Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress (13 page)

‘Sunday?’ Amy paled, her hand tightening on her cup. ‘That’s too soon.’

‘No. It’s not. He’s been looking for you for too many years. I need your word, and I need your phone number.’

Amy nodded. ‘Okay. Might as well get it over.’

She gave Didi her number, Didi stored it in her phone, then slipped it back in her bag. ‘Remember, he loves you. Now, let’s you and I get to know each other.’

‘Calm down, you look fantastic and everything’s under control,’ Cameron reassured her as they headed into the gallery.

It was early, no one was here yet, but in half an hour the place would be full. Full of people who would be looking at her work. Influential people. Judging her creativity. Analysing her style and probably comparing it with Sheila’s.

Bats were flapping their wings in her stomach; she’d kill for a glass of water. Or something stronger. She wiped her palms down her thighs as they entered the gallery. ‘Oh…’

On the feature wall.
The Eternal Flame. Artist: Didi O’Flanagan.

She couldn’t help it; she rushed over and traced her name with a finger, tears springing to her eyes. ‘I can’t believe it.’

‘Believe it,’ said the deep voice she’d become so familiar with.

She took a few steps backwards for the full effect and looked at it through someone else’s eyes. Vermilion silk threads leapt from the background of black silk. Living flames insinuating themselves in an abstract yet intricate design around silver filigree and smoked driftwood.

A glance around showed her smaller pieces amongst other artists’ works. Her Temptation piece hung by itself on another wall.

‘You’ll be taking a lot of orders tonight, I guarantee it. Congratulations.’

‘You’ve done a wonderful job with the displays. Thank you. For everything.’ Their eyes met. This was it. Soon it would be time to say goodbye. Her commission was finished, their time was up. Why did the happiest night of her life have to be the saddest?

Cam saw the emotion in her eyes but, hard as it was to keep from responding, he wasn’t saying anything yet. Later tonight he hoped to talk her into staying on longer. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could even think about taking their relationship to a new level. Although what that new level might look like was still unclear.

She looked stunning, as unique as her art. Like a model in a fashion magazine. Leggings in fabric of a black and white geometric puzzle reached to mid calf. She wore a sleeveless T-shirt in a similar pattern topped with a macraméd concoction of thin strips of grey leather and burgundy wooden beads. A heavy necklace of similar beads in dark red, black and ivory hung to her waist. Five wooden beaded bracelets adorned her arms. She had silver glitter in her spiked hair.

And he knew she wore his diamond necklace hidden next to her skin.

Two hours later he watched her talking animatedly with an art critic while photographers snapped pictures. She’d spoken to a throng of journalists. He’d heard her being touted as an emerging star in the art world. People were buying; not only her works but others. Champagne flowed as artists he’d supported celebrated.

‘She’s talented,’ a female voice said behind him to another woman beside her.

Pride swelled inside him. Of course she was.

‘Yes,’ the other woman replied. ‘She dropped off the social scene a few years ago. There were rumours…I heard she was virtually stood up at the altar.’

Cam stiffened, tempted to turn around and demand to know it all.

‘Really?’ The woman’s interest was clearly piqued by this information.

‘Such a shame; she was so looking forward to setting up house and starting a family. She was devastated. You know who she is, don’t you? James O’Flanagan’s daughter.’

James
O’Flanagan? Didi’s father—her family—was up there with royalty amongst Sydney’s elite?

Shock slammed Cam mid-chest. His entire body felt as if it were losing structure, his foundations collapsing around him. How could he not have realised? He should have connected the name.

And it changed everything.

Bernie Boyd’s son and James O’Flanagan’s daughter…impossible. His hands balled into fists in his pockets. The press would waste no time digging up the dirt on him, tabloids would have a field day, and Didi’s reputation as an emerging artist would be ruined—the public were an unforgiving lot.

Not to mention what James himself would have to say.

Cam didn’t know the man personally but the way he’d treated his daughter was beneath contempt. At least Veronica had sent her apologies; she had a prior engagement, which apparently took precedence over her sister’s special night. Her parents hadn’t even acknowledged her invitation and Cam knew she was disappointed. What did that say about them?

He shuddered to think what the news about his background would do to the new career she’d fought so hard for. Here was Cam about to suggest their relationship continue. Unthinkable now. As if James O’Flanagan would approve of a live-in relationship for his daughter with the son of a criminal—hell, did O’Flanagan already know?

