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The Constantin Marriage
Lindsay Armstrong
Alex Constantin agreed to a marriage of convenience to Tatiana Beaufort because this inexperienced young woman intrigued him. But on their wedding night she asked for a year's grace before making theirs a "real" marriage–insisting on single beds!A year on, Tattie is both alarmed and tempted when her husband suggests they become lovers at last. But she is just as determined that she will not become his proper wife until Alex says, "I love you."
“My suggestion is that we stop fooling around and get this marriage off the ground.”
Tattie’s mouth fell open as she sorted through this. “Fooling…?” she asked incredulously.
He lifted a dark eyebrow at her. “You led me to understand you knew what you were getting into, Tattie. And, for what it’s worth, your suggestion of a year’s grace was a good one. At least we know we can get along pretty well.” His mouth quirked. “We don’t appear to have any habits that drive each other up the wall.” He looked at her with a question in his eyes.
“Lovers could be a different matter.”
“My dear Tattie,” he murmured with his hands resting lightly on her shoulders and his gaze summing her up from head to toe, “I feel quite sure that it could only enhance our relationship to become lovers. Trust me.”
The Constantin Marriage
Lindsay Armstrong
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER ONE
ALEX CONSTANTIN rifled a hand through his dark hair and glanced at his watch. It was his first wedding anniversary and the time for the celebrations was approaching fast.
He pushed his chair back and swivelled it so that he could watch the sun set over Darwin and the Timor Sea as he thought about the evening ahead. His wife, uncharacteristically, had been more than happy to allow his parents carte blanche in organising the festivities—she was only now due to fly into Darwin.
His mother, not uncharacteristically, had been delighted to take on the task and the family home, one of them, would be polished to within an inch of its life and glowing with flowers. Mountains of delicious food would be in the last stages of preparation for the buffet supper and the long veranda would be cleared for dancing.
So far so good, he thought drily. What his mother had not dreamt, and what he’d only become aware of when she’d blithely dropped by the invitation list earlier in the day, was that she’d invited his ex-mistress, whose name was known to his wife, to be amongst the hundred or so people celebrating his first wedding anniversary…
A discreet knock on the door interrupted his reflections and his devoted secretary, Paula Gibbs, came in with the last of the dictation he had given her—and the slim, colourful gift box he’d asked her to get out of the safe before she left for the day.
‘Thanks, Paula,’ Alex said, and motioned her to sit down while he signed the letters. He pushed them back across the desk to her and his hand hovered over the present. ‘Would you like to see it?’
‘I’d love to!’
Alex opened the box, studied the contents for a moment, then with a shrug pushed it across towards Paula.
She picked up the box and let out a little gasp. ‘It’s beautiful! I knew it would be pearls, but diamonds as well! And Argyle pinks if I’m not mistaken.’
‘You’re not,’ Alex said wryly, and added in answer to the query in his secretary’s eye, ‘Giving her Constantin pearls would be a bit like giving coals to Newcastle. At least she’ll know I had to buy the diamonds.’
Paula closed the box after a last lingering look at the pearl necklace with its beautiful diamond clasp. Then she said firmly, ‘But Mrs Constantin isn’t like that, I’m sure.’
He replied, after a moment’s thought and with a fleeting smile, ‘No, Mrs Constantin is not like that at all, Paula.’ But he was suddenly and insanely tempted to add—Would the real Mrs Constantin please stand up?
He stood up himself instead, because Paula was an ardent fan of his wife, and, anyway, his problems were his alone. But the question was still on his mind as he drove the short few blocks home to the apartment that faced Bicentennial Park and Lameroo Beach. It had been a cause of some amusement for his wife that the Sultan of Brunei was reputed to own the penthouse in the same building. ‘Are you in the same class wealth-wise as the Sultan of Brunei, Alex?’ she’d asked with a gleam of sparkling fun in her blue eyes.
He’d denied the charge in all honesty, adding that the Constantin family fortune, added to the Beaufort fortune which she herself had inherited, would probably be less than small change to the Sultan of Brunei and, indeed, the Paspaley family which had pioneered cultured-pearl farming in the Northern Territory and the Kimberley region of Western Australia.
‘But you’ve also done very nicely out of pearls, thank you, haven’t you, Alex?’ she’d remarked, and added, ‘Plus the cattle stations, cruise boats et al?’
He’d agreed, but pointed out that she had also done very well out of her family’s fortune.
‘True.’ She’d glanced at him with a question in those stunning blue eyes.
‘I only make the point because you seem to hold my family fortune in a certain sort of low esteem,’ he’d said.
‘Is it because I’m only a first-generation Australian of Greek descent whereas the Beauforts go back to the pioneering roots of this part of the country?’
‘Darling,’ his wife had said, ‘I never make those kind of judgements. The Beauforts may have been around these parts for a long time but your family is a model of propriety compared to some of my ancestors.’
‘So why do you look condescending at times?’
She’d shrugged. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to. But perhaps some of your Greek family’s customs don’t entirely impress me. I’ll leave you to work out which one in particular.’ And she’d flitted away before he’d had the chance to remind her that her own mother, who had Russian blood in her, had actively participated in the custom she was referring to…
All this was still on his mind as he took the lift to their apartment, and all the illuminated rooms told him that his wife had arrived back from Perth on schedule. In fact, as her bedroom door was open and Sibelius was pouring out Finlandia from her CD player, he was able to observe Tatiana Constantin née Beaufort unseen and at his leisure.
She was dressed and applying her make-up. Her dress was long, strapless, and clung to her figure. It was the same cornflower-blue as her eyes and her dark hair was in a loose, shining bob to her shoulders. At five feet two, she was petite with a delicate figure and smooth, pale skin.
But his wife always had an air of vitality about her, often even suppressed excitement. He’d taken it for a girlish attribute at first—she was only twenty-one now—with not a great deal of substance behind it.
Then again, he’d taken a lot about Tatiana Beaufort on face value when he’d allowed his parents and her mother to manoeuvre them into an arranged marriage. So it had come as something of a surprise when she’d told him unemotionally on their wedding night that she was aware of its orchestration. She was even aware that he had a mistress, she even knew her name. And he’d had to revise his opinions of his wife further when she’d suggested that a year’s grace for them both might be a good idea. A year, at least, for her to make up her mind whether to make it a real marriage.
He had agreed and, a year later, was still revising his opinions. Yes, there was something irrepressible about Tatiana Beaufort, there probably always would be, but he’d been wrong about the lack of substance. Just how to quantify it was not so simple, however.
There was no doubt she’d made the best of this first year of their ‘marriage in name only’ or marriage by contract, as she’d called it. She’d relished the role of mistress of his several homes, breathing life and comfort and colour into them. She’d entertained with charm and originality. She’d travelled extensively with him and given the appearance of being a proper wife to the outside world, and she’d been genuinely interested in the process of cultivating pearls.
She had also added stature to the Constantin family by means of her charity work. She was a born social worker and she spent a lot of time working unpaid in a legal aid office. The only thing she hadn’t done to date to completely fulfil his parents’ expectations was to present them with a grandchild. Which, of course, was what it had all been about in the first place.
His parents were deeply family oriented, and it had been a cross to bear that they’d only been able to have one child. Therefore all their hopes rested on him, and they took an abiding interest in every aspect of his life. Occasionally this was claustrophobic and exasperating, but mostly he bore it with equanimity and did his own thing anyway. But when he’d reached thirty and shown no inclination to marry and provide the dynasty with heirs his mother had decided to take matters into her own hands.
From the first suitable girl she’d paraded in front of him, he’d been quite aware of what was going on. He’d even been slightly amused at her ingenuity. Then he’d grown exasperated by her persistence and gone into evasion mode. But this had hurt her feelings and then two things had happened simultaneously—he’d felt guilty and she’d come up with Tatiana Beaufort, the daughter of an old friend of hers. And there was one aspect of the Beaufort girl that had been impossible to ignore. Her family had been pioneers in the Kimberley district of Western Australia—it was a very old, respected name, and she came with two vast cattle stations.
Not that he gave a damn about the old, respected name, although he’d known his mother would like nothing better than to add a Beaufort to the Constantin family. But the cattle stations were something else…Between them, should he and Tatiana Beaufort marry, they would own a fair slice of the Kimberley and beef prices were in the process of doubling.
He’d still had no plans to actually do it, though, until it had become obvious that if his mother was a matchmaker of some skill, Tatiana’s mother, Natalie, was even better. Cool and subtle, she had presented her daughter beautifully, and it was, Alex had decided, rather like sparring with an accomplished business rival. Perhaps, he reasoned, this was why he’d become determined to find out why Natalie Beaufort, whose daughter could have married anyone, had seemed equally determined it should be him.
And finally she’d put her cards on the table. Tatiana, she felt, had been left extremely vulnerable to fortune-hunters since her father had died. Moreover, before her father had died, she’d led a very sheltered life. He’d been a strict, old-fashioned father, apparently, and the result was that Tatiana, although well-educated and very expensively ‘finished’, had had a mostly convent education with little contact with the real world.
‘She could so easily fall into the hands of an unscrupulous man, Alex,’ Natalie had said, and shuddered delicately.
Reviewing her daughter’s air of breathless anticipation as he had known it at the time, Alex had agreed—although tacitly. ‘What about love, though? I’m sure girls like Tatiana believe in love,’ he’d added with some cynicism.
Natalie had waved an elegant hand. ‘Is there anyone less wise than a young girl who believes herself in love for the first time?’
He’d raised his eyebrows and agreed with her again, but this time he’d said, ‘Maybe, but how do you propose to make her think she’s in love with me? In other words, would she agree to an arranged marriage?’
Natalie had taken her time in answering. She’d looked him over comprehensively, then murmured, ‘If you couldn’t make a young, impressionable girl fall in love with you, Alex Constantin, who could?’
Alex had met her eyes impassively and she’d laughed softly. ‘Sorry, but I’m sure it’s true. The other thing is, you have your own cattle stations—who would be better placed to take over the running of Beaufort and Carnarvon than you?’
‘Mrs Beaufort,’ he’d replied rather grimly, ‘this is your daughter’s future we’re talking about, not a couple of cattle stations.’
Natalie had shrugged. ‘Your own mother shares my…belief that a well-arranged marriage has as much chance if not more of success than…what else might befall Tatiana.’
‘My own mother,’ he’d stated, ‘has been parading a series of girls before me in the hope that I’ll fall in love with one of them.’
‘But all of them eminently suitable, I have no doubt.’
‘It is still not the same as cold-bloodedly choosing a husband for your daughter,’ he’d retorted.
‘Then I’ll tell you this, Alex. Tatiana is already a little in love with you.’
This had pulled him up short, although he hadn’t allowed Natalie Beaufort to see it. And, as he sometimes did, he’d mentioned the matter to his father. George Constantin had handed the reins of the Constantin empire over to him several years previously but he still liked nothing better than to be consulted. Yet it had come as something of a surprise to Alex to learn that his father was as keen as his mother for him to marry Tatiana Beaufort.
‘I didn’t even know you were aware of what was going on,’ he’d told his father with a lurking smile.
George had shrugged and confessed that he’d left all the details up to his wife, but of all the girls she’d found he had to confess that he thought none could hold a candle to Tatiana. She had looks, she was well-bred, apparently virtuous, and she was young enough to accept a gentle moulding into being a suitable wife. ‘And,’ he’d added, ‘your grandmother actually suggested and campaigned for me to marry your mother—look how well that turned out.’
‘It’s a different day and age now.’
‘Maybe.’ George had studied him keenly. ‘But would I be wrong in assuming that since Flora Simpson returned to her husband marriage has not been on your agenda?’
Alex hadn’t replied and George had gone on. ‘Your mother and I aren’t getting any younger, Alex. We’d given up hope of having children and thought we were past it when you came along. I think nothing means so much to your mother than to see you happy and with a family. Me too. And, if love has…disappointed you, maybe this is the best way. But the decision has to be yours, of course.’
Alex had glanced at him wryly and thought of telling him that due to his connivance he, Alex, now had a breathless girl a little in love with him, he was being pursued by the queen of all matchmakers and he was actually cherishing unworthy thoughts for a man of integrity—Beaufort and Carnarvon to be precise, to add to the Constantin empire.
But it was only human nature, he had assured himself, to wonder what would happen to Beaufort and Carnarvon if they were left to the mercy of a twenty-year-old girl with a mother who had a reputation of having only one use for money and that was to spend it—perhaps that was why they hadn’t been left to her in the first place?
Whatever, he thought, coming back to the present as he watched his wife brush her hair vigorously then pause and conduct a few bars of Finlandia using her brush as a baton. He’d had to do nothing but go with the flow from that point on. Tatiana had appeared to welcome his attentions and enjoy his company.
On the lovemaking front he’d learnt that she was rather shy. He had strongly suspected she was a virgin and would like to remain one until she was married. But as their relationship had progressed he’d found that she trembled in his arms and enjoyed his kisses. By the time they’d got engaged he’d been sure that, whatever his feelings were, Tatiana Beaufort was more than a ‘little’ in love with him.
So what had happened? he wondered, not for the first time. She had consistently refused to explain where she’d gained her knowledge of his mistress, and if she’d known all along it was an arranged marriage, why leave it until then to tell him? Had she ever been even a ‘little’ in love with him?
Finlandia, and Tatiana, still armed with her brush, came to a stirring conclusion, then she whirled round and saw him leaning against the doorpost. And in the moment before she spoke he saw the rush of colour that came to her cheeks and the momentary look of vulnerability that came to her eyes. Because she’d been caught conducting an imaginary orchestra, he pondered, or because of him?
‘Alex! How long have you been there?’ she asked laughingly, almost immediately recovered.
‘Long enough to be impressed by your conducting skills.’
‘Oh, that’s not fair!’ she protested. ‘I had no idea you were home.’
He straightened. ‘Don’t be embarrassed, Tattie. I have the urge to do the same sometimes. How was Perth?’
