He slid back the curtains and stared out past the Juliet-type balcony. This was his favorite place, and he guarded this treasure like a miser with a pile of coins—an almost uninterrupted view of the Melbourne skyline. Would he be able to see Prahran from here? Damn it, he wasn’t interested in Prahran, and he sure as hell wasn’t interested in Caroline Dennison.
He ran a hand across his jaw and his bristles rasped. Not only did he need a shower but also a shave. The bathroom was immaculate, as usual, like the rest of his apartment. He couldn’t bear to live with untidiness and clutter. He was extremely satisfied with the housekeeper who came in daily. She lived in one of the ground floor apartments and would come up at short notice and prepare his evening meal if he required it. Of course, he paid top dollar for her services, but it was worth it.
Strange how he still missed his little stray mutt. No dogs were allowed in the apartment block, but he had built a kennel in the back garden and fed the puppy morning and night. On several occasions he had seen the woman from apartment four sneaking food to it, as well, so he wasn’t the only sucker.
He changed into a dark navy suit and a pale blue open-necked shirt. His parents always liked him to dress formally for dinner, but to be perverse he decided to take a more casual approach. What the hell was wrong with him? He felt irritable and jittery for some strange reason.
Right on six o’clock, he left for his parents’ home. Shoppers crowded the streets. The stores stayed open late on Thursdays and Fridays in the lead-up to the Christmas shopping frenzy. What a farce. He slammed on the brakes to avoid a couple of hippies who shot out onto the road waving a placard with ‘Aussie soldiers are murderers’ scrawled across it in red paint. He couldn’t even tell whether they were male or female. Didn’t those feral peaceniks ever give up?
It didn’t take long to drive to his parents’ palatial Toorak home. It stood amidst park-like gardens. The two-storied mansion had a full length verandah trimmed with fancy iron lacework. It had been in the Harrington family for three generations and as an adult he always took a moment to admire it.
He drove through the massive iron gates, which were electronically controlled and glided shut behind him. As he drove up the curved driveway, he inhaled the perfume from the profusely flowering rose bushes lining the driveway. Native and ornamental shrubs were scattered throughout the carefully manicured lawns.
He parked the car out in front, walked to the front door and banged the brass knocker, easier than using his key. The uniformed housekeeper instantly opened it.
“Good evening, Mr. Harrington. Your mother has been waiting for you.”
“How are you, Mrs. Ferguson? Sorry I’m late, but I got held up at work.” He followed her through a columned archway and down the carpeted hallway.
Ramrod straight, his mother sat on a rosewood Regency chair. He had a good eye for antiques, and this was a fine example. The house contained Regency and Hepplewhite furniture that had belonged to the Harrington family for generations.
“Bryce, darling.” She rose to greet him with the elegance of a woman half her age.
“Hello, Mother. Happy birthday.” He kissed her cool, powdered cheek.
“Ah, there you are, son. We’ve been waiting for you.”
“Hello, Dad, sorry I’m late.” He mouthed the polite platitudes that were expected of him.
“Have a drink, son.”
“Thanks.” He sat down on another of the Regency chairs to sip his whiskey. The old man didn’t look too bad for his age. His hair was completely gray now, but he still had plenty of it. Thank goodness baldness didn’t run in the family.
“Now, what happened about this Mountainside file? We stand to lose half a million dollars on this deal now.” Of course his father would start on him straight away. This was going to be the night from hell.
“I’m not sure how the information leaked out, but I’ve got my suspicions.” He proceeded to tell his father about Marilyn Francis. “You know how vindictive she can be, turned nasty when I broke off with her.”
“I don’t know why you bother with such vulgar types,” his mother chipped in, disapproval in her eyes.
“They do have their uses,” he drawled, just to irritate her. He had never noticed how cold and haughty she was before. Caroline was soft…
“Don’t be so common and crude. You should be thinking of marriage and settling down.” She warmed to her theme. “You’ve had plenty of time to sow your wild oats.”
