company. It’s great.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘You don’t sound convinced.’
‘I think I like central heating.’
‘Turn around,’ she said. Her voice was suddenly urgent. She was sitting bolt upright now in her amazing bed. She was wearing a T-shirt, he thought. A T-shirt. How many women of his acquaintance slept in anything other than sexy negligees?
But, ‘Look,’ she said again and he was forced to turn and look.
And he was caught.
It was lovely, he had to concede. In fact, in truth, it was breathtakingly beautiful. The moon was casting a ribbon of silver over the sea. Below the house, the waves were breaking in long, low lines. The foam from their breaking was caught in the moonlight, a soft white pattern of hushed time.
The sand was wide-the tide must be full out as the beach seemed to spread for miles. The house was only about two or three hundred yards from the beach. The soft breaking of wave after wave was a lullaby all by itself.
Between here and the beach stood four or five vast gums, their canopies almost another roof. There was a huddle of cows under one. Sleeping. Settled on the lush pasture for the night. He couldn’t see from here but he could imagine their jaws contentedly chewing, conjuring flavours of the grasses they’d eaten during the day.
‘This is why I married you,’ Peta said softly. ‘Not for money.’
‘Not for love?’
She turned and grinned at him. ‘You’re looking for romance?’
‘Um…no.’
‘I’ve had a very nice wedding,’ she told him. ‘Thank you very much. But isn’t that how the story goes? A white wedding and then the princess gets to live happily ever after?’
‘With her prince.’
‘Who needs a prince? I have this. I have my dogs. I have security for the boys.’
‘You’re telling me I can go back to New York?’
‘Oh, no, I need you here,’ she told him quite kindly. ‘You said that yourself. Two weeks to make the marriage valid.’
‘And then I can clear off?’
‘That’s what you want to do-isn’t it?’
‘Of course.’
‘But I did decide I’d invite you up onto my veranda,’ she told him, as if granting some huge concession. ‘Just once. So you can see what you’ve given me.’
‘So you can point out that you don’t need me after two weeks?’
‘That, too. I keep getting the feeling that you see me as some sort of charity. Well, I was,’ she admitted with sudden candour. ‘You’ve saved me. I just wish I could save you back.’
‘Save me?’
‘You don’t have a very satisfactory life,’ she told him.
Good grief.
Marcus stared down at her in the moonlight. She was hugging her knees, looking at him in consideration. As if he was some sort of interesting bug…
The sensation was indescribable. He’d be less uncomfortable if the story of his life was splashed across the front page of the
‘Will you cut it out?’ he demanded.
‘Cut what out?’
‘Butting into what’s none of your business.’
‘If you don’t want me to,’ she said, obliging. She ducked down under her covers and disappeared up to her nose again. ‘Good night.’
He’d been dismissed. He should turn around and head down those rickety steps again. But…
But. It was a simple word and he couldn’t get over it. But. But what? He didn’t have a clue.
‘Aren’t you suffering from jet lag?’ he asked.
‘Jet lag? After the aeroplane bed I had? You have to be kidding.’ Her voice was muffled by bedclothes, almost indistinct.
‘I mean time zones,’ he said, a little bit desperately. ‘I feel as if it’s morning.’
‘I do, too, a bit,’ she agreed, still muffled. ‘But the cows will be awake at five o’clock. I have to get up then, so I need to sleep.’
‘You want me to go away.’
She put the sheet down a smidgeon and stared up at him, only her eyes above the sheet.
‘You’re lonely!’
‘No, I…’
‘Hattie’s house is creepy,’ she told him. ‘All that pink. I wouldn’t wonder if you’re lonely.’
‘And you’re not?’
‘I do miss the boys,’ she admitted. ‘Harry sleeps inside now. He has a computer and he reckons the cables get wet out here. So he ended up in the bedroom. But I liked it when they slept out here.’ She motioned to the other end of the veranda. ‘It’s a great place to sleep. If you like you could try it.’
‘What…share your veranda?’
‘It’s a very long veranda.’
‘Do you always ask strange men…’
‘You’re not a strange man. You’re my husband.’
Yes. Yes, he was. The thought was incredible.
‘And if I tell the dogs to attack they’ll do just that,’ she added.
Pop went his fantasy bubble. He choked. He turned to stare down at the mutts who were draped decoratively over the cushions. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Believe it,’ she said seriously. ‘Daniel did that for me the last time Charles came home.’
‘Did what?’
‘He trained the dogs. They’re great with cattle and they’re highly intelligent. Charles… Well, Charles gave me a hard time one night and Daniel decided if I was to stay here alone I needed protection. So now there’s just one word I have to say and they turn into a pack of snarling savages. Want to see?’
‘No!’
He was getting accustomed to the moonlight now and he could see her grin.
He wasn’t getting accustomed to the situation, though. This woman had stood beside him two days ago and promised to be his wife. She’d stood for press photographers, her hand in his, his lovely bride. She’d slept beside him in the plane, she’d tucked her hand in his as they’d gone through customs, she’d let him take control, manage things, do what he was good at.
What had he expected here?
Not this. An invitation to share her veranda with a pack of killer dogs between them.
But…
He stared out at the night. It was…perfect.
He could sleep here. He could sleep with Peta. Or he could go back to the pink puffy concoction that was Hattie’s bed, or to the horror-fantasy-poster-covered room that had been the creation of an adolescent Charles before he left home.
Three options.
‘It’s a very generous offer,’ Peta said cheerfully, following his line of thought. ‘I don’t make it to anyone. But now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to sleep.’
She turned over on to her side; the covers came right up, and her body language said that whatever he did was up to him. She’d made her offer and the rest was his business.
He should go home.
