An Irresistible Flirtation

by Victoria Gordon

  What to do? There was nobody else waiting, or she would have quietly suggested that Ms Fitzmaurice might forget about being tested. It would have been easy enough to laugh it off, specifying one test per couple, or something. Because Saunders was certain, without knowing the reasons, that Nadine could not and should not be forced to endure the test procedure she so clearly feared.

  She turned to meet Ford’s imperative black eyes, and was just slightly startled to realise that he, too, had caught the by-play, and even more so to see that he totally agreed with her feelings. He didn’t say a word, but it was all there in the imploring glance he shot her. Thankfully, there was no need for the issue to be carried any further; a totally unexpected arrival saw to that!

  ‘Saunders White, you’re as gorgeous as ever,’ said a new voice, and Saunders turned with undisguised pleasure at the sound.

  ‘Simon! But I didn’t expect you until tomorrow,’ she cried, and moved quickly forward to the embrace offered her by Simon Connelly, one of her oldest and dearest friends and the featured speaker at Friday night’s special public lecture on diabetes.

  ‘When a ravishing creature like you offers a man bed and breakfast, she oughtn’t to expect him to limit himself to just one night,’ he replied, tightening his embrace and kissing her provocatively on the mouth before releasing her and holding her away.

  ‘You’re too thin,’ he said then. ‘I suppose you’ve got some fella running you ragged, and I’ll have to find someplace else to stay after all.’

  ‘Certainly not!’ she replied, forcing herself not to look in Ford’s direction, even though she could feel him mentally trying to influence her answer. ‘I’ve been so looking forward to this visit that even if there was somebody else, I’d boot him out in the street just to make room for you.’ And make what you like of that, Fordon Landell, she thought.

  ‘You’re sure?’ and did she imagine it, or had he glanced just briefly in Ford’s direction? Certainly Simon Connelly was more than capable of picking up the strong vibes that must be in the air; he was one of the most perceptive men she’d ever met. He held an equivalent position to her own, but in a vastly larger clinic in Sydney, and was considered one of the country’s foremost diabetes educators.

  Simon was just her own age, and above average height, with reddish-blond hair and classic good looks that allowed him to moonlight as an actor and occasional model so successfully that he enjoyed both a dual salary situation and a lifestyle that many men would envy.

  Without appearing to look, she saw Nadine subtly tugging at Ford’s sleeve, noticed his move away with her, and was certain there was a hint of reluctance in his movements. Nadine, she thought, had simply lost interest, was taking this heaven-sent opportunity to get away from the scene; she wasn’t so sure about Ford.

  ‘I’m absolutely positive!’ she replied to Simon, and had the questionable satisfaction of seeing Ford’s jaw clench, felt the black glare he shot at her before turning away into the shopping crowds.

  Simon was sitting in her lounge-room when Ford telephone that evening. His presence there was her personal contribution to helping keep down the costs of his visit to address Friday night’s public meeting, with the added enjoyment of Simon’s company. They had known each other since high school, and had remained close friends at varying distances over the years. When she went to Launceston in a few weeks’ time, on a similar mission, she expected to be billeted rather than put the local diabetic group to the costs of a hotel room. On this occasion, however, Simon had been able to go one step further, by arranging a modelling assignment that weekend which would pay for his travel costs as well.

  ‘I’m calling to offer you dinner and a show tomorrow night, if you’re free,’ Ford said, his voice calmly casual. Too casual, Saunders thought, and wondered.

  ‘Not possible, I’m afraid,’ she replied. ‘I have a house-guest, and I’m committed anyway, to the diabetes lecture tomorrow night.’

  ‘Yes, of course; I’d forgotten about that,’ was the reply, saying far more by its inflexion and Ford’s tone of voice than by the words themselves. The trouble was, she thought, she could not decipher exactly what she was being told. Ford had known about the lecture; he could hardly not have, considering how it had been advertised. She had even mentioned it to him, she was certain, during their ill-fated dinner after the Mahoneys’ party.

