“Going to tell me?” About the Author Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT Copyright

“Going to tell me?”

Nicola chewed her lip. “No.”

“So it’s something else I don’t need to worry about?”

“No. I mean, no, you don’t have to worry.”

He raised an amused eyebrow. “I’d still rather know.”

“Brett, don’t be difficult,” she protested.

“It... wasn’t anything much.”

“All the more reason not to want to hide it from me,” he countered mildly.

She clicked her tongue frustratedly. “You’re impossible. All right, but don’t blame me if you don’t like it. I was wondering-just as a natural impulse, what it would be like if we...made love. That’s all.”

LINDSAY ARMSTRONG was born in South Africa but now lives in Australia with her New Zealand-born husband and their five children. They have lived in nearly every state of Australia and tried their hand at some unusual-for them—occupations, such as farming and horse training, all grist to the mill for a writer! Lindsay started writing romances when their youngest child began school and she was left feeling at a loose end. She is still doing it and loving it.

He’s My Husband!

Lindsay Armstrong

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

THE marriage counsellor was a man in his middle to late thirties.

Nicola Harcourt looked doubtful, and sat down reluctantly. She’d begun to regret this impulse almost as soon as she’d stepped over the doorstep, but now more than ever. A comfortable, middle-aged woman was whom she’d envisaged talking to, a mother figure, perhaps, definitely not a man, and a youngish one at that.

‘How may I help you?’ the man asked, and smiled ruefully at her obvious wariness. ‘I’m the Reverend Peter Callam.’ He looked at her enquiringly.

‘I think I’ll stick to first names, if you don’t mind. I’m Nicola.’

‘That’s fine with me, Nicola. Does it help to know that I’m a minister of religion and I’ve had specific training in helping troubled marriages?’

‘Oh.’ Nicola’s expression cleared a little. ‘Well, yes,’ she conceded, then shrugged. ‘The thing is, I’m not sure I should be doing this.’

‘When one is desperate it’s a very good idea to talk things over with a third party who can take an impartial view—’

‘I’m not desperate,’ Nicola broke in to say.

‘Then you’re concerned your husband would not appreciate your doing this?’

Nicola grinned. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t But that doesn’t really bother me.’

Peter Callam took a moment to study her and to form the impression that this Nicola was unusually attractive. Twenty-one at the most, he guessed, with fair shining hair in a smooth straight fall to below her shoulders, she had deep blue eyes with an exotic fringe of lashes expertly darkened, a straight little nose and a chiselled mouth innocent of any lipstick.

There was also a patina not only of health in her smooth, glowing skin and bright eyes, but wealth in her beautifully cut clothes: a short grey and white checked A-line dress under a charcoal linen jacket with a grey stripe, black leather platform shoes with high chunky heels that emphasised a pair of long golden legs, a black leather tote bag and a pair of designer sunglasses resting on top of her head.

Her only jewellery was a narrow gold wedding band on her left hand.

He frowned slightly and decided to take the direct approach. ‘If you’re not desperate then why are you here?’

Nicola moved in her chair. ‘I am, in a way. The thing is...’ She paused, shook her head and sighed. ‘I want to leave my husband, who is not the slightest bit in love with me anyway.’

The marriage counsellor clasped his hands on the desk. ‘You mean he’s fallen out of love with you? He has other women—he abuses you?’

Nicola blinked, an expression of surprise chasing through her deep blue eyes. ‘He never lays a finger on me. He’s...rather nice—when, that is—’ she paused to chew her lip, a rather endearing trait Peter Callam found himself thinking, despite himself ‘—he’s not being perfectly horrible to me.’

‘Ah.’ He sat up. ‘Mental cruelty can be as bad as the physical kind, and certainly grounds for some kind of intervention.’

Nicola wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s not that kind of mental cruelty,’ she said with a spark of amusement. ‘He...we’re not really married. I mean, we are, but it was a marriage of convenience, so we live separate lives in the same house kind of thing.’ She stopped, then added prosaically, ‘We’ve never slept together.’

‘I see. Why did he marry you, then?’

‘I’m good with his kids.’

The marriage counsellor gazed at her bemusedly. ‘And that’s the only reason he married you?’

Nicola moved again, uncomfortably this time. ‘Oh, well,’ she murmured, ‘I might as well be hanged for a sheep. This is completely confidential, I presume?’ She eyed him with some hauteur.

‘Completely.’

‘Well, he’s also my trustee. He was my father’s partner, and when my father died-my mother died when I was two—he took over the reins, so to speak. And when I—er—got myself into a very awkward situation with a man two years ago he said—he suggested —a marriage of convenience. I inherited rather a lot of money, you see, which made me the target of—well, I won’t go into that, but...’ She gestured.

‘And now you want out?’

‘Would you care to be married for your child-handling abilities and only to keep you out of trouble?’ Nicola asked with a lift of an eyebrow.

‘Probably not, but it seems to me all you need is to get yourself a good lawyer and get your marriage annulled on the grounds of it never being consummated.’

Nicola eyed him. ‘It’s not that simple. For one thing, my husband is the best lawyer in town. For another, the provisions of my father’s will don’t allow me to touch my inheritance until I’m twenty-three. And, because my husband is also my trustee, he’s not only my husband but my—jailer, if you see what I mean.’

‘He holds the purse strings, in other words?’

‘Precisely. You’re fairly quick on the uptake, Reverend,’ she said, with that glimmer of humour in her eyes again.

And I can’t quite imagine the man who wouldn’t want a peach of a girl like you, Nicola, the Reverend Peter Callam thought, and flinched inwardly. He said, ‘I’m at a bit of a loss, however, Nicola. I generally try to patch marriages up, not break them down, but...are you saying he’d cast you out without a cent if you refused to stay married to him until you’re twenty-three?’

‘I wouldn’t put it past him,’ Nicola replied darkly, then grimaced. ‘No, of course he wouldn’t, but he just won’t believe that I can take care of myself. He treats me as if I were one of his kids at times.’

‘These children—don’t they have a mother?’

‘Yes, they do. She was his first wife. They got divorced a few years ago. They had a very turbulent marriage; she’s a classical pianist and extremely beautiful—but quite mad, if you want my opinion,’ Nicola said candidly. ‘And, because she spends a lot of time overseas on concert tours, the children spend a lot more time with their father—which is where I come in.’

‘You know their mother well?’

‘I’ve known her all my life. I like her, despite the fact I think she’s as mad as a hatter.’

‘How many children are there?’ Peter Callam asked cautiously, feeling a sudden kinship with Alice in Wonderland.

‘Two. A girl of six and a boy of five. They’re very naughty and very lovable.’ Nicola’s lips curved into a warm smile.

‘So you wouldn’t like to traumatise them—would I be right in assuming that?’ he said slowly, but with a keen little glance at Nicola.

