Outback Wife and Mother
Autorzy
Barbara Hannay
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17,3K
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12
Chapter 1
FLETCHER HARDY ran an irritated finger around the inside of his uncomfortably stiff collar and glared at the marbled floors and mirrored walls of the enormous ballroom. He had rushed straight to the hotel from a press conference about the drought in North Queensland and he had to postpone a dinner meeting with the Minister for Primary Industries—simply to watch half starved girls sashaying around in outrageous costumes!
He prided himself on never doing anything against his will, but in a rare moment of weakness he had allowed his cousin, Lucette, to talk him into coming to a fashion show.
Grimacing as his shoulders met the unfamiliar constraints of his tux, he strode impatiently towards the rows of seats arranged around the catwalk. He ignored the swing of expensively coiffed female heads trailing after him like sunflowers following the sun.
And he scowled as he found his seat and lowered his long body into it.
Fashion! Ridiculous female obsession, he’d always claimed, happily overlooking the minor detail that he had, on odd occasions in the past, been known to admire an elegantly designed garment gracing a beautiful woman.
As soon as Lucette had heard Fletcher was travelling south to Melbourne, she’d begged him to come and watch the show so he could admire the set she designed especially for this exhibition. He’d found his kid cousin’s enormous pride in her first real assignment quite touching and so, to humour her, he had come. But where was she now? The live band was blasting out its opening number and the lights were going down and still no Lucette! She’d left him to brave this torment on his own!
Typical. With any luck there would be an interval and he could leave.
Wrapped in these angry thoughts, he refused to join in the applause as the grinning compere, dressed in a gold tuxedo, approached the microphone, welcomed the audience and delivered a totally incomprehensible joke about fashion. The audience roared. Fletcher growled.
‘This evening, the Quintessential Collection brings us a preview of the new season highlights from five of Australia’s top young designers. We begin with the delightful Alexandra Fraser. I’m sure most of the menfolk here would agree with me, that Ally is herself rather beautifully designed...’ Here the compere paused for a brief titter from the audience, while Fletcher almost groaned aloud. ‘Today we see fine examples of her ultraurban, minimalist designs in pale cashmeres and silks,’ the compere continued with a wide, plastic smile. ‘And you should note the clever addition of silk cummerbunds to her slinky pants and long evening skirts.’
Fletcher raked a hand distractedly through his thick, dark hair as, for the sake of his sanity, he turned his attention to Lucette’s set. OK, it was good. Against an ethereal backdrop resembling the sky at dawn—all pinks and golds—there were delicate, gilded arches encrusted with winking bud lights and a runway edged with more tiny lights and misty clumps of tulle. It all seemed appropriate, he decided, suggesting a show, which would present the quintessence of earthly beauty. And as far as he could see the decor provided a suitable accompaniment for the palely elegant fashions, which soon emerged.
But as for the deportment and grace of the models slinking and strutting along the runway—he barely noticed them. His eyes were squinted with his efforts to read his watch in the darkened room. But his attempts were futile so instead he began scanning the audience, searching for Lucette. After several fruitless minutes, he tried the watch again. No use. When could he safely slip away?
Restlessly, he squirmed in his seat. His elbow bumped the thin woman sitting beside him and she glowered at him from beneath her wide-brimmed hat.
About to scowl back at her, his attention was suddenly captured by a woman emerging down the runway. Dressed in the simplest of short gowns in deep purple, the colour of crushed violets, she stood out in stark contrast to the whites, creams and beiges worn by the models surrounding her.
‘Ladies and gentleman, our very own Alexandra Fraser.’
So this was the designer of the first collection. She was bowing as the crowd applauded her. Cries of ‘Bravo’ could even be heard, so obviously she was being well received.
She smiled out into the audience and at that precise moment, the simple, two syllable word woman took on an entirely new level of meaning for Fletcher Hardy.
This woman was like no other he’d ever seen before. An unnerving tension seized his body. His hands gripped the upholstered arms of his seat and incredibly, this hardened man of the land’s throat tightened over a huge lump of unexpected emotion as his gaze remained transfixed by the figure on the catwalk.
