Ask Me No Questions

ASK ME NO QUESTIONS Valerie Parv

‘We can’t turn back the clock, Matt, however much we want to.’ The last time Nikki had seen the enigmatic Matt Holborn was on their wedding night, nearly seven years ago. He had made no attempt to contact her since, so why had he turned up now, just before her marriage to another man? The chemistry between them was just as powerful as ever, but how could she hurt her fiancé? And could she trust Matt when he told her not to question him about his activities, or was he planning to leave her again?

CHAPTER ONE RICHARD BLIGH gazed affectionately at the coltish blonde alongside him, taking delight in the sight of her smooth honey-coloured hair and large mahogany eyes set in almost translucent skin. 'Just think, very soon we'll be doing this for real instead of pretending.' Nikki Westbrook smiled at her fiancé. 'I'd hardly call it pretending. It's supposed to be a rehearsal so we'll all know what do to at our wedding.' Richard's expression grew mischievous and he winked at her. 'Oh, I think we'll know what to do.' She pretended to be scandalised. 'I meant at the ceremony.' 'And so did I, Mrs Bligh-to-be. Whatever did you think I meant?' Mrs Bligh. How strange it sounded when he said it out loud like that. She had better get used to it, she supposed. As soon as her divorce was final, she and Richard would be getting married. A small sigh escaped her parted lips. If it felt odd being addressed as Mrs Richard Bligh, how much stranger would it feel to be called by her legal name—Mrs Matt Holborn. But that would never happen now. It had been too long. With an effort, she drew her mind back to the present. The minister was summarising the ceremony for them now. 'And then there's a short pause after I ask whether anyone knows any reason why you shouldn't be joined in marriage.' He smiled benignly. 'Not that I expect any response to that, of course, Nicola.' 'Of course.' Nikki's ready assurance was unconvincing. There was a reason why they shouldn't be joined, but the minister didn't know that. Very few people knew about her previous marriage and its

bizarre outcome. One day she would have to tell Richard the whole story. As her husband, he would be entitled to know. He already knew that she had a failed teenage marriage behind her and professed not to mind. For now, something prompted her to keep the details to herself. Matt had been missing for six years. If she hadn't balked at taking the steps necessary to have him presumed dead, she would be remarrying as a widow instead of having to go through the formality of a divorce. Foolishly perhaps, this way had seemed kinder. Less like tempting fate. 'Come back to me, love,' Richard commanded, his voice sounding like a ghostly echo of her thoughts. She paled, then took a hold of herself. 'I guess I can't help being dreamy-eyed at a time like this.' 'You're an incurable romantic,' he said with just a touch of reproof in his tone. 'Then it's just as well that you're practical enough for both of us,' she rejoined lightly. The wedding was to be held in the gardens of Nikki's family home, Brookfield, and they were gathered on the verdant lawn which sloped gently down to a cliff at the back of the mansion. On this glorious spring morning, the wildflowers were just coming into bloom, attracting dozens of honeyeaters, parrots and lorikeets to provide a twittering chorus for the bridal party. However, the disturbance coming from the driveway at the side of the house was not caused by the wild birds. Nikki shot Richard an anxious glance. 'What could that be?'

He shrugged. The gallery's closed so it can't be tourists. They would have seen the sign at the front gate. I'll take a look.' 'Be careful, Richard. We get a lot of hooligans down this way in summer,' cautioned Nikki's aunt, who was helping with the wedding plans. 'I'm sure it's nothing, Aunt Benny,' Nikki reassured her. 'Probably just some travellers wanting directions.' Still, she followed her aunt's nervous glance towards where Richard was striding around the side of the house. 'Maybe it's escaped prisoners come to hold us all as hostages,' said a childish voice in spooky tones. 'Trust you to think of something like that, Joy,' Nikki said, feeling some of the tension go out of her. Joy Blair was Aunt Benny's irrepressible twelve-year- old daughter. She was thrilled at the prospect of being Nikki's bridesmaid. Her aunt's husband, Andrew, was to give the bride away. Her mother's only sister, Berenice Blair—known to one and all as Benny—and her family were the only close relatives Nikki had left. She was glad that they were able to share in her wedding preparations, especially knowing that Aunt Benny disapproved of Richard. 'He's an opportunist, that one,' she had said on first meeting him. Closer acquaintance hadn't softened her opinion one bit. She frowned as Richard came back around the corner, his mouth set into a grim line. 'What is it? What's the matter?' 'There's someone to see you, Nikki,' he said grimly, ignoring Benny. 'He's waiting in the lounge. All that racket was him trying to get through the side entrance which luckily was padlocked.' 'Him? But who is it?' asked Nikki, her eyes wide.

But Richard had turned his back and was walking towards the cliff face, the heels of his shoes biting chunks out of the lawn. Nikki looked anxiously after him, then at her aunt. 'What shall I do?' 'Find out who your visitor is, I should think,' Benny said practically. 'I'll come with you.' Grateful for her aunt's support, she hurried through the back entrance and down the vast hallway towards the main living-room. The opulent mansion was far too big for one couple. Built in the 1840s by two empire-building Englishmen, it had been described as a palace in a paddock. The homestead was of bluestone faced with pale freestone on three sides. A tower looked out over the sparkling Brisbane Water. Inside, it embodied all that was essential for the newly wealthy of the colonial era: a grand entrance hall, sweeping staircases, ornate ceilings, a billiards room, library and formal saloon. Formal gardens were an important part of a colonial homestead, and Brookfield was no exception. It boasted sweeping vistas, parterres and a scattered planting of specimen trees. Off to one side was a bluestone shepherd's cottage which Nikki had turned into a gallery. Now, the bronze statuettes, the paintings of hunting scenes, and the gilt mirrors reflecting her passage, were invisible to Nikki as she fled through the house. A chill settled over her sun-warmed skin as she contemplated who might be waiting for her in the saloon which was now the main living-room. Whoever it was, his arrival had clearly displeased Richard. The reason became obvious as soon as she opened wide the french doors leading to the saloon and saw who was pacing up and down in front of the massive fireplace.

'Matt? Oh my God, I can't believe it. It is you.' Feeling her legs weaken under her, she sank on to a chaise-longue and stared at the man she had last seen on their wedding night, nearly seven years ago. The snapping blue eyes, the sunbleached hair and sun-gold skin were the same, although his face was etched with lines she couldn't remember seeing there before. Although he looked to have lost weight, the leaner build suited him, emphasising his terrific shoulders with the deltoid muscles bulging in high relief, the thick strong neck and perfect chest, legacy of his passion for scuba diving. 'Yes, it's me, Nikki,' he said evenly. Behind Nikki, her aunt's indrawn breath confirmed that she wasn't seeing a ghost. 'I ... I didn't expect to see you again,' she said, aware of how lame she sounded but too stunned by his sudden reappearance to think clearly. His hard expression softened momentarily. 'I know. And I'm sorry to arrive like this without warning. But when I found out that you were marrying again…' 'You can hardly call it marrying again,' she said icily. 'That's not my fault, but this isn't the proper time to go over all that.' Shock made her react angrily. 'You're so right. The proper time was when you ran out on me six years ago.' 'Would somebody mind filling me in?' Nikki had all but forgotten Aunt Benny, standing behind her, her expression totally bewildered. 'Of course,' she said apologetically. 'You never knew Matt, did you? You were overseas when we ...'

'Married,' Matt supplied for her, causing her aunt's eyebrows to climb even closer to her hairline. 'This man is your husband?' she said in disbelief. Nikki's voice was a strangled whisper. 'Yes, he is.' Benny sat down in a hurry. 'I see. Well actually, I don't see. You're getting ready to marry Richard Bligh and yet you say this man is already your husband.' 'It's a long story, Aunt Benny.' 'Then the sooner you get started, the better, I should say.' Matt stepped between Nikki and her aunt. 'Don't be angry with Nikki, Mrs .. .' 'Blair,' supplied Nikki. 'Mrs Blair. Your niece had apparently given me up for dead, so she thought she had a perfect right to remarry.' He was using the past tense, Nikki noticed shakily, as if he thought his reappearance was enough to stop her from marrying Richard. 'Go on,' Aunt Benny said. 'Your niece and I had a .. . disagreement ... on our wedding night. I decided to give her some time to think things over but as it turned out, I was gone a lot longer than I dreamed I would be.' 'Six years,' whispered Nikki. 'You were gone for over six years. You never wrote or called in all that time.'

His face twisted in anguish. 'I couldn't, Nikki, or I swear I would have. It's a long, and in some ways, incredible story, but believe me, there was a very good reason why I didn't come back. You'll have to forgive me. I'm still not used to being back in civilisation, so if I'm a little lax about the civilities, please try to understand. I got back here the fastest way I could, to save you from committing bigamy.' Her aunt winced at the word but Nikki's chin came up. 'As it happens, it wouldn't be bigamy. I've started divorce proceedings against you and they're already well advanced.' 'How could you do that without my knowledge or consent?' 'There's a special dispensation you get when the other party can't be found after all reasonable means are exhausted.' Her voice dropped to a throaty whisper. 'And I did exhaust all reasonable means—a long time ago.' His expression became enigmatic. 'Did you? After what you said to me on our wedding night, I thought you would have wished me to hell and gone. As it happens, that's a fairly accurate description of where I've been.' 'Where have you been, for heaven's sake?' 'Later. First we have to settle this business of you marrying that other bloke.' Richard! She had almost forgotten the existence of the man she was supposed to marry. 'What did you tell him?' she demanded. 'Only the truth. That you're my wife.' Her wail of anguish was involuntary. 'No wonder he refused to speak to me when he came outside. How could you do such a thing?'

