The Constantin Marriage Page 7

  But there was a serpent in paradise. And the irony of that was—she had introduced it.

  He slid his fingers between her thighs, then looked into her eyes. ‘So,’ he said barely audibly, ‘my wife may not be the virgin I was promised. Who is he, Tattie?’

  If someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over her the effect could not have been more punishing. She gasped and sat upright incredulously. ‘That was not in the marriage contract!’ she denied.

  A cool, absent smile twisted his lips. ‘It was what I was given to understand, and quite important in this kind of marriage.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked in a deadly undertone.

  He shrugged. ‘In the context of being able to mould you into a wife who would suit me.’

  Tattie sprang off the couch with her hair flying like rough black silk. ‘I knew it,’ she fumed. ‘Don’t think this has come as any surprise to me—I hate it!’

  She planted her hands on her hips, then made the mistake of looking down at herself, clad only in three triangles of pale blue silk. She closed her eyes briefly, and snatched her shirt and pulled it on. Then she looked around for the other half of her outfit and, with as much dignity as possible, fished her trousers out from beneath the coffee-table. But it was hard to maintain a lot of dignity as she stood on one leg, then the other, and wriggled into them.

  It was just as well that her sense of outrage was enormous, and once again she was able to plant her hands on her hips, this time fully dressed, if slightly awry.

  Alex remained sprawled out on the settee and eyed her as he ran his hand through his hair and fingered his jaw. ‘Hate what?’ he enquired gravely, but in a way that barely hid a restrained spark of humour. ‘There didn’t seem to be an awful lot of hate going on just now.’

  ‘Your Greek background,’ she said fiercely, ‘and this whole business of arranged marriages to virgins you can mould into suitable wives!’

  ‘Oh, that. What about your own mother, who didn’t seem to think it was such a bad idea?’

  ‘She might have thought she was arranging a highly suitable marriage for me, but I never had any intention of being a virgin bride you could train to suit your tastes.’

  He grimaced. ‘Are you a virgin, Tattie?’

  ‘Why? Are you having doubts now that I might be? A pity, because it’s something you may be destined never to know.’

  He folded his arms. ‘That is throwing down the gauntlet, Tattie.’

  ‘Oh!’ She ground her teeth.

  ‘On the other hand, let’s forget about moulding, training and all that—’

  ‘You brought it up!’

  ‘Perhaps I was taken by surprise.’ He raised his eyebrows quizzically. ‘Uh—on the other hand, how badly do you want me to go on rescuing Beaufort?’

  ‘What…what do you mean?’

  ‘I mean it’s come to the stage where a significant cash inflow is required. Of course you could do it yourself—if you sold Carnarvon.’

  Something clicked into place in Tattie’s mind, something he’d said to her a couple of weeks ago, but in the heat of that moment she’d forgotten to query it. Something about not being able to run the stations without him, anyway…

  She sat down on the coffee-table unexpectedly. ‘Sold Carnarvon?’

  ‘You have plenty of assets, Tattie, but not a lot of cash.’

  ‘But…I thought beef prices were going through the roof.’

  ‘They are. Your beef, however, is thinly spread over two huge stations in a way that’s going to require a massive mustering operation, the cost of which alone will eat away most of your profits this year.’

  ‘I know that. We’ve been through this before, Alex.’ She swallowed. ‘I told you that’s what I was very much afraid of. There hasn’t been a proper muster for a couple of years and a lot of the stock has gone feral. You said—’

  ‘Tattie,’ he interrupted, ‘what I’ve done for you is this: during the last dry we mustered what we could—not a lot, but all the same—and with the proceeds spent the wet season improving as much of the facilities as we could. The bores, yards, equipment, et cetera. But what we were not able to do during the wet season was improve the roads, particularly on Carnarvon, which have since suffered some bad wash-aways during the last wet. It’s almost impossible to get a road train through there now, Tattie.’

  She was silent, counting the cost of it mentally.

