‘I’m not so sure,’ she said with a faint tinge of humour. ‘He may cook like an angel but the only reason I’m here is to help him sort out the chaos he got himself into on the business side of the restaurant!’
Lyall laughed.
‘So he comes from a wealthy background?’ Fleur asked with a frown.
‘Very wealthy. He and his sister, Alana, were consistently featured in the beautiful-people-born-with-a-silver-spoon set. Funny thing, though, she dropped out too and hasn’t been sighted for years.’
‘What about…Tom’s mother?’ Fleur asked because she couldn’t help herself.
Lyall shrugged. ‘It’s always been a big mystery but Bryn has never lacked for women in his life. But hey! Enough of him! We’re leaving in a couple of days, but, by my calculations, you should be back in Brisbane in a couple of months. May I keep in touch in the meantime?’
‘I…’ Fleur hesitated because he looked so earnest and he was nice.
Then he proved he was intuitive too. ‘Just friends unless you would like it to be more?’
She smiled. ‘That’s easy to say, Lyall, but…’
‘I hereby guarantee to absolve you of all responsibility for my feelings in the matter. And if you change your mind before you get back to Brisbane, all you have to do is not answer my letters.’
She looked down at the delicious prawn cutlets she was eating then up into his blue eyes and simply smiled faintly.
He sat back, apparently satisfied, and they finished their lunch in pleasant harmony.
But as they stood up to go a note of disharmony introduced itself. Stella Sinclair got up from a nearby table; Fleur hadn’t noticed her, and she came over to them.
‘Hi, Fleur,’ she said casually enough.
‘Oh—hello, Stella! Uh, this is Lyall Henderson. He’s on holiday on the mainland.’
‘How do you do?’ Lyall said politely.
But Stella only studied him for a long moment then looked back to Fleur, deliberately taking in the lovely outfit Fleur wore. ‘Wasn’t stealing Bryn enough for you, Fleur?’ she asked arctically. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you needed to import lovers from the mainland just yet, not with Bryn in tow, anyway, unless—that’s the kind of woman you are!’ And she turned on her heel to stalk away.
‘Don’t,’ Lyall said and took Fleur’s hand in his.
‘What?’ she asked shakenly.
‘React at all. Let’s just sweep out of here with our heads held high! Bryn,’ he said drily, ‘has been discarding women all his life, from what I’ve heard.’
Fleur started to walk. ‘So you don’t think I may have stolen him from her?’
‘No. Which is not to say I don’t think you’d be much safer with me than Bryn Wallis.’
‘Has young Lochinvar ridden back to the mainland?’
Fleur stared at Bryn, who was the first person she’d happened to encounter after Lyall had dropped her off at Clam Cove. ‘He’s taken the ferry back to the mainland if that’s what you mean,’ she said coldly. She hadn’t changed yet but come into her office to check if there were any faxes or e-mails before she made her way to her cabin. ‘How’s Tom?’
‘Asleep at the moment. Good lunch?’ he enquired, lounging against the doorpost. His hazel gaze skimmed her lovely outfit, her wayward, windblown hair, and came to rest on her mouth, almost as if he was speculating on whether she had been kissed or not.
In fact he stared at her mouth for so long, Fleur found herself licking her lips and remembering the feel of his lips on hers, although so brief, a few nights ago.
He looked up into her eyes at last, and she couldn’t look away. Nor could she help the faint tinge of colour that came to her cheeks, and then she saw a little glint of triumph in his greeny-gold eyes, and knew he’d not only deliberately planned to jog her memory but had been able to read from her reaction that he had. Damn him, she thought and took a steadying breath.
‘A great lunch,’ she responded evenly, ‘but I would appreciate it if you could disabuse your former mistress of the idea that I stole you from her.’
‘Oh, dear,’ he said plaintively. ‘I gather Stella made a scene?’
‘What I can’t work out is why she would think that—unless you planted the seeds of it.’
