A Case For Trust

by Gracie MacGregor

  ‘Phone directory.’

  ‘I’m not in the phone directory.’

  He waved a vague hand towards the ute, the name of her landscaping business half-camouflaged by mud spatters. ‘Lloyd’s Landscapes. You’re in the phone directory.’

  ‘My mobile number is. My address isn’t. How did you find me?’

  ‘You didn’t answer your mobile.’

  ‘How did you find me?’

  He looked at her coolly, and for the first time, Pippa became aware of the state of her appearance: her hair in dark, dripping rats’ tails plastered to her skull, her threadbare gardening shirt equally drenched, smeared with mud, and clinging far too revealingly to nipples chilled and pert. Self-conscious under that disapproving gaze, she pushed a hand through the strands that clung to her forehead and didn’t realise she left a smudge of rust-coloured clay in its wake. His eyes followed the movement before dropping back to her petite, rebellious figure.

  ‘If I hadn’t seen you get into that ute last night in your silk suit and pretty shoes, I’m damned sure I wouldn’t recognise you as the same woman. I assume from all the dirt you’re wearing you do more than just drive the truck?’

  ‘You bet I do, Mister.’ She crossed tanned, wiry arms across her misbehaving breasts, blocking his view and creating a barrier she hoped he’d find intimidating. He didn’t look intimidated. ‘How did you get my home address, and why are you here?’

  ‘I did an ASIC search.’

  His shrug was casual, his eyes wary. Pippa regarded him narrowly. It probably wasn’t illegal; as a commercial lawyer, she figured he had access to the securities commission database, and she had nothing, anyway, to hide. But it did speak to some determined sleuthing. On a Sunday. Curiouser and curiouser. ‘And you are here because …?’

  His momentary wariness disappeared behind a blazing determination. ‘I’m not convinced you were listening last night. It occurred to me afterwards, you didn’t actually agree to stay away from my brother. I want your promise.’

  ‘In writing?’ Pippa asked sweetly.

  ‘In blood, if necessary.’

  ‘Good heavens, don’t be so melodramatic!’ Pippa’s forced laugh covered her nervousness. The ridiculous things that came out of this man’s mouth.

  ‘I’m not being melodramatic. You will stay away from my brother, from my family. You don’t even understand what you’ve done, splitting up Justin and Lucy, but as I told you last night, there’s no place for you in our lives. I want your promise you won’t see Justin again.’

  ‘I have no intention—’

  ‘Your promise, Ms Lloyd.’

  Attack was the best form of defence. She’d learned that early. But as he towered over her with his condescending demands and his cynical black eyebrows, Pippa struggled to find the will or the words to fight back. Why did he seem to despise her so? What had she done to attract this aggression? She’d turned the question over and over in her mind the night before on the drive home, had eventually made herself dismiss thoughts of Matt Mason so she could try to get some sleep, but his absurd accusations about a relationship between her and his brother, his threats to ruin her, clamoured again in her head and crowded out rational thought. If he wouldn’t listen to her, they would continue to go around in circles over this stupid misunderstanding—it had to be a misunderstanding—

  A flash of lightning and a loud crack of thunder brought Pippa back to the moment. The storm was very close.

  ‘Mr Mason. I don’t know why you think I’m having an affair with your brother, I’ve only ever …’ His forbidding frown had her hurrying on, ‘… but yes, I promise. My business with Justin is finished, I have no plans to see him again, and I will not contact him. Now, I suggest you get back in your car before the storm hits—’

  ‘Too late.’

  He gripped her elbow—the one she’d just banged; it shot another painful jolt straight up her arm—and tugged her up the timber stairs and under the shelter of the wide verandah as the skies opened again to dump more rain. This time it came, not in soft heavy drops, but in sharp, stinging sheets that drove them further under the eaves for protection. Pippa could see Matt’s mouth moving, but his voice, deep as it was, couldn’t compete with the rumble of the iron roof under the relentless downpour. The electricity fairly crackled in the air about them—Pippa reassured herself it was the weather, it had nothing to do with the magnetism of the man beside her—and the rich, loamy, heavenly smells of wet earth, oily eucalyptus leaves and fresh sweat, hers and his, assaulted her nostrils like a sensory battery. God, she loved storms. Forgetting her formidable visitor for a moment, she stepped back to the edge of the verandah, back out into the elements, thrusting her face up in exultation to receive the storm’s fierce benediction.

