The Australian's Housekeeper Bride

by Armstrong, Lindsay

  ‘The wicked stepmother no less?’ Andrea shot back. ‘Yes, that’s me.’

  ‘I—didn’t mean that at all,’ Rhiannon disclaimed. ‘I mean to say, all I know is that you married Ross Richardson but most people probably know that.’ She looked quizzical for a moment.

  ‘Then you either haven’t been here long enough to hear otherwise or they’ve been unusually discreet.’ Andrea Richardson shook out her hair. ‘They—make that particularly Lee—regard me as a fortune huntress who preyed upon their father and trampled the sacred memory of their mother.’

  Rhiannon stared at her with her lips parted. ‘I—uh—I don’t know anything about that. Anyway, it has nothing to do with me, I’m just here to do a job.’

  ‘Well, don’t be surprised if you’re shortly taking your orders from me, Miss Fairfax. Please do excuse me now.’

  And she stalked away with a hip-swinging walk that contrived to be provocative even though it was so angry.

  Rhiannon found Lee Richardson in the library.

  She looked longingly at the book-lined walls for a moment then advanced across the red Turkish rug towards the desk. French windows opened on to a side-veranda and the perfume of jasmine wafted in. One end of the room held a comfortable settee and armchair covered in mint-green crushed velvet, as well as a writing table.

  The desk at the other end of the room, where Lee was working, was much bigger and held some impressive computer equipment.

  She stopped in front of it and sniffed. There was another perfume on the air and overlaying the jasmine. A perfume she knew because she had used to wear it herself. The same perfume Andrea Richardson had been wearing, now she came to think of it.

  So, putting two and two together, had an angry confrontation between Lee and Andrea Richardson just taken place in the library? One could be forgiven for thinking so, Rhiannon reasoned and suddenly remembered Sharon’s comments about the shenanigans of yesterday, not to mention this morning…

  She decided the matter in the affirmative when Lee looked up.

  He did not look to be in a good mood. His eyes were hard, his face was set in uncompromising lines.

  ‘Mr Richardson, I’m sorry to disturb you—’

  ‘Call me Lee, Rhiannon, and have a seat. You look like the bearer of ill-tidings. Don’t tell me your confidence of yesterday at the airport was misplaced?’

  It had happened to her before and it happened to her again. One moment she found herself feeling—how to put it?—in charity with this man, the next, he said or did something that made her feel as if she’d had a door slammed in her face. But that was ridiculous she assured herself angrily, and sat down.

  ‘I’ve just been given to understand that a conflict of interest may have arisen,’ she said precisely

  He frowned. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘I’ve just met your—stepmother. She led me to believe she might be the one to be in charge.’

  She saw his teeth clench and a look of supreme irritation chase through his eyes but he only said one word, a lethally cold one, all the same. ‘No.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Rhiannon,’ he overrode her, ‘what I say goes and that’s all there is to it.’

  ‘But if she lives here it could make things awkward for me, I mean—’

  ‘She does not live here.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure—’ She broke off and bit her lip as he swore softly. ‘OK.

  Um—what you obviously believed was going to be a…refined buffet dinner for thirty people may not be that at all and not only number-wise.’ And she passed on Sharon’s news, including the DJ.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Lee Richardson swore quite audibly this time.

  ‘That may not be such a bad idea,’ Rhiannon murmured. ‘To keep them entertained.’

  He stared at her broodingly.

  ‘I believe she’s only twenty-two, your sister-in-law,’ Rhiannon said.

  ‘That’s—what? A whole four years younger than you?’

  Rhiannon shrugged. ‘She can’t help it if she hasn’t had some tough times yet.

  She also,’ she hesitated, ‘well, apparently she doesn’t like it up here.’ She stopped awkwardly.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘No, it’s nothing to do with me. Look, I’ve really got an awful lot to—’

  ‘You wondered what she’s doing stuck up here?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Rhiannon confessed.

  ‘It suits me to have someone legitimate in residence,’ he said thoughtfully.

  ‘And, since you’re bound to work this out for yourself, Mary and my brother need something real to settle them into marriage rather than the erratic course Mary had in mind.’