She sat forward suddenly. ‘What I would really like is to get out of this farce of a marriage as amicably as possible. I’d like to see them all happy—the children, B...my husband, and their mother.’

‘The first wife?’ Peter Callam blinked. ‘But surely—?’

‘Surely, yes,’ Nicola said, and looked briefly saddened.

Then she went on. ‘The thing is, they may not be able to live together, but I’m sure he doesn’t want to get seriously involved with anyone else—and that’s why I’m so suitable. I run his house, look after his children, I’m his hostess when he needs one, and any...’ she paused and shrugged ‘...physical needs he has are taken care of by a series of sophisticated mistresses whose eyes,’ she said with great feeling, ‘I’m seriously tempted to scratch out at times!’

‘He parades his mistresses in front of you?’

‘No, he doesn’t,’ Nicola said impatiently. ‘But I’m not a fool. I’m sure they must exist. He has an awful lot going for him.’

‘All the same, why would you want to scratch the eyes out of these possibly mythical mistresses if you’re so determined to leave him?’

The question fell into a pool of silence, and Nicola paled slightly but didn’t attempt to drop her blue gaze from his. Then she said huskily, ‘The thing is, I fell in love with him—that’s why I agreed to this marriage. I thought, in my youth and immaturity—’ She grimaced. ‘I thought I could make the fairy tale come true and supplant M...his first wife in his heart. But he never did fall in love with me and he never will. Now do you see, Reverend?’

‘Yes. I’m sorry, Nicola,’ he said compassionately. ‘But—’

‘No.’ She lifted a hand. ‘If you’re going to offer me platitudes and tell me not to give up hope, don’t bother. I’ll be twenty-one in two short weeks’ time; I’ve been married to him for two years—I know when I’m beaten.’

Nicola stopped and smiled slightly. ‘I’m not being very fair to you, am I? But, if it’s any help to you, it’s been a bit of a help to me to actually say all this—get it off my chest.’ She looked wry.

‘Thank you,’ Peter Callam murmured. ‘But I’m still confused. How long does he plan to keep you in a marriage of convenience? Because I’m wondering whether he deserves your love, this man, if he’s—forgive me—that insensitive apart from anything else, when he knows how you feel, but—‘

‘Oh, he doesn’t know,’ Nicola said blithely.

‘He doesn’t?’ Peter Callam blinked.

‘You don’t think—’ She broke off and laughed. ‘I may have been young and immature, but I wasn’t so immature as to let him see I was madly in love with him.’

‘I see.’

‘Well, wouldn’t you have?’

‘Hidden my real feelings?’ Peter Callam said slowly. ‘I...’

She chuckled after a moment. ‘It’s an awkward one, isn’t it, Reverend? But I can assure you that if you have an ounce of pride, when you’re presented with a very definite marriage of convenience, despite all your dreams, you do tend to hide things.’

‘I believe you, Nicola. Yet,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘despite this show of spirited rebellion—’ he raised an eyebrow and after a moment she nodded ruefully ‘—all along you were hoping he’d fall in love with you?’

Her eyes sparkled humorously again. ‘I don’t fight him all the time. Sometimes we get on like a house on fire.’

‘Sounds as if he takes good care of you, then.’

‘He does. It’s not the kind of care I want taken of me, though.’

‘Why is that, do you think?’

Nicola considered. ‘Not because he’s nurturing a secret passion, unfortunately, Reverend,’ she said at last. ‘It’s because of my father. Not only were they partners, but he had great admiration for my father—he wouldn’t be where he is today without Daddy’s help. I think he looks upon it as a way of repaying a debt to my father.’

‘Nicola—’ Peter Callam sat forward intently ‘—this is the last kind of advice I normally give, believe me, but if you do love this man, if you seriously think he’s worthy of your love, there is a time-honoured way of getting a man to reveal himself. Not only to others, but to himself.’

Nicola blinked. ‘How?’

‘If he thought you were interested in someone else, that might just...do the trick.’ I don’t believe I said that, the Reverend Callam thought, no sooner had he said it, but this golden girl touched him; he couldn’t deny it.

Nicola wrinkled her brow. ‘Make him jealous? That doesn’t sound very Christian, if you don’t mind me saying so, Reverend.’

Peter Callam flinched again, then he had to laugh. ‘You’re right, but desperate situations require desperate means at times. Not that I would advise you to actually—’

‘Commit adultery?’ Nicola suggested with some irony.

‘Most certainly not. Um...does anyone know how things stand? His first wife, for example?’

‘No one really knows, although some people might suspect. I’m not sure what Marietta thinks. She’s usually amazingly, even embarrassingly forthright, but she just—’ Nicola shrugged ‘—wished me luck and carried on as if it was a fait accompli. I suppose, if you look at it another way, it’s also her children I’m good with,’ she added ruefully.

‘But you suspect she may still be in love with him?’

‘I think there’s a kind of fatal attraction between them and there always will be.’

‘I still feel you shouldn’t walk away from this marriage without one last test,’ he said stubbornly.

‘You probably don’t think I can take care of myself either,’ Nicola observed.

‘I don’t think it’s a bad thing to be preserved from fortune-hunters until you’re twenty-three, Nicola. It’s no great age. And you never know.’

Nicola stood up and regarded him quizzically, as if to say, I might have known. What she did say was, ‘Look, don’t you worry about it, Reverend. I always knew there wasn’t going to be an easy solution. Not that that will stop me from trying to find one. But thanks for listening. I feel a bit guilty about taking up your time. I’m sure there are much more worthy causes and desperate women you could really help.’

Peter Callam stood up and handed her a card. ‘My time,’ he said quietly, ‘is always available to those in need, even if it’s only to listen.’

Nicola stared at him, then smiled at him radiantly. ‘It’s people like you, Reverend, who restore one’s faith. Thanks a million.’ With that, she left.

Brett Harcourt drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel of his sapphire-blue BMW convertible as he waited at a traffic light. The hood was down, although, for Cairns, it was a cooler day than the fierce heat of summer. He was late for an appointment, and every traffic light, this one included, had gone against him at the last minute—and this one took an age to change, he well knew.

Then he frowned as his gaze rested on someone coming out of the Lifeline offices opposite him—his wife. But she didn’t cross the road in front of him, although for her the light was green. Instead, she stopped on the pavement and just stood there, obviously lost in thought.

As usual, although she might be miles away mentally, she was turning a few heads, he observed dryly. Men slowed as they walked past, then looked back. Girls and women looked too, no doubt marvelling at the simple elegance of her clothes, the beautiful, lithe body beneath, the gloss of her skin and hair, maybe wondering if she was a top model or a film star.

