by Margaret Way
“No, I’ll let you all get on with it. I have plenty to do.”
“Well you’ll meet them all at dinner.” Brod shrugged. “We’ve got one hell of a lot to sort out. I doubt we can get through it all this afternoon.”
“Take care.” She blew him a kiss.
“I mean to,” he said.
For you. He wasn’t pushing Rebecca even when he was crazy about her but he intended to take their relationship a whole lot further. Like an engagement. Pretty soon after that she was going to become his beautiful bride. Despite herself. He was going to do everything in his power to make his wife happy.
Rebecca!
He started down the steps filled with incredible life and vigour.
Rebecca heard the visitors arrive but she made no effort to go to the window and look out. She kept working, realising she was almost at the point of making a first draft of Fee’s biography. Fee, in her private conversations, was always very honest; now that same honesty had been extended to the book. In Rebecca’s opinion, it was turning into a rather extraordinary chronicle, not only Fee’s life but the Kinross family life down through the generations. She knew it would be every bit as good as Dame Judith’s memoirs, which had received excellent reviews. It was nice to get praise. One reviewer had referred to her “elegant, even lyrical prose.” She hoped it was matched by realism. Fee had entrusted her with quite a commission. This would be a bigger and better book than Dame Judith’s because there was so much more to say about a long line of extraordinary characters.
Fee tapped on her door around six, her beautiful face touched with exhaustion.
“How’s it going?” Rebecca asked, sounding concerned. “It’s been a long session.”
“That it has!” Fee put a hand to her temple. “Sir Andy used to have a small army of lawyers. At least we’ve cut it down a bit. All I can say is it’s damned fortunate Brod is so clever. He’s right up with them. Doesn’t miss a single solitary thing. I get bogged down a bit. We used to have an enormous fortune you know. It’s mind-boggling how much Stewart got through. Lived like a prince while Brod handled everything from the minute he was able to.”
“Are you going to come in and sit down?” Rebecca asked. “You look a little tired.”
“I am, darling,” Fee confessed, “but I’ll keep you company at dinner.”
“Good. I didn’t want to be the only woman there. What are they like?”
Fee glanced at her watch. “Well I’ve known dear old Barry since forever. I knew his father before him. Dermot is a new one on me but sounds like a good man. The other two are much younger but very bright. Early thirties. I’ll go off now and soak in a long, luxurious bath.
“Do you good.” Rebecca gave her an affectionate smile and turned back to the word processor. She’d work for another half hour or so then draw her own bath.
She took her time when she was usually eager to go downstairs, selecting a two-piece jersey outfit in her favourite colour, violet, probably because it looked good on her. It had a simple high-necked sleeveless top and a long fluid skirt, which she wore well. Some of her girl-friends thought you had to be tall to wear long skirts. She found just the opposite. They actually made her look taller and she liked the sensual feel of soft fabrics against her legs.
Her hair was getting very long. She hadn’t had it cut for months. She parted it in the centre and brushed it to a high glow, pushing it behind her ears and letting it flow down her back. Next diamond stud earrings she had bought herself to mark her New Journalist of the Year award. A few swishes of O de Lancôme—she was never without it—and she was ready.
All through the afternoon, even when she was working on the book, her conversation with Fee stayed at the back of her mind. No doubt getting it all out into the open was good advice but her extreme reluctance was proof how badly she had been traumatised.
Rebecca sank into a gold brocade armchair burying her head in her hands for a moment.
“Brod,” she rehearsed in her mind, “there’s something about me I haven’t told you….”
“Brod, I’ve wanted to tell you this for so long but…”
“Brod, I’ve been married. Years ago. To a violent man. Well he wasn’t violent at the beginning. He used to be so nice… Nice, God!”
“Brod, I married a charming, unpredictable man.”
It was going to be a terrible shock his finding out. Their relationship, never casual, had escalated so rapidly into a grand love affair all the more extraordinary because neither of them had put their deepest feelings into words. In a way both of them had a problem saying, “I love you,” though Brod told her the most beautiful things about herself unable to hide his desire and need.
