From Waif To His Wife

The other inescapable fact was that in a little less than six months she’d be responsible for another life and-sad as it was to have happened the way it had-she would have someone to love.

She sniffed as some tears escaped the ban she’d placed on them and rolled down her cheeks. And she acknowledged that it was the one thought that had kept her sane, it was the thought to hold on to, a baby in her arms. It was her lifeline.

Five days later, Jack Huston reported to Rafe Sanderson on the Mairead Wallis situation.

They were in Rafe’s office. It was half the size of a football field but, despite being more suitable for a luxury hotel lounge, it was the nerve centre of Sanderson Minerals and the Dixon pastoralist empire.

His boss was in his shirtsleeves with his tie loosened as he sat back in his chair and listened.

‘She is pregnant-don’t ask me how I got that information! I’m not proud of it.’

‘You might as well tell me,’ Rafe said ruefully.

Jack shrugged. ‘The agency I employed put a tail on her. She happened to go to her doctor. When she came out, the receptionist made an appointment for her to have an ultrasound scan in a fortnight. I’m told this corresponds with her being roughly four months pregnant.’

Rafe half smiled. ‘Go on.’

‘There’s absolutely nothing in her background to suggest she’s a con artist of any kind. She lived with her parents until they died six months ago in an accident. She has a bachelor’s degree in music, she teaches at a school renowned for its strict moral values and she plays back-up pianist in a band.’

‘So she told me. What kind of a band are they and has she any particular attachment to any member?’

‘No, they’re all married and it seems to be a respected band, in fact, highly sought-after. She also plays once a week at a church-run retirement home-out of the goodness of her heart-and ditto at dances for a Police Youth Citizen Club.’

Rafe raised an eyebrow. ‘Quite a do-gooder.’

Jack Huston paused. ‘Look, the profile that emerged from people who know her is of a girl who lived a sheltered life with doting parents, a rather straitlaced girl if anything, but at the same time capable of sparkling. Reading all the reports, I formed the opinion she might have been a little unworldly and she might have been particularly vulnerable when it happened. Nor,’ he added, ‘is she destitute, if we’re considering that as a motive for trying to attach herself to you.’

Rafe sat forward and dropped the pen he’d been toying with onto the desk. ‘Go on.’

‘If she sells her parents’ house, which she inherited, she’ll get a fairly tidy sum. It’s old and needs renovation, but the position is excellent.’

Rafe brooded for a moment. ‘So you are of the opinion someone using my name did take her for a ride?’

Jack lifted his shoulders. ‘Yes. She’s, according to all reports, well-liked, the opposite of what you’d call conniving and there’s no evidence she’s promiscuous. And the shock,’ Jack added, ‘of losing her parents was devastating, especially since they hadn’t been in Queensland that long and she doesn’t appear to have any other relatives.’

Jack paused for a moment then continued, ‘Which could have made her particularly vulnerable to, well, whoever.’

‘Yes,’ Rafe mused, ‘whoever. OK, thanks, Jack,’ he added abruptly, ‘you can leave it to me now.’

Jack Huston kept his own counsel as they prepared to move on to other business.

From his father’s side, Rafe Sanderson hadn’t inherited much family at all, so to speak, but the Dixon side of things was another matter.

His mother, Cecelia, had inherited the largest portion of the Dixon empire and she’d bequeathed the bulk of it to her son. That hadn’t been all she’d bequeathed to him, however. She had been the eldest of six children so Rafe had also inherited “head of the clan” status of a large, often turbulent family.

Rafe bore it with equanimity, mostly, although at times he was moved to exasperation. But, as Jack well knew, in times of adversity Rafe closed ranks around the family in the way only the ultra-wealthy could.

And, thinking of the fact that Mairead Wallis had claimed there was some resemblance between the father of her baby and Rafael Sanderson, he knew that that was exactly what was going to happen now. It moved him to a feeling of pity for a girl he’d never met…

Not that he imagined her plight would be completely ignored. Within reasonable limits his boss was a fair and just man, so if her seducer came from within the family he would no doubt make some arrangements for Mairead Wallis. But if she’d ever imagined she was going to be welcomed with open arms into the bosom of the Dixon- Sanderson clan-well, he had grave doubts.

As to who her seducer was, there was a fairly strong family resemblance amongst the Dixons-Rafe himself was said to be almost a carbon copy of his Dixon grandfather-but there were also a lot of them.

‘Oh,’ he said, ‘as for the band, they’re playing tomorrow night at a dinner-dance and I believe Miss Wallis is filling in for the regular pianist, who’s on holiday. Would you like me to…?’

‘What kind of dinner-dance?’

‘A ball really, a very posh black-tie charity “do” at the Cumberland. I believe they’re still selling tickets at-’ he gestured as if to say, no wonder! ‘-two hundred dollars a head.’

‘What have I got on tomorrow night?’ Rafe asked after a moment’s thought.

Jack flipped through his diary. ‘Uh-dinner with the McPherson-Ridges, also black-tie incidentally.’

‘OK, get me a ticket to the Cumberland bash, I’ll go on afterwards.’

‘Just one?’ Jack asked, then could have kicked himself as a cutting grey glance flew his way.

And Rafe Sanderson murmured, ‘That’s what I said.’

But after Jack’s departure, Rafe Sanderson took a couple of minutes to gather his thoughts on Maisie Wallis.

Yes, on what he now knew to be true, perhaps she was the kind of girl who might have got herself into this situation in all innocence-he grimaced-well, got swept off her feet by someone experienced, charismatic and the rest at a time when her world was bleak and grey and lonely.

It happened.

So what was niggling him?

Wouldn’t you have thought she’d be more heartbroken? Or was she more of a pragmatist than getting herself pregnant in this manner seemed to suggest?

The phone on his desk buzzed and he dismissed his thoughts, and picked it up.

Maisie made her preparations for the night’s performance carefully the next afternoon.

She went to the hairdresser. Once home, she ran through Programe C on her piano, dinner music including some light classics then a gradual upping of the beat as the dancing got underway. Jim Wilson’s band was nothing if not versatile and although Maisie’s first musical love was the classics she was perfectly at home with whatever the band chose to play.

Then it was time to dress and, as she checked her reflection in the mirror, she was struck as she often had been before by the fact that few people might recognise this Mairead Wallis from her everyday Maisie Wallis.

“Teased out” might be how her hairdresser described her hair but what she produced was a glorious tangle of windswept curls that looked perfectly natural.

Then there was her make-up, stage make-up designed to enhance her features. Silver eyelids, emerald eye- liner, the strategic use of blusher, deep red lips and carefully darkened eyelashes. She’d taken some lessons when she’d first started performing.

And there was the dress. It was shocking pink, long, it moulded her figure and had a slit up the side. The bodice was encrusted with sequins, it was round-necked and sleeveless. It had also been made for her so, although it had undoubted “look at me” qualities, it was comfortable and solidly constructed.

And it somehow transformed her rather boyish little figure into a delightfully slim, willowy, more feminine outline.

Not, she paused to think, that she wasn’t going to have a distinctly feminine outline shortly. In fact, it was probably lucky she’d lost some weight early on because otherwise she might not have been able to fit into this dress…

Finally, those who thought shocking pink and redheads did not go together always changed their minds when they saw Mairead Wallis wearing it.

‘OK, all in place,’ she murmured to herself, and donned the black velvet cloak her parents had given her. She