The Australians Convenient Bride Read online

  An hour later the first guests, from the neighbouring property, flew in followed closely by the vet and his wife, who brought the journalist with them.

  ‘It’s on for old and young,’ Merlene said humorously. ‘That woman, the journo, has been here before poking around and gathering info for some kind of book or article, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got her eye on Steve and all the rest is humbug.’

  Chattie looked up from the canapés she was preparing, to be served with sundowners on the veranda. ‘Really?’

  The ‘journo’ was a slim, elegant brunette with lavender-blue eyes and had been introduced to Chattie as Sasha Kelly. She’d contrived to be slim and elegant despite being all kitted out in khaki and wearing short boots, and, beyond the definite surprise in her lovely eyes on being presented to the housekeeper, she’d been rather nice.

  They all had, Ray and Lucy Cook, the vet and his wife, and John and Joan Jackson, the triple Js as they called themselves, from the station next door—a hundred miles away.

  Chattie had shown them all to their rooms, assured them if they needed anything they only had to ask, and retired immediately to the kitchen.

  She scooped some caviare onto the circle of hardboiled egg atop a round biscuit, and paused for thought.

  ‘It’s a bit surprising he’s not already married, isn’t it?’

  Merlene wiped her hands on her apron. ‘Oh, he—’

  She stopped as Steve came into the kitchen.

  Chattie’s eyes widened. He’d already surprised her twice today. Once, when he’d come upon her admiring the coffee trolley and again when, for the first time, she’d seen him out of jeans and a bush shirt and looking rather different but just as impressive, if not more so, in bone moleskins and a cream-and-red-checked shirt.

  This time, though, it was his eyes that surprised her. They were hard and cool as he surveyed the scene in the kitchen and made her wonder nervously what she and Merlene had done wrong.

  And a beat passed before he said with no particular inflection, also nerve-racking, ‘I’m about to serve drinks and we should be ready for dinner in an hour.’

  ‘Oh.’ Chattie licked caviar from her fingertip and started to spoon it more rapidly. ‘There, all done.’ She indicated the two silver platters laden with artistic and delicious-looking bite-sized eats. ‘Will I bring them through?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ He picked up the two platters and walked out.

  Chattie turned to Merlene. ‘What’s gone wrong?’

  Merlene merely shrugged, although Chattie did notice that she looked oddly embarrassed. But, from then on, Chattie was far too busy to give it further thought.

  By ten-thirty the house was quiet, the last dish had been put away, the breakfast table laid and Chattie was able to retire to her bedroom with a cup of tea, which she took out to the veranda. Rich woke up and came to sit at her feet.

  ‘Well,’ she murmured to him, ‘the entrée went down well. The main course of lamb and noodles with plum sauce and sesame seeds was much applauded and so was the apricot and sour cream slice.’

  Rich yawned.

  ‘Sorry—am I keeping you up? I was even,’ Chattie continued, ‘asked for my recipes, although I must confess Ms Sasha Kelly, who I first thought was quite nice, was the only one who did not appear to be impressed.’

  She looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. ‘I think Merlene’s right—Sasha may have her sights on Steve. The other thing is—the boss is not in a good mood. I can just feel it.’

  This time Rich stiffened, growled, then leapt at the wire screen as a furry creature slipped down the outside of it from the veranda roof into the bushes. In the process Chattie upset her tea down her blouse and it was still hot enough to cause her to yelp in pain.

  At the same time Steve Kinane loomed up out of the darkness.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Chattie gasped, getting up and holding her top away from her skin. ‘Sit, Rich,’ she commanded.

  ‘I usually take a stroll in the garden before I turn in,’ he replied, ‘so I heard the kerfuffle—it was only a possum. No need to get your knickers in a twist.’

  ‘I know it was only a possum! I’m not completely “citified”,’ she answered with some chagrin. ‘Rich made me spill my tea, that’s all.’

  ‘Are you burnt? Let me see.’ Without waiting for an answer, he pulled her top up and scanned her skin above the waistband of her skirt, and her breasts cupped in a navy bra trimmed with ivory and pink lace. His eyebrows rose but all he said was, ‘Your skin’s a bit pink. Go and splash yourself with cool water and I’ll get us a drink.’

