Two hours later Les Westcott lay fully clothed on his bed in the hotel suite staring up at the ceiling. He’d just put a very drunk CJ to bed — he was none too sober himself — but he had retained enough presence of mind to be able to go over, once again, the amazing truths CJ had just told him. Fate. It was bloody amazing how things worked out.
In the semi-darkness of the room he allowed himself a predatory, satisfied smile. The proverbial shit would hit the fan when Natalie learnt what was on CJ’s mind. Serve the bitch right. After what she’d done to him over the last few years, led him on then laughed in his face … she deserved all she was, or wasn’t, going to get …
Brett, Meredith and young Mitchell O’Connor stood beside Francey admiring the view across the harbour to the city from the Kirribilli building site.
On one side of the wedge-shaped block stood several neat piles of bricks, left over from the demolition of the previous home. A bulldozer had levelled the block last week and tip trucks had taken away the excess soil. Already the proposed swimming pool had been excavated and its boundaries pegged out. The mammothly proportioned concrete slab for the main structure, with plumbing and electrical outlets sticking out garishly, had been poured yesterday and would take a month to cure — if the good weather held.
“The view’s magnificent,” Meredith said in between trying to stop Mitchell from scrambling down to the ground to explore the earth and a few puddles left by last night’s shower.
“Nothing but the best for our Queensland multimillionaire,” Brett quipped. “Meredith, you should see the plans, talk about a mansion. It’ll rival some of the estates around Vaucluse and Elizabeth Bay.”
Meredith winked at her friend, “Perhaps you’ll win another award for the design.”
“Don’t bank on it. Back then I had Aden pushing my talents for his own advantage.” She had eventually come to the conclusion that Aden Nicholson must have lobbied hard to put her in contention for the national award. Still, she thought with a secret smile, look where it had got her! “I think I’ve got past the stage of needing that kind of acclamation.”
Meredith nodded her agreement. “Your life has changed dramatically since you went up to Queensland.”
Francey noted the glint in Meredith’s eyes and knew she wasn’t talking solely about her business life. Steve Parrish had also been a dramatic change for her. There’d been a time when she had thought she would never be able to love again but Steve had changed all that, forever. Just thinking about him made her go all warm inside and wish he was here. For some reason, possibly a little vanity, she wanted him to see what she had accomplished. Perhaps he could fly down later, when the house was finished so she could give him the grand tour.
“I wonder why Mr Ambrose wanted to build here, at this particular time?” Meredith asked, her curiosity aroused.
“I’m not sure, maybe he’s thinking of taking up some Sydney business ventures, or maybe he sees it as a good investment. I mean, one can’t lose with this type of real estate.”
Oddly, Francey wasn’t privy to CJ’s real reasons for wanting a house in Sydney particularly when he seemed happy enough at Murrundi. She believed he was going to begin an assault on the Sydney development market, that’s why he wanted a possible base from which to work while in Sydney. Since she had learned about the diversity of his business portfolio and the schemes that took his fancy, he was capable of expanding anywhere. If so, that probably meant she’d be spending more time here which she knew would please her parents.
She had enjoyed the experience of hunting and securing suitable harbourside real estate and then designing a home to reflect his wealth but she’d made sure, right down to the indoor/outdoor swimming pool, the tennis court and the new jetty and boathouse, that the emphasis would be more on comfort than a “show” home which would take maximum advantage of the view. He’d given her carte blanche as to size and design, hardly bothering to glance at the finished plans before they’d been submitted to council. That he had that much faith in her ability certainly boosted her self-confidence a notch or two.
For fifteen minutes they tramped around the site. Francey took half a reel of film to show the site’s progress to CJ, and shots of the views, from every possible angle. Meredith had given up on Mitchell, resigned that he would get filthy as he crawled towards the biggest pile of earth he could find.
“This job will put us solidly in the black,” Meredith whispered to Francey. “Brett’s been doing it tough for months, the economy’s tight.”
“I’m glad. Not that he got the job because of favouritism. His tender came in the lowest.”
