by Margaret Way
‘No!’ Her breath shuddered. ‘It’s like Carrie always says—I have too much imagination.’
‘I’ll check all the same,’ he said.
‘Be careful.’ Vivid imagination or not, she was certain her internal radar had picked up some signal. Her heart beating hard, she waited for Bryn to return.
‘Nothing,’ he said, but he was not absolutely sure she hadn’t picked up something. Francesca, even as a child, had had an extra sense.
They were back in the house. He checked all the doors on the ground floor, making it appear like a normal nightly ritual. No unauthorised person had ever dared invade the Forsyth privacy. No member of staff would arrive at the homestead unannounced. The men were all known to him, with the exception of the new guy, the big, burly Vance Bormann. He had questioned Roy Forster about the new arrival, but Roy had assured him Bormann checked out. Maybe it had been Gulla Nolan’s ghost hanging around? There were many legends woven around Gulla. Maybe he was keeping an eye on the place?
‘All right to go to bed,’ he said, turning to face her. It wasn’t meant as a question—though God knew he wanted it to be. Her beautiful eyes were like saucers, the black pupils enlarged. ‘I’ll take the bedroom opposite instead of down the hall, if you’re nervous.’
‘I’m not nervous with you here,’ she said gratefully. ‘That’s if you’re not too far away. I’ve never felt unsafe on Daramba before.’
Her tension was infectious. He felt a vague unease himself. Not that any trespasser on Daramba, let alone the homestead, wouldn’t quickly see the error of his ways. The weapons in the gun room were kept under lock and key, but he knew where the key was and he was a crack shot. In a world gone mad, with violence escalating at a frightening rate, he’d had to confront the spectre of kidnap himself. It was always a possibility, but he thanked God he lived in a country where such things didn’t happen. No one attacked giants of industry. His grandfather and Sir Francis had walked everywhere free as air. Their womenfolk and their offspring had also taken their safety completely for granted. But times had changed.
They were walking up the staircase together when Francesca, oddly off balance, surprised him with a question. ‘Why did you tell Carina we were coming here this weekend?’
On edge himself, his answer was short and clipped. ‘You’re priceless—really.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I’ve no time for all this nonsense about Carina.’
They had reached the gallery and he moved along it swiftly, a panther without its leash, so she had to increase her pace. He wanted to reach out for her. Hold her. His desire for her was pouring off him. Yet she chose to speak about Carina when all he wanted was to brush all thoughts of Carina aside.
‘Well?’ She caught his arm, feeling a stab of panic at the glitter in his eyes.
He swung about. ‘What is it you want me to say?’
‘God knows!’ She dropped her hand, feeling confused and suddenly terribly lonely. ‘I was a little hurt, that’s all.’
‘You mean you continue to believe everything she tells you?’ He knew he was getting angrier by the moment, but for once he couldn’t seem to get control. He moved off again, opening the door of the bedroom opposite hers. Unlike the one he usually occupied on his visits it wasn’t made up, but who the hell cared? He wouldn’t be getting any sleep.
‘Don’t be like this, Bryn,’ she pleaded, coming to stand, shimmering, within the frame of the door, tormenting him. Water nymphs didn’t have a heart. Yet hadn’t he taken her small breast in his hand? Felt the heart beat?
‘Ah, give me a break!’ he responded. ‘Are we ever going to be free of bloody Carina? She’s fed you so much misinformation and downright lies since you were a child you don’t seem able to see through her.’
‘Are you saying you didn’t tell her?’
‘I’m not saying anything,’ he said. ‘If I can’t get through to you by now I ought to give up trying.’
She moved a little further into the room. ‘Okay, then, she was lying. She said you made the first move. You rang her. It was then you told her we were coming here for the weekend.’
‘There you go! It must be true.’ If she came any nearer he really would lose it.
She paused at the brilliant glitter in his eyes. ‘Bryn…please, Bryn…’
‘Don’t you dare cry. Don’t do this!’
His eyes blazed at her. Her tears goaded him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m a fool. Carrie gets so many hooks into me they not only pierce my skin they drag me down. You must hate me at times.’
