Six Australian Heroes. Margaret Way
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don’t take it out on Christy!’ she flashed at him then could have shot herself.
He opened his mouth, closed it and said smoothly, ‘What would you recommend? That I give her a certificate? Pretend Poppy’s escapades were laudable?’
Rhiannon set her teeth. ‘No. But don’t transfer any annoyance you might be feeling towards me onto her.’
‘Now, what on earth made you think that?’ he drawled.
‘Men can have fragile egos,’ she retorted. ‘And, since I got myself into this impossible conversation, I might as well keep going. Someone needs to give Christy some help with Poppy, so why don’t you?’
He put his head to one side. ‘You really are the most complete housekeeper, aren’t you?’ he said, annoyed. ‘Will there be any aspect of our lives you haven’t reorganised by the time you leave?’
‘She is only eleven, she doesn’t have a mother, she loves Poppy—any one of you could have worked that out, I would have thought.’
‘Are you suggesting I become a horse whisperer in my spare time?’
‘Yes.’
He regarded her bent head and busy fingers thoughtfully. ‘Since you’re such a fountain of wisdom, Rhiannon, how would you suggest I deal with a difficult night filled with visions of you, clothed but soaking wet then unclothed in my arms?’ He waited then went on,
‘Or, since you’re so touchy this afternoon,’ he paused as she lifted her head and their gazes clashed, ‘maybe you had a similar night? In which case, perhaps you could tell me what the hell we’re fighting about.’
Her throat worked but nothing came out.
He smiled drily and walked away but they both stopped what they were doing, she folding napkins and he turning back, and they spoke simultaneously.
‘Look,’ he said.
‘Listen,’ Rhiannon said.
The silence grew after their words had clashed until he said, ‘Be my guest.’
‘I think we should—put aside all this,’ she said with an effort. ‘It’s going to be a huge day one way or another and.’ She gestured helplessly.
‘My sentiments entirely. Should we sign an entente cordiale for today at least?’
‘I think we should agree to one, anyway. And,’ she frowned, ‘talking of guests, are you still sure you want me as one? It really would be much easier—’
‘I’m afraid to say on that point I’m rocksolid,’ he murmured. ‘I see you as invaluable on the social scene.’
She blinked. ‘But why?’
‘You’re very talented, Rhiannon. It just,’ he shrugged, ‘shines through. As a matter of fact, you remind me of my mother. She managed to blend considerable social skills with a streak of solid-gold practicality and genuine warmth.’
‘But,’ Rhiannon objected frustratedly, ‘that’s Mary’s role!’
He shrugged again. ‘One day, maybe. It hasn’t yet happened. So that’s signed and sealed?’
She stared at him. ‘Well …’
He smiled at her, the hundred-and-fifty-watt version.
‘Oh, all right!’ She turned away hastily and went back to wrapping cutlery.
Two hours before the guests arrived Rhiannon was happy with all her preparations, and she decided to take a break, checking up on the veranda, where Cliff was setting things up, on her way out for a breath of fresh air.
Three long trestle tables clothed in dark green linen had been set up for the food and a portable bar was tucked into a corner. Smaller round tables and chairs were scattered about as well as some potted lemon trees.
Candle glasses sat on the tables and lined the edge of the veranda. A bowl of roses and a lovely silver six-branch candelabrum with pink candles dominated the main table.
She moved the roses and the candelabrum to show them off more effectively and repositioned the baskets of linen-wrapped cutlery and stood back to study the effect.
Satisfied, she looked at the sky but it was clear and there was no breeze.
‘Good night for it, thank heavens!’ she said to Cliff who was working behind the bar.
‘Not only that, we’ve got a full moon tonight. It’s quite a sight from up here,’ he replied.
Rhiannon looked enchanted. ‘I believe you!’
She decided to enjoy the rose garden for a few minutes before she went indoors again. The sun was starting to set. A flock of corellas, white parrots without the sulphur crests of cockatoos, was wheeling and squawking as they made the best of the last of the daylight before they put themselves to bed.
There was a sprinkler system watering a section of the garden and lawn and raising the rich scent of damp earth and wet grass.
She stopped and breathed in deeply—it really was the most beautiful place and it brought back memories of her home before the crash. Although it hadn’t been as grand as Southall, her parents had had a lovely estate perched in the Blue Mountains above Sydney.
She sniffed suddenly as she thought of it, and her father and mother.
Tears trickled down her cheeks.
She brushed them away with her fingers and turned to go in, only to bump into Lee Richardson.
He put out a hand to steady her. ‘Rhiannon?’ He frowned down at her. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ She pulled a hanky from her pocket and blew her nose. ‘Some pollen, maybe, that’s all.’
He looked unconvinced and she rushed into speech, the first thing that came to mind.
‘What on earth have you been doing?’
He looked down at his sweat-soaked T-shirt, track pants and bare feet. He also had a towel slung round his neck. ‘Boxing.’
Her lips parted in surprise. ‘You’re a—boxer?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘It’s a horrible sport!’
‘There you go, making snap judgements again,’ he drawled. ‘Done scientifically and with all the proper rules, it’s actually a great way for boys to let off steam and curb their sometimes naturally destructive instincts—as I should know. Walk with me,’ he added. ‘I’m going for a swim.’
She hesitated then fell into step beside him. ‘What do you mean? And who have you been fighting?’
He laughed. ‘A bunch of late-teen boys at a sports club the family set up and endowed some years ago. I always try to show my face when I’m here.’
Rhiannon blinked a couple of times. ‘That—sounds rather laudable if only it wasn’t boxing. And why should you know about boys needing to let off steam et cetera?’
They’d reached the pool and he unwound the towel and dropped it onto a sun lounger. He also looked at her quizzically.
‘Obviously apart from having been a boy yourself,’ she amended. ‘What I mean is, it sounded rather pointed the way you said it.’
He shrugged. ‘It was. I had a pretty torrid late-teen period myself. I thought I was invincible when it came to cars, bikes and speed, to girls and the high life.’
Rhiannon stared at him wide-eyed.
He grimaced. ‘It’s not so unusual, you know.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ she said slowly. ‘I know it’s not—especially when you’re rich.’