Mistaken Mistress

by Margaret Way

  “You’re not pregnant, are you?” God, he didn’t think he could live with that.

  “I find that unforgivable.” She had never done anything illicit in her life. Owen was her father, for God’s sake. What code had Owen bound her to she couldn’t say it? Both her mother and her father were good at keeping secrets she’d found. She wasn’t going to relive history. Tomorrow when Owen was a little stronger she was going to insist he explain the exact nature of their relationship and the whole sad story behind it. There was no earthly reason to delay, not even Delma’s arrival. She was tired of this charade and intensely angry with Lang Forsyth. She didn’t enjoy how he was making her feel.

  “I don’t follow you at all,” he was saying. “In fact we seem to be speaking a different language. This isn’t a good situation. You must know that. I feel I have to warn you, you’ll have a job fending Delma off. She’s a tough mature woman. She’ll fight tooth and nail for her man.” God knows she had come up with quite a strategy to land Owen in the first place, he thought. But he wasn’t about to tell the girl that. It could only amount to extra ammunition.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ANTAGONISM seemed to cling to them. Antagonism and a strange intimacy he tried to hold down. He wanted to be out of the car. Away from her. The scent of her. She was quite unreachable.

  Sometime later he drove into her leafy street. He could see now what she meant when she said she was financially secure. The street was lined with wonderful old Queenslanders, the traditional nineteenth-century timber houses built especially for the tropics, with their wide, deep verandas shading the exterior walls and pristine white wrought-iron balustrades and detailing. The style of architecture could be seen all over the giant state of Queensland extending to his part of the world, the far North where there were fine examples. All these homes were proudly owned and maintained wherever they were, so eagerly were they sought after.

  As he glanced out he could see colonial white wooden palings that linked the fences visually with the houses behind it. Masses and masses of pink, white and red oleanders ornamented the fence; towering palms defining the long drives. The street and house lights provided so much illumination he could see splashes of brilliant colour from all the tropical plants in the gardens. Gorgeous scarlets, vivid yellows, vibrant pinks.

  “It’s the next one on the left,” she said quietly, breaking the silence. She pointed not to one of the beautiful big Queenslanders with their large gardens, swimming pools and tennis courts, but to a great two-story Victorian pile, set well back from the street, hiding behind high stone walls and hedges of what looked like sasanqua camellias.

  It was an unexpected house for such a girl. He felt she belonged in something not so overtly ostentatious. Something very gracious. More like the houses that fanned out to either side.

  “Your family live here?” he asked, peering out. It was a huge house by any standards. She could scarcely rattle around in it by herself.

  “My…f-f-father.” Surprisingly she stumbled over it when usually her speech was as clear as cut glass.

  “And what does your father think about what’s happening in your life? Or doesn’t he know…?” he couldn’t prevent himself from asking.

  She half turned, held out her hand. “Thank you so much, Mr. Forsyth, for bringing me home.”

  She had the air of a princess in her lovely blue silk dress.

  He took the slender hand she extended, little currents of electricity cutting into his nerves and running up his wrist. He had a sudden powerful urge to go inside. Meet the father. He wanted to discover what all this was about. He wanted her, or her father, to reveal something about themselves. He was forced to think of the next day. Delma would be arriving. He was meeting her at the airport. Taking her first to the hotel and then straight on to the hospital. The image of the two women meeting flashed across his mind. He thought of Owen’s eyes, his face, his voice and the transparency of his emotions. Everything about him gave away his love for this girl.

  Not caring what she made of it, he moved swiftly out of the car, going around to the passenger side.

  “I’ll see you to your door,” he said, helping her out, his manner decisive.

  She shook her head. In fact she seemed to him suddenly perturbed. “You don’t have to do that.”

  He stared at the beautiful face pearlescent beneath the street lamp. “I’m assuming this is your home.” It was just possible she was trying to trick him.

  “Not for much longer.” Her voice quivered with emotion.

