Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress

by Anne Oliver

  Three hours later she was standing outside her parents’ Rose Bay mansion with two bulging suitcases. She punched in the security code and the high wrought-iron gates swung open on smooth oiled hinges. The panorama of lawn and paved driveway stretched in front of her like a marathon course.

  Head high, Didi. She’d done what she’d set out to do. She was a success. There should be a trumpet fanfare for her return, or at least two people waiting on the steps with open arms.

  So why did she feel like a little girl again trying to win her parents’ approval?

  The porch light winked on but the house was in darkness as she rolled her suitcases up the drive.

  She rang the bell, heard it echo down the hall. A neighbour’s dog barked and the sounds of night stirred in the nearby rose bushes.

  Digging out her old key, she fitted it to the lock and let herself in. The door opened with its well-known scrape of wood against wood. She hoped they hadn’t changed the security code as she tapped it in but no ear-splitting noise eventuated.

  Familiar scents assaulted her nostrils. Mum’s French perfume and the smell of old carpet. The Ming vase still sat on the antique rosewood table in the hall.

  Nothing had changed.

  Everything had changed.

  She dragged her cases upstairs, hesitated at her parents’ bedroom door. The familiar gold rose-sprigged quilt but the paintwork was new. She wrote a quick note, left it on the bed, then headed to her old room.

  Everything was as she’d left it. Pink. It was like stepping back years and that feeling of suffocation with it. No. This time it would be different, she told herself, shaking it away, unzipping her case and dragging out her toiletries.

  She was going to work here—in Sydney. The only contact with Cameron Black would be through email when she had pieces to deliver. Apart from that, she would not think about him, ever again.

  Bathroom ritual complete, she climbed into bed…

  The next thing Didi was aware of was daylight and her mother watching her with tears misting her grey eyes. Her complexion was smooth as ever, and only her mum’s hair could look as if it had been salon-done first thing in the morning—even if it had a few more streaks of silver than the last time she’d seen her.

  Her own eyes filled. ‘Mum.’

  ‘Didi. Is everything all right? You’re not in any kind of trouble, are you?’

  ‘No. I should have let you know I was coming, but it was…kind of sudden.’ She pushed up, ran a hand over her own tousled hair. ‘I had thought I might see you and Dad on Saturday night.’

  ‘Saturday night, dear?’

  ‘You didn’t get my invitation?’

  ‘We just got back from the airport a short time ago. We’ve been up to Hayman Island for a couple of weeks. What invitation? Oh, Didi…’ Her voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes widened. ‘Not…’

  Didi waved a hand. Clearly her mother thought she’d been fool enough to fall in love and be dumped again. ‘No, Mum. Nothing like that.’ She swung her legs over the bed, optimism flooding through her as she realised her parents hadn’t come to her special night because they hadn’t known. ‘The gallery opening. I was commissioned—extremely generously—to do the focal piece of artwork for a new gallery supporting local artists. Did Veronica tell you?’

  ‘She mentioned something about your work. And that you were living with a man.’ Only a glint of disapproval in her eyes. ‘At a very exclusive address.’

  Ah, that made it okay, then, Didi thought, resentment burning beneath her breast. A man like Cameron Black with his money and power would always be welcome here.

  Not to her, he wouldn’t. Because she wouldn’t let him be.

  ‘We’ve been waiting for you to tell us,’ her mother said. She brushed a hand over Didi’s hair.

  A simple gesture. Only a mother’s love could trigger the emotion that washed over Didi, threatening to drown her. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to know…’

  Her mum smiled. ‘Of course we want to know. You cut us out of your life, Didi.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head, reached for her mother and was enveloped by the warm familiarity of her slender yet sturdy shoulders. Shoulders she desperately needed, she realised. ‘I’m sorry we argued. I needed to find my own niche.’

  ‘We know you did, dear. We’ll talk about that later, with your father. Right now I’m more concerned with what’s brought you home after all this time.’ She leaned back, her grey eyes searching Didi’s and pinpointing it with dead accuracy. ‘He did, didn’t he? The man who gave you the chance you’ve been waiting for.’

