by Margaret Way
“I am not a witch,” she said with adamance.
It was clear to her she had challenged his pride. He didn’t like it. The deep dark emotions that were growing between them were as threatening as any storm. How long could they continue this fraught sensual dance before people began to notice?
Her face was turned up to his. She drew closer. “What about the woman you’ve left behind?” she accused. “The girlfriend? You told me your attentions were not engaged. Was that a lie?” Abruptly she recognised the fact she was madly jealous of the unknown young woman who no doubt would be stunningly beautiful. There would be strong approval from both families as well. That was the way it was done.
“Woman?” he rasped, as though she were completely stupid. “My God, is that it?”
“Of course that’s it.” Her supple body had gone rigid. The careless arrogance of his tone!
He wasn’t going to let her go. He retained one of her hands as he stepped down a few steps into the garden and beyond to the radiant moonlight. He went first, compelling her to follow him into the scented darkness.
“Varo, what are you doing?” Her voice shook in alarm. “Where are we going?”
“Do not worry,” he said. “Everything will be fine.” He kept to the softly lit pathway, mindful of her evening shoes and her lovely long skirt.
She could smell gardenias. All kinds of beautiful blossoming flowers, native and exotic, and the scent of freshly clipped grass. “Varo!” she repeated breathlessly. If she had learned anything about herself it was that she couldn’t resist him.
As they moved off the path into the deep shadows of the trees he caught her around the waist. “Who have you been speaking to?” he demanded. “Don’t tell me. Sweet little Moira?”
She made no attempt to deny it. The brief conversation she had had with Moira had made her suffer. “You told her you had a special someone waiting for you at home.” It was plain accusation.
“Maybe I was simply trying to get a message across?” he countered, his arm tightening around her as he drew her body, arched away from him, in close. “I’m not married. Who else to protect me but the woman I left behind?”
“Whose name is…?” The sad joke was on her!
“There is no one, Ava,” he said very gently. Although she knew he wouldn’t forgive her if she continued to doubt him. “Just part of my ploy so pretty little Moira wouldn’t waste her time,” he explained. “If you raise your head a little I can kiss your cheek. You have such beautiful skin. A perfect camellia comes into my mind. Sadly I can’t kiss your mouth as I want, because you can’t return to the house sin carmín. Your hawk-eyed cousin Karen would be so upset.”
Why hadn’t she figured it all out for herself? The idea of Varo confiding in Moira had affected her so badly she had made a quantum leap. “It was Karen who played a trick on Moira,” she confided abruptly. Her whole body was under siege at his touch. “She told Moira you had picked her out of the crowd.”
He tilted her head back so he could run his mouth down her cheek, over her delicate jawbone to the column of her throat. “I would say your cousin is a woman full of tricks.” His mouth was warm against her skin. “Peligrosa. Teacherous. Poor Moira was deliberately led astray. But one wonders why…?”
“Karen wants to see what will happen, Varo.”
“Destino,” he said, his hand sliding down over her breast with unparallelled sensuality.
She shuddered, on the brink of surrender. “We have to go back inside.” It was imperative for her to take action before the pressure became too great.
“Soon. I need this badly.” He sounded as if he was in pain.
Ava bit her lip hard, so a moan wouldn’t escape her. The spell was at work again, holding them captive.
“Varo!” She forced her eyes open, her hand closing over his at her breast.
“I know… I know…” A sigh was on his lips. He lifted his head, his deep voice slightly slurred.
“I can’t be sure,” she told him in agitation, “but I think there’s someone moving beneath the trees.” The trees were strung with countless tiny twinkling white lights, but there were dark spots.
Varo turned his head, his eyes trying to pierce the dappled dark. “A female puma, perhaps?” he mocked. “Why not acknowledge her?” There was more than a hint of derision in his tone. His resonant, fascinatingly accented voice lifted, carrying on the breeze. “We’re over here, Karen,” he called. “Feel free to join us. Ava is showing me the most wonderful night-blooming cereus.”
