From Waif To His Wife

CHAPTER NINE

SHE should have expected it but had not-that Rafe would pilot his own helicopter.

She’d never flown in a helicopter before but she found the experience fascinating and she was even more fascinated to discover that he had actually flown round Australia by helicopter.

‘This one?’

‘Yep! I made some modifications to it for the trip. I put in some long-range fuel tanks, somewhat to the detriment of seating accommodation. It’s basically only a two-seater bird now but she has plenty of range.’

And he told her a bit about his trip, which made her green with envy.

Then they intercepted a mayday call on the VHF radio.

They were west of the Darling Downs, where the country was drier, although there was still some feed, dusty, crisscrossed by stock trails and sparsely populated and they were heading into the setting sun.

She had her own headphones, principally so she and Rafe could converse above the noise, but she was also tuned into the three-way conversation that ensued.

It was an accident at a cattle-muster camp with a man requiring urgent medical attention or evacuation to the nearest hospital.

The Flying Doctor responded immediately from their base in Charleville while Maisie stared down at the desolate terrain they were flying over, her heart in her mouth as the man from the muster camp reported the injured man’s condition.

‘Poor bloke,’ Rafe murmured. ‘Sounds like spinal injuries, which may mean he shouldn’t be moved without a doctor present.’

Then Maisie heard the man reporting the accident say tinnily, ‘…won’t get a fixed-wing aircraft in, country’s too rough, we need a chopper…’

That was when Rafe transmitted to report his position, not that far as the crow flew from the muster camp.

‘Hotel Zulu 459,’ the Flying Doctor base came back, ‘we don’t feel the patient should be moved without medical supervision but would you be able to render any assistance in the meantime?’

‘Hotel Zulu 459 back to Base,’ Rafe responded, ‘I do have a comprehensive medical kit on board and some first-aid training. Muster Camp, Muster Camp, this is 459, can you give me a more accurate idea of your location?’

‘Muster Camp back to 459,’ came the tinny voice, ‘I’ve got a GPS here in the ute; I’ll get the reading off it. Hang on, mate.’

‘Thank heavens for that,’ Rafe murmured, twisting his microphone away from his mouth for a moment. ‘I’m sorry about this, Maisie, it may not be pleasant but-’

‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ she said immediately.

He gave her a quick pat on the knee and twisted his mike back into place.

As the latitude and longitude co-ordinates came through, she watched him punch them into his GPS, set a target then read off the distance and time to target. ‘OK, Base,’ he said into the mike, ‘we’re about twenty minutes away. Let us know what you want us to do.’

‘Stand by 459,’ Base responded. ‘I have a doctor coming on air to talk to you.’

It turned out, as Rafe discussed the situation with the doctor, that he had sufficient training and the right medication on board to be able to stabilise the patient until a bigger State Emergency Services helicopter with a doctor on board could be flown to the site to supervise the patient’s removal, hopefully within a couple of hours at the most.

‘There!’ Maisie breathed and pointed to a pall of dust rising into the air above the rocky, uneven ground below away to her left. ‘It looks as if they’ve got some cattle in a pen of some kind and-and I can see a ute, two of them, some horses and a makeshift kind of camp.’

‘That’s it. Looks like they’ve spread a sheet on the ground where it’s most level.’ He spoke into his mike again. ‘Muster Camp from 459, make sure those cattle can’t break out, mate, I need to know that before we come in, in case we spook them.’

He said it quite casually but Maisie closed her eyes in fright.

‘459, it’s a permanent yard-they can’t go nowhere. See the sheet we laid out?’

‘Affirmative. OK, I’m coming in.’

‘You can open your eyes now, Maisie. We’re safe and sound on the ground and there are no stampeding cattle to deal with.’

Her lashes flew up and she heaved a sigh of relief, to see Rafe looking at her with a little glint of devilry in his eyes before he turned his attention back to shutting the helicopter down.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s not that I don’t have great faith in you-’

‘It’s OK. You’ve been terrific. Many a girl I know would have had the screaming heebie-jeebies. Right. Let’s see what I can do.’

Three hours later Rafe was still in charge of the patient because the SES helicopter had developed engine problems and had had to return to its base.

Maisie had sat around the camp fire, the muster crew had gone out of their way to make her as comfortable possible, and they’d cooked dinner on the fire and produced plenty of strong coffee.

But it was a tense time. Even the cattle in the yard were restless under a paper-thin wedge of new moon and bright starlight as they shuffled and lowed. And the dust caked everything.

It had been a freak accident. The ringer involved had been thrown from his horse when a snake had wriggled across its path, right next to the camp. Fortunately that meant they hadn’t had to move him-they’d moved part of the camp instead so there was cover to protect him from the sun earlier and now the dew.

But it was obvious from his grey, sweat-streaked face that he was in considerable pain despite Rafe’s ministrations and the splint he’d put on his broken arm. And it was plain that he couldn’t move his legs, which was terrifying him.

‘Al,’ Rafe said abruptly to the camp foreman, when they got the news the SES helicopter had had to turn back, ‘could you rig up some kind of shelter for my wife and maybe lend her a swag?’