And Cam couldn’t offer her anything more. Didi might not judge him the way Katrina had but she hadn’t been totally honest about who she was either—what else hadn’t she told him?

She hadn’t told him she wanted a home and family some day.

And she deserved it—but he couldn’t give her that, not with his background and his inability to commit. Better to get tonight over with as soon as and as sensitively as possible.

Feeling as if she were dancing on clouds, Didi floated out of the elevator then twirled around and planted a kiss on Cameron’s mouth. ‘Wasn’t it wonderful? Spectacular? I’m a success! They’re publishing an article in
Textiles
magazine
and The Age.
A TV interview, three more commissions—
huge
commissions—and every piece sold!’

Cameron smiled against her lips. ‘I never doubted it.
You
were wonderful.’ He kissed her again, his arms tightening around her. ‘Spectacular.’

She wanted to linger a moment more but it seemed Cameron had other ideas because he broke contact and stepped back. ‘Why the mysterious expression?’ she asked.

‘I have a surprise.’

‘Am I going to like it? You look kind of…’ Sad. Troubled. Now that she thought about it, he’d been quiet most of the way home. Probably because he hadn’t been able to get a word in.

As he opened the apartment door the scent of flowers drifted out. She stared in disbelief. Bowls of roses covered every available surface. ‘Oh…You arranged all this?’ Her heart slammed against her chest as she took in the dining room. The finest dinnerware gleamed, two candles flickered in the centre of the table, their glow reflected in the night-darkened window. A bottle of champagne cooled in an ice-bucket. Dreamy Frank Sinatra love songs wafted from the stereo.

Romance, she thought. Who knew that Cameron Black knew how to do romance? Anticipation flickered along her veins like fireflies as he pulled out a chair.

‘Sit,’ he told her as he took a crisp napkin from her plate. He set it on her lap, then uncovered the silver dishes. ‘I knew you wouldn’t have time to eat at the gallery.’

‘You were right,’ she said, eyeing the supper. A plate of cold Italian antipasto, smoked salmon and capers with lemon wedges. A green salad. Two fluted glasses filled with a rainbow of exotic fruits, jelly and cream.

Again her stomach was jittering, her heart racing. A man didn’t go to all this trouble unless he had something important to say. Did he?

He popped the cork, poured the bubbly and handed her a glass before sitting down himself and raising his own. ‘To your success, Didi.’

His eyes, she thought, such emotion in his eyes. Anticipation fizzed inside her like the champagne bubbles tickling her nose. ‘To
our
success. Your gallery—the whole complex—is going to help so many people.’

With their gazes spearing each other across the table they took a sip, set their glasses down. She waited, breathless for him to say something more.

He forked some antipasto onto her plate, then his own. ‘What are your plans now, Didi?’

She blinked.
Her
plans? That wasn’t what she’d expected to hear and the bubbles in her system deflated a little. A lot. She’d hoped he’d suggest some plans that included both of them. Together. ‘I…um…I’m not sure yet. It kind of depends…’ She waited for him to take her cue.

He bit into a cherry tomato, chewed a long time. ‘Stay on here a few more days if you want to think about it. Unwind before you find somewhere else.’

Her heart stopped. Literally stopped. She was surprised it started again because it felt as if he’d sliced it open and her blood seemed to have drained into her feet. How could he sound so…detached after what they’d shared over the past three weeks?

What had she expected? It was over.
When the time’s up I walk away, no complications on either side.
The deal—she’d said it herself. And meant it. How could she argue now?

‘Thank you. But I’ll be looking for somewhere tomorrow.’ Her voice seemed to be coming from outside her. On the stereo Old Blue Eyes was singing about only having eyes for you, dear. Cameron couldn’t have made a worse choice in music if he’d tried.

His eyes didn’t meet hers as he said, ‘There’s no rush.’

‘Oh, I think there is.’

He reached out, touched her fingers. ‘It’s been fun, hasn’t it?’

‘Fun.’ She remembered their first kiss.
It was fun, Cameron.
Her own words mocked her.

‘I’ve enjoyed our time together.’

‘Yes…’ She pulled her fingers away. He let her.

‘Didi. The trick is not taking these kinds of arrangements too seriously.’