'You mean he didn't know about us?' She shook her head angrily. 'Nobody did, except Mum and Dad. I wasn't exactly proud of the way you left me high and dry.' He glanced quickly around. 'Are your parents here?' She scuffed the toe of one shoe with the other. 'Dad died two years after you disappeared.' Matt looked shaken. 'His heart finally gave out?' She nodded. 'I'm so sorry, Nikki. I know how much you loved him and he you. How is your mother coping?' 'She didn't,' Nikki said shortly. 'After Dad died she gave up. She died within a few months of him.' Matt rested a bronzed hand against her cheek, pressing it there lightly for a second before releasing her. 'Poor Nikki. So you're all alone now.' 'She's nothing of the sort,' interrupted Aunt Benny. 'She has Andrew and me, and her cousin Joy. And Richard now,' she added meaningfully. Bless you, Benny, Nikki thought warmly. Her aunt disliked Richard but if he was to become family, she would defend him to the death. That Matt was already family, she didn't seem to have absorbed yet. 'Of course, Mrs Blair. I didn't intend to slight your role in my wife's affairs. In fact, I'm indebted to you for looking after her when I was unable to.' Aunt Benny was not mollified in the slightest. 'You still haven't explained why you were unable to look after her properly. Or why you've come here now.'

Matt massaged his eyes with one hand. 'I suppose there's no point in postponing it. Once you know the whole story perhaps you'll think a little more kindly of me.' His words were directed at Aunt Benny but his gaze rested on Nikki, his silver-flecked look begging her support. Involuntarily, she felt something stir deep inside her, an echo of a feeling she last recalled having over six years ago. It was an aching sensation mixed with an intense longing for ... she knew not what. She also acknowledged painfully that it was a feeling Richard had never managed to arouse in her. Some of the shock was wearing off at last and she stood up, taking her aunt's arm. 'Matt is right, Aunt Benny. He and I have a lot to talk about but it shouldn't be blurted out in the heat of a moment. Would you apologise to everyone for me and tell them we'll go on with the rehearsal another time?' 'If you want to get rid of me at least have the decency to say so,' her aunt grumbled. 'Now, Aunt Benny, you know it isn't like that.' 'That's exactly what it is like. But don't worry, I'm going. And I'll keep the others out of your hair till you two have had a chance to straighten things out. Although what I'm to say to Richard, I don't know.' Nikki chewed on her lower lip. 'Tell him . . . tell him . .. oh, I'll see him myself.' She darted a glance at Matt. 'I won't be a minute.' The irony of her apology dawned on her as she hurried outside. He could hardly complain about being kept waiting for a few minutes, after keeping her waiting fruitlessly for all those years.

She found Richard sitting on a wrought-iron bench looking out over the sandstone cliff to Brisbane Water. 'Richard?' she said tentatively, intimidated by his brooding silence. 'I trust you've sent that interloper packing and have come to apologise to me,' he said, not looking at her. 'No, I . . . Matt and I have to talk first. But I did come to apologise. I didn't mean you to find out so brutally.' 'Is there a good way of finding out that your bride-to-be is still married to another man?' 'I told you I was married before.' His shoulders hunched. 'Before usually means in the past.' 'Well, it was in the past until now. I had no idea he was going to come back into my life, now of all times. I thought he was dead.' A flicker of hope crossed Richard's even features and he looked at her for the first time. 'You aren't going back to him then?' She placed a reassuring hand on his arm and felt the tension in the knotted muscles under her fingers. 'Dear Richard. I wouldn't have hurt you for anything. That's why I decided to go ahead and have the marriage dissolved. Instead of waiting until Matt was presumed dead.' He regarded her suspiciously. 'Then you really don't love him any more?' She hesitated for the merest fraction of a second but it was enough. 'I knew it. I'm only second-best now he's come back into your life.' She picked up a smooth pebble and skimmed it down over the cliff and across the water where it set ripples flowing out in ever-widening

arcs—like one's actions in life, she thought fleetingly. 'It's nothing like that, Richard,' she said firmly. 'I know this has been a shock to you. I should have told you the whole story.' 'It would have been better than letting me think your first marriage was a teenage mistake you had put behind you.' 'That's what I thought it was,' she protested. He seized on her slip of the tongue. 'Was? Well, what is it now?' She looked down at her feet. 'To be honest, I don't know. That's why Matt and I need to talk, to find out.' Richard swung himself off the rock and dusted down his suit. 'I trust you'll let me know what you decide?' The sarcasm in his voice made her wince. 'Of course I will. I'm afraid we might have to move the wedding date a little further forward While I sort everything out, but there's no reason why anything has to change between us.' For a fleeting moment, the affection she knew he felt for her was transparent in his eyes. 'I hope it doesn't, Nikki. I couldn't stand losing you now.' She took his hand and brought it to her lips, pressing tiny kisses on to each of his fingertips. 'Don't think like that. You know I wouldn't hurt you for the world. I just need some time, that's all. Will you give me that much?' His expression softened and his hold on her hand tightened. 'Just don't take too long. I'll be waiting for your phone call.' She stood where she was for a moment, watching his tall, lean form disappearing around the side of the house. He wasn't taking any

chances on running into Matt by going through the house, she noted. Unconsciously, she squared her shoulders as she turned to go back inside, Matt wasn't in the saloon when she reached it. Dumbly, she stared at the empty room, wondering whether she had dreamed his presence in the first place. It had happened often enough in the months after he disappeared. She shook her head. This time she had not imagined his return. Aunt Benny had also seen him. Her aunt was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches to two plates of crisp salad. She glanced up as Nikki came in. 'Mr Holborn's in the downstairs bathroom, cleaning up for lunch. I thought you two might relax better over a meal.' 'You shouldn't wait on me, Aunt Benny,' Nikki scolded gently. 'You have enough to do looking after your own family.' 'There's only Andy and Joy, so one more doesn't strain me too much. You know you would have been welcome to come and live with us permanently any time you liked.' 'I know. But I didn't for the same reason you wouldn't come and live here with me, even though Brookfield has masses of room.' Her aunt nodded. 'Be it ever so humble, and all that. We both prefer our own turf, don't we? Anyway, you'll be married soon, that's if you are still getting married. Why didn't you tell me about Matt? Nikki's shoulders sagged. 'Because I thought it was all over and best forgotten. I married him against Mum and Dad's wishes but I was of age so they couldn't stop me. Now I almost wish they had been able to.' 'Because it didn't work out?'

'Because it might have worked out if I'd waited, instead of rushing into it. We were only married for one day before we quarrelled and Matt went away.' 'That was while Andrew and I were overseas?' Nikki nodded. 'I was minding the shop for you, remember? When I couldn't make up my mind whether to get a job or go on to university. Matt came into the shop asking for directions and . . . well, we fell in love.' Aunt Benny clucked her tongue disapprovingly. 'His behaviour doesn't look much like love to me.' Nikki's eyes clouded with happy memories. 'Oh, but it was ... then.' Briskly, Aunt Benny gathered up the plates of salad and loaded them 6n to a tray with bread rolls and a jug of iced tea. 'I've set the table in the family room for the two of you. All you have to do is carry this in.' 'What about you? Won't you stay and have some lunch with us?' 'You're old enough to manage without a chaperone. Besides, Andrew has taken Joy back to the car. They're waiting for me, so I'd better get going.' Impulsively, Nikki planted a kiss on her aunt's cheek. 'Thanks for being so thoughtful. And . .. oh, for just being you.' 'Flattery will get you nowhere,' said Aunt Benny, but the colour which stained her cheeks took any sting out of her words. 'Give me a call and let me know how you get on.' Giving her assurance that she would, Nikki saw her aunt to the front door and waved them away. Only after they had driven out of sight

did it dawn on her that she was totally alone with Matt Holborn. A shiver of apprehension travelled down her spine. This was the man she had married after a whirlwind courtship and who had gone out of her life on the first day of their honeymoon. What did she know of him, really? The records showed that he was born in Peru of English parents and had attended school in England, before coming to Australia in his early twenties. Other than that, she knew only what he had told her—that he was an adventurer whose travels and exploits sounded like something out of the Boy's Own Paper. Her father had said all that and more to her when she announced that she intended to marry Matt, but she had blithely discounted his warnings. How right he had been when he said she might one day regret her rashness! 'Nikki, are you there?' She whirled around as Matt's voice penetrated her reverie. 'I'm just coming,' she called back and hurried across the terrace and through the double doors leading to the family room. Matt had rescued the tray from the kitchen and was transferring the food to the table. 'This was kind of your aunt,' he commented. 'She's a very kind woman,' Nikki agreed absently. 'She's also very confused by your arrival.' 'Yet you seem to be taking it in your stride,' he observed. 'I halfexpected you to faint dead away when you saw me.' 'You flatter yourself,' she said coldly.

His eyes snapped with amusement. 'So there is a glimmer of emotion under that calm exterior. Well, out with it. Isn't there something you want to throw at me, or accuse me of ruining your life by deserting you?' 'I haven't forgotten that I was the one who ordered you out of my life for good,' she said softly. 'Nevertheless, you didn't expect me to take you at your word.' 'Not literally, of course not. But you did say you had a good explanation. I'm waiting to hear it.' He gestured towards the table. 'Then perhaps we can discuss it over the lunch your aunt has so thoughtfully prepared.' In the light of the morning's events, the last thing she felt like was food but she was anxious to hear what he had to say, so she slid into the chair he held out for her and reached for the glistening jug. 'Iced tea—or would you like something stronger?' 'Tea will be fine thanks. It's a habit I picked up in Indo-China.' 'Is that where you've been?' 'Yes.' He took a sip of the tea before he continued. When he looked back at her she was startled to see an expression of pain in his silverflecked eyes. His jaw muscles tightened and for the first time she noticed a scar, long healed, down the left side of his face. It hadn't been there when last she saw him. Idly, she traced a finger down the length of the scar and he flinched, although her touch was light. 'Where did you get this?' He ducked his head away from her hand. 'The same place. But perhaps I should start at the beginning. Do you remember the

American couple who came here asking for me the day before we were married?' She screwed up her face in concentration. 'Yes, faintly.' She recalled feeling put out because they had insisted on speaking to Matt alone. He had been evasive when she asked him later what they wanted. 'They came here to offer you a job or something, didn't they?' 'You could say that. Their son had been sent to Vietnam during the war and had gone missing in the hills along the Cambodian border, presumed dead. Then they started hearing rumours about American prisoners of war being seen working on road gangs and in the fields of the North. They offered me any price I cared to name to go in and find out whether their boy was still alive.' 'Why didn't you tell me this at the time?' she asked, baffled. 'Because I had already turned them down. Before, perhaps, I might have agreed, but I was marrying you. As I saw it, that meant I had a duty to stick around.' All at once, she guessed what was coming next. 'So when I threw you out, that reasoning was no longer valid. You took the job.' 'Yes, but I was only supposed to be away for six weeks, long enough for you to decide whether you wanted to be married or not—with all that entailed.' She knew only too well what he meant. As an impetuous teenager, she had married him with only the haziest notion of the responsibilities involved. The first time he had tried to make love to her, she had locked herself in her dressing-room. No amount of coaxing on his part had induced her to come out.