Bryce scowled, knowing what he would hear next. Almost word for word he knew what his father was getting ready to say.
“My sentiments exactly, dear.” He took his unlit cigar out of his mouth. “You must think of marrying and producing an heir. After all, once I’m gone, you’ll be the last of the Harringtons. What will become of the firm? It’s up to you to continue the line. A man doesn’t want to see a lifetime of work and ambition flow down the drain.”
“I’ve told you before.” Bryce tried to keep his temper in check. “I don’t intend to marry, at least not yet. Why didn’t you have more than one child? Then you wouldn’t have to force me to do something I don’t want.”
“Now, I won’t have you speaking in such a disparaging fashion.” His mother’s lips thinned. “I did my duty by your father and gave him a son, now it’s up to you to continue the line. Lady Fontain’s daughter, Ashley, is a wonderful girl. You could do worse.”
“That empty-headed bimbo? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“They’re wealthy people. She has relations high up in government. Think what they could do for the firm, especially with these defense contracts coming up. You’re thirty-four. Your father and I were married before we were thirty.”
“More fool you,” he snapped. “Isn’t dinner ready yet? I’m hungry.” What a downright lie. He had lost his appetite. If the arguing continued much longer he would have to get up and leave, before his temper got the better of him and he said something he would later regret.
Like a magic genie Mrs. Ferguson appeared, saving the situation with her announcement that dinner was served. Alexander took his wife’s arm and, still scowling, Bryce followed them to the dining room.
The rosewood Regency table was covered with a hand-embroidered lace tablecloth and set with silver cutlery. Anyone would think his mother was entertaining royalty. Bloody farce.
Mrs. Ferguson served the scallop bisque from a Crown Derby soup tureen and, after a whiff of the aroma, Bryce found his appetite returning. One thing for sure, his parents picked the best domestic staff money could buy. A crown roast, with baked vegetables, cauliflower in white sauce, peas and beans followed the soup. Dessert turned out to be his favorite, chocolate brandy soufflé.
They retired to the sitting room to drink their coffee.
“Mother, I forgot to give you your birthday present.” He pulled out a small, carefully wrapped package and handed it over.
“Thank you.” She kissed his cheek and then undid the ribbon and unwrapped the present. She lifted the lid of the small jeweler’s box to display a daisy-shaped ring, a black opal center surrounded by petals of rolled gold.
“Darling, it’s beautiful.”
He watched her slip it onto the ring finger of her right hand. His mother had a fetish for rings. He thought cynically of the dozens of expensive diamonds locked in the safe upstairs, but felt pleased that she appeared happy with the opal.
It had been Caroline’s idea.
“Black opals are lovely. If she doesn’t have many opals it should be perfect,” she had said.
“Actually, my secretary picked it out for you.” Bryce smiled at his mother, mellowed by fine food and wine.
“Did she? I must say she showed excellent taste.”
“What’s her name?” his father asked. “She’s got such a pleasant voice. It’s a change to hear a well spoken, polite girl these days.”
“Naturally she’s polite,” Bryce snapped. He didn’t know why, but thinking about Caroline made him edgy. Guilty consc
ience for the way he treated her? Because he found himself attracted to her? He ruthlessly squashed the dangerous thought. Hell, he didn’t want to go down that route. “Her name is Caroline Dennison.”
“Dennison? Does she come from around here?”
Bryce shrugged. “She shares an apartment in Prahran. I don’t know anything else about her.”
“Dennison.” Alexander repeated the name. “I’ve got a good memory for names. Dennison rings a bell somewhere.”
Bryce lit a cigarette and smoked it thoughtfully. “I know nothing about her private life. She’s an efficient secretary, which is all I care about. She doesn’t come from around here or move in our set. Maybe you conducted some business deal with a Dennison.”
“It’s an unusual name. No, I’m certain it has nothing to do with business. Oh, well, it will come to me sometime or other, I expect.” Shrugging, the older man took out a cigar and started peeling off the wrapper.