‘You’re so right. If you’ll excuse me, I feel a migraine coming on. I…Thank you for…’ she waved a trembling hand over the table ‘…this.’ Somehow she made herself stand. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll need to sleep it off on my own. I’ll just grab my stuff…’

Clutching her toiletries and fisting hot tears away, she closed the spare bedroom door behind her, leaned back against it. What had that poster said?
He’s not the man you think he is.
She still didn’t know what Katrina had meant by that, but she’d been right: he wasn’t.

He was more.

And somehow that was worse.

It was over.

C
AM
braced his arms on the table, mashed his lips together and forced himself not to react visibly in any way as he watched Didi disappear down the passage. But inside…

Inside, some black beast was using Cam’s heart as a punching bag. He had to clamp his hands to the table top to stop himself from going after her and telling her what this evening’s supper had
really
been about.

Forget the rules they’d made, he’d been going to say. To hell with the three-week agreement. He wanted more, a lot more, and he knew she did too.

Okay, so he didn’t do long-term—there’d be no harm in exploring where their relationship might go, right?

Until he’d learned who she was.

Pushing up, he extinguished the candles, killed the music, then scraped the barely touched supper into the bin. He figured neither of them would feel like eating any leftovers from the evening.

He sloshed more champagne into his glass, then took it out to the sky garden to watch the stars. Her big night ruined by this stupid idea of supper. A mistake of gigantic proportions. It could have been a night to celebrate success if their three-week arrangement on the side hadn’t happened.

If falling in love with her hadn’t happened.

He shook his head, blew out a long breath. For a man who didn’t do commitment that was one hell of an admission.

His heart cramped with pain. And guilt. Because his loving her would be the worst thing that could happen to her, and it was all his fault. A man with his background wasn’t good enough for Katrina, daughter of a future prime minister. He’d never come up to scratch for someone like James O’Flanagan’s daughter.

She must never know.

He hurled his glass against the wall, watched it shatter. Like the pieces of his heart. The heart he’d sworn to keep intact.

He rolled out of bed at five a.m. How could he rest with the knowledge that she was leaving? How could he sleep with her scent on the pillow? Shaking his head to clear the memory of that fragrance against her skin, he saw yesterday’s discarded clothes still on the floor—typical Didi. He was about to scoop them up and put them in the clothes hamper…but that wasn’t going to work any more. She’d have no use for the hamper now.

It would be best all round if he stayed away today, he thought as he cleared away reminders of last night in the kitchen. He was still holding the candlesticks and wondering what he could do about the roses when Didi put in her appearance.

‘Morning.’ Her voice betrayed little of the emotion he’d seen last night. Tight, polite. Civilised. As if they were strangers.

And she had to work bloody hard at it, he thought. Her lips were a thin slash in a white face, her eyes shaded by her pink-tinted glasses.

Because everything looks rosy on the greyest of days. Even you.

‘Good morning.’ His own voice, tight and formal. He set the candlesticks on the kitchen bench with exaggerated control.

He must remember:
James O’Flanagan’s daughter. She needs a career boost, she doesn’t need you.

She took juice from the fridge, poured herself a glass. ‘I’m packing my stuff. Is it okay to store what I don’t need here until I can make other arrangements?’

‘Fine.’

‘And my Temptation piece, you will make sure it comes back safely, won’t you.’

Ah-h-h…‘Didi…Temptation was sold last night.’

She spun around, her eyes flashing fire. ‘It was
not
for sale.’

‘I’m sorry. The gallery assistant didn’t know. It fetched a tidy sum of money.’ And named a five-figure sum.

‘Money had nothing to do with it.’ But her voice calmed some and he could see her working the figure through and coming up with
Wow.
Still, she said, ‘You had
no
right.
No right at all,
to let that happen.’

‘The gallery’s profits from the sale will go towards a good cause.’ He turned away, busied himself wiping down the kitchen sink while he let her think about that. ‘I’ll be out of your way most of the day so you can take your time.’

‘You will be home this evening, won’t you?’

He turned back to see her eyes dart to his then away. Wary or concerned? Or something else…

‘I can be,’ he said, cautious. ‘Why?’

She lifted a shoulder, taking an interest in the bottom of her glass. ‘It’s just I’ve got that free candlelight dinner. We may as well use it before I go. The table’s booked for seven p.m. I’ll be busy till then so I’ll meet you there.’