What a ghastly mess she’d made of it all. It was now imperative she speak out. If she left it any longer she would lose him. This man who had given her back her dreams. This man who put so much store in trusting. In a way she had been leading a double life. Now she would have to face reality.
Rebecca stood up and went to the mirror, looking deeply into her reflected eyes. “Go on, do it. I dare you. Tell Brod about this man he has never heard of. Your husband. Your ex-husband who liked to hurt you. Tell him about your husband’s mother, the real head of the family, who would never hear a word against her perfect son. Go on. Tell him. And tell him very soon.”
Rebecca smiled ruefully at herself, feeling better. There was no crime in having been married. Her only sin was not telling the man she loved.
Moments later while she was waiting for half past seven when she would go downstairs, Brod came to collect her wearing a soft open-necked blue shirt with grey trousers and a summer weight navy blazer trimmed with gold buttons. She had always thought him as stunning, burning with life, but with whatever had happened between them his looks were positively hypnotic, this man with the wonderful blue eyes.
“Hi!” she said, her heart thudding beneath the thin violet jersey.
“That’s nice,” he said in a low voice his gaze moving very slowly over her. “Purple is definitely your colour.”
“How was your day?” she asked.
“Not completely satisfactory.” He rubbed the back of his neck as if to ease it. “But we’re working on it.” He took another glance at her mouth. “I’d love to kiss you. I mean I want to kiss you all the time really, but we’d better go downstairs.” He put out a hand, unable to resist sliding it down her satiny waterfall of hair. “I like your hair longer. It’s perfect parted in the centre.”
“I aim to please you,” she said, feeling a bit intoxicated.
“You do?”
“What do you think, Brod?” She lifted her dark head to him. “I’ve gone to pieces over you.”
He laughed; a flash of beautiful white teeth. “Gone to pieces of course. But are you in love with me?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Yes, but I’m not exactly sure what yes means. I’d really like to know what you want of me, Rebecca?”
“Nothing. Everything,” she said.
He moved her back against the wall, bent his head, just barely grazing her mouth, but the effect was sizzling, robbing her of breath. “You’re a magnet for me.”
She stared into his eyes. “I know so much about you. So much about your family. You know so little about me.”
“I thought you were going to tell me everything one day,” he challenged.
She frowned, very serious. “I want to tell you tonight.”
If it were possible the colour in his sapphire eyes deepened. “Rebecca, you little Sphinx, I’ll be waiting for you.”
As they walked to the head of the staircase, Fee, who had been playing hostess, came out into the Front Hall, looking amazingly rich and famous. “Ah, there you are, my darlings. Jean has dinner ready for eight. “You’ll want a pre-dinner drink.”
The four men who had been seated in the drawing room, a pleasant relaxed group, now came to their feet, wondering who the beautiful young woman was on Brod’s arm.
&nbs
p; Three were wondering.
One had no reason to. He already knew Rebecca Hunt. He knew she had been commissioned to write Fiona Kinross’s biography. He’d seen it in the papers. Rebecca had become more successful than he ever would have given her credit for. Now she was happily at home with these megarich people. These top people. This great landed family. Who could beat that?
Rebecca totally unprepared thought she might faint from the shock. It was amazing she didn’t faint, her vision had become so blurred. But she would have known him anywhere. Martyn Osborne. Her ex-husband.
Dear God she pleaded inwardly. Don’t punish me any more.
Brod, about to make the introductions, became aware of the tiniest little flutters in Rebecca’s body, the quickening of her breath. Something was perturbing her. He looked down at her face swiftly and saw it confident, exquisitely poised. She wore the smooth mask he had almost forgotten. The shields were down. But he knew something was very wrong.
Speak to him as though you’ve never seen him before in your life, was Rebecca’s first frantic thought. Play a role. Be as brilliant as Fee. She had nothing to be ashamed of. It was Martyn who ought to be deeply ashamed. There was no way she was going to fear him any more.
