Read The Collector's Edition Volume 1 Online
Authors: Emma Darcy
The Collector's Edition Volume 1 (34 page)
M
ICHAEL
finished negotiating the purchase arrangements with the real estate agent and went in search of Lauren, who had wandered off to take another look at the garden. It gave him a pleasurable sense of achievement to have found the kind of family home that appealed to her. Above all, he wanted her to feel happy in it.
She shouldn’t be out in this heat, he thought, feeling the full blaze of the midafternoon February sun as he strode down the path to the landscaped harbour frontage. The baby was due any day now. Lauren should be resting.
His concern eased when he spotted her standing under the shade of a tree. She didn’t see him coming. She seemed unaware of anything around her, absorbed in some world of her own. He stopped, reluctant to break her private enthralment, the stillness that captured a beauty so special it caught at his heart. He wanted to drink her in, to record this picture of her in his memory forever.
Her head was slightly lowered, looking down, her lids half-closed, long lashes shading her eyes. Her expression was pensive, a hint of a smile softly curving her lips. The wild mass of her burnished curls was tied from her face, fastened by a leather
string at the nape of her neck, keeping the flow of it restricted to a thick tumble down her back.
The loose sundress she wore was mainly white with a pretty print of tiny red carnations and green leaves. The neckline was low, dipping to the swell of her breasts. Her arms were bare, slender, graceful. One hand held a large straw hat, its brim decorated with a long spray of red carnations.
A breeze from the water moulded the fabric of her dress to her belly, revealing how big she was with child. To Michael she looked breathtakingly beautiful, aglow with inner contentment, soft and serene and infinitely seductive—his wife, waiting for the birth of their baby.
He approached quietly, but she sensed him near and turned to smile at him as he moved behind her to slide his arms around her waist and gently hold the weight she carried. Her head tilted onto his shoulder, a long sigh eloquently expressing her pleasure in the embrace.
“All done?” she asked.
“It will probably take six weeks before it’s completely settled, but don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”
“I know. You always do.”
“I love you,” he murmured, nuzzling her ear.
“Mmm. I’m going to need a lot more loving, Michael. I think I had my third contraction about fifteen minutes ago.”
Excitement shot through him. “You mean.”
She laughed and turned to slide her hands around his neck, her cornflower blue eyes lit with the same
excitement. “Can you handle taking your pregnant wife to hospital?”
“For you I can handle anything,” he promised huskily.
Twelve long, nerve-tearing, emotion-laden hours later, Michael had an excruciating awareness that Lauren handled some things better than he did, but he staunchly stood by, pouring out intense waves of love to make up for the pain.
Then, like a miracle, the ordeal was over, and a nurse laid a squalling infant in his arms, and it was his son, his and Lauren’s son, a perfect piece of magic that mended everything because Lauren looked at him with tears of joy in her eyes and a smile that made his heart fill up again and overflow with so many emotions he knew he could never forget this moment as long as he lived. Lauren, making this happen for him.
Mary Magee, Lauren’s mother, flew to Sydney the next day, bringing with her the well wishes of the family and showering Michael with her pleasure in her new grandchild. So different from his grandmother, he thought, rejoicing in the difference and loving Lauren all the more for drawing him into belonging to a real family.
Tasha and Evan visited, warmly congratulating them. Evan’s book had been a best-seller, and he had written a sequel, which Global was to publish for the coming Christmas market. Lauren had pushed for this time slot, and while she now had a full-time assistant to do the legwork of her publicity
schedules, she had promised Evan she would personally handle all the media arrangements for him and his new book.
It kept running through Michael’s mind-Lauren made things happen. Good things. Wonderful things. Incredible things.
To his utter amazement, Peter took it into his head to fly home to Australia for the first time in years and suddenly turned into a doting uncle-his brother, who had determinedly turned his back on anything related to the family he had been born into.
“I’m going to keep on checking that you bring him up right,” Peter warned. “We didn’t have much of an example, Michael.”
“Lauren did,” he answered happily and proudly, though privately pleased that Peter now had someone he could let himself care for. Another miracle.
Peter grinned at Lauren. “I can see how successful she’s been at looking after you, big brother. You’re a very lucky man. Happiness becomes you.”
Looking after him. The insight burst through Michael’s mind. It was so true. Lauren filled his heart, fed his soul, gave him the looking after he’d never known before he had met her. She made so many differences to his life.
On top of Peter’s unexpected descent on them came Aunt Rose from Italy. Having viewed the new generation, she declared him a Timberlane through and through, the spitting image of one of Michael’s great-uncles who’d captained a ship that had been
lost at sea. She commanded Michael to bring Lauren to Capri in the near future, because she knew just the artist who would do her justice and she ought to be painted at the height of her beauty.
