By Marriage Divided
Auteur·e
Lindsay Armstrong
Lectures
16,6K
Chapitres
8
CHAPTER ONE
THE property was called Lidcombe Peace, two hundred acres on the Razorback Range only about an hour’s drive south of Sydney city towards the Southern Highlands.
The house, built on a hilltop with stunning views, had been designed with wide, stone-flagged verandas at ground level all around, cream walls and a shingled roof. On this perfect blue and gold summer day, it drowsed stylishly in the sunlight.
The girl standing on the veranda waiting for him was also stylish and looked to Angus Keir as if she belonged to this beautifully established and prestigious property, which, of course, she did—or had. For she was, he guessed, Domenica Harris, whose parents had built the present house although the property had been in the family for a lot longer.
Daughter of noted academic and historian, Walter Harris, and his well-connected wife Barbara, Domenica had had a privileged upbringing and been to all the right schools, his research of the family had turned up. And the only reason she was waiting for Angus Keir, who had clawed his way from beyond the black stump so to speak, to hand over the keys of the property to him, was because on her father’s recent death the Harris family fortunes had been discovered to be in turmoil, necessitating the sale of Lidcombe Peace.
So he had fully expected to be greeted by a daughter nursing a sense of grievance, not by a girl as serene-looking and lovely as this, he thought wryly as he got out of his car and approached the veranda; lovelier, indeed, than just about any girl he’d seen.
She was tall and dark-haired with pale, smooth skin, a beautifully defined jaw line with just the hint of a dimple in her chin. She also had deep blue eyes with impossibly long lashes and her thick hair was parted one side and ran in a river of rough silk to below her shoulders.
She carried a straw hat and a manila folder in her hand and wore a three-quarter length, button-through dress in some soft camellia-pink fabric. But the softness of what he didn’t know was voile highlighted instead of hid a near-perfect figure and sensationally long, thoroughbred legs. Her flat kid shoes matched the dress exactly.
And for a moment Angus Keir found himself meditating upon the shape of her breasts and the satiny softness of that smooth skin in secret places upon her delectable body.
Then she walked towards him and held out her hand. ‘Mr Keir? I’m Domenica Harris. How do you do? I was going to send my solicitor to perform this little rite, then I thought I ought to do it myself. Welcome to Lidcombe Peace and may you spend many happy years here!’
Angus Keir narrowed his eyes slightly. All this had been said in a cultured, musical voice and he’d expected no less. But there’d been no trace of grievance or even regret, and he wondered why the lack of it, in some mysterious way, niggled him.
‘How do you do, Miss Harris?’ he responded and shook her hand, finding her clasp firm, brief and businesslike. ‘It’s very kind of you to take the trouble. I hope this is not too painful for you.’
Domenica Harris studied him thoughtfully. Via a real estate agent, she and this man had conducted something close to a war over the exchange of Lidcombe Peace. And it had only been the fact that she’d had to sell some part of the family estate, and sell it quickly or see her mother face bankruptcy, that had finally induced her to accept his offer, which was a lot less than what she’d been asking, although still not an insignificant sum.
Accordingly, she’d tagged this Angus Keir in her mind as a tough customer, and pictured him as a lot older. But he was in his mid-thirties at the most, she judged, tall, with thick dark hair cut short and wearing an expertly tailored light grey suit with a midnight-blue shirt and navy tie. He also possessed the kind of stature that would make him stand out in a crowd, that broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped kind of man who moved with a sort of powerful ease.
But perhaps the most stunning feature about him was a pair of smoky-grey eyes set in a narrow, clever face. Eyes that missed nothing, she suspected, and not the least her own figure.
She said coolly, at last, ‘I guess I’m a realist, Mr Keir. Something had to go and this property was an expensive kind of holiday home we can no longer afford. My father, who inherited it from his mother, was the one who really loved it but he’s no longer with us.’
‘I wondered about the name?’ Angus Keir murmured.
Domenica smiled. ‘My grandmother was a Lidcombe and her favourite rose was the Peace rose.’ She waved a hand towards the rose bushes planted all around the veranda with bees humming through them. ‘They’re all Peace. We always maintained her preference in roses although this house was built after her death.’
‘They’re lovely,’ he commented. ‘I shall endeavour to do the same. So you won’t miss being able to spend your holidays here or having a retreat so close to the city?’
Domenica inserted a brass key into the heavy wooden double front door and swung it open. ‘A bit,’ she confessed, ‘but I’m actually so busy at the moment, holidays are not on the agenda.’ She smiled ruefully.
