Sam made a fresh pot of tea and they took it into the dining room. The girls had cleared the tables and replaced the cloths, and had even swept under the chairs. The clearing of the air had obviously boosted their enthusiasm for work. Long may it last, thought Maggie as she sank into a chair and kicked off her shoes.
She sipped her tea and began to relax. It had come as a nasty shock to see how quickly things could deteriorate, and she still puzzled over why Sam hadn’t been around to stop it. The suspicion grew as she sat there and watched him roll a smoke.
‘You gotta woman on the go?’ she asked with studied nonchalance.
‘Not so you’d notice,’ he said around the cigarette as he lit up.
‘So where were you this morning? And why didn’t you put a stop to all that nonsense instead of making a phone call?’
He shrugged. ‘It was already out of hand when I got in. I didn’t think another few minutes would matter.’ He blew smoke to the ceiling and avoided eye contact. ‘Our guests seemed to like the entertainment, anyhows, so no worries.’
Maggie regarded him in silence and finally gave up. Whatever he’d been doing was actually none of her business, and she believed him when he said he’d no woman on the go. But it was intriguing nevertheless and she decided to keep a closer eye on him.
‘Sorry I wasn’t around. Olivia and I got talking and I lost track of time,’ she said.
He nodded and screwed up his eyes against the smoke as it trickled from his mouth. ‘I saw you both come in. Must have gone out early, I didn’t see you leave.’
Maggie realised he was probing, but two could play at that game, and she wasn’t yet ready to share her wonderful news. She had to get used to the idea that Olivia was her aunt – get used to the feeling of belonging again. She nodded to his question. ‘It was so hot neither of us could sleep,’ she said. ‘Reckon there’s a storm brewing.’
Sam stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankle as he leaned back in the chair. ‘Feels like it right enough,’ he agreed. ‘There’s no air, and the heat’s rising on the hour.’ He stared at the passing shadows of pedestrians on the other side of the frosted glass windows. ‘Reckon we could be in for a beaut unless it moves on.’
*
‘Where exactly do you plan on going?’ Giles asked.
‘I hadn’t really thought,’ she admitted. She stared out of the window, the only sound in the room coming from the squeaking ceiling fan, which stirred the humid air and did nothing to relieve the awful heat.
‘You’re running away again, Ollie,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t you think you’d be better off staying here and facing things? Poor Maggie will be devastated if you leave so soon after she’s found you.’
‘I …’ Olivia began. ‘We …’
‘What were you going to do? Sneak out while she was busy in the kitchen?’ Giles sat on the bed and watched as Olivia paced the room. The tension in her was obvious, from the rigidity of her shoulders, to the tight wrap of her arms around her waist.
‘You make me out as a terrible coward,’ she stammered. ‘Of course I wasn’t.’
‘So, why the rush? We don’t need to be anywhere, unless there’s something else you’re not telling me, and I think you owe it to Maggie to at least try and explain why you want to leave.’
Olivia reddened. ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘There are things I need to do before I face Maggie again.’
Giles noted her heightened colour and the gleam of entrapment in her eyes. He ran a finger over his moustache. Olivia was frightened of something, but what the hell it was, he had no idea. ‘I think you’d better explain,’ he said quietly.
Olivia stopped pacing and stood in front of the window. Her narrow shoulders were tense again, the thin shirt damp with sweat. ‘It’s complicated,’ she said.
Giles let out a long sigh. ‘I don’t care,’ he said with an edge of frustration. ‘You’ve been secretive ever since your mother died. I still have no idea why we’re even here in Australia, now you’re compounding the mystery by being perverse.’ He glared at her back, his voice harsh with command. ‘Come on Olivia. Spit it out.’
She turned and looked at him, her dark brown eyes wide with surprise. ‘I’m not one of your service minions,’ she said sharply. ‘There’s no need to shout.’