‘Lovely.’ She sighed. ‘Lovely and cool! I had great fun getting out all my winter clothes and sitting in front of a fire. What have you been up to?’
‘The same.’ He shrugged. ‘By the way, happy anniversary!’ And he put the gift box into her hand.
She sobered and looked up into his dark eyes. ‘I…Alex, you didn’t have to get me a present.’
‘No,’ he agreed.
‘Then…why?’
‘I’m quite sure your mother and my parents will be dying to know what I bought you. And I’m quite sure they believe you merit a present for being such a good little wife to me, and you have—for the most part.’
Tattie swallowed visibly. ‘You’re angry,’ she said quietly.
‘Not angry,’ he denied. ‘Puzzled. And wondering what is in store for the second year of our marriage or—if there is to be one?’ He looked down at her with a thoughtfully raised eyebrow.
Tattie looked away and turned the box over in her hands. ‘The thing is, I…haven’t made up my mind…yet.’
He smiled satanically. ‘Are you asking for another year, Tattie?’
‘No.’ She squared her shoulders and looked up at him.
‘But I would like to discuss it with you and I don’t think now is the right time. For one thing we’ll be late.’ A smile touched her mouth. ‘Think how anxious that would make your mother!’
‘Very well,’ he said after a long, searching moment, and took the gift box out of her hands. ‘In the meantime, allow me to do this.’ He drew the necklace out of the box and she gasped much as Paula had done as the river of stunning pearls ran through his fingers and the intricate white and pink Argyle diamond clasp caught the overhead light and reflected it radiantly. ‘Turn around.’
‘Alex,’ she breathed, ‘it’s beautiful, but I don’t—’
‘Tattie, just do as you’re told,’ he commanded.
‘But I’ll feel a fraud, Alex,’ she protested.
‘You are a fraud, Mrs Constantin,’ he reminded her, and grinned wickedly as she opened her mouth to accuse him of the same thing. ‘No, don’t say it. You shouldn’t have agreed to this party in the first place if that’s how you feel.’
She subsided, then looked frustrated. ‘You may be able to twist your mother around your little finger but I can’t. She…she just flatly insisted on a party.’
‘My dear, if I could twist my mother around my little finger, not to mention your mother, neither of us would be in this mess. Since we are, however, I intend to put a good face on it and so should you. Turn around, Tattie.’
She stared at him with her lips parted and confusion in her eyes for a long moment, then did as she was bid.
‘There,’ he said, and felt her tremble as his fingers touched the skin of her neck. ‘Mmm.’ He turned her back. ‘Perfect,’ he murmured. ‘Have I told you about strand synergy, Tattie?’
He traced the lie of the pearls down her skin and across the top of her breasts beneath the blue material of her dress and back up to her neck, and he saw her take an unexpected breath.
Then she began to recite, as if it was a lesson she’d learned, ‘The art of choosing the right pearls to put together and drilling and knotting them so the strand drapes like a piece of silk rather than dangling around the wearer’s neck.’
‘You’ve done your homework,’ he said humorously, and turned her again, this time in the direction of her dressing-table mirror. ‘What do you think?’
Tattie took another breath as she studied the pearls in the mirror, but he thought that the whole picture was absorbing her more than the pearls themselves, the two of them close together in the mirror.
She closed her eyes suddenly and said, ‘Yes, quite perfect. Thank you so much.’
But, as her lashes fluttered up, their gazes caught in the mirror. And he saw the surprise in her eyes as he said softly, ‘You’re quite perfect too, Mrs Constantin, and your skin is a perfect background for these pearls, it has its own beautiful lustre.’
This time he traced the outline of her oval face and looked down her figure in the lovely dress and thought that she really was exquisite in her own way. Like a delicate figurine, smooth and softly curved but at the same time full of life and laughter.
‘Give me ten minutes to shower and change,’ he said then, wresting his mind from his wife’s physical perfections, and went to turn away but paused. ‘Tattie, there’s one other unfortunate aspect to tonight’s party.’
She was standing quite still, as he’d left her, and she blinked a couple of times as if she was having trouble redirecting her attention. ‘There is?’ she asked a little blankly.
He grimaced. ‘I only saw the guest list today when my mother dropped it into the office. Leonie Falconer is on it.’
He stopped and studied her narrowly but perceived no reaction—at first. Then a dawning look of comprehension came to Tatiana.
‘You mean…you mean your mistress?’ she stammered.
‘My ex-mistress,’ he replied harshly. ‘How that bit of information escaped my mother I’ll never know, but—’
‘Perhaps she took it for granted that you had reformed since you married me?’
‘Quick thinking, Tattie,’ he parried swiftly, ‘but you yourself gave me to understand you didn’t expect me to live like a monk while you made up your mind about this marriage.’
Tatiana flushed and closed her mouth.
‘Even so,’ Alex went on, after a tense little moment, ‘whatever else I am—’ he looked fleetingly amused ‘—parading my mistresses in front of my wife is not one of my vices. But Leonie has chosen to make herself unavailable today—she’s not at her office, she’s not home and she’s not answering her mobile phone—so I felt…honour bound to warn you that I haven’t been able to warn her off.’
Tatiana drew herself up to her full five feet two. ‘How kind of you, Alex,’ she said with all the famed Beaufort hauteur she was capable of but hadn’t allowed him to see until after she’d married him, ‘but Ms Falconer is welcome to do her damnedest!’
He raised a wry eyebrow. ‘Bravo, Tattie! See you in ten minutes.’
CHAPTER TWO
DARWIN, the northernmost city in Australia and named after Charles Darwin, had only two seasons—the wet and the dry. The wet season coincided with spring and summer on the rest of the continent and the dry with autumn and winter, but, since the temperature rarely fell below thirty degrees Celsius during the day, winter was an inappropriate term.
It was early in the dry season as Tatiana Constantin rode beside her husband to her first wedding-anniversary party, reflecting as she sat in the plush cream leather comfort of his blue Jaguar that things could have been worse. It could have been the height of the wet season when the humidity was legendary, flooding and violent storms were common and cyclones often a threat.
How would she have coped, she wondered irrationally, with that kind of weather on top of the cyclone-like disturbance of mind she was experiencing at the moment? With the kind of weather that, in the few short steps from an air-conditioned car to air-conditioned premises, left you bathed in sweat with your make-up melted and your hair limp?
She glanced at Alex through her lashes. Unlike her, he had been born and bred in Darwin and the ravages of the wet season never seemed to bother him. But men, she reminded herself, didn’t have to worry about looking limp and bedraggled. Indeed, men, she added bitterly to herself, had more powers than were altogether good for them. Such as being able to command a mistress to do this or that.
Mind you, always assuming the mistress hadn’t gone to ground, she reminded herself with a touch of black humour!
Tattie had never met Leonie Falconer, design jeweller with her own business who did quite a bit of work for Constantin, although she’d had her pointed out a couple of times. There had to be an element of luck in this, Tattie had reasoned, because, although she didn’t think Alex would parade his mistresses in front of her, Darwin was not a big city.
And, although she couldn’t think favourably of his mistress, a small part of her applauded the woman’s bravado. She had obviously accepted the invitation, then put herself out of Alex’s reach at least on this the last day that he might have been able to ‘warn her off’. But why accept it in the first place? Tattie was forced to ponder. And why would Alex’s mother invite her? Not to mention—how lately had Leonie become an ex-mistress?
So many imponderables, she thought wistfully, but the greatest of them all was sitting right beside her, driving his beautiful car with such ease and flair towards his parents’ Fannie Bay mansion.
Of course he had always been a huge imponderable, if not to say the biggest challenge of her admittedly young life. And she’d cautioned herself from the moment she’d known what was going on to keep her wits about her. Right up until about half an hour ago she’d thought she’d succeeded in this ambition.
A pearl necklace, the feel of his fingers on her skin and her breasts and the shocking discovery that the mere mention of the word mistress, ex or otherwise, had caused all her careful strategies to come tumbling down. To the extent that she wasn’t sure whether she loved Alex Constantin to distraction or hated him exceedingly.
She clenched her fists in her lap and wondered how much she’d given away this evening. Twelve months of such self-control, she marvelled, quite possibly lost in a matter of minutes. She visualised again the picture they’d made in the mirror, he with his dark head bent towards her, she still stunned beneath the impact of his personality, and all that usually leashed masculinity in his tall frame flowing through to her.
Had it been her imagination, she mused a little painfully, or wishful thinking? Because he normally kept that side of him very much leashed in all his dealings with her but she had the feeling tonight had been different. If only, she went on to think, the subject of his mistress had not come up in almost the same breath she would have been more sure…
But really—she glanced at him covertly again—there was only so much of the masculine impact of Alex Constantin he could leash from her. Just to be sitting beside him in his austere dark suit and blue shirt, watching him drive his car, was a bit like a body blow.
Not especially good-looking, he was nevertheless vitally attractive. He was tall, fit and athletic, he could be wickedly amused and amusing, he could be quite kind yet devastatingly scornful when the mood was on him. Above all, he could be the quintessential enigma, so that the reason he’d agreed to an arranged marriage with her when he could have had any woman he chose remained a mystery to her.
Unless, his reason had been her reason—two vast cattle stations that went by the name of Beaufort and Carnarvon…
‘We’re here, Tattie.’
She came back to the present with a little jump, to see that her husband had made his statement with false gravity.
‘So I see,’ she commented, looking at the house blazing with lights and the stream of cars parked in the street.
‘Oh, well, what do they say? “Onward, Christian soldiers”! “Fight the good fight”—or, something along those lines.’
He laughed and put his fist beneath the point of her chin. ‘You are a character, Tattie,’ he said affectionately, and added, ‘If it’s at all possible, just be yourself and have a good time.’
With your mistress in attendance, your mother, who never fails to drop delicate little hints and tips about how to fall pregnant, and my mother there, and you treating me like a kid you pat on the head—of course!
She didn’t say it, but only by the narrowest of margins. She couldn’t prevent the serious irony of her fronded blue gaze as it rested on him fleetingly, however. But before he got the chance to remark on it she opened her door and slipped out of the car.
‘That is quite a statement, Tatiana,’ Natalie Beaufort said to her daughter when they found themselves alone in the powder room together after the fabulous seafood buffet.
Tattie squinted down at her pearls. ‘It is lovely, isn’t it?’
‘It is, but I was thinking more along the lines of the comment it makes on the success of your marriage.’
Tattie observed her mother and spoke without thinking. ‘How do you know it’s not conscience money?’
Natalie’s sculptured eyebrows shot upwards. ‘Is it?’
‘I could be the last to know—aren’t wives supposed to be?’
‘You don’t seriously believe Alex is being unfaithful to you so early on?’ Natalie asked with a frown.
Tattie thought of pointing out that, although she was behaving herself beautifully, Leonie Falconer was amongst the guests tonight. Leonie, who had been reliably revealed to her as Alex’s mistress before he’d married her—and she’d had no reason to believe, until tonight, that things had changed.
But although Natalie was her mother—or perhaps because of it—Tattie knew only too well that her mind moved in mysterious ways sometimes. Such as the number of times Natalie had brought her to Darwin over a year ago, ostensibly to catch up with her old friend Irina Constantin but really to position her daughter firmly in Alex Constantin’s sights.
Such as Natalie’s decision to move to Darwin herself after Tattie’s marriage, like some sort of guardian angel, even though she basically considered the place a far-flung outpost of civilisation. And she decided to hold her peace.
‘Just kidding,’ she said mischievously, and was relieved to see her mother subside. She couldn’t keep herself from thinking that there was irony everywhere she turned these days, though. It was her mother who had advised her before her marriage that there were times when men would be men and it was often wiser to ignore the odd fling they might have…
And she found herself watching her now, curiously, as Natalie expertly touched up her make-up. Whereas Alex’s mother was dumpy and not greatly into fashion, but with such a warm personality you couldn’t help loving her, Natalie was very slim and very trendy. She was also artistic and played the piano beautifully and adored what she called ‘café society’.
Whereas George and Irina Constantin rarely left each other’s side, Natalie had frequently sought the solace of their Perth home, away from the lifestyle of Beaufort and Carnarvon and Austin Beaufort, taking Tattie with her.
To be honest, Austin Beaufort had not been an easy man to live with, and Tattie could clearly remember asking her mother passionately once how she coped with him.
Natalie had smiled ruefully and replied that there was an art to coping with men, as she would no doubt discover for herself one day, but walking away from them was something they disliked intensely, and it generally brought them round.
And her mother was undeniably quirky, if not to say downright eccentric at times. She was one of the few people who always used Tattie’s full name, but when Tattie had asked her if she’d been named after a Russian ancestor her mother had replied that she hadn’t. And she’d gone on to say, ‘There’s no doubt pregnancy brought out the Russian in me, however.’
‘Why? How?’
‘Well, it can be very heavy-going at times, with lots of ups and downs and a distinctly 1812 cannon-like flavour to it for the finale. I guess that’s why the name Tatiana came to mind.’
Only her mother could say things like that and believe she sounded quite logical.
For all this, though, when she was not fencing with her mother on the subject of Alex and her marriage, she mostly loved her mother’s quirkiness. And she knew, even if she disagreed with the means, that Natalie had genuinely thought she was protecting her daughter from the dreaded prospect of fortune-hunters, and had genuinely thought she was in love with Alex.
As for disagreeing with her means, that wasn’t entirely true, Tattie forced herself to acknowledge. Because what her mother knew, but few people suspected, was how much of Austin Beaufort there was in his daughter beneath the gloss. And how much of that pioneering Beaufort blood ran in Tattie’s veins, so that Beaufort and Carnarvon meant an awful lot to her, and she’d inherited his almost mystical affinity with the Kimberley country they spread over.
