At six o’clock the next evening, Alex started to get ready.
The dress was beautiful even though it was discreet and black. It had a ruched, strapless bodice in a fine silk crêpe and a long fitted skirt with a small slit up one side. A cropped, short-sleeved bolero with a stand-up collar completed the outfit.
Alex stared at herself once she was in the dress, and remembered Margaret Winston’s enthusiasm for it.
‘You don’t think it’s—too dressy for an interpreter?’ she’d asked Margaret at the time.
‘I think it’s perfect for—for you, my dear. And it’s going to be a very dressy occasion, believe me.’
Alex came back to the present with a grimace. At the time she’d had no idea just how glamorous, expensive and sophisticated a world she was about to enter. She did now and she was grateful for this dress.
Also, black did suit her, she decided. It did make her skin look creamy. And the style made her waist look reed-slim. With it she wore sheer black tights and, thankfully, medium-heel black suede shoes.
But as she stared at herself with her hands on her hips something seemed to be missing.
Her make-up was nearly as good as Mary’s efforts. Her nails were not painted—dogs and kids didn’t seem to go well with painted nails—but they were smooth, neat ovals and a healthy pink.
Her hair might not have quite the extra—what was the word?—zip it had had after Mr Roger had combed it, but she was happy with the fair, tamed curls.
‘It just needs something to lift it—I know, I need a flower. Maybe Mrs Mills or Stan could help me out?’ she said to her reflection.
They both helped out.
Stan found a perfect white gardenia for her and Mrs Mills pinned it into her hair with a tiny pearl clip.
‘There.’ Mrs Mills stood back. ‘You look lovely, Alex! Doesn’t she, Stan?’
‘She looks beaut!’ Stan concurred.
She thanked them laughingly, but Nicky was of the same opinion when she went to see him.
‘Wow!’ he said. ‘Can’t I come to this party with you?’
Alex chuckled. Nicky was beginning to feel much better. His temperature was normal and, although he still looked somewhat battle-scarred and had patches of calamine lotion all over him, he also looked a lot better.
‘No, Nicky, sorry,’ she said affectionately and paused. ‘But would you like to have a look at the decorations and so on?’
He would, he told her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE transformation of the house for the dinner dance was breathtaking—considering that the place was rather breathtakingly beautiful even in normal mode.
Once again the vast, stone-flagged terrace was the main venue, but this time, instead of two long tables, many smaller round tables were grouped around an imported wooden dance floor.
There were flowers everywhere, on the tables and in standard wrought-iron vases. A canopy of magenta ribbons was looped above the dance floor and electric candles in tall sconces shed soft light.
A cascade of tiny flickering lights pricked the night as they outlined the jetty.
The band, more accurately a string quartet, its four members dressed in dinner suits with magenta velvet bow ties, was tuning up softly.
Alex gave Nicky a tour, then they sat on the staircase for a while, where they could look through the hall to the terrace.
‘It looks like an enchanted castle,’ Nicky said. ‘Will my dad be here tonight?’
‘Indeed he will, but I’m not sure what time he’s arriving.’
She turned at a sound above her. It was Peta and she told them she was in residence with Brad and ready to take over.
‘Seen enough, Nicky?’ Alex asked. ‘I think Peta’s got a DVD for you and Brad to watch.’
‘Oh, boy!’ Nicky jumped up. ‘Goodnight, Alex.’ He gave her a quick hug and turned to go, then turned back. ‘Will you say goodnight to my dad for me?’
‘Of course,’ Alex said through a sudden lump in her throat.
She stayed where she was as Nicky pattered out of sight and earshot, then she jumped as Max Goodwin walked from the shadows beside the staircase into the pool of light at the bottom of it.
‘You!’ she gasped. ‘I didn’t know you were there.’
He inclined his head. ‘No, I gathered that.’
‘But—’ Alex stopped and took an unexpected breath, because this was a Max Goodwin she’d never seen, and not only because he was impeccably dressed in a dinner suit and snowy shirt front, not because he wore his evening clothes to perfection, not even because she’d never seen him look irritated or impatient—she certainly had.