‘As in?’ Angus queried.
She glanced at him, then preceded him into the foyer. ‘I design children’s clothes. I have my own label and it’s finally taken off! I have more orders than I know what to do with and I’m thinking of branching out into women’s sportswear.’
Angus Keir discovered that he was surprised. A lovely social-butterfly type was what he’d assumed she was and it occurred to him that perhaps he should have instigated some more research into Domenica herself as well as her famous family.
He said as he stepped over the threshold, ‘Forgive me, but I did wonder why I was dealing with you rather than your mother, Miss Harris, in whose name this property is, or was, registered?’
Domenica laid her hat down on a lovely mahogany drum table with a leather inlaid top. ‘Both my mother and my sister Christabel are wonderful people, Mr Keir, but not exactly business orientated. Neither was Dad.’ She looked briefly sad, then smiled wryly. ‘I don’t know where I inherited a few down-to-earth, practical genes from, but they’re happy to leave it all to me—I have her power of attorney. Now, I have an inventory here,’ she continued, suddenly brisk and practical right on cue. ‘I believe you have a copy?’ She glanced at him out of those amazing blue eyes.
‘I do.’ He drew some folded sheets of paper from the inner pocket of his jacket.
‘And, as you know, while most of the contents of the house were included in the sale, you did agree that we could keep some personal treasures.’
‘Yes.’ He inclined his head.
‘Well, I think we should check the inventory of what was to remain together now, then we can both sign it so there can be no disagreements later.’
Angus Keir looked her over unsmilingly and the nature of the mysterious niggle he’d experienced earlier suddenly came clear to him. He would like to have some power over this cool, serene and utterly gorgeous girl, some hold, even if it was only that she bitterly regretted having to part with a home he now owned. Why? he wondered. So he could lure her back to it? As an excuse to get to know her? Yes, he concluded, and his eyebrows rose in some surprise at the thought.
Then he realized that Domenica was looking at him curiously, but only because of the lengthening pause between them, and the irony of not making much of an impact on this girl at all when she’d done the opposite to him amused him inwardly but activated a resolve to change things…
‘I think that’s a very good idea, Miss Harris,’ he said. ‘And if you have second thoughts about anything you’d really like to keep, please let me know. I’d be happy to accommodate you.’
This time Domenica’s eyebrows rose, in sheer surprise. ‘That’s very kind of you but I don’t think there’s anything,’ she said slowly, as if she was not quite sure whether to believe him.
‘Should we start in here, then?’ he suggested.
It took them over an hour, and, although he’d inspected the house before and although houses didn’t mean that much to him, Angus Keir felt a sense of triumph to think that this lovely home with its use of timber and slate, the design that made the best use of natural light and the wonderful views, was his—even denuded of some of the Harris family treasures.
There was also an air about it of a home, not as if it should grace the glossy pages of an interior design magazine, not matched or co-ordinated within an inch of its life, but comfortable and gracious. Although, he conceded to himself, there would be one thing lacking.
And almost as if reading his thoughts, Domenica said, ‘I gather you’re not married, Mr Keir?’
‘You gather right, Miss Harris, but how could you tell?’
They were in the living room, looking out over the roses towards Sydney. Domenica glanced at him. They were standing almost shoulder to shoulder and, although she was five feet ten, even if she were wearing heels he would be taller than she was, she judged. And his physique and height at this close proximity plus the lines of his face—good-looking but with the hint in the uncompromising set of his mouth and the worldliness of those smoky-grey eyes of a self-assured man who got his own way frequently—did something strange to the pit of her stomach, she found.
He was also tanned where she was not, and it was impossible not to sense that he was extremely fit, and not only from the honed lines of his body but the way he moved. Then there was the masculine scent of crisply laundered cotton, tailored fabric and just plain man about him that was a little heady and, oddly, something rather touching about a small, star-shaped scar at the end of his left eyebrow.
A very fine example of a man in his prime, she thought, but with a slight sense of unease. She remembered, belatedly, what he’d said.
‘Uh—’ she wrenched her mind from the purely physical ‘—if I were a wife whose husband had just bought a house, any house, you couldn’t have kept me away,’ she said with a quizzical little smile, then shrugged. ‘On the other hand, it could be easier without a wife who may have wanted to change the house and imprint her personality on it—which could have cost you some more money.’