  “My God, Eden, do you want to ruin your life?” he exploded, feeling some despair. This could only end badly.

  She startled him by touching his hand. “I swear to you Owen will explain everything tomorrow.”

  “Owen can’t make a wrong right,” he told her bleakly.

  “You just don’t know,” she said, watching him lift his strong elegant hands in a genuinely forced resignation.

  “I’ll escort you to your front door nevertheless.” His frustration was bordering on anger. “There don’t appear to be too many lights on?”

  “My f-f-father will be home.”

  There it was again, the tiny stumble. My God, what sort of a father was he? Anxiety prickled his skin.

  Inside the extensive grounds he reached out and grasped her arm. She put him in mind of a filly about to bolt. In what direction he didn’t yet know.

  “Please, you can go back,” she insisted.

  “What the devil is worrying you?” He stared down at her in the dark. He couldn’t grasp what was going on here.

  “It would be much simpler. This is a very unhappy house since my mother died.”

  Six months ago. About the same time she met Owen. Something sparked in his mind then disappeared.

  The porch light came on and a moment more he heard the sound of a man’s voice. “Is that you, Eden?”

  “Yes, it’s me. I have a friend with me.” She turned to him very quickly in the scented darkness, the flowers immobile with no breeze to stir them. “Oh please, back me up. You’re a friend. You’ve brought me home.”

  “And I suppose you were staying with yet another friend?” he asked with weary irony. “Okay. You don’t seem to be talking much to your father.”

  “It’s not like that,” she said.

  A tall, rather gaunt man was standing in the open Gothic doorway, the light from the hall chandelier glittering over his metallic-grey hair.

  “Well, my goodness, you’ve decided to come home?” he said. The voice was cultured but infinitely detached.

  Eden mounted the short flight of stone steps. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine,” she said. “He was coming this way so he gave me a lift home.”

  Lang revealed himself very quickly, at a loss with the father’s attitude. “Mr. Sinclair?” He moved further into the light. “How do you do? Lang Forsyth.”

  Whatever Redmond Sinclair was about to say turned to something else when he saw Forsyth step into the light. Tall, commanding, handsome, and many other things beside.

  One of us, thought Redmond Sinclair, a snob to the bootstraps, and breathed a sigh of relief. Someone who might very well take care of Cassandra’s daughter. “Good evening, Mr. Forsyth.” Sinclair used his smooth legal voice, putting out a hand. “It was kind of you to bring Eden home. I was starting to worry about her. Are you coming in?” He wanted to see more of this young man.

  “Thank you, no,” Lang declined. “I’ve many things to attend to.”

  “You’re from Sydney?” Sinclair couldn’t hide his curiosity. He would surely have met this striking young man had he lived and worked in the city.

  Lang shook his dark head. “North Queensland. I’m only in the city for a short time.”

  “Could I come to the hospital with you tomorrow?” Eden suddenly intervened.

  “Hospital, what hospital?” Redmond Sinclair turned to her.

  “A mutual friend was involved in a car accident this afternoon,” Lang explained.r />
  “Oh? Which friend, Eden?”

  “I’m sorry you don’t know him, Father. Will you do that for me, Lang?” she appealed to him across her father’s gaunt frame.

  What could he say? He didn’t much like Sinclair. In fact he didn’t want to leave her in that house. For a father and daughter they seemed quite separate. No wonder this girl had looked elsewhere for love. Found it in a father figure. It happened. He nodded, treading carefully. “It’s a private hospital, Eden, so we can go anytime. Say I pick you up at ten?”

  “That’s fine,” she answered, a shade breathlessly. “I’ll be ready.”

  She’d be in and out before Delma arrived, he decided.

  Eden was moving rather nervously up the staircase when Redmond Sinclair detained her.

  “You come and go as you please, Eden,” he observed quietly.

  “I’m sorry.” Eden turned around, shocked by how much weight he had lost. “I didn’t think you cared all that much. But I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Your grandfather didn’t know where you were, either.” Sinclair moved a weary hand across his brow.