Natalie knew how it had affected Tattie to see both properties start to run down during the last few years of her father’s ill-health before his death, and had sensed the moment of panic that had come to her daughter to discover, on her father’s death, that the responsibility for them now rested squarely on her shoulders. Mystic affinity was one thing. Running two cattle stations that covered the size of the United Kingdom was another.
From that point of view Alex Constantin had been an inspired choice on her mother’s part. It had also been, Tattie knew, why she’d gone along with the charade even after she’d realised she was being steered into marriage with a man who wasn’t in love with her. It had not had anything to do with the fact that she’d been more than a little in love with him. She would never do anything as essentially wet as marrying a man in the hope that she could make him fall in love with her…
‘Penny for them, my sweet?’ Natalie patted her fashionable bronze hair and stood up.
Tattie blinked. ‘Uh…she’s very attractive, Leonie Falconer, isn’t she?’
‘Certainly very golden. She’s a brilliant jewellery designer, I believe, but since she works with Alex you probably know more about her than I do.’
Yes and no, Tattie replied internally. I seem to be the only one tonight who knows she is—or was—his mistress. What I don’t know is why I should be alone in the possession of this knowledge. Perhaps I should be applauding how discreet they’ve been instead of worrying about it?
Her internal monologue was interrupted as her mother gave her hair one last pat and moved towards the door, saying, ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if she designed the clasp of your pearls—why don’t you ask her?’
One of the things Tattie loved about Darwin was its cosmopolitan population. In the space of half an hour she danced with a Danish boat-builder, met a Chinese couple who owned a popular restaurant and a New Zealander who made stainless-steel carvings, as well as a Japanese woman who designed clothes.
Nor could she fault her mother-in-law’s party-giving talents. Now the food had been disposed of, the long veranda glowed beneath fairy lights, and the air was fragrant with the heady perfume of what must have been a truckload of roses and orchids in all colours. The guests were colourful and, having wined and dined superbly, were set to dance the night away. It was an extremely successful party.
At all times, however, it was as if Tattie possessed an unseen pair of antennae tuned in exclusively to Alex and Leonie. So far her antennae had picked up no communication between them at all. Then she looked around and found Leonie standing directly behind her, apparently admiring the clasp of her pearls.
‘Oh. Hello,’ Tattie said brightly. ‘We’ve never met but I know who you are—do I have you to thank for my clasp?’
Leonie Falconer possessed hazel eyes, long gold hair and a statuesque figure presently clad in a beautiful gown of gauzy fabric shot with all the colours of the rainbow. She too wore pearls—Constantin? Tattie wondered—and a chunky, very lovely gold bracelet.
But all this was on the periphery of Tattie’s mind as she watched those hazel eyes narrow with a slight wariness then relax as she finished speaking.
‘No,’ Leonie said in a husky, transatlantic voice. ‘Not my work, but rather nice all the same.’
‘Thank you!’ Tattie looked around and, observing Alex nowhere in sight, added quietly, ‘Why did you come tonight, Miss Falconer?’
Leonie Falconer resumed her wariness rather abruptly. She was in her late twenties, early thirties, Tattie judged. She was also several inches taller than Tattie, but none of that prevented Tattie from eyeing her severely and imperiously.
A tinge of colour ran beneath Leonie’s honey-gold skin, then she shrugged. ‘Curiosity, I suppose. Why would I be invited in the first place? Also—’
‘I can tell you that,’ Tattie interposed swiftly, ‘Irina organised this party. Alex was unaware until today that you had been invited. So was I. And Irina was definitely unaware of who you were, otherwise she wouldn’t have touched you with a bargepole.’
‘I see.’ Leonie looked fleetingly amused then oddly bitter. ‘Well, there’s no reason I shouldn’t be here, as it happens. I got my marching orders some time ago. And marching orders they were too—Any fuss, Leonie, and Constantin will cease to do business with you. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how deadly Alex can be when he sets his mind to it. But when his brief infatuation with you ceases, Mrs Constantin,’ Leonie added silkily, ‘I’ll get him back.’ And she turned on her heel and walked away.
‘What was all that about?’
Tattie jumped and found her husband standing beside her. ‘Probably an age-old ritual between mistress and wife, Alex,’ she said coolly, then her lips trembled and she laughed softly. ‘But how bizarre that you should use me to extricate yourself from her.’
‘What do you mean?’ he said rather grimly.
Tattie opened her mouth then caught sight out of the corner of her eye of his mother, radiant in pink silk that didn’t suit her at all but didn’t manage to dim her personality either, approaching them with a slight limp. She sighed inwardly and said, ‘Don’t worry about it, Alex, but I think you should dance with me in a very husbandly way now, if for no other reason than to let your mother think her party is a real success!’ And she melted into his arms.
Surprise kept him rigid for a moment. And he said barely audibly, ‘You’re going to have to explain later, you know, Tatiana.’ Then he drew her into his arms and, despite the implicit threat in the use of her proper name that always told her he was in a dangerous mood, kissed her lightly before swinging her round to the music.
‘I think I’ll go to bed now, Alex,’ Tattie said at two-thirty in the morning, after a swift silent ride home at the end of the party.
She had preceded him into the lounge, a lovely room she had created in their apartment—the apartment he had bought and presented to her as a wedding present in accordance with the contracts he and her mother had agreed upon—with a view through the wide windows to the terrace. The view was dark now, of course, but the oil rig anchored in Darwin Harbour for maintenance was lit up like a Christmas tree.
‘Oh, no, you don’t, Tattie.’
She stopped in the middle of the lounge and turned to look at him. She had her shoes in one hand, her pearls in the other and her face was shadowed with weariness.
‘Alex, this is no time—’
‘Sit down, Tattie,’ he ordered, and came across to her with two tall glasses in his hands.
‘What’s this?’ she queried as he handed her one.
‘Something long, cool and delicious for someone who has partied as vigorously as you have. Don’t worry, I’m not planning to make you drunk and seduce you.’ He looked down at her wide eyes and slightly apprehensive expression.
Tattie took the glass from him, drank deeply as if she was very thirsty, then in a stiff little voice recounted her conversation with his mistress. And she sat down abruptly.
Alex lounged against a pillar and merely twisted his glass in his hands. ‘What she told you is not an accurate representation of the events.’
Tattie went to wave her hand and realised she was still clutching her pearls. She put them down carefully. ‘It doesn’t matter one way or the other to me, Alex.’
‘I would have thought it might in the light of how we go on, Tattie. You did say you wanted to discuss that with me.’
‘Well. Yes. But…’ She trailed off, looking almost ashen with weariness and strain now. ‘I can’t think straight.’
He took his time. He sipped his drink then he said quietly, ‘My suggestion is that we stop fooling around and get this marriage off the ground.’
Tattie’s mouth fell open as she sorted through this. ‘Fooling…?’ she said incredulously, picking on perhaps the least startling aspect of his advice.
‘Or whatever you like to call it.’ He looked briefly quizzical.
‘You know what I like to call it, Alex.’
He lifted an eyebrow at her. ‘You also gave me to understand that you knew what you were getting into, Tattie. But, for what it’s worth, your suggestion of a year’s grace was a good one. At least we know now that we can get along pretty well.’ His mouth quirked. ‘We don’t appear to have any habits that drive each other up the wall.’ He looked at her with a question in his eyes.
‘That’s…assuming we were brother and sister, Alex. Lovers could be a different matter.’
He put his glass down on a beautiful, inlaid pedestal table and came over to her. She stared up at him wide-eyed as he removed her glass from her fingers then drew her to her feet.
‘My dear Tattie,’ he murmured with his hands resting lightly on her shoulders and his gaze summing her up from head to toe, ‘I feel quite sure that it could only enhance our relationship to become lovers. Trust me.’
His fingers slipped from her shoulder to trace the line where his pearls would have lain and, despite her tiredness and confusion, she couldn’t help the reaction that came to her again, that trembling sensation any close contact with him brought to the surface.
‘But sleep on it,’ he suggested.
‘I…’ She bit her lip.
‘I’m off on a tour of the pearl farms early tomorrow,’ he continued. ‘I’ll be away for a few days. So you’ll be able to do more than sleep on it.’ He kissed her lightly on the top of her head. ‘I thought, after that, we could spend a little while at Beaufort. I have some ideas for it.’
Sheer blackmail!
Tattie sat up, saw it was nine o’clock in the morning and clutched her head as the blackmail thought raced through her mind.
Tired as she’d been, sleep had been difficult, and when she’d achieved it weird dreams populated by Leonie Falconer resembling some sort of smug sun goddess had plagued her. So why had she woken up with blackmail on her mind?
Because apart from her mother only Alex knew how close to her heart Beaufort especially was. How could he not? True, she’d been fascinated by the cultured-pearl side of his business—she would have loved to be visiting the farms with him—but it was his cattle stations and how he handled them that she had attempted to absorb like blotting paper. All for the purpose of applying that knowledge to Beaufort and Carnarvon should she ever have to run them on her own.
But, more than that, perhaps only Alex guessed that twelve months had not been long enough for her to have the confidence to run them on her own and that was why he’d applied the sheer blackmail of promising her some of his time at Beaufort and mentioning the ideas he had for the station. What else could she think?
‘You could ask yourself why he wants to stay married to you, Tatiana,’ she murmured, and lay back with a sigh.
Had the impossible, the wonderful, the dream within a dream that she hadn’t dared to allow herself to dream, come true? Had her husband finally fallen in love with her? Or had the time come to amalgamate her inheritance with his into one big cattle operation, something that had not happened to date?
Why, she pondered gloomily, did that seem much more likely?
And she answered herself tartly, he made her feel like a kid, not—apart from one fleeting moment yesterday and she wasn’t even sure about that—a woman he found desirable. It was as simple as that.
On the other hand—she sat up again, struck by a new thought—why had he divested himself of his mistress? Because of a growing but hidden attraction to her—or so she would have no ammunition with which to continue the stalemate or base a decision to leave him on?
Her bedside phone rang. She stared at it, then lifted it reluctantly.
‘Hello?’
‘Tattie?’ her mother-in-law said down the line in a slightly overwrought way. ‘My dear, that was the best party I’ve ever given and all thanks to you!’
Tattie frowned. ‘No way, Irina. I didn’t do anything; you did it all.’
‘But you were there, you were so lovely, and the whole world could see that you and Alex are perfect for each other—I just wanted to tell you! Perhaps next year,’ she added, ‘we will have a little addition to the family to celebrate? Tattie…’ There was a slightly awkward pause down the line—an indication of a bull being taken by the horns as it turned out. ‘Are there any problems in that direction? Because I have the best gynaecologist in the country, the most understanding, most gentle, most kind, and he has performed miracles for several of my friends’ daughters.’
This time Tattie grimaced, then drew a deep breath. ‘Irina…’ But she couldn’t do it. She simply couldn’t dent her mother-in-law’s enthusiasm and her old-fashioned belief that her arranged marriage concept had worked blissfully—although it did cross her mind to say, Perhaps you should have found a Greek girl for Alex. A girl who would understand these things and know where her duty lies…
She cleared her throat. ‘Uh—Irina, no, no problems that I know of, but this is between Alex and me, I feel…I really feel, don’t you?’
There was silence, then, ‘My dear, forgive me,’ Irina said a little tremulously down the line. ‘Of course it is. It’s just that I have such a longing for grandchildren and, sadly, I’m not getting any younger.’
‘Irina…’ What to say? Tattie thought desperately, because in every other respect Irina had been a lovely mother-in-law. Nor was she getting any younger, and she was also plagued by a troublesome hip, but kept putting off a hip replacement because of her fear of hospitals and operations.
She was saved by Irina herself, who said bravely, with less tremolo, ‘I promise not to mention these things again, Tattie. I just… Last night…seeing you and Alex…I got carried away. Forgive me?’
‘Of course,’ Tattie said warmly. ‘Tell you what, why don’t we have lunch? I’ll ring Mum and see if she can make it as well and we can have a gorgeous gossip about the party. How about Cullen Bay?’ She named a restaurant.
She put the phone down eventually, wondering as she did if she wasn’t digging a deeper grave to have to climb out of one day. Then she lay back and switched on her television, only to be arrested as she flicked through the channels by a programme about an Indian family in Mauritius. What arrested her was the fact that the patriarch still chose husbands and wives for his family, even sending to India for them, and the whole family laughingly agreed it was still the best way to go.
She tightened her mouth, switched off and got up to take a shower. While the shower refreshed her body the circles of her mind ran around a familiar pattern. Why hadn’t the Constantins sought a Greek girl for Alex? She knew enough about the continental community in Darwin to know that it wasn’t only amongst Mauritian Indians that this practice was common. She could even see a certain sense to it. Same culture, same background—possibly the same expectations.
But Alex was about as cosmopolitan as they came—or, to put it another way, he was as Australian as they came. So perhaps he wouldn’t have stood for it?
A smile crossed her lips at this point in her reflections but it was gone almost before it was born—Alex did exactly as he pleased, she knew, despite his affection for his parents. So had they been, as she’d long suspected, rather clever? Had they found the one lure he’d been unable to resist in their quest to further the dynasty?
A little dialogue ran though her head, no matter that the girl is not one of us. She still looks to be pliable, and she does have Beaufort and Carnarvon—could he resist that? Could he?
‘Perhaps not,’ she answered herself, and started to dress.
It was yet another bright, cloudless July day, but it passed by in a bit of a blur for Tattie.
Her cleaning lady arrived as she was having her breakfast coffee, and together they went through the apartment, deciding what needed to be done. Then Tattie went back to her coffee, but the apartment stayed on her mind and she looked around with new eyes.
She’d chosen pastels, light, airy colours that were above all cool. There were no curtains but wooden louvers at the windows, and she’d made simple but effective statements—a glorious oil painting on a feature wall; a pair of waist-high porcelain urns hand-painted in soft pinks, gold and royal blue; an intricately carved solid silver bowl it was hard to take your eyes from, so perfect were its proportions and soft old glow as it sat on a small sea chest; a vast, comfortable cream couch lined with pink and pewter cushions.