She got a vague impression of the older men. One silver haired, distinguished, the other portly, the younger man almost a matched pair with Martyn. Fair, well-bred, good looks and near identical smart casual clothing. Martyn had obviously left his old legal firm to join Mattheson & Mattheson. Another good career move. It was an incredibly bizarre situation but one she had to get through. The decision taken, she moved smoothly into speech, countering her turmoil with courage. Just too ridiculous to pretend she didn’t know him at all.
“But, Martyn, what a surprise!” she exclaimed, with mild pleasure. “Martyn and I were at university together.” She looked to Brod and Fee in explanation. “I swear it’s a small world.” At least that was true.
“How nice!” Fee stared at her, not in the least fooled, even if she applauded the acting.
He’d thought she’d be struck dumb with shock, possibly make an utter fool of herself, yet here she was extending her hand, withdrawing it very promptly before he had a chance to tighten his grasp. “How are you, Martyn?” she asked, feeling his eyes eating into her.
“Fine, Becky. Never better. Someone was only talking about you the other day. It was my mother actually. Why don’t you call her?”
Because she disgusts me. Like you. “Lord, I’m terrible keeping up with all my phone calls,” she answered lightly, allowing Brod to move her on to the leader of the group. Barry Mattheson responded with genuine pleasure, remarking on Rebecca’s professional success. “I’ve had the pleasure of reading your biography of Dame Judith Thomas,” he said. “My wife read it first and gave it to me. Both of us thoroughly enjoyed it.”
“You won’t have to buy a copy of mine, Barry,” Fee told him, patting his arm. “I’ll be sending you and Dolly an autographed copy.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Fee.”
The portly Dermot Shields came next, his good-natured face intelligent and alert. Jonathan Reynolds, Dermot Shields’ aide stood to attention, impeccably groomed and a little overawed by the grandeur of his surroundings. This was the first time Jonathan had ever visited one of the country’s great historic homesteads and he was mightily impressed.
By the time they went into dinner it was apparent to Rebecca Martyn was going to play along with her. At least for the time being. She knew he was quite capable of denouncing her the moment he saw fit. Perhaps he was hording the pleasure. Or quick-witted at all times he had divined Brod’s interest in her and as a consequence was trying to work out how best to proceed.
Destroy her or maybe make a big career error, Martyn Osborne thought, taking his place at the big gleaming dinner table with its swanky appointments. The Kinross family were at the top of his firm’s long list of wealthy clients. He had even thought with secret contempt old
Mattheson positively worshipped them. It would be incredibly stupid to upset this lot. Or be seen to be upsetting them deliberately.
He had noticed Kinross’s swift reactions on his oh so superior face. Handsome as the devil with that shock of blue-black hair, too damned long—who did he think he was…Mel Gibson?—and those startling blue eyes. What an arrogant bastard he was. Of course he was in love with Becky. Imagine she was more beautiful than ever with a cool poise that was entirely new to him. He’d given her so much and it meant nothing to her. He’d loved her too much and she had twisted that love. Turned him into someone else. It was all her fault. Everything. He had never forgiven her. He had never got over it.
Carrying a deep grudge all these years. He’d worked hard to manoeuvre himself into the position to accompany old Mattheson on this trip, never for a moment volunteering the knowledge he knew his ex-wife was on Kimbara helping that over-the-hill actress, Fiona Kinross, to write her silly memoirs.
Mattheson knew he had been married of course. Knew the marriage had ended in divorce but he had no idea his ex-wife was Rebecca Hunt. Needless to say Beck would revert to her maiden name just to spite him. He wanted to give her a bad time, but wanted to be able to think of the best way to go about it. He’d like to shake that acting cool and banish the gleam in Kinross’s blue eyes every time he looked at her. The worst bitterness was he still wanted his ex-wife. Wasn’t that the reason for pursuing her out to this godforsaken wilderness?