‘Sure thing, Rafe.’

‘I’m fine,’ Maisie protested. ‘You don’t have to worry about me.’

‘Little lady, you do what your husband suggests,’ Al recommended. ‘We’d all be happier if you didn’t have to go through much more.’

She hesitated but there wasn’t anything she could do.

So they set up makeshift shelter for her and built a fire in front of it to keep her warm. Then they laid out two swags and gave her two blankets.

‘But what about you?’ she asked.

‘None of us is going to sleep anytime soon,’ Al responded. ‘Anyway, we’re tough. You get a bit of rest,’ he added and patted her shoulder in a fatherly way.

Rafe came over to her then with her bag and a mohair blanket from the helicopter.

‘I’d just add some clothes,’ he recommended. ‘It’s going to get really cold. And if you need to go to the loo, I’m happy to ride shotgun.’

‘Oh, thanks!’ she said with real gratitude.

She discovered the bed they’d made for her on the ground was bearable, and she dozed for a couple of hours.

Then she heard a helicopter overhead and the terrain outside her shelter was bathed in the harsh blue light of its searchlights as it reconnoitred. She heard shouts to move the kerosene lamps to indicate a slightly different landing pad, then the ground shook as the helicopter settled and a minor dust storm flew past her shelter.

She couldn’t hear much of what was said because the cattle had become thoroughly stirred up again but some time later the helicopter lifted off, there was a renewed bovine commotion, more dust-and Rafe came to join her.

He added a log to the fire and dropped down beside her makeshift bed.

‘Move over, Mrs Sanderson, I’m coming in and I’m bloody freezing!’

Maisie moved over instinctively and he crawled in beside her.

‘Mmm…’ he murmured as he wrapped his arms around her. ‘As warm as toast.’

‘How is he?’

‘They think it could be a trapped nerve in the spine. If so, that’s good news. Are you comfortable?’

‘Yes. How about you?’

‘Yes. Go to sleep.’ He lifted a hand and stroked her hair for a while.

She couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t keep her eyes open and she snuggled up to him and fell asleep with her head on his shoulder.

It took Rafe Sanderson a bit longer to fall asleep as he battled several emotions.

If he put aside Tim Dixon’s baby, the girl in his arms felt almost as if she belonged there. He certainly felt a sense of responsibility towards her. He couldn’t help admiring her pluck and her honesty…

He grimaced to himself in the firelight as he recalled his first, harsh reaction to her incredible story-that she was on the make somehow, that she expected him to be moved enough to hand over some cash to her for just those reasons. Well, he’d done far more-he’d given her the protection of his name.

Of course, although it appeared not to have struck Maisie, his own good name could do with a bit of protection against impregnating a naïve girl and flaunting her as his wife then, apparently, discarding her. And the further sleaze that could be added to the mix to do with her being passed between him and his cousin.

But what of the future? She’d admitted to feeling safe with him but had it gone any further? Or, he thought drily, were some of her reactions, reactions that sometimes prompted him to think so, still part of a policy of hedging her bets?

If so that meant she’d rather cleverly orchestrated her opposition to his proposal-she’d thought fast and on her feet.

Unless-had she always somehow divined that to make him chase her would have the curious appeal he’d actually confessed to her?

But did he really believe any of that of Maisie Wallis, feeling so soft now and lovely in his arms with her breath sweet on his neck and her lashes lying like dark fronds on her perfect skin? Hell, he thought suddenly, why am I putting myself through this?

Because you had no option, he reminded himself, other than freezing out there on the hard ground, or sitting upright in the chopper. Not to mention causing, no doubt, comment.

But what would be so bad about turning this into a real marriage, he wondered. The kind of suitable marriage he was beginning to think was going to be the solution for him.

Because it was becoming increasingly obvious to him that, for reasons known only to him-and Sonia-a fall madly and wildly in love marriage might not be on the cards for him.

I’ll tell you why it mightn’t work, he responded to himself: Tim Dixon’s baby. You might be able to cope with it and all the scenarios it raises in your mind in a marriage of convenience with no real love lost, but otherwise, who’s to say it wouldn’t become a real thorn in your side?

What does “otherwise” mean? he asked himself incredulously. That you could, against all probability, find yourself falling in love with Maisie Wallis?

The thought, and its implications, shook him. Another came hard on its heels: if she was hedging her bets but a secret part of her could never forget Tim, they could have the makings of a private little hell between them.

So was she right? he wondered with self-directed irony. Not only right but also honest when she’d said she was going to have to turn certain things off like a tap-to wit, feeling safe in his arms, although, he thought with further irony, she hadn’t been able to get that quite right yet.

Mind you, circumstances hadn’t helped on either occasion, he acknowledged.

But-he clenched his jaw and eased himself a little away from her-she wasn’t the only one going to have to nip certain things in the bud; so was he…

At least until he’d sorted whether this marriage could prove to be workable rather than a minefield.

When Maisie woke, dawn was lightening the sky and Rafe was fast asleep beside her. She sat up cautiously but he didn’t move.