He glared back at her. This was worse than pulling hens’ teeth. ‘Then for God’s sake talk to me,’ he rasped. ‘Nothing you can tell me will come as a shock – so get on with it woman.’
‘Depends on what you consider shocking,’ she said quietly.
She struggled to smile and Giles saw the glint of a teardrop on her eyelashes. He yearned to sweep her up and embrace her. Longed to kiss away the tear and tell her it was all right if she didn’t want to share her secrets with him. Yet he knew she needed to unburden herself, needed to voice the demons and let go before she could move on. So he remained silent.
Olivia stood once more with her back to him as she stared out of the dusty window. Her voice was low, so low that at times Giles had to struggle to make sense of what she was saying.
When her words finally faltered, and she finished her story, he could hardly take it all in. The silence stretched as the air thickened with heat and humidity. His thoughts raced as the ceiling fan battled above his head to stir some kind of life into this oppressive little room.
‘It’s all rather a mess, isn’t it?’ she said into the silence.
Giles sighed. That had to be the understatement of the year. He stood and put his hand on her waist. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘But does it really matter? You and Maggie have found one another – surely it’s enough?’
Her eyes were dark, the long black lashes sweeping almost to her brow as she looked into his face. ‘I need to find the missing pieces of the puzzle, Giles,’ she said. ‘With Jessie gone it will probably prove impossible, but I have to try.’ She paused. ‘Will you help me?’
‘If I can,’ he murmured. ‘But only if you promise not to suddenly change your mind when the going gets rough and try to run off again.’
She nodded. You’re right,’ she murmured. ‘Maggie doesn’t need to know any of this until we are sure of our facts. I should just enjoy her company and get to know her properly.’ She looked back at him. ‘Running away isn’t the answer, is it?’
He pulled her close and breathed in the light perfume she’d dabbed behind her ears. ‘Never was,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘The Olivia I know has never run from anything, and although I can understand your reluctance to stay here after what you’ve told me, it isn’t in your nature to back off from a challenge.’
She rested her forehead against his shoulder and sighed. The tension left her and she leaned against him.
He closed his eyes, aware of the tremor running through him – aware of her scent and the way she fitted so neatly against him. He kissed the top of her head. ‘Whatever the outcome, we can face this together,’ he murmured.
*
Irene had taken William at his word and drafted the men from their normal work on Deloraine to what she needed doing on the other homestead. She had inspected the stables and after a great deal of re–organisation and bullying, finally pronounced them suitable. The old manager’s homestead would now have a new roof and stone chimney, and the shutters and windows would be repaired along with the verandah.
She’d then kept the men off Deloraine to build an extension on the back and to fit a proper bathroom. Hot water would come directly from the bore, and the cooling tank she’d ordered from Cairns would be fitted while she was away in Sydney.
The city always made her feel so alive, she thought as she stood at the hotel window and looked out over the harbour. The sheer exuberance of the people lifted her spirits. It was a young city, a vibrant, energetic, ambitious city that made her wish she was at least twenty years younger and just starting out again – like J
ustin.
The memories of yesterday and the meeting with her son clouded her mood. Justin had shown no surprise when she told him about the divorce, and she suspected William had beaten her to it. She had hoped for sympathy and understanding, but Justin had given her neither, merely the cool admission that it was bound to happen sometime, and that he was relieved she had agreed to his father’s demands and not caused a fuss. They had eaten lunch in silence, and his casual kiss on her cheek as he left had made her feel more isolated than ever.
She picked up her handbag, refusing to let the memory of yesterday cloud her good mood. Justin would come round when he wanted something – he always did. She left the suite of rooms and hurried downstairs. She was meeting Arthur for lunch, and because his invitation had come as such a surprise after their last conversation, she didn’t want to be late.
Arthur was already waiting for her. He rose from the leather chair in the lobby and kissed her cheek. ‘You look well,’ he said in the deep, rumbling voice that still held the rounded tones of his English heritage despite the many years in Australia.