Rebecca went through dinner in a trance of some sort, somehow holding to her end of the conversation, a little slow to answer Martyn’s trick questions. He’s crazy, she thought. Nothing to indicate it. He’s handsome; very correct in his behaviour. Charming to Fee. Just the right amount of deference when speaking to Brod and his senior colleagues, a touch patronising with Jonathan Reynolds who was totally lacking in Martyn’s overweening self-confidence. Nicely friendly with her. Old chums from way back exchanging light conversation.
Except for his eyes. She could see the malice in them. The venom. She tried to understand how she had ever come to marry him. But then she had known nothing about the dark side of men.
Brod for his part, decided to say nothing. He allowed Rebecca to carry on with this charade. He was so close to her now, so at one with her he knew under the polished facade disturbance ran deep. Without appearing to in the least he kept Osborne under close scrutiny. Osborne, too, was doing his best to cover the feelings that were rife in him but Brod knew his instincts were right. Even during the flow of conversation he kept turning things over in his mind. He was beginning to believe this smooth-faced lawyer with his faintly pompous demeanour and his small mannerisms, the little twitch of the eyebrows, the restless hands, the fake laugh, was the man who had brought much unhappiness into Rebecca’s life.
Becky, he called her. Not surrounding the sharpness of the word with cushioning grace. It sat oddly with Rebecca’s delicate appearance. Brod understood there was a story there. He intended to find out about it. He hadn’t liked Osborne from the moment he had met him. Somehow Osborne had struck him as a malicious schoolboy. Just a fancy but long experience had taught him he had little need to question his judgement.
A malicious schoolboy. One who liked to pick the wings off butterflies.
They lingered over coffee, taking it out onto the verandah at Fee’s suggestion so they could enjoy the welcome coolness of the night and the glorious vault of the heavens filled with a billion glittering stars. Nowhere did they sparkle so brilliantly or in such infinite numbers as over the rarefied air of the desert.
It was Barry Mattheson who suggested to his colleagues they should turn in. Martyn turned to Rebecca. “Once around the garden, Becky, for old times’ sake. I haven’t gotten around to telling you about some of our old friends. Remember Sally Griffiths and her sister? Dinah Marshall? They’ve set up their own school for gifted kids. Doing well to. Gordon Clark? He was mad about you. Weren’t they all!”
You included, Brod thought, wanting to pull R
ebecca into his protective arms,
But she wanted to go with Osborne. “I’ve got a little time to catch up.” She stood to join Martyn, knowing she had little alternative. Because of the conversation at the dinner table, Martyn knew for certain now both Brod and Fee believed her to be a single woman. Fee had even commented Rebecca would make some man the perfect wife one day. “We’ll be ten minutes no more,” she told Brod. “I know you like to lock up.” In fact Brod never locked up. Who was there to raid him? This was his own kingdom.
Fee, her antennae working overtime, felt driven to whisper to Brod, “Keep an eye on her, darling. There’s something about that young man I don’t like.”
“I’m going to,” Brod confirmed grimly. “I can recognise menace when I see it.”
“Poor little Rebecca!” Fee said, her heart sinking. “She’s hiding something, Brod.”
“Don’t I know!” Brod’s expression was taut. “I can’t tell you what exactly but she’s very disturbed.”
When their guests retired, Brod kept Rebecca and Martyn under silent surveillance, moving soundlessly along the length of the side verandah, then moving out into the darkened garden all the while listening to the murmur of their voices. This was something he had never done in his life—eavesdrop—but he had no compunction about doing it now. He knew something was badly wrong. He knew the two of them had been playing along.
Until now when they thought themselves alone.
As they moved further away from the house, Martyn clamped his hand around Rebecca’s arm but she freed herself by jerking away forcefully. “It wouldn’t be good for you if I started to scream,” she warned in a soft, furious voice. “Brod would pound the life out of you.”
“He’d have a go,” he scoffed, secretly hating to have to put it to the test.
“The hell he would!” Rebecca said with disgust. “He’s head and shoulders over you. And I mean in every way.”
“In love with him, are you?” he sneered, all the old memories flooding back. His jealous rages.