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“Since forever.”
“Poor Hilary! You’re breaking my heart,” Genevieve said and meant it.
“I don’t think so.”
“Absolutely,” Genevieve replied, feeling like she was mortally wounded.
“That’s why I’m glad your getting married.” Hilary smiled almost genially. “I knew one day you’d be out of our lives.”
“That’s no way to talk.” Genevieve rose to her feet in protest. “How can you feel like this, say such things to my face, and still come to my wedding?”
“Why?” Hilary looked up at Genevieve, brilliant malice in her eyes.
“Because dear, sweet, beautiful, Genevieve, it’s the day my brother will give you away forever.”
Hilary was still sitting there feeling slightly shaky, but thrilled to have dispensed with the fleeing Genevieve, when Blaine suddenly materialised beside her, almost making her jump out of her skin.
“Isn’t that Genni?” he demanded in the kind of voice that demanded a straight answer.
It took a tremendous effort for Hilary to pull herself together. How could she deny it? That white-gold rope of hair, the model figure, the grace of movement. “Yes, she just popped in to say hello.” She tried a blithe smile, thinking fast.
“Damned odd.” Blaine looked like he was about to take after her, such a restless radiance about him.
“Not really.” Hilary rose, grasping her stepbrother’s arm. “She and her bridesmaids were having a girl’s night out. That was Genni’s BMW parked out the front. Not supposed to do it, of course, but trust Genni to pull it off. A pity. You just missed her.”
“And how was she?” Blaine bent his light lancing glance on his stepsister.
“Oh, lovely! Deliriously happy.” Hilary turned an innocent face to him. “I’ve never seen a girl so much in love.”
“The little fool!” Blaine’s hard, handsome mouth tightened. “He’ll never make her happy.”
“But he will, Blaine,” Hilary insisted, hugging her brother’s arm. “She’s the love of his life!”
And we’re finally free of her.
“Don’t,” Blaine warned, his voice so strange Hilary stared at him vaguely terrified.
“Where’s Sally?” she asked in an effort to divert him.
“She went home an hour ago.” Blaine was still frowning, looking more formidable by the minute. “Surely you knew? We went right past you and your friend.”
“I must have missed you,” Hilary lied. “Sally’s a darling. Mum and I are delighted she’s the woman in your life.”
“Don’t be so dim-witted,” Blaine responded impatiently, his eyes silver chips in his arresting dark face. “Your mother thinks no such thing. As for you? A bit of wishful thinking. Are you sure that’s all Genni wanted?” he insisted. “To say hello?”
“What else?” Hilary wanted to turn and bolt, instead she lightly punched his shoulder. “She’s on top of the world. I am family.”
“So why did you turn down the role of bridesmaid?” Blaine challenged, giving her that lancing look that always made her feel so exposed.
She tried to make a joke of it. “You know. Genni’s so tall. So are her friends. I didn’t want to be the little pipsqueak in the middle. Genni understood. Come and join us for a minute.” Hilary had a powerful nervous urge to draw her stepbrother away.
“No thanks.” Blaine glanced down at her. “I want to leave a message at the desk. Goodnight, Hills. Sweet dreams.”
She stood on tiptoe to kiss his lean cheek. “You, too, brother mine. It’s going to be a wonderful day tomorrow. Like Genni, I can’t wait.”
CHAPTER TWO
The Wedding Day
GENEVIEVE’S four bridesmaids, Tiffany, Montana, Penelope and Astrid, were scattered across her mother’s enormous bedroom chattering and laughing, high on excitement, making minute adjustments to their bridesmaid gowns in a glorious palette of turquoise, fuchsia, lilac and violet, fanning out the voluminous silk skirts, tweaking the short sleeves that ballooned out from the ravishing off-the-shoulder necklines, smoothing the narrow tapered waistlines—all of the girls had been on a strict diet for a month: light breakfast on the day, absolutely nothing until the reception—settling their beautiful floral headpieces, works of art in themselves that matched the colour spectrum of their gowns. Each wore a necklace of twisted palest pink freshwater pearls with the clasp worn to the front, specially chosen to compliment their wonderful dresses—blue topaz, pink tourmaline, amethyst, sapphire—all set in an 18-carat-gold bezel, gifts from the bridegroom, Colin Garrett, heir to George Garrett, the Freight King.
