‘Such as being here in the very hotel where we first met but in the Presidential Suite and in bed with a husband you barely know?’ he suggested.
‘It did cross my mind but how can you tell?’
‘I’ve always been able to read you, Fleur. Did you come to any conclusion?’
‘Such as?’
‘Let me think,’ he drawled. ‘Is there anywhere else you’d rather be at this point in time? Is there anything you’d rather be doing than this?’ He drew back the sheet and very slowly drew his hand down her body.
She tensed then relaxed with a sigh. ‘At this point in time, Bryn? No.’
Something sharpened in his hazel gaze. ‘You were thinking of resisting, Fleur?’
‘Yes, but only momentarily,’ she conceded. ‘It occurred to me that you get your way with me far too frequently for it to be altogether a good thing. For your ego, for example.’
‘Ah!’ A wicked gleam entered his eyes. ‘Well, if you seriously feel a dose of self-restraint would make my ego more manageable, I shall desist.’
‘I doubt,’ Fleur said, ‘that anything would make your ego more manageable, Bryn. And you may,’ she pointed out, ‘have left it too late.’
‘You can tell?’
‘I can tell,’ she agreed with a little gurgle of laughter.
‘Damn. You’re right.’ He looked briefly glum. ‘So what do you suggest? That you close your eyes and think of England?’
‘Is that what you call desisting?’ she countered on an indrawn breath.
‘What would you call it?’
‘I would call it extremely unsportsmanlike, Mr Wallis.’ She quivered as his hands roamed about her with such familiarity.
‘The thing is, I would hate above all else to have you…thinking of anything but me, Fleur.’
‘Bryn,’ she slipped her arms around his neck and kissed his throat, ‘you win! Just don’t talk nonsense to me any more, please.’
‘It’s true,’ he protested. But he didn’t say any more; there was no need.
They showered after their lovemaking then went back to bed and ordered breakfast.
Later, she said to him, ‘Will this do?’
He was dressed in light grey trousers, a charcoal shirt and tie. The suit jacket hung over the back of a chair and he was working at a table, although she had no idea what at.
He looked, she reflected, light-years from the man she knew at Clam Cove. He’d had his hair cut when they’d arrived in Brisbane and it was now sleek and tidy. He was sleek and tidy and looked every bit the right kind of person to be able to command the Presidential Suite, a top executive perhaps, a man of wealth and power. The hotel even kept a wardrobe of clothes for him.
He turned as she spoke and raised an eyebrow at her.
It was a cool winter’s day in Brisbane and in deference to this lunch appointment Fleur had had to buy an appropriate outfit the day before. She’d chosen a sherry-gold velvet suit with an ivory Thai silk collar. Her Cuban-heeled shoes were tan leather and she carried a matching bag. Her hair was wound into a pleat, she wore little pearls in her ears and a fine gold chain around her neck. Her make-up was understated and expertly applied and her perfume was light, with a hint of citrus.
He took his time before commenting. He studied her short, straight skirt and her long legs clad in the sheerest nylon. He took in the way her well-tailored jacket sat perfectly on her figure, her discreet make-up, his gold ring on her left hand, then his hazel gaze drifted to her hair.
‘I think,’ he said at last, ‘I would prefer your hair down. Otherwise you are—gorgeous.’
‘Why down?’
‘Because I’m liable to spend this entire lunch longing to take it down and run my fingers through it.’
Her mouth curved into a smile but she said gravely then, ‘Bryn, I think this is one occasion when you should practise some self-restraint.’
‘Come here.’ He held out his hand.
She walked towards him and he pulled her carefully down to sit on his knee. ‘Have you any idea what you’re asking?’
She hesitated and he fiddled with the chain around her neck. Then he laid his cheek against her breasts and inhaled luxuriously. She looked rueful and rested her chin on the top of his head. ‘Are you not going to brief me about your father at all, Bryn?’
He drew away and looked into her eyes. ‘Nope. You can handle him as you see fit.’
‘I believe,’ she touched his hair, ‘you and he don’t get along?’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Lyall.’
