by Margaret Way
Tears glittered like jewels in her eyes and she didn’t bother to hide them. “But I want that too, Mitch, more than anything in life.”
“You do now.” He let his gaze rest on her beautiful face. “But you’re going away very soon. Tell me again after you go back to Sydney.”
CHAPTER NINE
THE fashion critics and the fashion spectators loved the parades.
“Christine Reardon isn’t a supermodel for nothing,” the editor of one high-profile style magazine was quoted as saying.
She was a great success—an international model but one of their own.
Much was made of the fact she glowed with health and vitality, because the eating disorder anorexia was causing grave concern around the world and within sections of the industry itself. For all models, dieting was a way of life. Some of her friends in the business near starved to maintain their so skinny bodies, but she made sure she kept to a healthy diet and an exercise program worked out for her by an expert who’d helped shape a lot more famous bodies than her own. It took effort and discipline, but it worked, leaving her with a figure that drew “wow’s”!
After the final parade—though she still had a swimsuit promotion to do—everyone piled into limousines, heading off for a party and buffet at a top society hostess’s opulent harbourside mansion. It was post-parade mania as usual.
She wore one of the evening’s show-stoppers, a beaded silk chiffon gown in deep turquoise and purple, and a collection of turquoise and sterling silver bracelets on her arms, the elaborate matching pendant earrings swinging like chandeliers from her ears. She was expected to look very glamorous and sexy, which meant just that bit over the top, but it was all harmless enough.
What wasn’t so harmless was the fact Ben Savage kept turning up everywhere she went, promoting the public perception they were still a hot item. How would Mitch feel if this ever got back to him? There were no guarantees she wasn’t being watched by some private investigator. After that business with Amanda Logan nothing would surprise her. But Ben was on a high. His trip to Oz was a phenomenal success. He was everywhere in Sydney—on talk shows, at parties, functions, shopping centres.
True to his promise, he had attended tonight’s parade, where a plethora of females had vied in embarrassing fashion for his attention. But he had persisted in staring up at Christine on the catwalk as though she was the sexiest woman in the world. He’d already tried to sweep her into one of those Californian clinches he’d perfected on his afternoon soap, but she’d elbowed him in the ribs.
Maybe it was going to take a little time for their split to sink in.
An hour or so later, at the party, he tried to kiss her again. She was tempted to tell him she was madly, deeply and truly in love with someone else, but she thought it might feed his competitiveness. That was the thing. Most actors were very competitive.
Around two a.m. she decided she just had to make her getaway. She’d held up just fine—she and Ben were the life of the party, which was precisely what their hostess expected—but her joie de vivre didn’t stretch to three a.m.
She was quietly trying to ring herself a cab when Ben appeared at her elbow.
“You’re so lucky, darlin’. A limousine awaits.”
“Really? A limousine?” Christine wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth or not.
“Honey, would I lie to you?”
“Yes, you would.”
“Okay, then…” Ben turned, his eyes alighting on their very soignée hostess. “Can I talk to you, Jessy, please?”
Jessica Kimball who never, but never, answered to Jessy, cruised to their side. “Anything, Ben.” She looked up at him with mischief in her eyes.
“Could you please tell Christine here that there’s a limousine at her disposal?”
Jessica hid her disappointment. “But of course, Christine. Surely you’re not leaving? This lot are going to party all night.”
“I haven’t had much sleep this past week, Jessica,” Christine apologized. “But I do thank you for a marvellous evening.”
“Our pleasure. You and Ben are a wonderful double act. You’re not going too, Ben?”
“I just can’t let her leave alone, Jessy.”
“I understand.” Jessica’s smile was arch. “But you’ve both got to promise you’ll come to the little reception I’m giving next week.”
“You couldn’t keep us away!” Ben bent gallantly to kiss Jessica Kimball’s cheek.
“So, where to?” Ben asked when they were tucked into the back seat of the luxurious limo. So far he hadn’t been able to find out where Chris was staying. That was top secret.
Christine gave him the address, a twenty-minute drive away.
“About time too,” said Ben, the super-optimist, with unwarranted satisfaction.
Mitch had heard about how great a fashion model Christine was. He’d even studied her photographs on the quiet—photos that appeared in the fashion magazines his mother subscribed to. Now he was seeing her in action. She was extravagantly beautiful with her flawless hair and make-up. Her clothes were a treasure trove of evening gear, featuring the most beautiful colours and fabrics he’d ever seen in his life. Already tall she was a goddess in high-heeled sandals. How she didn’t stumble and break her neck he’d never know. In fact he was fearful, but there she was, stepping it out—sometimes darn near at a gallop—with all the in-built confidence and panache of a creation who hardly seemed to touch the ground.
His Chrissy! Boy, was he in deep! The very sight of her melted his bones.
He was lucky to have found a seat. The parade was a sell-out. But a very pleasant older woman, whose face seemed way too small for her incredible hairdo, had shown she had clout by fitting him in towards the rear of the huge room. That didn’t bother him at all. He was here to surprise Chris as well as get a chance to see her strut her stuff, and sure enough she was marvelous, with some technique of moving and showing off the clothes that the other models, despite their good looks and good figures, couldn’t match. Small wonder she had made it in this business. She had everything!