“You should think about getting into your dress now, Genni,” Angel urged, feeling a mite cross at her daughter’s inappropriate lack of enthusiasm. “It’s getting seriously late.” She turned to waggle her fingers at the chief bridesmaid, Tiffany, a statuesque honey-blonde, who walked into Angel’s dressing room “the size of a department store with twice as much merchandise” as Tiffany had confided to her mother and emerged holding Genni’s gown aloft.
“Here comes the bride,” Tiffany tried to speak playfully but she, too, was perturbed by the look in her friend’s eyes, so poignant it was painful to behold. It couldn’t just be nerves. Genevieve looked very much like she didn’t want to get married. Not to Colin Garrett anyway despite the fact many women including Tiffany herself found Colin very attractive.
“Wow!” Montana gave a mesmerized gasp as the others crowded around. “It’s so beautiful it takes my breath away.”
“Me, too!” Astrid agreed, visibly affected. Five times a bridesmaid, she was starting to feel like she was being passed over. But what a gorgeous creation was this gown! Thousands of seed pearls, tiny rhinestones and crystals glimmered on the tight-fitting off-the-shoulder ivory silk bodice, an exquisite pattern that was repeated around the hem of the beautiful billowing skirt.
“I can’t wait to see you in it, Genni.” Astrid, her shiny dark hair gathered into a deep upturned roll at the nape, looked towards her friend. “It’s so absolutely you. I have to see you in it. Come on. You’re so nervy you’re turning me white.”
Genevieve managed to laugh as she always laughed at her friend Astrid. “It seems to me I’m giving my life away.”
Obediently she lifted her long slender legs exquisitely shod in handmade satin courts, stepping into her gown and standing perfectly still while her mother made short work of the long zipper in the back.
“Good God, Genni you’ve got terribly thin,” Angel protested, giving an exasperated sigh. “The waistline could do with another tuck.”
“It’s all right,” Genni insisted, edging away quietly. “Don’t fuss, Angel. I want no fuss.”
“All right, my darling. All right.” Angel trilled, adopting a rare motherly tone to counteract Tiffany’s look of veiled censure. Cheek of the girl! Someone should remind her of her manners. Angel continued to stare into her daughter’s face, feeling a cold wave of panic.
Genevieve had tried to open her heart to her but she hadn’t wanted to listen. Still didn’t for that matter. She was so bloody desperate to get Genevieve married off to the right man. Someone who knew how to respect a beautiful mother-in-law and shower her with gifts. But under the silky golden tan she always had in summer Genni was very pale, her violet eyes so huge they dominated her small face. They seemed to be the only colour about her. Maybe her lipstick, in a luminous frosted rose, needed a heavier application, a touch more blusher? Angel concentrated hard.
“Now the veil!” Montana, the only one not feeling the tension or misinterpreting it as normal bridal jitters approached carrying the full-length tulle veil tenderly over her arm. The headpiece of three exquisite full-blown silk roses, pink and cream with touches of gold was already set in place. Genni was wearing her hair long and loose, the natural curl exaggerated by her hairdresser to suit the romantic conception.
“All right, sweetie?” Montana, very pretty with short caramel-coloured hair, looked at her friend carefully. A number of expressions flitted across Genevieve’s face. Enough to suddenly make warning bells go off in Montana’s head. Colin was very rich, a lot of fun, but admittedly he couldn’t hold a candle to someone like…someone like…well, someone like Genevieve’s cousin, for instance, Blaine Courtland, the big cattle baron. But he was family, the man who was giving Genevieve away. The man due to arrive in about ten minutes at the house.
“Genni’s a bit stressed.” Angel threw her daughter a bracing look. “Big weddings are always like this.” Together she and Montana adjusted the full-length two-tiered tulle veil edged with the finest band of crystals.
“You look truly beautiful, Genni. You bring tears to my eyes.” Montana very gently kissed her friend’s cheek. “I wish you all the happiness in the world. One thing’s certain, Colin will always make you laugh. If he hadn’t fallen in love with you I’d have been after him myself.”