Mysteriously, she thought with a sudden pang, it had all become home. Yes, of course the lure of the Kimberley region where her ancestral home was, a sprawling, rambling country homestead, still held pride of place in her heart—or did it? And if not, why not?
Because this was her own creation? she wondered. Because this was where she and Alex spent most of their time? There was also a house in Perth, another house in Darwin and an apartment in Sydney, but, even though she’d added her own touches to those, this apartment in Darwin was all hers—and Alex’s.
She took up her cup and wandered into his bedroom. Not that he’d known until their wedding night that this room was to be his and the main bedroom would be reserved for her exclusive use. And what kind of a gamble had that been? she paused to ask herself as she remembered how her wedding day had passed in a fever of nerves. Nerves and the terror that she might have made an awful mistake, only to discover that the equanimity with which he’d heard her out and accepted her proposal had killed a silly little ray of hope in her heart…
Nor would she forget the humorous quirk to his mouth and the glint of devilry in his eyes as he’d surveyed this bedroom on that night. Because, luxurious though it was, it contained a single bed—a king-size single not much smaller than a double, but nevertheless, perhaps a ridiculous gesture on her part, she brooded. Not to mention a sheer nuisance, since she’d had to get all its bedding custom-made, king-single linen to match her dusky-blue and pearl decor being impossible to come by.
She grimaced. Young and stupid she’d been, but was she only now about to discover just how young and stupid? She’d certainly had an inkling, as the milestone of her first anniversary approached and she’d found herself unable to come to any decision about her marriage, that—what? She was staring down the barrel of a gun? That she’d foolishly expected something to crop up, some resolution to present itself, only to find that she was still at square one?
If only she could find the key to the enigma that was Alex Constantin, she thought a little wildly, and walked into the room. The bed was unmade, but otherwise it was fairly tidy. He’d hung up his suit from the night before, his shirt was in the linen basket; only his tie was carelessly discarded over the back of a blue velvet chair. She picked it up and sat down on the bed, running the length of silk through her fingers.
Other than an exquisite pearl shell on the bureau, Alex had brought nothing to this room. No photos or memorabilia from his pre-marriage days. And his study in the apartment was the same. Functional, sometimes untidy, but essentially impersonal—so much so it was she who had added some blown-up photos of the beautiful bays and rivers that housed his pearl farms. Was he just that kind of man or were his treasures and mementoes stored elsewhere? At the Fannie Bay house of his parents? At—she shivered suddenly—a separate residence he maintained for entertaining his mistress?
I won’t do it, she thought abruptly, and got up to hang his tie on the tie rack in his cupboard. I won’t agree to a real marriage with Alex Constantin until I know without doubt that he is…madly in love with me!
She stared at his ties rebelliously, then went to change for her lunch date with his mother.
CHAPTER THREE
FOUR days later Tattie was no further forward in her decision-making process and not sure when to expect Alex back. He’d gone on to Broome, apparently. But she’d kept herself busy, spending most of her days in the legal-aid office where she played the role of receptionist but spent a lot of time listening to other people’s problems and trying to give sound advice.
It was a Wednesday morning before she left for work when she discovered an invitation in her mailbox from a friend who was having an impromptu luncheon at a popular café in Parap that day. It had been hand-delivered. It crossed her mind to wonder why Amy Goodall, whom she’d been to school with in Perth and was now living in Darwin, hadn’t simply rung her, but she shrugged as she tossed the colourful little invitation on the hall table. Amy had always been unconventional and given to springing surprises on people, and an hour of her stimulating company and others’ would be fun.
So she dressed with a little more care than normal for work in a stunningly simple sleeveless white piqué dress, black and white sandals and a loop of black and white beads. She brushed her hair vigorously and drew it back into a white scrunchie, and with a lighter step descended to the garage and her racy little silver Volkswagen Golf convertible.
At twelve-thirty she drove to the Parap shopping centre with its leafy boulevards, parked the Golf under a magnificent poinciana tree and stepped out to be confronted by a man who appeared from nowhere.
‘Mrs Constantin?’
‘Yes,’ Tattie said uncertainly, and with a strange feeling at the pit of her stomach. He was tall, he looked as if he hadn’t shaved for days, and he had angry blue eyes and matted curly hair. He was also completely unknown to her.
‘Just do as I say, Mrs Constantin,’ he recommended, and pulled a small gun from the pocket of his jacket.
Her eyes dilated and her heart leapt into her throat. ‘What on earth—’ she began.
‘Come with me nice and quiet so I don’t have to use this, which I will if I have to.’
‘I…I…’ But as she stammered and felt like fainting he took her elbow in a hard grasp and began to lead her towards a battered utility parked two spots away from the Golf.
She stumbled and tried to pull her elbow free but he growled an obscenity into her ear. She sucked some air into her lungs and opened her mouth to scream, but she felt the gun poke into her waist—and nothing came out of her mouth. Then all hell broke loose.
A car screeched to a halt in the middle of the road only a few feet from them—a blue Jaguar—and Alex jumped out without bothering to switch off the engine.
Her attacker immediately pulled her in front of him and swore viciously but Tattie buckled at the knees, wrenched her elbow free and threw herself sideways. Alex leapt on the man and punched him to the ground in a hail of devastating blows.
Tattie got to her knees as they rolled away from her, saw the gun on the ground and fell on it, but her assailant was no match for Alex—he was being mercilessly subdued in a show of brute strength that made Tattie blink. Then there were sirens and police swarming around them. Finally Alex, still breathing heavily, was helping her to her feet.
‘What…? I don’t understand… Oh, you’re bleeding!’
‘It’s nothing, Tattie. Are you OK?’
‘Yes, I think so, but…why…what?’ she gasped.
He held her close for a moment then said gently, ‘Come, I’ll explain when we get home.’
Three policeman had accompanied them and now listened intently to Alex’s explanation.
‘When I got home today I noticed this invitation on the hall table.’ He lifted Amy’s colourful little card. ‘But it so happens I ran into Amy Goodall at the airport this morning and we had a bit of a chat. I was on my way home from Broome, she was on her way to Sydney, so it made no sense that she would be inviting my wife to lunch today. I also noticed that the invitation had been hand-delivered.’ He proffered the envelope. ‘And it occurred to me that someone might have deliberately lured my wife out on a false pretext.’
Tattie made a strange little sound of disbelief.
‘And that’s when you rang us,’ the detective in charge murmured. ‘Only you got there before us. Mrs Constantin, did you recognise the man at all?’
‘No! I’ve never seen him before.’
‘Did you find this invitation at all strange?’
Tattie shrugged. ‘I wondered why she hadn’t rung, that’s all. But she is that kind of person, prone to springing surprises.’
‘So it would be fair to say the gentleman we’ve taken into custody must be aware of Miss Goodall’s quirks. How well do you know her, incidentally, Mrs Constantin?’
Tattie told him.
‘And you don’t think she could have had anything to do with this?’
‘Good heavens, no! Anyway, she’s on her way down south.’
‘Yes,’ the detective said thoughtfully, and looked at Alex. ‘The obvious thing that springs to mind is kidnapping for ransom.’
Tattie gasped, and if she hadn’t already been sitting down would have collapsed.
Alex said then, ‘I think my wife has had enough for the moment.’
As soon as the police had left, Tattie said one of the sillier things she’d ever said as she looked at Alex wide-eyed and still stunned.
‘Why would anyone want to kidnap me?’
He came to sit down beside her. There was a darkening bruise on his cheek, his shirt was torn, his knuckles grazed, but the cut on his arm had stopped bleeding. For that matter, her lovely white dress was stained, her knees were grazed, her scrunchie was hanging by a thread of hair and her face was dirty.
He half smiled and gently removed the scrunchie. ‘Why? I have rather a lot of money, Tattie.’
She swallowed. ‘Thank heavens you came home and saw the invitation. Thank heavens you bumped into Amy! I didn’t know what to do. Part of me was thinking, surely he wouldn’t shoot me in broad daylight in the middle of Parap, but the other half couldn’t be sure. It…I…’
‘Tattie.’ He took her in his arms. ‘I can imagine. And if it’s any consolation I doubt whether he would have shot you in the middle of Parap, but he’s safely under lock and key now.’
‘Maybe there are more of them!’ She shivered in his arms.
‘I doubt that too.’ He stroked her hair. ‘I suspect he was a loner and it wasn’t a very well-thought-out plot.’
‘Maybe,’ she conceded, but couldn’t stop shivering.
‘Hey,’ he said quietly, ‘it’s over. I’m here.’ And he kissed her.
As an antidote to extreme nervous tension, it worked well. The shivering started to subside as his mouth closed on hers, and the incredible events that had befallen her gave way to something else.
How good it felt to be in his arms, how safe—and how ruthless he’d been in her defence, as if she meant an awful lot to him. Then even those thoughts receded and sensations began to take their place. She no longer noticed that she was in a mess. She began to be aware of herself on a different plane altogether, very much as a woman with all the needs and desires of one, most of which he was attending to with his hands and his lips.
He stroked her arms with his long fingers and she shivered quite differently, with delight. He kissed her lightly, then those cool, firm lips sought the soft hollows at the base of her throat while his wandering fingers combed through her hair. But not only was it what he was doing to her, it was the feel of his strong, hard body against hers that filled her with a lovely, special feeling of excitement.
Then he started to kiss her more deeply and she responded, shyly at first, then more and more freely. They drew apart once and she stared at him, suddenly overwhelmingly aware of the sexy side of Alex Constantin as she’d never been before. The mouth-watering masculinity of his wide shoulders and lean hips, the planes of his face, and what being under the gaze of his faintly amused eyes did to her.
It was one thing to be sitting beside him in a car and feel his presence like a body blow, she realised. It was one thing to have been kissed by him during their engagement—most chastely, she now realised. It was entirely another thing to have him focused squarely on her and kissing her with all that latent sexiness very much unleashed. Oh, yes, she thought a little wildly, this was another matter altogether.
‘This’ brought out the strangest thoughts in her. How glad, for example, she was to be wearing a minuscule but very fetching pair of white lace bikini briefs and a matching bra. How her skin would feel against the cream textured velvet of the couch when he undressed her; how hot, erotic and sexy she felt herself, so that the couch, the carpet, anywhere would be OK for him to make love to her, because she might die a little if he didn’t…
Then he slid his hand beneath the hem of her dress and stroked her thigh, and she made absolutely no protests of any kind—and the phone rang.
She thought he swore under his breath. She thought she made a husky little sound of sheer frustration, but in the next moment he’d released her and she was sitting very properly, with her hem tucked around her legs, while he went to answer the phone and the door.
‘The police,’ he said, coming back to her with his lips twisting to see she hadn’t moved a muscle. ‘I need to go down to the station but you don’t have to come. And you don’t have to worry about being alone. The apartment has been put under surveillance just to be on the safe side.’
Tattie licked her lips but found herself with nothing to say.
‘Why don’t you have a long shower and a rest?’ he suggested. ‘Or would you like me to call your mother or my mother?’
‘No! Uh…no, thank you.’ She tried to smile. ‘I’d rather not be fussed over at the moment.’
‘Tattie.’ He sat down beside her and put his arms loosely around her. ‘You look as if you’ve been in an earthquake, and I don’t mean physically, although there’s that too. But the fact that we both enjoyed that very much has got to help in our marriage, wouldn’t you agree?’
Her lips parted but again no sound came.
‘Anyway—’ he smiled faintly ‘—think about it. I’ll be as quick as I can. And I am going to call your mother and my parents—we can’t leave them to hear about it on the radio and I don’t think you should be alone.’
He waited until George, Irina and Natalie arrived. It didn’t take long for them to rush over. He suffered their concern—his mother thought he might need stitches in his arm—and admiration with a wry little smile.
And for a time after he’d gone Tattie was glad not to be alone. So she let them ply her with tea and cake and generally fuss over her, especially her mother, who kept folding Tattie in her arms. And she went through it all again with them, unaware of how her eyes shone as she described how magnificent Alex had been in her defence.
But all of a sudden she knew she had to be alone, and she told them she was going to have a sleep. It took some determination to persuade them—again, especially her mother—that she would be fine, but finally they left.
She took a bubble bath in the huge, raised marble bath that was fashioned in the shape of a shell in her en suite bathroom. The marble was champagne-coloured and all the towels, the soap and bottles were a soft jade-green. It was normally a most relaxing place but, even smothered in bubbles to her chin and with two fragrant candles burning as she soaked away the unusual events of the day, she felt far from relaxed.
Really, she thought, it was too much to be almost kidnapped then subjected to her husband at his dangerously sexy best—a first for her—all in the space of a few hours!
Was it any wonder she couldn’t think straight?
And was this why Leonie Falconer was determined to get Alex back? Because his dangerously sexy best was irresistible?
She looked at the pads of her fingers and discovered they were wrinkled. So she got out of the bath before she resembled a prune all over, but her thoughts continued like a string of pearls with synergy—one set of thoughts leading smoothly to the next. No, not smoothly, she contradicted herself, not synergy at all, really, but jumping about like fleas, with all sorts of possibilities for this turn of events presenting themselves…
How long had Alex deliberately deprived himself of his mistress, and did that have anything to do with him needing not necessarily her but any woman?
She would have to put it to him, she felt, although she quailed inwardly at the prospect. Because it was all very well to take these developments at face value, but what protection did that offer her against spending the rest of her life in love with him while he had a series of mistresses once he’d secured her, heirs for the dynasty and, of course, two cattle stations?
She dressed in a long fuchsia skirt, to hide her grazed knees, and a pale rose silky knit top. And, because she didn’t have anything else to do, she started to prepare dinner. It was a beautiful evening with the sun setting over Mandorah, so she set the glass table on the veranda—a yellow candle in a glass, frosted yellow wine glasses, and white Rosenthal china with ice-blue place mats and napkins. And her stir-fry beef with oriental rice and a salad was just about ready as Alex came home.