But what Stan had said flashed through her mind—he could cut you down to size with a few well-chosen words, sometimes with just a look. That summed up this Max Goodwin.
There was a harshness in his eyes and the lines of his face, a forbidding aura about him that also summed up what Jake Frost had said—this would not be a good time to oppose Mr Goodwin.
And it caused Alex to tremble inwardly and feel like creeping away. But surely…
‘Didn’t you hear?’ she asked. ‘He called you Dad.’
‘I heard. Have you been coaching him, Alex?’
‘No. Oh, no! I think Brad, Mrs Mills’ grandson, may have helped, though. He doesn’t get to see a lot of his father either, but he talks about him a lot. I have to say, in the father stakes, Brad’s dad is a hard act to follow since he gets to drive around in tanks and has a real gun.’
She stopped her light-hearted attempt to defuse the situation and the hasty smile she’d pinned on faded from her lips.
But it seemed it might have worked.
He stirred and the harshness relaxed a little. ‘I’ll go and say goodnight to him now.’
Alex heaved a sigh of relief and she stood up to allow him to pass, only to find she simply couldn’t help herself as he drew abreast of her.
‘What made you think I might have coached him? I would have thought I’d made it perfectly clear these things can’t be rushed.’
He stopped one step below her so their eyes were almost level. And she saw something else she’d missed in her earlier summation of him—he might be hiding it well, but he was tired.
A smile flickered in his eyes as he said, ‘Yes, ma’am, you did impart that pearl of wisdom to me, amongst a few others. Uh—why? I’m not in a good mood, to put it mildly. I haven’t been for days and when I get like this I tend to be—cynical, suspicious, even downright bloody-minded.’
‘So they told me—’ She broke off and bit her lip.
‘Told you that, did they? My staff?’ he drawled. ‘They’re right.’
‘But have things fallen through?’ She looked concerned. ‘Has it all collapsed, the negotiations?’
‘No, it’s all signed and sealed.’
‘Then why do you feel like this?’ Her eyes, without her glasses, were wide and bemused.
Max Goodwin studied her from head to toe. The gardenia in her hair, the absence of any jewellery but her almost jewel-bright hazel eyes, the points of her stand-up collar against her slender, creamy neck. Then that dense blue gaze swept down her décolletage, her tiny waist, the fall of her skirt and the slit in it.
‘Oh, no!’ she said, with deep foreboding. ‘Don’t tell me I’m not dressed right again. But this is what I would have worn if I was working and I didn’t know—I didn’t know in what capacity I was coming to this party, anyway! I wasn’t expecting to come, you see.’
‘Miss Hill,’ he said formally, ‘you’re dressed fine.’ He said it with patent irony, however, because, in fact, the way she was dressed had induced a sudden desire in him to undress her, item by item in some quiet place, to release that lovely body from her clothes purely for his pleasure but in a way that brought her the same pleasure…
‘Uh…’ he forced his mind to the present ‘…and please do come to the party as a guest, although I did think an extra Mandarin speaker wouldn’t go amiss so if you see the need
for any interpreting I’d be grateful if you could help out.’
‘Of course.’
‘As for the rest of it—’ he looked into her eyes ‘—to be perfectly honest I’m not a hundred per cent sure why I am the way I am, but even if I were you’d be the last person I’d tell.’
He continued up the stairs leaving Alex feeling dumbfounded, smarting and wounded.
She was not to know that Max Goodwin hesitated for a few moments before he went in to say goodnight to his son; nor was she to know that he’d travelled down from Brisbane with his intern and cousin, Paul O’Hara. And she had no idea that this had reminded him that Paul had given every impression of being smitten by Alex Hill when he’d come to call a few nights ago—even much earlier than that, of course—but he, Max, had had too much on his mind to digest it at the time.
But Paul’s patent disappointment a few nights ago when Alex had left them, the way his gaze had lingered on her back as she’d walked away, the way he’d been distracted from then on had all told their own tale.
