunderstanding or deny it. She moved restlessly in her deckchair and shuffled her bare feet in the sand. It was another beautiful night with the Southern Cross hanging above their heads, and the fire was casting leaping shadows on the beach.
‘You and I,’ he said quietly at last, ‘may have a better understanding of things, though.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as why we don’t wish to pursue the other side of the coin—I’m talking about the attraction that lies just beneath the surface.’
She released a deep breath and glanced at him through her lashes.
He had on the same football shirt and khaki shorts of the night before and he was lying back in his chair with his legs sprawled out, looking up at the stars.
He was, it would appear, relaxed and in a contemplative frame of mind, as if he was talking about something quite abstract and he was not, at that moment, prey to any physical attraction to her. Whereas just looking at his big frame sprawled in the chair as he gazed up at the stars brought a strange clenching to the stomach for her, for example.
‘Go on,’ she said, when she could keep her voice cool and calm.
He glinted a quizzical hazel glance at her and resumed his study of the heavens. ‘Well, the reason you may not want to pursue it is because you, for whatever reason, have given up men.’
‘And you?’ she queried.
‘Ah. It couldn’t be said that I’ve given up women.’
‘I had noticed that.’
He smiled. ‘On the other hand, I have given up Stella.’
Fleur blinked. ‘Why?’
‘The same reason that would make it unforgivable for me to take up with you, Fleur. I’m perfectly happy to continue my bachelor existence. I don’t say this with any pride but I’m a hard man to pin down—’
‘I’d say there’s a lot of pride in that statement, Bryn,’ she interjected sharply. ‘How did you fail to make Stella aware of this before you took up with her—or didn’t you even try?’ She looked across at him sardonically. But something in his expression arrested her. Something in the way he fleetingly lowered his eyelids made her wonder whether he was actually hiding cool amusement—and she’d walked into a trap of his devising.
‘Bryn,’ she said slowly, ‘I’m not really interested in what reasons you may have for not wanting to take up with me—I’m just glad you have them.’
He sat up at last, to clasp his hands between his knees and subject her to a penetrating gaze that was also quite enigmatic. ‘So we understand each other quite well?’ he said at length.
‘We do.’
‘Hmm…’
A smile trembled on Fleur’s lips but she forced it to disappear at the same time as she thought, Got you there, Bryn Wallis! Perhaps he read her thoughts, though, because the glance he then bestowed upon her was loaded with irony. ‘So be it,’ he murmured. ‘By the way, I’ve decided to close again tomorrow night. Could you see your way clear to taking a day off, Miss Millar?’
Fleur frowned. ‘I—’
‘It’s just that Eric and Julene want to take their yacht for a spin and there’s a beach on the mainland with this marvellous waterfall and pool. It’s a great spot for a picnic.’
She thought for a bit. ‘And you don’t think Eric and Julene will come up with another novel way to “throw us together”?’ she queried.
He grinned. ‘What do they say—forewarned is forearmed? I was also thinking of getting my friends and Tom to join us. They’ve got a four-wheel-drive, so they can get to this beach by road—track really. I would imagine all that should be sufficient to dampen any suspicious ardour we might feel for each other, don’t you?’
He blinked, looked at her fingers clenched around her wineglass and said gravely, ‘Sorry. My ego just took another little dent, you might say.’
‘You mean it’s all right for you to tell me you don’t want to pursue me but it’s a bit different for me to tell you I’m happy about it?’ she responded tartly.
‘I told you you had a mind like steel trap, Fleur, didn’t I?’ he marvelled, looking glum.
She stood up. ‘Not really. But I do have some experience of men and their egos.’
His false expression of glumness faded, to be replaced by something alert and probing. Fleur bit her lip and wished she’d held her peace rather than making inflammatory remarks—she also knew enough about men to know that what she’d said would invite curiosity at the least. She discovered almost immediately that she was not wrong.
‘How many have there been?’ he queried. ‘Men, I mean.’
‘I’ve known dozens of men,’ she replied.