Magic, Michael decided, the special magic of a woman who loved openly and honestly, the woman who had walked into his life one dark night to give him the light of her love, making his life glow with a new and happy purpose-looking after Lauren and the family they made together.
He searched for words to express what she had done for him, but despite all the words he had read in a multitude of books and manuscripts, he could not find any that satisfied him. In the end he simply held her as she nursed their baby son and spoke from the fullness of his heart.
“Thank you, Lauren.”
“For him?” she asked.
“Yes. But mostly for you.”
She smiled at him, her eyes the blue of summer skies, bathing him with a warmth that reached deeply into his soul. “I love you, Michael.”
And that, of course, was the answer to everything.
She loved him.
Emma Darcy
A brave prince, she thought. Brave to take me on, and all the baggage I bring with me.
She looked down at their hands, feeling the strength of his seep into her veins. A helping hand, a loving hand, a hand she could hold on to. It wouldn’t slip away from her, would it?
Trust me.
But could she trust herself to do right by him? She was no longer sure what
right
was. Only that Keir’s hand felt right in hers. Was that enough on which to let the past go and forge a future together?
Dear Reader,
For many years my husband and I shared a communication that crossed all barriers between us and opened up doors we hadn’t known existed. We explored each other’s private inner worlds in ways that brought us much closer together. Frank became more and more involved with the stories I was writing, contributing ideas and slants I would never have thought of myself. We enjoyed developing them together, bouncing thoughts off each other, stretching for the optimum result in whatever story we were creating.
Frank suffered a stroke, then a heart attack just before Christmas 1994. He passed away on 14 March 1995.
He wanted me to go on writing. So I sent my first solo book to London. My editor loved it. She said the hero was wonderful. I smiled. The hero is everything my husband was to me. The book is called
Their Wedding Day,
and you are just about to read it.
Do enjoy the book and think of Frank while you are reading it.
Best wishes
Emma Darcy
R
OWENA
couldn’t let go without putting up a fight. A seven-year marriage didn’t end overnight. There had to be some way to fix it, some way to stop what was happening. She had to see for herself this woman who had turned Phil’s heart so cold to her and their children. She had to know what she was up against.
Despite the steady determination she had fostered from their home in Killarney Heights to Phil’s work place at Chatswood, nerves fluttered sickeningly through Rowena’s stomach as she drove into the basement car park of the Delahunty building. Her eyes quickly scanned the row of reserved spaces for staff. She didn’t want Phil to be here. If someone told him she had come, he might try to prevent her from confronting the situation head on.
His red Mazda convertible was nowhere in sight. Rowena breathed a long, tremulous sigh of relief. As she manoeuvred the family Ford sedan into a parking bay, it suddenly slid through her mind that Phil might have lied to her about the flashy sports car being an impulse buy. Had he been re-imaging himself to impress the other woman? If so, what kind of love needed sexy status symbols?
Rowena wouldn’t concede it was love, no matter what Phil said. This was another one of his flirtations, an ego boost that had somehow gone too far, probably pushed by the woman. Phil was a very attractive man. He earned a high income as Delahunty’s chief property buyer. He was a catch in most women’s eyes.
But she was his wife, and the flirtations had never meant anything before. A bit of fun. Phil had always assured her of that. Although it hadn’t been fun for her, and it certainly wasn’t fun now.
The shock announcement last night that he was leaving her for another woman, leaving her and their children and their home, had been so devastating she had barely been able to think, let alone try to change his decision. She hadn’t even suspected their marriage was at risk.
It shouldn’t be. Not when they had shared so much together, had so much together. Rowena would not accept what was happening. Not without a fight.
Some shallow infatuation…that was all it could be. Propinquity at the office. She had to believe that. She had to. Or seven years of her life lost their meaning.
She switched off the engine and checked her reflection in the driving mirror. Hours of weeping had robbed her green eyes of any sparkle, but at least the skilfully applied make-up concealed the shadows under them. Her eyelashes were long
enough and thick enough to veil the slightly puffy lids.
The ruby-red lipstick looked rather stark against her pale skin but she had read in last Sunday’s newspaper that vibrant shades were part of power dressing and gave a woman clout. Rowena was not about to appear wimpish to her rival. She might be a housewife but she was no walkover.