Next morning she emerged, having convinced herself that -they could continue on as before, holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes. When Matt made it clear that he expected her to be a wife to him in every sense, she had provoked a blazing row with him which ended when she ordered him out of her life for good. To her despair, he had taken her at her word, packing and leaving without a backward glance. It had taken her a week to face the fact that he wasn't coming back. For another week she had maintained the fiction of being on her honeymoon, then had returned to her parents to confess her failure. They had been kind but unsurprised by the outcome which they had predicted all along. By unspoken agreement, they avoided discussing her marriage during the remaining years of their lives, although sometimes she remembered her mother looking at her sadly, as if grieving for her daughter's lost happiness. She sighed, forcing her thoughts back to the present. 'You said six weeks—but you were gone for over six years.' He drew a pattern on the tablecloth with his fingernail. 'I know. During my enquires about the missing soldier, I was arrested on suspicion of spying for the C.I.A.' 'But you weren't a spy, surely?' she said, horrified. 'Of course not. But the authorities refused to believe me. I was in foreign territory illegally and had been reported taking photographs and asking questions. It was enough to condemn me in their eyes.' A wave of sympathy welled up within her. 'So you've been in prison the whole time?'

'No, not in gaol as such. They call it house arrest but it's damn near the same thing. You're still confined to one building with no access to the outside world. I didn't even have the satisfaction of finding the man I went after.' She was having trouble taking it all in. Such things happened in films and on television, not in real life. 'Couldn't you have called the embassy for help?' she asked. He shrugged. 'Which one? I'm not an Australian citizen. Technically, I suppose, I'm British, but with a Peruvian birth certificate. Both my parents are dead and I have no other relatives, so who would vouch for me?' 'I would have,' she said at once. 'You could have asked someone to contact me.' He covered her hand with his and she could feel the intense heat radiating from his body. 'I know, and you would have done everything you could to help. But even supposing I had been allowed to send such a message, I was afraid to involve your family in case it caused trouble for you all.' She wrenched her hand away. 'So you decided it was better for me to wait and wonder what had become of you. Your intentions may have been honourable, Matt, but you have a lousy idea of right and wrong.' As her voice began to crack with emotion, he looked at her keenly. 'No tears, now. I thought you'd be better off if you just wrote me off. I didn't even intend to come back here now except that ... hell, I couldn't stay away. But I didn't think you cared all that much.' Her voice came out as a barely audible whisper. 'Matt, I loved you.'

'That wasn't the impression I got on our wedding night. I felt as though I was trying to seduce a child.' 'I was a child then,' she agreed readily. 'But I'm not one now. I'm all grown up these days.' His caressing gaze turned her cheeks to fire. 'Yes, I can see that. You've turned into a lovely young woman, but then the promise was there even at nineteen.' 'Don't patronise me,' she said sharply. 'You still haven't told me how you finally got away.' He withdrew into his memories with seeming reluctance. 'It was very simple. I was being held for trial at some indefinite time in the future—they kept postponing it. But I was never officially charged with anything. It was some general's birthday or something and they just decided to let me go. I didn't stay around to ask for explanations, I just got out of there as fast as I could.' 'And came straight back here to find me?' There was a slight hesitation, so brief that she wondered if she'd imagined it, before he said, 'That's right. I managed to get hold of some out-of-date newspapers in Saigon, and that's where I read about your engagement.' That wasn't surprising. She was the only daughter of an old pioneering family and Richard was fairly notable as an up-andcoming sculptor. 'Now you're here, what do you intend to do?' she asked. For answer, he grasped her hands and drew her upright until they stood close together, with only the corner of the table separating them. 'If you only knew how thoughts of you kept me going all those

years,' he said huskily. 'I've dreamed of holding you like this for so long—I just couldn't stay away even though I knew it was the right thing to do. It could never be right for me.' Before she guessed what he had in mind, he cupped a hand to the back of her neck and pulled her face to his, bringing his lips down on hers and kissing her with fierce passion. The suddenness of the move caught her by surprise and her lips parted instinctively under his to allow his probing tongue entry into her mouth. Waves of' sensation washed over her until she felt giddy with desire and automatically pressed herself against his lean hardness. His years of captivity had left him with a sexual hunger which frightened her as his lips explored every inch of her face and throat. His hands were everywhere, always tightly grasping as if he was afraid she would vanish if he loosened his hold. She was so overwhelmed by his driving need for her that she made no attempt to stop him. Only when his hands began to undo the buttons running down the front of her dress to gain access to her swelling breasts, did she start to panic. 'Stop it, Matt,' she implored, trying to twist free. 'You don't mean it, not this time,' he argued, massaging her breasts with one hand. His fingers closed around first one nipple then the other, coaxing them into expectant points. Unbidden, her hips thrust forwards towards him. The pain of the table edge biting into her thigh brought her to her senses. With a supreme effort, she wrenched herself away from him and pushed a chair between them, clutching its back to stop herself swaying like a sapling in the wind. 'It can't be like this, not after all this time.'

'Why not? We're still married. You're all I've dreamed of for the last six years.' If she told him that she had felt the same way after he left, there was no way he would leave her alone. If he had only returned a year or two later, she would have willingly rekindled her feelings for him. Now it was too late. To save herself from a lifetime of anguish, she had allowed the flame of their love to go out. He was a stranger now. She had nothing left to offer him. 'I can't help it if six years of confinement have left you sex- starved,' she said with deliberate flippancy. 'Things have been different for me.' Naked fury flickered in his eyes and she was afraid she had provoked him too far. 'You mean you're sleeping with that Bligh character?' he asked in disgust. She daren't admit that she had never slept with Richard. She wasn't even sure of the reason herself. But Matt would assume it was because she didn't love him. There had been only one man in her life after Matt disappeared but the brief affair had ended when she realised that he was no more than a surrogate for Matt. Admitting all this now would only encourage Matt. 'I told you I've grown up a lot since we parted,' she dissembled. 'So it seems,' he said tightly, 'but the fact remains that you are still my wife.' 'Only until the divorce is final,' she pointed out. 'And that will be in a month.' His answering smile was devoid of amusement. 'Then I'd better make the most of that month, hadn't I?' She eyed him distrustfully. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean I'm not giving you up so easily. Last time, I had no choice, but this time, I swear that things are going to be different between us.'

CHAPTER TWO Nikki slept very badly that night. Her dreams were haunted by Matt's vow that he would use the coming month to try to win her back. Several times in her dreams she found herself walking up an aisle towards Richard Bligh. Each time she reached the altar, however, the groom turned out to be Matt Holborn. When she awoke bathed in perspiration for the fourth time, she had had enough. Reaching for the alarm clock on her bedside table she saw that it was five in the morning. Since she was usually up at six anyway she decided that she might as well get up now, before the dream returned to haunt her. As she showered and dressed, Matt's promise ran through her tired brain. Surely he hadn't expected to walk back into her life as if nothing had changed? Granted, his long absence hadn't been entirely his fault, but he must expect her to have changed in such a time. There was a world of difference between nineteen and twenty-five. For one thing, she had fallen in love with someone else. She still intended to marry Richard as soon as she was free. 'Then you don't love him any more?' Richard's question nagged at her as she helped herself to muesli and fruit for breakfast. Was she still in love with Matt? She couldn't deny that his kiss yesterday had played havoc with her senses. She had been unable to hide her response and Matt had played her like a sensitive instrument—but was that love? The affection she felt for Richard was quite different from the fiery sensations Matt aroused in her, but she was inclined to trust her feelings towards Richard precisely because they were less spectacular. Hopefully, they would also be more lasting.

She sighed heavily. Why did Matt have to turn up now? In another few weeks it would have been too late. She would have married Richard and would have been spared all this agonising with its inevitable flood of memories. ... Matt at the helm of their canoe as they raced down the white waters of the Nymboida River, while she clung, squealing, to the sides of the craft. ... Matt trying to show her the rudiments of hunting in the rugged bush around Lake Cargellico, then having to eat his words that she wouldn't make a hunter, when she bagged a crusty old wild boar. ... Matt, the ruthless hunter, crying like a child when they found a baby Koala starving beside its murdered mother in the eucalypt forest of Kuring-gai Chase. Was it any wonder that she had fallen headlong in love with him? He was easily the most fascinating man she had ever met and the brief weeks of their courtship were indelibly imprinted on her memory. They had discounted all the arguments against their marriage. She was too young. He was too old—all of thirty to her nineteen. They came from different worlds. None of it mattered then. And it hadn't. They had been undone by the simple fact that she had been scared of sex. How different things would be, if she could live her wedding night over again now that she was older and wiser, coming to him as a woman instead of a child. She shook herself mentally. What was she thinking of, entertaining such thoughts when she was promised to Richard? Determinedly she set about doing her day's quota of housework. Brookfield was such a huge house that it really needed staff to look after it properly, but the budget didn't run to such luxuries so Nikki

set aside an hour a day to work on a different part of the house. That way, things didn't get out of hand. Today she set to work on the opulent dining-room where sumptuous meals had been served in colonial days. Lovingly, she dusted the ebonised chime-clock and grimaced at the painting on the wall. Although it was the work of an Italian master, she had never come to love its sombre tonings. All the same, she would miss the house when it was sold, she thought, attacking the inlaid table with a polishing cloth. She had been born and raised here, the last of a long line of Westbrooks. She couldn't expect Richard to feel the same way about the house as she did, nor could she expect him to fund its staggering upkeep. It was nine o'clock by the time she finished, a respectable hour to telephone Aunt Benny, she decided. 'You're bright and early,' her aunt said when she came on the line. 'I didn't sleep too well, so I was up early,' Nikki confessed. 'I thought that might be the case. Did you reach any conclusions?' 'There aren't any to reach,' Nikki said firmly. 'Just because Matt has turned up, nothing else has changed.' 'Are you quite sure about that?' her aunt asked shrewdly. 'I know one thing that's changed.' 'Oh? What's that?' 'You. There's a definite sparkle about your voice which wasn't there before Matt arrived yesterday.'