  The remainder of their conversation was first stilted, and then, Saunders felt, downright uncomfortable. Ford was coldly if politely correct in every word, but something in his voice made it perfectly clear to her that he didn’t much like the situation. Her own side of the conversation was made even more difficult by Simon’s frank and undisguised interest.

  ‘Well, Saunders,’ he said, when she had finally ended the dialogue and hung up. ‘Sounds to me like you weren’t being quite truthful when I twitted you about our accommodation arrangements this afternoon. Not surprising; I suppose that rugged-looking type who was hovering there has something to do with all this? The one with the silver hair and the absolutely ravishing dark-haired woman hanging on to him like grim death?’

  Saunders tried to brazen it out, but without much confidence. ‘How on earth could you put together a wild theory like that?’ she asked. ‘Not the business about there being a man; there is — sort of. But for you just to pick one out of a thousand others at a major shopping complex—’

  ‘Was dead-set easy, given my years of experience in such matters,’ Simon finished, with a laugh. ‘Or a guess very easily confirmed by your face, my dear. You ought never to try and dissemble, much less attempt any outright lying; you’re as transparent as window-glass and your … friend isn’t much better, I have to say. If looks could kill I’d have been dead on the floor the instant I mentioned staying with you.’

  He paused, then continued, None of which surprises me all that much, although his lady-friend was, I thought, surprisingly blind to almost all of it.’

  ‘His lady-friend is terrified of the sight of blood, I reckon,’ Saunders said, then thought about it a bit more. ‘No, there’s more to it than that, but just what’s involved, I’m not all sure.’

  This redirection bought her a few moments of precious time, but all too soon she was faced with Simon’s wry grin and the question she had known must come.

  ‘This is pretty serious stuff, I gather. You want to talk about it?’

  ‘It isn’t serious; it isn’t anything,’’ she protested. ‘And no, I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘All right,’ Simon agreed. And steered the conversation in some other direction for some time before asking, ‘So, what’s his name?’

  Saunders, only belatedly realising that she hadn’t been paying the slightest attention, and that Simon both knew and had encouraged that, told him.

  ‘This sounds even more serious than 1 thought,’ he said some hours later, yawning as he made his way to the guest-room. ‘I’ll have to look this chap over a bit more thoroughly at the meeting tomorrow night. Or is it tonight, now?’

  ‘Tomorrow night, if only just,’ Saunders replied. ‘But what makes you so sure he’s going to attend the meeting? He hasn’t mentioned it, obviously hadn’t even considered it, or he wouldn’t have phoned to ask me out.’

  ‘Oh, he’ll be there," her friend assured her. ‘I practically guarantee it. Although I wonder, frankly, if the poor lad has any idea what he’s getting into. A girl as truly naive as you, dear Saunders, is ten thousand times more dangerous than the gorgeous creature he was with today.’

  ‘You’re such a flatterer, Simon,’ Saunders replied, kissing her friend goodnight on the cheek. She was inside, safe in the privacy of her own bedroom, before she admitted to the silent mirror that Simon’s final remark might be correct, but it was still very, very worrying.

  It was small consolation, after another long day at the shopping centre — a day made only marginally easier due to Simon’s assistance, because yet another of her own staff had succumbed to the flu — for Saunders to f
ind that Simon had also been correct about Ford attending the lecture, although she found it a bit of a surprise, for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, to find him accompanied by Nadine Fitzmaurice.

  Considering her certainty that Ford had wanted to conceal his diabetes from Nadine that night in the restaurant, and that the fact that he had given away every indication of feeling the same way — or so she had interpreted it — at the shopping centre clinic, Saunders found herself wondering how he had explained to Nadine his interest in attending this particular lecture.

  But the real surprise was saved for later, after the lecture was over, when Ford and his companion came over to where Saunders was quietly congratulating Simon on its success.

  ‘Most impressively done,’ Ford said, reaching out to shake Simon’s hand, then greeting Saunders and waiting just expectantly enough so that introductions must be performed. And from there it was a carefully stage-managed step on Ford’s part to invite Simon and Saunders to join himself and Nadine for a drink.

