His Inconvenient Wife

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  ‘I…yes.’ She gathered her wrap around her shoulders. ‘But I can easily get a cab. I wouldn’t want to interrupt any of your plans for the rest of the evening.’

  ‘You seem in rather a hurry to get rid of me,’ he observed. ‘I would’ve thought you’d relish the opportunity to milk the situation for all it’s worth.’

  A frown of puzzlement settled between her brows and he continued, ‘You could conduct your own private interview with me. Who knows what you might find out to put in your next book?’

  Emily shifted her eyes from the piercing laser of his.

  ‘I have no wish to interview you, or indeed spend any more time with you than is absolutely necessary out of common politeness. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to use the bathroom. I’ll meet you in the foyer in…five minutes.’ She swung away, her head high, and walked stiffly towards the conveniences.

  Her exit was only slightly spoilt by her cannoning into an elderly gentleman coming out of the male toilet on her own way in. Emily bolted inside the correct door, her colour high.

  She stood in front of the gilt-edged mirror and took some calming breaths. Her hair was tumbling out of its restraint on top of her head, falling in curly tendrils around her cheeks. Her blue eyes looked wide, the dark pupils dilated, the lashes fluttering as if in panic.

  She washed the dampness off her hands and quickly made her way out of the bathroom. Instead of heading for the foyer she turned towards the nearest fire escape and tiptoed down the echoing stairs to freedom.

  The night had cooled somewhat and the street was packed with crowds spilling out of Sydney’s theatres and cinemas. Emily joined the bustling throng and made her way towards a small café three blocks away, which she and Danny had been to many times. She pushed open the glass doors and scanned the room for a quiet corner in which to gather herself until she felt it was safe to go home without running into Damien.

  Her eyes came to rest on a fly-away blond head in the left corner. It was bending towards a bright red-gold female head, hands entwined intimately on the table between them.

  Her breath caught in her throat and her stomach clenched in shock. Just then a large hand settled on her shoulder and she felt the warm presence of Damien Margate brush her body from behind.

  ‘My car’s just outside if you’d still like a lift.’

  Emily turned past his broad shoulder and stumbled blindly from the café. She pushed herself through the clots of people, almost turning her ankle as she tripped on a discarded beer can.

  She felt him grasp her elbow. She didn’t pull away, and his fingers slid down her arm and took her hand into the strength of his.

  ‘Come on.’ He gave her hand a little tug. ‘This way—my car is down here.’

  She followed him silently, her hand still captured in his, her mind tumbling with images of Danny and her replacement sitting together at the very table where she’d sat with him, discussing their plans for the future.

  A single tear escaped before she could stop it and she brushed it away viciously. Damien flicked her a glance before unlocking his car.

  ‘Come on, get in. I have something I wish to say to you.’

  Emily got in without a word. Shock and dismay still pumped through her veins, as well as a deep resentment that Damien Margate of all people was sole witness to it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  EMILY didn’t realise till it was too late that he’d not taken the route to her apartment. Instead he had turned the car towards Double Bay and pulled in before an imposing house of mansion-like proportions.

  ‘I want to go home,’ she said in a petulant tone.

  ‘I’ll take you home when I’ve finished with you.’

  Emily wasn’t sure she liked the ominous edge to his words. What could he possibly want to say to her? A flutter of panic flapped in her stomach like the wings of a startled bird. Surely he didn’t intend to hurt her? She glanced at him covertly and tried to reassure herself. She’d interviewed dangerous criminals whilst researching her second book, through the grille of a prison cubicle with armed guards beside her. Who was going to come to her aid if Damien Margate had something sinister planned?

  She followed him mutinously into the large house, her eyes widening at the opulent marble in the foyer as he opened the front door. Inside, a bronze statue of a young Rose held pride of place, the subtle down-lighting casting her beautiful features in relief. Emily stood transfixed, her fingers aching to reach out and touch the classic lines of the exquisite face.