Meredith winked. “Brett made sure of that. Once this place is built it should act as a drawcard for more work for him.”
“I’m sure it will, he’s a fine builder. Have you organised a baby-sitter so you can join me and my parents for dinner tonight?” Francey asked Meredith.
“Sure have, especially as you’re shouting.”
“We can meet at the Hyatt for drinks then wander up to Spellson’s about eight. I’ve managed to twist Mamma and Papà’s arm. They’re coming too.”
“Good, I’m fond of your parents, especially your mum. I like the way she roasts your dad.”
“Yes,” Francey grinned. “She doesn’t let him get away with too much, that’s for sure.”
Brett, who’d been wandering around the perimeter of the slab, checking the formwork, came over to them with his mobile in his hand. “Just got a call to do a quote at Mosman.” He looked at Francey. “Could you give Meredith a lift back to Bronte? Would you mind?”
“Of course not. Off you go. Good luck, I hope you get it.”
The expected third degree about her love life occurred as soon as Francey picked her parents up in the hire car and headed back towards the quay.
“You still seein’ that fella Steve?” her father asked as he seated himself next to her.
“Yes, Papà. We see each other a lot, whenever work and his shifts permit.” Which wasn’t often enough as far as she was concerned.
“So? It’s serious. When you gonna get engaged? He’d better do the right thing by you or, cop or no cop, or he’ll have me to answer to.”
“Oh, Carlo, let her be. Our Francey’s a big girl now. A woman. She’s in charge of her own life,” Lucia defended, clucking her tongue in disgust.
“I’m her papà, I have a right to know what’s happening in my daughter’s life.”
No you don’t. Francey almost said the words out loud. “Look, Papà, I love Steve and I think he loves me. We’re very happy together but neither of us are talking marriage yet. Maybe in a little while.”
Carlo cleared his throat unhappily. “You know your cousin Daniella’s having another baby?” he prodded, his tone implying that it was about time Francey did the same.
“That’s nice. I’m happy for her.” She sighed with relief as the parking lane of the Hyatt came into view. Meredith and Brett would be waiting for them in the bar. They’d act as a buffer to her father’s dogmatic insistence in wanting to know the ins and outs of her love life. She realised then, for the first time, how she had unintentionally distanced herself from them. Her life was different now. She was different. The sad thing was, her father couldn’t or didn’t want to see it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
With eyes half-closed Francey watched the sun peep through breaks in the vertical shades hanging across Steve’s bedroom window. The early morning temperature was cool enough to make her snuggle back under the doona, her body automatically seeking the warmth of the man who lay beside her. She smiled and gave a languorous cat-like stretch. At this very instant life was good. They had two whole days to spend together.
Life was good in other ways too. Career-wise, she felt fulfilled. She studied Steve’s inert form and decided that she couldn’t be happier emotionally as well. Her smile widened. Slowly, their relationship was deepening. They were becoming more committed to each other but as she’d told her father several times dur
ing phone conversations, neither were in a hurry to tie the knot. Both wanted to be sure of their feelings and when they were they’d quietly get engaged and take things from there. Poor Carlo, the perennial nagger, would have to be satisfied with that.
Steve yawned and opened his eyes, blinking several times as he became accustomed to the light. Twin pools, almost black, stared at her and then the edges around his eyes crinkled, fanning wrinkles diagonally out as he grinned sleepily. “Good morning.”
“It is. And I think it’s your turn to make breakfast,” she said, reaching forward to kiss the tip of his nose.
His hands moved under the covers finding her body and pulling her to him. “You’re a hard woman, Francey Spinetti,” he complained as he rubbed his whiskery growth against her cheek while his hands were busy reacquainting themselves with her curves.
She giggled suddenly as their bodies touched. “And you’re a hard man, Sergeant,” she said provocatively as she arched against him. “I like that in a man.”
“You are definitely becoming oversexed,” he muttered in a half-growling tone as he began to kiss and caress her.
She laughed throatily. “And you object to that!”