But what the hell has she been doing at Lifeline? Brett Harcourt wondered. Looking for some new and devious way to give me the slip? Unless she’s decided to include good works in her repertoire of unusual activities...

He was about to hail her when he realised the light had changed and the traffic behind him was getting restive. He swore beneath his breath and moved off fast. But he noticed out of the corner of his eye as he did so that she didn’t even look up.

As for Nicola, she came out of her reverie and decided to treat herself to lunch in town.

She left her car where it was parked and walked to the Pier, where she chose Pescis, an Italian waterfront restaurant, overlooking the Marlin Marina. Not that there was a lot left of the marina. A cyclone earlier in the year had washed away the pontoons, leaving only the piles.

But it would be rebuilt, for it had famous associations, the Marlin Marina, with people like the late Lee Marvin, who had come to Nicola’s home town of Cairns, in far North Queensland, to set out in pursuit of the fabulous black marlin in the tropical waters of the Coral Sea.

Pescis was always busy, and today was no exception, but she found a table on the veranda and ordered a light lunch—chopped cooked tomato and basil on toasted bread.

While she waited for it, and sipped mineral water, she fiddled absently with her wedding ring and thought back over her interview with the Reverend Peter Callam—but, more particularly, on the impulse that had made her go in the first place.

I suppose it was because I can never talk to Brett about it, she mused. Not that I’ve tried for a while, but it always ended up in an argument... I must have been mad...

She looked down at the gold ring on her left hand. It had never been accompanied by an engagement ring—she’d insisted she didn’t want one, that it would be a bit ridiculous, because they could hardly call themselves engaged when they were to get married within a bare week of Brett proposing the marriage of convenience quite out of the blue to her. And, finally, weren’t engagement rings a token of love?

She’d asked her husband-to-be this with a dangerous little glint in her blue eyes, which he’d observed placidly, then he’d shrugged and murmured that it was up to her. But he’d gone on to say that their wedding would not be a hole-and-corner affair if she had that in mind as well.

‘But surely you don’t want all the trimmings?’ she’d protested. ‘I certainly don’t.’

‘What would you like?’ he’d countered. ‘Don’t forget we need to make some kind of a statement, after what’s happened to you and what people are saying.’

‘Well...’ She’d coloured. ‘Something quiet and dignified.’

A look of amusement had flickered in his eyes, causing her to say rashly, ‘I’m quite capable of being dignified, Brett.’

‘Oh, I believe you, although I sometimes prefer you when you’re not, but...’ He’d shrugged.

Her eyes had widened—and, she recalled, sitting now on the veranda, watching the green waters of Trinity Inlet, which formed Cairns Harbour, that had given her another cause to hope.

So she’d made no further objections, and she’d married Brett Harcourt in a simple but beautiful, ballerina length dress of ivory stiffened silk, with a matching pillbox hat crowned with flowers, no veil and short gloves. The ceremony had taken place in the garden of his home, before a marriage celebrant, and the handful of guests had all been of his own family. His children had been present, but, at three and four, had had no real idea of the significance of the occasion.

They’d been wild with delight, however, when she’d moved in permanently from that day.

She finished her lunch with a sigh and remembered that, when making her marriage vows, she’d been uncomfortable and barely audible. Then she’d taken hold and told herself that at least she was in love with her tall, worldly husband, so it couldn’t all be a sham. But of course now, in hindsight, that was what it still was and always had been.

‘All quiet on the western front?’

‘Oh!’ Nicola started. It was that evening, and she was seated at a large and beautiful maple desk in the den, dealing with the household accounts. There was an open chequebook in front of her and a sheaf of bills. It was eight-thirty, the children were in bed asleep, Mendelssohn was playing on the state-of-the-art sound system—and she hadn’t heard Brett come home.

She pushed a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles up on top of her head and regarded him severely. He had a glass of whisky in one hand and was pulling off his tie with the other. ‘You were supposed to be home for dinner.’

‘Sorry,’ he murmured. ‘I got held up.’

‘You don’t have to apologise to me. Your children are another matter, however. You promised to watch The Wiggles with them.’

‘Damn, I forgot.’ Brett Harcourt raked his hand through his dark brown hair. ‘Don’t they put out videos? I could watch a Wiggles video with them.’

‘This was a special concert—televised live.’

‘So I’m well and truly in the sin bin?’

‘I would say so. And you could find yourself in the sin bin with your liver if you make a habit of dining on Scotch.’

Brett Harcourt had hazel eyes that could be extremely enigmatic at times, much to Nicola’s chagrin. They could also be coolly insolent and worldly—another thorn in her flesh. But there were times—and she often wondered if she didn’t find this the most infuriating—when they laughed at her, although he maintained a perfectly straight face. Such as now.

He said gravely, ‘This is my first and last one for the day. It’s been a hell of a day and I got my secretary to order some dinner for me. Have you taken up good works, Nicola?’

She blinked at him. He sat down on the corner of the desk and let that hazel gaze drift over her. She’d changed into a large white T-shirt printed with gold and silver shells, and a pair of yellow leggings. Her hair was twisted up and secured by a big plastic grip. Her feet were bare. ‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘You sound as if you’re trying to reform me. You even sounded wifely, which is something you avoid at all costs, you must admit.’

The slightest tinge of pink ran beneath the smooth skin of her cheeks, but she said coolly, ‘With good reason, Brett. I’m a wife in name only, aren’t I?’

‘How often have you reminded me of that, I wonder?’ he murmured, this time smiling openly.

‘As often as I try to remind you that you’re a husband in name only, and that you needn’t think you can run my life,’ she responded evenly.

‘I didn’t think I did that.’

Nicola stared at him and tried to mask her impatience, which never worked with Brett.

‘Well, do I?’ he asked reasonably. ‘Tell me about any of your activities I’ve ever put a stop to. Tell me that you don’t come and go as you please, arrange your days as you please—’

‘But if I suddenly decided I wanted to go to...Tibet, that would be a different matter, wouldn’t it?’ she returned tautly.

‘Decidedly,’ he agreed lazily. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea at all.’

She stared at him frustratedly. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘I know we agreed—after you got yourself virtually kidnapped by a man who was a notorious womaniser—that this would be a safer way to go, Nicola.’

‘I was only nineteen,’ she said through pale lips.

‘You’re only twenty now—all right—’ he shrugged as she opened her mouth to protest ‘—almost twenty-one. But I can’t help wondering whether you’ve acquired the wisdom you so noticeably lacked then.’ His eyes mocked her. ‘Wild talk of Tibet doesn’t seem to go hand in hand with maturity. And that brings me to something else—what were you doing at Lifeline today?’

Nicola gasped. ‘How...? He didn’t!’

‘I felt sure there would be a “he” involved,’ her husband said dryly.