He was quick witted—and he obviously knew the plant, native to Mexico. Because the cactus with its enormous breathtakingly beautiful creamy cups brimming with golden stamens was twined around a tree not a few feet away from them.
Silence.
“Perhaps I was mistaken?” Ava whispered, her whole body aquiver.
“Give it a minute.” His voice was low in her ear. “Ah, the stalker shows herself!”
The ultra-thin figure of Karen, well camouflaged in her black gown, now appeared on the path, all but stomping towards them. “Oh, there you are!” she cried out in an artlessly playful voice that would have fooled no one. “I needed a break from all the noise. I expect you did too.”
“What is this woman’s problem?” Varo, still with his head bent, was murmuring in Ava’s ear.
“I think she hates me.” Karen was acting more like the enemy than her family.
“She will have to get to you through me.” All of a sudden Varo sounded very cold and hard.
“I don’t remember any night-blooming cereus,” Karen was remarking caustically, looking dubiously around her.
“Ah, but Ava is far more knowledgeable.” Varo spoke with charming mockery. “You are standing midway between it and us.”
“Oh, the cactus, you mean?” Karen’s tone reduced the stunning beauty of the night-blooming cereus to that of a paper daisy.
“Breathtaking,” Varo exclaimed, turning his raven head to Ava. “But I think it’s high time for us to return to the party, don’t you, Ava? Muchas gracias for showing me such beauty. Such a mystery why it only blooms at night.”
CHAPTER SIX
THERE were not enough days in the following week. They flew by on the wings of mounting excitement. Nothing like a wedding to bring the thrill of joy. Although the great day had been organised down to the last little detail, there still remained things to do.
Amelia had been dropping weight with all the excitement; consequently her beautiful bridal gown needed adjustments.
Amelia’s mother, Sarina, had been invited purely as a gesture, everyone knowing full well that Sarina was too busy living the good life in Tuscany.
Ava’s husband, Luke Selwyn, had not been invited at all. He and Ava were divorcing, after all, and the split was far from amicable. Luke Selwyn made no bones about wanting Ava back, although he had told Ava many times he wasn’t happy with her. There had always been something she wasn’t getting quite right. But he wanted her. No mistaking that. And she was the Langdon heiress.
The homestead, with its twelve bedrooms extended from the original ten, all fitted with an en suite bathroom, was full up. So too was the accommodation at the men’s quarters, the dormitories, and all the various bungalows—including the one-teacher schoolhouse—that sat like satellites around the main compound.
People streamed through the house, carrying all sorts of boxes for all purposes. A huge consignment of glorious flowers had been flown in from Sydney, along with a renowned floral designer and his team. Top musicians had arrived. Food and drink and a team of caterers were to be flown in first thing Saturday morning.
The ceremony, in the lovely tranquillity of the garden, was to take place at four p.m., after the heat of the day had abated. Vows would be exchanged beneath an eighte
enth-century gazebo with carved stone pillars and a delicate white cupola. Great urns nearby had been filled with white cymbidium orchids that had been flown in from Thailand. No expense had been spared. This was a once-in-a-lifetime event—a marriage that was destined to endure.
Dev’s best man and his two grooms had arrived in the best man’s private Cessna. Amelia’s other bridesmaids arrived on Friday. A rehearsal was to take place in the late afternoon.
The reception was to be held in the Great Hall, a large multi-purpose building separate from the house. A celebration barbecue had been organised for Kooraki’s staff. It was scheduled to begin at the same time as the main reception. This was a splendid occasion, affecting everyone on the station.
Amelia had bypassed the traditional structured duchesse satin style for a much lighter look perfect for a hot early summer’s afternoon. The bride and her three bridesmaids were to wear the same exquisitely hand embroidered chiffon over full-length silk slips. Amelia had chosen for her bridesmaids the soft colours of one of her favourite flowers, the hydrangea. Amelia’s own gown, ivory-white, was lightly embroidered with tiny pearls and sparkling beads to within some six or seven inches from the hem, where the embroidery burst into large silver leaves that gleamed like a work of art.