‘I don’t think, assuming I had a wife, I would let her change anything about Lidcombe Peace, Miss Harris.’
Domenica’s eyebrows rose. ‘Really?’
One word but uttered with such hauteur, Angus Keir reflected, he should feel instantly demolished. ‘Really,’ he agreed smoothly, however, and added, ‘I like it very much the way it is, you see.’
‘Oh.’ Domenica looked around and he could see her doing battle with pride in Lidcombe Peace and the kind of man who would not allow a wife to express her individuality. ‘Well—’ she faced him again with a fleeting expression in her eyes, this time of ‘It’s nothing to do with me anyway’ and held out her hand ‘…I’m sure you’d like to explore a bit more on your own, so I’ll get going. The other keys are on the hook in the pantry.’
He didn’t take her hand but said, ‘Would you have lunch with me, Miss Harris? I noticed a restaurant a few miles back that looked rather pleasant. And I wasn’t proposing to stay here any longer.’
She hesitated and frowned. ‘That’s very kind of you but—um—no, I should be getting back to work.’ She looked at her watch and then said with a fleeting grin, ‘Thanks, but I definitely should be making tracks!’
‘You don’t eat lunch?’ he queried.
‘Yes, I do, but on the run, if you know what I mean.’ Domenica stopped rather abruptly.
‘How about dinner this evening, then?’ he suggested.
She was silent, desperately trying to think of an excuse and, of course, every second she delayed made it obvious she had none.
‘Unless you eat all your meals on the run, Miss Harris?’ he drawled.
Domenica flinched inwardly at the underlying sarcasm of his question. She also asked herself why she was so unwilling to see more of this man without even giving it much thought, and realized it was an instinctive reaction to a subtle process that had been going on between them from the moment they’d laid eyes on each other. Certainly, for his part, an assessment of her that was not only physical but as if her mental processes were on test too had taken place—then again, she hadn’t been immune from making assessments either.
But it still came as something of a surprise to her that she should have been drawn into the process. Because she’d been prepared to dislike him thoroughly and with good reason, considering the war they’d waged over the sale of Lidcombe Peace? Only to discover herself speculating on his physique but, not only that, responding to the things he’d said as they’d moved about the house, things that had indicated a sense of humour as well as a man who might be interesting to know intellectually…
Or had it been a lot simpler? she reflected. That there was a magnetism about Angus Keir that could be summed up in three words—sheer sex appeal. It was impossible not to be impressed by his body, by his hands, by an aura of refined strength, as well as touched by the lurking feeling that, when you added it all up, it made you feel particularly womanly.
She blinked surprisedly at this choice of words that had sprung to mind and didn’t sound like her at all, and decided it was all the more reason to escape Angus Keir as soon as possible.
She said, ‘No, I don’t eat all my meals on the run, Mr Keir, but the thing is, although I told you I was a realist, it hasn’t been that easy to hand Lidcombe Peace over to you, or to anyone, for that matter, and I think it would be better to make a clean cut now.’ Which had an element of truth in it, she mused.
But the expression that crept into those smoky-grey eyes as he looked down at her meditatively was both insolent and sceptical, causing Domenica to feel suddenly unsure of herself. Because he’d read exactly how ‘womanly’—just hate that term now, she decided with gritted teeth—he’d made her feel, and knew all too well that she was disseminating for the most part?
Damn him, she thought. Who does he think he is? The Sheik of Araby? Only to close her eyes in further frustration as she wondered where these outlandish or coy expressions were coming from, and to fall back on her mother’s tried and tested defence for all situations that she felt were beneath her—pride.
She tilted her chin, looked at him with extreme composure and said coolly, ‘So, goodbye, Mr Keir. I don’t think there’ll be any need for our paths to cross again. My solicitor can deal with any problems you may have.’ And she picked up her hat and stalked out.
Nor did she give any indication as she strode to her car of the mixture of annoyance yet skin-prickling awareness of him watching her that possessed her until she was in the car, turning the key. And only then did she give some rein to her emotions—because nothing happened.
‘Start, damn you!’ she ordered it, and tried again. But it didn’t and she only just restrained herself from pounding the steering wheel with her palms.
While Angus Keir, standing on the veranda with his hands shoved into his pockets, grinned satanically and started to walk towards the car as Domenica Harris got out and slammed the door with a lot less savoir-faire than she’d previously exhibited.
‘It’s the starter motor,’ he said a few minutes later. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t had trouble with it before.’