Irene smiled. Arthur would always be the perfect English gentleman. He was still handsome, despite having celebrated his sixty–fifth birthday recently. His hair was thick and white, swept back from a deep brow. The nose was long and straight, the eyes a penetrating blue. He wore an expensively cut suit and blue shirt, which Irene guessed were straight from Savile Row in London, and which enhanced his colouring and trim figure. A gold cygnet ring glinted on his little finger, as did the gold watch on his wrist.
She linked her arm through his, glad he’d relented and looking forward to a few hours of pleasure in her suite. ‘You promised me lunch,’ she said.
Arthur looked over his shoulder at the crowded dining room. ‘Not here,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve arranged for us to eat in my suite.’
She looked at him in surprise. Arthur never booked a suite for himself, it was far too indiscreet for a married man. ‘You’ve taken a suite? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Thought it best in the circumstances,’ he rumbled.
Irene found she was being led to the elevator. Unwilling to cause a scene in such a public place where she was well known, she remained tight–lipped until they were alone again.
She watched him close the door, saw the tension in his jaw, and realised this was not to be the pleasant tete–a–tete she had imagined. She sat down on the comfortable couch and waited to see which way Arthur was going to jump.
Arthur poured them both a healthy slug of gin to which a dash of tonic was added along with ice and a slice of lemon. He handed her the glass and instead of sitting beside her as he usually did, chose to remain standing. ‘Lunch won’t be long,’ he said.
Bugger lunch, thought Irene. What the hell’s he up to? She forced a smile. ‘You’re being very mysterious, Arthur’ she said, her smile warm, her tone teasing. ‘You don’t usually bother to wait for drinks and lunch when we come upstairs – far too busy getting my clothes off.’
He took a sip of his drink and then placed the crystal glass on a side table. ‘I meant what I said the last time we spoke, Irene. It’s over between us.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ she retorted, her smile faltering. ‘We’re good together, and after all, we have so many business interests tied up, we couldn’t possibly just …’
‘Irene, stop it.’ His voice was commanding and she fell silent. ‘We’ve gone as far as we can with this affair, and now your husband’s set a private detective to follow me around I cannot afford the scandal. I’ve arranged with my lawyers for our business dealings to be terminated, so you don’t have to fret on that score.’
‘Terminated?’ she breathed.
‘Terminated,’ he said flatly. ‘The company has been liquidated, the assets divided between us.’ He smiled as he smoothed down his dark blue silk tie. ‘You’ll find you’ve done rather well out of our partnership, Irene – I’ve been very fair.’
Irene slammed the glass down on the side–table. ‘You said you’d wait until we could discuss this,’ she snapped.
‘There really wasn’t anything to discuss,’ he said with quiet firmness. ‘Our assets are split fifty–fifty, and I’ve taken care of the lawyers’ fees. We’ve both made a huge profit, so be satisfied with that.’
She looked at him and thought how smug he was. How untouchable behind that urbane veneer. ‘All this is because William and I are getting a divorce, isn’t it?’ she demanded.
‘Partly,’ he replied. The blue eyes she had once found so attractive now looked cold.
She glared at him, the temper rising. ‘So I’m good enough to fuck when I’m someone else’s wife, but a bit of a liability if I’m divorced?’
He winced at her vulgarity, just as William had done. ‘You will always be a liability Irene,’ he said, his expression grim. He spread his hands and shrugged. ‘We had fun together, and a profitable few years of business dealing. Now it is time to move on.’
Irene remained seated, her hands tightly locked together on her lap. ‘And if I don’t want to move on?’ Her voice was low, edged with bitterness and the knowledge she couldn’t win against this man. ‘I’m sure your wife would be most interested in our ‘‘business partnership.’’ I wonder what she’d do if she knew the truth?’
He shrugged. ‘Treat the news with the same amount of disinterest as she has done before. It’s over, Irene. My business affairs are wound up here. I’m returning to London.’
She was about to reply when they were interrupted by room service.