  He let the top fall and walked away through her bedroom.

  Chattie blinked several times, then shook her head bewilderedly and took herself to her bathroom.

  When she reappeared on the veranda she had her pyjamas on beneath a yellow terry-towelling robe.

  Steve was waiting for her with two glasses of brandy.

  ‘Better?’ he queried.

  ‘Yes. I’ll be fine.’ She sat down. ‘I don’t even think I’m injured enough to deserve a brandy,’ she added ruefully.

  ‘Have it all the same,’ he recommended. ‘It’s been quite a night for you, I would imagine.’

  ‘I think it all went well, although at one stage Merlene got quite panic-stricken, which I didn’t expect!’ She laughed.

  He grinned. ‘It went exceptionally well. I’d like to pay my respects.’

  Chattie’s eyes widened. ‘I thought you were upset with me.’

  He lifted his dark eyes to her. ‘No.’

  ‘Well, about something, then.’

  He paused. ‘How could you tell?’

  ‘I don’t know, I just could,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Something came up, that’s all. It’s now—sorted.’

  ‘Why do I get the feeling it isn’t?’ she said, barely audibly.

  ‘Chattie, I know you have your finger on the pulse of this house as any good housekeeper would, but everything is OK. The guests are most impressed. So am I.’

  Part of her harboured a little question mark still, but she had no choice but to allow it to rest.

  ‘Thank you. So. You’re all going out and about tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, we’ll be out of your hair apart from breakfast, lunch and dinner.’

  ‘What will you be doing?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘I’ve implemented a few changes recently, mainly to do with paddock and weed management. Often, when you do that, you hold an open day for the district, generally in conjunction with the manufacturers of a new piece of machinery, equipment or product of some kind. This is a test run for a proper open day.’

  ‘Oh, that’s interesting.’ She looked into the dark night as if she was picturing Mount Helena in a new and rather fascinating way, then something struck her. ‘Does it…’ she hesitated ‘…also have to do with promoting oneself for election to the shire council?’

  ‘No flies on you, Miss Winslow. Yes.’

  She wrinkled her brow. ‘May I make a comment?’

  ‘Be my guest,’ he said wryly.

  ‘Only if you promise not to take offence.’

  ‘I’ll see.’ He looked amused.

  She took a breath. ‘You seem to live and breathe Mount Helena and this “cattle” life.’

  ‘You don’t approve?’

  She gestured. ‘It’s not that at all, I’m coming to think it’s rather lovely, but…’ she hesitated again ‘…I’m wondering how much of a loner you have to be to really stick to it.’

  He grimaced. ‘To do it properly does take a hell of a lot of time, but I’m not entirely uncultured, if that’s what you’re implying.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t!’

  ‘Tell the truth, Chattie. Compared to such a multi-talented person as yourself, do you perceive me as a philistine?’ He drained his brandy. ‘Or perhaps you’re comparing me to Mark?’

  Her lips parted in surprise.

  ‘Who is quite cultured but n
o good at running a cattle station.’ He stood up.

  She followed suit. ‘I believe I’ve been misunderstood. I—’

  ‘No you haven’t, Chattie. Goodnight,’ he said abruptly and left via the garden.

  She stared after him, then sat down again with a frown and the helpless feeling that she’d unwittingly brought back Steve Kinane’s dark mood despite being no wiser as to its origin.

  After the success of the evening it was a lowering and troubling thought.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THINGS began to go wrong almost from the start of the next day.

  Chattie overslept and had an almighty rush to get breakfast on the table in time. And John Jackson sought her out to tell her that his wife, Joan, had a migraine and would be staying in bed.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll keep an eye on her, Mr Jackson,’ she promised. ‘Is there anything special you’d like me to do?’

  ‘No, thanks, Miss Winslow. Dark, rest and quiet are what she needs, although, perhaps a small meal when it’s over?’

  ‘My pleasure,’ Chattie murmured, suddenly conscious of Steve’s dark gaze on her.

