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She shook her head. ‘You don’t understand how it was.’
He laughed. ‘Oh, I understand only too well. We’re all tarred with the same brush. Irene... You... Me... We take after dear Papa, which makes us not good people to cross. We want what we want and God help anyone who gets in our way. You and Irene wanted the same man. A cat fight was inevitable, but the only one who came out on top was Byron. Literally.’
‘You’re disgusting!’
‘That’s the pot calling the kettle black, surely.’
‘It wasn’t like Irene said. I didn’t set out to seduce Byron. I didn’t set out to do anything!’ Anger that she was having to defend her morals to Damian, of all people, had her whirling away and dragging on the towelling robe that she’d brought with her. Flicking her hair over her shoulder, she turned back to face her brother with a steely expression on her face. ‘I do not wish to discuss what happened with Byron in the past. It’s dead and gone as Irene is dead and gone.’
‘Really, Celeste? Are you saying you don’t feel a thing for Byron any more, that he hasn’t been your silent sexual prey all along?’
Outrage at both Damian and her own stupid feelings rose in her breast. ‘I detest Byron Whitmore!’ she lashed out. ‘I wouldn’t let him touch me if he was the last man on earth!’
‘No kidding. Then it won’t bother you that he’s about to be married again.’
Celeste could no more stop the blood from leaving her face than she could the daggers of dismay that stabbed into her heart. She clutched the robe around her and did her level best not to sway on her feet, or look anything other than coldly indifferent. With a supreme effort of will, she somehow found a wry smile and a semblance of composure. ‘Is that so?’ she drawled. ‘And who’s the unlucky lady?’
Damian seemed disconcerted by her quick recovery. Clearly, he’d wanted to distress her, wanted to twist those daggers. His black eyes were still watchful on her, waiting for her to betray her feelings, but this only hardened Celeste’s resolve to keep them to herself. If she was stupid enough still to feel anything for that holier-than-thou hypocrite, then the last thing she was going to do was show it or admit it. That would betray everything that had sustained her all these years.
‘Her name is Catherine Gateshead,’ Damian informed her sourly.
‘And how did you come across this priceless information?’ Celeste thought her tone was perfect. Just a little sarcastic, and a lot bored.
‘A friend of hers told a friend of mine they were going to announce their engagement at Byron’s fiftieth birthday party last night. It seems they’ve been quite a hot item for quite some time.’
Celeste battled to control a whole host of reactions, not the least of which was shock at hearing Byron’s age. Fifty! He didn’t look fifty. Clearly, he wasn’t acting as though he was fifty, either, she thought bitterly. Still, he’d always been a highly sexed man and Irene had been dead for nearly a year.
‘And how old is this Catherine person?’ she asked as nonchalantly as she could manage.
Damian’s smirk suggested he’d picked up on her tension. ‘A good few years younger than you, dear sister. And smashing-looking, I’m told.’
Celeste threw her brother a savage look and he laughed.
‘Jealousy can be an ugly thing. Not that you’ve got anything to worry about, Celeste. No woman can hold a candle to you when you put your mind to it. I’ll never forget the look on that bastard Whitmore’s face when you swanned into the Regency ballroom recently in that dress. God, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. Not that I blame him. That was some dress.’
Celeste cringed at the memory of the aforesaid dress. She hadn’t realised, till she was making her way down the centre of the ballroom and caught a glimpse of herself in one of the mirrored walls, how that dress looked from a distance. The skin-coloured material and tightly fitted style gave the illusion of nudity, the selected beading marking out a provocative outline around her nipples and crotch. Up close in the boutique, it had not looked so scandalously revealing. Still, under Byron’s critical gaze, she’d had no alternative but to carry off the outrageous outfit with panache or be left looking a fool.
‘It was perfectly obvious to anyone with a brain in their head,’ Damian was raving on, ‘that you’ve only got to click your fingers his way and he’d drop Catherine Whatsername as though she has a contagious disease. Alternatively, you could have some real fun and wait till he married the silly bitch, then move in for the ultimate kill. A married Byron seems to bring out your best hunting instincts.’