Domenica, still raging inwardly, paused and thought a bit as she fanned herself with her hat. ‘Now you mention it, it has been sounding a bit strange lately. Can you fix it?’
Angus took his time about replying because he was laughing inwardly, this time at her lady-of-the-manor manner, and because he knew that, while he might be able to fix it temporarily, he had no intention of doing so. ‘I’m afraid not. But I’d be happy to give you a lift into town, Miss Harris.’ He wiped his hands on his handkerchief and closed the bonnet. ‘The only thing is, I’m starving.’
Domenica regarded him frustratedly.
‘I could also tow the car down to the local garage where you could make arrangements for it to be repaired and returned to you,’ he added.
She glanced at his vehicle, a large, powerful, latest model Range Rover undoubtedly capable of towing her rather shabby hatchback sedan, and said through her teeth, ‘Don’t rely on fate always working in your favour, Mr Keir!’
‘Certainly not,’ he responded. ‘But I’m sure you’ll feel better after a civilized lunch rather than eating on the run, Miss Harris.’
The restaurant had a garden area with tables set beneath a pergola bearing the weight of a grapevine laden with dark, bloomy fruit. It offered delicious shade on what was now a very hot summer’s day, and that was where they ate. There were birds singing in the hedge that screened the road, cicadas shrilling in the grass and yellow cotton cloths on the tables. They also shared a small carafe of the house wine, which Angus had ordered without consulting her.
But, both the wine and the delicious, home-made steak and kidney pie she’d ordered did put her in a better mood. It even made her feel that she’d been rather churlish, and she set out to make amends, although in the most general way. She followed his lead on several topics of conversation ranging from sport, to books, to politics, then found herself, without quite knowing how it had happened, telling him about her business.
‘They’re girls’ clothes,’ she said, ‘and marketed under the “Primrose” label. I cater for girls from four to twelve, which is about the upper limit for most girls to enjoy lovely, frothy, feminine creations.’
He raised a dark eyebrow.
She grinned. ‘From then onwards they go through a grunge stage or trying to look as adult as possible,’ she explained.
‘How did you work that out? Market research?’
‘No. Memories of my childhood and just looking about.’
‘So how did you start? With an old sewing machine in the garage?’
‘Hardly.’ She grimaced and paused as their gazes clashed and she saw a flicker of something that could have been caustic in his grey eyes, although she had no idea why.
She frowned faintly but he didn’t explain so she went on, ‘After university, where I studied design and marketing, I teamed up with a friend who is a much better seamstress than I am. And, after an assessment of where there might be a gap in the market, we hired a studio and a few more sewers and went into production. I do the designing, marketing and handle the business aspects, she handles the actual making of the clothes.’
‘Sounds very professional,’ he murmured. ‘How did you come up with the capital to start it?’
‘My Lidcombe grandmother left me a small inheritance but I also applied for and got a bank loan. That’s been paid off, though, I’ve recouped my initial investment and we’re making a steady, although at this stage not exactly spectacular, profit. Since I recently persuaded two major department stores to stock our clothes, which gives us a much higher profile now, and even although we’ll need to expand, I expect our profits to rise quite considerably.’
‘You sound as if you’ve got two feet on the commercial ground, Miss Harris,’ he commented.
‘Thank you.’ But Domenica sighed suddenly. ‘I just wish…’ She broke off and sipped her wine.
‘I’d like to know,’ Angus said. ‘As someone who started off with one eccentric truck way outback, and built it into a transport empire, I applaud your enterprise and common sense.’
But Domenica frowned and forgot what she’d been going to say as something else struck her. ‘Keir…not that Keir—Keir Conway Transport?’
He merely nodded, although with a tinge of rueful amusement.
‘Heaven’s above, why didn’t I connect you with that Keir?’ she asked more of herself than him, then focused on him sharply. ‘If I’d known that, I would have held out for not a penny less than—’ she named a figure ‘—for Lidcombe Peace.’
‘I’m all for knowing as much about the opposition as possible, Miss Harris,’ Angus Keir said, ‘but it wouldn’t have done you any good. I paid what I considered to be a realistic price for Lidcombe Peace.’
She regarded him broodingly. ‘I had a feeling this wasn’t a good idea.’
‘Having lunch with me?’ he queried with his mouth quirking.
‘Precisely,’ she agreed.
‘May I offer you a piece of advice?’ He was still looking amused. ‘Don’t regret what’s done and can’t be changed—that’s good personal advice as well as for business, by the way. And Lidcombe Peace was in a price bracket that could have seen you wait for years to get your price.’