  She had ignored him other than a formal greeting when she’d first encountered him at the breakfast table, not hard to do as she’d juggled a full breakfast for six people without giving off the vibes that she was in a rush.

  But somehow she’d got through it all and the party was now leaving the table to get ready for their morning in the paddocks. As their gazes clashed, though, she got the feeling that Steve Kinane had divined her less-than-top-notch performance—or was she imagining the tinge of irony in his gaze?

  Then Sasha Kelly, again kitted out in khaki, although the previous evening she’d looked stunning in midnight-blue, asked Chattie if she’d mind doing some washing and ironing for her.

  ‘I’ve been on the hop for nearly a week now researching articles, and I just haven’t had a chance to get to it,’ she said airily. ‘Besides which, I’m sure you’re much better at laundry than I am.’

  Whether intended as a sting in the tail or not, Chattie discovered herself in the mood to take it as such.

  She flicked her hair back and put a hand on her hip. ‘I’d be very happy to show you the washing machine and the ironing-board, Miss Kelly. Now—’ she turned regally to the rest of the party ‘—just in case you get hungry during the morning, I’ve prepared an esky with some cool drinks and snacks—perhaps you’d like to be in charge of it, Steve?’

  ‘Certainly, Miss Winslow,’ he said with mock deference—it had to be mock, Chattie decided—although the rest of the party appeared to be electrified by her brush with Sasha Kelly.

  ‘Fine. Well, off you go.’ She waved a hand. ‘Have a lovely morning!’ And she strode purposefully towards the kitchen.

  To find Merlene doubled up with laughter.

  ‘You learn fast, kid!’ she spluttered.

  ‘You heard? Who does she think she is?’ Chattie asked incredulously.

  ‘I heard it all. Told you.’

  ‘I am not in a good mood now, thanks to her.’

  ‘Wouldn’t be surprised if she isn’t either,’ Merlene commented.

  ‘On the other hand,’ Chattie said slowly, calming down a little, ‘am I supposed to do their washing and ironing?’

  ‘Heaven’s above, no!’ Merlene looked horrified. ‘None of the others would have dreamt of asking you.’

  Chattie mulled this over. ‘So she really meant to make me look like a domestic rather than an academic? Why?’

  ‘Some women are just built that way. Can’t tolerate “lookers” in any shape or form. And Steve is quite a catch.’

  Before Chattie got a chance to respond to this, the phone rang. It was Harriet Barlow, distraught because Brett had disappeared and had they seen him?

  ‘No,’ Chattie said down the line. ‘Why would we have?’

  ‘He wanted to come and see your blasted dog, that’s why. But I said I didn’t have the time to drive him over this morning, and do you realize there are two dams between our house and yours and he is strictly forbidden to leave our garden on his own?’

  ‘Then you should have kept an eye on him,’ Chattie said crisply.

  ‘Who the hell do you think you are? It’s your stupid dog that’s caused all the trouble!’

  ‘Listen, lady, don’t get sassy with me, I don’t work for you. Get on your bicycle and start looking for him! We’ll do the same from this end!’ She put the phone down and explained things tersely to Merlene.

  ‘The only thing is,’ she finished up, ‘what car are we going to use to look for him?’

  ‘We’ll use my bike—it’s perfect and you can double up,’ Merlene suggested. ‘Poor little tyke,’ she added.

  So Chattie climbed up behind Merlene when they should have been cleaning up after breakfast and starting to prepare lunch. And they roared around the property on the bike while picturing Brett drowned in a dam or lost in the wilderness, until they found him asleep under a tree about halfway between his house and the main homestead.

  Harriet drove up not long afterwards and, to give her credit, she appeared to have been worried out of her mind, from the loving reunion she lavished on her son. Not that Brett seemed to understand what all the fuss was about.

  ‘Look, he’s welcome to come and spend a couple of hours with us,’ Chattie offered. ‘He and Rich just play for hours on end.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Harriet said stiffly. Then she sighed. ‘I’m sorry. When I get worried I tend to let fly. You’ve been wonderful with Brett and I really appreciate it.’