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Lindsay Armstrong
Alex Constantin agreed to a marriage of convenience to Tatiana Beaufort because this inexperienced young woman intrigued him. But on their wedding night she asked for a year's grace before making theirs a "real" marriage–insisting on single beds!A year on, Tattie is both alarmed and tempted when her husband suggests they become lovers at last. But she is just as determined that she will not become his proper wife until Alex says, "I love you."
“My suggestion is that we stop fooling around and get this marriage off the ground.”
Tattie’s mouth fell open as she sorted through this. “Fooling…?” she asked incredulously.
He lifted a dark eyebrow at her. “You led me to understand you knew what you were getting into, Tattie. And, for what it’s worth, your suggestion of a year’s grace was a good one. At least we know we can get along pretty well.” His mouth quirked. “We don’t appear to have any habits that drive each other up the wall.” He looked at her with a question in his eyes.
“Lovers could be a different matter.”
“My dear Tattie,” he murmured with his hands resting lightly on her shoulders and his gaze summing her up from head to toe, “I feel quite sure that it could only enhance our relationship to become lovers. Trust me.”
The Constantin Marriage
Lindsay Armstrong
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER ONE
ALEX CONSTANTIN rifled a hand through his dark hair and glanced at his watch. It was his first wedding anniversary and the time for the celebrations was approaching fast.
He pushed his chair back and swivelled it so that he could watch the sun set over Darwin and the Timor Sea as he thought about the evening ahead. His wife, uncharacteristically, had been more than happy to allow his parents carte blanche in organising the festivities—she was only now due to fly into Darwin.
His mother, not uncharacteristically, had been delighted to take on the task and the family home, one of them, would be polished to within an inch of its life and glowing with flowers. Mountains of delicious food would be in the last stages of preparation for the buffet supper and the long veranda would be cleared for dancing.
So far so good, he thought drily. What his mother had not dreamt, and what he’d only become aware of when she’d blithely dropped by the invitation list earlier in the day, was that she’d invited his ex-mistress, whose name was known to his wife, to be amongst the hundred or so people celebrating his first wedding anniversary…
A discreet knock on the door interrupted his reflections and his devoted secretary, Paula Gibbs, came in with the last of the dictation he had given her—and the slim, colourful gift box he’d asked her to get out of the safe before she left for the day.
‘Thanks, Paula,’ Alex said, and motioned her to sit down while he signed the letters. He pushed them back across the desk to her and his hand hovered over the present. ‘Would you like to see it?’
‘I’d love to!’
Alex opened the box, studied the contents for a moment, then with a shrug pushed it across towards Paula.
She picked up the box and let out a little gasp. ‘It’s beautiful! I knew it would be pearls, but diamonds as well! And Argyle pinks if I’m not mistaken.’
‘You’re not,’ Alex said wryly, and added in answer to the query in his secretary’s eye, ‘Giving her Constantin pearls would be a bit like giving coals to Newcastle. At least she’ll know I had to buy the diamonds.’
Paula closed the box after a last lingering look at the pearl necklace with its beautiful diamond clasp. Then she said firmly, ‘But Mrs Constantin isn’t like that, I’m sure.’
He replied, after a moment’s thought and with a fleeting smile, ‘No, Mrs Constantin is not like that at all, Paula.’ But he was suddenly and insanely tempted to add—Would the real Mrs Constantin please stand up?
He stood up himself instead, because Paula was an ardent fan of his wife, and, anyway, his problems were his alone. But the question was still on his mind as he drove the short few blocks home to the apartment that faced Bicentennial Park and Lameroo Beach. It had been a cause of some amusement for his wife that the Sultan of Brunei was reputed to own the penthouse in the same building. ‘Are you in the same class wealth-wise as the Sultan of Brunei, Alex?’ she’d asked with a gleam of sparkling fun in her blue eyes.
He’d denied the charge in all honesty, adding that the Constantin family fortune, added to the Beaufort fortune which she herself had inherited, would probably be less than small change to the Sultan of Brunei and, indeed, the Paspaley family which had pioneered cultured-pearl farming in the Northern Territory and the Kimberley region of Western Australia.
‘But you’ve also done very nicely out of pearls, thank you, haven’t you, Alex?’ she’d remarked, and added, ‘Plus the cattle stations, cruise boats et al?’
He’d agreed, but pointed out that she had also done very well out of her family’s fortune.
‘True.’ She’d glanced at him with a question in those stunning blue eyes.
‘I only make the point because you seem to hold my family fortune in a certain sort of low esteem,’ he’d said.
‘Is it because I’m only a first-generation Australian of Greek descent whereas the Beauforts go back to the pioneering roots of this part of the country?’
‘Darling,’ his wife had said, ‘I never make those kind of judgements. The Beauforts may have been around these parts for a long time but your family is a model of propriety compared to some of my ancestors.’
‘So why do you look condescending at times?’
She’d shrugged. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to. But perhaps some of your Greek family’s customs don’t entirely impress me. I’ll leave you to work out which one in particular.’ And she’d flitted away before he’d had the chance to remind her that her own mother, who had Russian blood in her, had actively participated in the custom she was referring to…
All this was still on his mind as he took the lift to their apartment, and all the illuminated rooms told him that his wife had arrived back from Perth on schedule. In fact, as her bedroom door was open and Sibelius was pouring out Finlandia from her CD player, he was able to observe Tatiana Constantin née Beaufort unseen and at his leisure.
She was dressed and applying her make-up. Her dress was long, strapless, and clung to her figure. It was the same cornflower-blue as her eyes and her dark hair was in a loose, shining bob to her shoulders. At five feet two, she was petite with a delicate figure and smooth, pale skin.
But his wife always had an air of vitality about her, often even suppressed excitement. He’d taken it for a girlish attribute at first—she was only twenty-one now—with not a great deal of substance behind it.
Then again, he’d taken a lot about Tatiana Beaufort on face value when he’d allowed his parents and her mother to manoeuvre them into an arranged marriage. So it had come as something of a surprise when she’d told him unemotionally on their wedding night that she was aware of its orchestration. She was even aware that he had a mistress, she even knew her name. And he’d had to revise his opinions of his wife further when she’d suggested that a year’s grace for them both might be a good idea. A year, at least, for her to make up her mind whether to make it a real marriage.
He had agreed and, a year later, was still revising his opinions. Yes, there was something irrepressible about Tatiana Beaufort, there probably always would be, but he’d been wrong about the lack of substance. Just how to quantify it was not so simple, however.
There was no doubt she’d made the best of this first year of their ‘marriage in name only’ or marriage by contract, as she’d called it. She’d relished the role of mistress of his several homes, breathing life and comfort and colour into them. She’d entertained with charm and originality. She’d travelled extensively with him and given the appearance of being a proper wife to the outside world, and she’d been genuinely interested in the process of cultivating pearls.
She had also added stature to the Constantin family by means of her charity work. She was a born social worker and she spent a lot of time working unpaid in a legal aid office. The only thing she hadn’t done to date to completely fulfil his parents’ expectations was to present them with a grandchild. Which, of course, was what it had all been about in the first place.
His parents were deeply family oriented, and it had been a cross to bear that they’d only been able to have one child. Therefore all their hopes rested on him, and they took an abiding interest in every aspect of his life. Occasionally this was claustrophobic and exasperating, but mostly he bore it with equanimity and did his own thing anyway. But when he’d reached thirty and shown no inclination to marry and provide the dynasty with heirs his mother had decided to take matters into her own hands.
From the first suitable girl she’d paraded in front of him, he’d been quite aware of what was going on. He’d even been slightly amused at her ingenuity. Then he’d grown exasperated by her persistence and gone into evasion mode. But this had hurt her feelings and then two things had happened simultaneously—he’d felt guilty and she’d come up with Tatiana Beaufort, the daughter of an old friend of hers. And there was one aspect of the Beaufort girl that had been impossible to ignore. Her family had been pioneers in the Kimberley district of Western Australia—it was a very old, respected name, and she came with two vast cattle stations.
Not that he gave a damn about the old, respected name, although he’d known his mother would like nothing better than to add a Beaufort to the Constantin family. But the cattle stations were something else…Between them, should he and Tatiana Beaufort marry, they would own a fair slice of the Kimberley and beef prices were in the process of doubling.
He’d still had no plans to actually do it, though, until it had become obvious that if his mother was a matchmaker of some skill, Tatiana’s mother, Natalie, was even better. Cool and subtle, she had presented her daughter beautifully, and it was, Alex had decided, rather like sparring with an accomplished business rival. Perhaps, he reasoned, this was why he’d become determined to find out why Natalie Beaufort, whose daughter could have married anyone, had seemed equally determined it should be him.
And finally she’d put her cards on the table. Tatiana, she felt, had been left extremely vulnerable to fortune-hunters since her father had died. Moreover, before her father had died, she’d led a very sheltered life. He’d been a strict, old-fashioned father, apparently, and the result was that Tatiana, although well-educated and very expensively ‘finished’, had had a mostly convent education with little contact with the real world.
‘She could so easily fall into the hands of an unscrupulous man, Alex,’ Natalie had said, and shuddered delicately.
Reviewing her daughter’s air of breathless anticipation as he had known it at the time, Alex had agreed—although tacitly. ‘What about love, though? I’m sure girls like Tatiana believe in love,’ he’d added with some cynicism.
Natalie had waved an elegant hand. ‘Is there anyone less wise than a young girl who believes herself in love for the first time?’
He’d raised his eyebrows and agreed with her again, but this time he’d said, ‘Maybe, but how do you propose to make her think she’s in love with me? In other words, would she agree to an arranged marriage?’
Natalie had taken her time in answering. She’d looked him over comprehensively, then murmured, ‘If you couldn’t make a young, impressionable girl fall in love with you, Alex Constantin, who could?’
Alex had met her eyes impassively and she’d laughed softly. ‘Sorry, but I’m sure it’s true. The other thing is, you have your own cattle stations—who would be better placed to take over the running of Beaufort and Carnarvon than you?’
‘Mrs Beaufort,’ he’d replied rather grimly, ‘this is your daughter’s future we’re talking about, not a couple of cattle stations.’
Natalie had shrugged. ‘Your own mother shares my…belief that a well-arranged marriage has as much chance if not more of success than…what else might befall Tatiana.’
‘My own mother,’ he’d stated, ‘has been parading a series of girls before me in the hope that I’ll fall in love with one of them.’
‘But all of them eminently suitable, I have no doubt.’
‘It is still not the same as cold-bloodedly choosing a husband for your daughter,’ he’d retorted.
‘Then I’ll tell you this, Alex. Tatiana is already a little in love with you.’
This had pulled him up short, although he hadn’t allowed Natalie Beaufort to see it. And, as he sometimes did, he’d mentioned the matter to his father. George Constantin had handed the reins of the Constantin empire over to him several years previously but he still liked nothing better than to be consulted. Yet it had come as something of a surprise to Alex to learn that his father was as keen as his mother for him to marry Tatiana Beaufort.
‘I didn’t even know you were aware of what was going on,’ he’d told his father with a lurking smile.
George had shrugged and confessed that he’d left all the details up to his wife, but of all the girls she’d found he had to confess that he thought none could hold a candle to Tatiana. She had looks, she was well-bred, apparently virtuous, and she was young enough to accept a gentle moulding into being a suitable wife. ‘And,’ he’d added, ‘your grandmother actually suggested and campaigned for me to marry your mother—look how well that turned out.’
‘It’s a different day and age now.’
‘Maybe.’ George had studied him keenly. ‘But would I be wrong in assuming that since Flora Simpson returned to her husband marriage has not been on your agenda?’
Alex hadn’t replied and George had gone on. ‘Your mother and I aren’t getting any younger, Alex. We’d given up hope of having children and thought we were past it when you came along. I think nothing means so much to your mother than to see you happy and with a family. Me too. And, if love has…disappointed you, maybe this is the best way. But the decision has to be yours, of course.’
Alex had glanced at him wryly and thought of telling him that due to his connivance he, Alex, now had a breathless girl a little in love with him, he was being pursued by the queen of all matchmakers and he was actually cherishing unworthy thoughts for a man of integrity—Beaufort and Carnarvon to be precise, to add to the Constantin empire.
But it was only human nature, he had assured himself, to wonder what would happen to Beaufort and Carnarvon if they were left to the mercy of a twenty-year-old girl with a mother who had a reputation of having only one use for money and that was to spend it—perhaps that was why they hadn’t been left to her in the first place?
Whatever, he thought, coming back to the present as he watched his wife brush her hair vigorously then pause and conduct a few bars of Finlandia using her brush as a baton. He’d had to do nothing but go with the flow from that point on. Tatiana had appeared to welcome his attentions and enjoy his company.
On the lovemaking front he’d learnt that she was rather shy. He had strongly suspected she was a virgin and would like to remain one until she was married. But as their relationship had progressed he’d found that she trembled in his arms and enjoyed his kisses. By the time they’d got engaged he’d been sure that, whatever his feelings were, Tatiana Beaufort was more than a ‘little’ in love with him.
So what had happened? he wondered, not for the first time. She had consistently refused to explain where she’d gained her knowledge of his mistress, and if she’d known all along it was an arranged marriage, why leave it until then to tell him? Had she ever been even a ‘little’ in love with him?
Finlandia, and Tatiana, still armed with her brush, came to a stirring conclusion, then she whirled round and saw him leaning against the doorpost. And in the moment before she spoke he saw the rush of colour that came to her cheeks and the momentary look of vulnerability that came to her eyes. Because she’d been caught conducting an imaginary orchestra, he pondered, or because of him?
‘Alex! How long have you been there?’ she asked laughingly, almost immediately recovered.
‘Long enough to be impressed by your conducting skills.’
‘Oh, that’s not fair!’ she protested. ‘I had no idea you were home.’
He straightened. ‘Don’t be embarrassed, Tattie. I have the urge to do the same sometimes. How was Perth?’