His eyes narrowed and were no longer bland. ‘How did I come up between you and Lyall?’
Fleur traced the line of his eyebrow. ‘He wanted to know how we’d met. I,’ she paused and looked wry, ‘could not resist asking him how well he knew you.’
‘So you know a lot more about me than…than I probably realize?’ He looked put out.
‘Why shouldn’t I?’
‘Because you could have received all sorts of misinformation from a guy who doesn’t know me that well at all; a guy, moreover, with a definite interest in you.’
Fleur took her hand away. ‘Bryn, perhaps the most ridiculous thing about this line of conversation is that, for whatever reason, we’re married now. Why shouldn’t I know how you feel about your father?’
A look of thorough impatience crossed his face. ‘I don’t know how I feel about my father,’ he said savagely. ‘Sometimes I admire him, sometimes he drives me up the wall. But what did you mean—for whatever reason?’
She looked blank.
‘For whatever reason, we’re married now,’ he repeated.
She bit her lip. ‘I…I… It just came out.’
‘I thought we had the best reason in the world for getting married,’ he said drily.
She freed herself and stood up. ‘All right. No more questions.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Your father might not appreciate it if we’re late for lunch.’
‘Fleur—’
But she turned away and picked up her bag.
They said nothing as they travelled down in the lift; they didn’t even look at each other.
Once again Bryn drew an immediate reaction from the staff as they stepped into the foyer. This time the manager himself hurried over and ushered them into the restaurant at the same time as he imparted the information that Bryn’s father had just arrived himself.
She didn’t have much time to take in the restaurant beyond a swift impression of beautiful flowers, lemon damask tablecloths, crystal and silver and soft background music before she was at a table and a tall, craggy, silver-haired man rose to greet her.
‘So,’ he said, shaking her hand and looking sharply at her out of Bryn’s, and Tom’s, hazel eyes, ‘you managed to nail him! Didn’t think any woman ever would! You might have given me a bit more notice.’
‘I’m afraid I was responsible for that,’ Bryn said wryly. ‘I was afraid she’d slip through my fingers, so I did the deed as soon as I decently could. Fleur, this is my father, Walter Wallis.’
‘How do you do?’ Fleur murmured and sank down into the chair that was pulled out for her.
The men sat and napkins were unfurled and placed on their laps.
‘I hope he did do it decently,’ Walter Wallis said to Fleur, ‘and it wasn’t some hippie kind of pot and flower-child affair.’
Fleur glinted him a quizzical little glance. ‘On the contrary, he did it beautifully, Mr Wallis. We were married in the island church and we had a wedding lunch at Clam Cove, to which most of the local population of the island came. But I must admit I did have flowers in my hair.’
Walter Wallis pursed his mouth and regarded her critically. Then he turned to Bryn. ‘I think I see what you mean.’
Bryn inclined his head but not before Fleur had seen the gleam of amusement in his eyes. It also occurred to her that the situation was bizarre. Here she was defending Bryn, when they had arrived at this lunch not talking to each other and with a pre
tty basic rift between them.
‘Which is not to say,’ Walter turned back to Fleur, ‘that I approve of either of my children. I mean, would you? One of them is in an ashram, or whatever, the other buried away on a tropical island… By the way, what have you done with Tom and how did he take this turn of events?’
‘Tom is with Julene and Eric Philips at Clam Cove. They very kindly offered to have him and some of his friends for an adventure weekend while we came down here for a few days. He was thrilled with the idea,’ Fleur said serenely and accepted the menu she was offered. ‘And Tom and I get along really well together.’
‘I see.’ Walter pulled a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles from his breast pocket. ‘I can recommend the Moreton Bay bugs here. But, getting back to my children—’
‘Do we have to?’ Bryn asked. ‘I’d far rather discuss the new hotel you’re planning.’
‘I would just like Fleur to know that you had every opportunity, you and Alana—indeed, you had a charmed, privileged upbringing—and now this!’ He opened his menu but immediately closed it with a snap, as if his frustration was more than he could bear.