  ‘On top of that,’ he continued, ‘you know what a big muster means. Extra ringers and horses, helicopters for the really difficult terrain and the wilder stock, freight costs and all the rest.’

  ‘So—this may sound like a silly question,’ she said at last, and looked anxious, ‘but where are we at? Am I in hock to you already?’

  ‘A new road into Carnarvon would put you there.’

  ‘I’m sure I could get a loan.’ She bit her lip, then suddenly looked around the apartment. ‘Or I could give you this! I haven’t really done anything to earn it.’

  ‘You could do that.’ He shrugged. ‘Or you could form a real partnership with me.’ He looked at her significantly.

  ‘I got the impression you might not want me, assuming I was “soiled goods”, Alex.’

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ he countered. ‘Although you would have to put away any aspirations you had towards having another man in your life.’

  ‘Like you put away Leonie Falconer, and whoever her replacements might be?’ she asked innocently.

  He stood up. ‘Those are my terms, Tattie. Take it or leave it. In the meantime, the dry season is progressing and there’s a strong chance Carnarvon won’t get mustered this year.’ He reached for his jacket and slipped it on.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  He looked at her mockingly. ‘Out.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  NOR had he come home that night, Tattie discovered the next morning.

  Of course there was the house at Brinkin, a new home right on Casuarina Beach, a home with big grounds to bring up children in, ironically.

  So it didn’t automatically follow that she might have driven him back into Leonie’s arms, she reasoned, but shivered all the same.

  Then she got a call from her father-in-law, who asked if he could come and have a cup of coffee with her. Of course, she told him, but it was an unusual enough request to make her frown at the phone before she put it down, and to wonder what it was all about.

  More pressure to start a family? Little did George know…

  But she dressed with care in a three-quarter-length denim skirt and a cap-sleeved fine white rib-knit top, tucked in, a patent turquoise belt around her waist and turquoise mules on her feet. She also took pains to be perfectly groomed and her hair gleamed with vitality.

  ‘Pretty as a picture!’ George Constantin beamed at her. He sniffed the air. ‘And your coffee smells gorgeous!’

  Tattie thanked him and reflected that if the advice about looking at a girl’s mother before you married her held good for a man’s father, any wife of Alex Constantin would be reassured. George Constantin was grey now, but still reminiscent of his son in his tall, only slightly stooped bearing, still, really, a fine figure of a man. And his manners were courtly, he had a nice sense of humour and a way of making you feel at ease.

  Well, she amended as she poured the coffee and offered him a plate of homemade shortbread, not as at ease as he usually made her feel.

  ‘Irina is not with you today, George?’ She sat down and took her own piece of shortbread.

  ‘Sadly not, Tatiana. Her hip is playing up a little—we may have to consider a replacement soon, if only I can persuade her out of her fear of hospitals. This is delicious!’ He helped himself to another biscuit. ‘Did you make it?’

  ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t ask me that.’ Tattie wrinkled her nose. ‘I cannot tell a lie! My cleaning lady, who often helps me out with dinner parties, also keeps me in a constant supply of goodies like these. She’s a gem. But I’m sorry to hear about Irina. Is th
ere anything I can do?’

  George waved a hand. ‘No, thank you, my dear, but it’s so kind of you to offer. By the way, I ran into Alex last night.’

  ‘Oh.’ Tattie went still for a moment.

  ‘Mmm,’ her father-in-law said, and hesitated for a long moment. ‘And that’s why I wanted to see you today, Tattie,’ he finished.

  She stared at him. ‘Where…did you run into him?’

  ‘In a pub. There was a Bledisloe Cup match on last night—rugby union, between the Wallabies and the All Blacks,’ he explained, and looked mischievous. ‘I have some mates I always watch those games with, have a few beers and so on, but Irina hates me filling the house with them so…’ He shrugged.

  Tattie smiled understandingly on several fronts. Despite the millions he’d made, George was renowned in Darwin for his common touch. And her mother-in-law was exceptionally house-proud as well as a teetotaller.