She jumped up. ‘Having a man around is one thing you can’t accuse me of, Brett! Since...since it happened—and I had no idea he was going to lure me away under false pretences and all the rest—’ she shuddered with disgust ‘—I haven’t had anything to do with men! You make it sound as if I go around inviting their attention.’

Brett Harcourt raised a wry eyebrow. ‘You don’t have to, Nicola. They attach themselves. So. What’s with Lifeline? And why were you looking so very pensive?’

‘If you’ve been having me followed, Brett...’ she said through her teeth.

‘You’ll...?’ he queried before she could go on.

The desire to make another wild statement gripped her, but she fought it, causing his lips to twist as he watched her with interest.

‘Were you?’ she ground out at last.

‘No. I merely happened to be stopped at that particular traffic light as you came out. Now, if you have decided to add good works to your music—’ he indicated the beautiful harp that stood in the corner of the den ‘—your flying lessons, your desire to speak Indonesian and your pottery, I’m all for it—but...’ He paused. ‘Something tells me it’s not so.’

Nicola took a deep breath. ‘I do play that harp, I do speak Indonesian, I love pottery and I enjoy flying—are you trying to belittle me for any specific reason?’ she asked with a quizzically raised eyebrow.

He shrugged, smiled slightly and ignored the question. ‘I’m not disputing that. In fact, I’ll go further and say that you’re highly intelligent as well as artistic, and your flying instructor reckons you’re a natural. It still doesn’t explain Lifeline.’

Nicola paced around the room and darkly contemplated the fact that it was impossible to hide most things from Brett—it always had been. Which made it rather surprising to think that she’d been able to hide the most important thing of all from him.

She paused beside the harp and ran her fingers gently across the strings in a glissando, to make a golden bell of sound, then stilled it with her palm and turned to look at him.

He was still sitting on the corner of the desk, idly running his tie through his fingers—quite a colourful tie, with red, navy and jade diamonds on it etched in a bone colour that matched his shirt.

But even sitting he was obviously a tall man, who happened to be twelve years her senior with a mind that was razor-sharp. He also had aquiline features, an impressive build and, although he wasn’t precisely handsome, once you got to know him you couldn’t help but be aware that he had a rare charm when he chose.

And when he didn’t choose there was the aura of a powerful intellect combined with a strong physique that gave notice of a man who got his own way frequently.

All in all an irresistible combination, and not only to me, she thought gloomily. To most women—and, even although they’ve been divorced for four years, still to Marietta, she suspected...

‘Nicola?’

She focused her gaze on her husband and shrugged. ‘I went to see a marriage counsellor, that’s all.’

It gave her a fieeting sense of satisfaction to see that she had momentarily stunned him. Then he said a shade grimly, ‘A man?’

‘Yes, he was a man—that threw me at first as well, but—’

‘Nicola.’

‘But he’s also a minister, and he was very nice, Brett, you don’t have to worry on that score.’

‘And what did he advise you to do?’

‘Well, you’re really going to enjoy this,’ she said with simple satire. ‘He advised me to stay put.’

For a moment she wondered if her eyes were playing tricks on her, because she could have sworn she saw him relax slightly. Then he said, ‘Not what you wanted to hear, I’m sure.’

‘No,’ she agreed, and shrugged. ‘That doesn’t mean to say I’ll stick to the letter of his advice.’

‘Nicola, I—’

‘Don’t, Brett,’ she said with a sudden, weary little gesture. ‘I have no plans to go anywhere at the moment, but that doesn’t mean to say I’m reconciled to anything.’

He seemed about to say something, then apparently changed his mind and murmured with a humorous little glint, ‘So I can expect you to be here for your twenty-first birthday?’

‘Yes.’ She shrugged.

‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic.’

‘I’m not but I’ll probably come round.’ She studied him unenthusiastically, then a faintly malicious glimmer lit her blue eyes. ‘By the way, don’t imagine you’ve escaped The Wiggles.’

‘Why not? I mean to say,’ he amended hastily, ‘I never intended to. I did forget.’

‘And then breathed a sigh of relief, no doubt But we didn’t watch them.’

Brett Harcourt looked at his wife narrowly. ‘How come?’

‘Well, knowing how much you love them, I persuaded your children to let me tape the programme so that we could all watch it together some time tomorrow. Which is a Saturday, in case you’ve forgotten, and one of the two days of the week you keep inviolate from work or whatever.’

‘You—did that to me?’

‘Yes, Brett, I did,’ she responded gravely, then started to laugh. ‘They’re very good, you know.’

‘If you’re a kid. Four young men who’ve tapped into the kindergarten set and made a fortune, I imagine,’ he said meditatively. ‘Oh, well.’

‘You could thank me for averting a crisis. Sasha was distraught when you didn’t turn up.’

‘Sasha is every bit as histrionic as her mother,’ Brett Harcourt said a shade grimly.

‘And getting more and more like her by the day,’ Nicola agreed with a reminiscent little grin.

‘How about Chris?’

‘Oh, I think he’s going to be a chip off the old block.’

He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Me?’

‘Yes, you.’

‘In what way?’

Nicola considered. ‘He’s clever—and practical. He said to Sasha, when she was throwing herself on the floor in floods of tears, “Don’t be so silly, Sash. If we tape it we can fast-forward all the advertisements.”’

Brett chuckled softly. ‘Definitely a man after my own heart. What did she say to that?’

‘Well, she’s no fool either,’ Nicola mused with secret laughter lurking in her eyes. ‘She said she liked the advertisements, they gave you a chance to go and get drinks and things, and she couldn’t stand the way men imagined they were driving a speed car when they had a remote control in their hands—flicking from one channel to another, fast-forwarding things and so on.’

‘You’re kidding. She’s only six.’

‘All the same, in more juvenile terms, that’s what she said! Six is old enough to be struck by male failings, apparently. You, for example, are a nightmare to watch television with for just that reason. So is Chris.’

‘Good Lord!’

‘So, there you go.’ Nicola sat down and pulled the sheaf of bills towards her.

‘We’ve been invited out to lunch on Sunday, by the way,’ Brett said after a moment.

‘Anywhere interesting? Can we take the kids?’

‘Of course. The Masons—I believe you met them at the Goodes’ dinner party a few weeks ago.’

Nicola wrinkled her brow. ‘Oh, yes, I remember. He’s a big, bearded bear of a man and she’s small and cuddly and given to being embarrassingly frank.’ She looked amused. ‘Isn’t he the new District Court Judge?’

‘The same. They’ve invited us to their house at Buchans Point. They have a pool as well as the beach. The kids should enjoy it.’

‘Sounds nice.’ Nicola threw down her pen to yawn heartily. ‘I think I’ll finish these tomorrow.’

‘Tired?’ he asked casually as he watched her tuck her feet beneath her.

‘I don’t know why.’