Half an hour later, their bodies still entwined, Steve voiced something that had been in and out of his thoughts for a while. “I wonder what CJ thinks of our relationship? If he approves?”
“Why should he approve or disapprove?” Francey asked with a querulous stare. “What I do on my own time is my business, not his. Actually, we’ve talked about lots of things. My family about whom he seemed quite curious, and his family. World politics, the lot. But we don’t discuss my personal life.”
“Mmmm, I would have thought he’d show some interest. He’s the kind of person who likes to keep a finger on the pulse, know what everyone in his sphere of power is doing.”
“Les is the one who disapproves,” Francey admitted. “I think he’s got a yen for me himself.” She moved back several centimetres to study him and her lips twitched. “He’s intimated that he doesn’t understand what I see in you.”
A frown creased Steve’s forehead. “Is that so! Westcott. I knew I disliked something about him. More than one thing, really. Can’t put my finger on what it is but I sense a kind of passive-aggressive quality to him. Like he’s a primed powder-keg just waiting for someone to light the fuse.”
Francey laughed at Steve’s fanciful description. “Oh, Les is all right, providing you know how to handle him. He’s helped me a great deal.”
Steve’s left eyebrow lifted. “Has he now?”
She gave an impatient sigh. “In a business sense. Explained how CJ’s empire works, the extent of it. Taught me some things about the cattle business too, though it’ll take years to get a proper handle on all of it.”
“Well, I guess it’s in his interests to do so. You’re lightening his workload, I imagine.”
“True. Still, some people would get defensive. Les hasn’t, he isn’t possessive in that respect. He’s happy, or at least he seems happy to share his knowledge with me.”
“Probably CJ’s told him to.”
“Probably.” She was silent for a moment and then she prefaced her words with a sigh. “There’s something else too. CJ’s got this bee in his bonnet about wanting to give me a party for my twenty-seventh birthday. I said I didn’t want one, but he’s insisting.” Her eyebrows widened meaningfully, “I mean, really insisting. You know what he’s like once he does that — the order’s practically carved in stone.”
“Maybe he’s trying to make you feel more like one of the family. What’s the harm in a smallish party?”
“He doesn’t want a smallish party. He wants to invite just about all the neighbours in the region, businesspeople in the Isa and certain politicians who owe him a favour, I think. Maybe he has some secret agenda, I don’t know. It’s getting out of hand. The numbers are now up around one hundred. There seems to be no stopping him without having a rip roaring row.”
“Methinks you’ve never walked away from a row if you thought one was warranted.” He ducked quickly to ward off a playful blow to his jaw.
She gave him a warning glare. “Don’t think I haven’t thought of it but …” her voice faded away and her blue-green eyes took on a far away softness tinged with noticeable anxiety.
“But what?”
She shrugged, unsure of how to articulate what she was thinking. “I don’t know. He seems, he’s … I don’t think he’s well, though naturally he does his best to hide it. Of late he’s been getting debilitating headaches. Ever since he went to Brisbane and had those tests Les told me about when I came back from Sydney. The tests revealed some kind of tumour, an operable one. Next week he’s flying off to a clinic in Geneva in Switzerland, with Shellie, for specialist treatment. I don’t like to make a fuss when he’s not himself, especially when I know he’s trying to be kind.”
CJ, kind? He’d never heard the multimillionaire described as kind before. “I didn’t know old CJ was sick,” Steve’s tone was thoughtful. “It’s benign? That means it’s treatable, doesn’t it?”
“Of course it does,” she retorted quickly.
He put his index finger under her chin and lifted her head up so she had to look him in the eyes. “Stop worrying.” He smiled at her, a quizzical, boyish grin, as if he had just had a revelation. “You’re pretty fond of the old guy, aren’t you?”
“I guess I am.” Her answer held a note of surprise in it.
“Well, I suggest you give in gracefully. Let him give you a party if he wants to, where’s the harm in it?”
She pondered over that suggestion for several minutes and then sighed. “I guess you’re right.”
Feeling as if he’d won a small victory, he grinned and asked, “Now, what would you like for breakfast?”
