The Auction a Romance by Anna Erishkigal

by Anna Erishkigal

  Wrapped in tissue paper was a beautiful matching silk-and-velvet shawl with a dragonfly embroidered in golden thread. It felt deliciously luscious and soft as I tossed it around my shoulders and played with the long, rayon fringe decorated with thousands of tiny seed beads.

  "Pippa picked it out," Adam said. "I thought you might need it if it gets cooler tonight."

  "It's perfect." I rubbed the shawl against my cheek. "It reminds me of the one my Gitano grandmother likes to wear."

  Adam caught my arm and slid his hand down my wrist to touch the bracelet he'd given me just last night. Oh, how much had changed between then and now!

  "Would you like me to untie that for you?"

  I glanced down at my aboriginal bracelet. The black leather and handmade bone beads sat in sharp contrast to my pale flesh and champagne ball gown, a thing of wild, primitive beauty against the cultured silk of the dress.

  "I am who I am, Adam," I said. "I like the bracelet. If people don't like it, then they don't have to talk to me."

  He caressed the black leather lacings, but from the way the vulnerable look he'd been wearing disappeared, it was the right thing to say.

  We piled into the car and dropped Pippa off at Linda Hastings house, stopping long enough so Linda could snap a picture of the three of us standing in front of her hollyhocks. She gave me a conspiratorial wink, but thankfully abstained from calling it a 'date."

  We drove towards Toowoomba, only the local radio station droning on about the ball breaking the silence. I closed my eyes and inhaled the smell of leather upholstery blended with Creed Green Irish Tweed, filling the Mercedes with a pleasant, masculine, sandalwood-lemon aroma. At last Adam cleared his throat.

  "Rosie? I have another favor to ask of you."

  I turned towards him. Adam clenched the shifter, as though at any minute he might have to either slam on the breaks or speed up.

  "What?"

  "This will be the first time I've been out in public with a woman who is not my wife," he said softly. "The media … we're a long way from Brisbane, so I don't think the paparazzi will be there … but if anyone asks…"

  An odd sense of disappointment echoed in my gut.

  Not a date. He just wants to go to a dance with somebody whose company he enjoys…

  I reached out and touched the strong, masculine hand which clenched the car gear shifter as though he feared, at any moment, I might hit the eject button.

  "I will tell everyone you are my friend."

  A whole heap of emotions danced across Adam's face, but what he was thinking, I couldn't tell. His hand relaxed, and then he slid it out from underneath mine and rested it on top of both the shifter and my hand. Warmth permeated my skin, along with that pleasant tingle of electricity which whispered that Adam wanted to be a lot more than friends.

  "Adam? There's just one thing I have to know?"

  "What?" Adam's hand tightened its grip on mine.

  "Do you know how to dance?"

  Adam turned pink against his black tuxedo.

  "I'm, um, okay," Adam said. "As long as I stick to the one or two dances I know."

  I laughed.

  "You know what they say about a man who can dance?"

  "What?" Adam gave me a perplexed look.

  I cocked one eyebrow and gave him a cryptic smile.

  "Relax. This will be fun."

  Chapter 33

  I don't know what I'd been expecting, but it was not the red carpet which led up to the eloquent juxtaposition of a classical-style church, an art-deco era theatre, and the sleek glass-and-steel building which married the two in an eloquent complex that was, collectively, known as the Toowoomba Regional Arts and Community Center. A string of cars lined up Neil Street, patiently waiting their turn to step out of their cars so the string of television cameras could photograph the who's who of Darling Downs as they made their way up the red carpet to the ball.

  My heart raced to the tempo of the Mercedes engine idling beneath the hood as I had flashbacks of the horrific debutante balls my mother forced me to attend as a teenager.

  "Breathe, Rosie," Adam said. "It's just a walk, and then we'll be inside."

  "But they'll see us!"

  Adam's jaw twitched, but his eyes were sympathetic.

  "I know," Adam said. "There's no way you can go to these kinds of events and not be seen."

  My stomach clenched as the line of cars slid closer and closer to the curved driveway where a small army of valets took the keys and whisked the movers and shakers' vehicles away to unknown parking lots. Adam tightened his grip on my hand as though he feared I might open the door and bolt like a terrified mare out of a burning building.