Domenica pushed her plate away, and shrugged eventually. ‘I suppose so. And I didn’t have much choice. Oh, well, Mr Keir,’ she added in her mother’s tone of voice, ‘thank you so much for lunch but I really need to—’
‘Domenica, don’t go all upper crust and la-di-da on me,’ he interrupted wryly.
She stared at him. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I’m sure you do and, anyway, I’ve ordered coffee.’
She closed her mouth, then opened it to say, ‘If you’re implying that I’m—’
‘Trying to put me firmly in my place? Taking refuge behind a plummy accent and a certain turn of phrase designed to keep the peasants in their place; retreat to your coterie of privilege, et cetera,’ he drawled, ‘yes. You may not realize it, but it’s not only that. You look down your nose and those beautiful blue eyes contrive to look through me as if I don’t exist.’
She gasped.
‘Moreover,’ he continued leisurely, ‘I know exactly what kind of a tangle your mother’s financial affairs are in, and that the sale of Lidcombe Peace, while removing the immediate threat of bankruptcy, will not solve all her problems.’
She stared at him, struck dumb.
‘I know, for example, that there’s a mortgage on your mother’s principal place of residence that was raised to cover some disastrous investments your father made, so that the profit from the sale of Lidcombe Peace will mostly be swallowed up in repaying that mortgage and all the outstanding interest.’
‘How…how…?’ Domenica stopped in the act of saying, How dare you? and rephrased stiffly. ‘I don’t know how you know all this but if you think it makes me like you any better, you’re mistaken! I—’ She stopped exasperatedly as their plates were removed by the waitress and a plunger pot of aromatic coffee was put down.
‘It may not matter a whole lot whether we like each other,’ he said and poured two cups of coffee.
Domenica’s fingers hovered over a little dish of finely dusted pale pastel Turkish Delight that had come with the coffee. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
He didn’t answer. But his smoky-grey gaze travelled from her glorious dark hair to the smooth pale skin of her throat and the outline of her figure to her waist beneath the camellia voile. She had very fine, narrow hands, he observed, and on the little finger of the hand still poised above the dish of Turkish Delight she wore a rather unusual plaited gold ring. Then his gaze drifted back to her mouth and he contemplated it silently.
Domenica dropped her hand to her lap sweetless and suppressed a tremor that was composed of both outrage and awareness. Because she knew exactly what Angus Keir meant and, while she’d contrived to ignore it until now, one all-encompassing glance from him had spelt it out. ‘Liking’ one another was not what it was about between them.
Liking one another had nothing to do with wondering about a man on a physical level, which, heaven help her, had plagued her again while she’d watched him discard his jacket to hook her car up to a towline he’d produced from his vehicle. It hadn’t been a great physical exertion for him, but enough to make her conscious of the long lines of his back and the sleek, powerful muscles beneath the midnight-blue cotton of his shirt.
And at the garage she’d stood silent and feeling oddly helpless as he’d made arrangements with the local mechanic with the kind of authority, not only of a man as opposed to a woman who knew nothing about starter motors anyway, but the kind of man who almost had the mechanic bowing and scraping.
Then, for some reason, his wrists and hands had specifically plagued her during their lunch. He’d taken off his jacket again and, beneath the cuffs of his shirt, his wrists were powerful and sprinkled with black hairs, but his hands were long and well-shaped and he wore a plain watch on a brown leather band. Strong, but nice hands, she’d caught herself thinking a couple of times.
But she now had to put it all into context, she realized, and find a way to make him believe that ‘liking’ a man was important, for her anyway.
She compressed her lips and decided to opt for honesty and forthrightness and didn’t give a damn how she sounded. ‘I don’t go in for that kind of thing, Mr Keir.’
‘Mutual attraction and admiration?’ he suggested lazily.
She paused, then shot him a telling little look. ‘Not with people I do business with, no. And not with people I don’t happen to like. But most of all, not with people—’
‘Men—shouldn’t we be specific?’ he put in blandly.
She shrugged. ‘All right, men, then, who I don’t know from a bar of soap!’
‘That’s commendable,’ he remarked. ‘I even applaud you, Miss Harris. But I’m not suggesting we leap into bed, only that we get to know each other.’
Domenica felt the surge of colour rising up her throat but she ignored it to say coolly, ‘Thank you, but no, and, while you may not be suggesting we leap into bed, it is how you’ve been looking at me. And I find that—unacceptable.’