She brushed her fingers across the fringe that kept the thick curtain of her black hair from falling over her face. It needed a trim. Maybe she should have done something dramatic like getting her hair cut into a short-cropped style, make Phil take a second look at her, but he had always said he liked her hair long. The shoulder-length bob with the soft, razor-cut wisps that framed her face did suit her, and she had washed and blow-dried it to shiny perfection.
She fiddled with the red and green silk scarf she had tied around her neck to add some bold colour to her navy suit, then told herself she was dithering for no good reason and alighted from the car. She looked as good as she could in the circumstances. She hadn’t let herself go. Her figure was slightly more rounded, more womanly than it had been before she had had children, but she certainly wasn’t sloppy.
Whatever Phil had told his other woman about her, she was about to come face to face with the truth, Rowena thought, holding grimly to her purpose as she locked the car and turned to walk
to the elevators. She checked her watch. Eleventhirty. Time enough to say all she wanted to say before the lunch break.
A classy BMW swept into the car park and took the space beside the elevators. Rowena froze. It had to be Keir Delahunty, the one man whose path she least wanted to cross, especially today of all days!
It was difficult enough to come to terms with the fact that Keir was Phil’s boss and always being mentioned when Phil talked about his work. She wished the job at Delahunty’s had never come up. Or been won by some other applicant. Anything to be spared the connection to Keir and the memories he evoked.
No matter how better off they were financially from Phil’s move to Delahunty’s, it had been disastrous in every other sense, Rowena reflected miserably. First the unsettling effect of having Keir on the fringe of her life, and now this woman threatening her marriage. Having to face both of them was too much this morning. Better to go back to her car and wait until Keir had gone.
His car door opened, head and shoulders rising above the bonnet. There was no mistaking those broad shoulders and the thick dark hair. She started to turn away, feeling agitated at the loss of time, but more agitated at the thought of being caught with Keir Delahunty and having to share an elevator with him. Did he know what was going on between Phil and another one of his employees?
“Rowena…”
Her heart stopped. No avoiding him now. He’d seen and recognised her. He’d recognised her instantly at the company Christmas party a year ago, despite not having seen her since she was seventeen. Their association had been too long, too close—all her childhood and adolescent years—for him to forget her face. And, of course, there were other things that were unforgettable, however much one might want to block them out.
But she mustn’t think about that now. She had to come up with some bright small chat to get her through the next few minutes. She took a deep breath to steady herself and turned to him with what she hoped was a surprised smile.
“Keir…” She forced her legs into resuming their walk towards the elevators. He remained by his car, clearly waiting for her and expecting some polite exchange between them. “How is everything going for you?” she asked.
“Fine! And you?”
She ignored that question in favour of concentrating on him. A brilliant architect and an astute property developer, Keir Delahunty had not let the grass grow under his feet over the last few years. While he’d established a highly reputable name on the northern side of Sydney Harbour, he was now spreading his business interests to other parts of the city.
“I loved your design for the town houses at Manly,” she said with genuine admiration. “Phil
showed me through them. They’ve all been sold already, haven’t they?”
“Yes. They went quickly.” He smiled, and in his eyes was the warm appreciation of a man who liked what he heard. It surprised her when he remarked, “You look very chic this morning.”
“Thank you. It’s kind of you to say so.”
It was a boost to her confidence. If Keir Delahunty thought her attractive today, she had certainly covered up the ravages of last night’s despair. Not that she welcomed such a personal comment from him. It was far too late, with far too much water under the bridge for her to want to be reminded of the attraction—the love on her side—that had been so cruelly severed eleven years ago.
He’d been handsome at twenty-four but he was even more impressive now, exuding the kind of effortless assurance and authority that came with a long line of successes in his chosen field. The terrible injuries he’d sustained in the accident that had killed her brother had left no lasting mark on him. He stood tall and strong and moved with the easy coordination of an athlete in top condition. Not for him the consequences that had torn her family apart.
Was he aware that she was facing a more immediate, more personal family break-up? Had Phil been indiscreet in pursuing this office affair? Why had Keir made a point of stopping to speak to her?
“I’m afraid you’re in for a disappointment if you’ve come to see Phil. I left him to do a valuation of a warehouse at Pyrmont. He won’t be back until well after lunch.”
The information was welcome. “Thank you, but it’s someone else I want to see,” she said, her inner tension bringing a brittle tone to her voice.
Keir’s deep brown eyes scanned hers sharply as she drew level with him. Had he sensed something wrong? She quickly moved towards the closest elevator, acutely conscious of him falling into step beside her. He pressed the up button. The doors slid open immediately, much to Rowena’s relief. Another minute at most and she could escape from his disturbing interest.
