Lydia stood up. ‘My husband’s name was also Kelso, although we were not related at all. It was one of those strange coincidences because it’s not very common. As to why I told you—it was to establish my credibility, I guess. This is not sour grapes, and I do have some experience in these matters.’
‘So what do you suggest I do?’ He lay back and eyed her narrowly.
‘I’ll leave that up to you, Mr Jordan. But if you do what I think you intend to—let her down lightly, please.’
‘I gather you’ll be there to pick up any pieces?’
Lydia hesitated briefly. ‘I’m just about to start a position on a cattle station. It’s only temporary—I’m filling in for a friend while he takes leave—so, no. However, my father and my aunt are in residence at present. Now, my father,’ she said, with a faint smile touching her mouth, ‘may not be quite as civilised as I’ve been should Daisy be inconsolable.’
Joe Jordan stood up with disbelief written in every line of his face. ‘Is that a threat?’
‘Oh, I don’t think he’d do you any bodily harm. But he might come and harangue you, that kind of thing.’
‘I don’t believe this!’ He thumped his fist on the desk, then doubled up in pain clutching his shoulder.
Lydia blinked, then moved around the desk with her boyish stride. ‘Can I help?’
‘No, you can’t! I’m a human being. Why would I need a bloody vet?’
Of course it was surprise, he figured out, that had allowed him to be overpowered by a woman. Mind you, he told himself, she was quite strong, even unusually strong, because he’d ended up back in his chair with her long, capable hands massaging and gently manipulating his neck and shoulder in a way that brought him almost instant relief.
‘How did it happen?’ she asked conversationally.
He sighed. ‘I was playing tennis and pulled a muscle. Just takes time, so they say. How…you did tell me you were a vet, didn’t you?’ he enquired bitterly.
Lydia laughed down into his upturned face. ‘Animals also have muscles, tendons and nerves. I specialise in horses and I’ve done quite a lot of work with racehorses and polo ponies; they often pull muscles. There. What you need is regular physiotherapy, probably.’
She moved round to stand in front of him and held out her hand.
Joe Jordan didn’t take it immediately for the very good reason that he was suddenly struck by the insane desire to see this girl without her clothes. To unbutton her mannish jacket and watch the pinstriped trousers sink to the floor, to find out how her figure was curved and how she could be strong yet so slim, to watch that fascinating stride…
‘Goodbye, Mr Jordan,’ she said gravely. ‘I feel we understand each other quite well, don’t you?’
If you can understand going from one sister to the other. If you have any idea how enigmatic you appear, Lydia Kelso. If you can understand that you’ve successfully made me feel like a piece of horseflesh… He bit his lip on all that was hovering on the tip of his tongue and said instead, ‘I guess so. Goodbye, Miss Kelso. You have magic hands, by the way.’
‘So I’m told. Oh!’
He followed her dark blue gaze to see it resting on his sketchpad. ‘Ah, I apologise,’ he murmured. ‘I do these things without thinking sometimes.’
But Lydia was laughing down at the cartoon of herself, immensely tall and obviously haranguing a diminutive, seated Joe Jordan in short pants, whose feet didn’t even touch the ground. ‘It’s so good,’ she said, still chuckling appreciatively.
‘It’s not meant to make you laugh,’ he replied with dignity.
‘Then I must have an odd sense of humour! May I have it?’ She paused, then added blithely, ‘I can use it to warn myself against being too dictatorial and overpowering, even bossy.’
‘You don’t believe that for one moment, do you?’ he countered.
She laughed again. ‘How could you tell?’
He paused. ‘I just have the feeling you…’ He hesitated, and wondered what use it was to ponder any further about Daisy Kelso’s surprising sister. ‘Oh, well, it doesn’t matter, I guess.’ But as he stood up he was curiously relieved to discover he was an inch taller than she was.
‘No. It doesn’t,’ she agreed, with an oddly significant little glance.
He shook her hand, then tore the drawing off the pad and gave it to her.
‘I’ll get it framed—don’t bother to come down; I’ll let myself out,’ she murmured, with a look of delicious mischief in her eyes now. And she went round the desk, slung her navy bag on her shoulder and strode out.
She was still chuckling as she walked along the street in Balmain where Joe Jordan had his townhouse. It was a lovely afternoon and, since its revival in the 1960s, Balmain was a pleasant spot.
One of Sydney’s oldest suburbs, on a peninsula into the harbour with a few miles of coastline, its fortunes had been varied. But although there were plenty of interesting and historic buildings from its early times of affluence, it now had a trendy population, and she wouldn’t mind a townhouse there herself, she thought, as she waited for the ferry to take her across the harbour. Especially one as nicely restored as Joe Jordan’s.
But then, he could be described as trendy himself, she mused, which she was not, particularly, yet he wasn’t quite what she’d expected…
The ferry came and she stepped aboard and turned to have a last look not only at Balmain but at the home suburb of, yes, she had to admit it, a slightly intriguing man.
That evening, as she was putting the finishing touches to her packing, Daisy wandered into her room and sat down at the dressing table.
‘I’m going to miss you, Lyd,’ she said as she unpinned the glorious fall of her dark hair and started to brush it.
‘Me too.’ Lydia sat down on the bed and eyed her sister’s back. ‘But you’ll have plenty to occupy yourself, what with the Musica Viva tour and the start of the symphony season.’
Daisy sighed and lowered her hand. ‘Can’t seem to get excited about it, somehow.’ She swung round on the stool. ‘It’s my biological clock,’ she added. ‘I can feel it ticking away madly.’
‘It actually ticks?’
Daisy pulled a face. ‘You know what I mean. I just wish,’ she said intensely, ‘you could meet Joe and give me your opinion. Then I’d know whether to go ahead or not.’
Lydia experienced an inner tremor of guilt, but she said easily, ‘There’s an old saying—when in doubt, do nowt. To be honest, Daisy, I think you should put up with your biological clock a bit longer and wait for the right man to come along.’
‘So you’ve said. But you’re not twenty-nine—I’ll be thirty in two months!’
‘Maybe you’re confusing the dreaded thirty—remember when we used to think anyone over thirty was ancient?—with the biological clock?’
Daisy smiled briefly. ‘I just keep thinking my life is slipping away from me, and that there may not be a Mr Right out there for me.’
‘So Joe,’ Lydia said carefully, ‘is not necessarily Mr Right?’
‘Joe’s lovely, most of the time. He can also be moody and sarcastic, and there are times when I don’t think he knows I exist.’
Lydia smoothed a pair of khaki shorts across her lap as she wondered how to ask her sister whether she’d actually slept with Joe Jordan. This was one point Daisy had been reticent about, but then she was always reticent, if