  ‘Oh, Mum. I made a mistake.’ Again. She snapped a handful of tissues from the box on the bedside table. ‘This time I really think my life’s over.’

  Her mum straightened, held Didi at arm’s length and drilled her with that familiar don’t-be-ridiculous-Didi look. ‘That’s nonsense. It’s just started. You’ve finally achieved what you wanted. How much did you say he paid you?’

  Didi smiled through her tears, this time not taking her mother’s glare so literally. ‘I didn’t. But it’s enough to live on comfortably for a bit while I work on more commissions. I’ve got orders for more and…’

  ‘The world’s opening up for you.’

  She nodded, amazed at her mother’s support. She’d taken such different impressions with her when she’d left. Hugged them to her for years.

  ‘Tell you what, why don’t you have a shower, dress and come down to the kitchen?’ her mum said. ‘We’ll all have brunch. Rosita should be in shortly.’

  ‘Rosita still works for you?’ she said, wiping her nose.

  ‘She does. I’ll have her whip up one of those omelettes you always liked.’

  ‘I can’t get over the fact that you’re taking this new career in art so well,’ Didi said, between mouthfuls of fluffy egg mixture. ‘You never showed any interest.’

  ‘That’s unfair, Didi.’ Her mother sliced her toast into neat little squares. ‘We were worried you wouldn’t get anywhere and you’d be devastated; you were always so intense. So serious.’

  ‘Your words were art was a nice little hobby but what was I going to do for a real job?’

  Her father’s hazel eyes met hers over the table. ‘We were worried you wouldn’t get where you wanted. We wanted you to have something to fall back on. Not many people can make a living as artists. You wouldn’t discuss it, as I recall,’ her father continued. ‘The moment I mentioned university it was as if I’d suggested life imprisonment.’

  ‘I wasn’t interested in academia, Dad. I wanted to create.’ Come back when you’re serious.

  ‘Yes. We know.’ The only sounds were cutlery scraping china. ‘So we let you stand on your own feet and waited for you to come back.’ Another silence. ‘It’s taken this long. Always were a stubborn little thing.’ Wistfulness laced his gruff words. ‘This is your home,’ he went on. ‘Always was, always will be, for as long as you want. I hope you see that now.’

  Emotion was washing through her—guilt, regret. Love. ‘I do, Dad. I know I was a disappointment to you. I wished I could be like Veronica, but I just couldn’t.’

  ‘Not a disappointment, Didi. A puzzle maybe, but never a disappointment. Until you left. You walked away in anger, and you held onto it. That anger tainted your perception of what family is all about.’ He shook his head. ‘It was never give-and-take with you, was it?’

  ‘I think I’m learning how to do that now, Dad.’

  He raised one bushy grey eyebrow. ‘Well, that’s good to hear.’ He wasn’t done, she noted as he set his cutlery on his plate and his elbows on the table. She just knew he was going to—

  ‘Now,’ he said. ‘About this man Veronica spoke about. Cameron Black, isn’t it?’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CAM took in the view through the reinforced gate designed to keep lesser people out. Old money. The wealth you inherited and enjoyed and never truly appreciated. And there it basked in all its glory in Sydney’s spring
sunshine. The James O’Flanagan Residence.

  He wasn’t impressed. Cam had the assets to build better, and he’d earned every cent of that wealth himself with his own blood, sweat and tears. In spite of the low-life he was biologically descended from.

  He’d done a lot of soul-searching over the past long torturous and lonely week. Katrina’s prejudiced perception of others was wrong, and dangerous. The people Cam wanted to know judged others by their words and actions, not where they came from.

  People like Didi.

  She was smart and clever, caring and beautiful, inside and out. One of a kind. And he wanted her in his life.

  He sucked in a deep breath. The woman he’d come to convince was somewhere behind yonder stone façade.

  But first he had to convince her father. Adjusting his jacket, he gritted his teeth against a sudden turmoil in his gut and buzzed the intercom. An employee, he assumed, answered with a hint of an Italian accent.