She was surrounded by tall, willowy models, but his eyes were drawn from their almost asexual leanness to ber startling femininity. Her gleaming dark hair and pale skin were a perfect foil for the rich colour of her oneshoulder dress and the delectable curves it barely concealed. Her slender legs and the graceful movement of her dainty hands as she acknowledged the models were utterly fascinating. Spellbound, he watched this dark-haired, enchanting designer.
She was the most exquisite female he had ever seen.
Her features were delicate yet determined and her thickly lashed grey eyes sparkled with intelligence and spunk. Surrounded as she was by models looking as vacant as dolls in a shop window, this woman looked vibrant, incredibly alive, undeniably sexy.
And then she was gone, tossing a final smile over her one bared shoulder before disappearing with the models back through Lucette’s golden arches.
Another group of models bounced onto the runway accompanied by wild heavy metal music. Fletcher had a vague impression of a kaleidoscopic mix of lace and satin teamed with psychedelic stockings and electric blue lips, but his mind was still totally absorbed by Alexandra Fraser. If only he had bothered to pick up a catalogue on his way in, he might have discovered more about her.
Restlessly he sat through the gyrations and outlandish creations of the second collection but as soon as its designer, a young man whose bald head was wildly tattooed, appeared to receive his applause, Fletcher rose from his seat and made his way quickly to the back of the ballroom.
He found a stack of catalogues on a small side table and hurriedly snatched one up, leafing through it impatiently. Reading by the light of a dimmed wall lamp, he found little to satisfy him. There was a brief description of Alexandra Fraser’s collection and a list of several awards she had won and then a quoted comment.
‘Alexandra says of fashion design, “I keep to simple tines, neat silhouettes, no frills or fluffiness, but this doesn’t mean my clothes cannot be soft or reveal the body. For me design is a passionate experience. It fu161s me totally—mind, body and soul.”’
To his annoyance Fletcher Hardy did not find the scraps of information at all comforting and he skulked around the back of the ballroom as the show continued, feeling startled and miserable. How could fashion fulfil such a beautiful woman?
And he knew then that, after the show, his next move would be to dismiss the waiting limousine, courtesy of the Cattlemen’s Union.
And then he would be heading backstage.
Ally Fraser made her excited way through the backstage confusion. Around her, models were changing, some removing wigs or false eyelashes, while assistants gathered up costumes and shoes. As she passed, nearly everyone looked up to smile or to openly congratulate her. She was trying not to grin too widely, but her collection had clearly drawn the most enthusiastic audience response of the entire Quintessential show and she was over the moon. More importantly, she’d noticed at least two fashion journalists nodding and smiling at her when she’d taken her bow.
She stopped to check that several of her garments were being stored away properly and thought fleetingly of how wonderful it would be to be able to head straight for home and an early night. But although she was dead tired after the hectic pace of the past few weeks, she steeled herself to go outside to join in the cocktails and to be particularly pleasant to the fashion editors.
Quickly she glanced around the crowded room, making sure everything was under control before she left.
However there was a rather uncontrolled and excited babble erupting from the models in the far corner as a strange man walked into their midst. Ally stared, intrigued. These girls were so used to having all kinds of people wander in and out of their changing areas that they usually took no notice. But they were paying a great deal of attention to this good-looking stranger.
To her surprise, Ally saw that he was ignoring the girls’ varied stages of undress as he advanced purposefully across the room. Most newcomers, especially males, couldn’t keep their eyes from straying frantically. To her even greater surprise, she realised that the tall, dark intruder appeared to be heading straight for her. In his sleek, black tux, marching head and shoulders above the models, he advanced, staring at her so intently she felt her pulses begin to race.
‘I’m looking for Lucette Hardy,’ he said, as soon as he reached her.
His voice was deep and resonant and his claim sounded quite plausible and yet Ally found that she couldn’t believe him. She had never considered herself to have telepathic insight, but this man’s eyes were so fiercely fixed on hers that she knew straight away that he was seeking her out. And the knowledge held her, standing before him, mesmerised by his height, his strong, handsome face and his piercing blue eyes which looked exactly as if they had been made from summer skies.