Celeste amazed herself by not reacting visibly to Damian’s crude and inflammatory remarks. Her expression remained remarkably cool, as was her laugh. ‘I think you’re confusing me with yourself, brother dear. You’re the one who’s always running after married people. I prefer my bed partners both single and decidedly younger than fifty. I don’t think Byron Whitmore fills the bill, do you?’
Retying the sash on her robe, Celeste picked up her towel and pushed past her brother, striding confidently towards the door. Damian scowled after her, irritated by his lack of success at stirring up trouble. What he didn’t see was the grey pallor in his sister’s face as she left the pool-house, or the haunted look in her eyes. Neither could he guess at the storm of emotion gathering in her heart, nor her lack of confidence in her ability to deal with any of it.
Celeste headed across the lawns and up the stone steps to the back of the house, blinking madly as she went. I do not care about Byron Whitmore, she kept saying to herself. I do not care what he does or where he goes or whom he marries. I do not care!
Celeste swept into the huge kitchen and put on the kettle for a cup of coffee. By the time she was sipping its soothing warmth, she was almost her old self again.
Till she suddenly remembered the trial on Monday.
Her head dropped into her hands, her stomach instantly churning.
‘Oh, God...’
CHAPTER TWO
THE taxi sped off, leaving Gemma standing on the pavement with her suitcase at her feet. She was smiling to herself.
Nathan was going to get the shock of his life when she walked in. He thought she was out in good old Lightning Ridge, patiently awaiting the Monday afternoon flight back to Sydney. Instead, here she was, home a day early, the lucky passenger on a private jet chartered by an American couple staying at her motel.
The McFaddens had dropped in on the opal-mining town as part of a whirlwind tour of the outback of Australia, and, not finding the dust, flies and heat to their liking, had decided to head for Sydney posthaste. When Gemma had told them over breakfast this morning in the dining-room that she wished she were back home in Sydney as well, they’d offered her a lift. Delighted, she’d accepted, and here she was!
A glance at her watch showed it had only just passed one in the afternoon.
For a few seconds, she regretted that her trip back to Lightning Ridge had been so unrewarding in the matter of finding anything out about her missing mother. Perhaps she should have stayed the extra day and come back on the Monday as originally planned.
In all honesty, she hadn’t tried all that hard, had she? One short interview with Mr Gunther—her dead father’s only friend in Lightning Ridge—and one afternoon spent talking to the miners who’d just happened to drop into the pub. Neither would qualify as an in-depth investigation. Was it that underneath she was afraid of the truth? Or of finding out that Nathan was right? Some people’s pasts were better off left there.
Still, the trip back to where she’d grown up had made Gemma appreciate the life she had made for herself now in Sydney. She had an interesting job selling opals to an exclusive clientele in Whitmore’s glamorous store in the Regency Hotel. She was married to Sydney’s most successful playwright who also just happened to be the most handsome, sexiest man who’d ever drawn breath. And soon she was going to start having the family she’d always wanted.
Her big brown eyes melted as she thought of her husband, and their phone conversation last Friday night. That had been less than two days ago, but it seemed like an eternity. She’d done exactly as he’d suggested and thrown away her pills. Then she’d done the second thing he’d wanted: come home.
Smiling a very female smile, she extracted her keys from her carry-all handbag, picked up her suitcase and walked over to the security door of the four-storey building that housed their apartment. On the top floor, their unit had a lovely view of Elizabeth Bay and, while Gemma called it home for now, she knew she wouldn’t want to bring up a child, or children, in such a contained and restricted environment. She would want a house and a big back yard with a dog in it, a dog she would call Blue.
Gemma’s heart squeezed tight as she thought of that moment out at the Ridge yesterday when she’d visited Blue’s grave. He was buried not far from the dugout she’d been brought up in, on a small hillock he used to lie on sometimes. She hadn’t been able to stop the sudden welling-up of emotion nor the flood of tears that had streamed from her eyes. Now, as she turned the key and let herself into the building, she felt those tears pricking at her eyes again.