‘Mr Wallis,’ Fleur said, ‘I can’t comment on Alana but one thing I have noticed—your genes must be quite dominant. I see a lot of you in Bryn, and it’s quite amazing how much Tom looks like you and Bryn.’
Walter Wallis looked gratified, although he said, ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
She shrugged and said quietly, ‘In his own way, I’m sure Bryn is a son to be proud of. And that Tom will be a grandson to be proud of. They’re very much like you, you see.’
Dead silence greeted this as a waiter poured champagne. Then Bryn raised his glass to Fleur and said, with something she couldn’t identify in his eyes, ‘For whatever reason, thank you for that, Fleur.’
Walter Wallis hesitated, then said, ‘Don’t know much about you, my dear, other than that you’re quite stunningly beautiful—you certainly turned plenty of heads when you walked in here, although no one would have expected less—but I like the way you conduct yourself.’ He raised his glass to her. ‘Welcome to the family.’
It was a much pleasanter atmosphere that saw them through the rest of lunch. It also provided some surprises for Fleur. Bryn may have chosen to bury himself at Clam Cove but it didn’t stop him from being up to date with the Wallis hotel empire. Nor did it stop him from contributing some pithy advice on the new hotel being planned, to which his father at first took exception, but then gave in to the force of Bryn’s arguments.
It also came to light that Walter had never been to Clam Cove, and the contact he had had with Tom over the last three years since his wife had died had been limited to visits when Bryn brought Tom down with him. It was when she suggested to Bryn’s father that he come up to the island that the reason for all this emerged.
Silence followed her suggestion, a rather fraught silence, with Walter looking defensive and Bryn lying back in his chair, his hazel gaze steady on his father in a way that was loaded with irony.
‘Oh, all right!’ Walter said testily. ‘I told Bryn when he came up with this damn-fool venture that I would never set foot in the place! That’s why Tom has always come down to me, but that’s not working so well now. I’d like to see more of him, so, with Bryn’s permission, I may just avail myself of your invitation, my dear.’
‘You’re always welcome,’ Bryn said quietly. ‘So long as you don’t lecture me or try to change me.’
‘You’re a hard man,’ Walter commented ruefully.
‘Funny you should say that; I can remember Mum saying the same of you.’
Fleur held her breath, then they both grinned.
‘Well,’ Bryn remarked as they got back to the suite, ‘you charmed the socks off him—no mean feat. I’m just not sure why.’ He hauled his jacket off, slung it over a chair and pulled off his tie. ‘Considering,’ he caught her wrist as she went to go past him into the bedroom, ‘you weren’t so charmed with me when we left here.’
‘I’ll tell you why,’ she said evenly. ‘Anyone with eyes in their head could see that you two are so alike, and so equally difficult at times, that there’s bound to be friction between you. But, for whatever reason,’ she paused and gazed at him levelly, ‘I was not about to become a cause of friction between you.’
He considered for a long moment with his eyes unreadable, his fingers hard at first on her wrist then relaxing. ‘I think we should take this dispute to bed.’
Her eyes widened. ‘No! If you think that every time we disagree, Bryn, you can take me to bed and…’ She stopped frustratedly.
‘Why not? There’s a good old-fashioned saying about never letting the sun set on a quarrel.’
‘The sun is far from setting,’ she pointed out coldly.
‘And we’ve only been married for two days.’
‘Not a good omen?’ She eyed him.
‘I just didn’t like that “for whatever reason”,’ he said and shrugged. ‘To be honest, I didn’t like to think of you discussing me with Lyall Henderson. If that doesn’t give you good reason, Fleur, to know why I married you then let me show you.’
She frowned. ‘Are you saying it makes you jealous to…?’ She trailed off incredulously.
‘Of course it does. Why do you think I was in such a lethal mood when he came to take you to lunch?’
She blinked dazedly. ‘I had no idea.’
He smiled twistedly. ‘You weren’t supposed to.’
‘Well…’
‘That puts a different perspective on things?’ he suggested gravely.
‘Well—’
‘You’ve said that,’ he reminded her.