Looking around him, he could see that people loved her. She smiled at them. Really smiled. She looked vivid and vital. She looked as if she loved her audience and they embraced her.
Which was precisely what he desperately wanted to do. These intervening weeks had been a tough time for him. He had delivered his ultimatum and even now he wasn’t sure if Chris was truly ready to sacrifice what must be a glamorous life. Now there was a great waiting. A kind of suspended animation until he was face to face with her again and could hear her say those three little words he so desperately wanted and needed to hear. I love you.
Ten minutes later, as she was showing off a seductive midnight-blue lace gown—what size was her tiny waist?—he spotted the American soap star, his doppelgänger, Ben Savage.
Wasn’t that just lovely! Shock quickly crystallized into a rush of hostility the like of which Mitch had never experienced before. The reason why he hadn’t spotted Savage before—and God knows he’d looked—was that Savage had for some reason changed places with a big burly guy who would have looked more at home driving an armoured van. It was impossible to miss his resemblance to himself. Savage might have been a Claydon. He was sitting down, so he didn’t know how tall Savage was, but he sure stood out from the crowd.
After that his sense of enthrallment went rapidly downhill. The rest of the parade was painful to endure. He spent as much time watching Savage and his reactions—which the soap star made no effort to hide—as Christine. Savage, bless him, was very, very supportive. His eyes were glued to Christine’s every appearance which he greeted with applause, picking up his conversations with the other guests immediately she moved off-stage.
So Savage was still very much taken with Chris. Maybe that was why he was here in Australia? Wasn’t it a long way to come to promote a soap opera? Maybe Savage had decided to ask Chris to marry him? What he was witnessing wasn’t smiling affection for an ex-girlfr
iend. It was an intimate reaction. God knows, they’d been lovers. If that wasn’t enough to inspire animosity, what was?
The talk at his table was all about the gala post-parade party at the home of some very well heeled society hostess—Jessica something. The woman beside him—Heather—had already told him with effusive gaiety she thought she’d been seeing double when he’d arrived.
“Why, you and Ben are so alike you could be brothers!”
Sacred cow! He’d hoped she would tell him more about the “fabulous” post-parade party; instead she issued an invitation of her own.
“Listen, I have the most marvellous idea. Why don’t you join us? We’re going on to a nightclub.”
He’d regretfully declined, citing a previous engagement, trying to be pleasant when he was feeling jangled beyond belief.
Christine and Savage. He definitely wanted an explanation.
When he finally made it backstage there was such a packed gathering it was difficult to move. Someone actually called him Mr Savage along the way, albeit uncertainly, causing him to grind his teeth. And instead of being there in all her glory, Christine, he was told, had been whisked off in a limousine. Naturally Ben Savage had been one of the party. Were they related?
He’d had more than enough of that.
He had no idea when she’d be back. But he did know where she was staying. Kyall had told him about the apartment he’d bought in Sydney for his and the family’s use. It was bound to be an up-market pad. Kyall did a lot of travelling on family business, and an apartment suited him better than a hotel. Chris, in fact, would be the first one to make use of it.
Chris? Or Chris and the soap star? The thought that Chris mightn’t be one hundred per cent faithful might drive him insane. As it was he was in turmoil. He had the appalling notion that Christine and Savage might be back together again. These things, however repellent, happened. There was always the possibility Christine’s affections for him hadn’t proved strong enough.
What an agony! He was sickened by his own feelings of insecurity. Surely if he loved her he shouldn’t be so ready to pre-judge? Surely he owed her the chance to explain.
It had better be good!
The penthouse apartment had a phenomenal view. He might have known. It was a wide-angled one that took in sparkling Rushcutter’s Bay, its beautiful marina afloat with all manner of craft and the occasional mega-yacht. There was a long view of the Sydney Opera House, with its famous billowing white “sails” lit to night-time radiance, and just behind it the noble span of the Sydney Harbour Bridge, one of the longest and certainly the widest steel-arch bridge in the world.
It and the Opera House identified Sydney for all Australians and visitors from all over the world. He couldn’t think of another harbour more blue or more magnificent. And over the years he had managed to see them all. The city’s night-time glitter was spectacular too.
While he was here he’d intended to hit the beaches with Chris. Sydney’s thirteen beaches, between Manly and Palm Beach, were among the best in the world. The restaurants weren’t bad either, catering for every conceivable taste and culture. This was a big, cosmopolitan city. Another big plus for him was the warm, fine weather. Summer was much milder than in his fiery desert home.
He turned away from the view to inspect the apartment. Kyall had given him a key in case Chris wasn’t available to meet him when he arrived. She had a tight schedule. Kyall must have been working with someone—an interior designer—because Mitch found as he wandered around the easy-flowing layout that the apartment had been fully furnished: not with the traditional grandeur of Wunnamurra’s legendary homestead, but with a more contemporary tailored look, bringing in a lot of comfort and luxury.
He approved of the beautiful wood floors and the designer rugs. The sofas and the armchairs in the living room weren’t too bad either. They offered a lot of comfort. And wasn’t comfort what he needed?