‘I did no such thing. Well,’ he shrugged, ‘you’re a bit hard for anyone to ignore, Fleur—’
‘Don’t start that,’ she broke in. ‘I have no idea why you broke up with Stella, it’s none of my business anyway, but one thing I do know—it had nothing to do with me!’
‘She wanted to turn this place into a wildly expensive wilderness retreat where we socked the guests for close to a thousand dollars a day for the opportunity to get back to nature.’
Fleur stared at him with her lips parted, her eyes wide. ‘You mean…here?’
‘Here. Clam Cove. Where we are, at this minute, standing.’
Fleur closed her mouth with something of a snap then looked confused. ‘But…why?’
He smiled faintly. ‘She didn’t begin to understand me for one thing.’
‘She wouldn’t be alone in that,’ Fleur commented drily.
‘You, on the other hand, looked quite shocked at the thought of the kind of desecration she had in mind for Clam Cove. I mean, the restaurant is bad enough, I sometimes think. And perhaps you also agree with me that charging people an arm and a leg to get back to nature is contrary to the true spirit of the thing anyway?’
Fleur blinked several times then spread her hands. ‘Look, there’s no point debating what you and I may or may not agree upon. The thing is, she thinks it happened because of me!’
He was silent.
‘Was this only a business partnership she had in mind?’ Fleur asked at length.
‘No.’
‘Would…she have been happy just to…live here with you, live your kind of life, I mean?’
Bryn grimaced. ‘It’s my considered opinion Stella will always be a career woman, although at the moment she’s not seeing that too clearly.’
Fleur pulled out her chair and sank down into it. Bryn did not change his lounging position against the door frame, although he raised a hand to fiddle with the shark tooth hanging around his neck. He wore board shorts as usual and a faded yellow T-shirt.
‘It would have happened, Fleur, whether you were here or not, and Stella will realize that in the course of time. But the blame does lie with me—I should have seen it coming. I didn’t. I thought we were two of a kind in the wanting no commitment department,’ he said and looked over her head at a spot on the wall. Then he added, ‘I still think living my kind of life would have seen her tearing her hair out eventually.’
‘Do you think you will always want to live this kind of life, Bryn?’ Fleur heard herself say suddenly.
It was a long moment before he withdrew his gaze from the spot on the wall and looked at her. ‘Who knows? How did you get on with Lyall?’
Fleur reacted to this blatant change of subject by standing up abruptly. ‘Fine,’ she said evenly. ‘I think I’ll go and change.’
But he straightened up so he was barring the doorway. ‘I can vouch for him being a nice young man.’
‘I would agree, although I didn’t think you two knew each other that well.’
Their gazes locked then he shrugged. ‘I don’t. But I’m a good judge of character and he comes from a nice family. I also think it’s better for you to confine yourself to younger men. You might not get…exploited so frequently.’
Fleur closed her eyes then lifted her lashes to look at him steadily. ‘Bryn, just move so I can get out of here, will you? I’m really not interested in your thoughts on the subject—and it’s a pity you weren’t a better judge of what was happening to Stella here and now, rather than your long-term judgements of her character.’
‘I hate to be trite but it always amazes me how women stick together—even after she intimated you were a nymphomaniac! Be my guest,’ he added, and stood aside with a flourish.
But Fleur was suddenly rooted to the spot. ‘How did you know what she said?’ she gasped.
‘One of the resort waitresses is a great friend of Julene’s. She just happened to be in earshot and she also just happened to be coming off her shift so she rang to impart this delicious tidbit of gossip—who wouldn’t have? Especially on an island where we all know each other.’
Fleur ground her teeth. ‘You mean a fishbowl! If only I’d known,’ she marvelled.
He reached out a hand and placed the tip of his finger on the point of her chin for a moment. ‘It’s got to be better than working in an office, in a high-rise, in a city, surely?’ There was quizzical amusement in his hazel eyes. ‘It’s got to be better living rather than just existing, for that matter.’
She started to say something scathing but it occurred to her suddenly that he had a point, although she wasn’t sure why this feeling had crept over her from nowhere. This feeling that she was making heavy weather of things for no good reason.