Part of him wanted to leap at a second chance, another part warned him that leaping into anything remotely connected with Didi was very unwise at this juncture. He stayed where he was. ‘I’d like that.’ It was too easy to step closer, to breathe her in. ‘We don’t have to be strangers.’ Friends. Only friends.

She rinsed her glass, busied herself drying it. ‘Give me a call when you’re in town, then.’

‘In town?’

‘I’m going home. To Sydney.’

It shouldn’t hurt. He shouldn’t feel as if he’d been sliced and diced. She was cutting ties, not flesh. An hour’s flight away.

A world away.

‘Didi, your art, the gallery…’
Me.

She put the glass away, folded the tea towel precisely and hung it on the rail. ‘The beauty of what I do is I can work anywhere. I’ll continue to display my work in your gallery, if you want it.’

‘Of course I do.’

She turned around, her back against the sink, hands spread either side along the counter top—the counter top where they’d shared that first skyscraper-demolishing kiss. Her eyes met Cam’s and they were clear and direct for the first time this morning. ‘It’s time to talk with my parents. We have issues to resolve…I’ll be staying with them a while.’

‘You didn’t tell me who your father is.’ He could hear the accusation behind his own casually spoken words.

‘No.’ And her voice revealed her own surprise that he knew.

‘I heard it mentioned. Last night.’

She nodded slowly and those clear eyes pierced his, searched his. Challenged his. ‘I guess we both have our secrets, Cameron Black.’

Then she walked away and he had no choice—no bloody choice—but to let her go.

Didi packed what she needed to take to Sydney. The rest she put into boxes and stored them where Cameron had put them before she’d arrived here. When she was done, she rang Amy and arranged to meet her at the Candle-side restaurant at six forty-five p.m. Then she let herself out of the apartment and walked. Anywhere. Everywhere. Until it was time to play the last scene.

When Cam arrived home to dress for dinner he found the place empty. Since she’d told him she’d meet him at the restaurant, he showered, dressed and arrived at precisely seven p.m.

As he stepped inside candles of every colour, size and shape imaginable illuminated the restaurant, giving it a cosy ambience. He didn’t see Didi.

‘Did you have a reservation, sir?’ A neatly pressed waiter appeared with a couple of menus.

‘I’m meeting Ms O’Flanagan. She doesn’t seem to be here yet.’

The waiter nodded. ‘Right this way.’ He led Cam to a row of booths along the back wall. ‘Here we are, sir.’

‘No…this…’ His voice disintegrated as familiar blue eyes so like his own looked back at him. Not dulled with drugs and depression and lack of interest as he remembered, but smiling and clear and alive. His heart spun a circle inside his chest, and somewhere deep inside him an ache that had embedded itself there for fourteen years dissolved.

‘Hello, big brother.’

He slid into the booth before his legs crumbled beneath him. ‘Amy.’ His voice barely rose above a whisper. ‘How…?’

‘Didi set it up.’ Amy poured a glass of water from a pitcher, set it in front of him.

His hand shook as he reached for the glass and lifted it to numb lips. He took a long slow sip to steady himself before he spoke. ‘I don’t understand.’ How long had Didi known and kept it a secret from him? ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he muttered, and slid along the seat to crush his sister against him. To inhale fresh citrus shampoo instead of stale booze and dope.

‘Where
is
Didi?’ he asked finally, still holding Amy, unable to let go.

‘She stayed long enough to make sure I didn’t run out on you.’

‘She was here?’ Cam looked about him, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

Amy nodded. ‘She’s seen me outside your apartment. She
caught up with me the other day and we had a long talk.’ She twined her fingers with his, her eyes glinting in the candlelight. ‘Now you and I are going to talk. Starting with the last time I saw you…’

‘You love her, don’t you.’

Cam’s fingers tightened on his coffee cup. ‘It’s not that simple, Amy.’

‘Yes. It is.’ Amy’s piercing blue gaze met his. ‘You love someone you don’t give up on them. Ever. You never gave up on me when you could have turned your back and walked away from a hopeless case.’

‘This is different.’ He stared into his coffee. ‘Our relationship was only ever temporary.’

‘So she says. You—’

He shook his head. ‘She and her family have issues they need to sort out right now. She needs space.’ But his heart was stirring to life in a way he’d never felt before. Was he ready to lay that heart on the line again?