‘Lovely.’ She sighed. ‘Lovely and cool! I had great fun getting out all my winter clothes and sitting in front of a fire. What have you been up to?’
‘The same.’ He shrugged. ‘By the way, happy anniversary!’ And he put the gift box into her hand.
She sobered and looked up into his dark eyes. ‘I…Alex, you didn’t have to get me a present.’
‘No,’ he agreed.
‘Then…why?’
‘I’m quite sure your mother and my parents will be dying to know what I bought you. And I’m quite sure they believe you merit a present for being such a good little wife to me, and you have—for the most part.’
Tattie swallowed visibly. ‘You’re angry,’ she said quietly.
‘Not angry,’ he denied. ‘Puzzled. And wondering what is in store for the second year of our marriage or—if there is to be one?’ He looked down at her with a thoughtfully raised eyebrow.
Tattie looked away and turned the box over in her hands. ‘The thing is, I…haven’t made up my mind…yet.’
He smiled satanically. ‘Are you asking for another year, Tattie?’
‘No.’ She squared her shoulders and looked up at him.
‘But I would like to discuss it with you and I don’t think now is the right time. For one thing we’ll be late.’ A smile touched her mouth. ‘Think how anxious that would make your mother!’
‘Very well,’ he said after a long, searching moment, and took the gift box out of her hands. ‘In the meantime, allow me to do this.’ He drew the necklace out of the box and she gasped much as Paula had done as the river of stunning pearls ran through his fingers and the intricate white and pink Argyle diamond clasp caught the overhead light and reflected it radiantly. ‘Turn around.’
‘Alex,’ she breathed, ‘it’s beautiful, but I don’t—’
‘Tattie, just do as you’re told,’ he commanded.
‘But I’ll feel a fraud, Alex,’ she protested.
‘You are a fraud, Mrs Constantin,’ he reminded her, and grinned wickedly as she opened her mouth to accuse him of the same thing. ‘No, don’t say it. You shouldn’t have agreed to this party in the first place if that’s how you feel.’
She subsided, then looked frustrated. ‘You may be able to twist your mother around your little finger but I can’t. She…she just flatly insisted on a party.’
‘My dear, if I could twist my mother around my little finger, not to mention your mother, neither of us would be in this mess. Since we are, however, I intend to put a good face on it and so should you. Turn around, Tattie.’
She stared at him with her lips parted and confusion in her eyes for a long moment, then did as she was bid.
‘There,’ he said, and felt her tremble as his fingers touched the skin of her neck. ‘Mmm.’ He turned her back. ‘Perfect,’ he murmured. ‘Have I told you about strand synergy, Tattie?’
He traced the lie of the pearls down her skin and across the top of her breasts beneath the blue material of her dress and back up to her neck, and he saw her take an unexpected breath.
Then she began to recite, as if it was a lesson she’d learned, ‘The art of choosing the right pearls to put together and drilling and knotting them so the strand drapes like a piece of silk rather than dangling around the wearer’s neck.’
‘You’ve done your homework,’ he said humorously, and turned her again, this time in the direction of her dressing-table mirror. ‘What do you think?’
Tattie took another breath as she studied the pearls in the mirror, but he thought that the whole picture was absorbing her more than the pearls themselves, the two of them close together in the mirror.
She closed her eyes suddenly and said, ‘Yes, quite perfect. Thank you so much.’
But, as her lashes fluttered up, their gazes caught in the mirror. And he saw the surprise in her eyes as he said softly, ‘You’re quite perfect too, Mrs Constantin, and your skin is a perfect background for these pearls, it has its own beautiful lustre.’
This time he traced the outline of her oval face and looked down her figure in the lovely dress and thought that she really was exquisite in her own way. Like a delicate figurine, smooth and softly curved but at the same time full of life and laughter.
‘Give me ten minutes to shower and change,’ he said then, wresting his mind from his wife’s physical perfections, and went to turn away but paused. ‘Tattie, there’s one other unfortunate aspect to tonight’s party.’
She was standing quite still, as he’d left her, and she blinked a couple of times as if she was having trouble redirecting her attention. ‘There is?’ she asked a little blankly.
He grimaced. ‘I only saw the guest list today when my mother dropped it into the office. Leonie Falconer is on it.’
He stopped and studied her narrowly but perceived no reaction—at first. Then a dawning look of comprehension came to Tatiana.
‘You mean…you mean your mistress?’ she stammered.
‘My ex-mistress,’ he replied harshly. ‘How that bit of information escaped my mother I’ll never know, but—’
‘Perhaps she took it for granted that you had reformed since you married me?’
‘Quick thinking, Tattie,’ he parried swiftly, ‘but you yourself gave me to understand you didn’t expect me to live like a monk while you made up your mind about this marriage.’
Tatiana flushed and closed her mouth.
‘Even so,’ Alex went on, after a tense little moment, ‘whatever else I am—’ he looked fleetingly amused ‘—parading my mistresses in front of my wife is not one of my vices. But Leonie has chosen to make herself unavailable today—she’s not at her office, she’s not home and she’s not answering her mobile phone—so I felt…honour bound to warn you that I haven’t been able to warn her off.’
Tatiana drew herself up to her full five feet two. ‘How kind of you, Alex,’ she said with all the famed Beaufort hauteur she was capable of but hadn’t allowed him to see until after she’d married him, ‘but Ms Falconer is welcome to do her damnedest!’
He raised a wry eyebrow. ‘Bravo, Tattie! See you in ten minutes.’
CHAPTER TWO
DARWIN, the northernmost city in Australia and named after Charles Darwin, had only two seasons—the wet and the dry. The wet season coincided with spring and summer on the rest of the continent and the dry with autumn and winter, but, since the temperature rarely fell below thirty degrees Celsius during the day, winter was an inappropriate term.
It was early in the dry season as Tatiana Constantin rode beside her husband to her first wedding-anniversary party, reflecting as she sat in the plush cream leather comfort of his blue Jaguar that things could have been worse. It could have been the height of the wet season when the humidity was legendary, flooding and violent storms were common and cyclones often a threat.
How would she have coped, she wondered irrationally, with that kind of weather on top of the cyclone-like disturbance of mind she was experiencing at the moment? With the kind of weather that, in the few short steps from an air-conditioned car to air-conditioned premises, left you bathed in sweat with your make-up melted and your hair limp?
She glanced at Alex through her lashes. Unlike her, he had been born and bred in Darwin and the ravages of the wet season never seemed to bother him. But men, she reminded herself, didn’t have to worry about looking limp and bedraggled. Indeed, men, she added bitterly to herself, had more powers than were altogether good for them. Such as being able to command a mistress to do this or that.
Mind you, always assuming the mistress hadn’t gone to ground, she reminded herself with a touch of black humour!
Tattie had never met Leonie Falconer, design jeweller with her own business who did quite a bit of work for Constantin, although she’d had her pointed out a couple of times. There had to be an element of luck in this, Tattie had reasoned, because, although she didn’t think Alex would parade his mistresses in front of her, Darwin was not a big city.
And, although she couldn’t think favourably of his mistress, a small part of her applauded the woman’s bravado. She had obviously accepted the invitation, then put herself out of Alex’s reach at least on this the last day that he might have been able to ‘warn her off’. But why accept it in the first place? Tattie was forced to ponder. And why would Alex’s mother invite her? Not to mention—how lately had Leonie become an ex-mistress?
So many imponderables, she thought wistfully, but the greatest of them all was sitting right beside her, driving his beautiful car with such ease and flair towards his parents’ Fannie Bay mansion.
Of course he had always been a huge imponderable, if not to say the biggest challenge of her admittedly young life. And she’d cautioned herself from the moment she’d known what was going on to keep her wits about her. Right up until about half an hour ago she’d thought she’d succeeded in this ambition.
A pearl necklace, the feel of his fingers on her skin and her breasts and the shocking discovery that the mere mention of the word mistress, ex or otherwise, had caused all her careful strategies to come tumbling down. To the extent that she wasn’t sure whether she loved Alex Constantin to distraction or hated him exceedingly.
She clenched her fists in her lap and wondered how much she’d given away this evening. Twelve months of such self-control, she marvelled, quite possibly lost in a matter of minutes. She visualised again the picture they’d made in the mirror, he with his dark head bent towards her, she still stunned beneath the impact of his personality, and all that usually leashed masculinity in his tall frame flowing through to her.
Had it been her imagination, she mused a little painfully, or wishful thinking? Because he normally kept that side of him very much leashed in all his dealings with her but she had the feeling tonight had been different. If only, she went on to think, the subject of his mistress had not come up in almost the same breath she would have been more sure…
But really—she glanced at him covertly again—there was only so much of the masculine impact of Alex Constantin he could leash from her. Just to be sitting beside him in his austere dark suit and blue shirt, watching him drive his car, was a bit like a body blow.
Not especially good-looking, he was nevertheless vitally attractive. He was tall, fit and athletic, he could be wickedly amused and amusing, he could be quite kind yet devastatingly scornful when the mood was on him. Above all, he could be the quintessential enigma, so that the reason he’d agreed to an arranged marriage with her when he could have had any woman he chose remained a mystery to her.
Unless, his reason had been her reason—two vast cattle stations that went by the name of Beaufort and Carnarvon…
‘We’re here, Tattie.’
She came back to the present with a little jump, to see that her husband had made his statement with false gravity.
‘So I see,’ she commented, looking at the house blazing with lights and the stream of cars parked in the street.
‘Oh, well, what do they say? “Onward, Christian soldiers”! “Fight the good fight”—or, something along those lines.’
He laughed and put his fist beneath the point of her chin. ‘You are a character, Tattie,’ he said affectionately, and added, ‘If it’s at all possible, just be yourself and have a good time.’
With your mistress in attendance, your mother, who never fails to drop delicate little hints and tips about how to fall pregnant, and my mother there, and you treating me like a kid you pat on the head—of course!
She didn’t say it, but only by the narrowest of margins. She couldn’t prevent the serious irony of her fronded blue gaze as it rested on him fleetingly, however. But before he got the chance to remark on it she opened her door and slipped out of the car.
‘That is quite a statement, Tatiana,’ Natalie Beaufort said to her daughter when they found themselves alone in the powder room together after the fabulous seafood buffet.
Tattie squinted down at her pearls. ‘It is lovely, isn’t it?’
‘It is, but I was thinking more along the lines of the comment it makes on the success of your marriage.’
Tattie observed her mother and spoke without thinking. ‘How do you know it’s not conscience money?’
Natalie’s sculptured eyebrows shot upwards. ‘Is it?’
‘I could be the last to know—aren’t wives supposed to be?’
‘You don’t seriously believe Alex is being unfaithful to you so early on?’ Natalie asked with a frown.
Tattie thought of pointing out that, although she was behaving herself beautifully, Leonie Falconer was amongst the guests tonight. Leonie, who had been reliably revealed to her as Alex’s mistress before he’d married her—and she’d had no reason to believe, until tonight, that things had changed.
But although Natalie was her mother—or perhaps because of it—Tattie knew only too well that her mind moved in mysterious ways sometimes. Such as the number of times Natalie had brought her to Darwin over a year ago, ostensibly to catch up with her old friend Irina Constantin but really to position her daughter firmly in Alex Constantin’s sights.
Such as Natalie’s decision to move to Darwin herself after Tattie’s marriage, like some sort of guardian angel, even though she basically considered the place a far-flung outpost of civilisation. And she decided to hold her peace.
‘Just kidding,’ she said mischievously, and was relieved to see her mother subside. She couldn’t keep herself from thinking that there was irony everywhere she turned these days, though. It was her mother who had advised her before her marriage that there were times when men would be men and it was often wiser to ignore the odd fling they might have…
And she found herself watching her now, curiously, as Natalie expertly touched up her make-up. Whereas Alex’s mother was dumpy and not greatly into fashion, but with such a warm personality you couldn’t help loving her, Natalie was very slim and very trendy. She was also artistic and played the piano beautifully and adored what she called ‘café society’.
Whereas George and Irina Constantin rarely left each other’s side, Natalie had frequently sought the solace of their Perth home, away from the lifestyle of Beaufort and Carnarvon and Austin Beaufort, taking Tattie with her.
To be honest, Austin Beaufort had not been an easy man to live with, and Tattie could clearly remember asking her mother passionately once how she coped with him.
Natalie had smiled ruefully and replied that there was an art to coping with men, as she would no doubt discover for herself one day, but walking away from them was something they disliked intensely, and it generally brought them round.
And her mother was undeniably quirky, if not to say downright eccentric at times. She was one of the few people who always used Tattie’s full name, but when Tattie had asked her if she’d been named after a Russian ancestor her mother had replied that she hadn’t. And she’d gone on to say, ‘There’s no doubt pregnancy brought out the Russian in me, however.’
‘Why? How?’
‘Well, it can be very heavy-going at times, with lots of ups and downs and a distinctly 1812 cannon-like flavour to it for the finale. I guess that’s why the name Tatiana came to mind.’
Only her mother could say things like that and believe she sounded quite logical.
For all this, though, when she was not fencing with her mother on the subject of Alex and her marriage, she mostly loved her mother’s quirkiness. And she knew, even if she disagreed with the means, that Natalie had genuinely thought she was protecting her daughter from the dreaded prospect of fortune-hunters, and had genuinely thought she was in love with Alex.
As for disagreeing with her means, that wasn’t entirely true, Tattie forced herself to acknowledge. Because what her mother knew, but few people suspected, was how much of Austin Beaufort there was in his daughter beneath the gloss. And how much of that pioneering Beaufort blood ran in Tattie’s veins, so that Beaufort and Carnarvon meant an awful lot to her, and she’d inherited his almost mystical affinity with the Kimberley country they spread over.
Natalie knew how it had affected Tattie to see both properties start to run down during the last few years of her father’s ill-health before his death, and had sensed the moment of panic that had come to her daughter to discover, on her father’s death, that the responsibility for them now rested squarely on her shoulders. Mystic affinity was one thing. Running two cattle stations that covered the size of the United Kingdom was another.