The fire had died but there were sounds coming from beyond the shelter. She heard horses whickering, the creak of leather and the clink of metal shoes on rock. She heard subdued voices and a dog bark.

Al had explained to her last night that they would have to move the mob of cattle on to the next drinking hole as early as possible and she guessed that operation was getting underway, which meant that they’d also be striking camp.

She turned reluctantly to wake Rafe, to find that he’d opened his eyes, and she found herself drawn into a long exchange of glances with him that somehow took in the night they’d spent together in such close proximity.

Colour mounted in her cheeks as she remembered cuddling up to him this time and how wonderful it had felt.

But what she saw in his eyes, as she couldn’t hide what was in hers, affected her deeply. It was as if a shutter had come down so they were unreadable and steely grey.

‘Tea’s up!’ a voice called. ‘Tea’s up!’ And Al appeared carrying a blackened billycan with a rag wound round its handle, and two tin mugs. ‘Sorry to wake you guys but-’

‘That’s OK!’ Rafe sat up then got up and stretched. ‘Thanks, mate. We’ll get going pronto.’

And Maisie, after Al had departed, desperate for something to say to ease her discomfort, grumbled, ‘I don’t know why, but when there’s absolutely nothing between us we keep getting caught in bed by an audience!’

Whether it struck the right note or not, she didn’t know.

Rafe smiled briefly, a rather ironic little smile, then a moment of genuine mirth overtook them, followed by a touch of concern.

‘You-you look like a North American Indian,’ she said incredulously.

‘And if you could see yourself!’ He held down a hand to help her up, his eyes alight with laughter, then he ran his tongue over his teeth. ‘I can even taste the blasted dust.’ He paused as she put her hand to her back and grimaced. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing! Well, just a twinge. Probably even two swags on the ground take a bit of getting used to.’

‘Hmm…OK, have your tea-at least it’s hot and wet-and we’ll get going.’

It wasn’t until they’d farewelled the muster camp and the helicopter rose like a bird above it, that he told her of his change of plan. They were going home.

She protested that she was fine. He said he’d like to get it checked out all the same, and there was absolutely nothing she could do.

But she was unable to stop herself wondering if this was somehow bound up with that steely, shuttered look that had come to him and had made her feel so-what?

Rejected?

Could he be using it to get out of being in her close company for the next week?

I knew I should never have married him, she thought. I knew I was beyond the pale…

‘Maisie, how would you like to live?’

They were alone in the apartment on the river; it was the same evening. His doctor had checked her out meticulously in an evening house call, something she’d thought was unheard of these days. He’d pronounced that the baby appeared to be fine and she’d probably just been a bit stiff from a night of sleeping virtually on the ground.

‘Well, at least we know,’ Rafe said, and added his question.

‘How would I like to live?’ she echoed. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

They’d had dinner, sent up from the restaurant on the ground floor, causing her to marvel how easy life was for the rich. She’d also been drawn like a magnet to his magnificent sound system and asked if she could play some music. He’d told her she didn’t have to ask so she chose a CD of classical piano pieces.

‘We have a couple of options: this apartment, or I have a house at Raby Bay.’

‘Oh, look, whatever is best for you! I-don’t mind.’

He came to sit down on the settee set corner-wise opposite her.

There was a single lamp lit on the end table between the settees and its soft golden glow bathed them before receding into the coral shadows of the lounge.

Through the terrace doors, the lights of Brisbane twinkled against a midnight-blue backdrop although it was only about eight o’clock.

Maisie had changed into her heather outfit and, although her feet were bare, she was sitting rather primly upright with her hands in her lap, as if she didn’t feel particularly at home, which she didn’t.

Rafe also had bare feet but he looked much more relaxed in cargo shorts and a white knit shirt. In fact he had his feet propped on the coffee-table and one arm stretched along the back of the settee.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I can base myself anywhere within reason. You’re another matter. You’re going to need to feel at home, perhaps a bit involved with that home, and comfortable. This,’ he gestured towards the view, ‘may be a fabulous setting but I don’t know if it’s going to do that for you.’

Maisie took a startled breath. ‘How did you know?’

He raised an eyebrow at her.

‘That, well, a little while ago I was looking around and wondering what on earth I was going to do with myself here for the next five months.’

He shrugged. ‘I’m not entirely insensitive.’

‘I didn’t say you were.’ She shook her head.

He watched her curls settle. ‘So would you like to look at Raby Bay? There’s a garden; it’s right on the water with a jetty, so I could move the Mary-Lue there for-any free time we have. The other advantage of it is that Sonia only lives a couple of blocks away.’

‘Yes, please. It’s also closer to my stamping ground, the bay-side suburbs of Wynnum, Cleveland and so on, so-I would feel more at home, I guess.’

‘All right, we’ll do it tomorrow. Tell me something else. Were you serious about wanting to get your Master’s Degree in music?’

She sat forward eagerly. ‘Yes!’

‘How would you go about it?’

‘I’d have to enroll as an external student, I’d have to get a tutor, I’d have to practise,’ she looked comical, ‘day and night. And it could take years.’