  Chattie blinked but Harriet was obviously genuine. ‘Thanks. To be honest I don’t usually let fly, but someone had already ruffled my feathers a bit. Oh, my stars!’ She clapped a hand to her forehead. ‘I forgot all about Mrs Jackson! If she’s up and about she’ll have no idea what’s going on!’

  But Joan Jackson, when Chattie cautiously peeped into her bedroom after they got back, was fast asleep.

  ‘I’m beginning to feel as if I’m trying to run through heavy water,’ she commented to Merlene as she got back to the kitchen and saw the time.

  ‘Care for a bit of advice?’

  ‘Only too happy to listen!’

  ‘Stick the lunch out on the long table on the front veranda and let them fend for themselves. And you just concentrate on your cooking. I’ll fix the rest, although I’ll leave the dinner table to you.’

  ‘Merlene, you’re a doll!’

  Lunch came and went without incident although Steve did enquire what Brett was doing amongst them.

  Chattie explained briefly.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘It never rains but pours.’

  ‘Oh, he’s no trouble, but it did wreak a bit of havoc with my timetable, that’s all.’

  ‘You look a little—frazzled.’

  She subjected him to an annoyed glance and announced that she would be the essence of cool, calm collectedness for the evening.

  His gaze lingered on her. ‘That should be well worth seeing.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean—I often find you hard to understand, in fact, but I’d appreciate it if you’d remove yourself and all these people as you promised you would!’

  ‘Done,’ he replied promptly, but added with a gleam of sheer satire in his eyes, ‘Although I must tell you, you’ve taken the position of housekeeper to new—er—heights.’

  He walked away without a backward glance.

  Chattie bit her lip, and stayed where she was, lost in thought for a minute or two.

  At four o’clock, she felt much more in control of things, having taken her advice to herself along the lines of being purely professional in this job.

  She showered and changed—Brett had been retrieved by his mother—and, just to reaffirm her composure, she slipped into the music room for a couple of minutes. As her fingers slid across the ivories very softly a sense of peace came to her, as it always did. Then the door clicked open behind her and she turned to see Joan Jackson
.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Jackson! I hope I didn’t wake you—how are you feeling?’

  ‘No, you didn’t wake me—may I call you Chattie? I’ve been coming out of it for about an hour now, but when I heard the piano I thought I must be dreaming. You play beautifully, my dear!’

  ‘Thank you!’ But Chattie looked perplexed. ‘Dreaming?’

  ‘Well, wafted back to the days when my good friend Christine—Steve’s mother—used to play that piano. She was very musical too. Has he told you about her?’

  ‘No,’ Chattie said.

  Joan looked around. ‘I think there’s a picture of her in here. Yes!’ She walked over to the bookshelves. ‘Here she is—so sad she’s no longer with us; she was lovely in every way.’ She lifted the silver-framed photo off the shelf and handed it to Chattie.

  ‘Goodness me,’ she went on as Chattie studied the fair woman in the photo who looked a lot like Mark, pictured with a tall man who reminded her of Steve, ‘would you believe I was at Mark’s christening?’ she confided to Chattie with a twinkle.

  Chattie smiled.

  ‘And there used to be one of Steve’s wedding,’ Joan went on, ‘but I’d be surprised if he allowed her to keep it—oh, yes!’ She plucked a photo that Chattie hadn’t previously noticed from behind an ornament.

  Chattie’s lips parted. ‘Steve—has been married?’

  ‘Yes, it didn’t work out, though, and they’re divorced. She was very beautiful but very much a city girl and she just didn’t take to life out here. She often used to accuse him of having a one-track mind—cattle, cattle, cattle.’

  It was as if a blinding light suddenly illuminated the dark corners of Chattie’s mind—several blinding lights. Steve Kinane had thought she was accusing him of the same thing last night, and earlier he might have overheard her comment on the subject of his not being married—was that why Merlene had looked embarrassed? Just about to be caught discussing his private life by the boss might well do it.

  She swallowed. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s all behind him now, although he hasn’t taken the plunge again and it’s been quite a while since they parted—years, actually—and there have been plenty who would have loved to attach themselves to him.’