Nikki forced a laugh. 'Actually, you're listening to the healthy glow that comes from cleaning the dining- room.' 'Hmm. If you say so.' They made arrangements to meet for lunch in a few days time, then Nikki hung up the phone. Her aunt was mistaken about the change in her, surely? Guiltily, she glanced at the mirror in the hallway, seeking evidence of any change. But all she saw was a cherrycoloured stain across each cheek—and that was definitely caused by her exertions. Keeping busy seemed to be the best antidote for too much thinking, so she unhooked the cast-iron key from its place on the kitchen wall and set off down the path to the shepherd's cottage which housed the Brookfield Gallery of Primitive Art. After Matt's disappearance, she had been forced to rethink her priorities and had elected to go on to university to work for an arts degree. After her father's fatal heart attack and her mother's subsequent decline in health, she had had to leave university without taking her degree. She could have gone back after her mother's death but she found she lacked the heart for further study, and had drifted aimlessly for several months, rattling around the enormous house trying to decide what to do next. The idea of opening a gallery in the old shepherd's cottage had been Aunt Benny's, but she had her grandfather to thank for introducing her to Aboriginal art. When she was a child, he had taken her to see the thousands of petroglyphs which covered the Hawkesbury sandstone around the Kuring-gai area. Many of the carvings were gigantic and she had been entranced by stories of Baiame, the SkyFather, and his brother/son, Daramulen, who were portrayed in petroglyphs more than eighteen metres high, on the terra-cottacoloured rock.

With the help of some friends and advice from the National Trust, she had restored the run-down cottage. Her grandfather's collection of Aboriginal artefacts provided her first exhibition and it had been easy to continue showing and selling the primitive artworks, once word got around that she was interested. All sorts of people from outback prospectors to graziers brought items for appraisal either to sell on commission, or to lend for exhibitions. While not exactly profitable, the gallery at least paid its own way and provided her with an absorbing occupation. But not for much longer, she realised. Richard was keen for them to buy an apartment in the city. Once Brookfield was sold, he argued, there would be nothing to keep them on the peninsula. Before then, however, she had one last exhibition to arrange and she was especially proud of pulling it off. It was a collection of stone tjuringas from the Macdonnell Ranges in the Northern Territory. Tjuringas were small decorated stones which embodied their owner's totemic ancestors. Normally, women were forbidden even to look at them. But for reasons of their own, the tribal elders had agreed to put these stones on exhibition. This would be their first exposure to European eyes—in a gallery operated by a woman, yet! She was on her hands and knees, lovingly unpacking the decorated stones, when there was a knock on the door. Richard came in without waiting for her response. 'I thought I'd find you here.' He looked around suspiciously. At once, the hairs on the back of her neck rose. Surely Richard didn't expect to find Matt here? He should know her better than that. 'If you're looking for Matt Holborn, he said he was checking into the motel up the road,' she said stiffly.

Richard helped her to her feet and pulled her into his arms. 'Forgive me for acting suspicious, darling, but I didn't know what to think when he walked in here yesterday. For all I know, he could have decided to claim his marital rights or something and spent the night here.' He tried to make his tone sound light, but she could hear the concern underlying his words. 'I told you yesterday, nothing has changed,' she assured him. 'Matt Holborn is my husband in name only, and he won't even be that once the formalities are completed.' Richard stared at her. 'In name only? You mean he and you ... you never ...' 'What do you think I meant?' she said irritably. She hadn't wanted Richard to know about that but it had slipped out. Now it was top late to take it back. She sighed. 'I suppose you're entitled to know. We were only married for one day because I let him down on our wedding night.' His expression was incredulous. 'You mean that's the only reason why he walked out on you? The bastard!' She looked awkwardly down at the floor. 'There was more to it than that. Because I was afraid of what you call my marital duty, I picked a really dreadful fight with him, said all sorts of unforgivable things. That's really why he walked out.' 'It's hard to believe you were ever like that,' Richard denied fondly. She grinned. 'You didn't know me as a teenager. I was horribly spoilt. Dad was always tied up with business so he indulged my every whim, and Mum's health was too poor to bring me to heel. I dropped out of school at eighteen because I thought I knew everything.'

'And got married because somebody told you not to. Poor little rich girl,' he said indulgently. Her head came up. 'I'm not a rich girl, Richard. I've told you that. But I was spoiled as a child.' He smoothed her hair away from her face. 'Well, all I can say is, somewhere along the line the duckling turned into a swan. 'You're beautiful and sensitive and clever now. Nobody could accuse you of being spoilt and selfish, if you ever were.' She smiled up at him. 'Darling Richard. You simply won't believe that I'm anything but perfect. I'm not, you know.' He kissed her lightly on the lips, a butterfly kiss which was gone before she had time to return it. 'All the same, you can't stop me thinking that you are.' He looked around at the debris on the floor. 'Can I help you with any of this?' 'You bet! I have to get it all set up ready for the opening at the end of the week. I haven't written any of the labels for anything yet.' The next few hours passed in companionable silence as Richard helped her to set up the exhibition. As an artist himself, he had a knack for showing off each item to best advantage. By lunchtime, most of the setting up was done. She raked a hand through her hair, dislodging dozens of fragments of packing straw. 'Can I buy you some lunch?' Richard was also covered in straw and dust. 'As long as we can eat at Chez Nikki. I'd hate anybody to see me like this.' Even as she laughed agreement, she felt a pang of disappointment. As an artist, Richard should have been bohemian and casual, but he was conservative in the extreme. He was possibly the only sculptor in

Australia who wore a suit and tie to his own showings. He was quite the opposite of Matt who didn't care what he looked like as long as he felt comfortable. Feeling guilty for comparing Richard to Matt, she followed him inside and took extra pains to prepare a special lunch for him. While she pottered in the kitchen, he disappeared into the downstairs bathroom and she could hear him whistling as he restored order to his appearance. 'What's for lunch?' he asked, as he strolled in with his hair neatly combed and every trace of straw removed from his grey drill pants and tennis shirt. 'Salad Nicoise and jacket potatoes,' she said, bending over the oven to check on the potatoes. 'Ill keep an eye on them while you tidy up,' he volunteered. Being less concerned with appearances than he was, she would have sat down to eat without bothering, but rather than argue, she went into the bathroom and freshened up. Richard was spooning sour cream and chives on to the potatoes when she returned. He brightened when he saw the gleam a brushing had brought to her honey- coloured hair, and the glow her wash had given to her skin. 'Mmm, delicious,' he murmured. 'Me or the potatoes?' she laughed, hugging him from behind. 'Keep that up and we'll never get to the potatoes,' he cautioned, his tone husky. Dodging his outstretched hand, she picked up the bowl of salad and was carrying it towards the terrace when the phone rang.

It could have been any number of people—this was, after all, her business address as well. But some sixth sense told her it was Matt calling, and she tensed as Richard picked up the receiver. 'Brookfield Gallery,' he said in clipped, businesslike tones. As he listened, his whole demeanour changed from receptive to hostile, his body stiffening as he recognised the caller. After a moment, he handed the receiver to Nikki. 'It's for you.' 'Hullo,' she said, keeping her eyes on Richard who glowered over her like a guard dog who sensed a threat nearby. 'Nikki, thank God I found you at home.' Matt's voice! What had happened to his brusquely confident tones? He sounded shaky and weak. He sounded ill, she thought with a start. 'What's the matter, Matt? Is something wrong?' 'Nikki, I need you. Can you come right away?' He sounded as though he was forcing his words out through clenched teeth. She didn't hesitate. 'Of course, I'll be right there. What's your room number?' Without looking at Richard, she scribbled down the number Matt gave her. Luckily she already knew the address of the motel where he was staying. When she hung up, she found Richard looking at her in disgust. 'You're not actually going to him?' Her eyes begged for his understanding. 'He's ill. He needs me.' His expression was unrelenting. 'If he's ill, he needs a doctor. Why didn't he call one instead of bothering you?'