Natalie’s art gallery, situated in a renovated bond store on the bank of the Brisbane River, was a hive of activity. Under Hugh O’Leary’s artistic direction teams of tradesmen were working on everything from new lighting displays to arranging bales of hay. Sheets of half rusted corrugated iron and old fence palings were also placed in such a way as to enhance the theme of the exhibition — “Country art from all over Australia”.
The place looked a shambles, with crated paintings carefully stacked away from the activity. But Trish, now an old hand at seeing how Natalie’s exhibitions came together, knew everything would be picture perfect for the six thirty opening by the premier.
She watched the general hullabaloo with a dispassionate eye as she waited for Natalie to arrive. Her Sydney flight had been delayed twenty minutes and she had a good idea what mood she’d be in by the time the taxi deposited her at the front door. Natalie’s moods weren’t getting any better, and she was becoming quite worried about her. There were times when she questioned why she stuck around, bearing the brunt of her bad temper. But … she was genuinely fond of her, and she understood the source of her anger even if she didn’t agree with it.
Francey, quite innocently she thought, was the cause of her lover’s escalating moodiness. Natalie had mentally blown the “architect thing” out of all proportion and it was rare for a day to go by without her venting her spleen about Francey in some way or another. She knew about Natalie’s attempt to frighten her off by leaving her out in the scrub. Also that she’d tried on more than one occasion to insinuate to her stepfather that the architect could be spying on his business interests for a competitor, to gain some advantage over him. Ridiculous, CJ had told her bluntly, but that hadn’t put an end to Natalie’s suspicions. She was paranoid about being shortchanged of what she considered her rightful inheritance.
The bizarre thing was that Natalie had plenty of money of her own. Recently she had inherited a healthy trust fund left to her by her grandfather, Miles deWitt. Then there had been her mother’s inheritance, half of Brenda deWitt-Ambrose’s personal estate. That combined with the increasing success of her art galleries meant that Natalie hadn’t a financial worry in the
world.
No, it wasn’t the money, Trish was sure of it. The problem was that Natalie considered CJ’s fortune to be her birthright, the birthright Brenda deWitt-Ambrose had let CJ pry out of her control. That rankled Natalie and was probably the base cause of her lover’s problem. And now that Richard was gone and she could be considered the sole heir, she wanted it all.
She saw Natalie walk up the front steps, stand at the entrance with her hands on her hips, yell a couple of orders at Hugh, then turn on her heel and head for her office. Stifling a sigh, Trish followed. Slowly.
“Hello, love. Have a good flight up?” Trish went up to Natalie and gave her a hug. She kissed her on the mouth and as her arms went around her she felt the tension emanating from every pore of Natalie’s body. She was so uptight, one day she would snap.
Natalie absorbed the warmth of Trish’s comforting softness, saw the affection in her eyes and began to relax. Her hand caressed Trish’s cheek and then her fingers tangled in the brown curly hair. “I missed you. Next time I have to go to Sydney, you’re coming with me.” She watched Trish lick her lower lip, an unconscious gesture which always turned Natalie on. Her hands began to rove over her lover’s body, seeking the curves, finding the little spots where Trish liked to be touched. “God, I’ve really missed you,” her voice deepened, husky with need.
“Me too.” Trish murmured as she traced the outline of Natalie’s lips. Natalie caught the finger and drew it into her mouth sucking it in deeply, sworling her tongue around it. She stared deeply into Trish’s hazel eyes and started to unbutton her blouse.
Trish’s eyebrow rose. “Here?”
“I can’t wait, I want you now …”
They were both half undressed, panting slightly with the urgency of their need, when a loud knock on the office door brought their mutual caressing to a stop.
“Go away!” Natalie shouted. She winked wickedly at Trish. “I’m busy.”
“The Tom Roberts paintings have arrived, love,” Hugh’s unfazed voice was muffled by the thickness of the door. “We both have to check them for damage — it’s a clause in the insurance contract, remember?”
Heart of the Outback Page 31