‘Oh, yes—hate!’ He was so wound up his tone could have stripped the skin from her. But the pressure inside him was building at a tremendous rate. A part of his brain told him not to frighten her—his job was to protect her, not to take what she couldn’t give—but her beauty was all around him, scenting the very air. It stripped him of all resistance.
He thought she began a little glide towards him. Surely she did? He was almost gone.
‘Francey!’ he groaned. ‘Lord, girl, don’t you know how much I want you? I can’t keep this up any more.’
He couldn’t look like that, speak like that, unless he meant it. There was an ache in his voice; the worst kind of pain. He was begging her to be true to herself. She extended her slender arm so her fingertips, light and soft as silk, were just brushing his face.
They burned him like a brand. He tensed, every rippling muscle in his body knotting.
‘I was betrayed, Bryn,’ she whispered. ‘You were betrayed…I—’
Frantic now, feeling the throbbing hardness in his body, he pulled her forcibly to him, his head swimming with sexual excitement and his need so intense he turned her in an instant to being utterly pliant in his arms. ‘Don’t…don’t talk, Francey. I can’t wait for you any longer.’
Her heart banged against her ribs. He was so strong she felt physically helpless, yet her instinct told her he would never hurt her. ‘Then don’t wait!’ she cried. She was able to bring up her hands, locking them around his neck, her hips consciously working themselves against his highly aroused body. ‘I can’t wait either.’ She put everything she felt for him into her emotion-charged admission.
Briefly she had a glimpse of the change that came over him. The anger disappeared, to be replaced by male exultation in all its forms. His physical power, considerable at any time, had increased. Much taller than she, now he seemed to tower over her, A fierce not-to-be-denied hunger glowed out of his dark, glittering eyes.
Holding her beautiful mouth with his, Bryn lifted her in one smooth, effortless movement, as though her slender body was weightless, and carried her across the hallway to her bedroom opposite…
CHAPTER SEVEN
JUST on a week later, they all sat in Francesca’s office in serious discussion. Francesca had abandoned her position behind her grandfather’s massive desk in favour of a comfortable armchair between Elizabeth and Annette.
‘Ah—here’s coffee!’ she said a little time later, looking towards the door.
Valerie Scott, having tapped on the door, now came in, pushing a trolley bearing a silver tray set with a sterling silver coffee service and the finest English bone china. The wonderful aroma was of coffee freshly made, not from any machine. That would have been out of the question. A three-tiered cakestand held delicate sandwiches and a selection of cup cakes, beautifully decorated.
Francesca held up a hand, smiling at the woman who was proving an unobtrusive but very efficient staff member. ‘Thank you, Valerie. This looks lovely.’
‘I hope you enjoy it.’ Valerie returned the smile, which embraced the two very elegant seated ladies, both of whom she knew—as she knew all the families. Mrs Elizabeth Forsyth and Mrs Annette Macallan. If privately she was wondering what they were doing here, she gave not the slightest sign. Valerie knew the late Sir Francis had taken Elizabeth Forsyth’s departure from the family very badly indeed. She knew Elizabeth had not been a beneficiar
y of Sir Francis’s will. She also knew the Macallan women loathed her late ex-lover. So here they were all together, Francesca, Annette and Elizabeth, obviously in perfect harmony.
Or they thought they were. Valerie Scott withdrew quietly, shutting the door.
‘I’m a bit surprised you’ve kept her on, Francey,’ Elizabeth said after a moment, a vaguely worried frown between her brows. ‘You know she was—’
‘Yes.’ Francesca headed Elizabeth off. ‘Actually, it’s working out quite well. She’s efficient, and very discreet.’
‘Really?’ Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, a droll expression on her face. ‘She didn’t exactly keep a low profile with my dear father-in-law.’
Annette swallowed a laugh.
‘She’s on her own, Elizabeth,’ Francesca explained. ‘No husband to support her. I didn’t have the heart to move her on.’
‘God forbid she’d be left to sell real estate, like another ex-member of Frank’s club,’ Elizabeth said.
‘Not Sally McGuiness?’ Annette stared at her friend in mild shock.