  ‘My name’s Cameron Black and I’m here to see Mr O’Flanagan.’

  No, he wasn’t expected, and yes, it was personal. He drummed his fingers against the pillar and waited. And waited.

  Finally the gates swung open. He shouldered his bag and followed the smooth paved drive and its neatly trimmed hedge, aware that his movements were being tracked from one of those large glinting windows.

  It wasn’t the prospect of meeting James O’Flanagan that had his gut cramping, his mouth turning dry—he could face any man on an equal footing. But the thought of facing one small woman had him sweating inside his shirt in the chilly salt breeze blowing off the harbour.

  Determination added extra length to his stride. He wasn’t leaving until he’d seen Didi and said what he needed to say.

  A middle-aged woman with long black hair tied back in a black ribbon showed him to a formal lounge room. She wore black trousers and a plain white blouse. He didn’t sit as invited, but stood to attention looking out at a statue of Venus surrounded by never-ending lawn. A blue Sydney Harbour gleamed in the distance.

  ‘Mr Black. Good morning.’

  Cam swivelled to face the man with the crisp-edged voice. James O’Flanagan stood equal to Cam’s own height with greying hair and a day’s worth of stubble. For such a distinguished man he looked remarkably casual in a faded navy tracksuit.

  His expression was anything but. Cool astute eyes studied Cam. His mouth remained firm but relaxed; a man in full control of the situation. Unlike Cam, who’d grown unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of such powerful scrutiny—and it all had to do with the woman he’d come to see.

  ‘Cameron.’ Cam stepped forward, hand extended, feeling as if he were facing his own execution. ‘Good morning.’

  James’s handshake was brief and firm. ‘If you’re expecting to see Didi, she and her mother are out shopping at present.’

  ‘It’s you I wanted to talk to. My apologies—I didn’t inform you I was coming. Frankly, I wasn’t certain you’d see me.’

  James indicated a hard-backed brocade chair, then seated himself in a silk-covered recliner. ‘Why’s that?’

  Why indeed? Cam sat, smoothing clammy palms over his trousers. He felt a tad light-headed. Must be the early flight coupled with a missed breakfast. And the fact that he hadn’t had more than a handful of hours’ sleep since Didi had left. ‘Didi’s mentioned me, I presume.’

  ‘Both my daughters have mentioned you. The question still stands—why did you think I wouldn’t speak to a man who’s been seeing a lot of my daughter in recent weeks? Some might say he’s the one man I would want to speak to.’

  Cam fought the urge to clear his throat. The sound would be another sign of nerves James would pick up on. ‘Didi and I parted…Didi left under difficult circumstances.’

  For the first time, James’s mouth allowed a hint of humour to tease the edges. ‘Sounds appropriate—Didi’s always been difficult.’ He tapped a fist against his chin and the humour disappeared. ‘When you say parted, are you talking personally or professionally? I was under the impression you were offering her a permanent spot in your gallery and intended liaising with her on future sales.’

  ‘That’s true. I will continue to give her all the support she needs, wherever she chooses to base herself.’

  ‘So it’s personal.’ Leaning back, he folded his arms, ostensibly at ease, but those cool eyes remained steady on Cam’s. ‘What has Didi told you about our family?’

  Diplomacy, here. ‘To be honest, not a lot. During our conversations she told me she felt as if she never fitted in.’

  James nodded as if it came as no surprise. ‘She certainly didn’t fit the criteria for your average child and that’s not changed. Did she tell you that at five years of age she cut her mother’s imported silk brocade curtains up to make matching dresses for herself and her doll?’

  Cam had to smile. ‘Curtains were mentioned.’ Just not the cutting of them.

  ‘We tried everything. Best schools, overseas with extended family. We suggested uni; she wouldn’t discuss it.’ He shook his head. ‘Never could compromise, that girl. In the end we had to stand back and watch her go. To let her find her own place, make her own mistakes. Damn hard not interfering.’

  His eyes drilled Cam’s and Cam knew he was referring to their living arrangements—previous living arrangements. He nodded. ‘Didi makes her own choices.’