  ‘Erratic?’ Rhiannon stared at him.

  ‘She wanted to live in Brisbane or on the coast and continue her career.’

  ‘I hesitate to say this but most women have that ambition in regard to their careers these days.’

  They exchanged glances, hers combative, his amused.

  He said, ‘Before you label me a male chauvinist, I agree that’s the way it is these days but—’

  ‘You don’t have to approve, you were going to say?’ she interrupted tartly.

  ‘That’s almost the same thing.’

  ‘Don’t put words into my mouth, Rhiannon,’ he advised coolly. ‘I was going to say that, if Mary had wanted to continue her career and her particular lifestyle, she should have at least taken into consideration Matt’s side of the story before she married him.’

  ‘Which is?’ Rhiannon raised a cool eyebrow at him.

  ‘A lot of responsibility and a heavy workload.’

  ‘Could he not handle that from a milieu she’s more at home in, though?’ Rhiannon queried.

  ‘Yes, possibly he could, but after he’s taken six months off to take her around the world on an extended, expensive honeymoon by anyone’s standards, wouldn’t you consider that some time spent living where he wants to live and showing some interest in the Richardson side of things would be appropriate?’

  Rhiannon rubbed the bridge of her nose.

  ‘She is also pregnant,’ he murmured.

  Rhiannon heaved a sigh. ‘Maybe you’re right—in theory. But theories don’t always work with living, breathing people and I’m just relieved—’ she smiled ruefully ‘—it’s not my problem.’ She gestured a little helplessly.

  ‘You wouldn’t have that problem yourself?’

  She frowned. ‘What problem?’

  ‘You wouldn’t find living at Southall a penance?’

  ‘A penance?’ She looked at him as if he were mad. ‘The opposite, if anything.’ She stood up. ‘Be that as it may, about the party.’

  He sat up. ‘Yes. About the party. I’m sure your thoughts on the subject are invaluable, Rhiannon.’

  She grimaced, then reminded herself she had a job to do, and do it to the best of her ability she would.

  ‘Well, I’ve got the food under control. Most of it can be prepared this afternoon, so it only needs heating up tomorrow. But rather than using the dining room I suggest we use the east veranda. It’s big enough to dance on and house the DJ.’

  ‘True. We also have some standard gas heaters to warm it up if necessary.’

  ‘Oh, good! And Sharon has told me she’s got two extra pairs of hands for tomorrow to help in the kitchen. But what may be a problem with so many people is the lack of waiters. I haven’t worked out how to handle that.’

  ‘Uh—Cliff used to double as a waiter sometimes for my mother. He also used to set things up, tables and so on, for outside parties. I’m sure he’d be happy to do the same for you. And he has a friend he used to rope in—I’ll organise that.

  As a matter of fact, I agree to it all on one condition.’

  ‘What’s that?’ She looked at him abstractedly, her mind on the million things she had to do.

  ‘That you come to the party as a guest rather than lurking behind the scenes.’

  This time she n
ot only looked it but also said it as her gaze snapped back into focus. ‘You must be mad!’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I won’t have a moment to spare!’

  ‘You will have staff,’ he pointed out. ‘You’ve just told me about Sharon’s

  arrangements and that most of the cooking will be done earlier.’

  ‘Mr Richardson—Lee, I don’t want to do this!’

  He shrugged. ‘Then we’ll call it off.’

  ‘The party?’

  ‘What else?’ he enquired drily.

  She stared at him, totally nonplussed and with the distinct impression she’d run into a brick wall. It also caused her to wonder how secure the rest of this assignment would be if she tried to dig in her heels but she made one last despairing effort.

  ‘I don’t have anything to wear!’

  ‘Thus work the minds of women,’ he murmured and Rhiannon could have killed herself for making such a feeble objection. ‘I’m sure Mary could help out,’ he added.

  ‘No, don’t do that! I…this…why?’ she asked intently.

  ‘I feel your influence will be better exerted from the front line rather than behind the scenes.’

  ‘You make me feel like a sergeant major!’ she said resentfully.