‘The rigours of marriage counselling?’ he suggested.

‘I think the rigour was on the other foot, if anything.’ She grimaced. ‘He was quite bemused.’

‘Let’s hope he’s quite discreet,’ Brett said.

‘He assured me he was.’

Brett stood up and stretched. ‘Because I doubt whether you’d enjoy featuring in the gossip columns any more than I would, Nicola.’

They stared at each for a long moment, until he added, ‘Don’t forget, that was the other object of this exercise—to protect your fair name from being dragged through the mud.’

‘And on that properly grateful note—’ she got up and curtseyed ‘—I’ll take myself to bed, sir!’

He said nothing, but his eyes were suddenly cynical and cold.

Don’t say it, Nicola warned herself. But, as so often happened, she failed to take her own advice—although she did manage to sound fairly clinical instead of rashly impassioned. ‘There are times when I hate you, Brett.’

‘I know.’ He picked up his glass and drained it.

‘Doesn’t it ever bother you?’

He set the glass down on the desk, stared at it for a moment, then raised his eyes to hers. There was so much amusement in them now, she caught her breath at the same time as a little frisson ran down her spine. A frisson of awareness that she despised herself for but couldn’t help, because Brett Harcourt did that to her even when he laughed at her.

‘No, Nicola. You remind me of Sasha, actually. She often hates me when she doesn’t get her own way. Why don’t you go to bed? You not only sound tired and cross, you look it.’

She opened her mouth, then bit her lip and walked past him. But he put out a hand and closed it round her wrist. ‘Good thinking,’ he said with soft satire, then genuinely laughed at her expression. ‘OK, OK, I’m sorry! Of course you don’t remind me of Sasha, that was tit for tat, but there is nothing on earth for you to be in a state about.’

They were very close-close enough for Nicola to see the little golden flecks in his eyes and feel that frisson of awareness grow into something stronger as his lean, strong fingers moved on the soft skin of her inner wrist.

‘If you say so, Brett,’ she murmured colourlessly, and removed her gaze from the line of his shoulders beneath the bone-coloured shirt, hoping and praying at the same time that he had no idea what the strong column of his throat and those broad shoulders sometimes did to her—evoking an erotic little desire to explore them with her fingertips and follow that trail with her lips.

He released her abruptly. ‘I do. Goodnight, Nicola.’

But something stopped her from moving immediately, something that made her look at him fleetingly, into his eyes, to discover that everything—the amusement and everything else—had been leached from his expression so that it was like looking at a blank wall.

‘Goodnight, Brett,’ she said then, quietly and evenly, and slipped away.

Brett Harcourt stood in the same spot for some moments and wondered, as he’d found himself wondering from time to time over the last two years, if his wife was essentially naive and genuinely had no idea how attractive and desirable most men found her. Because it was true that he couldn’t accuse her of appearing to have much interest in men at all, although he’d been right about her effect on them.

But was it something she still had to grow into? he mused. Or had this marriage of convenience been even more successful than he’d thought, from the point of view of keeping the daughter of a man he’d admired immensely safe? But safe in an ivory tower?

He stared at nothing for a moment, then shrugged.

CHAPTER TWO

SUNDAY dawned clear and hot, although not nearly so hot as Cairns could get. May was one of the nicest months in the far north of Queensland, Nicola often thought. By May the threat of cyclones had receded, the stingers and box jellyfish were removing their deadly tentacles from beaches and the weather was generally cooler and dryer—if not exactly autumnal by southern standards. Although she’d been brought up in Cairns, there was no doubt the hot steamy summers took their toll.

She walked out onto the veranda and absorbed the view.

Brett Harcourt had built a house at Yorkeys Knob, a northern beach suburb of Cairns dominated by a small, steep and wooded headland—the Knob. He’d built his house on the Knob to take in spectacular views of the ocean, as well as the cane fields, of which he owned a large slice, that stretched inland to the range. Sugar cane was not his only investment. He owned banana and avocado plantations, as well as mango farms—for that matter, so did she.

But it was not the injustice of having her inheritance in someone else’s hands until she was twenty-three that was on her mind as she gazed at the view, it was only how lovely it all was that preoccupied her.

Out to sea there were magic reefs and cays, not visible at this distance, but once you’d visited them they stayed in your mind whenever you looked out. Michaelmas Cay, Upolo—a lovely little hoop of pale gold sand in a turquoise sea studded with coral—Green Island, Arlington Reef, and to the north Batt and Tongue Reefs, the Low Isles, Agincourt Reef and many more as the Great Barrier Reef rose from the depths of the Coral Sea.

Closer to home to the north was Trinity Beach and Palm Cove on the mainland, then Buchans Point—the venue for lunch today. And the Range, cloaked in its dense, dark green foliage, rose majestically behind them to Kuranda and the Atherton Tablelands.

The other advantage of having a house on the Knob was the wonderful privacy. The road was actually above their roof level, and their neighbours were hidden by a glorious tangle of tropical shrubbery: pink, purple and white bougainvillaea, yellow allamanda and scarlet poinsettia. There were palm trees and causurinas on the front lawn, and beyond, a sheer drop down to the sea.

She breathed the clear, sparkling air deeply and turned to look at the house. Built on two levels in a mixture of stone, timber and glass, it blended well with the hillside and made the most of the wonderful views. The upper level, containing the bedrooms and where she was now standing, had its own deck around the front of the house, whilst the lower level opened onto a paved terrace with an in-ground pool and a thatched open barbecue pavilion. There were big terracotta pots scattered about, in which Nicola grew flowering perennials, and some flourishing pandanus palms.

Louvred doors onto the deck and terrace, as well as simple cotton blinds, let the air flow through the house as well as giving it a slightly Oriental air. The floors inside were all sealed timber or polished slate, and the rooms were uncluttered to minimise the heat but furnished beautifully, with a mixture of modern and colonial. Curiously, the fact that some of it had been Marietta’s doing didn’t offend Nicola.

There was also a garden for the children, a shed and a kiln for her pottery, and a shady, secretive courtyard outside the front door that was definitely Oriental in design and a delight to Nicola. More of her pottery pots and most of her statues ended up in it, and she grew herbs, lemon trees in tubs, impatiens, and miniature capsicum and chillies beneath a magnificent tree that was at present a blaze of bloom and spreading a pink carpet on the uneven tiles that surrounded it.

The sight of a small face at her bedroom doorway, which was instantly whisked away, alerted her. She waited a couple of moments, then padded back to her room silently and sneaked up to the bed that now had two still mounds beneath the covers. She fell on the bed, causing screams and loud gurgles of laughter to emanate as the mounds wriggled joyfully and they all ended up in a heap.

‘Who’s been sleeping in my bed?’ Nicola demanded, feigning utter surprise.

‘You knew, you knew!’ Chris, short for Christian, chanted.

