The Balfour Legacy

by Various

  “And your housekeeper knows all about it?” Olivia queried. “I would think she’s superefficient?”

  “Indeed she is,” he agreed, “but I’m sure she’d be delighted if you could impart some of your own splendid expertise. Menus, table settings, flowers and so forth. Kath isn’t quite in your league. She doesn’t need to be, of course. My mother was a wonderful hostess. So is my aunt Buffy aka Lady Venetia Massingham. But Buffy isn’t up to it these days and my mother can’t abide my ex-wife.”

  “May one wonder why?” She couldn’t resist the touch of sarcasm. “You must have loved her when you married her?”

  “I must have. God, it’s hard to remember.”

  “That sounds very callous,” she offered censure.

  “Don’t overstep the mark, Ms Balfour,” he warned with cutting suavity. “I was married when I was twenty-four. Marigole had scores of admirers but for some reason she only wanted me.”

  “Perhaps you were more handsome and charismatic than the rest?” she suggested, making the comment as cool and clinical as she could.

  “Do you find me handsome and charismatic?” He caught and trapped her gaze.

  Major fluster. Balfour practised calm. “I’ve been used to handsome, charismatic men all my life, Mr McAlpine. My father is just such a man. It doesn’t mean such men make good husbands and fathers.”

  “How harsh you are, Ms Balfour. Not surprising. I can see you’re overflowing with issues.”

  Issues? She’d give him issues! “It may have slipped your attention, but so are you.”

  “I guess so,” he relented. “It’s just I hate to see a woman as beautiful as you so frost bound. It can’t have been easy for you and your twin sister, left without a mother so very early in life?”

  “We were taken excellent care of,” she said repres-sively, giving him a sweeping blue glance.

  “Of course. We’ll leave that one for now. You might as well have a sign reading Do Not Disturb on your forehead.”

  Don’t let him get to you.

  “I’m a very private person,” she said with something of the old hauteur.

  It didn’t seem to impress him. Rather the reverse. “In other words you fear to let yourself go? Let me hold out a skerrick of hope. Kalla Koori might be just the place for you to thaw out. Incidentally we can’t go on addressing each other so formally.”

  “You started it,” she said, realising the moment the words were out of her mouth how childish they sounded. “You set the tone.”

  “Then I’m unsetting it, Olivia. You may begin calling me Clint.”

  “As in Clint Eastwood?” she asked with mock sweetness.

  “As in Clinton. Clinton was my mother’s maiden name. I was baptised Reynold Clinton McAlpine. The Reynold—another family name—didn’t stay around for long. It was my father who started calling me Clint. My mother had no real objection.”

  Fellow feeling abruptly smote her heart. “You must miss her.” She could hear it in his voice. That was what made her momentarily soften her stance.

  He glanced down on her briefly, his eyes so golden they warmed her skin. “I do. Both of our lives have been shadowed by my father’s death. But I’m hoping that, in time, my mother will settle and come back here for long visits. Now enough confidences for today, Olivia. I need you to turn your exceptional skills initially to arranging the house party. It’s not a lot of time, I know, but I’m certain a young woman of your training and background will take to it like a duck to water.”

  “Do I dine with your guests?” She had to remind herself she wasn’t, strictly speaking, a guest.

  “Good God, yes.” He sounded startled. “Even though you’re enormously stuck up—at least with me—I’m sure you can modify it. Anyway, with your background you’ll be able to talk knowledgeably about many things of interest.”

  “Thank you for that,” she said, sounding crisp and short. He was just so sarcastic with her! “May I ask, what about your wife? Correction, ex-wife. My presence couldn’t make her very happy.” That was a legitimate concern.

  “What’s it got to do with her?” His black brows drew together. Impatiently he took her arm, leading her to the magnificent double doors of brass-studded dark-stained timber that opened into the entrance hall. “You’ll be acting as my PR woman. I can’t see you helping with the muster or breaking in a few brumbies. You’re Olivia Balfour, of the illustrious Balfour family. There’s a distant connection between our families. You may like to sort that out sometime. Your father is a major shareholder in McAlpine Enterprises. You’re here on a study tour. Part work, and partly to fit in as much fun as possible. How’s that?”