  ‘Did she talk about Jay?’ James asked.

  She was virtually stood up at the altar. The words still rang in his head. ‘Jay…’

  ‘It was a whirlwind romance—too serious too fast. They were engaged in a matter of weeks. A couple more weeks he was gone, back to his former girl. Broke Didi’s heart.’

  A knife twisted in Cam’s belly—he’d hurt her too. ‘Killed me to see my little girl so gutted.’

  Cam nodded. He knew the feeling well. Didi’s father wasn’t what he’d expected. He genuinely cared about her, and she couldn’t see it.

  Still, James O’Flanagan might seem like a reasonable guy, but would Cam still be of the same opinion in the next few moments? He took a steadying breath and rose. If he didn’t have command of the situation at least he could feel that he was in control of his own body. Except that the floor shifted like quicksand beneath his feet and someone was siphoning the oxygen from the room because it was suddenly airless.

  But Cam’s gaze was direct, his focus steady as he faced James. ‘I need to tell you—’

  The sound of women’s chattering spilled through the doorway, cut off the moment the two women appeared.

  Cam felt it all the instant he laid eyes on Didi—the sexual zing, as strong as ever, the flash of like recognising like. The quiet simmer of something stronger, something deeper—the foundation on which the rest was built.

  She looked impossibly fragile and tiny in black leggings and an oversize windcheater, which had slipped off one shoulder exposing a turquoise bra strap and the glint of platinum chain he’d given her. He could smell her honey and almond scent from across the room.

  Guilt rode him hard—that last evening he’d been so cool, so distant and unapproachable. He’d hurt her. He wanted to go to her, drag her into his arms, tell her he was sorry and never let her go, but he remained standing where he was.

  Didi had heard Cameron’s rumbling voice as she reached the open doorway and everything inside her, every thought, had spun in a thousand different directions. Why was he here?

  And then she forced herself to peek inside and there he was. Looking at her as if he wanted to eat her up. He wore fawn trousers and a deep blue suede jacket that accentuated his navy eyes. His white casual shirt was open at the neck revealing his tanned throat.

  ‘Hello, Didi.’

  Ah, the way he said her name…as if she were special. She knew better but her heart clawed its way up her throat along with a rising humiliation, her green eco-shopping bags slipping from her fingers as the strength drained out of her.

  Didi had never been afraid of anything or anyone. Not unt
il she’d met Cameron. Not until she’d fallen in love—really in love. Jay had been a mere rehearsal for the ultimate performance.

  She was afraid now.

  Afraid of what he might say. Afraid of what she might do. Of what she wanted to do. Even now, after the cool way he’d ended it, she wanted to rush right over and hurl herself into his arms and beg him to take her back.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Pride kept her voice firm and prevented her from running in the opposite direction. Pride and a fragment of that inner strength she thought she’d lost but managed to grapple back. ‘I don’t want you here, Cameron, nor do I want to talk to you. Anything we have to discuss we can do via a phone call or email.’

  ‘Didi,’ her father rebuked mildly. ‘We brought you up better than that.’

  ‘I’m here to talk to your father,’ Cameron said.

  She reached down, picked up her grocery bags. ‘I’m going to put these in the kitchen. Please be gone when I get back.’ Somehow she managed to walk away, hearing her mother say, ‘Well…give Didi a moment. It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr Black. What refreshments can I offer you?’

  And Cameron’s, ‘Thank you, but I’m fine for now. Maybe later.’

  Which left Didi with two alternatives. She could hide or she could show him she was managing just fine on her own. As they’d agreed. And whatever he had to say to her father…well, it couldn’t be worse than what he hadn’t said to her, could it?

  Moments later she stood at the doorway. Her parents were seated, her mother saying something inane about the weather while Cameron stood to stiff attention in the centre of the room, his hands behind his back. He turned the moment she stepped into the room and met her gaze.

  ‘You’re still here,’ she said.

  His posture straightened, something flashed in his eyes. ‘I’m not leaving yet. I have something to say.’