He laughed, but with genuine amusement that caused his eyes to dance in a way that was rather breathtaking. ‘I’d be surprised if most men don’t look at you that way, Domenica.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘On the contrary, Mr Keir, most men are a bit more…mannered.’
His lips twisted. ‘Oh, well, if nothing else, at least you know where you stand with me, Domenica. Incidentally, I believe your mother owns another property, a warehouse in Blacktown?’
‘Yes.’ Domenica blinked as she tried to make the adjustment. ‘It’s leased to a catering and party hire company. So?’
‘Sell it,’ he said.
She did a double take. ‘Why? At least the rent provides some steady income!’
‘You may not realize it,’ he broke in, ‘but you’re sitting on a small gold-mine there. A new road proposal resuming land nearby has given several companies around you the headache of having to put their expansion plans on hold, or move entirely to another industrial estate, a costly exercise. But don’t sell it for a penny under this figure.’ He drew a black pen from his shirt pocket and wrote a figure on the back of the bill that had come with the coffee.
Domenica stared at the figure, swallowed, and, raising wide eyes to his, said huskily, ‘You’re joking! I know the valuation—’
He stopped her by gesturing a little impatiently. ‘Things change. It’s an established estate with good facilities and the new road will make it better and even more accessible. And you’ll be in the position of being able to play several potential buyers off against each other. Believe me.’
‘How…how do you know all this?’ she asked after a long pause.
He smiled slightly. ‘I do my homework.’
‘You…you wouldn’t be in the market for some extra space in this estate, by any chance?’
‘No, Domenica, I wouldn’t. Do you think I’d be advising you to ask this for it—’ he tapped the bill ‘—if I were?’
They stared at each other, she tensely, he rather mockingly. Until she said a little awkwardly, ‘I just can’t imagine why you would…just because you wanted Lidcombe Peace…investigate us so thoroughly.’
He didn’t answer immediately. Then he shrugged. ‘It had some bearing on what I’d get Lidcombe Peace for.’
‘You said you—’ her voice quivered ‘—you paid what you thought was a realistic price.’
‘Yes. Taking everything into consideration.’
Her awkwardness changed to contempt. He could see it in her eyes and the way her beautiful mouth set severely. And he knew what to expect before she said it. ‘That’s despicable, Mr Keir. I assume you mean taking into consideration that I was fairly desperate!’
He shrugged. ‘Life can be a bit of a jungle, Miss Harris. But if you take my advice on the warehouse, and if you invest some of the profits as I would be prepared to advise you, your mother should be well provided for, for the rest of her life. She may even be able to continue to live in the manner to which she’s accustomed.’
Domenica breathed deeply and fought a tide of emotion, an unusual, for her, desire to scream and shout at this man—but what if he was right? she wondered suddenly.
Her mother was one of those people you loved, especially as a daughter—excepting on those days when you wondered why; days when she was impossibly impractical, when she was being a raving snob as if she still queened it over society and had her parents’ great wealth to fall back on, when she was unbelievably extravagant. But the thing was, it was impossible to see Barbara Harris unhappy. It was a bit like closing down the sun…
She said slowly, ‘I might just take you up on that, Mr Keir. Unless you have a certain kind of repayment in mind?’ Her blue gaze was steady, and satirical.
‘Your body for my financial expertise?’ he hazarded gravely.
‘I can’t imagine why else you would do it,’ she said levelly.
‘You could be right.’
Domenica put her cup down and stood up, only a hair’s breadth from slapping his face.
But Angus Keir remained seated, with his eyes laughing at her. Just as she was about to swing on her heel, though, he stood up and said, ‘To clarify things, Domenica, no, I wouldn’t expect that kind of payment. But I would like to get to know you, that would certainly be a way of going about it, and you just might enjoy getting to know me. What would happen from there on—who knows?’ He shrugged into his jacket and picked up the bill. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Your car has been delivered, Dom.’
Domenica looked up from her drawing-board. It was seven o’clock the same evening. She and her partner, Natalie White, were working late although their other staff had left and it was Natalie who was standing beside her dangling a set of car keys.
Domenica looked at the keys then at Natalie, dazedly. ‘But it can’t be. They said it could take at least a day or two to get the part.’