  “Why should she believe it?”

  He laughed hollowly. “Because I say so. You’re not feeling intimidated by the thought of my ex-wife, are you, Olivia?”

  “Hardly!” Her voice dripped hauteur. “After all, I have no romantic interest in you.”

  He looked down at her cool perfection. “You haven’t left yet, Olivia,” he reminded her.

  She swung about swiftly; heat darkened her cheeks. “I think I can safely say it will never happen.”

  “Never say never,” he mocked, his eyes never leaving her face. “For now, welcome to Kalla Koori. May your stay give you all the freedom you obviously crave.”

  The heartbreak of it all was, he was so right!

  The next few days put her on her mettle. She had always had a taste for hard work. Not perhaps in the physical sense. She had never been a genuine worker as in the endless domestic chores required of most women. Not that she didn’t know she was blessed. But in any case Kath Cartwright, the housekeeper, appeared to have any number of rotating staff, most of them girls who had grown up on the station and had never wanted to leave. She could hardly blame them. This was a whole new world. Even the blazing sunshine seemed to speak to her, though she took extreme care to look after her English skin.

  “My gosh, aren’t you beautiful!” Kath Cartwright, a good-natured, humorous woman, had remarked when McAlpine had introduced them.

  That felt good, even if McAlpine looked somewhat sceptical

  These Australians with their warmth and their frankness—McAlpine apart, of course—were encircling her soul. The three women she had so far made contact with—Bessie, Heather and Kath—all bright, cheerful women, had apparently taken to her on sight. She had to notice because it didn’t happen all that often. Bella had once told her she was a “dragon in the making.” She hadn’t been sparing of Bella either with her response. Much as they loved each other she and Bella were very different in temperament. Bella simply sparkled with light. Here in Australia she felt her own dormant sparkle was going up a notch or two.

  It certainly made things easy for her when she and Kath got on like a house on fire. No territorial resentments from Kath that a newcomer was about to invade her kitchen and perhaps take over the running of the household if only for a short period. Kath welcomed her input as if she actually needed it when Olivia was certain she didn’t. She even hung on her every word as Olivia told of her cordon bleu classes in London and Paris and her early mishaps, drawing lots of guffaws from Kath. When she was home and out on her official duties her teeth had often hurt from the number of times she’d had to clench them. Here she was being wrapped in a laid-back friendliness that required nothing of her but niceness.

  No need to be on your high horse all the time, as McAlpine had so nicely phrased it.

  “I can see you’re used to everything grand,” Kath observed, while they were enjoying morning coffee in the huge white kitchen characterised by order and function and outfitted with every conceivable modern appliance. “What about this menu for Saturday night? Let’s make them sit up and take notice. Even Marigole. Her social secretary used to chase her with a lettuce leaf. We can fly in whatever you want. Plenty here, of course. A stocked pantry, freezer room. It’s going to be exciting, the two of us working on this. I’ll line up my best girls. I’ve trained them well. I’m happy to l
eave the dressing of the table to you.” She gave Olivia a huge smile. “You look like you’re superartistic.”

  “I hope I don’t seriously disappoint you, Kath,” Olivia said.

  “Won’t happen, love.” Kath reached out with confidence to pat her hand. “I’ll let you take care of the wines, as well. OK?”

  “No problem. Do you know the people who will be coming?” It would be a blessing to hear a bit about them.

  “Sure. You want thumbnail sketches?”

  “Go for it,” Olivia advised with a smile.

  “There’s you and Clint, of course—”

  Kath said it as though she and McAlpine were already cosy. “We’re not an item, Kath,” Olivia hastened to explain, annoyed there was a slight waver in her voice.

  “Believe me,” said Kath, “He’s a splendid catch. You don’t have a certain someone back home? I suppose you do. A beautiful young woman like you.”

  That she was being acknowledged as a beauty caught her by surprise. “No one special, Kath.”