From that point of view Alex Constantin had been an inspired choice on her mother’s part. It had also been, Tattie knew, why she’d gone along with the charade even after she’d realised she was being steered into marriage with a man who wasn’t in love with her. It had not had anything to do with the fact that she’d been more than a little in love with him. She would never do anything as essentially wet as marrying a man in the hope that she could make him fall in love with her…
‘Penny for them, my sweet?’ Natalie patted her fashionable bronze hair and stood up.
Tattie blinked. ‘Uh…she’s very attractive, Leonie Falconer, isn’t she?’
‘Certainly very golden. She’s a brilliant jewellery designer, I believe, but since she works with Alex you probably know more about her than I do.’
Yes and no, Tattie replied internally. I seem to be the only one tonight who knows she is—or was—his mistress. What I don’t know is why I should be alone in the possession of this knowledge. Perhaps I should be applauding how discreet they’ve been instead of worrying about it?
Her internal monologue was interrupted as her mother gave her hair one last pat and moved towards the door, saying, ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if she designed the clasp of your pearls—why don’t you ask her?’
One of the things Tattie loved about Darwin was its cosmopolitan population. In the space of half an hour she danced with a Danish boat-builder, met a Chinese couple who owned a popular restaurant and a New Zealander who made stainless-steel carvings, as well as a Japanese woman who designed clothes.
Nor could she fault her mother-in-law’s party-giving talents. Now the food had been disposed of, the long veranda glowed beneath fairy lights, and the air was fragrant with the heady perfume of what must have been a truckload of roses and orchids in all colours. The guests were colourful and, having wined and dined superbly, were set to dance the night away. It was an extremely successful party.
At all times, however, it was as if Tattie possessed an unseen pair of antennae tuned in exclusively to Alex and Leonie. So far her antennae had picked up no communication between them at all. Then she looked around and found Leonie standing directly behind her, apparently admiring the clasp of her pearls.
‘Oh. Hello,’ Tattie said brightly. ‘We’ve never met but I know who you are—do I have you to thank for my clasp?’
Leonie Falconer possessed hazel eyes, long gold hair and a statuesque figure presently clad in a beautiful gown of gauzy fabric shot with all the colours of the rainbow. She too wore pearls—Constantin? Tattie wondered—and a chunky, very lovely gold bracelet.
But all this was on the periphery of Tattie’s mind as she watched those hazel eyes narrow with a slight wariness then relax as she finished speaking.
‘No,’ Leonie said in a husky, transatlantic voice. ‘Not my work, but rather nice all the same.’
‘Thank you!’ Tattie looked around and, observing Alex nowhere in sight, added quietly, ‘Why did you come tonight, Miss Falconer?’
Leonie Falconer resumed her wariness rather abruptly. She was in her late twenties, early thirties, Tattie judged. She was also several inches taller than Tattie, but none of that prevented Tattie from eyeing her severely and imperiously.
A tinge of colour ran beneath Leonie’s honey-gold skin, then she shrugged. ‘Curiosity, I suppose. Why would I be invited in the first place? Also—’
‘I can tell you that,’ Tattie interposed swiftly, ‘Irina organised this party. Alex was unaware until today that you had been invited. So was I. And Irina was definitely unaware of who you were, otherwise she wouldn’t have touched you with a bargepole.’
‘I see.’ Leonie looked fleetingly amused then oddly bitter. ‘Well, there’s no reason I shouldn’t be here, as it happens. I got my marching orders some time ago. And marching orders they were too—Any fuss, Leonie, and Constantin will cease to do business with you. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how deadly Alex can be when he sets his mind to it. But when his brief infatuation with you ceases, Mrs Constantin,’ Leonie added silkily, ‘I’ll get him back.’ And she turned on her heel and walked away.
‘What was all that about?’
Tattie jumped and found her husband standing beside her. ‘Probably an age-old ritual between mistress and wife, Alex,’ she said coolly, then her lips trembled and she laughed softly. ‘But how bizarre that you should use me to extricate yourself from her.’
‘What do you mean?’ he said rather grimly.
Tattie opened her mouth then caught sight out of the corner of her eye of his mother, radiant in pink silk that didn’t suit her at all but didn’t manage to dim her personality either, approaching them with a slight limp. She sighed inwardly and said, ‘Don’t worry about it, Alex, but I think you should dance with me in a very husbandly way now, if for no other reason than to let your mother think her party is a real success!’ And she melted into his arms.
Surprise kept him rigid for a moment. And he said barely audibly, ‘You’re going to have to explain later, you know, Tatiana.’ Then he drew her into his arms and, despite the implicit threat in the use of her proper name that always told her he was in a dangerous mood, kissed her lightly before swinging her round to the music.
‘I think I’ll go to bed now, Alex,’ Tattie said at two-thirty in the morning, after a swift silent ride home at the end of the party.
She had preceded him into the lounge, a lovely room she had created in their apartment—the apartment he had bought and presented to her as a wedding present in accordance with the contracts he and her mother had agreed upon—with a view through the wide windows to the terrace. The view was dark now, of course, but the oil rig anchored in Darwin Harbour for maintenance was lit up like a Christmas tree.
‘Oh, no, you don’t, Tattie.’
She stopped in the middle of the lounge and turned to look at him. She had her shoes in one hand, her pearls in the other and her face was shadowed with weariness.
‘Alex, this is no time—’
‘Sit down, Tattie,’ he ordered, and came across to her with two tall glasses in his hands.
‘What’s this?’ she queried as he handed her one.
‘Something long, cool and delicious for someone who has partied as vigorously as you have. Don’t worry, I’m not planning to make you drunk and seduce you.’ He looked down at her wide eyes and slightly apprehensive expression.
Tattie took the glass from him, drank deeply as if she was very thirsty, then in a stiff little voice recounted her conversation with his mistress. And she sat down abruptly.
Alex lounged against a pillar and merely twisted his glass in his hands. ‘What she told you is not an accurate representation of the events.’
Tattie went to wave her hand and realised she was still clutching her pearls. She put them down carefully. ‘It doesn’t matter one way or the other to me, Alex.’
‘I would have thought it might in the light of how we go on, Tattie. You did say you wanted to discuss that with me.’
‘Well. Yes. But…’ She trailed off, looking almost ashen with weariness and strain now. ‘I can’t think straight.’
He took his time. He sipped his drink then he said quietly, ‘My suggestion is that we stop fooling around and get this marriage off the ground.’
Tattie’s mouth fell open as she sorted through this. ‘Fooling…?’ she said incredulously, picking on perhaps the least startling aspect of his advice.
‘Or whatever you like to call it.’ He looked briefly quizzical.
‘You know what I like to call it, Alex.’
He lifted an eyebrow at her. ‘You also gave me to understand that you knew what you were getting into, Tattie. But, for what it’s worth, your suggestion of a year’s grace was a good one. At least we know now that we can get along pretty well.’ His mouth quirked. ‘We don’t appear to have any habits that drive each other up the wall.’ He looked at her with a question in his eyes.
‘That’s…assuming we were brother and sister, Alex. Lovers could be a different matter.’
He put his glass down on a beautiful, inlaid pedestal table and came over to her. She stared up at him wide-eyed as he removed her glass from her fingers then drew her to her feet.
‘My dear Tattie,’ he murmured with his hands resting lightly on her shoulders and his gaze summing her up from head to toe, ‘I feel quite sure that it could only enhance our relationship to become lovers. Trust me.’
His fingers slipped from her shoulder to trace the line where his pearls would have lain and, despite her tiredness and confusion, she couldn’t help the reaction that came to her again, that trembling sensation any close contact with him brought to the surface.
‘But sleep on it,’ he suggested.
‘I…’ She bit her lip.
‘I’m off on a tour of the pearl farms early tomorrow,’ he continued. ‘I’ll be away for a few days. So you’ll be able to do more than sleep on it.’ He kissed her lightly on the top of her head. ‘I thought, after that, we could spend a little while at Beaufort. I have some ideas for it.’
Sheer blackmail!
Tattie sat up, saw it was nine o’clock in the morning and clutched her head as the blackmail thought raced through her mind.
Tired as she’d been, sleep had been difficult, and when she’d achieved it weird dreams populated by Leonie Falconer resembling some sort of smug sun goddess had plagued her. So why had she woken up with blackmail on her mind?
Because apart from her mother only Alex knew how close to her heart Beaufort especially was. How could he not? True, she’d been fascinated by the cultured-pearl side of his business—she would have loved to be visiting the farms with him—but it was his cattle stations and how he handled them that she had attempted to absorb like blotting paper. All for the purpose of applying that knowledge to Beaufort and Carnarvon should she ever have to run them on her own.
But, more than that, perhaps only Alex guessed that twelve months had not been long enough for her to have the confidence to run them on her own and that was why he’d applied the sheer blackmail of promising her some of his time at Beaufort and mentioning the ideas he had for the station. What else could she think?
‘You could ask yourself why he wants to stay married to you, Tatiana,’ she murmured, and lay back with a sigh.
Had the impossible, the wonderful, the dream within a dream that she hadn’t dared to allow herself to dream, come true? Had her husband finally fallen in love with her? Or had the time come to amalgamate her inheritance with his into one big cattle operation, something that had not happened to date?
Why, she pondered gloomily, did that seem much more likely?
And she answered herself tartly, he made her feel like a kid, not—apart from one fleeting moment yesterday and she wasn’t even sure about that—a woman he found desirable. It was as simple as that.
On the other hand—she sat up again, struck by a new thought—why had he divested himself of his mistress? Because of a growing but hidden attraction to her—or so she would have no ammunition with which to continue the stalemate or base a decision to leave him on?
Her bedside phone rang. She stared at it, then lifted it reluctantly.
‘Hello?’
‘Tattie?’ her mother-in-law said down the line in a slightly overwrought way. ‘My dear, that was the best party I’ve ever given and all thanks to you!’
Tattie frowned. ‘No way, Irina. I didn’t do anything; you did it all.’
‘But you were there, you were so lovely, and the whole world could see that you and Alex are perfect for each other—I just wanted to tell you! Perhaps next year,’ she added, ‘we will have a little addition to the family to celebrate? Tattie…’ There was a slightly awkward pause down the line—an indication of a bull being taken by the horns as it turned out. ‘Are there any problems in that direction? Because I have the best gynaecologist in the country, the most understanding, most gentle, most kind, and he has performed miracles for several of my friends’ daughters.’
This time Tattie grimaced, then drew a deep breath. ‘Irina…’ But she couldn’t do it. She simply couldn’t dent her mother-in-law’s enthusiasm and her old-fashioned belief that her arranged marriage concept had worked blissfully—although it did cross her mind to say, Perhaps you should have found a Greek girl for Alex. A girl who would understand these things and know where her duty lies…
She cleared her throat. ‘Uh—Irina, no, no problems that I know of, but this is between Alex and me, I feel…I really feel, don’t you?’
There was silence, then, ‘My dear, forgive me,’ Irina said a little tremulously down the line. ‘Of course it is. It’s just that I have such a longing for grandchildren and, sadly, I’m not getting any younger.’
‘Irina…’ What to say? Tattie thought desperately, because in every other respect Irina had been a lovely mother-in-law. Nor was she getting any younger, and she was also plagued by a troublesome hip, but kept putting off a hip replacement because of her fear of hospitals and operations.
She was saved by Irina herself, who said bravely, with less tremolo, ‘I promise not to mention these things again, Tattie. I just… Last night…seeing you and Alex…I got carried away. Forgive me?’
‘Of course,’ Tattie said warmly. ‘Tell you what, why don’t we have lunch? I’ll ring Mum and see if she can make it as well and we can have a gorgeous gossip about the party. How about Cullen Bay?’ She named a restaurant.
She put the phone down eventually, wondering as she did if she wasn’t digging a deeper grave to have to climb out of one day. Then she lay back and switched on her television, only to be arrested as she flicked through the channels by a programme about an Indian family in Mauritius. What arrested her was the fact that the patriarch still chose husbands and wives for his family, even sending to India for them, and the whole family laughingly agreed it was still the best way to go.
She tightened her mouth, switched off and got up to take a shower. While the shower refreshed her body the circles of her mind ran around a familiar pattern. Why hadn’t the Constantins sought a Greek girl for Alex? She knew enough about the continental community in Darwin to know that it wasn’t only amongst Mauritian Indians that this practice was common. She could even see a certain sense to it. Same culture, same background—possibly the same expectations.
But Alex was about as cosmopolitan as they came—or, to put it another way, he was as Australian as they came. So perhaps he wouldn’t have stood for it?
A smile crossed her lips at this point in her reflections but it was gone almost before it was born—Alex did exactly as he pleased, she knew, despite his affection for his parents. So had they been, as she’d long suspected, rather clever? Had they found the one lure he’d been unable to resist in their quest to further the dynasty?
A little dialogue ran though her head, no matter that the girl is not one of us. She still looks to be pliable, and she does have Beaufort and Carnarvon—could he resist that? Could he?
‘Perhaps not,’ she answered herself, and started to dress.
It was yet another bright, cloudless July day, but it passed by in a bit of a blur for Tattie.
Her cleaning lady arrived as she was having her breakfast coffee, and together they went through the apartment, deciding what needed to be done. Then Tattie went back to her coffee, but the apartment stayed on her mind and she looked around with new eyes.
She’d chosen pastels, light, airy colours that were above all cool. There were no curtains but wooden louvers at the windows, and she’d made simple but effective statements—a glorious oil painting on a feature wall; a pair of waist-high porcelain urns hand-painted in soft pinks, gold and royal blue; an intricately carved solid silver bowl it was hard to take your eyes from, so perfect were its proportions and soft old glow as it sat on a small sea chest; a vast, comfortable cream couch lined with pink and pewter cushions.