‘I still don’t understand…’ She stopped and sighed. ‘Perhaps I do now. Understand why you couldn’t talk about your father.’
‘So I’m forgiven?’ He pulled her into his arms and nuzzled her neck.
‘Bryn—’
He lifted his head. ‘Just think of this, Fleur. In a couple of hours you’ve achieved what I’ve been trying to achieve for three years—getting my father to accept my way of life. What could you do for me in a lifetime?’
She looked into his eyes, saw the way they danced but also the query at the back of them, a query she was coming to know well, an unspoken question that was entirely intimate. Did she feel what he was feeling? in other words. She moistened her lips and for a moment wished she could say that she didn’t. Because she wasn’t sure that anything had been resolved or even what the issues were between them anymore. That she didn’t know enough about him? But wasn’t that something she could learn?
‘I…am coming around to your way of thinking,’ she said at last.
He smiled crookedly. ‘Someone up there must like me, I’d be in dire straits otherwise.’ And he started to undress her.
Later he said, ‘Enough of this.’ He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair.
She ran her fingertips down his back. ‘If you remember, this was your idea.’
He twisted to look down at her, then bent down to kiss her and comb the glorious disarray of her hair with his fingers. ‘I know but I can see the force of your argument—the one about self-restraint. We’ve only got two days in Brisbane—what would you like to do?’
Fleur yawned. ‘I think you’ve worn me out, Mr Wallis. However,’ she smothered a smile as he looked rueful, ‘a nice soak in the bath might restore me. Then, I think I’d like to go to the movies, have a late supper, come back to bed, to sleep, of course—’
‘Of course,’ he agreed. ‘Scout’s honour! And tomorrow?’
Fleur thought for a bit then she said wryly, ‘You may not approve of this but I’d like to get my hair trimmed, have a facial and a manicure, and go shopping.’
‘So long as you spend some part of the day with me, why shouldn’t I approve?’
‘They’re not exactly the pursuits of a dedicated alternative lifestyler.’
He laughed. ‘They sound marvellously feminine, on the other han
d. And it so happens I had some shopping in mind too. That we could do together.’
‘Oh?’
‘Uh-huh. I’m going to extend my—our—bungalow. It also came to mind that it’s all very basic up there, apart from the restaurant, so I thought you might like to choose some things to make it more comfortable and homely.’
She looked surprised.
‘Fleur,’ he said, ‘we may be drop-outs but we don’t have to live in a hovel.’
For some reason a question floated through Fleur’s mind. Will we always be drop-outs? She even parted her lips to say it then thought better of it.
‘The other thing is,’ he went on, ‘I really don’t expect you to go on working for me—’
‘I don’t mind. Wouldn’t I be working with you, anyway?’
He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘You’re sweet. Thanks. But have you thought of what you’ll do when the restaurant closes? Other than keep me happy and contented, of course,’ he said innocently.
‘Of course,’ she agreed gravely then burst out laughing. ‘That could be a full-time job!’
He gathered her into his arms. ‘I love you when you laugh. But do you know what I mean?’
‘Yes,’ she said, still smiling. ‘I need something like your woodwork to keep me occupied.’ She paused and looked thoughtful. ‘There are a couple of things I like doing. My mother and I used to make wall-hangings—a hessian background with tufted wool designs. I think the colours, the shells and the coral well, they’ve already made my fingers itch. And I could use shells and coral, bark and so on as well as wool.’
‘Excellent,’ he pronounced. ‘We’ll get all the stuff you need tomorrow. What was the other thing?’
‘Don’t laugh,’ she warned.
He looked quizzical.
‘I would like a piano—I have one, it’s in storage, so the only cost would be getting it there,’ she assured him.
‘Why would I laugh about that?’
‘I don’t know. I just felt as if I’d stepped out of that movie, The Piano. As if it was a rather bizarre thing to take to a tropical island.’
He grinned. ‘So long as it doesn’t produce the bizarre circumstances of that story, it’s fine with me!’ His eyes narrowed. ‘You were going to say something earlier?’
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