  "I hate these kinds of things." My voice sounded strangled and small.

  "So do I," Adam said. "But they're a part of the world I move in."

  I glanced at his profile as he stared at the line of cameras, my eyes wide like a horse that had just spotted a pack of hungry dingos. Adam's jaw settled into a determined square that reminded me of the man on the painted stallion. After a year of waffling and licking his wounds, Adam had finally decided to declare his freedom from his ex-wife in a very public way.

  "Adam," I tried to pull my hand away. "We shouldn't do this."

  "I have a right to go to a dance with my friend."

  "M-maybe we should pull around the back?" I craned my head around, desperate to find an escape route. "We can park in the garage. And walk. See? There's some people who are walking right there."

  I pointed to a small group of perhaps three couples, laughing and smiling as they walked excitedly towards the arts complex wearing their attractive dresses and rented tuxedos. Their attire reminded me of the kinds of formalwear my mother bought for me when she'd dragged me to her wealthy friends' social events; cheap, off-the-rack knock-offs of the expensive designer gown I wore tonight.

  Oh, Adam, please! When you asked me to the ball I thought we'd be anonymous nobodies!

  I felt sick to my stomach as the red Jaguar XFR in front of us pulled up to the red carpet and a tuxedo-clad man got out, handed his car keys to a valet, and then hurried around to the passenger side to let out a leggy blonde wearing a stylish, designer red evening gown. It reminded me of the riding competitions where I'd trotted Harvey out in front of the spectators before I ran him through his paces, only in this competition, I wasn't even a contender! Light bulbs sparkled like shooting stars against the inky sky as the sophisticated-looking couple posed for the cameras and then answered questions for a television reporter. The car pulled away and Adam pulled up to the red carpet.

  The cameras all faced my side of the car...

  "Just relax." Adam squeezed my hand. "Don't answer any question which makes you feel uncomfortable. Just pose and smile, and then walk away without giving them an answer. That way, they can't fault you for being standoffish."

  His voice, I noticed, had lost all trace of the working-class, broad Aussie accent which peeked out every now and then at the safety of the station. This was the other Adam, the one that had spent the past decade hob-knobbing with oil sheiks and billionaires, preparing to run his new mount out in front of the spectators to be examined. I stared at the sophisticated stranger who sat beside me. Adam might not like being the center of attention, but when it was necessary, he knew how to behave.

  Adam stepped out of the car. The cameras flashed. He handed the valet his car keys, and then strolled around the front of his car towards the cameras like a male supermodel on the cover of GQ Australia and opened the passenger side door. He reached down to help me out. My eyes met his.

  "If I fall flat on my face and embarrass you, it will serve you right."

  Adam gave me a heart-melting grin.

  "My dear, sweet Rosamond. If you fall, I shall pick you up over my shoulder and carry you into the theatre in front of all the cameras, just like I did the day I threw you into the river."

  It was the right thing to say, because as I took his hand and rose to face the c
amera flashes of the barbarian hoard, my face lit up in a smile, thinking about my fake squeals of protest and the almost-kiss which maybe Adam might finally finish tonight? Adam held out his arm. I slid my hand onto his forearm, doing my best to walk eloquently in stilettos so there'd be no need to carry out his threat.

  "Mr. Bristow," one of the reporters shoved a microphone into his face. "Who's your date?"

  Adam smiled down at me, the same affectionate smile he gave Pippa whenever he was proud of her. It made my heart do an interesting little flip-flop.

  "That is the question everybody wants to know, isn't it?" he said.

  I swallowed.

  Adam turned to face the microphone with the practiced ease of someone who'd answered to the cameras hundreds of times.

  "I'm just the bloke who has the privilege of driving Cinderella to the ball."

  The reporters laughed and shoved the microphone in my face.

  Miss? Miss? What's your name? How do you know Adam Bristow? Are you and he an item? What can you tell us about his divorce from the Jackson Oil heiress?

  "Just smile," Adam spoke low. "And turn your good side to face the cameras."

  We posed.

  The cameras flashed.