'I don't know why, but I can't just ignore him. He probably doesn't know many people in Sydney. I was the first person he thought of, most likely.' He didn't seem convinced. 'More likely it's just a ruse to lure you to his hotel room.' She hadn't thought of anything like that, but she dismissed such fanciful notions out of hand. 'Matt isn't like that.' His brows came together. 'Oh? You know so much about him, then?' 'I was married to him, for goodness' sake.' 'And now you're supposed to be marrying me,' he reminded her. Seeing her stricken expression he relented slightly. 'I'm sorry. I'm not trying to force you to choose between us—I'm counting on the fact that you've already made your choice. I just don't like the way he's trying to exploit his past relationship with you.' 'He's only turning to me because he needs help and doesn't know anyone else,' she repeated. 'I have to see if I can help him—I'd do the same for anyone else in the same predicament.' Her answer seemed to mollify him. 'You're too soft-hearted, but I wouldn't really want you to change.' He reached for his jacket and began to shrug it on. She watched him for a moment. 'Where are you going?' 'With you of course. I can't have you picking up lame dogs all on your own.' She winced inwardly at his description of Matt as a lame dog, even though she had suggested the idea. She wished there was some way to dissuade Richard from going with her but she daren't suggest it

without arousing his suspicions again. Besides which, if she really was helping Matt out of simple human kindness, it shouldn't matter whether Richard was there or not, she told herself sternly. When they reached the motel, there was no answer when they knocked on the door of Matt's room. Then a faint groan came from inside. Nikki looked at Richard in alarm, suddenly grateful for his presence. 'What shall we do now?' 'Stay here. I'll be back in a minute.' He returned a short while later accompanied by a man she guessed was the motel proprietor. He opened the door with a master key and looked suspiciously inside. Richard stepped across the doorway. 'Thanks, Mr Sutton. I'll see you before we leave and let you know what's wrong with our friend.' Grumbling to himself, Mr Sutton headed off towards the office and they let themselves into the suite. After the brightness of the outdoors, the room was dim and it took them a moment before their eyes adjusted to the gloom. As soon as she could see properly, Nikki caught sight of a figure huddled in the narrow single bed. 'Matt! Are you all right?' When she bent over him she could see he was far from all right. His face and upper body were bathed in perspiration and the sheets were damp to her touch. In spite of that, he was shivering and his teeth were chattering. At first he seemed to have trouble focusing on her, then he forced a smile. 'Nikki, I'm glad you came.' 'It was the least we could do,' Richard intervened in a tone which suggested they would have done the same for anyone. 'But I think

you'd have done better to ring for a doctor. It looks like a bad case of the 'flu.' With an effort, Matt shook his head. 'Not 'flu. Malaria. Had it bad in Vietnam. Recurs now and again.' At once, Richard took a step back from the bed. 'Malaria? Isn't that contagious?' 'No. Not in this form.' A fresh spasm of shivers shook him. 'God, I'm so cold.' Nikki glanced around the room then went to the other bed and ripped the blankets off it and piled them on top of Matt. 'Is that better?' 'Still cold,' he complained. There were no more blankets in the suite and she had a feeling they wouldn't get much sympathy from the proprietor. On a sudden impulse, she pulled Matt's suitcase from the luggage rack and began to pile his things into it. 'What are you doing?' Richard asked. 'We're taking Matt back to Brookfield and calling a doctor,' she decided. 'We can't possibly leave him here in this condition.' With obvious reluctance, Richard helped her to pack Matt's possessions. He didn't seem to have brought much with him, she thought as she worked. That done, she slid an arm under Matt's shoulders and urged him into a sitting position. 'Help me get him to the car.' It took both of them all their time to get Matt into his dressing-gown and into the back seat of the car. His broad-shouldered form was a dead weight in his present condition. At Nikki's insistence, she stayed

with him in the car while Richard sought out Mr Sutton and settled Matt's bill. 'He'll pay you back when he's recovered,' she assured him. 'I'm not that much of a villain,' Richard protested. 'I can see that the man's ill. But I still think he'd be better off in a hospital.' 'We'll see what the doctor says,' she said firmly. After a few minutes' delay, Richard slid into the front seat looking none too happy at the way Nikki had allowed Matt to rest his head on her shoulder. 'I think Mr Sutton was glad to be rid of him,' he observed. 'He seemed to be afraid the man was going to die right here in his motel.' 'Nice place,' she said sarcastically, looking around at the seedy motel with its run-down row of suites opening on to a concrete-paved verandah. The Matt Holborn she remembered would never have stayed in such a place. Maybe he didn't have much money these days. A pang shot through her at the thought. Maybe that was why he had called her instead of telephoning a doctor. The idea was oddly disquieting. Could it be that she wanted him to need her? 'Did Matt have a car?' she asked, only just now thinking of it. 'Yes, the blue BMW over there,' Richard said, pointing to it. 'I persuaded Mr Sutton to let us leave it here until Holborn is recovered or one of us comes and gets it.' The stylish car was at odds with Matt's choice of motel, she thought. It was tempting to think he had chosen this place more for its nearness to Brookfield— and her—than for its low cost. Braced against her, Matt felt as though he was on fire, although he was still shivering and kept complaining of being cold. 'We'll soon be home, Matt,' she soothed.

Richard gave her a dubious glance in the driving- mirror but said nothing until they reached Brookfield. 'I'll get Holborn into bed while you phone the doctor,' he volunteered. She had a feeling that his sudden benevolence had more to do with keeping her apart from Matt than with any real desire to help the other man. 'No, I'll do it,' she contradicted. 'I know where everything is.' She kept a guest-bed made up in the room next to her own but she discarded it in favour of the ground-floor guest-room. Matt was too big a burden to support up the wide staircase. She left him slumped in an armchair while she made up the bed with fresh sheets and blankets, then Richard helped her to lift Matt on to the bed. When Richard had gone to telephone the doctor, she stood looking down at Matt, undecided as to what she should do next. On impulse, she fetched a bowl of cool water and a cloth from the en suite bathroom and began to bathe Matt's forehead and face. The chills alternated with a burning fever but he seemed to relax a little under her gentle ministrations. 'It's all right, Matt. You're safe here with me,' she murmured in a soothing voice. 'Nikki, is that you?' he asked without opening his eyes. 'Where am I?' 'You're at Brookfield, at my home. Just relax, everything will be all right.' Her words, or at least their tone, seemed to give him the comfort he needed because his head slumped to one side and he appeared to be asleep.

Richard came back as she was putting the bowl away. 'How is he?' 'Sleeping, I think. The worst of the fever seems to have spent itself.' 'Well, the doctor will be here shortly. His nurse said he was in the area on a call, so she'll ask him to drop in here as soon as he's through.' 'That's fine,' she said absently. 'I'll sit with Matt until he gets here.' 'Which makes me something of a fifth wheel,' Richard said irritably. Compassion welled up within her. 'I'm sorry, darling. This must be very trying for you, but you've been wonderful. I'm sorry that our lunch together was spoiled.' He rumpled her hair affectionately. 'There'll be plenty of others. I'll take some of the salad home in a doggy bag and have it there—all alone,' he added dramatically. 'Poor darling,' she murmured. 'But you're right, there will be lots of other lunches together when we're married.' For some reason she found it difficult to say, suddenly, although she'd had plenty of time to get used to the idea. Nevertheless, it pleased Richard and he dropped a kiss on her forehead. 'Are you sure you wouldn't like me to stay?' 'You know I would, but there isn't much either of us can do until the doctor gets here.' She saw Richard to the front door then returned to the guest-room. Matt had begun to toss and turn again and the bedclothes were already soaked with perspiration. If only the doctor would hurry up!

Sitting beside him, she could hardly believe that she had once been married to this disturbing, enigmatic man. Seeing him now, clad only in the bottom half of a pair of pyjamas, she felt a stirring of desire deep inside her. If only she could have felt that way on their wedding night, how different everything might have been. He certainly wouldn't have gone off into the wilds of Indo-China and been arrested as a spy. He stirred restlessly, his hand groping for something on the bedclothes. Instinctively, she slid her own hand into it and his fingers closed tightly around hers. 'Don't ever leave me,' he murmured. Of course, he didn't know what he was saying or he would know how impossible his request was. She was promised to another man and there was no point sighing for what might have been. The sound of the doorbell was a welcome relief. With difficulty, she untangled her hand from Matt's and went to let the doctor in. It was her long-time family friend and mentor, Greg Holden. 'Hello, Dr Holden, I'm so glad you're here,' she said wholeheartedly. He was plainly puzzled. 'My nurse said it was malaria. Surely not Richard Bligh—or one of your family?' She led the way towards the guest-room. 'No, it's my ... a friend of mine, Matt Holborn. He just came back from living in Asia.' 'Ah, that explains it.' Dr Holden shooed her out of the room while he examined Matt and she paced restlessly up and down the hallway. At last the doctor emerged and she looked up expectantly. 'I'm afraid your friend is going to be in bed for a few days.' 'But he won't have to go to hospital?'

'No, it's not as serious as all that. Malaria is contagious when first contracted but it's a recurring virus. Once you've had it, the symptoms tend to keep coming back for a while, getting progressively weaker each time.' 'So he's going to be all right?' She couldn't keep the relief out of her voice. 'Of course. I've given him something for the symptoms and some pills I want you to see that he takes.' He gave them to her. They looked enormous. 'I'll see that he gets them,' she promised. 'Is there anything else?' 'No, just keep him warm and quiet until the symptoms pass off. Call me if you need me.' 'Thank you, Doctor, I will.' The doctor looked at her keenly. 'He must be a very special friend, this Matt Holborn. He keeps asking for you, when he isn't muttering away in several other languages.' 'Actually, I haven't seen him for years. It must be fever talking,' she said with unconvincing lightness. Fortunately the doctor was content to leave it at that, and left soon after. On tiptoe, she ventured into Matt's room expecting him to be asleep. His eyes were shut, but he was muttering to himself in an unfamiliar language. Something he had learned in Asia, she decided. All at once, his voice became urgent and demanding. 'Nikki! Nikki, where are you?'

She went quickly to his side and took his hand. At once, he clamped his fingers around hers and pulled her down to the bed beside him. 'Thank God, I thought you'd left me again.' Again? Surely, it was he who had left her? 'No, I haven't left,' she said, letting the discrepancy pass. 'You won't leave me again, will you?' His voice was pleading. 'Promise me, Nikki.' 'I won't leave you,' she assured him, evading the promise she knew she had no right to give. 'I'll stay right here.' With a satisfied murmur, he rested back against the pillows and his hold on her hand slackened. Good, he was sleeping again. She started to move quietly away but was arrested by the sound of his voice. This time he was talking in his sleep and she recognised the language as French. The words were too soft for her to catch at first but, all at once, she caught the unmistakable murmur of a name. 'Henriette, Henriette, ma petite, je t'adore.' Her schoolgirl French might be poor but she knew enough to translate that phrase. In his dream he was telling someone called Henriette that he adored her. Henriette was obviously a girlfriend he had acquired in Vietnam and whom he had conveniently forgotten to mention when he said he was not going to give Nikki up easily. The discovery brought angry colour flooding to her cheeks and she put both hands up to her face, feeling the heat there. How could Matt come back to her pretending that he still cared, when she had already been replaced by someone else? It was just as well that she had assured Richard that all was well between them. His steady affection was worth a dozen of Matt Holborn's unpredictable kind. He had wanted her promise that she

wouldn't leave him but now it occurred to her that he hadn't made any such promise. Henriette was welcome to him, whoever she was, she thought furiously as she fled from the room.

