Her father had sighed. ‘They may do, but she’s determined to have it on her terms or not at all, and Brett...Well, he didn’t get where he is without his own kind of iron determination.’
By this time Brett had been made a partner in her father’s law firm. Indeed, he was the active partner, whose expertise had brought some big and prestigious clients to act for, and her father was coming to rely on him more and more as his health failed.
At eighteen Nicola had left boarding school, and, because of her father’s poor health, she insisted on spending the last six months of his life as his constant companion, instead of starting a Bachelor of Arts degree as she’d planned. This had brought her into close contact with Brett and his children—Brett had been marvellous, right up to the end and beyond.
And she often thought it was during those sad months that she’d fallen in love with Brett Harcourt. But it was on the understanding that what was between him and Marietta was not resolved, and that somehow things would be patched up.
She’d spent a lot of time with his children, though, during the restless months after her father’s death, often staying with them rather than rattling around home alone. She had done this not only on his account, but the children’s, and Marietta’s too. It had been like having two waning members of her own family around, both of whom she loved.
She couldn’t forget all the years she’d known Marietta. Could never forget how Marietta had flown home for her father’s funeral to play some of his favourite pieces. They had brought him so vividly to mind, yet in the way they’d been played—so exquisitely and gently—had laid him to rest in her heart, even though she still suffered, and had no idea what she wanted to do with her suddenly empty life.
Brett had suggested university again, but she hadn’t wanted to commit herself. She wasn’t even sure whether she’d agreed to a Bachelor of Arts in the first place only to please her father. She’d suggested an overseas trip, but Brett had vetoed it, saying she was too young to go on her own. That was when she’d first discovered that she might love Brett Harcourt, but it didn’t prevent her from being in discord with him...
Indeed, that was what she’d thrown at him after she’d drifted into company with a fast set of so-called friends—another cause for disagreement between them—and, without quite understanding how, had got herself so embarrassingly compromised by a man of whom, ever since, the mere thought made her shudder.
It had all been so trite and sordid.
A party of them had been going up to the Tablelands for a long weekend, or so she’d been led to think. But no one else had turned up, and she’d found herself alone, in a remote cabin, fending off the distinctly amorous and then frighteningly violent attentions of a man who called her a rich, spoilt little bitch and speculated that she was Brett Harcourt’s mistress—she certainly spent enough time at his house, and it was already the subject of some comment around town, wasn’t it?
Nicola had suddenly been more horrified than frightened, and this had given her the momentum to slap his face, then storm off proudly when he’d drawled that she’d have to find her own way home.
That was something she hadn’t been able to do without calling on Brett for help when she’d finally found a phone.
The interview that had followed as he’d driven her back to Cairns had been deadly. How could she have been such a fool? Hadn’t he warned her about the company she was keeping and the men she was going out with? What did she think she looked like, wandering around the countryside dusty and dishevelled with her dress torn?
That was when she’d thrown the idea of an overseas trip at him in her anger and shame.
He’d driven her straight to Yorkeys Knob, but as he’d been about to get out of the car she’d swallowed suddenly and said, ‘No, not here...please.’
‘Why?’
‘I just can’t.’ But her face had burned, and something in the way she’d refused to look at him had made him pause. Then he’d said unemotionally that he’d take her home and had done so. Only once there he’d proceeded to insist on being told everything. But, instead of being shocked and disgusted by the news of the kind of gossip they were the subject of, he’d merely said that she should have a shower and get changed because he planned to take her out to dinner.
And it had been over dinner, when she was much calmer and no longer feeling such a fool, that he’d proposed marriage—of a kind.
She could still remember the blue linen tablecloth and the steady flame of a candle in a glass, the music in the background and the dress she’d worn—black with white flowers, a high little mandarin collar and a row of pearl buttons down the front. Her hair had been lying on her shoulders, clean and slightly fluffy because she hadn’t had time to dry it properly.
She remembered the half-eaten butterfly prawns she’d ordered, the glass of wine she’d been toying with. And her first shocked response—‘What about Marietta?’
He smiled dryly. ‘That’s all over. Didn’t you know?’ He looked at her ironically.
‘But is that why it’s only to be a—a fake marriage?’
‘No. It’s because you’re too young to be marrying anyone, Nicola, but at least this way you’ll be able to be comfortable and happy, and doing something you obviously enjoy.’
She picked up her wine glass, then looked challengingly at him over the rim. ‘Taking care of your children?’
‘Marietta’s too. And it’s not that I’ll expect you to be a babysitter-cum-governess,’ he went on. ‘You can do whatever you like, but with you there they’re happy, and so are you. Aren’t you?’
‘Yes. But for how long?’
He shrugged. ‘As long as it seems necessary. You could even do a part time university course if you wanted to. And if it doesn’t appeal to you—well, at least you’ll know you’ve given it a shot.’
‘You sound like my father.’
He said nothing for a long moment, then added, ‘It is something he would have wanted you to do. By the way, Nicola, it would be an honour to have you gracing my house.’
Her eyes widened, and that was when the first rash seed of hope sprouted. But she immediately cautioned herself against believing anything. ‘Just say you fall in love, or I fall in love—tomorrow, for example.’ She gestured.
‘I don’t think that’s liable to happen to me, but I promise to tell you if it does,’ he said gravely. ‘And if it happens for you, I still think you should wait a while before you allow yourself to believe it’s the love of your life.’
She shrugged and chewed her lip, then, with the first glint of humour in her eyes for quite a while, said, ‘At the moment I’m thoroughly turned off men, believe me. But—’ she frowned ‘—just say it did happen—mightn’t it complicate things incredibly? Having to explain that I am married but not really, kind of thing, let alone having to go through annulments and whatever?’
‘Not for a man who really loves you, no.’
She blinked, then heard herself saying, ‘I don’t know what else to do. I feel like a ship without a rudder. I suppose because I was an only child and I don’t even remember my mother...that’s why...’ She sighed. ‘We used to do so much together, Dad and I. We’d planned to go overseas together when I finished school.’
‘I know. I envied you.’
‘Did you?’ For some reason it came as a surprise, and she studied him curiously. He’d left his work to rescue her, and still wore a pale green long-sleeved shirt, fawn trousers and a dark red