  The reporters asked more questions, but Adam tugged at my arm.

  "C'mon," he said. "The next car just pulled up to the red carpet. They'll forget all about us as soon as the next person steps out."

  My heart pounded as we took the first few steps through the throng of reporters, but sure enough, Adam was right. Like a flash mob, the reporters turned to flock around the people in the car behind us like a swarm of locusts. Within moments, we were in the safety of the glass and steel lobby which married the two buildings together.

  "Ohmigod," I let out a breath. "That was…"

  Adam's laughter echoed in the glass-and-steel atrium. All my life my mother had tried to thrust herself into that kind of spotlight. If I never had to do that again, it would be too soon.

  "It gets easier," Adam said. "The first time I attended one of these events, I thought I would drop dead."

  He looked so sheepish that I couldn't help but forgive him. He'd made his declaration of independence, and now he was finished. The echo of the man on the painted stallion disappeared, replaced by the competent, quiet man who'd come to dominate my dreams. He did not, however, let go of my hand. If anything, he drew me closer. Adam didn't feel all that much more comfortable than I did. He'd just learned to deal with it because it was part of moving in Eva Jackson's world.

  It's -still- his world. It's just on a slightly less global scale…

  In the lobby, enormous posters of the outback depicted the harsh life out on the cattle stations and the wild, natural beauty of the high, dry plain which began at Toowoomba and petered out in the great, dead heart of Australia. Every poster contained an appeal to help the stationers hit hard by the drought, but it also spoke of hope, of drilling wells that would tap aquifers deep beneath the range and hauling in water, if necessary, to tide over the great herds. One of the pictures depicted a large cattle watering contraption, the cows sipping peacefully as a Queensland Gas & Coal rig drilled off in the distance. Everywhere I looked I saw Adam's company logo with the same subliminal message. When done properly, coal seam gas … and clean water … did not have to be mutually exclusive goals.

  Adam let out a harsh sigh. I glanced up and noticed a tall, leggy brunette wearing an eloquent blue evening gown and an even more determined expression made her way straight towards us. She was perhaps a year or two older than Adam, and while her dress was stunning, it was one of those 'off the rack' dresses I'd observed on the people in the street, something more in line with what I would have worn if Adam hadn't picked out my dress.

  "Another reporter?" I asked.

  "Worse," Adam said. "An environmentalist. She's been riling up the station holders to lock us out of their land."

  Over the past two months I'd captured bits and snippets about his father's feud against the gas and oil companies. I had not yet had a chance to tell Adam I'd found his father's deep-water spring, but I'd picked up enough gossip to glean that Adam danced around environmental issues just as cautiously as he danced around me.

  "Rosie," Adam said aloud. "I'd like you to meet Abigail McKenna. She owns a station upriver from us in Chinchilla."

  "Mr. Bristow," the woman said curtly with the light twang of the country. She looked to me as though she expected him to introduce us.

  "This is my friend, Rosamond Xalbadora," Adam said, using the formal spelling of my name. His arm stiffened beneath my hand, but while his expression was wary, it did not appear to be hostile.

  "Are you aware what your boyfriend does for work?" Abigail asked.

  I expected Adam to correct her, but he did not.

  "Adam is a geologist," I said. "He drills oil and gas wells."

  "Because of him," Abigail jabbed her finger at Adam, "the river beside my house is bubbling like a witch's cauldron! If you light a match, the water burns."

  I glanced at Adam. He wore a cloaked expression.

  "Rosie has no connection to my former employer," Adam said softly. "I understand you are angry, but please take it out on me. Not her."

  The woman wheeled to face Adam.

  "Then why do you just quash our subpoena? It's not enough that you quit! You have to testify there's a link!"

  Adam stiffened, but his expression was one of remorse.

  "I've done everything I can, Abigail," Adam said. "-If- you can convince the judge to let me speak publically, I will. But honestly, I don't know nearly as much as you think I know or I would have quit a lot sooner."

  Ahh… The lawsuit Maynor Jackson filed against him. It seems there's a lot more at stake than the fact he's angry at Adam for dumping his daughter and quitting…

  "Hey, Adam!" a strong, male voice boomed from across the lobby. "There ya' are, you bloody bastard. Ah thought you'd left me in the lurch."