‘I gather you’d also need a piano?’

‘No, my piano is fine. I’d just have to get it tuned after it’s moved. Am I dreaming or is this all possible?’ she asked.

He studied the excited little glint in her eyes as he thought, all? It didn’t take much to please Maisie Wallis.

‘It’s all possible. Now, Miss Mozart, it’s been a long day, you need to get to bed. Incidentally, I checked with the Flying Doctor. They operated on the ringer at Charleville Hospital and he’s regained movement in his legs.’

‘That’s wonderful!’ Maisie brightened, and discovered for some strange reason that the news made her feel better about being dismissed to bed like a child, despite the fact that she’d started to feel weary. ‘OK. Goodnight! And thanks!’ she called over her shoulder.

‘Goodnight,’ he murmured, and watched her all the way out of the lounge.

Then he rubbed his jaw, set his teeth for a moment but finally congratulated himself on his executive abilities even when it came to his home life…

Maisie fell in love with the two-storey Raby Bay house as soon as she saw the stone walls and blue shutters.

It stood on two blocks in the prestigious canal-side estate-the canals opened on to Moreton Bay. From the street side it was enclosed by a high stone wall and it was surrounded by trees, some carrying a light cloak of new spring green.

The path to the front door was covered by a thatched pergola.

Inside, on the ground floor, the walls were the same uneven stone as outside, the floors were tiled and the water views-views she loved-were seen through arched, wood-framed, floor-to-ceiling windows.

And everywhere in the living rooms lovely wood was blended with the stone and other natural elements like terracotta and pottery; there were paintings and exquisite pieces of furniture in an uncluttered, spacious interior.

The patio that led off the main lounge was tiled with grey slate and had a grapevine trained to shelter one end from the sun.

Leading off the kitchen was a small walled courtyard Rafe called the “orangery” because of the lemon, lime and orange trees in tubs. There was also a number of herbs growing in a variety of unusual containers like a pot-bellied little black stove.

Upstairs was different, more conventional. The walls were lined, plastered and painted, the floors covered with thick wall-to-wall carpet, but lovely and luxurious all the same.

Maisie came down the curved staircase with its wrought-iron bowed banister and stood in the middle of the lounge.

Rafe followed her and came to stand beside her. ‘Well?’

She turned to him and tilted her chin imperiously. ‘I’ll take it,’ she murmured grandly, then burst out laughing. ‘Oh, Rafe, it’s wonderful! Why don’t you live here?’

He grimaced. ‘It’s-somehow it’s not the kind of place you enjoy rattling around in on your own.’

‘Someone does, though, by the looks of it. It’s all spotless and the garden’s well cared-for.’

‘A cleaner comes in once a week, ditto a gardener.’

‘So whose idea was it?’

‘My mother’s.’ For a moment she thought she saw a shadow cross his eyes, but it was gone before she could be sure. ‘It was her favourite home. Right. How soon do you think you’d like to move in, ma’am?’

‘As soon as possible, Mr Sanderson. As soon as possible.’

It took a week, but before they moved to Raby Bay Maisie had to endure a rather taxing event, a meet-the-family soirée organized by Sonia but a strategy agreed upon by Rafe as well.

He said, with a wry twist of his lips, ‘Of course they’re all wildly curious, I can’t keep you under wraps from them for ever so we might as well get it over and done with.’

‘But a soirée! And how many?’ Maisie asked a little faintly. ‘Do they know I’m pregnant?’ She put her hands to her head in a gesture that was extremely expressive of dazed disbelief or as if she was contemplating being thrust into a den of lions.

Rafe grinned. ‘They’re not going to eat you. Yes, some of them can be a bit daunting but just be yourself. And, since you still don’t look pregnant at times, particularly to anyone who doesn’t know you, we may just let that bit of news filter through in due course.’

She coloured a little.

If he noticed it, he gave no sign as he went on, ‘Sonia does that kind of thing really well. In fact she’s a genius at handling parties so they go without a hitch.’

‘She might need to be,’ Maisie murmured. ‘Do you really think we need to do this?’ she asked with a frown in her eyes. ‘Because we aren’t-we don’t…’ She stopped awkwardly.

‘We don’t know each other in the biblical sense?’ he supplied a little drily. ‘I really think,’ he paused, ‘all we need to show is that we’re friends.’

‘There,’ Sonia said just before her soirée was about to get underway. ‘You look lovely.’

They were in Sonia’s bedroom at Raby Bay. Maisie stared at her image in the long mirror and conceded to herself that she was happy with the way she looked, although how she felt was another matter.

The outfit she and Sonia had chosen was black voile over a taffeta lining; a sleeveless, hip-length blouson top and a slim skirt. The silky voile was sheer from the tops of her breasts over her shoulders, and black really highlighted her glowing, smooth skin, plus the voile over a taffeta lining felt floaty and looked wonderfully dressy.

Her legs were bare and her high, slender-heeled strappy sandals were black patent with rhinestones studded on them.

