Mistresses: Bound with Gold / Bought with Emeralds. Sandra Marton
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us up, would you? You need to be brash to get on in this world. Like that husband of yours! Michael wasn’t slow about approaching me for a job—very up-front about it, he was…telling me that he wanted to be able to afford to make a good home for his wife and family.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Regan couldn’t help the clipped tone of her voice.
She had been careful never to act like an encroaching poor relation, but soon after they’d been married Michael had announced his discontent with his real estate job and had persuaded her that it was selfish to deny him the chance to fast-track his sales career through her family contacts. So she had got him an appointment with Sir Frank and he had talked himself into a job with the marketing team being set up for the Palm Cove condominiums, at that time still in the initial planning stages.
Michael had always been very glib.
‘Now, now—I didn’t meant to bring up unhappy memories.’ Sir Frank patted her arm vigorously, with a dangerous disregard for her steering. ‘I know you’re still finding it difficult to carry on without him. Maybe staying at Palm Cove for a few weeks is just the tonic you need.’
Regan managed a strained smile at his heavy-handed sympathy. His kindness made her feel guiltier than ever about her ulterior motive for agreeing to assist in his timely—for her—family crisis.
‘I’m sure it will,’ she muttered.
‘You could have come to us after he died, you know,’ he added, piling on the coals of fire. ‘Hazel would have known how to look after you. She had a bad time of it herself when m’brother died!’
‘I needed to know that I could make my own way,’ Regan defended herself awkwardly.
‘I know, I know—you’re touchy about your independence. Still, I could have given you some advice about the house. It was a bad time to sell—with the market in a slump.’
Unfortunately, Regan hadn’t had any choice in the matter.
‘It was far too big for one person.’
Sir Frank believed she was comfortably situated financially, and she preferred to leave it that way.
‘If you didn’t want to stay at the house we could have put you into one of the show condos—it’s only an hour’s drive from Auckland; you could still have commuted to your job…’
‘I might not have a job when the new boss takes over,’ said Regan lightly, her fingers tightening on the wheel at the thought of the new regime that was poised to send in the auditors before the final purchase agreement was signed.
‘Oh, Wade’s a shrewd judge of character—he’s tough, he’s demanding, but he’s honourable and fair—he’ll look at your record and realise it’s not just nepotism that got you the job!’
Regan had never heard of Carolyn’s fiancé, an Auckland businessman with worldwide connections, but Sir Frank had assured her that Joshua Wade was highly respected in financial circles. ‘Fred tells me you’re one of the best legal aides he’s ever had—meticulous to a fault! He thinks you’ve got big potential—’
He broke off, and Regan’s knuckles whitened further as she guessed what he was thinking. Sir Frank had curbed his disappointment when she had notified him that she was dropping out, assuming that she was suffering from an understandable excess of grief and that when it passed she would regain her enthusiasm for law. In the meantime, he had had Fred Stevenson in the legal office to take her on as a full-time employee.
‘He was very miffed when I said that I was going to steal you away for few weeks for a roving assignment.’ Sir Frank regained his bounce. ‘But I told him it was one of the privileges of rank and since I wouldn’t have the rank for much longer he should cut me some slack.’
‘I did offer to take part of it as my holiday entitlement—’ began Regan.
‘Nonsense—we can’t have you paying for the privilege of helping us out!’ he huffed. ‘Besides, you offered to work in the Palm Cove site office in your spare time, so that’ll square things up with the books.’
It was an unfortunate choice of phrase, but Regan certainly hoped so!
‘Ahh, home James!’
They had reached almost to the nature reserve at the tip of promontory, the road dividing into two—one route leading to the reserve carpark, the other passing between the gates of a massive drystone wall emblazoned with the Palm Cove name and logo in solid brass, glowing in the late-afternoon sun.
‘Impressive, isn’t it? Michael never brought you up here, did he?’
She shook her head. ‘No, although I’ve seen the publicity brochures and newspaper ads.’ Michael had been extremely careful to keep her well away from anything to do with his work at Palm Cove.
On the other side of the wall the rolling green fields of a massive new subdivision stretched before them. The roads which snaked through the pegged-out sites were broad and palm-lined, and the numerous houses already under construction looked hugely palatial. Beyond, marching down towards the glittering sea, were the fully completed parts of the project—the country club with its eighteen-hole golf course and the triple tower of condominiums rising from the banks of the canal that formed the man-made marina. She knew from the photos that when they got closer they would see the multi-level paved terraces that surrounded the cafés, bars and shops at the base of the towers, and, flanking the canal moorings on both sides, blocks of two-storeyed condominiums stretching right down to the sea, so that true boating fanatics could walk straight out of their expensive living rooms onto their expensive yachts.
Regan turned up the narrow private road indicated by Sir Frank, following it through the thicket of mature native bush which fringed the edge of the new subdivision, completely screening it from sight of the adjoining property. The road wound out of the trees again and a house came into view—a huge, sprawling, double-storeyed white wooden villa, a graceful old lady from a bygone era surrounded by a crinoline of verandahs and set in what seemed like acres of ground—a mixture of formal plantings and rambling natural wilderness. The back of the house had a clear view to the sea, the front was a welcoming smile of curved flowerbeds, bursting with late summer roses.
Regan drew up where directed, around the side of the house, in front of a six-door garage which looked as if it might have been converted from stables.
She stretched the kinks in her legs as she got out of the car, glad she had worn an uncrushable camel skirt with her cool leaf-green summer blouse, but when she tried to get her bags out of the car boot, Sir Frank hustled her away.
‘Beatson will get those and put the car away—Steve’s our caretaker and odd-job man—chauffeur, too, if you need him.’
Regan was staring at something around the back of the house. ‘Is that gazebo on an island?’
Sir Frank chuckled at her astounded expression. ‘Hazel’s idea—thought it would be a romantic place to go for al fresco lunches. Had to have a brute of bulldozers in to dig the lake and divert a stream to feed it.’ His blue eyes twinkled brightly in his plump red face. ‘Why don’t I go and break the good news about your arrival while you take a stroll in the fresh air…?’
Since Regan would sooner not be around when Sir Frank broke his ‘good news’ to his sister-in-law, in case it fell badly flat, she accepted his suggestion with alacrity.
The small oval lake was a marvel of engineering, and she wandered out onto the small wooden jetty where two small rowboats were moored and looked across the narrow divide of water at the latticed gazebo, guessing that the huge spreading oak that dappled the grass on one end of the little island had been there long before the bulldozers had moved it, probably as long as the main house itself.
The hot afternoon sun beat down on her unprotected head and she was drawn across the wide, luxuriant lawn to walk in the cool shade of the wild wood which grew along one side of the house. The undergrowth to the mature canopy of deciduous and evergreen trees was a mingling