As those eyes continued to explore every detail of her face, she struggled to speak. ‘Poor Lucette’s come down with flu,’ she said. ‘She’s devastated to miss the show.’
‘So that’s what happened.’ He looked away briefly and then his eyes found hers once again. ‘You are—’ he began and then cleared his throat as he corrected himself. ‘Your designs are absolutely exquisite.’ With a sweeping gesture, he indicated the racks of her clothes. ‘The simple lines ...’ He paused, apparently lost for words.
‘And neat silhouettes?’ she supplied, her lips curled in sudden amusement.
He grinned then, a cheeky grin that totally transformed his face. ‘OK, I read your comments in the catalogue. But honestly, I like the dress you’re wearing best of all.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied. It was certainly not the first ime she had received a compliment, but most of the praise that came her way was delivered with such a pracised smoothness that it smacked of insincerity and slipped over her like an old, warm blanket that she took for granted. This evening her heart pounded erratically in espouse to his clumsy admission and she stared back at he sun-tanned, ruggedly handsome face knowing that she had never met a man like him. In contrast to her world of image-makers and haute couture, his masculin ,ty seemed to be stripped of all pretension.
He frowned and she was surprised at the way his gaze dropped to his work-toughened hands as if he were sudienly shy. With a totally unexpected jolt of disappointment, she thought, soon he’ll say it was a pleasure to meet me and then he’ ll be gone.
In the awkward silence, she looked back at him, taking in his broad shoulders, thick, black hair, rugged features and vivid blue eyes and wondered how someone who embodied the fantasies of half the women on the planet could make such a hash of what was clearly meant to be i simple pick-up.
‘We haven’t really met you know,’ she heard herself saying a little too eagerly. ‘You haven’t even told me your name.’
He grinned again and visibly relaxed, his strong features turning so sunny that for a moment Ally thought the technical crew were playing tricks with the lighting.
‘I’m Fletcher Hardy, Lucette’s cousin. In Melbourne on business. I actually came to admire Lucette’s work.’ She half expected him to trot out something trite about ending up admiring the designer instead, but to her relief he didn’t. Instead he asked, ‘When do you finish here?’
‘I’m afraid I’ve got to do my duty out there first.’ She grimaced, pointing to the ballroom. ‘Meet the press, that sort of thing.’
He pulled a face. ‘You have my sympathy. I’ve had a day of that sort of thing myself.’
‘Really?’ She looked at Fletcher Hardy contemplatively. ‘Now let me guess. You do something in the outdoors. A ski instructor? No, the press wouldn’t bother you about that. Perhaps a mountaineer? Are you about to conquer something generally considered unconquerable?’
Fletcher laughed, throwing back his head and drawing sharp glances from others in the room, then he looked her over slowly and said softly and with wicked audacity, ‘I’d say I might be in with a chance.’
The ripple of excitement that raced up her spine shocked Ally. This cousin of Lucette’s was losing his shyness with breathtaking speed.
‘I never was much good at guessing games,’ she said quickly to cover her sudden self-consciousness. But she didn’t mind his cheek. She’d never before felt such an immediate connection with another person, especially a man. No one else, on first meeting, had accelerated her heartbeat to such a heady, scampering pace. ‘You’ll have to remain a mystery for now,’ she added. ‘I really must go to this party. Why don’t you join us?’
‘Sure. Lead the way.’
Ally was aware of many eyes watching as Fletcher followed her into the cocktail party. As they helped themselves to champagne cocktails, Derek Squires, the baldheaded, much-tattooed designer rushed over to them.
‘Darlings,’ he crooned.
‘Hello, Derek. I’d like you to meet Fletcher Hardy.’
‘And hello-o, darling,’ smiled Derek, eyeing Fletcher with open interest Fletcher nodded politely.
‘How’s it all going?’ Ally asked.
‘Just keep me away from that dreadful woman,’ shuddered Derek.
‘Who’s that?’
‘Phoebe Hardcastle. She had the cheek to criticise my lovely blue lipstick. Said my girls looked half drowned.’ He trembled in horror. ‘She has the creative imagination of a fruit fly.’
‘She certainly can be very cutting,’ agreed Ally, flashing a quick glance at Fletcher to see how he was reacting to the conversation. His eyes were wide with interest.