She would have brought Blue to Sydney with her if she’d had the chance. But some rotten swine had poisoned him while she’d been at her father’s funeral. She’d been shattered when she found his body, seemingly more upset over her dog’s death than her father’s.
Gemma felt a stab of guilt at that memory, frowning as she carried her case inside the cool foyer and shut the door behind her. Going back to Lightning Ridge had dredged up memories she would rather have forgotten. Yes, Nathan was right. One’s happiness lay in the future, not the past. Her future and her happiness lay in her marriage to Nathan, in their having a family together.
A determined expression momentarily thinned Gemma’s full mouth. If Nathan thought she was going to stop at one baby, he was very much mistaken. She’d hated not having any brothers and sisters, hated not having a mother and a father. No child of hers was going to go through life feeling deprived and different, as she had done. Her children would have every advantage she could give them.
Gemma’s mouth suddenly relaxed into a quietly rueful smile.
Just look at me, getting all carried away and serious. Thinking too far ahead was as bad as spending all one’s energy worrying about the past. My first priority is being happy here and now—and in getting pregnant with my first baby. Still, if Nathan’s mood on the phone the other night was anything to go by then the latter shouldn’t take too long.
Gemma hurried over to press the lift button on the wall, her heart racing excitedly as she thought of what was in store for her upstairs.
The lift doors whooshed back and she stepped inside the empty compartment, pressing number four and waiting impatiently for them to shut again.
Actually, she and Nathan hadn’t made love for ages. Not that Nathan hadn’t wanted to. He always wanted to. But some recent and rather shocking allegations about Nathan’s sexual history had played on her mind, and she’d begun making excuses not to make love with her husband. Even after being assured by an independent source that the most shocking of these allegations was untrue, she’d still found herself acting very negatively in the bedroom. Nathan had been remarkably patient with her, and she aimed to reward that patience in full tonight.
Maybe I’ll fall pregnant straight away, Gemma thought excitedly as the doors shut and the lift began to rise.
Probably not, she conceded, but it felt wonderfully warming to think about the possibility. It would give added meaning to what had previously been little more than a physical intimacy between them. Gemma held high hopes that having a baby together would bring about the emotional bonding with Nathan that she’d always felt was missing in their relationship.
With spirits high and pulse galloping, she stepped out of the lift on the fourth floor, eager to have her husband’s arms around her, to have him kiss her as he’d kissed her at the airport the other day. Too bad if he was deeply involved with his writing. She was going to insist he leave it and give her his full attention. No doubt he would be holed up in his study, his handsome face buried in the computer screen. But nothing was going to save him from being seduced today. Nothing!
Gemma’s grin faded to a frown as she opened their apartment door. Nathan’s raised voice was coming through the closed double doors that led into the living-room, sounding so impassioned that Gemma was shocked into stillness, her hand on the doorknob, her case still in the hallway outside. His next words came crystal-clear to her startled ears, and their content staggered her.
‘So what if it was just sex last night?’ Nathan scoffed angrily. ‘And the night before. When has it ever been anything other than just sex between us?’
Gemma paled, her hand tightening over the knob as Lenore’s voice flung a furious reply.
‘When has it ever been anything else but just sex for you with any woman?’
Nathan laughed.
Despite her being already frozen with shock and horror, that cold laughter chilled Gemma to the bones.
‘You think I didn’t love you that night all those years,’ Lenore swept on, ‘when we made a baby together? You think that was only sex for me?’
‘I know it was.’ Scornfully.
‘You bastard!’
‘Nothing is to be achieved by calling names. Why don’t you come over here and stop being a fool? Besides, you can hardly flounce out of here in a temper. You’re not properly dressed.’
Gemma had to stuff a fist into her mouth to stop an anguished groan from escaping.
A muffled groan did find its way through those hideous doors, however, and Gemma thought she would die.