  ‘She was only nineteen when she posed for that,’ Damien said from just behind her left shoulder.

  ‘She…she’s beautiful,’ Emily breathed. ‘Who’s the sculptor?’

  He moved towards one of the formal rooms, signalling for her to follow him.

  ‘No one you’d know.’

  ‘Try me,’ she said, intrigued.

  He shook his head.

  ‘It was never meant to be a public piece so there’s no point telling. He’s long dead, and Rose—’ he shrugged himself out of his dinner suit jacket ‘—Rose isn’t around to give her permission.’

  ‘Where is she?’ Emily asked, already knowing his answer. ‘Danny insisted he didn’t know but surely you do?’

  His eyes held hers for a long moment.

  ‘Rose is where people like you cannot harm her, and for as long as I have breath that’s where she’ll stay.’

  ‘But that’s hardly fair on her adoring public,’ Emily pointed out. ‘The mystery surrounding her disappearance from public life has intensified speculation. All you’d have to do is release a statement about her whereabouts and people would leave her alone.’

  His face clouded with anger as he loosened his tie and flung it towards his jacket over the back of one of the plush leather sofas.

  ‘I’ve seen what the public do to people they no longer have any use for,’ he said. ‘Anyway, why should I give you the privilege of that information? You’d have it in the press within minutes and a hefty cheque in your bank account to follow. I’ve seen how you work. What you don’t know you make up and the public fall for it.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware you took such an active interest in my work.’

  ‘I’m not interested. I just know how people like you operate. That’s what this little interlude with Danny was all about, wasn’t it?’

  ‘What?’ She stared at him.

  He gave a harsh laugh.

  ‘Don’t bother pretending to be broken-hearted over his defection. No doubt you’ve milked him dry for all the inside information. Now you’ve got what you need for your book it shouldn’t take all that long to get over him.’

  Emily’s face drained of colour. ‘Danny and I were—’

  ‘Did you sleep with him?’ he asked baldly.

  ‘That’s none of your business.’

  He shrugged carelessly. ‘I was just wondering how far someone like you would go. I assume you’d stop at nothing to get what you want.’

  ‘You’re disgusting,’ she spat.

  He gave her a wry look. ‘But you picked the wrong brother, didn’t you?’

  Emily clenched her fists by her sides and wished she had the courage to slap his face.

  ‘I mean you should have worked on me instead. I’m Rose’s power of attorney, not Danny. He knows nothing of Rose’s affairs.’

  ‘I wouldn’t lower myself—’ She left the rest of the sentence hanging, her derisive expression filling in the rest.

  He gave a harsh laugh as he reached for the door of the drinks cabinet in the wall unit. ‘Danny was playing with you just as much as you were playing with him. You both got what you deserved.’

  ‘So where do you fit in?’ she asked. ‘Why the Sir Galahad routine tonight? Or did you want to witness my fall from grace?’

  He poured two measures of brandy into two glasses and handed her one before he spoke.

  ‘Danny is a coward when it comes to confrontation. As for me—’ he raised his glass towards her ‘—I love a fight.’<
br />
  Emily felt like throwing the brandy in his face and had to tighten her fingers around the glass to stop herself from doing so.

  ‘All the same, I bet you enjoyed it.’ She flashed him a malevolent glare. ‘In fact, you couldn’t have planned it better.’

  ‘I had no idea he was going to be in that café tonight.’

  ‘Didn’t you?’ she accused.

  ‘I’m not so callous as to rub your nose in it like that, whatever you might think of me. Danny called me and asked if I’d fill in for him tonight—end of story.’

  ‘How magnanimous of you!’ She gave him a withering look. ‘Tell me, what else did he ask you to do for him?’

  ‘I do have some limits.’ He reached for his glass. ‘Sleeping with the enemy is one of them.’

  She almost choked on her brandy. ‘As if I’d let you!’

  His eyes ran over her speculatively as he twirled his glass.

  ‘You’d do anything for a story, isn’t that how it goes?’