  The biggest bear of a man I'd ever seen strolled towards us, dark-haired, narrow-hipped, with a chest like a Clydesdale and the neck of a bull. While his suit was custom tailored, the way he walked, and the manner of his speech, spoke of a man who'd made his money the old-fashioned way, through hard, brute physical labor.

  Adam grinned.

  "Ah right chance that be, mate," Adam spoke in an unabashed broad country accent. "An' turn down the chance to be seen escortin' two of the prettiest Sheilahs in Queensland?"

  Abigail McKenna shot Adam a dirty look, but by the way she smoothed down a crease in the front of her dress, she wasn't that upset.

  "Randy," Abigail said curtly.

  "Alo, Miss McKenna. You be a fine sight to be lookin' at tonight. Ey?"

  "Meet Randy Evans, my boss." Adam grasped Randy by the hand and slapped him affectionately on the back.

  "An' that would make you Rosamond, oy?" Randy gave me an exaggerated look up and down, but I noticed his eyes didn't linger at my cleavage, but darted over to Adam's blue-gown clad nemesis. "Ay, yer be right, Adam. She be a looker alright." He shook my hand. "Ah keep hearing good things about yer, Miss Rosamond. Real good things. Yer think maybe you could ditch this bloody bogan later and give a poor bloke a dance?"

  Randy winked at me.

  Adam laughed and wrapped his arm possessively around my waist.

  "Ah think right not, mate. Find your own bloody dance partner. This Sheila, she belongs to me."

  A small thrill of excitement rippled through me from the place his hand touched me all the way down to my toes. I shoved down my elation. This was just two male friends doing that guy-thing. Adam wasn't really interested in me.

  Randy turned to Abigail. This time, I noticed, his frank appraisal was real.

  "Would ya do me the honor of accompanying me into the hall to make a speech?" He held out his arm.

  "You're a wildcatter," Abigail said.

  "And you remind me to stop and smell the flowers," Randy said. His broad country accent suddenly
disappeared.

  Abigail's nose rose in a disdainful sniff, but she took Randy Evan's arm anyways. Randy shot us a grin.

  "I'll be lookin' for that dance later, Miss Rosamond!" Randy said. "That's iffin the lovely Miss McKenna can bear to leave my side."

  "Hardly," Abigail McKenna said.

  They strolled into the theatre proper, engaged in an animated, not-too-serious bicker. I noted the way Adam suddenly relaxed.

  "That was … interesting," I said.

  "Those two usually are," Adam said.

  "You mean they do that all the time?"

  "Oh, I wouldn't say all the time," Adam said. He glanced after their retreating form. "Let's just say she is the reason I still have a job, despite Maynor Jackson's best efforts to get me fired."

  "Oh." What else could I say? That that was the screwiest darned thing I'd ever heard? Even if I did ask, I had the feeling it was one of those topics that would make Adam clam up and change the subject.

  "So? What now?"

  "Now we get to listen to Randy and a bunch of other windbags make speeches about hauling water to the cattle, and then we'll eat."

  The Empire Theatre normally seated 1,500 people, but as we walked into the proscenium, I noticed dozens of round banquet tables set up on the stage. People filed in and sat down in the red stadium-style seats in front of the stage, but Adam led me down a side aisle to climb up the steps which led up to the magnificent gilded arch.

  "We're on stage!" I said.

  "I think that's the general idea."

  I glanced around. Perhaps 350 people sat at the tables where the benefactors who'd donated large sums of money got to show off their generosity to the public. Adam led me to the table right behind the podium and pulled out my chair.

  "Everybody can see us," I whispered.

  Adam's jaw hardened in that stubborn gesture he'd inherited from his father.

  "Tonight I want to be seen. And I want to be seen with you."

  I sat and he pushed in my chair, and then sat down eloquently in his own chair right next to mine. The other tall poppies took their seats at the other tables. I glanced at the program. After a speech, the people in the audience would break apart into other rooms where everybody would be fed, but these were the 'golden circle' tables. I wondered how much money Adam had donated to get tonight's seats?