Arthur took the trolley and after tipping the waiter, closed the door. ‘Do you have time for some lunch?’ he asked as if unaware of the shattering effect he’d had on her. ‘I’ve ordered lobster, I know it’s your favourite.’
Irene stood and snatched up her handbag. She would have liked to have tipped that trolley and its contents all over the floor. Was sorely tempted to hit him over the head with that bottle of champagne he was opening. Yet she did neither. Instead, maintaining what little dignity she had, she crossed the room and opened the door.
‘I hope it chokes you,’ she spat as she slammed the door behind her and marched down the corridor.
*
Four hours later she was only a little less angry. It wasn’t the fact that he’d dumped her unceremoniously after so many years, but that he’d had the gall to make decisions about their business enterprises. She had gone through the papers his lawyer had delivered shortly after her exit from his suite, and had found that indeed he’d been very fair. She was wealthier than she could ever have dreamed, but it was on paper, unfortunately, so her circumstances remained the same. She would still have to live in that poky little homestead on the edge of Deloraine until the assets were liquidated.
She had a long, leisurely, scented bath and carefully made up her face, willing herself to remain calm. Justin was bringing Sarah and her family over for drinks, and, as they hadn’t met before, Irene wanted to make a good impression. None of them must guess she was less than in command of herself – but Irene knew from past experience it wouldn’t take much for her temper to boil over.
The knock on the door heralded their arrival. They were early, dammit. Irene pushed away from the dressing table and eyed her reflection in the pier glass. She nodded with satisfaction. The tightly fitted cream shantung suit showed off her figure and enhanced her colouring. Her nails and hair had been done that morning, and the pearls in her ears and around her neck glowed in the sunlight that streamed through the window. She patted her hair and went to open the door.
Sarah was small and too thin by half. Her hair was brown, her eyes insipid behind the thick glasses. The dress she was wearing was obviously expensive, but on Sarah it just looked drab and uninteresting. Irene kissed her cheek and welcomed her as warmly as if she found it a pleasure to see her again. One had to be seen to be enthusiastic, for after all,
the girl was the heiress to a large fortune.
‘Mum, this is Bob and Isabel.’ Justin made the introductions and they shook hands.
Irene felt rather more at ease. Isabel was sheathed in a silk dress, with pearls at her neck and around her wrist. Bob was handsome, tall and to Irene’s experienced eye, had probably had more women than she’d had hot dinners. It could turn out to be a most interesting drinks party.
‘And this,’ said Justin, as he reached behind Bob and tugged a child forward. ‘Is Sally.’
Irene felt the smile freeze as the child shook her hand with too much enthusiasm. The child’s eyes were black and oddly shaped. Her face was flat and round, the thick, straight hair as dark as jet. And now Irene could see her clearly, she realised she wasn’t really a child. ‘Hello,’ she said as brightly as she could. ‘And how old are you?’
‘She’s fifteen,’ said Bob with a proud gleam in his eye. He put his arm around his daughter’s waist. ‘Getting a big girl now, aren’t you, Sal?’
Irene swallowed and murmured something inane before swiftly turning away. How dare Justin not warn her, she silently fumed. He must have known, must have realised this would change everything.
She began to pour drinks. The hotel had provided sandwiches and sausage rolls and small things on salt biscuits, and she handed them around, her smile fixed, her conversation light and inconsequential. Yet, as the talk flowed around her, she found herself watching Sally – wondering why Bob and Isobel paraded her about like this and did not put her in a home.
The girl was clumsy and kept knocking into things. She seemed to have the mind of a child of five, bouncing about on the chair, demanding attention in that deep, rough voice, her words almost unintelligible. Irene couldn’t quite disguise the shudder of disgust as Sally shoved cake and sandwiches in her mouth and carried on talking.
It was as if Bob could read her mind. ‘We couldn’t let her go into a home,’ he muttered as he helped himself to a refill. ‘She’s our daughter, and we love her.’
Undercurrents Page 21