“You were after him, darling,” Astrid slipped in somewhat tartly.
Montana snorted in self-derision. “With Genni around I didn’t stand a chance.”
“Hold up your head, Genni!” clucked Angel, looking absolutely delicious not to say saucy in a light-as-air, sheer-as-silk aquamarine chiffon with swirls of gold and a colourmatched confection on her head that looked like some fabulous intergalactic butterfly had landed. “And do please try to smile.”
Genevieve wasn’t sure she could. Conflicting emotions were threatening to overthrow her and she was starting to feel stomach cramps. On one level she couldn’t bear to be the cause of a dreadful scandal, the gossip columns would outdo each other in their efforts to blame her. Mention would be made of her notoriously fickle mother. She couldn’t bear to bring pain and humiliation to the perennially light-hearted Colin. He trusted her. He wanted her. She wasn’t absolutely sure he loved her. He certainly hadn’t shown her an excess of passion. She knew that now.
He didn’t like the way she was embroiled in the art scene, either. He gave no sign he was interested in her artistic talent, or indeed any artistic talent at all. She’d once dropped the name Jason Pollock into the conversation and Colin thought he was a property developer. His father, George Garrett, was certain to go ballistic. Even now she could hear his great booming voice in her ears, but George Garrett was the least of her worries.
She felt such a fool. Yes, fool was the right word. And one she had to live with. A fool nursing pure loss.
Blaine, as always, was right. She only wished to God he had never kissed her. Before that it had been so easy to hide from herself. Now she felt thoroughly exposed for what she was, a woman prepared to go through with a marriage because the groom had been extremely nice to her. Of course that could be attributed to the emotional deprivation of her childhood. How could she ever have imagined she was in love with Colin?
She was beginning to wonder if she even knew what love was. Overnight she’d turned into a different woman. She knew the why and when. That was when she should have found the courage to act instead of waiting until three hundred guests had put on their wedding finery and left for the church. She either had to go through with it to avoid a terrible mess or lock herself in her bedroom and refuse to come out. If only she could have spoken to Blaine last night. She had so desperately wanted to.
Weeping inwardly, she realised she had to summon up the strength to wipe Blaine from her mind. Blaine had his own life. His marriage to Sally was coming closer, as Hilary had confided. Genevieve just knew she couldn’t bear to be around when that happened. Blaine was lost to her. The very thought got her moving. An action that had Angel muttering a short prayer of gratitude.
“Party time!” she cried. “I’m not sure if you’re not the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Some people have all the luck,” Astrid murmured in an aside to Tiffany, which wasn’t exactly the most appropriate response.
“Well, let’s get moving people.” Angel clapped a little sharply. Exquisitely fashioned at a scant five-feet-nothing, Angel was nevertheless temperamental, demanding, something of a bully as Emmy could and did attest. “You look gorgeous, all of you,” she cooed, revelling in her soon to be new status of adored mother-in-law. “One final inspection before you go out the door. I can’t believe the big day has finally arrived.”
Floating down the giant central marble staircase that would have done justice to Scarlett O’Hara, Tiffany wished she’d surrendered to an early desire to talk her friend out of this marriage. “Angel’s euphoria doesn’t appear to have worn off on Genn. She looks like she wants to do a runner,” she whispered to Astrid, who by way of response grabbed Tiffany by her beautiful ballooning sleeve.
“Perfect! If Genn doesn’t want to marry him he can marry me.”
And there was worse to come. Downstairs Blaine Courtland had arrived. He stood in the marble-floored, flower-bedecked entrance hall, peonies, lilac branches, delphinium, roses, perfect carnations, looking upwards with eyes as brilliant as diamonds. He wore the traditional grey frock coat, grey trousers, waistcoat and a sapphire-blue satin cravat with a diamond stickpin, but his stunningly handsome face sported no smile. Indeed it appeared he, too, didn’t feel like a wedding, although it was common knowledge on the grapevine he had paid for the whole thing.
“God, isn’t he brilliant! The cattle baron,” Montana muttered to Penelope. She was thrilled to be moving in such a world of wealth and glamour. “I’m mad about dark smouldering types with a cleft in their chins. Purple passion, you know.” She gave Penelope a rather awful dig in the ribs.