A Christmas holly decoration was pinned to the back wall of the elevator. Christmas only ten days away. How could Phil leave her and the children at such an important family time? And the woman…She must be young and thoughtless and selfish to ask it of him. Or didn’t she know about the children? She soon would, Rowena vowed.
“It’s been a year since we last met,” Keir remarked casually, gesturing for her to enter the compartment ahead of him. “I was looking forward to seeing you at the company Christmas party last Friday. Was there a problem with the children?”
A tide of heat swept up Rowena’s neck and scorched her cheeks. Phil had lied to her about
that, too, telling her the party was limited to staff only this year. She moved slowly to the rear of the elevator, hoping Keir hadn’t noticed her embarrassment.
“I had another engagement,” she said, instinctively covering up her husband’s deception. It was too humiliating to admit. She didn’t want to encourage any enquiries about the children, either. That was too close to all she had to contain.
“I wondered if you were avoiding me,” Keir said quietly.
Such loaded words.
They pressed on Rowena’s heart and constricted her chest. Why now? she railed desperately. She didn’t need this on top of everything else she had to contend with. Pride forced her to swing around and face him as he followed her into the compartment.
“Why on earth should you think that?” she asked with what she hoped was credible astonishment.
His swift scrutiny was offset by a shrug. “Because of Brett’s death. You could have ended up blaming me, as your parents did.”
“You know I didn’t. I visited you in hospital.”
His eyes seemed to take on a piercing intensity. “Did you receive my letter, Rowena?”
She stared at him in confusion. Only days after Brett’s funeral Keir had been flown to the United States for highly specialised corrective surgery,
and that had been the end of any contact between them.
“When?” The word sounded like a croak from her throat.
“I wrote from the clinic in California. You didn’t reply.”
She shook her heard. “There was no letter.”
He frowned. “I thought…assumed…”
“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?” she cut in.
There was simply no point in a post-mortem over what might have been. Keir could have written again if she’d been really important to him. Or looked her up when he came home all repaired and fit to pick up his life. The past was gone. To open that sealed compartment and invite the old pain out into the open was more than she could handle. It was the present she had to deal with, and Keir was delaying her for no good purpose.
She forced a smile to mitigate any offence in the abrupt snub. “Would you press the button for reception, please?”
With a look of ironic resignation he turned to the control panel, lifted a finger, then unaccountably hesitated, passing over the button she had requested and pressing the one for Close Doors. He then faced her with a direct inquiry.
“Whom have you come to see, Rowena? I know all my employees and the departments in which they work. There’s no need for you to stop
at reception. I can direct you to the floor you want.”
It sounded friendly and helpful, but Rowena wished she could die on the spot. She wanted to say it was none of his business. The expression in his eyes told her it was his business. Everything that happened in this building was his business.
It was a bitterly capricious stroke of fate that her arrival in the car park had coincided with his. Here she was, trapped with him in a confined space, his eyes asking her for a direct reply. Even as she frantically sought some evasive explanation for her visit, the certainty came to her that he knew why she had come and what she meant to do.
Maybe the affair had been carried on so blatantly it was common knowledge throughout the whole building. Rowena inwardly cringed at the thought. Then pride clawed through the miserable weight of humiliation, pride and a fierce maternal need to fight for her children’s emotional security. She had done nothing wrong. What other people thought did not matter when so much of real importance was at stake.
She aimed a direct appeal at the man who had the power to stop her. “I’ve come to talk to Adriana Leigh.”
He held her gaze for several fraught moments, then slowly nodded. “Adriana works in an open floor area, Rowena,” he said gently. “I’m sure
you’d prefer complete privacy for your talk to her.”
“I’m not exactly overwhelmed with choices,” she confessed, her courage deflating at the idea of a public audience.
“May I suggest you use my office? I can call Adriana to come there, and I guarantee you’ll both be left alone together to say whatever you wish to say.”
Once again unruly heat burned into Rowena’s cheeks. His sympathy to her plight was somehow shaming, yet to reject it was self-defeating. “Does everyone know?” The painful question slid off her tongue before she could clamp down on it.
“There’s been gossip.”
She closed her eyes, swallowed hard. “How long…how long has it been going on?”
“I don’t know, Rowena.” He paused, then quietly added, “More than three months.”
Phil had bought the sports car three months ago. Last night’s despair pressed in again. But she had come to try for a different outcome, to salvage what might not be a total wreckage. She had to try. She would try. She mentally constructed a protective shell around herself and opened her eyes. Keir was watching her, waiting for her decision, his expression carefully neutral.
“Your offer is…very kind,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster. “Thank you. I’ll take it.”