Then she noticed, through the open doorway, the pair of resident plovers with their black caps and yellow beaks, patrolling the lawn behind the restaurant. She often watched them through her office doorway, as well as the noisy throng of greenies, brilliant emerald and scarlet parrots that swooped in and out of the native bush beyond the lawn in search of succulent berries. And she often paused from her computer work and turned her chair to stare at the riotous tangle of purple bougainvillaea and yellow allamanda that covered an outbuilding, and the blue sky above.
What she thought at times like those, when she could also smell the tang of salty air on the breeze and hear the lap of the high tide on the beach, was how serene and beautiful Clam Cove was, and how much she enjoyed living there despite Bryn Wallis.
In fact, she realized, there were other times that gave her the same contentment. Times when she watched Bryn set out in the dinghy to check the lobster pots or fish from the beach. Times when she watched him contentedly working on a piece of wood in his studio which was nothing but a thatched roof on four poles with roll-down canvas walls to keep out the weather. And they gave her that sense of contentment because it seemed to epitomize the spirit of Clam Cove and what a haven of peace and creativity it would be in the months when the restaurant was closed.
She also, at those times, felt a stirring within to work with her hands and be productive in an earthy sense rather than be working on a computer. Also to be creative herself, and she found herself thinking of the wall hangings she and her mother had used to make, and felt a longing to incorporate the sea, the coral, the sky into glorious hangings…
‘Fleur?’
She came back to the present and looked into Bryn’s eyes. ‘You could be right,’ she said quietly. ‘OK, no more drama. Would you like me to sit with Tom this evening?’
For a long moment there was something acute and probing in his eyes, then he smiled, that genuine smile that had a tendency to make her catch her breath, and replied, ‘I’d really appreciate it.’
CHAPTER FOUR
FOR the next few days, Fleur soaked up the peace and contentment of Clam Cove. She did think of what Bryn had revealed about his affair with Stella, and concluded that, while he may not have been in the right, he was probably right in that Stella had failed to understand him.
And, as Tom recovered fully, things got back to normal. No, better than normal, she reflected. Because all the hostility seemed to have gone out of her relationship with Bryn. If he still thought of her as man-bait or exploitable by older men, he treated her quite differently. He even started to teach her how to fish from the beach, and hugged her good-naturedly when she caught her first fish—anyone would have thought she’d caught a pot of gold, so excited was she by one small whiting.
On another occasion, she came across him reading a newspaper which he then hurled away from him in obvious disgust.
This was not an infrequent event but she managed to say without revealing her amusement, ‘Something bugging you, Bryn?’
‘Yes!’ He ground his teeth. ‘Politicians making huge, meaningless promises to protect the environment when they would have not the slightest idea how to even go about it.’
‘And you do?’ She couldn’t resist it.
His gaze sharpened on her. ‘You think I don’t?’
‘I don’t know. You do seem to have a lot of pent-up ire on a lot of subjects.’
‘I happen to be very well read,’ he said in a dignified way. Then his expression changed to one of rueful amusement. ‘However, I am a firm believer in not believing everything you read—it’s impossible anyway; you’d go mad because everyone contradicts everyone else!’
Fleur agreed that she’d suffered the same problem. ‘I often think you have to go and see for yourself,’ she added. ‘But I’m sure you would know that better than most.’
His gaze narrowed on her. ‘Would you be interested in doing that?’
She thought for a bit. ‘Research and statistics have always appealed to me. Perhaps it’s,’ she glinted a laughing little look at him, ‘why computers also appeal, as a way of reducing chaos to order.’
‘As you have done with my business affairs?’
‘Well, nearly.’
He opened his mouth as if to say more but Tom skipped up and they turned their attention to him.
And, by accident, she revealed a talent she had hitherto concealed. She came across Julene one afternoon, staring dismally at a pavlova she’d taken out of the oven.