Ava was to wear not the blue of the hydrangea but another colour that suited her beautifully: an exquisite mauve. The other bridesmaids, Lisa and Ashleigh, would be wearing hydrangea-blue and pink. Slender arms were to be left bare. Instead of a veil Amelia would be wearing a floral diadem to encircle her dark head. So too would her bridesmaids. All would wear their long hair loose and flowing. Each bridesmaid’s heart-shaped posy would feature one of the flowers in the bride’s white bouquet, whether rose, peony, butterfly orchid, hydrangea or lily.
It had been a close collaboration, with input from each bridesmaid as to colours and styles. It was a great good fortune all were tall and slim with long flowing hair. Amelia did not want a grand wedding, as such. She wanted a lovely summer’s day fantasy. A romantic wedding above all.
* * *
Amelia’s room was crowded with her bridesmaids, the dresser and hairdresser and Elizabeth, Dev and Ava’s mother. Even Karen had found her way in, standing near the open French doors, studying them all with a strange expression—never pleasure or excitement—on her tight-skinned face. She had chosen to wear a black and white outfit, extremely smart, but Ava thought it would have been nicer had she worn a colour.
The instant before Ava stepped into the corridor after the others Karen caught her arm. “Surely you’re thinking of someone outside yourself today?” she asked in a steely voice.
Ava turned around, resolving to keep her temper. “Please don’t upset me, Karen. It would be entirely the wrong day. What is your problem with me, anyway? You’ve always had one.”
“I’ve had a purpose,” said Karen, “to look out for you. And I place a lot of importance on marriage vows.” She lowered her voice as Amelia looked back over her shoulder to check on them.
“Wait until you get there, Karen,” Ava said. “How old are you now?”
Karen’s expression became slightly pinched. “I’ve had any number of offers, Ava. I’m taking my time. I don’t intend to make a mistake, like you. And you are making a mistake. Luke loves you. He wants you back. Hard to understand why, when you’ve treated him so badly.”
The unfairness of it all!
Ava shook her cousin’s hand off just as Amelia moved back to them, a slight frown on her beautiful face.
“Tell me you’re not trying to upset Ava?” She stepped right up to Karen, so Karen had to fall back a step or two.
Just like in their schooldays, Ava thought. Mel stepping in to protect her.
“Mel, everything’s okay,” she said, ever the peacemaker.
But Mel, of Italian descent, had a volcanic temper when aroused.
“Let’s say I was trying to talk sense to Ava.” Karen adopted a self-righteous pose. “I happen to care about her. She is my cousin. I care about Luke too. He’s suffering.”
“Suffering?” Mel exploded. “Are you serious? Luke Selwyn is your classic narcissist. And a womaniser. As if you didn’t know. If you like him so much, Karen, he’ll be available in the not so distant future. Look him up. Offer comfort. But, for now, keep out of Ava’s affairs. She is not your concern. And another thing! How dare you cause upset on my wedding day?” Mel’s delicate nostrils flared. “Honestly, Karen, you’re so stupid you don’t even know you’re stupid. Here’s a word of warning from the bride: behave.”
Karen visibly deflated. Amelia had always had that effect on her—that was why she hated her. She gave a strangled laugh. “I can assure you, Amelia, I’ll do the best I can.”
“Be sure you do,” said Amelia with a sharp nod.
“You look wonderful, by the way.”
“Thank you so much, Karen,” Mel said ironically. “Come along, Ava. This is one bride who isn’t going to be late for her wedding.”
* * *
At four o’clock, in a haze of emotion, the wedding ceremony took place. Bride and groom exchanged vows beneath the shelter of the white wrought-iron lace of a cupola decorated with white flowers and satin ribbons. Amelia stood in her exquisite bridal gown, sewn all over with sparkling crystals, staring up into her beloved Dev’s eyes.
