Six Australian Heroes. Margaret Way
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Matt here, Mary’s done a bit of a bunk. I think she was really gutted about getting the caterers mixed up and she’s gone home to her mother. All she’ll say is she’s quite sure you and the super-housekeeper or whatever she is will be able to organise things much better than she could so she’ll leave it all up to you both. I don’t fly in from Perth until Sunday afternoon but I’ll pick her up from her Mum’s then and bring her up …’
There was a pause then Matt Richardson continued, ‘Don’t be too hard on her, bro, she is pregnant and maybe that’s panicking her too. And I know you can handle the blasted party, somehow. Bye. Oh, by the way, the numbers may have grown.’ Click.
Lee Richardson swore softly.
‘Oh, dear,’ Rhiannon said. ‘Perhaps she’s left a guest list?’
‘Entirely too sane and sensible for Mary to think of that,’ he said grimly then shrugged. ‘So. Would you like a drink?’
Rhiannon pulled out a chair and sank into it. ‘A glass of wine wouldn’t go amiss if you’ve got one.’
‘I have a whole cellarful but there should be some chilled in the fridge.’
There was and he poured a glass for her. He mixed himself a Scotch and water.
He said, as he sat down opposite her, ‘Has this ever happened to you before, Ms Fairfax?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘No. But it’s not insurmountable. Pregnancy can produce some curious mood swings,’ she murmured almost to herself—then added swiftly, ‘I believe she’s also an actress?’
He stared at her rather penetratingly before saying, ‘Yes.’ He sat back and shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘What I’d really like to do is call the whole thing off.’
‘Do you think that’s a good idea? Mightn’t it reinforce your obvious disapproval of your sister-in-law?’
A rapier-like blue gaze came her way then Lee Richardson smiled reluctantly. ‘Is it that apparent?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘I see why you’re good at this kind of thing. Cool and logical. Funnily enough,’ he looked amused, ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for such a cool, logical girl four years ago.’
Rhiannon moved a little uncomfortably.
‘On the other hand I did find you charming,’ he said. ‘And forthright.’
‘I don’t suppose you’re ever going to let me live that down,’ she said tartly then looked more uncomfortable. ‘Not that any “ever” is going to be involved.’ She took a sip of wine and added, ‘Just the duration of the job.’
He squared his shoulders and studied her comprehensively until she broke out into goose-pimples at the way that dark blue gaze slid over her upper body. Then he drawled, ‘Do you really think so?’
Rhiannon’s nose took on a slightly pinched look. ‘I know so!’ She drained her glass and said coolly, ‘Are you doing the party or not?’
He considered. ‘Yes.’
‘Then would you mind if I had a look around, just to assess the facilities?’
‘Be my guest, but I’ll show you to your bedroom first.’
Rhiannon woke the next morning at five o’clock, as the sun was just climbing over the horizon, and took a few minutes to collect her thoughts.
Southall itself was beautiful, even from the impressions she’d got in the dark last night.
The house had sandstone walls beneath a vast shingle roof. Fluted columns supported the veranda roof, some of them smothered with flowering creepers—heavenly scented white jasmine at the moment.
Wooden shutters graced the windows and the paved courtyard off the main entrance had a gargoyle fountain and a fabulous display of pink camellias in terracotta tubs.
The main rooms were high-ceilinged and perfectly proportioned. Sealed timber floors were scattered with priceless Persian and Chinese rugs. The furniture was a mixture of heirloom and antique, walnut, mahogany, silky oak, and the sheer luxury of modern cushioning in couches and chairs covered in topaz velvet or white brocade.
The lamps, and there were many of them, had a bouquet of deep silk shades in just about every lovely zinnia colour.
The dining-room table seated sixteen and had an exquisite floral inlay.
Behind the scenes, she’d found a large linen press with some of the fine heirloom stuff encrusted with lace appliqués. There were six dinner services to choose from, one of them a very old Spode willow-pattern service that took her back to her childhood—her parents had had one and she’d loved counting the birds and all the other features. There was a vast Community Plate cutlery set in its own cabinet.
Waterford and Stuart crystal glassware abounded. There was enough silverware, including rare pieces like fish forks—from the days when it had been considered a crime to touch fish with steel knives—to keep a butler occupied solely with polishing it.
She’d been allotted a charming bedroom. It had blue and white dotted wallpaper, a double bed beneath a white silk quilt and French Colonial furniture on a powder-blue carpet. She had her own en suite bathroom.
But—she hitched her pillows up a bit—there was a slightly neglected air overall. Not so surprising, perhaps, with all the dusting and polishing that was required and after some years without a mistress, only a master, in charge of the house.
She sat up with a sudden frown. Lee Richardson.
No wonder she’d got that impression four years ago that there was more to him than being at home in a boardroom! He not only controlled a vast cattle empire, but he’d also been brought up on cattle stations.
No wonder he was quick-thinking, resourceful and physically powerful.
And, yes, still a compellingly attractive man who’d haunted her dreams for a while but only in a fantasy way, surely? When you’d been dumped by a fiancé upon discovery that you didn’t stand to inherit a fortune, when you’d lost the most precious thing you thought you could ever have, the scars were too deep even to think of falling in love again, weren’t they?
She grimaced. They certainly had been over the past few years. Apart from a small hiatus when a man she’d shared a taxi with had invaded her imagination, she’d lived like a nun, she’d thought like a nun in so much as no other man had made any impression on her.
Then again, maybe she’d just been too busy, too tied down with responsibilities to live any other kind of life. Which led her to wonder if the scars she’d carried had healed more than she’d realised.
Was that why Lee Richardson had walked back into her life and reawakened some awkward memories rather successfully? Or was it the way he looked at her …?
She swallowed uncomfortably and pleated the coverlet with slender ringless fingers. Then she reminded herself that she was here on a job and no man, however he might embody that sort of aloof, irresistible glamour, was going to stand in her way of doing it.
So she would revert to that nun-like status smartly!
She got up and showered. She pulled a pair of jeans on, a navy blouse and a sky-blue sleeveless quilted jacket—easy to shed when the cool of a morning on the hinterland escarpment warmed up.
There was no one in the kitchen, no sign of life in the house, so she made herself a mug of tea and took it outside to have a look at the gardens.
What met her eyes as she came round the back of the house, or the side the main rooms looked out onto, took her breath away.
Smooth green lawn, a rose garden to die for, a sparkling, grotto-like swimming pool with a shingle-roofed pool house with fluted columns to match the main house, then the ground fell away and the view hit you.
Unobstructed