  ‘Goddammit, don’t you have any common sense?’

  This time she couldn’t avoid the harsh words he shouted in her ear, and Pippa slapped away the hand on her shoulder that had dragged her back under cover. But his tug had left her off balance; she stumbled a little, tripped over her own feet and then over his, found herself hauled against his chest as he prevented her fall. It was warm there, and dry, and rock-hard; the sensations flashed through her skin to her brain like the lightning that flashed above their heads, and it took her longer than it should have to separate her limbs from his, to step back with a muttered thanks he couldn’t hear anyway. She chanced a glance up at his face, and met his indigo eyes, still fierce but with a different, an inexplicable expression in their depths.

  He was talking to her again; she couldn’t hear him above the pounding of the rain. She reached up on tiptoes, closer to that harsh mouth and its inaudible words, just as he bent his head to her ear, and felt his lips graze roughly against her cheek. It was a fleeting collision, but the hammering it set up in her heart, against her chest, threatened to outstrip the hammering on the roof. Ridiculously, she forgot how to breathe. It seemed she had gripped his shirt on contact; she stared at her own fists, clenched in the fabric against his chest, wondering how they’d got themselves there, trying to give them instructions to let him go. It was, for heaven’s sake. Pippa Enemy Number One. One of her knuckles was tickled by the dark hair that curled above the vee in his shirt; she stared, fascinated, at the contrast between its dark masculinity and the fine white skin of her hand.

  Both her hands were wrenched away, then gripped tightly in one of his as he put her away from him.

  ‘So much for your promise, you deceitful—’

  He was furious with her. She couldn’t work out why. She hadn’t meant to grab him like that, it was an accident, surely he didn’t …

  ‘Matt? What are you doing here?’

  Pippa swung around to see Justin standing in the kitchen doorway. His hair was damp, his shirt rain-spattered. ‘Where did you come from?’ Until she heard her own, incredulous voice, Pippa hadn’t noticed the rain had stopped.

  ‘The front door was open. I knocked and called, but I guess you didn’t hear me. Hope you don’t mind me dropping by. Matt, I thought you were working today?’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘And now you’re …?’

  ‘And now I’m here. I thought you were staying at Byron until tomorrow.’

  ‘I was. But I remembered something I wanted to talk to Pippa about. I didn’t think you two even knew each other that well.’

  ‘We don’t.’

  It was almost comical, the speed with which she and Matt denied in unison any acquaintance. It sounded guilty, conspiratorial. Justin’s suspicious frown confirmed it.

  ‘So what are you doing here, Matt?’ This time Justin’s question was low, quiet; Pippa caught a trace of the same venom she’d heard so often in his brother’s tone. ‘If you’re planning on interfering in my life yet again, don’t even think about it. It’s none of your business.’

  ‘Then stop making it my damned business. Grow up, for god’s sake, and start being responsible for your own life. You don’t need a marriage celebrant anymore; you�
��ve made damned sure of that. If you had half a brain, you’d be with Lucy, trying to sort things out.’

  ‘You mean, if I had half your brain. If I had half your Machiavellian, mean little mind. If you think Lucy’s so perfect for the Masons, why don’t you marry her. But keep your eyes—and your hands—off Pippa. She’s my friend, and you know I’ve never been good at sharing.’

  Pippa stared, bewildered, at Justin. What was he doing? He sounded almost possessive, made it sound as if … He was making mischief, she decided, catching the gleam of challenge in his eye, but even he must have been able to see how his taunting was raising his brother’s ire. The enmity rolling off Matt was a visceral, tangible thing. In a million years, Pippa would never understand what was going on between these two. But whatever it was, it was time they took it off her verandah.