It was an ageless ritual but incredibly moving. Ava, ethereal in her mauve bridesmaid’s gown, bowed her blonde diadem-encircled head in prayer, the inevitable tears rising to her eyes.
God bless and protect you all the days of your lives. God grant you beautiful children to love and raise to the highest possible level of happiness, confidence and morality.
Dev and Amelia were strong people. They had endured years of conflict—as had she. Only she had been the one who had been openly frightened of her grandfather but desperately anxious to win his approval. Her father had had the same experience, but those days were gone. Life had become more complicated, but in a way very much simpler. They were all working towards the same goal: personal fulfilment within a secure family environment. Dev had his adored wife. She had a sister. Their parents, reunited, had their eyes set on the future. And, needless to say—grandchildren to love and very likely spoil.
The ceremony over, the newly married couple yielded completely to the bridal kiss. Emotion spread across the garden area. Women guests happily dabbed tears from their eyes, irresistibly reminded of their wedding day.
“The happiest day!” Elizabeth Langdon, looking lovely in a short blue silk shift with a matching lace jacket and a filmy blue picture hat whispered to her daughter, “Your perfect day is yet to come, my darling.”
Hope that had glimmered, brightened, strengthened by Ava’s wildly blossoming emotions, turned as insubstantial as gauze.
* * *
In the reception hall white-linen-draped buffet tables were laden with a succulent gastronomic feast: hams, turkeys, chicken dishes—hot and cold—roast duck and lamb, all manner of scrumptious seafood, whole Tasmanian salmons—cold and smoked—reef fish, lobsters, prawns, sea scallops, mussels and oysters, salads galore…
Good-looking young waiters were almost pirouetting, pouring champagne, white wine, red, and the popular rosé. There was also a well-stocked bar for anything stronger, and gallons of icy cold fruit juices and soft drinks.
There was a separate table groaning under the weight of desserts: apricot, peach, banana, mango, berries, citrus cakes and tarts, coconut cakes, and the all-time favourite chocolate desserts. No one would go away feeling hungry. This was a serious banquet the like of which was seldom seen.
From the upstairs gallery in the homestead Amelia, now mistress of Kooraki, threw her exquisite grandiflora bouquet: white roses, luxurious white peonies with the faintest flush of pink, gardenia “magnifica,” a perfect velvety white, a si
ngle large head of white hydrangea and a small cluster of butterfly orchids. She threw it directly towards her chief bridesmaid. Such was her accuracy, Ava had no option but to catch it.
Karen, who was behind Ava, leaned forward to whisper, “I seem to remember you’ve already been given in wedlock.”
Nothing, it seemed, could stop Karen. It was a wonder she didn’t shout it from the top of her lungs. She wasn’t a woman of great subtlety. Even so, Ava found it hard not to remember that fact too. She had ignored all good advice. For once she had made her own decision. Well, it had cost her.
But her grandfather had left her financially set for life. Probably he had never trusted her to determine her own future. Even now she had fallen madly in love with a man who would soon return to his own country, his own life. She had thrown herself wide open to him. They couldn’t go backwards. They could only go forward. Varo was only seeing what he wanted to see. Varo wanted her. She knew that. Fate had put her in his path. But Varo had other people to think of. His family in Argentina. They would have important concerns and plans for their only son. In her wildest dreams she didn’t think they would accept a divorced woman. Their son could have anyone! Any beautiful young woman in their circle. Not a woman from another place. One who couldn’t even speak Spanish.
Had Varo’s American mother been fluent in Spanish when she’d run off with her Argentine husband? In all likelihood she hadn’t been, but neither of them had cared.
* * *
By seven o’clock the newlyweds had left to fly to Sydney. The following morning they would board a fight to Singapore, staying at Raffles for a few days before heading off for London, their first European port of all.