  ‘Ah, but much better looking,’ he said. ‘No, don’t take it the wrong way. It is part of your job description, after all.’ He paused and summed her up from head to toe.

  She’d discarded her blue waistcoat and she looked young and slim but capable and brimming with vitality. You just knew, he reflected, that you were in good hands even if she stayed behind the scenes tomorrow night. So why was he doing this?

  ‘Scared, Rhiannon?’ he asked as the answer to his question articulated itself, or started to.

  ‘Scared? What do you mean?’ She looked baffled.

  ‘That you might not be able to maintain your absolute indifference to me in a partying mode?’

  The colour started at the base of her throat. She clenched her fists but it mounted all the same to stain her cheeks pink. She pushed her hair behind her ear almost savagely but her cheeks still burned and she appeared to be lost for words.

  ‘I just wondered, you see,’ he continued softly, ‘if we didn’t strike sparks off each other when we first met this morning. Well, amend that.’ The ghost of a smile touched his eyes. ‘I know you struck a certain chord with me.’

  Rhiannon felt herself go from hot to cold then back again. She swallowed. She knew that never in a million years would she admit to the undoubted frisson he’d produced in her this morning.

  But denying it could be another matter. Would he believe her? Had she given herself away in those few moments of confusion? She’d certainly got the feeling at the time that she had. How had it happened to her anyway? It was four years ago since she’d first been affected by this man.

  ‘Ms Fairfax?’ He interrupted her chaotic thoughts gravely.

  She took hold and swept him with a look of scorn out of her sparkling brown eyes that was meant to tell him she had no intention of playing word games—or cat-and-mouse games, come to that—with him. She would simply ignore the issue.

  ‘Well, it’s up to you,’ she said coolly and shrugged as if it was all a storm in a teacup anyway. ‘You’re the boss. Now I really do need to get to work.’

  She swung on her heel and marched towards the door.

  ‘Isn’t that a little less than honest and upfront, Rhiannon?’ he queried.

  She stopped and, after a moment, turned back.

  ‘Mr Richardson, I don’t care what men think of me, with good reason, believe me.

  So if you want to change your mind, you’re welcome to; it really doesn’t matter one way or the other to me.’

  Their gazes clashed and held, his was entirely inscrutable, hers was defiant.

  ‘No, I won’t change my mind.’ That inscrutable gaze skimmed her figure and he added, ‘I don’t mind jeans on women in general but on you it’s criminal to hide such a marvellous pair of legs.’

  She took a sharp breath. ‘You’re wasting your time, you know,’ she warned through her teeth.

  ‘I’ll reserve judgement on that. Please don’t let me detain you, Rhiannon.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Especially since—if looks could kill I’d be six feet under now.’

  ‘I wish you were!’ she retorted then bit her lip and stalked out of the room.

  Lee Richardson watched her go with a quizzical expression. Then he sobered and once again asked himself what on earth he thought he was doing.

  Chapter 3

  ‘“Food, glorious food!”‘ Sharon sang from the musical Oliver in a clear, high soprano.

  She was an enthusiastic member of the local operatic society, Rhiannon had learnt in the hours they’d worked together.

  She also put her height and lean, rangy build to good use on the basketball court.

  And she was nice. Sharon confessed to Rhiannon that she desperately needed the kind of input Margaret Richardson had given her now Southall was to be lived in again.

  ‘She always knew what to serve, she always did the flowers herself and decorated the tables, and the cleaning staff really cleaned while she was around. I don’t seem to have the same effect on them and neither does Mary,’ she’d confided ruefully to Rhiannon.

  Rhiannon had told her warmly that she’d done a great job nevertheless. And she’d opened her mouth to ask Sharon about Andrea Richardson, who seemed to have disappeared along with the yellow Lamborghini, but changed her mind.

  Then they’d started talking food, found they were kindred spirits and they’d set to work in great harmony.

  Sharon had dug out six big copper-based silver-lidded food warmers that operated on spirit lamps set into the base below them. They were old-fashioned perhaps but effective and stylish.