‘I hate making pavs,’ Julene said intensely. ‘Look at this, as flat as a pancake and Bryn’s are sometimes no better. Why he insists on having them on the dessert menu is a mystery to me!’
‘I…seem to have a bit of luck with them,’ Fleur commented. ‘Don’t know why. I’m not in your or Bryn’s class otherwise when it comes to cooking, but pavs…’ She shrugged.
Julene immediately reached for another apron and handed it to Fleur. ‘Be a honey and have a go!’ she begged.
So Fleur cooked a pavlova, cursing herself for ever mentioning it and quite sure her skill would desert her. It didn’t. It was magnificent and she filled it with kiwi fruit, strawberries and cream. There was one small piece left over at the end of the evening when they were all sitting down having a cup of coffee, and Bryn ate it.
‘Good-pavlova day,’ he complimented Julene, and paused. ‘Sensational-pavlova day!’
‘I cannot tell a lie,’ Julene said. ‘I had an awful-pavlova day today and Fleur came to the rescue.’
Bryn switched his hazel gaze to Fleur with a definite tinge of surprise in it. ‘You made this?’
‘Er…yes. But it’s about my only cooking forte,’ she added hastily.
‘How can you cook superb, melt-in-the-mouth pavlovas and nothing else?’ he demanded.
‘Well, perhaps it’s because I like cooking desserts.’ She shrugged.
‘Fleur, would you like a rise in pay?’
She stared at him cautiously. ‘What for?’
‘Pavlovas, what else? And any other fabulous desserts you can come up with.’
‘It would cut into my time with your books,’ she pointed out.
‘Blow the books. Look,’ he said earnestly, ‘that’s what this place is all about. Excellence in what we do with our hands, not the books. Anyway,’ he studied her keenly, ‘I’ve got the feeling you could cope with the books with one hand tied behind your back.’
Fleur was silent for a time as she remembered her urge to be creative. Then she raised her eyebrows. ‘OK. If it’s OK with you, Julene?’
‘Hon, I’ve just decided I’ll never make another pavlova in my life!’
They all laughed.
That was how Fleur became the assistant dessert cook, and it wasn’t long before she was producing not only magnificent pavlovas but also sticky date puddings, brandy puddings, light-as-air lemon meringues, sorbets, orange wedges in Cointreau and raspberry mousse.
It was as she was carefully separating orange segments one day
that she looked up to find Bryn watching her thoughtfully. Nor did he stop watching her with that same thoughtful air until she said a little awkwardly, ‘What have I done?’
‘Do you realize how word of your puddings has spread?’
‘Has it?’
‘Yes. I had one couple from Melbourne tell me that was the reason they came to Hedge Island.’
‘You’re joking!’
‘No. Friends of theirs who stayed here recommended the resort but added a rider that whatever they did they should not bypass the desserts at Clam Cove.’
‘Oh! Didn’t I tell you right at the beginning that I might bring in more guests for you?’ she returned impishly.
‘That too,’ he murmured.
Fleur sobered. When she worked in the restaurant nowadays she was just her normal, natural self and she made no attempt to wear deliberately dowdy clothes. But she never responded to any overtures from male guests, although she couldn’t say they didn’t happen. Had he been observing them? she wondered now. Had it, despite her lack of response, added to his mistaken image of her as man-bait?
Then he smiled suddenly. ‘It was a useful lesson in ego management.’
Fleur blinked.
‘I was fully expecting to be told it was the lobster or my garlic prawns, my veal dishes or my magnificent roast pork.’ He shrugged and looked downcast.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said on a smothered laugh. ‘I’m sure all those get talked about down south too!’
‘And I know when I’m being humoured,’ he returned, then came past her to casually rumple her hair. ‘Keep at it, kid. You have a growing reputation to maintain.’
She stared after him as he walked away, with the sharp little knife she was using on the oranges poised. And it was some time before she got back to slicing segments as she grappled with the irony that things were so good between her and Bryn sometimes now, one would almost imagine the attraction between them that he hadn’t denied should be allowed to…
Wife in the Making Page 6