‘How could she know?’ his sister contradicted, coming up for air. ‘We didn’t make a sound. We didn’t even breathe!’

‘I bet you she knew—’

‘OK.’ Nicola gathered them on either side of her and plumped up the pillows. ‘Let’s not start the day with a fight. How about a song instead? Let’s see...’

They sang ‘The Teddy Bears’ Picnic’, then, because The Wiggles were such a hot topic, embarked on one of their songs about a dog that barked all day and night. They sang the chorus with great gusto and much hilarity, alternating from basso profondo to a shrill, scratchy falsetto.

‘All right, all right!’ Brett Harcourt appeared at the doorway with his hair hanging in his eyes, wearing only a pair of sleep shorts and with blue shadows on his jaw. ‘Doesn’t anyone in this house believe it’s Sunday?’

Nicola said through her laughter, ‘Sorry, but they both have perfect pitch, you know!’

Sasha and Chris leapt off the bed to besiege their father, and presently to partake peaceably of a late breakfast, and then get through the whole traumatic business of being dressed and groomed for an outing without one squabble.

‘There.’ Nicola slung a large bag into the back of the BMW between the children and stood for a moment with her hand on her hip.

She wore a filmy beige and white paisley overshirt and white linen drawstring pants. Her hair was in a simple knot and she had beige canvas rope-soled espadrilles on her feet. She held up a finger for each item. ‘I’ve got two spare sets of clothing, sun-cream, hats, togs, buckets, spades, toys in case they get bored, books—I’ve got the lot.’

She swung herself into the front seat and exchanged a wry glance with her husband, who said, ‘It’s like moving an army.’

‘You’re not wrong. Now listen, kids,’ she said over her shoulder, ‘we’re going to visit Mr and Mrs Mason for lunch. Don’t forget your manners, will you?’

‘I never do,’ Sasha said proudly and pointedly.

“Course you do,‘ Chris responded. ’Who threw a plate of jelly at—?‘

‘That was because he pulled my hair! And don’t forget the time you spat at—’

‘Kids,’ Brett said, mildly enough, but they subsided—as they always did for Brett, Nicola thought ruefully.

‘Wish I had you around more often,’ she murmured with a faint grin, and glanced at him expressively.

Gone was the dishevelment of earlier. He was shaved, his brown hair was orderly and he wore a brown and white striped T-shirt, off-white thin cotton jeans and white deck shoes. The hairs on his arms, she noted, glinted chestnut in the sun.

‘I might not be so effective then—familiarity could dull the edge.’

‘I doubt it. They’re always good for you.’

‘Do you find them such a handful, Nicola?’ he asked after a moment. ‘By the way, I presume I’m forgiven?’

‘For last night?’ She shrugged. ‘Yes. You know I don’t find them a handful,’ she added with more warmth. ‘And on the odd occasion that I do,’ she said honestly, ‘I’ve always got Ellen to fall back on.’ Ellen doubled as housemaid and babysitter, and had been with the children since birth.

‘I just wondered,’ he said slowly, ‘whether they had anything to do with your seeking counselling. Whether you felt tied down, were yearning for a career or something like that,’ he said, before she could speak.

Nicola paused. ‘I never could decide whether I wanted to be a potter, a pilot or a musician—that’s strange, isn’t it? No. It’s not that, Brett.’

‘But what would you do if you left us?’

The question hung in the air—air that rushed by as they drove up the highway past Palm Cove towards Buchans Point with the roof down. And it was a question that affected Nicola suddenly and curiously. Was it because, she wondered, it was the first time Brett had actually asked her? Not in the context of pointing out her lack of purpose in life, or her unwisdom et cetera, but just as a simple, genuine enquiry?

And it came to her with a little stab of shock that perhaps he was entertaining the idea of her leaving...

‘I...I could start my own gallery,’ she said at random. ‘A lot of people are very taken with my pottery.’

‘Anything else?’

She cast around in her mind a little desperately. Before anything presented itself, she remembered suddenly that Brett had gone out the night before, alone, and come home very late. Well after midnight, in fact, as she’d seen on the luminous dial of her bedside clock when the opening and closing of the garage doors had woken her briefly—something she hadn’t recalled until now.

Not that there was anything particularly unusual in it. She often went out with girlfriends, and he didn’t always include her in his socialising, but...had this been a different kind of socialising, with a woman? she found herself wondering. A woman he was serious about? Serious enough to be contemplating putting an end to this marriage of convenience. But what about Marietta? she thought. And...

‘Nicola?’

She jerked her eyes to his to find his gaze narrow and probing, but all he said was, ‘We’re here.’

‘Oh, sorry.’ She shrugged, but it was a long moment before she could tear her gaze away from his. Then she got out of the car and helped the children out.

‘Now, let’s see.’ She straightened Sasha’s pretty sun-dress and smoothed her red-brown curls. ‘You look gorgeous, darling,’ she said, and turned to Chris. ‘Whereas you are very handsome, young man!’

Both children exuded gratification and put their hands into hers, leaving their father to deal with the large bag.

And that was what the Masons, Rod and Kim, as well as their resident guest, saw advancing up the garden path as they opened their front door, causing Kim Mason, in her forthright way, to say, ‘Nicola, dear, welcome! But how can you possibly be old enough to have two children this age?’

‘Oh, she’s not our mother,’ Sasha piped up with a world-weary air. ‘She’s our aunt.’

‘Sasha.’ Nicola frowned down at her. ‘I’m not your aunt, I’m your stepmother. Where did you get that idea?’

‘Excuse me—how silly of me,’ Kim murmured, but Sasha was not to be denied.

‘I ’scussed this with my friend Emma, and we decided you can’t be any kind of a mother, Nicola, because you don’t do the things mummies do.’

“Course she does,‘ Chris said witheringly. ’Who makes us clean our teeth three times a day and washes our ears and makes us eat our crusts?‘

‘That’s not all mummies do,’ Sasha replied with a superior air. ‘They look after their kids’ dads as well. They kiss and cuddle them, and they sleep in the same bed with them—’

‘Sasha,’ Brett said from behind a frozen Nicola, ‘that’ll be enough, thank you.’

‘But what would Chris know about it? He’s only a silly little boy who doesn’t even go to school yet—and that’s why we decided, me and Emma, that she’s got to be an aunt!’ Sasha finished triumphantly.

Instead of falling into a convenient hole that might magically open up at her feet, Nicola had no alternative but to proceed with the day. To pretend as if Sasha had never spoken and ignore the bemusement in their hosts’ expressions, until they hurriedly masked it, gracefully acknowledging the introduction of the other guest—a man of about thirty who was visiting the Masons from Sydney and was in some way related to Kim. His name was Richard Holloway.

