Strategy For Marriage

“Sad to say yes. My mother had a lot of trouble having me. My father couldn’t have borne to lose her. That put paid to a bigger family. But I was never spoilt. I was never of the over-protective one-child syndrome. In fact I ran wild.”

“So you’re a country girl?”

“Does that put me up a notch?” She heard the approval in his voice.

“Indeed yes. When I marry—”

“To great applause,” she cut in dryly.

“My wife will have to understand what living in the Outback means.” His vibrant voice cracked right down the line.

“You look extremely sober when you say that,” she commented.

“It’s a top requirement.” He didn’t bare his soul to her. He didn’t say his mother had been a beautiful social butterfly. A city girl, born and bred. In fact the last woman his father should have married. The last woman to mother a child. It was a miracle she had stayed so long. She had missed—expected to miss—his tenth birthday. There had been no celebration. His charming extravagant mother had run away. She was an adulteress, goddamn it. Love wouldn’t stand between him and a successful marriage.

She brought him a hot steaming cup of excellent coffee along with a small crystal glass containing a dollop of liqueur.

“What are you having?”

“Aspirin.” She couldn’t disguise how she felt.

“Go back and get some coffee. Put a lot of milk in it,” he ordered.

“You’re the boss.” She walked back into the kitchen and popped a small jug of milk into the microwave. “I bet you’re the boss even when you’re asleep?”

“Of course I’m the boss. That’s my job. So what next, Miss Parker?” he asked, quietly surveying her.

“As in?” Wearily she rubbed the faint cleft in her chin, taking a seat opposite him.

“Plans for the future. You realise you’re going to have to cut Josh Deakin out of your life? End of story.”

“Obviously you haven’t read my character correctly.” She didn’t know how it had happened but she desperately wanted him to approve of her.

“Not every ex-girlfriend turns up uninvited at a wedding.”

“Go on, rub it in.”

“I have to. I’m excessively biased in favour of my cousin.”

“She’s a lucky girl.” Christy gave a mournful sigh.

There was a little droop to her lovely mouth. It made him want to kiss it hard. A little punishment without hurting her. “Anyway if you’re a good girl and say your prayers, Mr. Right will come along.”

“Mr. Right?” Her beautiful green eyes were distant. “What makes men Mr. Right all of a sudden? I don’t even want to talk about Mr. Right and marriage. I’m in denial.”

“I recognise that. I can even understand how you feel being burned. The fact is I’m wary of marriage myself.” He said this with considerable self-mockery.

“Pray tell why is that? You don’t look like you’d be wary of anything.”

“I’ve seen a lot of men lose their good judgment over a woman,” he remarked cynically.

“Well you couldn’t possibly say that only applies to men. Right now I’m feeling love is a four-letter word. And it definitely doesn’t last. Well it did—it does—for my parents. But they’re different.”

“You’re thinking you don’t stand a chance?” He gave a quiet, ironic laugh. “What about arranged marriages?” he asked. “Plenty of precedent for those. This head over heels bit doesn’t always come off.”

“You can’t be saying you’d seriously consider marrying a woman who doesn’t love you?” He took her breath away.

“And one I don’t love either. I’ve no time for mad primitive urges, all that sweep a woman up and carry her off sort of stuff. One can learn to love, certainly. And, of course there must be trust and respect, mutual commitment and the same goals.”

“Anything else?” She kept her eyes on him.

“Ideally she’ll be good-looking, warm, compassionate, love kids, smart and able to take on a full partnership in the McKinnon operation. At least have input. I don’t want any trophy wife.”

“And one who would never be unfaithful?”

The brilliant black eyes turned glacial. “Why did you say that?” His handsome face tautened.

She took a little rapid breath. “I see it hit a nerve? You’re certainly looking at me as though I’m not to be trusted.”

“Women as beautiful as you mightn’t make the safest wife,” he retorted.

“Really?” Colour flared into her face. “You’re a real woman hater, aren’t you?”

“I’m just very much against divorce.” He sounded deadly serious.

Christy half rose, anything but at ease with him. “More coffee?”

“No this is fine. You’re not going to cry, are you? You’ve been very emotional all night.”

“No I am not going to cry,” she told him a little fiercely. “Dammit I don’t understand men. You could have any woman you liked. That bridesmaid you were talking to? Did you happen to notice she’s madly in love with you? And there were at least a dozen others sick with disappointment you had me hanging off your arm. Is it possible beneath that formidable exterior you’re scared of women? Do you look like a panther when you’re really a puppy?”

He surveyed her coolly. “I can’t believe you said that. It’s just that I want a lot, Christy. For one so recently jilted, you have a great deal to say.”

The phone rang out, saving Christy an answer. They both jumped, so intense was the atmosphere between them. Christy went to answer it. Who could be ringing her this time of night? Her mind sprang, instantly, anxiously, to her parents. Accidents happened on farms. Nerves tightening she spoke into the mouthpiece. “Christy here.”

Silence at the other end then a man’s voice so low she would have had to ask him to speak up only the voice was too familiar. “Christy, Christy, don’t hang up.”

Her heart contracted. Shock. Sick anger. Utter disbelief.

“Please…hear me out.”

“You’re kidding. You’ve got to be kidding!” The words burst from her before she could swallow them back. What sort of life form was he?

“Who is it?” Ashe McKinnon was on his feet. “Deakin?” His voice was hard.

She hung up immediately. “Don’t be ludicrous. Wrong number. They were after a woman named Paderewski or Popadiamantris or someone.”

He clicked his tongue disgustedly. “I can think of a few other things you might be but a good liar isn’t one of them. We all know who Paderewski was and Papadiamantris to the best of my knowledge was a Greek writer. That was Deakin. Where in hell is he speaking from, the hotel? I’ll go round.”