She and Sonia had spent a couple of hours in Sonia’s favourite beauty salon so they were perfumed and beautifully groomed. Once again Maisie’s hair was teased out and her red curls shone. Her make-up was less than full-stage but accentuated her eyes, and her lips were painted a shimmering, deep-tawny colour.

Her fingernails, although short, as they had to be for a pianist, were beautifully manicured and painted to match her lips. So were her toes.

‘You probably wouldn’t know,’ she said as she turned to look at herself side-on, ‘that I’m pregnant.’

‘No, you wouldn’t,’ Rafe said, coming into the room. ‘You look…you both look wonderful.’

Sonia laughed. ‘If I’m any judge, your wife is going to steal the show, Rafe. OK.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Heavens above, it’s a quarter to four-only fifteen minutes! Excuse me, you two.’ And she bustled out.

Maisie hesitated. ‘You don’t look too bad yourself,’ she said, and winced inwardly because she thought he looked sensational in a light grey suit with a navy shirt and tie.

He shrugged. ‘Thanks. I’ve got something to add to your outfit.’ And he pulled a leather box from his pocket. He opened it to reveal a diamond pendant on a silver strand circular necklet.

Maisie gasped as the stone lay in his palm, reflecting fire from its facets. ‘Who-whose is that?’ she stammered.

‘It was my mother’s but-’

‘I can’t wear that-if that’s what you had in mind,’ she amended.

‘It is what I had in mind,’ he said with some irony, ‘because to those in the know, it will really set the seal on our marriage-and that’s what we want, don’t we, Maisie?’

‘Well, yes, but it must be worth a fortune and-no, no, I couldn’t accept your mother’s jewellery.’

‘It’s not precisely in the nature of a gift,’ he said. ‘You’re right, it is worth a fortune, so after this…outing it will go back to the bank.’

‘Thank heavens!’ she breathed. ‘But I still wouldn’t feel right about wearing it!’

‘Maisie,’ he eyed her with a mixture of exasperation and something she couldn’t identify, ‘trust me and just do it!’

She eyed him back with her chin tilted.

‘Please,’ he added with a sudden smile lurking at the backs of his eyes.

It undid her, that smile. It actually turned her to jelly inside, and she nodded, barely perceptibly.

‘Turn round,’ he said.

She did, slowly.

He looped the circlet around her neck and did up the catch. His fingers were warm on her skin and she closed her eyes briefly then opened them to squint down at the stone lying just below the round neckline of her dress.

Then she looked up and their gazes caught and held in the mirror and it shook her to think that they looked-what was the word?-so fit for each other, she in her beautiful outfit and perfectly groomed, he, so tall and masculine…

And she found herself holding her breath for a moment as he looked down at her, and his hands moved at his sides and she thought, she really thought he was going to put his arms around her.

It didn’t happen, and when he looked into her eyes again, his were as shuttered as she’d seen them once before, at the muster camp.

She let out a long, uneven breath and he turned away.

‘Ready?’

‘Yes.’

But she was far from ready for anything, until, as they went downstairs together, she remembered her last practical music exam for her bachelor’s degree.

She’d been so nervous she’d been convinced she would fail dismally, but at the last minute before she sat down at the piano she’d thought to herself, you can do this. Just put yourself in a bubble and don’t let anything else intrude, not moderators, not the fact that it’s a strange piano, nothing but you and your music.

And that’s what I need to do now, she thought as she reached the bottom of the staircase at her husband’s side. Take Rafe’s advice and put myself in a bubble where I can only be myself despite ubiquitous Dixons, despite being pregnant to a man who is not my husband, despite Rafe…

Sonia had a conservatory overlooking the water and there were about twenty people gathered amidst the potted plants and the cane and rattan furniture. It was an elegant, charming area and there was a piano at one end.

There was a white-coated steward serving champagne and a pretty girl dispensing canapés.

About an hour into the soirée Rafe Sanderson watched his wife from across the room, and marvelled a little.

He and Sonia had stayed close throughout the introductions to three of his aunts and their husbands, assorted cousins and their partners and several nieces and nephews.

Then Sonia had moved away to work her entertaining magic, that knack she had of getting her guests to relax so that soon the conservatory had come alive with animated conversation and laughter. And Maisie had got separated from him but she’d handled it with the poise of-of course, he thought to himself-Mairead Wallis.

‘But what brought you two together?’ he heard one of his aunts, a dragon-lady according to the younger members of the clan, ask.

‘Well, I guess you could say it was sailing,’ Maisie responded then smiled enchantingly. ‘A bit like Crown Prince Frederik of Denmark and Mary Donaldson, except that our Ship Inn was the Mary-Lue.’

His dragon aunt Nancy, he saw, looked gratified, and he had to award Maisie ten out of ten for an inspired response that not only had elements of truth in it, but also elevated this unknown girl he’d married to suitable heights.

On the other hand, she does think fast on her feet, he reflected, and found the thought niggled him.

‘So what are you?’ he heard his cousin Amelia, pure Dixon from her sculpted fair hair and grey eyes down to the pointed toes of her handmade Jimmy Choo shoes, enquire. ‘Do you have a career?’