  “I haven’t spoken to Grandad for a couple of days. I’ve been in town. I met with my friend Carly for lunch, did a little shopping. I’m trying to cope with my grief just as you are.”

  “And it’s only the beginning,” he groaned. “I fell hopelessly in love with your mother when I was just a boy. There was never anyone else. Everyone knew we would marry. I felt I had everything on the day I married her, but it was never enough for your mother. We were never happy.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Eden answered without evident sincerity. “I know how much you loved her.”

  “Ah yes, but she never loved me. She met up with someone when she was just a teenager, you know. Some rough character from the wrong side of the tracks. He stole her heart.”

  “I’m sorry.” Eden was aware she was repeating it like a dummy.

  “Yes, you’re sorry.” Sinclair sat down in a hall chair, shaken. “You’re a good girl, Eden. I don’t think you’ve one ounce of deceit in you. I couldn’t say the same of your mother. She thought killing herself would set her free.”

  “But she didn’t kill herself,” Eden interjected passionately. “It was an accident.”

  “I’d give anything to believe that,” Redmond Sinclair said so simply, pangs of pity stabbed her.

  “Please don’t torture yourself,” she begged. “She left us both.”

  “And I know why. Do you think I haven’t noticed you don’t call me ‘Father’ anymore?”

  Eden felt like the breath had been knocked out of her. She felt she had no choice but to say, “Our whole life has altered. I’ll always honour you as the man who reared me.”

  “Thank you. You’re not mine, are you?”

  Eden sank down onto the stairs. “Cassandra lied to us both.” She could think of no other answer.

  “I always knew,” he sighed. “I spent a lifetime pretending to be a gullible fool. I’d have done anything to keep Cassandra. To keep your grandfather’s favour. It was all his fault. He knew from the beginning.”

  “You should have all faced the truth. The truth might have set us free.”

  “Alas it was not to be. I want you to know I’m fond of you, Eden. You were such a beautiful little girl. I would have adored for you to be my child. Cassandra’s deceit spoiled our whole relationship. Still, for what it’s worth, I admire and respect you. I’m proud of your achievements. You’re a clever young woman. I hope you get the life you deserve. As for me, it’s too late.”

  Eden dismissed that with a sweep of her hand. “It isn’t at all,” she said with some spirit. “You’re a man in his prime.”

  He shook his head. “I was young and handsome once. Unhappiness has aged me terribly. Anyway, Eden, I’m going away. I don’t know where yet but I’m a rich man. I’ll travel. There’s no earthly point in staying here. Your grandfather doesn’t want to lay eyes on me anymore. He’s feeling the guilt. The house is yours. Your grandfather damn near bought it anyway and Cassandra never liked it.”

  “I don’t want the house, Redmond,” Eden said quickly. “It has too many unhappy memories for us both. Perhaps we can put it on the market?”

  He ran a hand over his gunmetal hair. “I already know a number of people who would buy it tomorrow. Do it up. I’ll organise for you to have the money. I want to do this for you, so don’t shake your head. I’ve done precious little else. And this young man, Forsyth?” His voice picked up. “He seems rather splendid. Old money, by the look of him. What does he do?”

  Eden was grateful she knew a lot from Owen. “Lots of things. Property, investments, rural. He owns the family cattle station. It’s run by his sister and her husband. His great interest is horses. He and a partner acquired a thoroughbred stud a few years back.”

  “Good grief! He sounds like a paragon. I hope he’s not married?” He lifted worried eyes.

  “No, he’s not.” Eden tried to smile.

  “Well he’s very protective of you,” Redmond Sinclair, the astute lawyer, stated, thoroughly startling her. “Just stay with him, my dear, if you can. There’s a man who will never let you down.”

  Eden woke early, grateful that by the end of today the long charade would be over. She had rung the hospital last night before she went to bed, now she rang again asking after Owen’s condition. She was put through to his ward, where she was asked if she would like to speak to Owen herself.