‘She has no understanding of fashion flair. Stupid cow.’
‘Now let’s not get too critical of cows,’ cut in Fletcher. ‘They’re my stock-in-trade.’ Both Derek and Ally looked at him curiously, waiting for more explanation. ‘I raise cattle,’ he said with a shrug.
‘Oh, how awful for you,’ murmured Derek, backing off hurriedly.
Ally smiled, her grey eyes dancing as she looked up at Fletcher from under her thick, dark lashes.‘ I knew you did something in the outdoors.‘
‘Ally Fraser,’ boomed a commanding voice from behind them. ‘Spare me a minute or two if you please.’
An alarming-looking woman with bright red hair, thick spectacles and a heavy jaw pushed her way next to Ally.
‘Oh, Phoebe. How are you this evening?’
‘Tolerable, dear. But I’ve deadlines to meet. Can you answer a couple of quick questions?’
Ally shot Fletcher a swift, mildly apologetic glance and nodded. ‘Fire away.’
‘What I want, darling,’ the redhead began, shoving a small tape recorder under Ally’s nose, ‘is for you to sum up in a nutshell...who you’re trying to appeal to...who you expect to wear your clothes...who is going to connect with them.’
‘But I’ve told you all that many times,’ Ally protested.
‘New show, new comments,’ the journalist shot back, her eyes hard and unsympathetic.’
‘Very well,’ replied Ally after only a moment’s hesitation. ‘I think my clients are people who are looking for value...for something contemporary, but with classical elegance as well...’
She felt a strong hand pat her heartily on the back and looked up to catch Fletcher winking at her.
There were more questions which Ally answered as best she could, but the whole time she was terribly conscious of the way Fletcher’s hand stayed there, resting on her bare shoulder. Her skin beneath the warm hand tingled deliciously in response.
‘And are you planning to launch a range of perfumes, like some of the other more successful designers?’ Phoebe was asking.
Ally wavered. This was something she had been considering, but it was too soon to talk about it.
‘Good question,’ cut in Fletcher. ‘And when we have the answer to that, you’ll be the first to know. We’ll give you an exclusive, but for now we have another engagement.’
‘Who are you?’ spluttered Phoebe, looking up at Fletcher, her red-painted mouth agape.
‘I’m Ms. Fraser’s public relations consultant. It was very nice of you to give us your attention, but I’m afraid that’s all we have time for.’
Ally gave a startled gasp, but the hand on her shoulder remained firmly in place as she felt herself gently but purposefully led away.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she cried, twisting around to face him.
‘Ssh. I’ll explain in a minute.’
Frowning, and with lips pursed, Ally walked quietly beside Fletcher until they made their way through the throng and reached the main door of the ballroom.
‘OK, now tell me what you’re doing,’ she demanded, still frowning and with her arms crossed over her chest.
‘I’m abducting you,’ he said quietly.
Then as she opened her mouth to retaliate, Fletcher placed a finger over her lips. ‘I’m taking you away, because you’re the most intriguing woman I’ve ever seen and I don’t have much time in Melbourne and...we don’t have time for all the social niceties.’
They stood staring at one another, his finger still warm on her lips. Ally was stunned.
‘But my career hangs on these interviews,’ she stammered.
‘Do you really think so?’
She hesitated. It was a question she’d asked herself many times. She had always tried to ‘do the right thing.’ It was the way she’d been brought up, but she knew that little of what she’d actually said to a journalist ever appeared in print and usually when it did, she was furious at being misquoted.
Fletcher continued. ‘These journos have already made their notes and taken their photographs. And they’ve already made up their minds about your clothes. Now all they want is free food and grog, to be seen with celebrities and to catch up on the hot gossip.’
Ally suspected that he was right. And, she reflected, she’d placed work before pleasure for so long now that she could hardly remember the last time she’d given in to capricious self-indulgence. If she hadn’t been so certain this man was going to be incredibly important to her, she might have wavered. But her mind was too distracted by the thrill of intense excitement and heady anticipation she’d felt from the moment she first saw him. And that simple touch of his hand on her shoulder had seduced her body more surely than the most concerted efforts of any of her previous admirers. She could have been making the biggest mistake of her life, but suddenly she didn’t care. Being with Fletcher Hardy became the only possible option.