  ‘I … uhm…’ she stammered, in a bid to circumvent this situation, only to find herself betrayed by Simon’s interest.

  ‘What a splendid idea," he interrupted. ‘We’d love to, of course. Although,’ he added, shooting a significant glance at Saunders, ‘we’ll not be wanting to make a long session of it; I’ve only a limited time here, and we do want to make the most of it.’

  ‘Of course,’ Ford agreed, but Saunders didn’t miss the flicker of some strong emotion that had passed lightning-quick across his black eyes. Still, he was politeness itself as he directed them to a nearby lounge that was plush enough to be comfortable and quiet enough that they could converse without having to shout.

  Ford organised drinks for them all, then gently launched into a battle of wits between himself and Simon that would have been hilarious, Saunders thought, had she not been the meat in the sandwich. Ford was clearly trying to elicit from Simon the reality of his relationship with her, while Simon countered by seeking to establish, at least in his own mind, the reality of Ford’s relationship with her.

  Of course Ford was at a supreme disadvantage, being unaware that Simon already knew who he was and where he fitted in the scheme of things. And unaware, too, that Simon was leading him along a track that was very crooked indeed and fairly stinking with red herrings.

  The duel was conducted by some complicated masculine set of rules that Saunders couldn’t begin to understand, although it quickly became clear enough that both men did. What also became quickly obvious was that the performance seemed designed to keep Simon amused, Ford frustrated, herself fascinated, confused and repelled, and Nadine Fitzmaurice, apparently, merely bored.

  With his astute understanding of human nature and his fore-knowledge of Saunders’ relationship with Ford, Simon set out deliberately to torment both of them. Without ever getting specific, without ever giving Ford, in particular, anything tangible to work with, he drew them through a maze of discussion that implied intimacies that did not exist in his relationship with Saunders, meanwhile drawing from both of them their attitudes towards marriage, children, relationships — the lot!

  Saunders thought she would never survive the two men’s exchange of views about how hypothetical people entering a hypothetical relationship might consider such hereditary aspects as diabetes. She almost died when Simon brought up the subject, then found herself being drawn into it against her will. It was made no easier by Simon, ogling her like a schoolboy in lust, and Ford also shooting glances at her that were far less easy to interpret.

  The performance lasted through just two rounds of drinks, no more than an hour in actual time, but to Saunders it was an eternity. She felt as if she was being torn to shreds by the two men, both mentally and emotionally. Simon, she realised, was merely playing games, allegedly with her own best interests at heart. But Ford Landell — very definitely — was not!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  What have I got myself into? Saunders wondered that, not for the first time, as she shifted herself to a more comfortable position in the passenger seat of the small aircraft. Not that the seat was uncomfortable, because it wasn’t. It was Saunders herself who was not comfortable, and she very well knew why!

  Hardly airborne, and already she was feeling the forced intimacy of being closeted in such a cramped space with Ford Landell; it was a sort of heady claustrophobia, a curious combination of apprehension and exhilaration.

  Below her were the shimmering, wind-riffled waters of Bass Strait; around her, outside the safe cocoon of the little twin-engine plane, was a sky like a huge blue paddock being grazed by gigantic, fluffy white sheep. It was almost magical, a sensation from some weird fantasy.

  But reality was only a glace away, where strong, lean fingers manipulated the aircraft’s controls with delicate movements that were as much caress as control. Where feet shod in gleaming leather stroked the rudder controls with equal gentleness.

  Behind them, the Australian mainland. Ahead, still several hours away, Tasmania and Launceston, where she was scheduled to speak this very evening. In her lap were her notes, allegedly undergoing a review but actually being ignored as she watched Ford Landell out of the corners of her eyes.

  He seemed just to lounge in the pilot’s seat, only his eyes moving as they scanned the waves, the sky, the horizon. He might, she thought, have been sitting in an easy chair watching television for all the tension he revealed; it was as if flying the plane was effortless, unthinking, and yet she knew it could not be so.

  She fidgeted some more, then stopped as she felt his eyes on her, turned her head to be sure.