Brett did the same, and before long they were seated on a shaded terrace beside the pool, with Ellis Beach below them, stretching northward beside a sparkling sea, sipping aperitifs as the children splashed happily in the water.

As if to make up for the incredible revelations she had unwittingly unleashed, Kim talked non-stop to Nicola while the three men talked cricket.

Then, to Nicola’s relief, Kim drew her husband away to deal with the barbecue and commanded Richard to replenish everyone’s drinks.

Brett said into the sudden silence, ‘All right?’

‘Yes. No. I had no idea...’ Their gazes locked and Nicola found herself going hot and cold again as the truly mortifying thought of people wondering whether she did or didn’t sleep with Brett crossed her mind.

‘No, Nicola, it’s not anything you might be thinking,’ he said, and he scanned the tense way she was sitting. She looked lovely enough to tempt any man, he thought, and then also thought, They’re probably wondering if I’m mad... ‘Because it’s not anyone’s business but our own,’ he added.

‘How...how do you know what I was thinking?’ she asked.

He smiled a little wryly. ‘You looked intensely embarrassed.’

‘I felt it—didn’t you?’

He shrugged philosophically. ‘I’m older and probably tougher. It was also out of the mouths of babes, so to speak.’

‘Isn’t that a euphemism for an uncanny ability to see the truth? I told you she was no fool.’

‘Obviously not,’ he said dryly.

‘You mustn’t be cross with her,’ Nicola responded swiftly. ‘She doesn’t understand the implications of what she said. It’s simply something she noticed and found strange.’

‘I’m not cross with her. Or only for inheriting her mother’s ability to lack any sense of tact or diplomacy.’

Nicola found her lips twisting involuntarily. ‘It’s the kind of situation Marietta would enjoy. By the way, when’s she due home?’

‘When she suffers some pangs of maternal longing, probably,’ he said cynically.

Nicola said nothing for a time. Marietta swooped in and out of her children’s lives like a brilliant bird of paradise. And, unnatural as it might seem, they adored her when she was around and appeared to accept her absence with equanimity. She had a unit in town, where they went to stay with her to be shamelessly indulged, but they cast it all off like a second skin when they came back to their father.

That they’d only been two and one when the breakup of the marriage had occurred might account for it, Nicola sometimes thought. But it was hard to see why Marietta had bothered to have children, unless Brett had insisted...

Yet, so long as she didn’t have to be tied down by them, she was genuinely fond of them. She wrote to them often, rang them from strange places and brought home marvellous exotic gifts for them.

But that’s Marietta for you, she thought as she accepted another drink from Richard Holloway. Kim and Rod did not return, so, while the men started discussing politics this time, she was able to think her own thoughts.

She remembered her father’s bemusement at Brett’s decision to marry Marietta Otway, daughter of his best friend. Brett had been twenty-five, Marietta the same age; Nicola herself had been thirteen.

‘Why?’ she’d asked her father.

‘Well, it’s obvious why. She’s talented, spirited and very beautiful,’ he’d said with some irritation.

‘So why don’t you approve?’

He’d shrugged uneasily. ‘You know her. She was babysitting you for pocket money from the time she was sixteen. She’s—obsessive, wouldn’t you agree?‘

‘About her music, yes.’ Nicola had smiled reminiscently. ‘She gave me my first piano lesson when I was four. But—’

‘And now she’s obsessive about Brett. But I just can’t help wondering how marriage is going to fit in with her main obsession—her music.’

Nicola had said slowly, and with no acrimony, ‘You look upon Brett as the son you never had, don’t you, Dad?’

Her father had ruffled her hair. ‘I’m very fond of him and very proud of him. When you think how he had to battle his way through school, let alone law school, despite the Rotary Scholarship—’

‘Which you were responsible for.’

‘Yes, well, I’d never encountered such a sharp mind before, such a determination to succeed. When his father was lost in a yachting accident at sea he was only twelve, and the oldest of five children, but the support he gave his mother and his younger brothers and sisters was amazing. He was picking mangoes and avocados in his spare time, sorting prawns and so on—but I have only one child dear to my heart, and that’s you.’

Two weeks later they’d gone to Brett and Marietta’s wedding. At the reception, at a smart restaurant, Nicola had found herself observing the bride and groom with her father’s misgivings in mind.

Marietta had been married in a lime-green figure-hugging Thai silk suit that had set off her glorious red hair admirably. She’d glowed, obviously radiantly happy, but, Nicola had noticed, she and Brett had almost steered clear of each other, and Nicola had wondered why.

Then, when they had come together to cut the cake, they’d looked into each other’s eyes, and to her teenage eyes it had been as if something white-hot existed between them in that brief glance, something almost dangerous that couldn’t be allowed to be exposed in public.

Not long after the wedding Nicola had been sent to boarding school in Brisbane, a thousand miles away, and her dealings with Brett and Marietta had been limited. But she had noticed, when Sasha was born, that Marietta seemed to be obsessive about motherhood in her unique way. Then Chris had arrived, only twelve months later, and after another twelve months had come the bombshell that Brett and Marietta were separating.

‘I knew it,’ her father had said exasperatedly.

‘But Chris is only a baby! How can she?’

‘They’ve come to an agreement. The children will spend the bulk of their time with Brett, allowing her the licence to get her career back on track,’ he’d said sardonically.

‘But I thought she liked having children.’

‘It was a novelty, that’s all.’

Nicola had thought deeply. By then seventeen, she’d had more of an understanding of that strange, searing little look she’d intercepted between Brett and Marietta on their wedding day, but she’d found herself understanding this turn of events even less. ‘So don’t they love each other any more?’

Her father had sighed. ‘They may do, but she’s determined to have it on her terms or not at all, and Brett...Well, he didn’t get where he is without his own kind of iron determination.’

By this time Brett had been made a partner in her father’s law firm. Indeed, he was the active partner, whose expertise had brought some big and prestigious clients to act for, and her father was coming to rely on him more and more as his health failed.

At eighteen Nicola had left boarding school, and, because of her father’s poor health, she insisted on spending the last six months of his life as his constant companion, instead of starting a Bachelor of Arts degree as she’d planned. This had brought her into close contact with Brett and his children—Brett had been marvellous, right up to the end and beyond.

And she often thought it was during those sad months that she’d fallen in love with Brett Harcourt. But it was on the understanding that what was between him and Marietta was not resolved, and that somehow things would be patched up.

She’d spent a lot of time with his children, though, during the restless months after her father’s death, often staying with them rather than rattling around home alone. She had done this not only on his account, but the children’s, and Marietta’s too. It had been like having two waning members of her own family around, both of whom she loved.

She couldn’t forget all the years she’d known Marietta. Could never forget how Marietta had flown home for her father’s funeral to play some of his favourite pieces. They had brought him so vividly to mind, yet in the way they’d been played—so exquisitely and gently—had laid him to rest in her heart, even though she still suffered, and had no idea what she wanted to do with her suddenly empty life.