“He’s spoken for, darling,” Penelope reminded her. “Sally Fenwick. Well-known pastoral family. Minor royalty.”
“Wouldn’t we all like to be,” Montana groaned. “But shouldn’t someone remind him it’s a wedding we’re going to. He looks a bit scary. For-mi-dab-leh as the French would say. I tell you, Tiff, there’s something going on.”
It was certainly starting to look like it. Genni didn’t look happy. Neither did her cousin who exactly fitted the picture of the sort of man Genni should have married, Tiffany thought even as she recognised that simply wasn’t on.
For as long as Tiffany had known Genni, coming up twelve years now, Genni had idolized her cousin, although of recent years Genni had confided he had hurt her badly by treating her as though she wasn’t really capable of managing her own affairs. “He can be awfully rough on me!” Tiffany remembered Genni’s exact words. This marriage had to be one of those times. Both young women in their conversations had made extravagant attempts to steer clear of any rapids. It was Angel who had engineered the whole wedding, Tiffany suddenly realised, making glorious lovers out of just good friends.
Her heart labouring in her chest, Genevieve hugged the polished railing as she made her way slowly down the staircase to the magnificent gallery-style entrance hall supported by massive marble columns. Angel was seriously into drama though to Genni’s eyes there was always an over-abundance of everything.
But on this day of all days she didn’t notice the artworks, the soaring fresco ceiling, breathtaking chandelier and grand golden console and mirror with so much ormulu it would have looked a whole lot better at Versailles. She only had eyes for Blaine. Loving him as she now found she did had to be her tragic secret. He looked magnificent but so stern-faced staring up at her, such a glitter to his eyes she felt like she was drowning in a silver lake.
Yet when she finally reached him, as though drawn by a powerful magnet, he bent his crown black head to kiss her cheek. “Hello, cherub,” he murmured. “You look exquisite. I knew you would.” His voice dropped lower, for her ears only. “I want to tell you, Genni, I’ll always be here for you. No matter what happens. I’ll never let anyone hurt you. Or make you unhappy.”
She made a small sound of agony, her violet eyes burning in her pale face. “Oh, Blaine! Why couldn’t I talk to you last night?” she implored.
Instantly his black brows drew together and his lean powerful body radiated a kind of menace. “You wanted to talk to me when you came to the hotel?” he questioned, his voice with an imperative note to it.
Electric tension seemed to be flashing all around them. It was in his face, in his remarkable eyes. She was afraid where it could lead. “It’s all right, Blaine.” Her voice vibrated a little wildly. “All right. It would have been too late anyway.”
“What?” He grasped her two hands and took them firmly in his own. “I need to know what you mean, Genni? Don’t be afraid.”
But I am afraid, she thought passionately. Afraid of you and what you mean to me. Afraid of my own feelings that have grown and grown like some monstrous secret flower.
“All right there, Blaine, Genni?” Angel who had been concentrating on fastening the clasp of her diamond bracelet that matched the sunburst on her shoulder now called, shooting anxious eyes at them. She had always been aware on some deep unprobed level Blaine and her daughter shared an unbreakable bond.
Blaine ignored her, his entire attention focused on Genni. “Genni, you’ve got to tell me the truth.” His voice was low and taut. “Do you love this man?”
There was a moment of rushing silence. It was now or never. Then she remembered Sally. Sally at this year’s celebratory Polo Ball with Blaine’s gorgeous orchid pinned to her evening dress. Sally beaming with pride as people turned to see her and Blaine together. Sally looking for Blaine the moment he moved out of sight, eyes moving rapidly around the room. Sally hugging his arm.
“I must do, Blaine,” Genni answered quietly. “I’m going to marry him.”
“This is something you really want?” Clearly he still didn’t believe her.
“God, Blaine, you’re so unrelenting.” Wanting to punish him as he had punished her, she spoke fiercely, in so much pain, so much pride, it was important she stop him from questioning her further. It was all too late. Colin had pursued and won her. Not Blaine. No matter what, Blaine was lost to her.