‘I should never have let you talk me into coming here,’ Lenore cried. ‘I should never have let you touch me. You’ve always been bad news for women. God, but I hate you.’
‘Shall we see how much?’ he taunted.
‘No, don’t! Oh...oh, God, I’m hopeless...’
Gemma couldn’t stand another second of such emotional torture, but the wild urge to burst in on them and create an embarrassing scene was superseded by feelings of pained pride. Why should she humiliate herself in front of two such shameless creatures? They wouldn’t really care, except in how being caught out would affect their cruelly selfish and amoral lives.
But oh, God, the betrayal hurt as she’d never been hurt before. Nothing compared with the vice-like pain gripping her heart, nor the wintry emptiness within, as though her soul had been sucked dry by some huge emotional vacuum cleaner.
Gemma somehow managed to close the door, hoist her carry-all up on to her shoulder and pick up her suitcase. She didn’t take the lift. She went down the fire stairs, quite slowly, each shuddering step like a death-kneel, her mind disbelieving of how quickly her excited happiness had been changed to despair.
Tears filled her eyes and flooded over, running down her cheeks. She didn’t stop to wipe them away. Neither did she stop going down those steps. If she did, she would surely sag down into a wretched impotent huddle, and once she did that she would not have the energy or the courage to do anything or go anywhere. Nathan might accidentally find her there and she couldn’t bear to hear the lies he was sure to come up with to explain what she’d overheard.
Gemma exited the building and turned to walk up the streets and around the corner, no real destination in mind. She just wanted to get as far away from Nathan and Lenore as she could. The act of walking was a salvation in itself, for having to put one foot in front of the other had a kind of robotic comfort. Gradually, the breeze dried the tears on Gemma’s cheeks and she felt the pieces of her shattered soul gradually reassemble into something that was capable of making decisions.
Not that she was whole again. Her heart would never be whole again, she recognised bleakly. It would remain broken, but a type of glueing together was taking place as she walked, her bewildered despair giving way to the human survival technique of cynicism and anger.
You shouldn’t be surprised, Gemma, a bitter voice berated. You had plenty of clues that Nathan hadn’t married you for love, no matter what he claimed. True love does not keep its emotional distance, nor harbour dark secrets. It is open and trusting and warm and wonderful. Nathan, on far too many occasions, was secretive and distrusting and cold and downright wicked. Look at the way he enslaved your senses, turned you into little more than a sexual puppet. If he’s been patient with you lately, it was because he had other fish to fry. He didn’t need to make love to you because he was having an affair with Lenore!
And you suspected as much. Go on, admit it, you stupid little idiot! Underneath you were worried about the time he was spending with Lenore but in the end you chose to ignore it, because you wanted to believe in his love, wanted to keep pretending.
As for Lenore...
Now that the initial shock was over and she was thinking more clearly, Gemma was stunned to find she didn’t feel quite so angry with Nathan’s ex-wife. In fact, she almost felt sorry for her. If Lenore hated Nathan, as she said, then that was because she was also still in love with him. Gemma could well understand a woman loving and hating Nathan at the same time. She certainly did right at this moment. But at least the hate part seemed to clear one’s vision of the man he really was. Lenore didn’t sound as though she was under any illusions. Neither was Gemma any more. Just to love Nathan was to become a fool, there was no doubt about that. A blind fool!
Gemma looked back over all the warnings she’d been given about Nathan, the warnings she had naïvely ignored. Instead, she’d stupidly gone into a marriage based on nothing but the physical. His wanting her to have a baby was the one thing that she didn’t quite understand. There again, men had babies all the time with women they didn’t love. Maybe it was a matter of ego, of wanting to replicate their genes, or of wanting to keep the women under their control.
Nathan had demonstrated a jealousy and possessiveness over her from the start, suggesting that, while he might not love her, he did like ‘owning’ her. Since their marriage, he’d moulded her into the sort of wife that suited him, a sexually submissive little doll whom he could dress as he fancied, parade in public on his arm, then bring home and make love to as he pleased.