‘Yes,’ he heard Maisie reply, ‘music. I taught it but now I’m studying for my Master’s Degree.’

‘Do you perform?’

‘Yes, well, I have.’

‘A chamber orchestra, a quartet?’

‘No, much livelier than that.’ Maisie bestowed a sparkling green look on Amelia. ‘Jazz, rhythm and blues, disco-that kind of thing, in a band.’

Amelia raised her eyebrows and Rafe moved forward to stop what he knew was going to be inevitable, but he was too late.

‘Do give us a tune, then,’ Amelia said, her well-bred tones just a little sceptical.

He saw Sonia zooming in from the other side of the conservatory.

But Maisie bestowed another charming, bewitching smile on his cousin, and said, ‘With pleasure! Although I’ll make it short.’

‘You don’t have to,’ he murmured, reaching her side.

‘Oh, I don’t mind. It’s about the only credential I have,’ she added for his ears only, and slipped her arm through his. ‘Lead me to it.’

Ten minutes later she’d wowed the gathering, and left some egg on the face of his cousin Amelia, with a lively, sparkling medley excerpt of well-known tunes, from a stunning “Rhapsody in Blue” through to the latest pop song that was at the top of the charts. They begged her not to stop.

‘Yes, yes, I must!’ And she got up and closed the piano. ‘Thank you for being such a lovely audience,’ she added warmly.

And as she came back to his side, he knew that Maisie Wallis had endeared herself to his family.

Snippets of conversation reinforced this.

‘A genuine ingénue…’

‘Rather refreshing, wouldn’t you say…?’

‘So lovely and natural…’

‘Well, I didn’t know what to think but I’m converted…’

‘The only thing I don’t understand is why all the secrecy…?’

He saw Maisie catch that comment, and in her only unguarded moment her eyes flew to his and he thought he saw something curiously stricken in them.

‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’

They’d driven back to the apartment and Maisie was sitting on a settee, massaging her feet, having kicked off her shoes.

‘No, I suppose not,’ she said quietly.

He slung his jacket and tie over a chair and unbuttoned his shirt at the neck.

‘You say that as if you have reservations.’

She looked up at him. ‘Yes, I do. It was basically dishonest and,’ she sighed, ‘I-I don’t feel too good about myself.’

‘You certainly put on a sparkling performance.’

She grimaced. ‘A bit of that goes directly to having red hair. It seems to sort of…put you on your mettle, and I guess I thought, well, I can only be myself. But of course, that was only the tip of the iceberg.’

She reached behind her and unclasped the diamond necklace. ‘Thank you.’ She held it out to him. Then she suddenly looked directly into his eyes. ‘You say that as if you have reservations.’

‘Say what?’

‘That I put on a sparkling performance.’

He gazed down at her, still so elegant in her lovely black dress even with bare feet, but with shadows in her green eyes, then he shrugged. ‘Perhaps I only meant that it was Mairead, not Maisie, who took over tonight.’

Maisie examined the uneasy thread that lay between them she was coming to know well and she said, before she stopped to think, ‘You don’t like Mairead, do you?’

‘I didn’t say that,’ he denied, ‘but I do find her a bit-I don’t know, but it may have something to do with-it was Maisie I met first.’

Or because Mairead leads straight back to Tim Dixon? she found herself wondering, and shivered suddenly.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ she murmured but wondered for a moment if she could explain that it wasn’t only redheadedness that went into Mairead. Yes, she might be able to extend that confident aura to suit the situation at times but basically it came from her music.

Once she’d discovered that “bubble” in her practical exam, it had provided what probably all performers, be they ever so different at other times, drew on. That almost spiritual affinity with their music.

But would he believe that?

‘Maisie?’

She shrugged. ‘I really am one and the same person. A bit battered now, shop-soiled, some people might even say, but if,’ she gestured, palms out, ‘all this hadn’t happened I would have lived with my mistakes and made the best of things.’

He frowned. ‘What are you saying, Maisie?’

‘I guess, that people are going to have to take me or leave me.’

‘As in me?’ he queried abruptly.

She stood up and picked up her shoes. ‘No, Rafe, not you. You’ve done enough, you’ve literally picked up the pieces-I don’t expect any more from you.’

‘Maisie,’ he said harshly, then paused because the only way he knew to defuse things between them was to take her in his arms, to kiss her and cradle her to him and tell her-what?

That Mairead both attracted him and disturbed him? Because Mairead was more enigmatic than Maisie at the same time as she was…stunning? But beneath that vivacious, on-her-mettle personality, what really lay in her mind?

Come to that, did he still feel bound up in silken strands?

Talking of silk, he mused as he studied the pearly glow of her skin beneath the unlined voile of the top of her bodice, he contemplated drawing her dress down her body so none of that smooth, lovely skin was veiled and hidden from him.

He wondered what expressions would chase through her green eyes as he did so.

On the other hand, he reminded himself, he felt real affection for Maisie, perhaps too much to put her through the mill of his indecision-and the other reason he was the way he was.