‘Allow me to rephrase.’ He looked up at her as if to say, Two can play that kind of game. ‘How many have you slept with?’
‘It was not a profession with me, if that’s what you’re implying.’ The firelight made her eyes look bluer—and very cynical.
Bryn swore beneath his breath and stood up to put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Don’t—’
‘Don’t you try to manhandle me again, Bryn Wallis,’ she said through gritted teeth.
His fingers dug into her shoulders briefly then he shook his head savagely and released her. ‘I was about to say, don’t read things into everything I say before I’ve had a chance to say it, Fleur. But, even if it wasn’t a profession,’ he continued grimly, ‘it’s a road to destruction, Fleur. Hell, now look what you’ve done!’ he finished bitterly.
She blinked several times and looked around in utter confusion. ‘What?’
‘I knew you’d get me all worried about you—that’s why I didn’t want you for the job!’
‘I…I…but you hardly know me from a bar of soap,’ she said confusedly.
‘I know the type all too well,’ he replied. ‘Too gorgeous for your own good, Ms Millar, not to mention walking man-bait.’
Fleur’s mouth fell open, then she snapped it shut. ‘All right!’ She was so angry it amazed her that her words came out crisp and crystal-clear. ‘This was meant to be the path to redemption, Mr Wallis. But I can travel it on my own; I don’t need help or anyone to worry about me—least of all you. In which case it might be an idea for you to go back to Stella, if that’s what this is really about.’ She put her hands on her hips to stare at him levelly, and saw him react sharply.
Then he took hold, folded his arms leisurely and summed her up comprehensively from head to toe. She’d put a thin white pullover on over her swimming costume, so her legs were bare, and his gaze lingered on them. Finally he drawled, ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘That you’re finding it more difficult than you anticipated not to pursue me now Stella has palled,’ she replied bluntly.
‘Well, now.’ He shrugged and rubbed his jaw reflectively, then he smiled. ‘You could be right, Fleur. You could be right!’
She drew an outraged breath. ‘And you still have the nerve to lecture me and sermonize about paths to destruction—I don’t believe you, Bryn Wallis! Just don’t think I…that I…will—’ She couldn’t go on and she did it again out of sheer frustration—emptied her wineglass over him.
‘Dear me,’ he murmured in the moment before he reached for her, ‘you’re a regular little wild cat, Ms Millar. Maybe we just can’t help ourselves?’ he theorized at large, then shrugged again and pulled her into his arms.
Fleur gathered herself to resist him to the bitter end but all he did was look down at her for a long considering moment. Then he placed his lips gently against hers for a brief moment before letting her go. As a final insult, he patted her on the head, and strolled away down the beach towards his bungalow.
CHAPTER THREE
‘FLEUR! Fleur!’ Tom called excitedly the next morning, when they had landed on the beach after sailing across from the island to the mainland. ‘I’m so glad you came! These are my friends, Lucy and Brad.’
Thank heavens for Tom, Fleur thought as she greeted Lucy and Brad gravely. At least his enthusiastic presence might relieve some of the deadly tension that had simmered between her and Bryn through breakfast, through the sail on the Julene, through anchoring the yacht offshore and coming into the beach by dinghy.
Not that Bryn had said anything to her that she could take exception to, the opposite if anything was true, but he’d been so unnaturally polite and courteous that even Julene had fallen silent beneath the weight of Bryn Wallis at his most contrary.
It was a blazingly hot day and all three children wore protective shirts over their costumes, kepi hats, and were liberally smeared with zinc cream. They chatted to her excitedly before running off to inspect a rock pool. Then she was being introduced to Moira and Ken Henderson, Lucy and Brad’s parents, and Lyall Henderson, Ken’s brother—introduced as only Bryn, in his present mood, could do it.
‘This is Fleur, folks,’ he said at large. ‘The keeper of my books and the only person who has twice poured a drink over me—as well as a few other things. I just mention this in passing so you’ll know what to expect should you tangle with her.’
Dead silence greeted this statement as everyone stared at Fleur bemusedly.