Brett had suggested university again, but she hadn’t wanted to commit herself. She wasn’t even sure whether she’d agreed to a Bachelor of Arts in the first place only to please her father. She’d suggested an overseas trip, but Brett had vetoed it, saying she was too young to go on her own. That was when she’d first discovered that she might love Brett Harcourt, but it didn’t prevent her from being in discord with him...

Indeed, that was what she’d thrown at him after she’d drifted into company with a fast set of so-called friends—another cause for disagreement between them—and, without quite understanding how, had got herself so embarrassingly compromised by a man of whom, ever since, the mere thought made her shudder.

It had all been so trite and sordid.

A party of them had been going up to the Tablelands for a long weekend, or so she’d been led to think. But no one else had turned up, and she’d found herself alone, in a remote cabin, fending off the distinctly amorous and then frighteningly violent attentions of a man who called her a rich, spoilt little bitch and speculated that she was Brett Harcourt’s mistress—she certainly spent enough time at his house, and it was already the subject of some comment around town, wasn’t it?

Nicola had suddenly been more horrified than frightened, and this had given her the momentum to slap his face, then storm off proudly when he’d drawled that she’d have to find her own way home.

That was something she hadn’t been able to do without calling on Brett for help when she’d finally found a phone.

The interview that had followed as he’d driven her back to Cairns had been deadly. How could she have been such a fool? Hadn’t he warned her about the company she was keeping and the men she was going out with? What did she think she looked like, wandering around the countryside dusty and dishevelled with her dress torn?

That was when she’d thrown the idea of an overseas trip at him in her anger and shame.

He’d driven her straight to Yorkeys Knob, but as he’d been about to get out of the car she’d swallowed suddenly and said, ‘No, not here...please.’

‘Why?’

‘I just can’t.’ But her face had burned, and something in the way she’d refused to look at him had made him pause. Then he’d said unemotionally that he’d take her home and had done so. Only once there he’d proceeded to insist on being told everything. But, instead of being shocked and disgusted by the news of the kind of gossip they were the subject of, he’d merely said that she should have a shower and get changed because he planned to take her out to dinner.

And it had been over dinner, when she was much calmer and no longer feeling such a fool, that he’d proposed marriage—of a kind.

She could still remember the blue linen tablecloth and the steady flame of a candle in a glass, the music in the background and the dress she’d worn—black with white flowers, a high little mandarin collar and a row of pearl buttons down the front. Her hair had been lying on her shoulders, clean and slightly fluffy because she hadn’t had time to dry it properly.

She remembered the half-eaten butterfly prawns she’d ordered, the glass of wine she’d been toying with. And her first shocked response—‘What about Marietta?’

He smiled dryly. ‘That’s all over. Didn’t you know?’ He looked at her ironically.

‘But is that why it’s only to be a—a fake marriage?’

‘No. It’s because you’re too young to be marrying anyone, Nicola, but at least this way you’ll be able to be comfortable and happy, and doing something you obviously enjoy.’

She picked up her wine glass, then looked challengingly at him over the rim. ‘Taking care of your children?’

‘Marietta’s too. And it’s not that I’ll expect you to be a babysitter-cum-governess,’ he went on. ‘You can do whatever you like, but with you there they’re happy, and so are you. Aren’t you?’

‘Yes. But for how long?’

He shrugged. ‘As long as it seems necessary. You could even do a part time university course if you wanted to. And if it doesn’t appeal to you—well, at least you’ll know you’ve given it a shot.’

‘You sound like my father.’

He said nothing for a long moment, then added, ‘It is something he would have wanted you to do. By the way, Nicola, it would be an honour to have you gracing my house.’

Her eyes widened, and that was when the first rash seed of hope sprouted. But she immediately cautioned herself against believing anything. ‘Just say you fall in love, or I fall in love—tomorrow, for example.’ She gestured.

‘I don’t think that’s liable to happen to me, but I promise to tell you if it does,’ he said gravely. ‘And if it happens for you, I still think you should wait a while before you allow yourself to believe it’s the love of your life.’

She shrugged and chewed her lip, then, with the first glint of humour in her eyes for quite a while, said, ‘At the moment I’m thoroughly turned off men, believe me. But—’ she frowned ‘—just say it did happen—mightn’t it complicate things incredibly? Having to explain that I am married but not really, kind of thing, let alone having to go through annulments and whatever?’

‘Not for a man who really loves you, no.’

She blinked, then heard herself saying, ‘I don’t know what else to do. I feel like a ship without a rudder. I suppose because I was an only child and I don’t even remember my mother...that’s why...’ She sighed. ‘We used to do so much together, Dad and I. We’d planned to go overseas together when I finished school.’

‘I know. I envied you.’

‘Did you?’ For some reason it came as a surprise, and she studied him curiously. He’d left his work to rescue her, and still wore a pale green long-sleeved shirt, fawn trousers and a dark red tie with little green elephants on it. He looked so much a man of the world, so quietly assured and in command, it was hard to imagine him envying her in any way, let alone proposing marriage to her.

She said suddenly, ‘I think my father looked upon you as the son he never had. He denied it, but it was true, all the same.’ She took a sip of wine, then twirled the glass in her fingers.

‘You didn’t mind?’ He watched her narrowly.

‘No. What do you think he’d have made of this, though?’ She returned his gaze steadily.

‘I think, Nicola...’ he said, and paused. ‘I think he’d rest easily to know we’d devised a way of getting you through these difficult years—and they can be difficult years for anyone, not least for someone as alone in the world as you are—safely and happily.’

‘All the same, it’s fraud of a kind,’ she murmured a little dryly, and formed her slender hands into a steeple on the table. ‘Although it remains to be seen whether we fool anyone.’ And there was that glint of challenge in her deep blue eyes again.

‘They may draw their own conclusions, but—’ he smiled slightly, a cool twisting of his lips that was curiously intimidating ‘—I can assure you they’d think twice about expressing them, let alone treating you with anything but respect.’

Her brows rose. ‘You sound quite formidable, Brett.’

He said nothing, only looked lazily amused, but if anything that reinforced her growing understanding that he was formidable when he wanted to be.

‘Uh...’ She hesitated. ‘There is one person who might be entitled to express all sorts of reservations on the subject—they are her children, too.’

‘Leave Marietta to me,’ he said evenly.

‘But I think I should know whether you intend to tell her the truth or not, Brett?’

‘Marietta waived certain rights, Nicola, when she walked out on her children, but, if it’s OK with you, all I would do is present her with a fait accompli. I can’t see her not being delighted to have you there for Sasha and Chris.’ He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Is that a yes?’

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