‘So I’ve been told,’ Elizabeth answered breezily. ‘But Sally is a happy-go-lucky kind of girl. She’ll be okay.’
‘Grandfather didn’t leave either of them a razoo, for all their grand affairs,’ Fra.ncesca said, thinking that wasn’t quite fair.
‘The word is he gave Valerie more than enough when he was alive,’ Elizabeth, the irrepressible, revealed. ‘Anyway, let’s forget Valerie. But I wouldn’t trust her with too much, Francey,’ she warned. ‘Remember she was sleeping with the enemy.’
‘Name me someone he didn’t sleep with,’ Annette broke in, uncharacteristically waspish. She rose to her smartly shod feet, a beautiful woman, dark-haired, dark-eyed, still retaining her girlish figure even though she had taken a back seat in life. ‘I’ll be mother.’ She started to pour the coffee. ‘Have you spoken to anyone else about this, Francey? Outside of Bryn, that is?’
‘No one,’ Francesca confirmed. ‘I take it neither of you are opposed to the idea? I do so want you aboard.’
‘I’m in,’ Elizabeth cried in jolly fashion, accepting her exquisite cup and saucer from her lifelong friend. ‘Thanks, dear. I’ll enjoy it. It’s rather thrilling being a defector. A bit like Nureyev. You’re not going to let us down are you, Annie?’
Annette suddenly looked nervous, sinking her teeth in her bottom lip. ‘I don’t know if I could pull my weight.’ Carefully she placed a sandwich and a cup cake on each plate. ‘I would hate to let you down, Francey. I’ve been so out of everything. Rather like a woman in a coma.’
‘Time now to break out of it, love,’ Elizabeth told her friend firmly. ‘You’re highly intelligent and you’re utterly trustworthy. Francey needs people like us around her. That’s why she’s asked. It saddens me to say it, but you can bet your life my daughter, who doesn’t wish to have anything to do with me, would like nothing better than to see Francey come a cropper. Not that it’s likely to happen. I’ve had my ear to the ground, Francey, and the word is you’re turning out trumps. Lady Macallan is still a real powerhouse. She can handle the Macallan side of things on her own. Francey and I need you here, Annie. Don’t we, Francey?’
‘It would make me feel so much more secure.’ Francesca turned to Annette with an encouraging smile. ‘The whole place is regularly swept for bugs—courtesy of the age we live in—but I still don’t have a clue how Carrie found out Bryn and I were flying to Daramba last weekend. She told me it was Bryn.’
‘She wanted to upset and confuse you,’ Annette said, her expression showing a flicker of anger. ‘I don’t like to speak ill of anyone—’ Annette reached out to pat Elizabeth’s hand tenderly ‘—but if I were you, Francey, I’d take everything Carrie says from now on, especially in relation to Bryn, with a pinch of salt. We all know how she feels about him.’
Elizabeth sighed deeply. ‘My daughter has never in her life been thwarted. Her grandfather and her father spoilt her terribly. Both of them rode roughshod over me. Charles has actually admitted it.’
‘Really?’ Annette asked quickly, rounding on her friend.
‘A whole new Charles has emerged since his father died,’ Elizabeth told them, going a little pink. ‘I think he’s trying to get back with me.’
‘Are you going to let him?’ Annette didn’t look at all happy about that eventuality.
‘We’ll see!’ Mischief shimmered out of Elizabeth’s fine grey eyes. ‘Charles was a different man in the early years, you know. It was later, after we lost Lionel when he began to turn into a control freak like Frank. Simply copied him. Though it was the way to go. The only one exempt was Carrie, who really needed a firm hand. Free of his father’s dominance, and with Bryn taking over the reins at Titan, Charles isn’t under tremendous stress every second. He’s much better suited to being supportive.’
‘Well, he has a way to go before he’ll win me over, Liz,’ Annette said with asperity. ‘They gave you a bad time.’
‘I know. I know. But it will never happen again!’ Elizabeth stoutly raised her coffee cup. ‘Of that you can be sure.’ She took a long, appreciative sip. ‘This coffee is very good. But for now, Annie, we’ve got to concentrate on helping Francey out. What d’you think?’ She spoke briskly, having lived a long time with her friend’s reluctance to participate in most endeavours. ‘We need an answer, my girl. That means today!’