But, and it was a bit like slamming into a wall, yes, there were still moments when he could forget she was pregnant and by whom but shortly that wasn’t going to be possible. Soon, every time he looked at her he was going to be reminded of his charming, feckless cousin…

Not only that, but he was also going to be asking himself if she still loved Tim. He’d never forgotten her remark in the Tree House that had seemed to indicate she was looking for excuses for Tim.

He shut his teeth hard. ‘Maisie, let’s just get through your pregnancy, let’s take one thing at a time, in other words. We’ve done what had to be done and perhaps both of us, but you particularly, need a break.’

She swung her shoes in her hand. ‘Of course. Goodnight, Rafe.’

He watched her go and was almost unbearably tempted to stop her, to throw all caution to the wind, but he didn’t.

He made a savage little sound in his throat and crossed the room to pour himself a nightcap. He swirled the brandy and gazed into its amber depths.

It couldn’t work, he told himself. Maybe if it had been anyone but Tim, who will no doubt think it was a nice revenge to have foisted his baby on me, maybe…

But it wasn’t only Tim Dixon who held him back, it was the fact that he well knew how destructive a love-hate relationship could be. After all, he’d lived through one.

Maisie fell asleep with relative ease.

It was as if she’d made a statement about herself she’d needed to make. It was as if she’d finally closed the door on her feelings for Rafe Sanderson.

Three days later they were both installed in the house although the apartment was to be maintained.

Two months later, despite her ongoing love affair with the house, Maisie dropped her head into her hands as she sat at her piano, and tears trickled through her fingers.

The dog curled up on the floor beside her sat up and put a paw on her lap.

She fondled its silky head and pulled a hanky from her pocket to blow her nose.

The dog, a present from Rafe, was a six-month-old border collie that she’d christened Wesley, Wes for short. And it was a living example of everything her husband had done for her to make her life pleasant and bearable over the last months, but there was so much more.

He’d installed a live-in housekeeper-there was a small service flat over the garage-so she would never be alone. Grace Hardy, in her forties and a spinster with a childcare background, was unobtrusive but they’d become friends when they’d discovered two common interests-Grace loved to cook and she belonged to a choral society.

Maisie had also become friends with the gardener, who’d been delighted when his role of simply a maintenance gardener had been expanded, and together they’d planned and planted a summer garden.

The Mary-Lue was now tied up to the jetty on the canal and they’d taken her out for some glorious sails, although never alone, always with Sonia and the children.

Sonia-and Maisie believed it was not because she was jumping to her brother’s tune but out of genuine affection-had become a good friend.

They shopped together, they lunched together at Cleveland’s trendy pavement cafés, they went to the movies and concerts. They popped in and out of each other’s houses when the whim took them and Maisie was giving Cecelia piano lessons. She often babysat the kids for Sonia, not that they were babies, but she loved it when the stone house with its blue shutters rang with young voices and laughter.

She’d met Liam, Sonia’s husband, and liked him as well as pondering what had separated Sonia from him. Rafe had never gone on to explain further.

Thanks, she had no doubt, to the influence Rafe exercised over his family, even on this occasion his cousin Amelia and his aunt Nancy, the news of her pregnancy was well-received.

She often thought to ask him if they knew who the baby’s father was but, since no one ever mentioned Tim Dixon to her, she gathered that Rafe had kept his own counsel on the subject, so she decided she would do the same. To be honest, it gave her a headache even to think of how that bit of news could be explained.

The Tonga story and its potentially disastrous consequences for Maisie Wallis had never surfaced. As Rafe had predicted, once their marriage had been announced, there was little newsworthiness in it.

In fact, she’d often thought that Maisie Wallis had disappeared, been swallowed up in her new life. She’d even contributed to it-for some reason, she’d never visited Manly, she’d never gone back to see the Amelie or her parents’ house. She’d left it all in Jack’s hands.

She had a music tutor and she’d embarked on her Master’s Degree with enthusiasm.

But now, sitting in front of her piano at seven and a half months pregnant, there was not an ounce of enthusiasm in her for anyone or anything, least of all herself, and she knew precisely why.

It all came under one heading-Rafe. And the fact that that it had been a vain assumption that she’d closed the door on how she felt about him.

He was kind, he took an interest in her interests but she sensed a brick wall between them below the surface and, as she’d once feared, it was hurting her almost unbearably.

He was rarely home, but even when he was in Brisbane he didn’t always sleep at the house, he used the apartment, and that added another torment for Maisie. Did he have a mistress, and if so, could she blame him?

He certainly wasn’t going to want her now that she was heavy, swollen and slow. Who would?

And when she couldn’t control her imagination, she had a mental cast of potential lovers he might chose from, from statuesque brunettes through to creamy, glorious blondes.

If you added to all that blotches of brown pigment on your skin, heartburn that interfered with your sleep and the conviction that this pregnancy was never going to end, it wasn’t easy to feel chipper.

Not even the nursery she and Sonia had decorated, the shopping they’d done for the baby, not even the thought of her child, the lifeline she’d clung to for so long, was helping her because she’d started to question her suitability as a mother.