  What had prompted Sharon to burst into song was the fact that their efforts were all but complete and a marvellous array of dishes stood on counters and the kitchen table, all set to be refrigerated overnight when they’d cooled down then warmed in the copper-based servers tomorrow.

  From a previous job in the state, Rhiannon had discovered that Queenslanders really loved their seafood, and there was an abundance of it to choose from. The local shops had yielded a bonanza.

  Rhiannon had made a seafood casserole containing crab and Moreton Bay bug meat with fresh asparagus in a cream, herb and brandy sauce that smelled divine, and tomorrow she intended to assemble platters heaped with fresh peeled prawns and oysters, with bowls of lemon wedges and tangy dipping sauces.

  There were two large legs of ham that had been scored and pricked with cloves, all set to be basted with brown sugar and pineapple juice as they cooked tomorrow.

  Sharon had cooked three different rice dishes that only needed to be heated up in the microwave to be fluffy and perfect. She’d also concocted a chicken and Marsala casserole, as well as a beef and black-bean sauce one with Asian crisp vegetables. Rhiannon had made a potato frittata and tomorrow she would put Cliff’s fresh produce to good use as promised in a cauliflower au gratin dish, several salads and a ratatouille.

  And between them they’d baked four pavlovas to be heaped with strawberries and served with cream and ice cream for dessert.

  ‘There.’ Rhiannon stood back and looped her hair behind her ear. ‘Most of it only needs to be heated up just before you set it out, then we can keep it warm in the servers. Really, apart from the prawns and the vegetable and salad dishes, all that needs to be done just before time is the fried chicken legs so they’re nice and crispy, and carving the ham as well as buttering the rolls.

  We’ve done well!’ she added with a grin at Sharon.

  She’d already explained to Sharon that she wouldn’t be much help in the kitchen but she’d pop in as frequently as she could.

  ‘We sure have. Just one thing—what about snacks?’ Sharon replied. ‘Peanuts and so on.’

  ‘No snacks,’ Rhiannon said. ‘It’s so easy to fill u
p on nuts and things so that you’re not hungry for anything else that will soak up…’ She paused.

  ‘The alcohol? Too true.’ Sharon agreed.

  ‘OK.’ Rhiannon untied her apron and glanced at her watch. It was five o’clock.

  ‘Thanks, Sharon. Off you go and have a pleasant evening! I’ll see you tomorrow—don’t worry about being early, it’s going to be a long day. Who looks after your child, incidentally, when you’re working?’

  ‘My mother, so it’s no problem. Um—are you going to cook Lee’s dinner? He’s a big steak fan and—’

  ‘Actually, Lee has other ideas,’ Lee himself said as he strolled into the kitchen, ‘but I just wanted to give you this, Sharon, a small token of my appreciation of all your efforts, plus a little something for your mum.’ He slipped an envelope into Sharon’s hand.

  ‘Oh, you didn’t have to do that!’ Sharon looked all flustered.

  ‘Yes I did.’ He closed her hand over the envelope then gave her a little push towards the back door.

  ‘That was nice of you,’ Rhiannon approved once the door had closed on Sharon. ‘I would definitely recommend keeping her on. So, I take it you’re going out and don’t need dinner here?’

  ‘We are going out.’

  ‘We? Who’s we?’

  He looked around quizzically. ‘There’s only you and me left, Rhiannon, so it has to be us.’

  ‘But I don’t want to go out and you haven’t asked me!’ she protested.

  ‘Then I’ll ask you now, not that I intend to take no for an answer. Come and have dinner with me in the village, Ms Fairfax. For one good reason, I can’t imagine anyone who’s done as much cooking as you have today being remotely interested in more; and for another, I’d like to be assured you don’t still wish me dead.’

  Rhiannon ground her teeth. ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘Wishing I were six feet under has to be the same thing,’ he said gravely.

  ‘You were the one…’ She broke off. ‘All right, I may have—’

  ‘You did.’

  ‘I didn’t really mean it. Satisfied?’ She eyed him.

  ‘Not unless you have dinner with me.’ He’d propped himself against a kitchen counter with his arms folded.