  “Don’t you worry. He’ll come along,” Kath promised in a motherly fashion. ‘Hey, you could even meet the man of your dreams here. Now where were we? There’s the ex-Mrs Alpine—that’s Marigole, as you know—and her latest, a rich guy called Lucas something. The Jamesons—Neil and Celine, you’ll like them—newly married, Pete and Barbara Corbett, ditto, and Brendan Fraser and his girlfriend of the moment, Chloe Sanderson. Brendan is a lot of fun, the perennial bachelor, and much sought after. He was Clint’s best man. It could be a great weekend,” Kath said, a note of real regret in her tone, “only Marigole takes a particular delight in trying to torment Clint. I hope you’ll excuse my speaking out, dear, but you definitely need to know. I don’t want you caught in the line of fire as it were. Naturally Clint’s friends—never hers—don’t like it. Brendan once called her a she-devil after Marigole had been particularly appalling. Jealous of anyone Clint liked, you see. She wanted his sole attention right from the start.”

  “But he must have loved her, Kath.” Olivia was trying to figure the marriage out. Of course, she knew people sometimes fell out of love as quickly as they fell in. But could Marigole be that bad? Heather hadn’t taken to her. Now here was Kath warning her as well and obviously feeling the need. Whatever had McAlpine seen in her?

  “Hey, he did for a while,” Kath acknowledged. “Not love exactly, more the state of being in love. Infatuation. Marigole is a stunner. As dark as you’re fair. Milky white skin, skinny as a rake, but a great clothes horse. Never seen in her in the same thing twice. Needless to say she made it her business to be charm itself until she fell pregnant. Didn’t like that at all. And the way she treated me!” Kath cast up her hazel eyes. “Never mind the staff! They might as well have been invisible. Since the divorce when she’s in the house she doesn’t say one word to me. Anyone would think I was responsible for the split up. But it’s poor little Georgy who has suffered the most.”

  “Now that I can understand.” Olivia spoke from the heart. “No child would want their parents to divorce. It would be devastating. Especially at her age.”

  “Well, there’s that, of course,” Kath said, “but it wasn’t the split so much. Georgy has always felt—with good reason—her mother never really wanted her. Marigole was cruel about that. Something Clint took violent exception to. Marigole made no bones about the fact it was a prized son she had wanted. Like she had to produce Clint’s heir right off. It was a point of pride with her. Daughters came way down the line.”

  Olivia was utterly dismayed. Most women would be ecstatic to have a healthy child. Poor little girl. A good thing her own father didn’t think like that. “There are eight of us. All daughters,” she told Kath.

  Kath, at the point of taking another sip of coffee, set her cup down with a clunk. “Eight?” Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Your mother must have spent her life in maternity clothes?”

  Olivia sighed. “Suffice to say my father has been married three times. My mother was his first wife. She died in childbirth with Zoe, the third sister. I’m the eldest by exactly two minutes. I have a twin, Bella.”

  “Upon my word! There’s bound to be a story there!”

  “I’ll tell you sometime,” Olivia promised.

  Kath nodded “Whenever you’re ready. Just remember, dear, I’m here if you ever feel like a chat. None of us want you to be lonely when you’re so far from home.”

  A kind thought went a very long way. Olivia tucked that away for future reference.

  Chapter Four

  “HOW’S it going?”

  McAlpine strode through the front door—a lion of a man—bringing with him such a rush of male vigour and vitality it created its own excitement. His eyes, skin and thick auburn hair gleamed with health. She supposed he had the best physique of any man she had ever seen in her life. At any rate, every pulse in her body had jumped to attention. She had been calmly minding her own business, walking head bent, across the tiled entrance hall, a beautiful damask-and-lace tablecloth draped over her arm—one she had chosen from a whole pile that would have been suitable for any dinner party, anywhere. Now this! She was well aware McAlpine had to be extraordinarily intelligent to do what he did, but the good fairy at his christening had really gone overboard with the largesse.

  “I’m on top of it already,” she said crisply. The man always put her on her mettle.