“I’m sorry.” He dropped her hands at once, his dark high-mettled face now closed against her. “Forgive me. I wish you all the happiness in the world.”
“I know you don’t,” Genni found herself responding wildly, too far gone to care. They were almost on the verge of one of their monumental arguments.
“Be careful what you say,” Blaine warned, his eyes narrowed to mere slits.
In the entrance hall everyone stood around absolutely enthralled by what was going on between Genni and her commanding cousin. Although no one could make out what was being said, the body language told them heaps. There was grief, anger, and hurt, a raging that looked like antagonism. Genni’s face was still very white but a high colour burned her cheeks. From stillness she had burst into abandoned brilliant life.
It wasn’t looking good. Angel had the dismal feeling the two of them might just up and away. On the point of desperation, concerned for their every move, Angel stepped in. “Photographs people!” She turned swiftly to snap her fingers at the society photographer, Bernard, famous for his designer weddings, who gave no indication whatsoever he saw or heard her. “Then we really should be leaving for the church.”
“There’s time, Angelica.” Blaine glanced briefly at his watch feeling like a lion wanting to protect its young. No one was going to push Genni into marriage. “Anyway, isn’t it fashionable to be late?”
It was unless one had a great deal of worry on one’s mind. Blaine was a man capable of anything, Angel thought, hustling them all into the spectacular formal living room with its breathtaking views of Sydney Harbour.
“You’re over here, Blaine, next to me,” she cooed, hoping to God Blaine would calm down.
Such was the severity of Blaine Courtland’s expression everyone was amazed when he actually crossed the floor to tower over the petite Angel, five-three, and she was wearing high heels.
“I don’t like the way Genni is acting,” he told Angel, staring across the room at her. “If she’s not entirely happy about this marriage, there’s still time to bail out.”
Just when Angel had a horror Genni was about to do just that. “Blaine, darling, you can’t be serious?” A superb actress, she sounded amazed. “Every single day Genni has been telling me how happy she is. How much she loves Colin. They were made for each other. Soul mates!”
“Rubbish!” Blaine corrected very bluntly. “When you’re madly in love with someone you don’t look like Genni does now. I know her too well.”
“But goodness, darling, you’ve never been madly in love with anyone, so how would you know?”
“Simple. You really should take time off to try and understand your daughter. Anyway, any woman I’ve been involved with is still my friend, which is a damned sight more than you can say of your two husbands and assortment of gigolos.”
“You loved saying that, didn’t you, darling?” Angel, unfazed by the hard truth, pulled a little face. “Sometimes, Blaine, you can be absolutely dreadful.”
“When Genni’s happiness and well-being is put on the line, yes,” he acknowledged brusquely. “Look at her, Angel. Forget yourself and your plans. Look at Genni. She’s as white as a snowdrop.” His glittering grey gaze was directed to the centre of the overly grand room where Genni was being posed by Bernard in front of the white marble fireplace. It was adorned with a great abundance of white roses and green tracery topped and outdone by a large portrait of Angel in a deliciously low-cut blue-satin ballgown painted during the halcyon days of her ill-fated first marriage.
“God, I don’t believe this,” Blaine muttered blaming himself for not simply kidnapping the bride. A hundred vivid memories of Genevieve flitted through his head. The adorable two-year-old with her radiant violet eyes and riot of platinum curls.
He’d been ten years old when his father’s favourite cousin, Stephen, had brought his little daughter to Jubilee. A difficult ten-year-old, hard to handle. A boy who already knew despair because his beautiful mother had abandoned him and his father and run off with her lover. An event so unexpected, so out of character, he sometimes thought he was still in a state of shock.
Genni had come into his life at the right time. Over the years he had given her all the love his heart could hold. She was so innocent, so vulnerable, so sweet-sassy intelligent, so generous with her affections.
As Stephen and Angel drifted further and further apart Genni had come to spend more time at Jubilee where she was back with her “cherished” Blaine. How close they had been then. It seemed he had taught her everything. How to swim, how to ride, how to handle a gun, how to find her way around the bush, how to survive. What he hadn’t been able to teach her was how to pick the right men. In fact from about seventeen he’d been in despair about Genni’s choices. Not a one good enough for her.
