Australia: In Bed with a King: The Cattle King's Mistress. Emma Darcy
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Warren, her clerical assistant, greeted her with a happy grin. “That cancellation we had on one of the homestead suites for this weekend…it’s been taken up. We’ve got a full house again.”
“Great! Short notice, though.”
“I guess people who stay here can afford to be spontaneous,” Val reasoned.
“Lucky for us! I’ll have to check with Roberto that he’s got enough gourmet food for the extra guests. What are their names?”
Val looked back at her monitor screen. “Married couple, currently staying at the Ayer’s Rock resort, chartering a plane to fly directly here tomorrow, expected arrival time three o’clock…and their names are Celine and Bobby Hewson.”
Miranda could feel the blood draining from her face. “Right!” she said weakly, and spun out of the office before Val saw the shock she’d delivered.
For several moments she leaned back against the closed door, fighting to recover some equilibrium. Maybe it was another Bobby Hewson whose wife just happened to be named Celine. They weren’t uncommon names. Ayer’s Rock, where they were currently staying, was like an Australian Mecca for tourists…the ancient red heart of the continent…but she couldn’t imagine the Bobby she knew wanting to go there. But what about his wife? If she had accompanied him to Sydney…a honeymoon sight-seeing trip…
Wife…Miranda shook her head. Surely they weren’t even married yet. The engagement had only been announced three months ago. Shouldn’t it take longer than that to arrange a big society wedding? It had to be some other couple. Had to be…
There was one way of settling any uncertainty. Galvanised into action, Miranda strode down the hall to her live-in quarters, intent on putting through a private call to the manager of the Ayer’s Rock resort. The Bobby Hewson she knew would not be an unobtrusive guest. He would demand the best suite, the best service, and would let the manager know precisely who he was and what he stood for.
Once inside her self-contained apartment, Miranda moved straight to the telephone on her bedside table. She reached for the receiver, saw that her hand was trembling and sat down on the bed to compose herself, taking several deep breaths before proceeding to make the needed contact. A few minutes later she was connected to the man who could give her the critical information.
“This is Miranda Wade, manager of the King’s Eden Resort.”
“Hi, there! What can I do for you?”
“Today we took a booking for a Mr and Mrs Bobby Hewson…”
“Ah yes, made it for him myself. He and his wife had planned to fly on to Broome. Another couple we have staying here—you’ll remember them—John and Robyn Trumbell—apparently raved on about King’s Eden and they decided to take in a weekend there. Lucky you could accommodate them.”
“Yes. Would that be the Bobby Hewson of the Regent Hotel chain?”
“Certainly is,” came the dry reply.
Miranda’s heart dropped like a stone.
“And his wife is a member of the Parmentier family who owns the Soleil Levant chain,” the manager ran on, confirming their identities beyond any possible doubt. “It’s her first trip to Australia. Keen to see the sights.”
Coincidence…sheer rotten coincidence that they had connected with the Trumbells! And finding available accommodation here! Miranda felt too sick to speak.
“Mr Hewson mentioned that you’d been trained up to a managerial position at the Regent in Sydney. Sounded as though he was interested in finding out how you’re dealing with an outback resort.”
Bobby knew she was here! It wasn’t just a trick of fate. He knew. John or Robyn Trumbell must have spoken of her. And that was why he was breaking his trip to Broome to come to King’s Eden. Nothing to do with the sights, though he’d probably played that line to his wife. Bobby Hewson, Miranda knew with stomach churning certainty, had her in his sights!
“I thought it might be him,” she forced herself to say through the bitter taste of bile. “Thank you for filling me in.”
“Well, I guess you now know what to expect.”
“Yes. I do. Thank you again.”
She hung up, her mind crawling with scenarios of what she could expect, and every one of them was a nightmare from hell. Tears started welling, tears of miserable frustration at not having escaped the punishment Bobby Hewson would inevitably deal out to her for having flouted his plans. She remembered only too well her last meeting with him, her eyes cleared of the gullible scales that had blinded her to the man he really was…seeing the totally selfish ego behind his smiling charm.
He had expected her to give in to him.
She’d walked away. Flown away.
And now he was going to catch up with her.
The tears overflowed and trickled down her cheeks. She bent over, pulled off her shoes and socks, then curled up on the bed, hugging a pillow for comfort. She was facing a totally wretched situation. He’d arrive tomorrow, then all day Saturday, all day Sunday, three nights…and he’d be getting at her every chance he had. She knew he would.
Regrets for ever having fallen in love with him savaged her as she wept into the pillow. It hadn’t been a real love. More a prolonged affair, sugared and peppered by the excitement and glamour Bobby always brought with him on his flying trips to Sydney. He’d swept in and out of her life, dazzling her with his charm, seducing her with honeyed words, always leav-ing with the promise of having more time with her on his next visit, making her feel important to him, necessary to him.
She’d fitted in with what he’d wanted. He hadn’t cared about her needs. Didn’t care about them now, either. He was coming here to satisfy himself, and he’d be scoring off her any way he could…subtle little digs in front of his wife, then seeking her out privately, maybe even trying to get into her bed again. He would see that as a triumph over her bid to put him out of her life. And if she didn’t oblige him…Miranda shuddered, every instinct telling her no one frustrated Bobby Hewson and got away with it.
A knock on her door broke into the train of misery. She swiped at her tear-sodden face and looked at her watch. It jolted her to see it was a few minutes past five. The current homestead guests were probably back from their day trips and she hadn’t been on hand to deal with any requests or problems. The knock meant someone was looking for her.
She scrambled off the bed, grabbed some tissues, rubbed her eyes and cheeks, shoved her feet into sandals, finger smoothed her hair back behind her ears. The knock came again as she struggled to calm herself enough to answer it. Probably Val, she thought, wanting to pass some message on before leaving for the day.
She opened the door and shock hit her again.
Nathan!
“Ah! You’re here.” He smiled, his eyes warm with pleasure.
Having steeled herself to face responsibility, Miranda was totally undone by Nathan’s smile. The steel collapsed and her whole body turned to jelly.
“I was looking for you to give you Sarah’s diaries,” he went on, holding out the package he was carrying. “Just as well you are here in your private quarters. Makes it easy to put them in a safe place.”
Somehow she lifted her hands to take the package. Her gaze dropped to it as her mind tried to change gears, adjusting to Nathan’s presence and recalling what she had anticipated…hoped…from it. Except it all felt unreal now, shaky, without substance. She stared down at the diaries—Sarah’s diaries—of a life that was in the past.
“Miranda?”
She heard the query but it seemed to come from a long distance. Her past was all too alive, threatening to mess her up again and she didn’t know when or where that would stop, now that Bobby had access to her.
“Is