You bastard, Fleur thought, but managed to smile amusedly. ‘I doubt if anyone could be as difficult or exasperating as you, Bryn, so I think they’ll be quite safe from me,’ she said ruefully and turned to the Henderson clan. ‘How do you do? I’m so glad to see Tom looking better!’
It broke the ice. Everyone laughed and Ken Henderson said genially to Bryn, ‘Met your match at last, boyo? Not before time if you ask me. I must say, though, Fleur, you’ve made a great hit with Tom. He hasn’t stopped talking about you!’
A warm little feeling ran through Fleur as Moira seconded this sentiment, despite the fact that she could cheerfully have killed Tom’s father. But, as the picnic got under way, Bryn got back to his other persona—funny and engaging, and she was not singled out for any more satirical treatment. All the same, as they climbed the cliff behind the beach to find the waterfall, she took care to stay well out of his way and, as they negotiated the narrow path, found herself paired with Lyall Henderson.
In his mid-twenties, she guessed, about her height, he had fair curly hair and an engaging smile. And they chatted on the way up so that she came to know he was a medical intern on holiday, that he lived in Brisbane, and had spent the first week of his break trying to catch up on some sleep.
It was a hot, steep climb beside a stream that bubbled down the hill over a bed of smooth round rocks. Cicadas shrilled in the bushes, green ants prowled along the branches of the melaleucas and banksias and a flock of white cockatoos screeched as they flew overhead, wheeled and came to rest in some huge gum trees.
‘This is quite a climb,’ Fleur said, wiping the sweat off her face.
‘Not far now,’ Lyall replied. ‘And definitely worth it—you’ll see!’
Five minutes later she did. The waterfall cascaded down into a natural basin of rock that provided a deep, clear pool.
‘OK, kids,’ Bryn said, ‘last one in is a dummy!’ And he dived straight into the water. The kids followed suit—they could all swim like fish—and one by one the adults followed after discarding shorts and shirts. Fleur was the last to go in, in her one-piece turquoise costume with a halter strap, and was amazed to find the water was cold but marvellously refreshing. You could also swim right under the waterfall and come up in a cave that was screened from the rest of the pool by a green curtain of water.
She did so, and as she surfaced Bryn came up beside her. They were the only two b
ehind the waterfall as a lively game of Marco Polo was being played on the other side. And his faintly malicious smile told her that the truce had been temporary, but he chose to confirm it in words. ‘Safest place to be in your company, Fleur! It would be hard to get wetter.’
She paddled to a ledge and pulled herself up to sit on it. ‘Don’t you think you might have got enough mileage out of that, Bryn?’
He swam to the ledge, rested his arms on it and propped his chin on his fist. ‘If it had happened to you, you could think otherwise. As a matter of interest, do you not have any regrets at all about consistently dousing me in food and drink?’
‘I always work on the premise that one should never regret something you do in genuine emotion. However,’ she said gravely, ‘your inability to keep things to yourself was not something I was aware of.’
‘I am like that,’ he agreed. ‘Does that mean you’ll restrain yourself in future?’ He shot her a very hazel look.
She raised her eyebrows and sleeked back her hair. ‘All depends. Being “typecast” and referred to as walking man-bait could make it a little difficult.’
‘What about the gorgeous bit?’
Fleur had wound her hair up on top of her head and was holding it there. ‘Gorgeous is as gorgeous does,’ she said ruefully. ‘There’s got to be more to it than that, surely?’
I wonder, Bryn found himself thinking. Has she no idea how exquisite the curves of her breasts, hips and thighs are, how sleek and satiny and unblemished her skin is, how the lines of her body flow in perfect proportion, how classy that fastidious little nose is—and how grateful I am this water is as cold as it is?
Then he thought that perhaps she did know all those things, or that he’d been unable to hide his instinctive admiration, because she lowered her arms abruptly and the shape of her breasts changed although her nipples were still clearly outlined beneath the turquoise Lycra. She also slid into the pool a little clumsily and made to swim away from him.
Wife in the Making Page 4