Annette buried her small nose in her own coffee cup. Then slowly she raised her head, her flashing smile lifting ten years off her. ‘If you really want me, the answer is yes!’
‘Let’s get Valerie back in with a bottle of champagne,’ Elizabeth suggested, full of cheer. She’d had serious reservations about Annette committing when Francesca had first spoken to her of her intentions. They both knew Annette had been letting the days of her life drift away, with time running out. It was enormously heartening to see that beautiful, flashing smile that her son had inherited along with her midnight-dark eyes. With any luck at all, Annette was back!
It was enough to move those who loved her to tears.
Francesca lost no time contacting the highly regarded landscape designer Gordon Carstairs. Lady Macallan had suggested him, and had probably swung the deal as she’d spoken to the designer directly. Carstairs had extensive experience, having worked on large estates in the United Kingdom as well as France, Italy, Austria and Greece. His home bases were London and Sydney. He had just returned from creating from scratch a very large private garden in Sri Lanka, so Francesca was able to approach him at a period when he was blessedly free. At least for a time.
They met several times, over lunch and at the office. Carstairs, in his mid-fifties, was a fine-looking man with a striking head of pewter-grey hair. A six footer, he was very lean and strong, with great ease and a charm of manner which must have worked well with his international clients. He and Francesca got on extremely well, having similar tastes. They soon decided on a date to fly out to Daramba, so Gordon could make a detailed study of the site which, as Francesca had explained to him was ‘relatively leafless’. The date was set for the end of the month, which gave them ten days.
Francesca was right in the thick of foundation business, but she quickly found her job was made easier by having Elizabeth and Annette on board. The two women, close friends and on the same wavelength, consequently worked very well together, sometimes in tandem, depending on circumstance. Best of all, they shared a fierce commitment to Francey and an intense dedication—qualities that worked extremely well for Francey and the Forsyth Foundation. At the end of the day Elizabeth and Annette, being who they were, knew everyone who was anyone, and everyone knew them.
The big surprise was Annette. She had taken no time at all to break out of her shell. Once she had even joined Francesca and Gordon over lunch, blossoming in their company and asking Gordon a good many pertinent questions. She had been far more animated than Francesca had ever seen her. Indeed, although Francesca had made no comment to anyone, including Bryn, it seeme
d to her that Annette and Gordon had not only clicked, they had been instantly attracted to each other.
Annette had mourned her late husband for many years. Without a word being spoken, society had accepted that Annette Macallan would never remarry. No one could take her husband’s place. No one had the temerity to try. It was as though she had died with him. All over! Such a waste! Her meeting with Gordon Carstairs had opened up a whole new frontier. Gordon was free. An early marriage had failed—with no children—although he told them he was still good friends with his ex-wife, who had since remarried.
Much, much too early to say, but Francesca had her hopes. Life flowed on like a river. Time now for Annette to be happy again.
Early evening, when the deep blue sky was lightening to mauve, Bryn let himself in to Francesca’s apartment. He had his own key. Although he spoke to her on a daily basis, and again last thing at night, it wasn’t enough since their weekend at Daramba.
As Titan’s new CEO—it had caused scarcely a ripple on the stock market and in the business world—he had begun initiating many changes, holding meeting after meeting. Not all of them had gone smoothly. But he had fully expected that. He was still explaining to the new people he had put in place precisely what he wanted. It was a hands-on affair, an all out effort, so he could be sure his new policies would not only be thoroughly understood, but implemented a.s.a.p. There never seemed to be enough time.
He was also part—‘an important part’, as the Premier of the State had stressed—of a trade delegation leaving for China in two days’ time. China was their major trading partner. He only wished that like his country’s Prime Minister he was fluent in Mandarin.
He had a romantic evening planned. A very special night! They weren’t going out to dinner. Both of them wanted to stay at home. Francey had assured him she was already stocked up. Not that he cared so much about dinner. It was Francey he was hungry for. Every minute they spent with each other was precious. They didn’t want anyone else around.