  ‘But there was Alex,’ George went on, ‘alone—don’t think he even knew the game was on—and—’

  ‘Not in a very good mood,’ Tattie finished quietly.

  A keen dark glance came her way, although George said, ‘Perhaps, although he joined in and appeared to enjoy the game. It’s just that I know Alex well; this was rather uncharacteristic and I could tell he had something on his mind, Tattie. But if this is just a little “domestic”, my dear, tell me to mind my own business and I’ll go home. Not until I’ve finished my excellent coffee, though!’

  Tattie thought for a bit as she stirred her own coffee until it was about to overflow. ‘You wouldn’t have come here if that’s all you thought it was, would you?’ she said eventually.

  George shrugged. ‘No. You see, I wondered—I know this sounds crazy—but I wondered how well you know Alex, Tattie?’

  She blinked.

  ‘I’ve even wondered if this marriage is the fairy tale made in heaven it outwardly appears to be.’ He gazed at her soberly.

  ‘How…how did you guess?’ she whispered, then closed her eyes as she realised she’d given herself away completely.

  ‘Call me an old fool,’ he said slowly, ‘but not once have I ever seen a sign of spiritual closeness between you two. I’ve seen affection and, yes, you laugh together, but I’ve never seen any spark of real physical tension between you, and I have never seen him look at you the way we men look at the women we desire. For that matter, the same goes for you, Tattie.’

  ‘What did you expect?’ Tattie heard herself ask huskily. ‘He was never in love with me. Even I realised that. It was all arranged, and forgive me, George, but I can’t believe you and Irina didn’t have something to do with that.’

  ‘As well as Natalie, your mother.’

  ‘At least my mother thought I was in love with him.’

  ‘Were you?’ George asked gently.

  Tattie looked away and refused to reply.

  ‘My marriage to Irina was an arranged one,’ he said slowly. ‘But, while I may slip out to watch rugby with the boys, we couldn’t be closer.’

  ‘That’s…lovely, but…’ She spread her hands helplessly. ‘How many years did it take to get that way?’

  He stirred. ‘A good question. You’re saying a year is not a very long time? True. But at least you have to make a start.’

  Tattie frowned at him. ‘Has Alex been talking to you?’ she asked incredulously.

  George shook his head ruefully. ‘Alex has been a perfect son in many respects, but he’s always gone his own way—no, he would never do that. And it was only by accident that I discovered something not even his mother has ever known. Something that just might help you to understand him better, my dear Tatiana.’

  Tattie looked at him wide-eyed.

  ‘There was a girl once; Flora Simpson was her name. She and Alex were very much in love. But she was married, and she went back to her husband. You know how oysters coat an irritant with a layer of nacre? That’s what happened to Alex; he acquired a hard, protective shell after that.’

  ‘You knew this but you still connived at an arranged marriage for Alex with me?’ Tattie asked after it had all sunk in. ‘George, forgive me again, but you…your intuition about Alex and me has been astonishingly accurate, but you can’t think much of women if you could do that—’ She stopped abruptly.

  ‘Do that to you, Tattie?’ he said softly.

  ‘I…’ She bit her lip.

  ‘If you love him like that, Tattie,’ George went on, his dark eyes full of compassion that made her want to burst into tears, ‘isn’t he worth fighting for?’

  ‘He may never forget her!’

  ‘He might think that, but life goes on; things change,’ George said wisely. ‘Do you have a choice, though?’

  That afternoon Tattie flew by commercial airline across the border to Kununurra, Western Australia, and from there she chartered a light plane to take her to Beaufort.

  She’d left a note for Alex and she’d postponed her dinner with her mother and the man Natalie planned to marry. She’d also requested Alex not to follow her for a couple of days, if he was so minded, saying she needed a bit of time on her own.