  ‘Not quite anything.’

  He laughed and sipped at his brandy.

  ‘You look like some Victorian virgin, compromised by the head of the household, but you’re hardly that, are you? I’ve heard about your little affair with the subject of your first book. It didn’t quite pay dividends, though, did it? Although perhaps tonight’s award is some sort of late compensation.’

  ‘You can’t believe everything you read in the press,’ she said, taking a huge gulp of brandy.

  ‘Oh?’ His dark brows lifted. ‘What happened? Did he get sick of sharing a bed with a notebook? I can imagine it must be quite off-putting to be cornered with an interview pad in one’s more intimate moments.’

  ‘Better than being cornered by one’s partner’s husband,’ she put in.

  His glass clinked on to the surface of the table with a sharp snap.

  ‘You’re very determined to spar with me, aren’t you? But I wonder if you have what it really takes?’

  ‘Try me,’ she challenged. ‘I can give as good as I get.’

  ‘That remains to be seen.’

  She sipped at her brandy, her eyes averted.

  ‘You’re very close to Rose, aren’t you?’ she asked after a long pause.

  ‘You’ll have to try a little harder with me if you want information.’ He gave his glass another twirl.

  ‘I wouldn’t waste my time. You haven’t got anything I want anyway.’

  ‘You seem very sure of that,’ he commented.

  ‘What are you offering?’

  ‘What do you want?’

  She took another careful sip of her drink before responding.

  ‘I’d like to know why Rose disappeared from public life.’

  ‘I thought it was common knowledge she’s become an alcoholic recluse,’ he said evenly.

  Emily bit her lip. Danny had told her that story was true. She hadn’t made up her mind yet whether to assert it as a fact, but she knew if her agent got wind of it she’d insist on releasing it. It was sure to boost sales, and sales were what she needed most.

  ‘I have it on good authority,’ she began uncertainly.

  ‘You picked the wrong authority,’ he said. ‘I’ve already consulted my legal representatives. That’s what I wanted to discuss with you tonight.’

  Emily’s eyes widened in alarm. She could tell by the look on his face that something of great import was coming.

  ‘I want you to withdraw your plans to write the book.’

  She stared at him in shock.

  ‘You…you can’t be serious!’ She plonked her barely touched drink on to the nearest surface, uncaring that some of it spilled over the sides and dribbled towards the cream carpet.

  ‘Write it and be sued—your choice.’

  She swallowed the bile of fear in her throat.

  ‘So this is why you escorted me tonight?’ she threw at him venomously. ‘It wasn’t to protect me from your brother’s perfidy—it was to deliver your own fatal blow.’

  Damien put his own drink aside and faced her. ‘I don’t wish to personally harm you in any way,’ he said, ‘but I must insist on protecting my family at all costs.’

  ‘So destroying my writing career doesn’t come into it at all?’

  He hesitated over his reply.

  ‘There are always casualties in these types of situations. It’s nothing personal.’

  ‘Don’t make me laugh!’ she scoffed at him. ‘You’re intent on bringing me down, aren’t you?’

  ‘Nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, I feel rather sorry for you.’

  ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘You’re a pawn in the game. People like you are always the ones who lose in the end.’

  Emily’s eyes flashed with the fire of resentment. ‘Please enlighten me. I’m sure you’re absolutely dying to anyway.’

  He gave another of those could-mean-anything shrugs.

  ‘You’re under the thumb of your agent and editors. It’s my guess that half the time you’re writing what they want, not what you really want to write at all.’

  Emily suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said off-handedly. ‘I write what the public wants to read.’

  ‘Lies? Conjecture?’

  ‘No. The truth.’

  He gave a rough snort of disbelief as he reached again for his drink.

  ‘You’re as deluded as the public who read you. You wouldn’t recognise the truth if it laid itself out in front of you.’

  ‘OK, then,’ she challenged. ‘Tell me the truth. Why has Rose disappeared from public life? If you’re such an advocate for the truth then enlighten me.’