‘Nevertheless…’ Natalie grinned ‘…it has just been delivered by a driver wearing a Keir Conway overall who told me to tell you that, on instructions from the boss, he rushed the part down himself, supervised its installation and drove the car back. He also said that, while you should have no more immediate problems with it, it’s probably about time you gave some thought to acquiring a new vehicle. Oh, and the bill has been settled, compliments of the boss, too.’
Domenica looked around the colourful chaos of the studio with its big half-moon windows, and said something unprintable not quite beneath her breath.
‘Darling,’ Natalie murmured, ‘I know you explained briefly about this Angus Keir and what you hold against the man, but are you sure you’re not spurning a knight in shining armour? When a country garage tells you it could take at least a day or two to track down a part, in my experience and certainly for a car that’s not in its first flush of youth, they’re actually talking in terms of weeks!’
Domenica started to say something but Natalie went on, ‘And considering that your hatchback doubles as our delivery vehicle, considering—’ she gestured around ‘—how much stock we have to deliver at the moment and the cost of hiring a vehicle—’
‘Stop,’ Domenica broke in but chuckling. ‘You’re right! It still doesn’t make me enjoy being beholden to the man!’
Natalie, a five-feet-two bubbly blonde, perched on the corner of a cutting table and studied Domenica thoughtfully. ‘I would say this Angus Keir is well and truly smitten, Dom. Is that such a bad thing? Sounds as if he’s rolling in dough.’ She shrugged and eyed her friend and partner shrewdly. ‘What exactly did happen between you two?’
Domenica frowned, because her encounter with Angus Keir had started to take on a surreal quality. They’d said little on the drive back to Sydney, and she’d recovered her composure sufficiently to thank him both for the lift and lunch, although with a cool little glint in her eyes as if to warn him off. But either he’d heeded it or he’d needed no warning off, because he’d responded in kind, and left it at that. All the same, she’d had the feeling she was amusing him and that would not be that—as she now knew.
But even with this reminder—she took her keys from Natalie and stared at them—the whole encounter seemed more like a dream than reality, except for the fact that it had been difficult to concentrate all afternoon because even a dreamlike recollection of events had made her feel restless and edgy.
She sighed suddenly. ‘I don’t really know, Nat. But for some reason he—makes me nervous.’
She was to repeat that sentiment later in the evening, at home with her mother and sister Christabel.
At twenty-two, three years younger than Domenica, Christabel still lived at home with Barbara Harris at Rose Bay in a house overlooking the harbour.
Close to the shopping delights of Double Bay and because she’d lived there for the past twenty years, Barbara Harris had mentioned several times that she’d die rather than be parted from her Rose Bay home although it was far too big for just her and Christabel.
She’d also tried to make Domenica feel guilty about moving out to a flat of her own several years previously and had tried desperately to persuade her to come home after Walter’s death. But Domenica knew that it had been a wise move to stay put because she and her mother were at their best with each other when they each had their own space. Although she often spent the night or the weekend with them and would do so tonight.
Whereas Christabel, who had always been quiet and studious and looked set to follow in their father’s footsteps, was able to shut herself off from Barbara’s more difficult moods. Still at university pursuing an MA in History, she was also working part-time as a research assistant for a writer, and, Domenica thought affectionately of her sister who was also dark but short, thin and amazingly unsophisticated, she often lived in a world of her own.
Tonight, though, as they ate a late meal together it was Christy who said, ‘If he’s right and he can give good investment advice, it could be the end of all our problems.’
Domenica grimaced. She’d just passed on the salient points of her encounter with Angus Keir, which had not included the personal, and contrived to strike her mother dumb.
It didn’t last long. Barbara reached for her wineglass and said in a wobbly voice, ‘This is amazing. This is sensational! I’m saved! Unless—’ she looked at her elder daughter piercingly ‘—there’s something you haven’t told us!’
‘Not really,’ Domenica sidestepped. ‘I just, well, don’t know if we can trust the man, for one thing. For another he did tailor his offer for Lidcombe Peace to suit our rather desperate circumstances and I find that…’ She shrugged.
‘But if this is true, it’s more than made up for it, Domenica. Who is he, by the way?’ Barbara asked.
Domenica told them his name.
Barbara looked blank but said all the same, ‘I think I’ll invite him to dinner. He must have some good reason for wanting to help out and—’
‘No—uh—Mum, just hang on a minute,’ Domenica broke in. ‘Let me check him out first before we plunge into wining and dining him. I’d also like to check out the Blacktown scenario for myself. Please?’
‘Well…’ Barbara looked undecided and Christy suddenly tapped the table with her fingers.