  It was the head stockman’s wife, Marie, who met her at the airstrip and drove her up to the homestead, apologising all the way for not having had time to spruce the place up.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Tattie told her lightly. ‘I haven’t come to check for dust under the beds and I brought some supplies from Kununurra. But could you ask Jim if I can have a horse tomorrow and, if he has the time to show me around, I’d like to see all the improvements that have been made lately?’

  Marie agreed to that enthusiastically and then reluctantly, as if she could sense Tattie needed to be alone but didn’t approve, left her.

  In fact the homestead was in pretty good order, and once the generator was going Tattie had power and hot water. And, since she’d lived in the rambling house on and off all her life, it held no terrors for her to be there alone.

  She built up a fire in the lounge, cooked herself scrambled eggs and ate them in front of the fire. It was a huge room, and there were pictures of Beaufort ancestors—one of whom had been a premier of Western Australia—on the walls. But Natalie’s was the latest influence on the homestead. Accordingly—and Tattie thought ruefully back to her mother’s ongoing battles with her father over this—many renovations had been made and it had a sense of style.

  There were decent bathrooms, the kitchen was practical and modern, there were good beds and fine linen and some lovely furniture.

  All the same, she thought as the fire flickered and cast leaping shadows—and this might have frightened her mother—you could never forget how remote you were. You might install air-conditioning but you only had to step outside to encounter the sometimes savage heat, the flies, the torrential downpours of the wet season.

  You didn’t have to go far at all from the homestead to find yourself in a wilderness where rivers cut deep gorges into the land, where billabongs supported delicately coloured water lilies, paperbark trees, buffalo grass that floated on the water and an amazing array of bird life. You could ride to a burnt-sienna rocky outcrop in a sea of low olive-green scrub, and you could sit on the top beneath a huge sky and feel the heartbeat of a timeless, ancient land as you observed what made this country so special to its traditional owners.

  At least she could, she mused, as her father had taught her to appreciate it, as his father had taught him. She could identify a jacana, a tiny bird that hopped about the water-lily pads on feet as long as its body, and all the birds on the billabongs. Lizards, monitors, even snakes fascinated her, as did the little rock wallabies, the wombats and big red kangaroos she sometimes saw.

  What she hadn’t absorbed so thoroughly—and this was partly due to her mother’s wish to keep her as ladylike as possible—were the trials and tribulations of running cattle on this land so that they both flourished.

  And that was why she’d willingly lived away from Beaufort for a year now, to try to glean the
know-how she lacked from Alex. She’d even enjoyed herself, for the most part, but she knew now that she’d been incredibly naïve.

  Was it worse to know why Alex was the way he was? she asked herself with her head resting back and her feet up on a footstool as she stared at the ceiling. How did it help in the equation she was faced with now? The stark knowledge right out in the open that if she wanted his help to save her heritage a proper marriage was what was required of her in exchange.

  Why had she closed her mind to the reality that it would have to come to this? she wondered dismally. Why had she allowed herself to play with silly ultimatums, such as she would only consummate this marriage if she knew Alex was madly in love with her?

  She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against the smooth plum velvet of the wing chair. Because she had been too young and too foolhardy to know what she was getting herself into, she answered herself. Because she had secretly believed she could make him fall in love with her…

  Only now to discover she’d never had a chance.

  So, what about the question George had posed? She hadn’t answered; she’d only wanted the embarrassment of it all to end as soon as possible. She’d tried to tell herself she wasn’t even sure what he’d meant. Did she have a choice regarding Beaufort and Carnarvon?

  But all the time a sinking certainty had presented itself—if she was that much in love with his son, would leaving him make it stop?

  Was she that much in love with Alex? she wondered suddenly. She’d lived with him like a sister for a year. How had she done that if she was so madly in love with him?

  Another sinking certainty presented itself to her—he had made it impossible for her to be any other way than sisterly. But things had changed, hadn’t they? she reminded herself. Things had got to a stage where she only had to be in the same room as him to be conscious of him in a most unsisterly way…

  And suddenly she was crying at the terrible sadness of it all. Of Alex loving a woman he couldn’t have, of herself dying to be truly loved by him.