  “So I’ve heard.” His eyes roamed over her, amused by her businesslike attitude. So far as he could see, she wore it like a defensive shield. Obviously she had decided it was the way to go, protecting herself at every level. In rebuilding his fortune Oscar Balfour would have had to work extremely hard. What his daughter Olivia had seriously needed was a whole lot of undivided attention. He wasn’t being sarcastic when he had suggested she craved it. The deep reserve she manifested—the touch-me-not persona—was in his view a defence mechanism.

  But the way she was getting on with Kath, Norm and the staff had come as something of a surprise. Obviously with them she had dropped her lady-of-the-manor guise. He took a moment now to give her his undivided attention. No difficulty there. She was something to see in informal dress—well-cut jeans combined with a simple white tank top. But she looked great! It was all in the height, the ultra-slim body, the long legs, pert butt, flat stomach. Her long elegant bones had a nice cover, unlike Marigole, who wasn’t happy unless her bones were painfully on show. “You’ve really got Kath onside,” he commended her. “I’m sure you brought your latent diplomatic skills to bear.”

  Don’t let him take a rise out of you. Or failing that don’t let him see it, Olivia’s inner voice chirped up.

  “Of course I haven’t!” she denied calmly, resisting the natural urge to flare up. “You look pleased with yourself.”

  “Spot on.”

  He moved to join her. Olivia found herself swallowing; her throat felt so constricted and dry. Everything about the man was mesmeric. She had never met anyone remotely like him before for sheer physicality. She held the tablecloth firmly to her, uncomfortably aware there was a glitter of amusement in his eyes. Of course he thought her ridiculous, damn him!

  “The sale of one of our Queensland stations has gone through,” he told her.

  Without looking back at him she said, “And you’re happy with the price?”

  “Count on it.” His tone was buoyant. The big-cat gleam was in his eyes. “Your daddy will be too.”

  “Oddly enough my father likes you,” she said in a tightly controlled tone.

  “So you’ve said.” He wagged a finger at her. “Too bad about you, my lady. What have you got there?” He glanced at what she had in her arms.

  “Tablecloth for Saturday night,” she returned briskly. She refused to be swept up by the power and magnetism of the man. “It’s quite beautiful. There are napkins to match.”

  “Fine. I don’t need a progress report. I have every faith in you, Olivia.”

  Most women would think the little brackets tha
t framed his mouth were incredibly sexy. She opted to lower her lids. “That’s good to hear.”

  “I’ve come back for something else entirely.” His tone turned as brisk as hers. Probably in mockery. “You’ve been so on the job, I thought you might like a run around the station. You’ve got the layout of the house and the office. Now you get to see the great outdoors.”

  She couldn’t for the life of her control the spurt of excitement that raced along her veins. “You don’t mean to spring a crocodile on me, do you?”

  A wicked smile slid across his generous mouth. “Not today. Maybe real soon. Do you know anything about guns?”

  She grimaced. “I can shoot if that’s what you mean. My father and some of his cronies like to bag pheasant in season. So many pounds a bird. That sort of thing. I don’t care to join them. Not for a very long time. Guns are dangerous.”

  “Of course they are,” he agreed shortly, as if he didn’t need her to give him a lecture. “But it’s necessary to be a fine shot out here. In some ways your world would have been the same as my own. One tends to get taught everything. Ride, shoot, play tennis, even dance.” He grimaced.

  “I’m a very good chess player as well.”

  Was that wry admiration that flickered in his remarkable eyes?

  “I don’t doubt it. You’d excel at poker too, I would think. So I can safely take it you could handle a rifle if you had to?”

  “If I had to.” She nodded. “Rather a croc’s funeral than mine. I don’t hunt, before you ask. No sport whatever in that.”

  “I totally agree with you. We can safely rule the hunt out. I don’t want to get on the wrong side of you. You tend to react as if you grew up with Queen Victoria. Now, are you coming with me, or not? I’m off to Melbourne first thing in the morning. Business. I won’t be back until first thing Saturday morning.”