Well, he wouldn’t be ‘making love’ to her any more, she vowed with an intense bitterness that kept the despair at bay. Their marriage was over as of this moment. She would never go back to him. Never ever!
Gemma strode on, around the next corner, heading towards she knew not what. But the ramifications of the decision she had just made were not long in sinking in. Would Byron give her the sack once he found out she’d left his precious adopted son? Even if he didn’t, where was she going to live now? She had no real friends, no one she could turn to, except perhaps...
Damian had said she could rely on him if ever she needed a friend.
Gemma slowed her step. Why was she so loath to call Damian Campbell? Was it just pride that was stopping her, or something more complex than that? Nathan’s own warnings about his enemy no longer held water, did they? One couldn’t believe a thing he said. And yet...
Gemma sighed her confusion, halting completely on the pavement, putting the suitcase down. Momentarily, she closed her eyes, the events of the day threatening to overwhelm her. She felt so alone, so alone and so wretched. Tired too. Yes, suddenly, she felt dreadfully tired. Emotional exhaustion, she supposed.
Opening her eyes, she glanced around and there, on the next corner, stood an old hotel. What she needed was a quiet place to lie down. Somewhere she could simply sleep for a while. Nathan was not expecting her back in Sydney till the following afternoon. He was not expecting her to call tonight. This gave her over twenty-four hours to decide what action she was going to take. Wearily, Gemma picked up her suitcase again and began walking in the direction of the hotel.
What would have happened, she wondered grimly as she carefully crossed the street, if she had stayed in Lightning Ridge and come back as originally planned?
Gemma shuddered to think that she would have innocently gone back home to her husband’s bed, unknowing of his treachery, unsuspecting of how callously he had betrayed her over the weekend, how he would go on betraying her.
Innocent.
Unknowing.
Unsuspecting.
Well, she wasn’t innocent any longer and she would never be unknowing or unsuspecting again. From this moment on, Gemma Whitmore would place her trust in one person only.
Herself.
CHAPTER THREE
CELESTE surveyed her wardrobe with some concern on the Monday morning, moving outfit after outfit along the racks in her dressing-room, mulling over the effect each one would have on Byron Whitmore. What could she wear that wouldn’t inspire contempt in his eyes?
Or lust.
At this last thought, Celeste brought herself up sharply. What on earth was the matter with her, caring what Byron thought, or felt? It was her own feelings she had to worry about. Her own lust. Or desire. Or whatever people called it these days.
She’d read somewhere recently that lust had a chemical basis, hormones or such sparking off endorphins in the brain which in turn impelled one’s body to mate with the object of its desire without any reference to logic or common sense. A mindless animal thing, in other words.
A mindless animal thing was all she could possibly still feel for that man, she’d decided bitterly after her run-in with Damian at the weekend. Nothing else. Certainly not anything finer or deeper. She’d been silly even to consider such a possibility, let alone worry about it!
Since this was the case, she reasoned ruthlessly, then the person who needed protecting was herself, not Byron. How better to protect herself than to dress as provocatively as she always had, thereby ensuring his lust and contempt?
Celeste knew full well that the holier-than-thou Byron Whitmore would not contaminate himself by touching someone who epitomised everything he despised. She was safe, as long as she ran true to form. Whereas if she came out looking unexpectedly demure, shock might make him vulnerable to the primitive desires she knew still lurked in that staunchly high-principled soul of his. She’d seen the lust in his eyes the night of the ball as surely as she had felt her own.
A canary-yellow dress jumped out at her and she drew it from the rack, smiling. If that didn’t put some fire in his veins and disgust into those beautiful blue eyes of his then her name wasn’t Celeste Campbell.
Made of stretch jersey wool, the yellow sheath fitted her like a glove and finished mid-thigh. The high rolled neck and long tight sleeves practised reverse physiology by being more provocative than the lowest-cut, most revealing style. Perhaps this had something to do with the way it clung, projecting a subtle promise rather than overt promiscuity.
Subtle?