“I might push off now.” Bryce climbed to his feet
“Darling, you’re not leaving already?” His mother wrung her hands.
“Sorry, but I’ve got an early start in the morning.”
“I wanted to discuss the idea of a small dinner party for you.”
“No. I know your little schemes, and if you fancy trying your hand at matchmaking again, forget it. By the way, Dad.” He turned away from his mother. “Are we having the staff Christmas party here again this year?”
“Yes, our poolside barbecue always goes down well. I see no reason to change it,” Alexander said, smiling his satisfaction.
“I don’t know why you bother having all those people traipsing through our gardens. After all, they’re only workers.”
“Now, my dear, they might only be workers as far as you’re concerned, but I’ve always found it pays dividends to treat employees well,” Alexander admonished his wife.
“Well, I’m off,” Bryce said.
“Think about Ashley,” his mother fired off a parting shot.
He clamped his teeth together so as not to tell her exactly what he did think of Ashley, selfish, conniving little brat.
Giving his parents a final wave, he left the room. On soundless feet, Mrs. Ferguson appeared to see him out.
His hand clenched into an angry fist in his pocket. His snobbish mother kept trying to push him into matrimony with one or another of the daughters of her socialite friends. His bachelor life suited him admirably. Why limit yourself to one book when you could have a whole library? He didn’t intend changing it to fit in with his mother’s plans and aspirations.
Chapter Three
The alarm rang at seven o’clock. “Bum,” Kerry said while Caroline yawned and snuggled back under the blankets for an extra few minutes. Caroline got up first, pulling the blankets off her friend as she passed by. She headed for the shower, following their usual routine, last out of bed started breakfast.
When Caroline had finished showering she dressed in a white pleated skirt with a matching short-sleeved top and a navy blue, double-breasted blazer. She brushed her hair then applied blue eye shadow and a touch of pink lipstick.
In November the weather could be unpredictable. It might be cool in the morning, but warm up as the day progressed. If it got hot she could discard the blazer.
Hurrying out to the kitchen, she rescued the toast before it turned into charcoal. Kerry had her head buried in a magazine instead of watching their breakfast. They only had toast and tea, as there wasn’t enough time in their hectic schedule for anything else.
Kerry was lucky being issued with a work uniform, Caroline thought enviously as they strolled to the bus stop. Pity Harringtons didn’t supply uniforms, as well. It was hard trying to dress well besides pay her rent and other expenses, even though she earned good money now that Bryce had given her a raise.
The bus lumbered to a halt. They climbed aboard and found a seat. She only went six stops, whereas Kerry continued on into the central business district.
Harrington Constructions owned the multi-storied building, although they only occupied a couple of floors. Bryce had considerable money independent of his wealthy father, the rumor mill suggesting he dabbled in real estate and owned extensive vineyards in the Barossa Valley in South Australia. She’d discovered by accident one day that he owned several prestigious apartment blocks around Melbourne, also.
She caught the elevator up to the fifth floor without seeing anyone. Once in her office she sat down, removed the cover from her typewriter and switched it on. Nothing left to be typed, thank goodness, so she tidied her desk drawers while waiting for Bryce to arrive.
She always thought of him as Bryce but, of course, called him Mr. Harrington if she spoke of or to him. Closing her eyes, she let her mind drift. She had once overheard him describing her as mousy.
Mousy? He might as well have said ugly. “A plain little nobody” was her mother’s hurtful description. While she denigrated her, maternal pride overflowed for Andy. He could do no wrong. Fortunately, he hadn’t turned out spiteful like their mother.
She had shed a few tears about her mother’s unflattering comments, but had wept bucketfuls over Bryce’s description of her. It couldn’t stop the way she felt about him, though. Her reward for enduring this was seeing him every day. How pathetic, like an affection-starved puppy content to accept a pat on the head from its master every now and again. On rare occasions he could be exceedingly charming. When he smiled, wow, he looked like a movie star.
“I don’t pay you to daydream.”
