A Marrying Man?. Lindsay Armstrong
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that’s how I pictured myself once,’ Georgia replied breezily.
‘What went wrong?’
She’d been looking at the river and swinging her leg, but now she looked down into his eyes, opened her mouth, then changed her mind and said lightly, ‘I’m only twenty-three, Will. I could still have it all in front of me, don’t you think?’
His gaze held hers and there was something unusually intent in it as he murmured, ‘I wonder. Did David give you those roses?’
But Georgia had her defences ready. ‘Nope,’ she said promptly. ‘If you really want to know it was Harvey.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘Who’s Harvey? He’s a solicitor. He has a tendency to be quite pompous and filled with his own importance and he’s laying siege to me in his own inimitable manner—which means to say—’ she raised her eyebrows comically ‘—just won’t take no for an answer.’
‘I find that hard to believe,’ William Brady said after a moment.
‘Believe me, if you ever got to meet Harvey you would.’
‘No, I mean that you haven’t found a way of dampening his pretensions,’ he said a shade drily.
‘Well…’ Georgia swung her leg again and looked into the distance, shading her eyes with her hand. ‘To be perfectly honest, he comes in handy sometimes. When one needs an escort one can…’ she gestured vaguely ‘…can handle.’
A faint smile twisted his lips. ‘Georgia, you don’t. Do you?’
‘Don’t what?’
‘String this man along?’
‘No, I don’t. I keep telling him there’s absolutely no future for us. I refuse to allow him to lay a finger on me yet he keeps popping up with dinner invitations, theatre invitations, flowers and so on. He has only himself to blame!’
‘How old is he?’
‘Thirty-three. How old are you?’
‘Thirty-three,’ William Brady said wryly. ‘And you’re right—he’s old enough to look out for himself, and if he lets you use him, he does only have himself to blame.’
‘Thank you,’ Georgia said with considerable irony.
‘I imagine David was a different proposition altogether, however. Did you fall for Neil on the rebound from him?’
Georgia jumped off the table. ‘You’re welcome to imagine what you like,’ she retorted. ‘But no, I did not, and your persistent interest in my love-life is beginning to annoy me considerably—particularly the insinuation that I’m some sort of scarlet woman. I’m much more like a nun these days, Mr Brady, so put that in your pipe and smoke it. Your concern for the men in my life, the men you imagine to be in my life, is—What are you, Will? Some kind of moral rights campaigner?’ she said scathingly.
‘Dear Georgia,’ he observed, ‘if you think I’ve mounted a campaign to rescue every stricken male from your clutches, you needn’t worry. You can do your damnedest elsewhere once Neil is strong enough to cope with it.’
‘So you don’t believe a word I’ve said—heaven knows why I even bother to talk to you,’ she said through her teeth.
‘There’s no need for us to be completely at logger-heads—’
‘There’s every need—I could be in danger of bursting a blood vessel,’ she answered candidly.
‘Why don’t you sit down and finish your coffee?’ he suggested.
She did, and bitterly contemplated the fact that William Brady succeeded in getting under her skin as few others did.
He watched her quizzically for a moment, then stood up and wandered over to the riverbank where he stood, half turned away from her, obviously lost in thought as he watched the water slide by.
And she found herself watching him. Watching and wondering as a breeze lifted his hair and fluttered his shirt but didn’t break his concentration. She realised he was a total enigma to her, and, in spite of everything, she was intrigued by that air of selfcontainment, by the growing awareness—reinforced by Brenda’s declaration, no doubt—that all the same he was a dangerously attractive man…
‘And what is going on behind those beautiful blue eyes now, Georgia?’ he said, making her jump.
‘I don’t know what you mean—nothing!’
‘Well, shall we continue on our merry way? Incidentally, I think we’ll go inland—through Tabulam, on to Tenterfield and the New England Highway.’
Georgia’s eyes widened. ‘Why?’
‘Weren’t you listening to the radio?’
‘No, not particularly.’
‘There’s another severe rain depression around Grafton, and, anyway, the New England is quicker, I think.’
‘Oh.’
‘Does that mean you approve?’
She shrugged. ‘I didn’t think I had much choice in the matter.’
He looked at her impassively.
‘Don’t forget I’m the wicked, scarlet, fallen woman in all this, Will,’ she taunted, and tilted her chin at him.
He laughed, touched her chin lightly with his knuckles and said lightly, ‘Bravo, Georgia. That’s exactly how a wicked woman should look—as if she doesn’t give a damn. Ready?’
‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ Georgia muttered, and stalked towards the car while he stowed their rubbish neatly into the carton then into the garbage bin—which annoyed her all the more, for reasons she was unable to identify.
The road was winding and tortuous as they took the Tabulam turn-off and snaked up the Great Dividing Range. Unfortunately, the rain depression they were trying to avoid on the Pacific Highway seemed to be well entrenched up towards the New England, and at times it was hard to see the road. Georgia resolutely said nothing and they passed through Tenterfield and Glen Innes in what should have been pretty, rolling countryside but was now soaked and desolate.
It was just after Guyra, a little town known for its lamb and potatoes, that another set-back occurred—and a rather terrifying one at that. They came across an accident that must have just happened, involving two semi-trailers that looked to have collided head-on and were now both lying on their sides, completely blocking the wet road, with their loads strewn far and wide.
William Brady swore as a police car with siren blaring and blue light flashing raced past them to draw up precipitately. Georgia stared wide-eyed at the scene of chaos and destruction and said shakily, ‘Will…’
But he pulled up beside the police car, turned to her and said abruptly, ‘Stay here.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘See if they need a hand.’
‘I—’
‘You just do as you’re told,’ he ordered, and swung himself out of the Landcruiser.
She did for a bit, then decided she couldn’t stand by and do nothing any longer, for, although one of the drivers was miraculously unhurt, the other was apparently trapped in his cab.
She arrived on the scene to witness an act of extraordinary bravery and strength on the part of William Brady as he crawled into the mangled cab, managed to prise apart with his bare hands the sections that were trapping the driver by his legs long enough for the policemen to pull him out, then retreated swiftly before getting trapped himself.
‘You’re a bloody hero, mate!’ one of the policemen said, and glanced gratefully