  ‘Relax, Saunders. I’m not about to try and ravish you and fly this plane at the same time. And we’re a bit short of parking spots, in case you haven’t noticed.’

  His smile was anything but reassuring; Saunders felt a dingo would smile like that at a rabbit held in a trap. She’d have been easier in her mind if she’d known he was only teasing, but with this man she was somehow never sure.

  Three weeks since she’d last seen him, the night of Simon’s speech and that amazing get-together afterwards. He had phoned her at work on the Monday, to offer this flight and advise that he’d be away a while, and again last night to confirm his return, but she hadn’t actually seen him between Simon’s visit and this morning.

  Except, of course, in her mind, where he seemed to have achieved permanent resident status — against her will and very much against her better judgement. Simon’s comments on the situation had helped not a bit.

  ‘You’ve got a rocky road ahead with that one, my girl,’ he’d said on the ride home that night. ‘A very, very impressive man, which, of course, I don’t need to tell you. I’m quite disenchanted, actually; all my acting skills tonight were a complete waste of time, because I’d bet anything he wasn’t fooled for a minute. Oh, he was suitably jealous, all right, but only because he couldn’t help it. It was a gut reaction, not an intellectual one. He knew exactly what sort of game I was playing.’

  ‘So did I, and I wasn’t all that impressed, Simon,’ Saunders had replied, ‘It was so over the top it was almost laughable; he couldn’t have been deceived for a moment, surely?’

  ‘He could have, and should have. Ninety-nine per cent of men I know would have been,’ had been the surprising reply. ‘That Fitzmaurice child was certainly taken in, although that, frankly, does not surprise me a bit.’

  ‘Child? Simon, she’s nearly my age, for goodness’ sake.’

  ‘Only on the outside, and a very pleasing outside it is, too. But there’s hardly any real adult person there, Saunders. That one is so wrapped up in herself that the rest of the world hardly exists for her. And your boy knows it. His reaction to her is almost that of a protective, duty-bound big brother, although I wouldn’t expect you to see that.’

  Certainly not! Even the thought had been sufficient to keep her lost in silence for the remainder of their journey home, although it had also been enough to keep her awake long into what rema
ined of the night. What she had seen of the relationship between Nadine and Ford Landell was nothing like Simon’s view.

  ‘If that woman’s attitude is anything even like sisterly, she’s incestuously inclined,’ she had said over breakfast, picking up the conversation with every expectation that Simon would know what she was about. Which of course he had.

  ‘I wasn’t talking about her attitude, and well you know it,’ he had replied calmly, mumbling the words around a mouthful of toast. Then, more clearly, ‘You’ll probably never know, which is as it should be, but I’d be prepared to bet good money that the only actual sex between those two had been in her mind — and yours.’

  At which Saunders had nearly choked on her own toast. Simon was known for his subtlety, but could exhibit brutal candour when it suited him.

  ‘Don’t let your emotions completely cloud your judgement, my dear,’ he had said then. ‘Your boy Ford Landell is a man who’s hardly ever been a child, and she has never been anything else. I don’t know how he got lumbered with her, but 1 suggest to you that she is more of an albatross round his neck than a trophy on his bedroom mantelpiece. Besides, Landell isn’t the type to hunt trophies like that.’

  Now, meeting those black eyes as they glinted with humour, she desperately wished for Simon’s insight.

  ‘I’m quite relaxed,’ she finally replied. ‘Just a bit excited is all; I’ve never flown in such a small plane, much less on a trip like this. And of course I’ve never been to Tasmania before, either. I understand it’s quite beautiful, quite unique.’ She was waffling, desperate to stave off the strange intimacy created in the cabin surrounding them.

  ‘Indeed,’ he replied, but it was neither acceptance nor rejection of what she’d said, merely a space in the conversation. ‘If I’d known you’d never been to Tassie, I’d have tried to arrange things differently. We could have planned to spend the whole weekend, or something.’

  ‘I’d only arranged for the one night’s billeting,’ Saunders replied, not meeting his eyes now, knowing that he already knew what she had arranged, knowing that what he had in mind was quite, quite different.