She shot back to the present to find Bryce hovering over her, an angry glint in his eye.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been waiting for you to come in and give me some work.”
No “Good morning, Caroline,” just a caustic comment designed to make her feel guilty. What was his problem?
“Come on, pick up your book, we’ve got a lot to get through today.”
His temper wasn’t any too sweet. Apparently his dinner date last night hadn’t done anything much for him. Without speaking she followed him into his office.
“Right.” He threw himself into his leather chair and faced her. Barely giving her time to flip open her notebook, he started dictating. Her pencil flew along the page. Her shorthand speed had more than doubled since she’d started working for him.
“Hello, darling.” Shereen St. Clair’s greeting interrupted them. She glided in wearing a peach-colored slack suit, which should have clashed with her red hair but somehow didn’t. Bryce stood, and Shereen went straight up to him and kissed him on the mouth.
With bated breath Caroline waited for him to push the model to one side because of her own presence in the office. He didn’t. Instead he deepened the kiss to a long, passionate one as Caroline sat rooted to her chair. Shocked beyond belief, she watched his hand move to Shereen’s hip.
Shereen obviously had no shame, either, brazenly twining her fingers into the dark hair at his nape. Caroline bit her lip to stop the jealous scream rising up in her throat. On legs that felt so weak she didn’t know how they supported her weight, she somehow made it to the door.
“Close the door on the way out.” Bryce raised his head. “I don’t want to be interrupted on any account.” She got the feeling he was deliberately trying to get her flustered.
Shereen, giggling like a schoolgirl, locked her arms around his neck and kissed him again.
With her notebook clutched in a trembling hand, she staggered to her typewriter and frantically transcribed her notes. Anything to keep herself from falling into a screaming heap on the floor. She had finished several letters before Bryce called her back into his office.
Shereen must have departed by another door, the one which led from Bryce’s office into the corridor, although that particular door was rarely used. Had he made love to Shereen? Her heart flipped over and her stomach muscles knotted until she felt almost physically ill.
“Ready?” The faintest suggestion of a smile hovered on his lips.
She no
dded, beyond speaking. She opened her book and he started dictating again. Pausing for a moment, he lit a cigarette and lounged back in his chair, letting the smoke drift from his nostrils.
“Did we shock you, little Miss Prim?” he asked, giving a naughty schoolboy grin.
She turned a surprised gasp into a cough. What was he playing at now?
“Come on Caroline, you were shocked, weren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she stammered.
“I think you do.” He burst out laughing. “I have a luncheon date, so I won’t be back until two o’clock.”
“Yes, Mr. Harrington. Is that all?”
“Yes. Aren’t you interested in knowing who my lunch date is?” he asked with a mocking glint in his eye.
“Not particularly.” With a superhuman effort she forced her voice to sound careless. I should be nominated for an Oscar. Outwardly calm, inwardly seething, she dared not let her turmoil show.
His lips compressed, and she realized her indifference annoyed him. Good. She was a better actor than she thought.
When she had finished typing up all the letters, she placed them in Bryce’s inbox. He had taken himself off to his luncheon date, giving her a little more time to get her emotions under control.
She left the office at lunchtime, too, not for a romantic tête-à-tête at some intimate little restaurant, but to buy a suitable dress because Andy was taking her out to dinner. He was due home on leave tomorrow morning. He was in his final year at the army officers’ academy and in a few weeks would graduate as a captain. Would he be sent to Vietnam? Please, God, don’t let him be sent over there. It wouldn’t be fair. The family had already sacrificed enough. Two generations of Dennison men had been used as cannon fodder in the world wars. She and Andy were the only members of their family left now.
She jumped on a central city bound bus. Some of the arcades running off the main streets would have what she wanted. Andy was taking her to an exclusive restaurant. She knew this because on several occasions she had to book a table for Bryce. For her birthday on Wednesday, Andy wanted to take her somewhere special this weekend instead of buying a present.
Make Love Not War Page 3