Wife in the Making. Lindsay Armstrong
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not a permanent position, though,’ she pointed out. ‘I was given to understand the duration was three months. That’s not very long.’
He grimaced. ‘Long enough to have a gutful of me, Fleur. The other thing is, it’s not only straight PA,’ he gestured impatiently, ‘office duties I had in mind, so you could in fact be over-qualified for the position.’ He paused and congratulated himself on thinking of that.
‘I,’ he went on, ‘need someone who is prepared to muck in and be a receptionist, wait tables, play cricket with my kid when I don’t have the time—even peel potatoes should I be short-staffed. I need a bloke in other words.’ Once more Bryn Wallis shoved his hand through his hair. ‘That’s why I asked the agency not for a Girl Friday but a Man Friday,’ he added bitterly.
Fleur raised her eyebrows. ‘I don’t think you’re allowed to do that in this day and age, Mr Wallis. Discriminate on the basis of sex. And it so happens that while I’m not much good at cricket, I do play a mean game of chess, I like children and…I can peel potatoes as well as any man.’
He paused and their gazes clashed.
‘I also gather,’ she said after a long, fraught moment, ‘that your bookwork is in a bit of a mess. I’ve recently specialized in a computer program that I could install and run for you, so it could all be done electronically and correctly and I’d be happy to show you how to work it.’
Bryn lay back in his chair and looked around the plush Brisbane hotel lounge he was conducting this interview in at the same time as he pondered how deceptive appearances could be. This girl, who had started out looking vulnerable and hopeful as well as potential Hollywood starlet material, was beginning to exhibit a mind like a steel trap.
Perhaps his less than tactful approach had crushed that hopeful air he’d divined, or perhaps he’d imagined it—not that it mattered, he still didn’t want her for the job, but…
‘Why do you want to bury yourself on an island for three months, anyway?’ he asked abruptly.
He saw the momentary hesitation in her eyes before she looked away, and said quietly, ‘I thought it would be a nice change from working in an office, in a high-rise building, in a city.’
Yes, and all the rest you don’t want to tell me, Miss Millar, he reflected sardonically. ‘Incidentally,’ he said, ‘I don’t believe in mixing business with pleasure either. But it’d be fair to say you would provide a distraction I need like a hole in the head.’
Her gaze came back to him. ‘Why?’
He looked her up and down from head to toe ironically. ‘Hedge Island,’ he said, ‘does not have a large population but we recently acquired an upmarket resort situated on the other side of the island from Clam Cove, where I am. This has been a boon for my restaurant,’ he said rather shortly, ‘because guests of the resort patronize me when they feel like a change of scene, not to mention stunning food.’
‘So?’ Fleur enquired politely.
‘I don’t know if you’re familiar with the workings of upmarket island resorts—’
‘It so happens I am,’ she said coolly.
He chewed his lip and studied her. ‘Well, then,’ he drawled, ‘you probably don’t need me to tell you that their water-sports department alone employs at least six lusty, good-looking young men who are cut off from their sweethearts or whatever. Then there’s the golf instructor, the tennis coach, the pilots, the guests themselves and so on. Thus,’ he said, ‘it could become a full-time job helping you to fend off unwelcome advances.’ He eyed her sardonically. ‘Not to mention the possibility of you being poached away from my job.’
‘I can do my own fending off, thank you, and I have no intention of being poached. On the other hand,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘if my presence were to bring in more customers, could that be a bad thing, Mr Wallis?’
Getting more and more like a steel trap by the moment, Bryn mused unamusedly. ‘You might be right,’ he replied with a glint of satire in his hazel eyes. ‘Both on the customer issue and because I think you might also be a smart…be smart enough to look after yourself.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, serenely ignoring his heavily sarcastic tone and what he patently hadn’t said. ‘When would you like me to start?’
‘Oh, no, you don’t, Miss Millar. I haven’t agreed to anything yet because even if we dismiss your looks—please don’t think I mean to be uncomplimentary about them incidentally but—’
‘Forgive me for doubting you, Mr Wallis,’ she broke in swiftly, ‘but I do. I seem to have put your hackles up from the moment you laid eyes on me. What puzzles me is why, at the same time, you should be attributing these…’ she gestured ‘…these…Helen of Troy powers to me? One would have thought it was quite a contradiction.’ She gazed at him questioningly then added composedly, ‘Other than that, I’m quite sure I could cope with the job. But, naturally, it’s up to you.’
Somewhat to his amazement, Bryn heard himself saying, ‘It’s isolated unless you want to hang around the resort. If you’re not attuned to the life, it can be boring. Getting to the mainland, to hairdressers, beauty parlours, the movies and the like on your days off takes an hour boat ride each way and I’m told boats are most conducive to bad hair days anyway.’
She merely looked at him with that secret amusement again.
‘All right. There is one last embargo, Fleur Millar.’ He studied her coolly. ‘Don’t set your sights on me.’
Whether it was his bluntness or the subject itself, he couldn’t say, but those blue eyes definitely widened in surprise. And she seemed genuinely lost for words.
Then she made a rolling motion with her slim hands as she said, ‘You…have a problem with that?’
‘I have a problem with that,’ he agreed ironically. ‘But I’m not on the marriage market.’
‘I see. Well,’ she enlarged and summed him up from head to toe, ‘it’s not hard to see why—you have the problem, I mean.’
‘Thank you,’ he returned, grimly polite.
‘But I’m not on the marriage market either, so,’ she smiled at him ruefully, ‘we might even find we get along like a house on fire, Mr Wallis.’
He let about half a minute pass in silence, then, ‘Are you running away from a man, Fleur?’
‘What makes you think that?’
He didn’t answer immediately because he’d noted that momentary hesitation again. Then he shrugged. ‘A girl with your undoubted intelligence despite your looks should know why I’m wondering that, Fleur. You must attract men like bees to a honey pot.’
He saw the shutters come down in her eyes, and noted the way her gorgeous mouth trembled slightly. But she stood up and said evenly enough, ‘Keep your job, Mr Wallis. I’ll find something else.’
He stood up too. ‘Sorry—that was unnecessary. If you want it, it’s yours.’
Her eyes widened. ‘What made you change your mind?’
Heaven alone knows, Bryn Wallis thought drily; I can feel in my bones that I’m going to regret this! He said, however, and smiled crookedly, ‘I’m desperate.’
Three weeks later Fleur walked along a sandy beach that fringed a turquoise bay between steep, wooded headlands to her tiny bungalow on Hedge Island.
There were three accommodation bungalows set wide apart next to the beach. The largest was inhabited by Bryn Wallis and his son, and a slightly larger version of her own was currently occupied by the only other live-in restaurant staff, Julene and Eric Philips, who were taking a break from sailing around the world to earn some money.
Julene was assistant chef although that was another