  Of course the answer was yes.

  Owen sounded much brighter, more like his old self. “Some part of yesterday, before the crash, I had the terrible fear I might lose you,” he confessed, “that’s before the paramedics arrived. They tell me I’m doing well. I’ll be out of here in no time.”

  “I hope so,” she said. “Lang is calling for me at ten.”

  “I know. His call beat yours by about a minute.”

  “You have to tell him, Owen.” She sounded as serious as she could.

  “There’s no reason why you can’t call me Dad,” he responded.

  “You have to tell him, Dad.” She was thrilled to use that wonderful word.

  “Of course I’ll tell him,” Owen’s voice rang down the phone. “I’ll tell the world.”

  “Tell Delma first,” she advised.

  “I will, sweetheart. Don’t fuss.”

  “I’m just a bit worried.” She knew instinctively Delma would feel hurt and very vulnerable.

  “Everything will work out fine,” Owen told her in his self-assured way. “What do you think of Lang?”

  “What does he think of me more like it?” She saw her little grimace reflected in the mirror. “With all this secrecy he’s got hold of the idea I’m your girlfriend.”

  “Good God!” Owen sounded genuinely amazed. “Couldn’t he see the paternal look in my eyes?”

  “Apparently not,” she told him wryly. “I’ll be enormously pleased to have you set him straight.”

  “I will, my darling, I promise,” Owen chuckled, speaking as though outraged feelings could be healed in a moment.

  She was waiting outside the front gate when Lang arrived. Right on time.

  “Good morning.” He was out of the car, vividly handsome, his glance moving in such a mesmerizing way over her.

  “Good morning.” She hoped she wasn’t flushing, but that was the consequences of seeing him again. “I’ve spoken to Owen.”

  “So have I.”

  “Yes he told me.” Now that the play-acting would soon be over she felt calmer.

  “I knew he would. He sounded a lot better.”

  “Yes, isn’t that wonderful?” She slipped into the passenger seat while he held the door.

  She was very conscious she had spent some little time selecting her wardrobe for the day. Casual but chic, her outfit comprised a cool camisole top, matched with a full skirt with a lovely floral print. The violet colour of the top picked up exactly the pansies on the skirt, as did the sandals on
her feet. She knew she would probably be facing Delma, Owen’s wife, but it wasn’t Delma she had dressed for.

  He got in beside her, fixed his seat belt, started the engine. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He pulled out smoothly onto the road, shaded both sides by feathery jacarandas that in a few weeks would burst into flower.

  “Forgive me if I’m over-stepping the mark, but you and your father don’t appear to have come together in your grief?”

  The truth is he isn’t my father. She longed to come right out with it, but she had given her word to Owen. “We’ve never been close,” she said.

  “How very sad.” He shook his head a little. “I loved my father. My family was devastated when we lost him.”

  “Then you know all about grief?”

  “It’s rarely absent from life. But I made my grief work for me and my family. My father through a number of unfortunate investments was forced to sell our family home. An historic cattle station in our part of the world. I bought it back.”

  Of course he would. She didn’t doubt it. “You must have worked very hard?” Owen had spoken of the depth of his commitment, his brilliant entrepreneurial flair.

  “I did nothing but work,” he confirmed. “I had a limited social life. Owen kept me hard at it. He introduced me to people. I in turn was able to introduce him to the Who’s Who in the rural world. My family’s world. I discovered, too, I had a money-making talent, which mercifully continues to this day.”

  “So you’d be quite a catch.” It was the first she had spoken anywhere near playfully.

  “I haven’t thought about it,” he answered, without a smile.

  “But you must have given thought to continuance of the Forsyth dynasty?”

  “What do you think?” he said, giving her a quick sidelong glance.

  Some shimmer in his beautiful sparkling eyes rocked her. She realised he was astonishingly sexy. Up until now she hadn’t wanted to admit it.

  “Have you a special lady friend?” She couldn’t believe she said that. It just came out.