Who wouldn’t, she thought, when you couldn’t give your baby a father because you’d ignored all the conventions and good sense you’d been brought up with and allowed yourself to be swept off your feet and, if that wasn’t bad enough, when you’d fallen in love with another man not long afterwards?

Was it any wonder Rafe Sanderson viewed her as foolish, if not worse? She was…Although she still hoped and prayed that she hadn’t given away what she felt for him.

She’d also come to the growing realisation that being a single parent was extremely lonely on a mental plane, even leading the cushioned, want-for-nothing life she was living.

Yes, she could talk to Sonia about anything to do with babies and birth but nothing could replace the link she was missing, the spiritual link she needed with the other half of her baby’s creator. Not that Tim Dixon could have ever given her that, she knew; no one could now-that was what made it so lonely.

‘Yoo-hoo! Anyone home?’

Maisie scrubbed her face urgently as Wes stood up and barked once then wagged his tail.

It was Sonia, but despite her bright greeting she looked unwell, even unusually haggard, as she walked into the den that had been converted into a music room.

‘What’s wrong?’ Maisie asked.

‘Nothing! I’m as right as rain.’ She patted Wes then she added rigidly, ‘What I need is a good, stiff drink.’

Maisie opened her mouth, closed it and said, ‘Sit down, I’ll get you one.’

And she did so as fast as she could.

‘Now,’ she handed Sonia a crystal tumbler with a generous tot of brandy in it, ‘what’s wrong?’

Sonia accepted the glass, sipped and choked. ‘Liam’s asked for a divorce,’ she said with tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘And it’s all my fault.’

‘Why?’ Maisie queried gently.

‘Because I’m a fool,’ Sonia said tragically. ‘It’s taken this to make me realise that I drove him away because I’m really cynical about letting anyone get too close to me. I thought I could have Liam yet keep him at arm’s length. I was even convinced,’ she laughed hollowly, ‘that he’d come back after he asked for a separation, it just needed a little time.’

She breathed raggedly then continued, ‘I thought I should always be in command of myself but that led to wanting to be in command of him too on top of,’ she paused and pressed her fingers to her temples, ‘a natural tendency to bossiness anyway,’ she said with bleak honesty.

Maisie sat down on a cushioned footstool in front of her sister-in-law. ‘Oh, Sonia, I’m so sorry. But-why? What made you like that?’

It was Sonia’s turn to scrub her face. ‘When you grow up in a war zone you tend not to allow yourself to feel anything too deeply.’

Maisie’s eyes widened. ‘A war zone? I don’t understand.’

‘My parents had a love-hate relationship that was,’ Sonia shook her head, ‘deeply disturbing, sometimes terrifying as a child living through it. I suppose I took my mother’s side instinctively and subconsciously decided never to put myself in a position as painful as hers.’

She pleated her skirt and shrugged. ‘But, you know, you grow up and you think you’ve put it all behind you-until one day you wake up and realise it caused you to build a fence around your emotions that you can’t seem to break through. Or couldn’t.’ New tears welled. ‘And now it’s too late.’

Maisie put her arms around her.

And she sat deep in thought after Sonia had left.

Were daughters more vulnerable in that kind of situation? In other words, how had his parents’ turbulent relationship affected Rafe? Was he just as cynical in his own way as Sonia?

Did that explain why a man who had so much to offer, you would have thought, had no time for a wife and family?

What had he said to her once? Something about neither of them, for reasons of their own, viewing love and all the trimmings through rose-coloured glasses…

‘The evidence,’ she murmured aloud, ‘seems to be piling up against him ever falling in love with you, Maisie, if that’s what’s in your secret heart-and of course it is! Not that this makes any difference. Tim Dixon was always going to effectively scotch that possibility but why does this news disturb me so much?’

It was a question she couldn’t answer, she could only acknowledge that it lay heavily on her mind.

It was to be a day of bad news.

Rafe came home earlier than he usually did on a weekday, and found her in the kitchen making dinner.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked as he pulled off his tie and flicked open the top button of his shirt.

‘I am concocting,’ she said brightly-she’d perfected a bright, breezy manner with him, ‘a chicken casserole with Marsala, mushrooms, parsley, capsicum, shallots and that’s about it.’ She waved a hand over the series of bowls containing her colourful ingredients. ‘Oh, and bacon.’

‘Where’s Grace?’ He opened the fridge and took out a can of beer and a bottle of unsweetened apple juice, which happened to be Maisie’s favourite drink of the moment.

‘She’s gone to a choir rehearsal. Anyway, I felt like cooking.’

He poured the beer into a long glass and the apple juice into a shorter one. ‘Come out onto the patio, I need to talk to you.’

‘That sounds serious. Can’t we talk while I cook?’

He shook his head and after a moment she untied her apron and turned off the pan she’d been about to sauté the mushrooms, shallots, capsicum and bacon in.

And she followed him out onto the patio where he studied the Mary-Lue bobbing a bit on the end of the jetty as a boat wake rocked it.

Then he turned to her. ‘Tim-has died, Maisie.’ And he watched her reaction like a hawk.