CHAPTER THREE 'WHAT does Richard think of Matt Holborn staying in your house?' Aunt Benny asked, stirring sugar into her coffee. They were lunching together at their favourite beachfront cafe which overlooked the Broadwater at Gosford. Below their table, sunlight made the wave tips sparkle like diamonds and the skyline was ablaze with colour from the sails of the boats moored along the marina. 'He doesn't like it any more than I, do,' Nikki answered, 'but he understands that there was nothing else I could do. The man was ill after all.' Her aunt pursed her lips disapprovingly. 'He didn't look so ill when I picked you up this morning.' 'He's recovering now, although he's weaker than he looks. The doctor says he needs a few more days of rest before he takes on anything strenuous.' She gave her aunt a beseeching look. 'I couldn't very well let him go back to that dreadful motel to convalesce, could I?' 'You don't really want my opinion on that, do you?' her aunt asked. She leaned closer across the umbrella- shaded table. 'Can't you see how badly it looks— having a strange man living under your roof when you're about to marry someone else?' Frustration made Nikki frown. 'You should know me better than that, Aunt Benny. I don't care how it looks. In any case, I thought you were against me marrying Richard. How come you've suddenly turned into his advocate?' Aunt Benny helped herself to another cream cake from the plate between them, the gesture showing how little she needed to worry over her reed-slim figure. 'I'm not anybody's advocate,' she denied,

'but I suppose that Richard is the lesser of two evils if you must get married in such a rush.' Nikki laughed. 'It's hardly a rush. Richard's been on at me to marry him for almost a year. If it hadn't been for . ..' She trailed off. Her aunt's eyes narrowed. 'You sound as if you were hoping that Matt would come back all along.' Nikki took a sip of her coffee before she answered. 'Maybe I was, subconsciously. I'm deeply fond of Richard, but...' 'But he's a different proposition entirely from Matt Holborn,' her aunt finished for her. It was true. Richard was uncomplicated, fun to be with and kind to a fault. He indulged her almost to the point of spoiling her. With Matt, she would do most of the spoiling, she acknowledged now, although she had been unable to see that at nineteen. Matt was a complex man with hidden depths. It would take a lifetime to really get to know him. He pushed himself beyond the usual limits of human endurance and this was reflected in his relationships, which were also lived on a knife- edge of upredictability. To avoid further discussion she signalled the waiter for the bill but her aunt forestalled her. 'I thought this was to be my treat.' 'Fifty-fifty is all I'll allow,' Nikki insisted. 'Unless the shop has suddenly proved to be a goldmine.' 'I'm afraid not,' her aunt laughed. 'It's steady as ever, just like your gallery. But we'll never get rich from running either of them.' 'You're right, as usual,' Nikki confirmed soberly. She brightened suddenly, remembering. 'I hope you and Uncle Andrew are coming to see my new exhibition which starts on Friday.'

'I'll be there and we won't keep young Joy away. She's as keen on those old artefacts as you were at her age. But I doubt whether we'll get Andy to come. He hates art galleries of all kinds.' 'Well, at least you won't have to worry about who's going to mind the store,' Nikki observed. 'Give him my love, won't you?' 'Why don't you come over for dinner and give it to him yourself?' Normally she would have accepted without hesitation, but today she was concerned about leaving Matt alone for too long. Nor did she relish the prospect of any more discussions about her future, however well- meaning. Since Phillip Westbrook died, Uncle Andrew had appointed himself as her surrogate father, and he would be incapable of leaving the subject alone. She shook her head regretfully. 'I can't while Matt's recuperating. It wouldn't be fair to leave him alone.' 'You could always bring him along,' her aunt suggested, but without much enthusiasm. 'Thanks, but I'll still say no. Taking him home to meet my relatives would really get Richard worried.' 'You have a point there. Very well, then, I'll drive you home, but I must rush off again to take over from Andrew at the shop. He has some business calls to make this afternoon and I promised I'd be back early.' Her aunt left her at the front gate of Brookfield, refusing her invitation to come inside for a short while. In a way, Nikki was glad Aunt Benny wanted to get away. Richard was also away for the day, having driven down to Sydney to organise a showing of his sculptures, so she and Matt had the afternoon to themselves.

Guiltily, she supposed she shouldn't feel so pleased about spending the time alone with him. It was disloyal to Richard, she knew. Yet in Matt's presence she felt an undercurrent of excitement which was almost sinful. Even thinking about it now brought a glow to her skin which had nothing to do with the wine she'd drunk with lunch. Unconsciously, she quickened her steps. She located Matt on the back terrace, reading the morning newspaper which he set aside when she joined him. 'I'm glad you're back.' He took a half-step towards her as if intending to greet her with a kiss, then seemed to remember his place and stayed where he was. 'Did you have a pleasant lunch?' 'Yes, thanks. How was your morning?' God! They were talking like two polite strangers instead of two people who had once been enough in love to flout convention and get married. He seemed to be thinking the same thing because his gaze became caressing as it travelled the length of her slender body. 'You look lovely, Nikki.' She flushed. 'Thanks, but it's an outfit I've had for years.' Then she remembered: she'd owned the short denim skirt and red cap-sleeved shirt since her teens, being the sort of person who seldom discarded anything. Most clothes came back into fashion sooner or later, and this .slim-fitting mini-skirt was no exception. She was aware of how well it showed off her long, silky legs and was proud of the fact that it still fitted her as well as ever. The shirt was of a soft jersey and draped provocatively around her breasts, crossing over in front to reveal the deep cleft between them. 'I thought I recognised it,' he said softly, then groaned aloud. 'My God, Nikki. You still look nineteen when you dress like that.'

'But I'm not,' she reminded him. 'We can't turn back the clock, Matt, however much we want to.' 'Do you want to?' he asked huskily. Confused, she dropped her long lashes over her eyes, shielding her expression from him. 'No, I ... I only meant…' 'Be honest with me,' he ordered. 'Admit that the old feeling is still there.' 'How can I admit any such thing when I'm going to marry someone else?' 'No, you're not, not if I have anything to say about it.' 'But you don't,' she flashed back, hating herself when she saw the hurt welling up in his eyes. 'You gave up that right six years ago,' she reminded him. 'Not willingly. I told you I had no choice in the matter.' 'You had a choice whether to go or not in the first place.' He massaged his jaw with one hand which she noticed trembled ever so slightly. 'Did I have a choice? I don't recall you giving me one.' She laughed, but without much humour. 'You make me sound like some sort of ogre. I'm hardly big enough to throw you out bodily.' His lips tightened into an implacable line. 'Don't joke about it, Nikki. I've had six years to think about what a fool I was for walking out when I did, no matter what provocation you gave me.' Something compelled her to ask the question, 'Would you do the same thing again?'

His eyes darkened with unmistakable desire. 'Why not try me and find out?' Alarm set the blood racing in her veins. This wasn't the way she wanted things to be between them. She realised she had been harbouring the hope that they could still be friends even after she was married to Richard. Stupid! She had made the same mistake on their wedding night and had driven him away by insisting on being his friend when he wanted her to be his lover. Why couldn't she accept that she and Matt could never be anything as innocuous as friends? 'No!' she exclaimed, then covered her mouth with a hand as she realised she had spoken aloud. Luckily he thought she was answering him. 'What a fierce denial for such a harmless invitation.' 'You're not harmless where I'm concerned, and you know it,' she rejoined. 'Matt, why won't you just leave me alone?' 'Because you don't really want me to.' 'How can you say such a thing? Of all the egotistical .. . oh!' She gasped as he closed the short distance between them and grasped her upper arms in a vice-like grip. 'You're hurting me,' she whimpered, although it was his fiery touch rather than the strength of his grip which inflicted the pain. 'I'm trying to stop you from getting hurt,' he corrected, without releasing her. 'Look at me, Nikki.' As if drawn by a powerful magnet, her gaze travelled up his muscular chest until their eyes met. She drew a sharp breath at the naked desire she saw there. 'I'm looking.'

'Now order me out of your life for good. As soon as you say the words, I swear I'll go. Come on—you did it once before. Why is it so difficult now?' Her lips formed the words he had suggested but no sound came out. How could she stare into those revealing eyes and tell him to go? With a cry of despair she wrenched her eyes away. 'I ... I can't.' 'Any more than I can leave voluntarily.' His grip loosened, but it was only so that he could enfold her more closely in his arms. Held tightly against him, she marvelled anew at the splendour of his physique. She could feel every beat of his powerful heart as she rested her cheek against his perfectly sculpted chest. Ever so gently, he tilted her chin upwards and bent his head down until their lips met. She felt the scorching warmth of his mouth and eagerly returned the pressure. Lost in a cloud of sensual pleasure, it was easy to forget that she and Matt were nearly divorced—or that Richard was waiting for her in the wings. With a pang of conscience, she pulled herself away from Matt. When he tried to renew his hold on her, she resisted. 'What is it? What's the matter, Nikki?' 'I told you we can't put back the clock. I have to think of Richard, now.' With obvious reluctance, he released her. 'My, you have grown up a lot. The Nicola Westbrook I married wouldn't have given a moment's thought to anyone else.' 'Richard isn't just anyone, he's my fiancé,' she said, refusing to be sidetracked into a discussion of her character.