Mysteriously, she thought with a sudden pang, it had all become home. Yes, of course the lure of the Kimberley region where her ancestral home was, a sprawling, rambling country homestead, still held pride of place in her heart—or did it? And if not, why not?
Because this was her own creation? she wondered. Because this was where she and Alex spent most of their time? There was also a house in Perth, another house in Darwin and an apartment in Sydney, but, even though she’d added her own touches to those, this apartment in Darwin was all hers—and Alex’s.
She took up her cup and wandered into his bedroom. Not that he’d known until their wedding night that this room was to be his and the main bedroom would be reserved for her exclusive use. And what kind of a gamble had that been? she paused to ask herself as she remembered how her wedding day had passed in a fever of nerves. Nerves and the terror that she might have made an awful mistake, only to discover that the equanimity with which he’d heard her out and accepted her proposal had killed a silly little ray of hope in her heart…
Nor would she forget the humorous quirk to his mouth and the glint of devilry in his eyes as he’d surveyed this bedroom on that night. Because, luxurious though it was, it contained a single bed—a king-size single not much smaller than a double, but nevertheless, perhaps a ridiculous gesture on her part, she brooded. Not to mention a sheer nuisance, since she’d had to get all its bedding custom-made, king-single linen to match her dusky-blue and pearl decor being impossible to come by.
She grimaced. Young and stupid she’d been, but was she only now about to discover just how young and stupid? She’d certainly had an inkling, as the milestone of her first anniversary approached and she’d found herself unable to come to any decision about her marriage, that—what? She was staring down the barrel of a gun? That she’d foolishly expected something to crop up, some resolution to present itself, only to find that she was still at square one?
If only she could find the key to the enigma that was Alex Constantin, she thought a little wildly, and walked into the room. The bed was unmade, but otherwise it was fairly tidy. He’d hung up his suit from the night before, his shirt was in the linen basket; only his tie was carelessly discarded over the back of a blue velvet chair. She picked it up and sat down on the bed, running the length of silk through her fingers.
Other than an exquisite pearl shell on the bureau, Alex had brought nothing to this room. No photos or memorabilia from his pre-marriage days. And his study in the apartment was the same. Functional, sometimes untidy, but essentially impersonal—so much so it was she who had added some blown-up photos of the beautiful bays and rivers that housed his pearl farms. Was he just that kind of man or were his treasures and mementoes stored elsewhere? At the Fannie Bay house of his parents? At—she shivered suddenly—a separate residence he maintained for entertaining his mistress?
I won’t do it, she thought abruptly, and got up to hang his tie on the tie rack in his cupboard. I won’t agree to a real marriage with Alex Constantin until I know without doubt that he is…madly in love with me!
She stared at his ties rebelliously, then went to change for her lunch date with his mother.
CHAPTER THREE
FOUR days later Tattie was no further forward in her decision-making process and not sure when to expect Alex back. He’d gone on to Broome, apparently. But she’d kept herself busy, spending most of her days in the legal-aid office where she played the role of receptionist but spent a lot of time listening to other people’s problems and trying to give sound advice.
It was a Wednesday morning before she left for work when she discovered an invitation in her mailbox from a friend who was having an impromptu luncheon at a popular café in Parap that day. It had been hand-delivered. It crossed her mind to wonder why Amy Goodall, whom she’d been to school with in Perth and was now living in Darwin, hadn’t simply rung her, but she shrugged as she tossed the colourful little invitation on the hall table. Amy had always been unconventional and given to springing surprises on people, and an hour of her stimulating company and others’ would be fun.
So she dressed with a little more care than normal for work in a stunningly simple sleeveless white piqué dress, black and white sandals and a loop of black and white beads. She brushed her hair vigorously and drew it back into a white scrunchie, and with a lighter step descended to the garage and her racy little silver Volkswagen Golf convertible.
At twelve-thirty she drove to the Parap shopping centre with its leafy boulevards, parked the Golf under a magnificent poinciana tree and stepped out to be confronted by a man who appeared from nowhere.
‘Mrs Constantin?’
‘Yes,’ Tattie said uncertainly, and with a strange feeling at the pit of her stomach. He was tall, he looked as if he hadn’t shaved for days, and he had angry blue eyes and matted curly hair. He was also completely unknown to her.
‘Just do as I say, Mrs Constantin,’ he recommended, and pulled a small gun from the pocket of his jacket.
Her eyes dilated and her heart leapt into her throat. ‘What on earth—’ she began.
‘Come with me nice and quiet so I don’t have to use this, which I will if I have to.’
‘I…I…’ But as she stammered and felt like fainting he took her elbow in a hard grasp and began to lead her towards a battered utility parked two spots away from the Golf.
She stumbled and tried to pull her elbow free but he growled an obscenity into her ear. She sucked some air into her lungs and opened her mouth to scream, but she felt the gun poke into her waist—and nothing came out of her mouth. Then all hell broke loose.
A car screeched to a halt in the middle of the road only a few feet from them—a blue Jaguar—and Alex jumped out without bothering to switch off the engine.
Her attacker immediately pulled her in front of him and swore viciously but Tattie buckled at the knees, wrenched her elbow free and threw herself sideways. Alex leapt on the man and punched him to the ground in a hail of devastating blows.
Tattie got to her knees as they rolled away from her, saw the gun on the ground and fell on it, but her assailant was no match for Alex—he was being mercilessly subdued in a show of brute strength that made Tattie blink. Then there were sirens and police swarming around them. Finally Alex, still breathing heavily, was helping her to her feet.
‘What…? I don’t understand… Oh, you’re bleeding!’
‘It’s nothing, Tattie. Are you OK?’
‘Yes, I think so, but…why…what?’ she gasped.
He held her close for a moment then said gently, ‘Come, I’ll explain when we get home.’
Three policeman had accompanied them and now listened intently to Alex’s explanation.
‘When I got home today I noticed this invitation on the hall table.’ He lifted Amy’s colourful little card. ‘But it so happens I ran into Amy Goodall at the airport this morning and we had a bit of a chat. I was on my way home from Broome, she was on her way to Sydney, so it made no sense that she would be inviting my wife to lunch today. I also noticed that the invitation had been hand-delivered.’ He proffered the envelope. ‘And it occurred to me that someone might have deliberately lured my wife out on a false pretext.’
Tattie made a strange little sound of disbelief.
‘And that’s when you rang us,’ the detective in charge murmured. ‘Only you got there before us. Mrs Constantin, did you recognise the man at all?’
‘No! I’ve never seen him before.’
‘Did you find this invitation at all strange?’
Tattie shrugged. ‘I wondered why she hadn’t rung, that’s all. But she is that kind of person, prone to springing surprises.’
‘So it would be fair to say the gentleman we’ve taken into custody must be aware of Miss Goodall’s quirks. How well do you know her, incidentally, Mrs Constantin?’
Tattie told him.
‘And you don’t think she could have had anything to do with this?’
‘Good heavens, no! Anyway, she’s on her way down south.’
‘Yes,’ the detective said thoughtfully, and looked at Alex. ‘The obvious thing that springs to mind is kidnapping for ransom.’
Tattie gasped, and if she hadn’t already been sitting down would have collapsed.
Alex said then, ‘I think my wife has had enough for the moment.’
As soon as the police had left, Tattie said one of the sillier things she’d ever said as she looked at Alex wide-eyed and still stunned.
‘Why would anyone want to kidnap me?’
He came to sit down beside her. There was a darkening bruise on his cheek, his shirt was torn, his knuckles grazed, but the cut on his arm had stopped bleeding. For that matter, her lovely white dress was stained, her knees were grazed, her scrunchie was hanging by a thread of hair and her face was dirty.
He half smiled and gently removed the scrunchie. ‘Why? I have rather a lot of money, Tattie.’
She swallowed. ‘Thank heavens you came home and saw the invitation. Thank heavens you bumped into Amy! I didn’t know what to do. Part of me was thinking, surely he wouldn’t shoot me in broad daylight in the middle of Parap, but the other half couldn’t be sure. It…I…’
‘Tattie.’ He took her in his arms. ‘I can imagine. And if it’s any consolation I doubt whether he would have shot you in the middle of Parap, but he’s safely under lock and key now.’
‘Maybe there are more of them!’ She shivered in his arms.
‘I doubt that too.’ He stroked her hair. ‘I suspect he was a loner and it wasn’t a very well-thought-out plot.’
‘Maybe,’ she conceded, but couldn’t stop shivering.
‘Hey,’ he said quietly, ‘it’s over. I’m here.’ And he kissed her.
As an antidote to extreme nervous tension, it worked well. The shivering started to subside as his mouth closed on hers, and the incredible events that had befallen her gave way to something else.
How good it felt to be in his arms, how safe—and how ruthless he’d been in her defence, as if she meant an awful lot to him. Then even those thoughts receded and sensations began to take their place. She no longer noticed that she was in a mess. She began to be aware of herself on a different plane altogether, very much as a woman with all the needs and desires of one, most of which he was attending to with his hands and his lips.
He stroked her arms with his long fingers and she shivered quite differently, with delight. He kissed her lightly, then those cool, firm lips sought the soft hollows at the base of her throat while his wandering fingers combed through her hair. But not only was it what he was doing to her, it was the feel of his strong, hard body against hers that filled her with a lovely, special feeling of excitement.
Then he started to kiss her more deeply and she responded, shyly at first, then more and more freely. They drew apart once and she stared at him, suddenly overwhelmingly aware of the sexy side of Alex Constantin as she’d never been before. The mouth-watering masculinity of his wide shoulders and lean hips, the planes of his face, and what being under the gaze of his faintly amused eyes did to her.
It was one thing to be sitting beside him in a car and feel his presence like a body blow, she realised. It was one thing to have been kissed by him during their engagement—most chastely, she now realised. It was entirely another thing to have him focused squarely on her and kissing her with all that latent sexiness very much unleashed. Oh, yes, she thought a little wildly, this was another matter altogether.
‘This’ brought out the strangest thoughts in her. How glad, for example, she was to be wearing a minuscule but very fetching pair of white lace bikini briefs and a matching bra. How her skin would feel against the cream textured velvet of the couch when he undressed her; how hot, erotic and sexy she felt herself, so that the couch, the carpet, anywhere would be OK for him to make love to her, because she might die a little if he didn’t…
Then he slid his hand beneath the hem of her dress and stroked her thigh, and she made absolutely no protests of any kind—and the phone rang.
She thought he swore under his breath. She thought she made a husky little sound of sheer frustration, but in the next moment he’d released her and she was sitting very properly, with her hem tucked around her legs, while he went to answer the phone and the door.
‘The police,’ he said, coming back to her with his lips twisting to see she hadn’t moved a muscle. ‘I need to go down to the station but you don’t have to come. And you don’t have to worry about being alone. The apartment has been put under surveillance just to be on the safe side.’
Tattie licked her lips but found herself with nothing to say.
‘Why don’t you have a long shower and a rest?’ he suggested. ‘Or would you like me to call your mother or my mother?’
‘No! Uh…no, thank you.’ She tried to smile. ‘I’d rather not be fussed over at the moment.’
‘Tattie.’ He sat down beside her and put his arms loosely around her. ‘You look as if you’ve been in an earthquake, and I don’t mean physically, although there’s that too. But the fact that we both enjoyed that very much has got to help in our marriage, wouldn’t you agree?’
Her lips parted but again no sound came.
‘Anyway—’ he smiled faintly ‘—think about it. I’ll be as quick as I can. And I am going to call your mother and my parents—we can’t leave them to hear about it on the radio and I don’t think you should be alone.’
He waited until George, Irina and Natalie arrived. It didn’t take long for them to rush over. He suffered their concern—his mother thought he might need stitches in his arm—and admiration with a wry little smile.
And for a time after he’d gone Tattie was glad not to be alone. So she let them ply her with tea and cake and generally fuss over her, especially her mother, who kept folding Tattie in her arms. And she went through it all again with them, unaware of how her eyes shone as she described how magnificent Alex had been in her defence.
But all of a sudden she knew she had to be alone, and she told them she was going to have a sleep. It took some determination to persuade them—again, especially her mother—that she would be fine, but finally they left.
She took a bubble bath in the huge, raised marble bath that was fashioned in the shape of a shell in her en suite bathroom. The marble was champagne-coloured and all the towels, the soap and bottles were a soft jade-green. It was normally a most relaxing place but, even smothered in bubbles to her chin and with two fragrant candles burning as she soaked away the unusual events of the day, she felt far from relaxed.
Really, she thought, it was too much to be almost kidnapped then subjected to her husband at his dangerously sexy best—a first for her—all in the space of a few hours!
Was it any wonder she couldn’t think straight?
And was this why Leonie Falconer was determined to get Alex back? Because his dangerously sexy best was irresistible?
She looked at the pads of her fingers and discovered they were wrinkled. So she got out of the bath before she resembled a prune all over, but her thoughts continued like a string of pearls with synergy—one set of thoughts leading smoothly to the next. No, not smoothly, she contradicted herself, not synergy at all, really, but jumping about like fleas, with all sorts of possibilities for this turn of events presenting themselves…
How long had Alex deliberately deprived himself of his mistress, and did that have anything to do with him needing not necessarily her but any woman?
She would have to put it to him, she felt, although she quailed inwardly at the prospect. Because it was all very well to take these developments at face value, but what protection did that offer her against spending the rest of her life in love with him while he had a series of mistresses once he’d secured her, heirs for the dynasty and, of course, two cattle stations?
She dressed in a long fuchsia skirt, to hide her grazed knees, and a pale rose silky knit top. And, because she didn’t have anything else to do, she started to prepare dinner. It was a beautiful evening with the sun setting over Mandorah, so she set the glass table on the veranda—a yellow candle in a glass, frosted yellow wine glasses, and white Rosenthal china with ice-blue place mats and napkins. And her stir-fry beef with oriental rice and a salad was just about ready as Alex came home.
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