Paul was thoroughly nice, though, and probably highly suitable for a girl who’d led a sheltered life; they were closer in age, they had no dark backdrops to their love lives as he had…
So, why, Max Goodwin wondered, with his hand poised to open Nicky’s door, was it a bit like the proverbial thorn in the flesh to think of Alex with Paul?
It was a long night.
Margaret Winston had also come down and she greeted Alex warmly, then faded into the background.
Alex discovered herself seated next to Sir Michael McPherson and opposite his wife, Lady Olivia. Those introductions would have appealed to her sense of humour, had she been feeling at all humorous.
Olivia Goodwin, now Lady McPherson, was, as Mrs Mills had described, attractive and vibrant. She was slender with her brother’s blue eyes but coppery hair and a light dusting of freckles. She was forthright.
She said, as she unfolded her napkin and took up her champagne glass in a hand upon which a fabulous sapphire ring surrounded by diamonds resided, ‘I don’t believe we’ve met. Are you a friend of Max’s?’
‘No. I work for him.’
Well-bred surprise beamed her way. ‘In what capacity?’
‘I’m Nicky’s nanny and, because I speak Mandarin, Max’s personal interpreter and PA.’
‘Heaven’s above!’ Sir Michael intoned. ‘That’s a mouthful.’
‘It can certainly be a handful,’ Alex replied austerely, and sipped her champagne.
Lady Olivia leant forward. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’
‘Oh, it’s no joking matter.’ Alex put her glass down as her first course was served: oysters Kilpatrick.
‘But he hasn’t said anything to me about it!’
‘Come off it, Livvy,’ her husband entreated. ‘When does Max ever consult, well—’ he obviously changed tack a little as his wife looked daggers at him ‘—anyone? He’s always been a law unto himself, you know that!’
Olivia subsided a bit and glanced around at the other guests sharing their table, but they were all Chinese, a man and two couples. ‘Still,’ she said, ‘you’d have thought he would have at least asked for my advice over Nicky, but I haven’t even been allowed to meet him yet.’
‘He’s only just met him himself,’ Sir Michael pointed out.
‘Well, if you ask me, the obvious thing to do in the circumstances is to marry Cathy. You have to admit they were extremely close and—’
‘Olivia,’ Sir Michael warned.
Yes, Olivia, Alex echoed in her mind, surely this is very private stuff even if they can’t speak a word of English?
But as she watched Max’s sister she saw that she was in the grip of genuine emotion, as if she was deeply concerned about her brother and his new-found son.
All the same it was not a dinner-dance conversation and Alex turned to her neighbour, bowed, and with quite some skill managed to get the whole table conversing.
And during the course of it, she learnt that the McPhersons had two children and divided their time between Australia and England. They’d also been to China, and through Alex were able to exchange some warm reminiscences of their visit as the quartet played Mozart, Strauss and other light classics in the background.
And it was soon obvious that, unlike their host, who’d claimed to be feeling bloody-minded—not that he was showing it now—the guests were in a relaxed, even letting-their-hair-down mode now the negotiations had been successfully concluded.
So it was a light-hearted, happy throng that dined on oysters and champagne followed by the finest Australian beef washed down with superb Hunter Valley red wines. Crème brulée was served for dessert, its custard satiny and chilled under a caramelized sugar top.
And there were gifts for each guest. Australian opal pendants on fine gold chains for the ladies and gold and opal cufflinks for the men. Even the individual gift boxes they came in were works of art: tooled leather embossed with tiny kangaroos, kookaburras, koalas, emus and frilled-neck lizards.
Alex left hers unopened once she realized what it was all about.
The meal was cleared and more champagne poured—it was time for the speeches and toasts.
If you didn’t know him, Alex thought as she watched Max Goodwin perform his part, you would think there was nothing wrong with him. But she noticed that his sister was watching him intently with a frown in her eyes.
Then all the formalities were over and the string quartet demonstrated their versatility, and couples took to the dance floor to a lively beat.
Alex decided to slip away. She had the beginnings of a headache and a few minutes alone in a nice quiet spot seemed like a good idea.
She had no idea that two men saw her go: Max—and his cousin, Paul O’Hara.
