Gabriel's Mission. Margaret Way
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she answered wryly.
“You should know, Chloe.”
At the use of her Christian name, so honeyed and intimate, a mild giddiness overtook her.
“If one could really chart the course of one’s life, this is just the sort of house I’d have liked to live in,” he said.
“Really? I thought you’d like something very modern, very strong, with sweeping clear places.” And terrible pictures that looked like cubic puzzles on the walls.
Once again his black eyes roved over her, checking out her too innocent expression. “I won’t say I don’t like to integrate old and new, but in terms of architecture I love these old Queensland Colonials with their sweeping verandah and white iron lace. They’re perfect for the subtropical climate. I particularly like the high ceilings and large rooms.”
“A big man would.” She was surprised by how sweetly that came out. They walked side by side, Chloe in her exquisite flowered chiffon, McGuire in his beautifully cut evening clothes. It was all so extraordinarily civilised.
“Someone had a very graceful hand with the decorating,” he commented.
Chloe felt her throat tighten. “My mother.” She couldn’t say a word more.
He admired the classic elegance of the living room, the mix of fine antique pieces with overstuffed chintz-covered sofas and armchairs in shades of ivory, peach and rose. A huge gilt-framed antique mirror hung over the fireplace with its beautiful white marble surround, and he walked towards it, studying the detail. “It must comfort you to have the stamp of her personality all around you.”
“Sometimes,” Chloe said softly, surprised by his perceptiveness. “Other times it hurts dreadfully.” She gestured towards an adjoining room. “Come through to the library. It’s my favourite room.”
The instant before she turned on the lights, Chloe came close to believing someone was sitting in her father’s wing-back chair beside the fireplace. She even drew in her breath.
“Everything okay?” McGuire stood very close, tall, powerful, protective.
“Of course.” It had to be an optical illusion. Particularly when she had the sense of someone small. Her father had been almost as tall as McGuire, but a completely different build, very spare with long, elegant limbs. She didn’t feel ready to deal with the odd things that were happening to her. She couldn’t dismiss them, either.
“You’ve gone a little pale.”
“I’m fine,” she said huskily.
“Do you ever feel nervous by yourself?”
“I’ve got my guardian angel on call.” Her eyes mirrored the sudden comfort that wrapped her soul.
“I’m glad.” His finger touched the tip of her nose, gentle as a feather, then he turned to inspect the large, graceful room.
He looked around keenly, showing considerable interest in everything, Chloe thought, the plaster work, the cedar panelling, the inbuilt floor-to-ceiling bookcase, the leatheround gold-foiled volumes. Even the 19th-century French gilt chandelier. If she gave him enough time he might make an offer for house and contents. “You must have enjoyed growing up here,” he murmured, the slight moodiness of his expression lending him the disturbing charm of Jane Eyre’s Rochester.
She couldn’t speak for a moment until her voice was under control. Though he was far from her ideal, he was, she began to realise, a ruggedly handsome man who carried himself superbly. “Where did you grow up?” she asked gently. The graciousness of her own surroundings were definitely having their effect on her, but he smiled his familiar taut smile.
“A small town outside Sydney, but I guess what you’d call the wrong side of the tracks.”
For once a sharp retort was easy to resist. “But you’ve come a long way.”
“That was the intention, Chloe. As far away as I could get.” The intonation was harsh. He shot back a cuff and glanced down at his gold watch. “Thank you for showing me your beautiful home. I’d like to see more, but I think we should be on our way.”
“Of course.” She flushed a little and as he passed her, he very gently stroked her cheek. “Now I know why you’re such a princess,” he said in a deep, low voice.
They were gliding away from the house before she could contribute another word. “I didn’t know you drove a Jaguar?” It was, in fact, a late model.
“I’ve been promising myself one since I was a kid.”
“It’s my kind of car.” She smiled.
“Of course. You didn’t think I was going to pick you up in what I drive to work?”
“I didn’t think at all.”
“Why’s that, Cavanagh?” He shot her a challenging glance.
“Hey, you’ve been calling me Chloe,” she protested for a second, strangely hurt.
“And you’ve been calling me nothing at all. To my face. I know what you call me behind my back.”
“Oh, please, don’t believe it all.” Chloe was embarrassed. “We’re going to a party, remember?” She realised with a sense of shock she wanted to maintain the unusual harmony that flowed between them.
“So, say it, then,” he prompted gruffly.
“Say what?” Inside the soft enfolding darkness of the beautiful car with its smell of fine leather mingled with her own perfume, the atmosphere was oddly intimate.
“My name,” he answered, shooting a glance at her. “Gabe, Gabriel, whatever you like.”
Chloe sucked in her breath. “Gabriel, the Messenger of God. You must admit it’s a shade incongruous with your powerful physique and dark colouring.”
“You’d relate better to Lucifer?”
She could see his eyes, dark and shimmery like the night. “Even for you that’s too scary. What do you say to a truce? I’ll call you Gabriel for the night, if you continue to call me Chloe. We can revert to our normal selves Monday morning.”
“Suits me.” He nodded. “I mean, can you imagine us being friends?” He sounded openly mocking and he had good reason.
“You know what they say, anything’s possible,” Chloe replied jauntily.
“I don’t think you could handle it, Cavanagh.” He glanced at her briefly. God, she was exquisite.
“You gather conectly.”
“I’m just your normal guy.”
She laughed, a sound of pure rejection. “No, you’re not.”
“I’d still like to get this whole thing cleared up. What exactly about me bothers you so much?”
Everything. Your looks, your force of character. “Gabriel I have no problem with you at all,” she said sweetly.
“Oh, but you do. Don’t smile about it.”
“Well...” She considered. “You really like to stir me up.”
He made a deprecating sound. “I have to admit I do.”
“And you have your own reasons for it.”
“True. But I seek to help you, Chloe, before you run yourself ragged. I might be a bit abrasive at times but I believe my intentions are good. You did what you liked under your old boss.”
Chloe admitted that inwardly. “Clive went a lot earlier than he should have.”
His smile was faintly crooked. “You’re just prejudiced. We’re on the same side, you know, even if our relationship hasn’t been all that smooth.”
“Clive didn’t