  ‘I think that’s quite enough from both of you. The rain’s stopped; you can both be on your way. I have things to do, and Matt’s right on one point: neither of you need a marriage celebrant. As I don’t suppose you need a landscape gardener either, you’re wasting the last of my weekend. In future, I’d appreciate it if you would make an appointment during office hours if you have something to discuss with me.’

  Pippa was glad of the officious note she’d been able to inject into a voice that had been frighteningly weak the last time she’d used it. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if the brooding masses of man-muscle that continued to size each other up refused to leave her verandah. She was hardly in a position to forcibly evict them.

  Thankfully, after a few seconds of pointed glaring at his older brother, Justin half-laughed, half-snorted, and produced his winning smile for her benefit. ‘You’re right; how rude of me to just turn up uninvited in your spare time. It’s your own fault, you know. You made me feel far too comfortable being here when I was your client. Walk me to my car?’

  Pippa was so grateful he was making a move, she ignored Matt’s lip that curled in response to the suggestion. She hurried into the kitchen and down the cool, shadowy hallway that divided her house, checking only once over her shoulder to be sure they both followed. Justin was close behind her; Matt wandered behind at a more leisurely pace, hands thrust in his pockets, looking with unabashed disdain at the house he was walking through, and Pippa felt rare embarrassment for the shabby old worker’s cottage that clearly didn’t pass muster with the eldest Mason sibling.

  Outside, the storm had blown out its fury; the clouds were chasing the lightning east, leaving behind them a fresh-rinsed evening dotted with the first shy stars. Rainwater still gurgled down the gutters and dripped from feathery foliage in a singsong cacophony that soothed Pippa’s nerves as she led Justin out of the front gate to his car.

  ‘I really did have something I wanted to talk to you about.’ He grabbed her hand to halt her progress.

  Conscious of the scowling scrutiny of the other man behind her, Pippa detached her hand and stepped quickly away. ‘Well, if it can’t be handled by phone, make an appointment to see me. In business hours.’

  He laughed at her firm tone. ‘Whatever you say, Pippa. I’ll talk to you soon.’ He stepped past her towards the car, then, without warning, swerved back and planted cool, lingering lips against her cheek. Pippa felt her face blush scarlet, could do nothing but stare in shock as Justin gave a jaunty salute to Matt, slid into the low bucket seat of his coupe and seconds later roared off with a squeal of tyres that made Pippa wince. Matt was right about that, too: Justin had some growing up to do.

  She spun around to Matt who was leaning on the fence behind her, looked at him expectantly, and he returned her gaze steadily. He showed no sign of leaving.

  ‘It seems you didn’t take me seriously, Ms Lloyd. I meant what I said. You made a promise, and I’ll ruin you if you don’t keep it.’

  Pippa threw up her hands in frustration. ‘I told you, I didn’t plan to see Justin. I told you I won’t contact him. If he contacts me, in a businesslike manner and during business hours, what am I supposed to do about it?’

  ‘So you didn’t plan to see him this afternoon? His arrival at your home on a Sunday evening came as a complete surprise to you?’

  ‘His arrival was as much a surprise to me as yours was. I didn’t invite either of you! Anyway, you can’t imagine, if I was interested in an affair with Justin, I’d have met him looking like a cross between Medusa and an orc!’

  ‘I interrupted you. If I hadn’t arrived when I did, I imagine you’d have been enchantingly wrapped in a bathrobe, fresh from the shower by the time Justin showed up.’

  ‘Is that what you imagine? Me in a bathrobe? Fascinating. Perhaps that says more about you than it does about Justin and me.’

  Pippa suddenly became aware they were having a very public spat in the middle of her street. She waved gaily at her next-door neighbour, whose grizzled head had appeared above his closely clipped lilly pilly hedge, and whispered loudly and savagely at her tormentor. ‘I will not continue this stupid conversation with you! Think what you like! Do what you like! If you don’t want to believe I have no interest in Justin, that’s entirely up to you. Now would you please leave me alone.’

  Matt pulled himself away from the fence and sauntered to the familiar black Audi parked across her driveway. Insufferable arrogance! What if she’d had to get her ute out in a hurry? He held his door open as he stared at her across the roof of his car.