They both turned to her. ‘It’s got to be the same one,’ she said, frowning. ‘Angus Keir, you said his name was, but does he own Keir Conway Transport?’
‘That’s him,’ Domenica agreed a shade darkly. ‘Do you know him?’
‘No, but I’ve been researching him for Bob’s next book tentatively titled New Money. Which he’s made a mint of, Angus Keir.’
‘Oh. A self-made man,’ Barbara said disappointedly and got up to make coffee.
Domenica and Christy exchanged glances, although Domenica was actually feeling relieved, because nothing could dampen their mother’s enthusiasm more than ‘new money’. But she couldn’t resist asking Christy for more details.
Her sister shrugged. ‘He was born and raised on a sheep station way out west. Apparently his mother deserted both he and his father, who was employed on the station as a boundary rider and wanted no other life. But Angus broke the mould. Exceptionally bright at what schooling he did grab, he—’
‘Started with one eccentric old truck and turned it into a transport empire,’ Domenica finished for her.
Christy raised an eyebrow.
‘He told me that bit.’ Domenica propped her chin on her hands. ‘Is there more?’
‘He’s branched out a bit, he’s expanded his business overseas,’ Christy said thoughtfully. ‘In fact, I would say that Angus Keir knew exactly what he was talking about in regard to the Blacktown property and could probably make Mum a small fortune with the proceeds. But you obviously didn’t like him, did you, Dom?’
Domenica looked into her sister’s dark, intelligent eyes. ‘I…don’t know why but he made me feel…nervous.’
Christy considered. ‘On the other hand, to know that Mum was happy, settled and back in what she considers her rightful milieu would be such a weight off our minds, wouldn’t it?’
Domenica glanced towards the kitchen doorway through which she could hear their mother musically exhorting the percolator to perk. ‘Yes, Christy,’ she said, ‘it would. But, please, just head her away from any plans to socialize with him until I, well, work a few things out.’
‘OK,’ Christy agreed. ‘If she mentions him again I’ll tell her he was a boundary rider’s son who didn’t get to finish high school.’
They smiled ruefully at each other, then Domenica said slowly, ‘Not that you would know it—he looks and sounds anything but! Although—’ her mind roamed back ‘—perhaps he does have a slight chip on his shoulder. Do I often sound upper crust and la-di-da?’ she asked.
Christy laughed. ‘Darling Dom, in fact you’re light years from being it, but there are times when you can look down your nose just like Mum!’
Three weeks passed, during which Domenica forwarded a cheque to Angus Keir for the repairs to her car and investigated the Blacktown scenario. The cheque came back to her torn up but with no note.
This annoyed her considerably but she decided not to pursue the matter. And, quite irrationally, it annoyed her even more to discover that his summing up of the Blacktown estate had been quite accurate. Through another real estate agent, she found out that the warehouse was, indeed, suddenly a much more valuable property.
She tried to persuade herself that this would have become apparent to her anyway, through offers made for it, but she couldn’t persuade herself that she’d have known how much to ask for it.
Then her mother rang one afternoon to tell her that she’d invited a few friends round for a cocktail party early that evening and would she please come.
‘Why such late notice?’ Domenica asked down the phone, with her mind elsewhere.
‘You know me, darling, I’m so scatterbrained, I was quite sure I’d told you about it, then I thought I better check, just in case! I was right.’
‘Who’s coming?’
Her mother ran through a list of names, and added that she was dressing up.
‘All right, thanks, Mum, but I’m so busy, I might be a bit late. See you!’ Domenica put the phone down and shook her head. A couple of hours later, she remembered the party and had to shower and change on the run because she was already late.
Damn, she thought as she wriggled into her favourite black dress and did a contortionist act to zip herself up. It was short and fitted, with narrow shoestring straps that crossed over her back, and she embellished it with a single strand of pearls, another bequest from her Lidcombe grandmother. Deciding she didn’t have time to fight with tights and it was too hot for them anyway, she slipped her feet into a pair of closed-toed black patent sandals with little heels, and applied some lipstick and eye shadow.
But she hated rushing, she hated being late although she was not a great fan of her mother’s cocktail parties, so it wasn’t in the best of moods that she let herself into the Rose Bay house, convinced she looked less than her best and feeling quite breathless.
Nor did it improve her mood at all to discover that she’d been right about Angus Keir—he did stand out from a crowd because he was the first person she noticed amongst the throng in her mother’s living room.