‘Where would you like to go?’ she asked with a smile.
‘Do you like Thai food?’
‘Love it.’
They took a taxi to the best Thai restaurant in the city.
‘You know Melbourne well?’ Ally asked as their taxi wove through the traffic.
‘Only the inner city area. I usually only come down for conferences once or twice a year.’
‘And these cows of yours. Beef or dairy?’
‘Beef. I own a cattle property on the Burdekin River. Wallaroo Downs.’
‘The Burdekin? That’s in North Queensland, isn’t it?’
‘Sure is.’
‘A long way from here.’ Ally tried not to sound too bothered by this news.
‘About three thousand kilometres.’
‘And you like living up there?’
‘Yes. I do.’ He slanted her a slow smile and stretched his arm along the back of the seat. ‘And I like visiting down here.’
The restaurant was fairly crowded, but there were still some tables to spare. The gleaming timber furniture, soft cream wool carpeting and enormous ceramic urns of beautiful fresh flowers provided a formal enough atmosphere for them to feel at ease in their elegant evening wear.
‘It’s been too long since I dined out,’ Fletcher commented after they were seated.
‘Well, at least you have an excuse,’ said Ally. ‘I don’t suppose there are too many restaurants on your block, but I’m surrounded by them and I still don’t indulge much.’
‘So, tonight is a treat for both of us,’ smiled Fletcher, and Ally wondered if she had ever seen quite such a sexy smile.
It was ridiculous to feel so excited, so expectant, as if she were a child on her birthday surrounded by beautifully tempting, as-yet-unopened presents, or a skydiver on the brink of a thrilling leap into the unknown.
She willed her stomach to stop fluttering as they chatted about the menu, discussed the food and wine, their likes and dislikes. When the waiter came, Fletcher pronounced the Thai dishes with surprising fluency.
‘You’ve been to Thailand?’ she asked.
‘Not as a tourist. Strictly business.’
‘But you took time out for the important business of eating.’
Fletcher grinned and reached out to take her hand. ‘I’m rather glad Lucette harangued me into coming to your show.’ He looked down at her hand, which seemed so small and white in his sun-tanned grasp. ‘No rings,’ he said and then added with a lift of one dark eyebrow, ‘Does that also mean no strings?’
‘My work pulls me in all kinds of directions,’ Ally admitted. ‘But no strings of the personal variety. I’ve been rather single-minded about focusing on my career.’
‘I can’t believe there haven’t been numerous attempts to sidetrack you.’
She tasted the crisp, white wine Fletcher had chosen while she considered his comment.
‘A girl has to be careful.’ She looked straight into his bright blue eyes. ‘There have been plenty of wolves in the forest, but I always thought Little Red Riding Hood was far too easily led. I’ve mostly ignored them and just kept on going, heading straight for Granny’s house.’
‘In this case, Granny’s house being the Quintessential label?’
‘Yes.’ She smiled.
‘So, after the resounding success of this evening’s show, perhaps you’ve earned yourself a little diversion,’ he said.
‘Per-perhaps.’
But, just remember, a warning voice sounded in her head, that is all this man who lives three states away can possibly be—a temporary diversion. A pleasant—an extremely pleasant—dinner companion.
The meal was superb. A delicious soup of seafood simmered in coconut milk, ginger and coriander was followed by special Thai curries—a green beef curry for Fletcher and a red chicken version for Ally. Both dishes were accompanied by aromatic spoonfuls of fluffy, jasmine rice.
For Ally, the meal, the wine and the accompanying conversation were highly charged. While no one else had ever made her feel so comfortable, her bubbling emotions continually kept her on edge—incredibly excited and happier than she could ever remember, but nervous, too, wondering what on earth she would do when this meal was over and it was time for them to go their separate ways.
They talked and laughed together and she found herself telling Fletcher more about her love for fashion and her ambitions, and he listened intently, making her feel that she was a fascinating conversationalist. He talked a little about the conference that had brought him to Melbourne and very briefly about Wallaroo Downs.