He made himself a stiff drink, Scotch on the rocks, before sinking into a deep armchair, facing the sparkling view, and loosening his tie. The idea was to catch forty winks—he’d been endlessly on the go just to get here—before Chris arrived home.
On her own? A feeling of dread stuck in his throat.
He’d had a truly terrible time after Chris had run off that first time. It had never left his consciousness. Her absence had never cured him. He took a swallow of his Scotch—the best; the McQueens knew how to live—unwilling to allow those old feelings of loss and rejection to creep over him again. If she had Savage by her side he honestly couldn’t condone the guy’s getting through the door. He’d heave himself to his feet and mosey on home to Marjimba, leaving the situation wide open to his rival.
If he couldn’t trust Chris it made no sense to marry her. The risk she would run again was too high. He saw clearly he mightn’t let her do it.
Ben insisted on coming up to her door. Christine knew there wasn’t a small part of him that would represent a threat to her, but he literally wouldn’t go away. He wanted to have his say before he left the city. It was clear he genuinely thought giving up her glittering career, which she had hinted at, was one big mistake.
At her door he touched her shoulder lightly. “One for the road?”
“I’d rather we didn’t, Ben.”
“You know you can trust me.”
“I do trust you, Ben. You’re what my mother calls a gentleman.”
“What do you call me?”
“A good friend.”
“Then let me in for a few moments, Chris,” he begged, with a little-boy-lost look Mitch definitely didn’t have. “If I could wrap my arms around you it would take away the pain. We should never have parted.”
“We did, Ben, remember? And you’ve had quite a few affairs in between. So this isn’t a great idea.”
He gave her a long, almost uncomprehending look. “It makes no difference if I tell you I still love you?”
“Ben, our affair is behind us. It was good fun, but it couldn’t last.”
“That was my stupid fault.” He dropped his head onto her shoulder, giving her the curious notion he’d done that very thing in his soap. “We were great together. How about one kiss before I go?”
“I’d sooner not lead you into temptation.” She couldn’t help smiling.
“One weeniest little kiss for old times’ sake?”
“No.”
“No? Once it used to be yes.” He straightened, taking her face tenderly in his hands. “Short and sweet?” But he just couldn’t keep to it, for all his honest intentions.
Mitch came out of a light drowse to hear voices at the door. Chris, unmistakably, and a man with a very definite American accent. Ben Savage. He had an eerie feeling of heightened awareness. The big question was: would Christine dismiss Savage at the door?
Several moments elapsed and they were still out there, but doing what? Mitch intended to find out. Savage was obviously as obsessively in love with Christine as he was. He stood up purposefully, raking a hand through his hair as he walked to the foyer. He didn’t particularly want to startle Chris, even if she was living on the edge in a promiscuous kind of life. He didn’t mind giving Savage a fright though.
God, was that a moan? If she was moaning, with all that entailed, things would never be the same.
Feeling no guilt at all, Mitch threw open the door, catching the two people outside—man and woman locked in a passionate embrace.
He was so angry it might come to violence. “At least I now know you two are an item,” he said in a voice so cold it appeared to affect Savage more than any seething rage.
“Mitch!” Christine broke away. In her sapphire eyes he saw a painful mix of embarrassment and—incredibly— pleasure to see him.
How bizarre! “Chrissy, darling, how are you? There are just no words to describe how I feel at this moment.”
Christine felt the icy chill. It swept from her ankles to her head. “Kyall gave you a key?”
“He’s nothing if not my best fri
end. And you’re Ben, of course. I’m absolutely riveted by our resemblance.”
“Do you know? So am I.” Ben stared at him. “So you’re Chris’s Mitch. I’ve heard so much about you.” Ben, the experienced actor, found a charming smile even when he was seriously panicked. This guy looked like one tough Aussie.
“Oh? What have you heard?” Mitch glanced from one to the other, eyes glittering.
Christine quickly put herself between the two men. Mitch was taller, rangier, with a steel in him she knew Ben the playboy didn’t have. Side by side there were very marked differences. “Ben was just saying goodnight, Mitch.”
“Yes, time to go.” Ben felt incredibly awkward, but tried hard to keep it all together. He wasn’t looking for a fight. Not with this guy. “Great to meet you, Mitch. You’re a lucky man. Keep in touch, Chris.” He blew her a kiss as he hotfooted it away.
“Thanks for bringing me home, Ben.”
“A pleasure. Be good.” Ben made such a dash for the lift one would have thought Mitch was in hot pursuit. Mercifully for all, it was already at the top floor. He disappeared with another quick wave of his hand.
“I thought you had to be sixteen to leave a man with a kiss outside the door,” Mitch said in a hard, judgmental voice. “I was waiting for you to invite him in.”
“Hey, he was leaving.” Christine feared an explosion of tension.
“Just a bit embarrassing, don’t you think?” He was angry, though fierce splinters of desire pressed into his flesh.
“You weren’t supposed to be here for a couple of days.” She tried to head him off.
“As it turns out it was a good time to catch you out.”
“Catch me out? Oh, really!” She spun on her heel, her long silk chiffon skirt floating around her legs.