Matt shook his head in wonder. 'You still won't accept it, will you? Richard was a stop-gap. He's second best for you, now.' How could anyone be so arrogant? 'How can you say that? I love him.' 'And you love me. Which gives you a problem, doesn't it?' He frowned as another possibility occurred to him. 'Unless, of course, you were hoping to have your cake and eat it.' She spread her hands wide in frustration. 'I didn't want any such thing. Why did you have to come back anyway?' She was almost in tears now and turned her head away before he could see them. 'I told you, I've dreamed of nothing else for the last six years. Be my wife again, Nikki, a real wife this time. I need you so much.' Her vision blurred and she shook her head. 'You're asking for something I'm no longer free to give you.' Before he could stop her she ran out of the terrace and down to the cobbled path which led to the gallery. Luckily she had left the door unlocked this morning and she pushed it open, then slammed it shut behind her, leaning against it. Her breathing was laboured and her heart was pounding much more than the brief exertion warranted. Damn Matt Holborn! He had a wondrous knack for turning her life upside down. How could he expect her to go back to him after all that had happened? Not only, had the love she once felt for him grown stone cold, but she had found someone else. Why couldn't he accept that? 'Why won't you?' she asked herself. In the same instant, she knew why it was so difficult to accept: because Matt was right, she was

still in love with him. Yet she also loved Richard—or thought she did. What on earth was she going to do? There came a rap on the Tasmanian-oak door. 'Nikki, are you all right in there?' She looked frantically around but the small cottage offered no hiding place. With an effort, she made her voice sound normal. 'Of course I'm all right. Go away, I'm working.' 'Not until I see for myself that you're all right.' She knew him well enough to recognise the stubborn edge in his voice. He meant what he said. Quickly, she knelt on the floor among the half-finished display of tjuringas and started brushing imaginary dust off the carved stones. She was just in time, for he pushed open the door at once. She pretended rapt interest in the carvings. He stood looking down at her for a few minutes before he turned his attention to the artefact lining the walls of the gallery. She breathed a sigh of relief, letting the air out slowly so he wouldn't hear her. 'Fascinating,' he murmured. 'It's unusual to find a modern woman who appreciates such things.' He turned back to her. 'But then you're an unusual woman.' 'I've always been interested in primitive art,' she said hoarsely, determined to keep the conversation neutral. 'It runs in our family, starting with my grandfather who was a collector.' He gestured around the walls on which were displayed photographs of cave art from all over Central and Northern Australia. 'Did your grandfather take these?'

Glad to be on safe ground, she nodded. 'He was obsessed with photographing as many of them as he could and recording their history before it was lost forever.' 'Your grandfather was a wise man.' He pointed to a photo of a figure which had a piercing eye and long, stick-like body. 'Who's this grimlooking character?' 'That's Big Uncle Quinkan. He lives on the wall of a cave on Cape York Peninsula and keeps his eye on the boys who are about to be initiated into manhood. He warns them of their duties to other men, to men's things and to the people of their tribe.' 'We could use a few like Big Uncle in our society,' Matt observed wryly. He moved to another, more crudely drawn picture of a stickfigure man standing over the fallen figure of a woman. 'What's the story behind this one?' Feeling colour flood her cheeks, she looked quickly away. 'I'm sure you're not really interested.' 'Oh, but I am. You see I studied native art myself while I was roving around the outback and the islands. If I remember correctly, this is puri-puri.' 'Well, if you already know, why ask me?' she said crossly, as annoyed with herself for being embarrassed as with him for catching her out. He ignored her interruption. 'As I recall, puri-puri is wish-fulfilment art, designed to achieve a certain objective. Some tribes call it dreamcome-true painting. You can use it to bring an enemy to his downfall—or, as in this case, to "sing" a woman to your bed.' He picked up a piece of chalk and began to draw on the blackboard

Nikki kept for the lectures she occasionally gave to groups of school children. Uneasily, she watched the two stick figures taking shape on the blackboard. 'What are you doing?' 'I'm making puri-puri,' he said seriously. 'I'm "singing" you to my bed.' 'Don't be ridiculous,' she said, trying to keep the alarm out of her voice. 'You have to believe in it for that sort of thing to work.' He finished the drawing and set the chalk down carefully, dusting his hands on the sides of his trousers. 'But you do believe in it, don't you, Nikki? You know it's going to work.' He took a step towards her and she backed away instinctively. 'No, I. ..' 'Now your conscience can rest easily because you couldn't help what happened,' he said, his voice hypnotic and his eyes never leaving her. 'What . . . what happened?' she asked nervously. 'It hasn't yet, but it's going to.' He took her in his arms. Over his shoulder she could see the two stick figures he had drawn. They lay entwined on a crude stick bed. She shivered slightly and his hold tightened. When he kissed her, the sensations which tore through her were so powerful that she was almost prepared to believe it was magic. No mortal man could have such a disturbing effect on her as this. She felt giddy, feverish and shivery-cold by turn as his lips played a sensuous tune on hers, his tongue flicking out to touch the corners of her mouth and darting away before she could react. 'Oh, Matt,' she moaned softly.

Pressed against her, his body grew hard and demanding. At last, he said urgently, 'Let's go inside.' That was her cue to refuse him; to remember Richard and her duty to him. But the puri-puri of the man and the woman entwined filled her field of vision, shutting out everything but her need of Matt. 'All right,' she agreed. He kept his arm around her shoulders as he led her - back down the cobbled path to the house. Inside, it was cool and quiet. In his room, he drew back the covers of the bed and began to unbutton his shirt, giving her a tantalising glimpse of muscular chest strewn with curling golden hair. Her fingers shook as she undid the tie fastening of the red shirt and let it drop to the bedroom floor. She wore no bra underneath it and he gave a low groan as his eyes fell on her unfettered breasts which rose and fell in time with her quickened breathing. Still with their eyes locked, they shed their remaining clothes until they were both standing beside the inviting bed. Holding her against him, he ran his fingers up and down her spine, sending small shivers of delight all the way to her brain. 'Your magic works,' she said coyly. He frowned. 'The magic was just an excuse. You want this as much as I do, admit it.' Why did he have to bring them down from the heady plane where all things were permissible? She couldn't blame her present behaviour on magic—only on her own miserable weakness. Thankful for his timely reminder, she snatched up his bathrobe and tied it around herself with shaking hands. 'You're right,' she said coldly. 'I do want you, but we can't always have what we want—can we? You just saved me from doing something I would regret afterwards.'

Arrogant in his nakedness, he strode over to the dresser and picked up a packet of cigarettes, opening it one-handed and taking out a cigarette. He lit it and blew lazy smoke-rings into the air. 'Are you still a virgin, Nikki?' 'What kind of question is that?' It was about the last thing she had expected him to ask. 'A logical one. You were when we parted.' 'I've told you, a lot has happened in six years. Look, just because I remembered in time that I have no right to let you make love to me . . .' 'Doesn't mean that you're still the scared virgin I left behind. Yes, I suppose there's no reason why you should be. Just because I was faithful…' 'You had very little choice,' she flung back at him, then remembered. 'Then, of course, there was Henriette.' His eyes snapped fire and a muscle worked in his throat. 'Who told you about Henriette?' 'You did, when you were delirious with the malaria fever.' Aggressively, he ground the cigarette out in the ashtray. 'She isn't what you think.' Her eyes flashed matching fire. 'Since you also gave away the fact that you adore her, what am I supposed to think? That she's your little Asian plaything? Or are you going to tell me that, like in the best films, she's a nun who saved you from a fate worse than death?' 'No, she isn't a nun—but neither is she a plaything. Henriette Nim is a simple little montagnard woman from the hills along the

Cambodian border. She married a French planter from Tay Ningh. And I wasn't cuckolding her husband, either,' he added angrily as she opened her mouth to speak. 'Then what were you doing—experimenting with group sex?' she asked crudely, aware that jealousy was making her lose all sense of proportion. He regarded her with thinly veiled contempt. 'You have come a long way, haven't you, although I wouldn't call it an improvement. If you'll just allow me to finish, Henriette took me in after I was released. I had no money, was still weak from the original bout of malaria and was about to be thrown out of the country on my ear.' She clutched a hand to her mouth. 'Matt, how terrible for you. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean the things I said.' 'I hope not, because I do adore Henriette. She's closer to me than a sister. She attended to my needs when I was too weak to fend for myself, and cared for me until I regained my strength. So I won't have you making vile suggestions about her, do you understand?' She had obviously touched a sensitive nerve. His fury was nerveracking. 'I am truly sorry. I didn't mean to insult her,' she said. 'Will you accept my apology?' 'Forget it, you weren't to know.' His expression softened slightly. 'So you were at my bedside the whole time I was ill, Florence Nightingale.' Troubled by how much she had given away, she shook her head. 'Only for a short while, that's all.' 'Long enough to hear about Henriette—and be jealous,' he said, his tone suddenly teasing.

Jealous? That would imply that she cared about him, which was the last thing she wanted him to discover. 'No, I wasn't jealous. I was just ... curious.' 'You were jealous,' he repeated. 'Maybe my magic is some good after all.' She wished he hadn't mentioned the puri-puri. She must go and erase it from the blackboard as soon as she could. Of course, she didn't believe that a mere drawing could make her do anything against her will—but what if she did want to? 'Oh-oh.' She looked up in alarm as Matt staggered slightly. 'What is it? What's the matter?' He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. 'A sudden wave of dizziness just came over me. Must be that the blasted malaria hasn't quite worn off.' 'The doctor did tell you to take things easy,' she reminded him. 'Are you still taking the medication he prescribed?' 'I'm not that big a fool,' he growled, apparently annoyed at his own weakness. 'Then why don't you lie down and rest,' she suggested. 'Only if you promise not to go away.' As she was about to demur, he passed a hand across his eyes and she reluctantly gave in. 'Very well, I'll sit here until you're asleep.'