Throughout the meal, his eyes were watching her. They seemed to travel restlessly from her face and throat to her arms and back again and she knew he was as sensitive as she was to something intensely strong and powerful filling the space between them. It was a heady, almost suffocating tension. This must be what they call sexual chemistry, Ally thought with bewildered fascination. Until now men had only ever induced in her a kind of bemused, gentle stirring of her senses. But Fletcher’s compelling masculinity triggered an elemental need that startled her.
So that when they left the restaurant and stepped out onto the street, Ally found herself turning to Fletcher and saying a trifle nervously, ‘My apartment’s only two blocks away. We could walk there if you like—for coffee.’
‘Great idea,’ he said with an easy smile and took her hand as they set off.
You’ve only just met the man, Ally kept reminding herself as they passed late-night coffee shops and silent, darkened office buildings. So, your hormones have come out of hibernation, but just remember you never, ever sleep with anyone on a first date.
‘How long are you in town for?’ she surprised herself by asking. It was a question she’d avoided all evening.
‘Three days.’
Only three days! ‘Oh.’ Ally bit down hard on her lip, but it was too late to stifle the cry of disappointment.
Perhaps Fletcher shared her reaction, for he paused and, drawing her into the shadows of a shopfront, gathered her closer to him.
‘And that reminds me...’ he murmured.
‘Reminds you?’ Ally’s voice trembled, her breath snatched away by his proximity. Up so close, she could feel his warm breath on her cheek, sense the strong muscles beneath his suit jacket and smell the spicy tang of his aftershave. In the scant light thrown by a street lamp some distance away, she could see his delicious smile. His eyes held hers and as she looked into the blue depths, she knew she had never wanted to be kissed more than she did now.
If only he needed to kiss her as much as she needed to taste his beautiful, sensuous mouth. Her ears buzzed, her heart had surely stopped beating. Was she breathing? Everything seemed to have stopped.
‘I’m reminded,’ he whispered, ‘that it’s time to start kissing you now. We really don’t have time to waste, do we?’ His hand cradled her cheek. ‘I’ve been wanting to kiss you all evening,’ he said. Then he lowered his lips to hers, to take her mouth gently in a kiss so tender, so tempting, that it only served to fire a desperate longing for more. Her lips parted eagerly as his mouth met hers again, to kiss her more deeply, more urgently, his arms binding her hard against him.
Ally hardly knew how to cope with the jolt of wild sensations that surged through her.
‘O-oh,’ she moaned softly, wondering if her feet still touched the ground, knowing at once that she belonged in this man’s arms. Not wanting his mouth to ever leave hers. Nothing had ever felt so right.
He broke away as footsteps approached.
‘We need somewhere private where I can kiss you very thoroughly.’
‘We’ve nearly reached my place. It’s just around the corner,’ Ally replied, ignoring with reckless ease the alarm bells rung by her well-exercised conscience.
They walked quickly. The lift shot up to her apartment, and once inside, Ally switched on the low table lamps. In the warm pool of light, Fletcher looked at her, holding out his arms with a smile that banished any lingering inhibitions. And she walked into them, as eagerly and gladly as if it were what she was born to do. He threaded his fingers through her dark hair.
‘You know, Ally, I don’t consider myself a wolf. It’s not usually my policy to rush these things.’
She felt a ridiculous stab of dismay at the note of caution in his voice.
‘Well, to be honest, I like to get to know a man before I let him...kiss me,’ she forced herself to admit.
‘It’s a bit reckless, can be dangerous in fact.’
‘It certainly can be,’ she muttered, burying her head into his chest and breathing in the mixture of cotton and silk of his clothes combined with the cleanly masculine scent of his skin. Hearing the pounding of his heart.
‘So perhaps I should leave now?’ he breathed against her cheek, as his fingers gently stroked the nape of her neck.
‘Do you really want to know what I think?’ she asked, closing her eyes and arching her curves closer into his strength.
‘Uh-huh,’ he murmured, while his lips trailed dizzying circles over her jaw in a manner that could elicit only one possible answer.
‘I think we’re wasting valuable time standing here talking.’