  ‘Just as long as we understand each other. If I have to remind you again of your promise, I assure you, I won’t be making an appointment to do so.’

  Pippa slowly unclenched her jaw, unfurled her fists, as he drove away. There were no squealing tyres, but she was left in no doubt which of the Mason brothers she had most reason to fear.

  Chapter 3

  Matt threw his car keys on the granite kitchen counter and prowled restlessly to the full-length windows that stretched the width of his lounge room. The sweeping panorama of river, city and romantically lit Story Bridge barely registered; certainly gave him none of the satisfaction he took from it most evenings when he returned to his apartment from the rigours of the day. It was a Sunday, for god’s sake. After the most challenging day of corporate wrangling, he rarely felt this clench of stress in his shoulders and back. He ran impatient hands around the corded muscles at his nape, thumbs ineffectually probing the knots, causing more pain than relief. Dammit! Where was this tension coming from?

  You know where it’s from. It’s from a red-headed gold-digger with a butter-wouldn’t-melt expression and an eye for the main chance.

  That main chance was not his brother, Justin. However much Justin might be interested—and Matt knew the signs, knew Justin was most definitely interested—he was not destined for Philippa Lloyd. If Matt had to save him from yet another bad choice in women, so be it. He was tired of being Justin’s rescuer. But it was the habit of a lifetime, and until Justin proved he was mature enough to manage his own love affairs without threatening his career and upsetting their family, it would stay Matt’s job.

  He’d thought, really thought, Lucy was the answer. She loved his brother, Matt had no doubt of that. She was exactly what Justin needed—steady, mature, responsible, smart, sensitive, well educated, beautiful … the list of attributes that made her perfect Mason marriage material ran on. For two years she had been a moderating influence on Justin’s wilder antics, so much so that Matt had found himself free from worry about Justin embroiling himself in some new scandal.

  Matt couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t felt responsible for his four younger siblings. He’d been little more than a toddler when Georgia was born, but his tender concern for his new baby sister had become the stuff of Mason family legend. When Justin and his twin, Marissa, came along, Matt was already at school. He could remember rushing home each afternoon, throwing his schoolbag on the sprawling, gracious colonial verandah and scrambling up beside his mother to supervise the twins’ mealtime. Garrett was the baby, the black sheep who had rejected the Mason legal traditio
n and was carving out a career in advertising. Through his growing years Garrett had led Matt a merry dance, from schoolyard brawls to underage parties to arrests for reckless driving. But even Garrett, at twenty-seven, was showing signs of settling down. It was Justin, the brilliant barrister, the handsome rake, the blatant womaniser, who refused to grow respectably into his destiny.

  Perhaps it was to be expected. His matinee-idol looks had made Justin the focus of feminine attention since his early teens. He’d never had any problem finding dates, had been chased by older women from the time the first fuzz appeared on his chin. Where his siblings had grown up with the normal insecurities of adolescence, Justin had started and ended relationships with a casual flippancy Matt had secretly envied.

  Matt and Georgia, Marissa and Garrett had all had their share of heartache; they had careers that satisfied them, but luck in love had proved elusive, and sometimes he wondered if the Mason legal dynasty that started with their great-grandfather would end with his generation.

  But surely it was only a matter of time. His siblings were smart, responsible, professional and decent people. He was proud of them. They’d been busily building their careers, and anyway, there was still plenty of time. Georgia was only thirty-four. No need to stress yet. There was time for her to find love, to start a family.

  What about yourself? Nearly forty, and never yet met a woman you could trust enough to love. He pushed the thought away. He didn’t need love, didn’t want to be distracted from his work, had no intention of taking on responsibility for yet another human being. Hell, the last thing he wanted was another family. As soon as he had Justin safely settled, he’d be free to live life the way he wanted. And that sure as hell didn’t include raising more kids! Sure, at times—times like tonight, in fact—he felt lonely. But he’d take loneliness any day over chasing after brats, particularly irresponsible, promiscuous brats in their thirties.

  But Justin, for all his philandering, had come closer with Lucy than any of them to finding a love that might last.