  ‘What? And have you fund your pension by revealing the private arrangements of an old lady who no longer wishes to be in the public eye?’

  ‘She was in the public eye for over thirty-five years. Surely that counts for something?’

  ‘No. Not if she doesn’t desire it,’ he said. ‘Celebrities are not public property unless they give their permission to be so. Rose decided that enough was enough and the rest of her years should be spent in seclusion. I respect that and so should you.’

  ‘But why all the secrecy?’ Emily asked. ‘Lots of celebrities quietly retreat from public life without question. Rose’s sudden departure has fuelled the public’s interest. One statement from you and I could tie up all the loose ends and she could live the rest of her life in peace.’

  ‘You never give up, do you?’ He eyeballed her over the rim of his brandy glass. ‘Always on the hunt for information, always the investigative journalist.’

  Emily reclaimed her glass and took a tentative sip. She didn’t drink brandy as a rule, but didn’t want to appear unsophisticated in his company.

  ‘I’m committed to providing the public with what they want.’

  ‘Even if you hurt innocent people in the process?’

  Emily bit her lip once more. She was still haunted by the images of the parents of the target of her previous book. They’d pleaded with her to represent him differently but she’d had to follow her agent’s directions.

  ‘I do what I’m told to do.’

  ‘Well, I’m telling you to halt the book. Write something else. Anything but a book about my aunt.’

  ‘I can’t do that. That award I received will ensure my success. My agent is already pushing for a contract from my publisher.’

  He reached for his jacket, which was lying across the sofa.

  ‘How much?’ he asked, fanning open the leather pouch of his wallet. ‘I can cover your losses. How much?’

  Emily felt sick, cheapened by his implied insult.

  ‘You couldn’t afford me,’ she stated in a flat tone.

  One of his dark brows lifted.

  ‘I could cover your costs and set you up for a new book. Something a little less controversial.’

  ‘Controversy sells,’ she said. ‘I need sales or my career is over.’

  ‘How much?’ he a
sked again, brandishing his wallet.

  Emily gave him a scornful look. ‘Is that what you say to all the girls?’

  His expression clouded. ‘I’m making you a generous offer—take it or leave it.’

  ‘I’ll leave it,’ she said arrogantly. ‘I’ve got a lot riding on the release of this new book.’

  ‘You’re willing to risk everything for it?’ he asked.

  ‘Do your worst, Mr Margate.’ She glared at him. ‘I’m not frightened of you.’

  ‘You should be,’ he warned. ‘I have the means to totally destroy your literary career.’

  ‘I’m increasingly fascinated as to why you would want to,’ she said archly. ‘It seems to me you’re very threatened by the exposure my proposed book represents. It makes me start to wonder exactly what it is you’re so protective of. According to my sources, you and Danny have had very little to do with Rose over the last fifteen years. I can’t help wondering why you’d be so motivated to protect her now.’

  ‘Tell me, Miss Sherwood.’ His eyes held hers with determination. ‘Do you come from a close family?’

  Emily lowered her gaze and concentrated on the amber fluid in her glass. ‘I have two siblings. My parents died some years ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  She looked up at him. There was a sincerity about his simple comment that touched her unexpectedly.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she said dismissively. ‘My…family have never been close. My parents divorced when I was four. I’m used to being alone.’

  Damien perched on the edge of one of the leather sofas and cupped his brandy balloon in one large hand.

  ‘Is that why you’ve chosen to write biographies?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He twirled the glass in his hand reflectively.

  ‘Writing about other people’s families must answer some sort of need of your own, surely?’

  She decided against responding to his comments and instead wandered out of his line of vision to inspect the walnut bookcase. He was certainly an eclectic reader, she observed, but there was no sign of an Emily Sherwood title. The tinge of pique she experienced was both unexpected and unsettling.

  ‘Isn’t that why you delve into other people’s private lives? To make up for the close family you didn’t have yourself?’ he added.