She went out onto the lawn and took the path that led to the swimming-pool garden but stopped at a sound behind her, a footstep. She took a deep breath and turned—it was Paul O’Hara.
He too wore his dinner suit well, his fair hair was smooth and his nice grey eyes were serious and concerned again. ‘Please don’t run away, Alex—may I call you that?’ he requested.
‘Well, yes, but—’ She stopped awkwardly.
‘I apologize if I’ve embarrassed you, but it was a bit like being hit in the solar plexus when I first met you. I didn’t believe in love at first sight but—’ He gestured and looked younger—younger and confused but very genuine.
‘It happened to my father,’ Alex heard herself say, and told him the story of the New Year’s Eve party. ‘But—’ she swallowed ‘—I—I—’
‘Don’t reciprocate? I know. I wasn’t sure at first but when I came over a few nights ago and I saw you with Max, I—’ He hesitated and shrugged.
Alex froze as she cast her mind back to his unannounced arrival that night and thought how it must have looked. She’d certainly been glowing at the time with her memories of Seisia, but would it be true to say it was only that?
She looked down and bit her lip.
Paul O’Hara watched her downcast lids, her carefully darkened lashes, and felt his heart go out to her. ‘The thing is,’ he said, ‘Max—well, put it this way, Nicky is no ordinary kid. He’s the sole heir to a billion-dollar fortune and that could create all sorts of problems.’
‘What—what do you mean?’
Paul shrugged. ‘Custody problems if Cathy marries someone else, how vulnerable Nicky could be to the wrong kind of manipulation, security problems, amongst many others.’
‘Security…?’ Alex stared at him with her lips parted.
‘Stan isn’t just a gardener-cum-chauffeur.’
The scales fell from Alex’s eyes as she recalled that wherever they went Stan had contrived for some reason or other not to be far away.
But she wrenched her mind away from that. ‘I know what you’re trying to say. The obvious thing for them to do is to marry. I’ve known that almost from the beginning,’ she said starkly, ‘but if it’s not going to work that’ll hurt
Nicky—’ She stopped and made a futile little gesture.
‘They were magic together once,’ Paul O’Hara said quietly. ‘But—’ he looked away embarrassedly ‘—that’s up to them. I just wanted to say to you—’ his grey gaze came back to seek hers ‘—if you need a friend who really cares about you, I’m here.’
Alex felt a rush of warmth and she quite spontaneously stood on her toes and kissed him lightly. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much,’ she breathed, but stepped away as his hands came up to circle her waist. And she took flight down the path towards the pool garden.
Once there she breathed in the night air, deliciously perfumed with jasmine and honeysuckle but very fresh, and she stood quite still to catch her breath.
Then the gate clicked open behind her and she whirled on her heel, afraid it was Paul again, but it was Max…
Instead of steadying, her breathing grew more ragged and her heart started to pound, he looked so tall, so good-looking, but with that entirely unapproachable aura again.
‘You shouldn’t have run away from Paul, Alex.’
She stared up at him, her eyes huge. ‘You…you heard?’
He shook his head. ‘Only the last bit when he offered you his friendship. But you’d have to be blind not to know there’s a whole lot more he’d like to offer you. He’s also thoroughly nice—what have you got against him?’
Alex felt a spike of sheer annoyance surge through her veins that was as unexpected as it was irrational. But, at that moment, she felt Max Goodwin was the last person she needed advice from on her—non-existent but all the same—love life. Anyway, whose fault was it Paul O’Hara didn’t affect her at all?
She opened her mouth, tried to caution herself against doing anything silly, but days of turmoil and trying to hide the truth from him and herself saw her suddenly snap…
She said huskily, ‘What have I got against him? He’s not you.’
She paused with her lips parted as his eyes changed, went from bleak to incredulous, then her fingers flew to her mouth in a telling little gesture that shouted her thoughts—What on earth have I done?
She also couldn’t help the blush that burned her cheeks and she lurched into speech to attempt, at least, to ground her statement in reality. ‘Not that I mean to burden you with it! I fully realize there’s probably light years between us in—in that kind of context,’ she stammered.
The Billionaire Boss's Innocent Bride Page 10