Didi watched the reunion scene from a discreet distance through the restaurant’s windows. In the dim candlelight Cameron was so focused on his sister, she knew he wouldn’t notice her. But she could watch him for one more moment. A last glimpse through blurry eyes before she tore her gaze away and hurried to the waiting taxi outside.

Three hours later she was standing outside her parents’ Rose Bay mansion with two bulging suitcases. She punched in the security code and the high wrought-iron gates swung open on smooth oiled hinges. The panorama of lawn and paved driveway stretched in front of her like a marathon course.

Head high, Didi.
She’d done what she’d set out to do. She was a success. There should be a trumpet fanfare for her return, or at least two people waiting on the steps with open arms.

So why did she feel like a little girl again trying to win her parents’ approval?

The porch light winked on but the house was in darkness as she rolled her suitcases up the drive.

She rang the bell, heard it echo down the hall. A neighbour’s dog barked and the sounds of night stirred in the nearby rose bushes.

Digging out her old key, she fitted it to the lock and let herself in. The door opened with its well-known scrape of wood against wood. She hoped they hadn’t changed the security code as she tapped it in but no ear-splitting noise eventuated.

Familiar scents assaulted her nostrils. Mum’s French perfume and the smell of old carpet. The Ming vase still sat on the antique rosewood table in the hall.

Nothing had changed.

Everything had changed.

She dragged her cases upstairs, hesitated at her parents’ bedroom door. The familiar gold rose-sprigged quilt but the paintwork was new. She wrote a quick note, left it on the bed, then headed to her old room.

Everything was as she’d left it. Pink. It was like stepping back years and that feeling of suffocation with it.
No.
This time it would be different, she told herself, shaking it away, unzipping her case and dragging out her toiletries.

She was going to work here—in Sydney. The only contact with Cameron Black would be through email when she had pieces to deliver. Apart from that, she would not think about him, ever again.

Bathroom ritual complete, she climbed into bed…

The next thing Didi was aware of was daylight and her mother watching her with tears misting her grey eyes. Her complexion was smooth as ever, and only her mum’s hair could look as if it had been salon-done first thing in the morning—even if it had a few more streaks of silver than the last time she’d seen her.

Her own eyes filled. ‘Mum.’

‘Didi. Is everything all right? You’re not in any kind of trouble, are you?’

‘No. I should have let you know I was coming, but it was…kind of sudden.’ She pushed up, ran a hand over her own tousled hair. ‘I had thought I might see you and Dad on Saturday night.’

‘Saturday night, dear?’

‘You didn’t get my invitation?’

‘We just got back from the airport a short time ago. We’ve been up to Hayman Island for a couple of weeks. What invitation? Oh, Didi…’ Her voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes widened. ‘Not…’

Didi waved a hand. Clearly her mother thought she’d been fool enough to fall in love and be dumped again. ‘No, Mum. Nothing like that.’ She swung her legs over the bed, optimism flooding through her as she realised her parents hadn’t come to her special night because they hadn’t known. ‘The gallery opening. I was commissioned—extremely generously—to do the focal piece of artwork for a new gallery supporting local artists. Did Veronica tell you?’

‘She mentioned something about your work. And that you were living with a man.’ Only a glint of disapproval in her eyes. ‘At a very exclusive address.’

Ah, that made it okay, then, Didi thought, resentment burning beneath her breast. A man like Cameron Black with his money and power would always be welcome here.

Not to her, he wouldn’t. Because she wouldn’t let him be.

‘We’ve been waiting for you to tell us,’ her mother said. She brushed a hand over Didi’s hair.

A simple gesture. Only a mother’s love could trigger the emotion that washed over Didi, threatening to drown her. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to know…’

Her mum smiled. ‘Of course we want to know.
You
cut us out of your life, Didi.’

‘No.’ She shook her head, reached for her mother and was enveloped by the warm familiarity of her slender yet sturdy shoulders. Shoulders she desperately needed, she realised. ‘I’m sorry we argued. I needed to find my own niche.’

‘We know you did, dear. We’ll talk about that later, with your father. Right now I’m more concerned with what’s brought you home after all this time.’ She leaned back, her grey eyes searching Didi’s and pinpointing it with dead accuracy. ‘
He
did, didn’t he? The man who gave you the chance you’ve been waiting for.’