Obediently he stretched out full-length on top of the bedcovers, still magnificent in his nakedness. She wished she had the courage to cover him with something, but didn't want to disturb him with too much activity. Yet she couldn't just sit here and look at him like this. It was altogether too disturbing for her. Surely he could hear the way his very presence was causing her heart to race? With his eyes closed, he stretched out a hand to her. 'Are you still here?' He sounded weak and unsure of himself. 'I said I'd stay, didn't I?' she said churlishly, to cover her embarrassment. She took his hand and held it. All at once, he tugged violently on her arm and brought her down on top of him, the man's robe falling open as she tumbled. 'What are you doing?' she gasped. 'More puri-puri,'' he said, opening his eyes to reveal a wicked glint in them. She struggled unsuccessfully to free herself. 'You were faking!' The tussle only seemed to excite him the more and he pulled her hard down on top of him. 'I warned you I don't give up easily.' Furious at the way she had allowed herself to be duped she renewed her struggles, but was all too aware of the arousing effect she was having on him. 'Please let me go,' she implored. Instead, he rolled with her so that she was lying on the bed and he was looking down at her. With a fatalistic feeling, she knew he wasn't going to let her go. At the same time, she also knew that she wanted him and wouldn't offer any more resistance. Just when she had accepted the inevitable, he rolled away from her and sat on the edge of the bed. What was it this time? Surely he

hadn't had a belated attack of conscience on Richard's behalf? To her shame, she knew she hadn't. 'What is it, Matt?' she asked gently, trying to guess what was in his mind from the rigid set of his shoulders. 'Damn it, I can't,' he growled. 'You mean you can't take me against my will?' she asked in astonishment. 'It wasn't against your will and you know it. I mean I can't take you— period. The damned malaria has left me too weak to be of any use to you.' A wave of compassion for him washed over her. 'It's all right, I understand.' it wasn't your understanding I wanted,' he said harshly. Then he relented. 'I'm sorry, I shouldn't be taking my frustration out on you.' She patted the space beside her on the bed. 'Come back here.' 'What?' 'I said come back here.' She steeled herself as he lay down again, his body rigid with anger at himself. Methodically, she began to stroke the length of his body, kneading the knotted muscles and massaging the tension out of them. Much later, when he lay completely relaxed, he looked at her admiringly. 'The girl I left behind has turned into quite a woman, it would seem.' He propped himself up on one elbow. 'There's only one thing bothering me.' 'Yes, what's that?'

'Who was your teacher? Was it Richard Bligh?' Anger flared in her again. 'How could you ask such a thing? It's none of your damned business anyway.' 'You're my wife. That makes it my business.' 'I'm only your wife on paper,' she said, trying not to think how close they had just come to making it a marriage in fact as well. 'But if you must know, you were my teacher.' He stared at her incredulously. 'Me? How could I possibly…' 'Not in fact, but certainly in spirit.' She debated whether to tell him the whole story or not, then decided that she owed him that much. Perhaps when they went their separate ways, it would help him to think more kindly of her. 'When I was at university, there was a man—a graduate student— whom I came to care for very much. I was in love with him for a while, or thought I was. He believed in doing whatever you felt like doing at a given time.' 'I can imagine what he felt like doing with you,' Matt said churlishly. 'And you'd be right. The only trouble was, whenever I was with him, I was pretending that it was you.' 'The hell you were!' 'I couldn't help it. I still considered myself married to you and I so longed for you to be with me that I created a fantasy love life for myself—but always with you.' 'A bit rough on the other guy, wasn't it?'

'Yes. That's why we parted, and why there was no one else after that. I finally realised how unfair I was being to him and so I broke it off. He's happily married now, with a couple of kids and lecturing at the same university.' Matt looked dumbfounded. 'What about Richard? Is he a substitute, too?' 'No, Richard isn't a substitute for anyone,' she said carefully. 'I went into that relationship with my eyes open. I think I was attracted to him precisely because he was the opposite of you in character. You see, I'd got you out of my system by then.' He gazed down at her, still stretched out on the bed beside him. 'It looks that way, doesn't it?' 'This has nothing to do with anything,' she said firmly, almost convincing herself. 'As it is, nothing happened.' 'No, it didn't,' he said bitterly. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to rub it in,' she said, genuinely penitent. 'But in a way, it's for the best. It would only have complicated the situation.' 'And you think it isn't complicated now?' She turned her head away so he wouldn't see the confusion in her expression. 'No, of course not. As soon as you're fully recovered, you'll be on your way again and I'll go on with my plans to marry Richard.' 'You little bitch,' he growled, startling her. 'What?' She swung around to face him and was alarmed at the fury in his face.

'You've just admitted that you enjoy your little fantasies. Maybe Richard wasn't a substitute for me, but you were using me as a substitute for him, weren't you?' Such a thought had never entered her head. 'No! That's ridiculous.' 'Is it? Your conscience wouldn't let you sleep with him until you were married, so you decided to have a little fun on the side, didn't you? I'll bet you even put on that teenage outfit this morning as part of your little scheme.' Hurt beyond words, she climbed off the bed and retied his robe around herself. 'You're crazy if you think such a thing. I'm glad I got you out of my system if that's the way you think.' 'Poor Nikki,' he said harshly, 'still kidding yourself. You haven't got me out of your system at all. I'm a fever in your blood, just as you are in mine—God help me. But you'll get your just deserts. After today, every time you're lying in bed beside Richard, you'll be seeing me and wanting me, just as you did with your professor-friend. My puripuri works after all.' 'Get out of here!' she screamed. 'I hate you, do you hear me, I hate you!' 'Liar,' he snarled. 'I'll show you how well you've got me out of your system.' Before she could react, he pressed her against the bedroom wall and claimed her mouth in a roughly possessive kiss which took her breath away. How could you love someone and yet feel such a desperate need to get away from them? She gave herself up to despair as her body betrayed her by kissing him back with fierce passion.

'What the bloody hell's going on here?' She wrenched her mouth away from Matt's in time to see the bedroom door slamming shut. 'Richard!' she gasped.

CHAPTER FOUR MATT'S calm acceptance of the situation was infuriating. He lay back on the bed with his hands cupped behind his head, watching with an expression of mild amusement, as she dressed in frantic haste. Her palm itched for something hard and sharp to throw at him, but if she wasted any time Richard would be gone and she simply had to catch him before he left. What must he think of her? The glimpse he got of her pressed against a wall, Matt's lips devouring hers, would have given the lie to all her protests that nothing had changed between them. His exclamation and the fact that he had left at once told their own story. Richard thought she had gone back to Matt. He wasn't to know that what he had seen was Matt's attempt to prove his mastery over her. Just as well it hadn't worked. Unconsciously, she scrubbed her bruised lips with the back of one hand as she zipped up the tight denim mini-skirt with the other. 'You can't make it go away like that,' Matt said softly. She shot him a look of loathing. 'You don't care, do you? How can you claim to love me and not care that you've just ruined my future?' 'Don't be melodramatic,' he said sharply. 'I've ruined nothing because you and Bligh had nothing worth anything in the first place.' 'You don't know that.' He quirked an ironic eyebrow at her. 'Don't I? Your behaviour today shows just how much Bligh means to you.' 'That was an ... an aberration!' she flung at him as she thrust her feet into her sandals. 'It won't happen again.'

Only minutes had passed since Richard interrupted them but she was still too late. By the time she stumbled the length of the gravel driveway, his car was swinging out of sight around a bend, the tyres protesting furiously. Behind him, the big wrought-iron gates creaked as they swung to and fro. She anchored them open although there was no chance that Richard would come back after what he had seen. Then, listlessly, she went back inside. In the meantime, Matt had dressed in cream linen slacks and a tancoloured pilot's shirt, the casual outfit hugging his lean contours and reminding her of the powerful body underneath, which she had come to know so intimately this afternoon. Under the thin fabric, his muscles bulged in high relief and she felt an absurd urge to run her hands over them. Silently, she cursed her errant body. It was precisely such desires which had got her into her present fix. When would she accept that Matt was no longer hers— if he ever had been. Now, she had probably lost Richard as well and it was her own stupid fault. Moodily she flung herself down on the couch in the living-room where Matt was mixing drinks at the bar. 'Scotch?' he asked without turning round. 'Mineral water with a dash of bitters, thanks,' she said flatly. She wasn't much of a drinker, especially during the daytime. Matt must have forgotten that. 'Are you sure you wouldn't like something stronger?' 'No, mineral water is fine. I don't need artificial stimulants.' Matt handed her a glass of sparkling liquid in which swirled a twist of lemon. 'Richard would be flattered to know his departure hasn't upset your spirits too much.'

'Just because I don't want to get drunk doesn't mean I don't care,' she snapped back. He held up his hands in mock surrender. 'Truce! Pax or whatever.' He sipped his drink thoughtfully. 'Maybe what happened today is for the best.' She gave him a startled glance. 'How can you say that?' 'Well, Richard had to find out some time that you and I are back together.' 'We are not together! Today was a ... a moment of weakness. It doesn't mean anything. And besides,' she added huskily, 'it's not as if anything happened, is it?' His expression became churlish. 'Not for want of trying. You know damned well that we would have made love if I'd been able to.' She couldn't argue with him. She had been as carried away on a tide of passion as he had. It was only fate which had prevented them consummating their strange marriage at long last. 'All right, I'll admit that I wanted you, but not as a husband any more. I'm just not cut out for your way of life, Matt. With your passion for adventure, you could disappear into the jungle again any time. At least with Richard, I know where I am.' He sat down in the armchair opposite her, his limbs loose and relaxed. 'If that's all you're worried about, I can promise you there'll be no more jungles for me, Nikki. I came back here to buy myself a house and settle down.' She looked at him in disbelief. 'You?' 'Why not? I've seen more of the world than most men see in a lifetime. You can get as bored with moving around as you can with

routine and I seem to have reached that stage. I rather like the idea of having a permanent home to come back to each day, maybe with a couple of kids running around the garden.' He didn't say it but she was sure his vision included her standing at the front door to greet him. Somehow, she had never pictured herself as the mother of his children—perhaps because, when they were first married, he had been so undomesticated. Now, she wasn't sure what he was any more. They had both changed too much in the years they'd spent apart. She kept her tone casual. 'It's a very cosy vision, Matt. But it isn't the one Richard and I have for ourselves.' His mouth tightened into a hard line. 'You mean he doesn't want children?' 'I ... I don't know. We haven't talked about that yet. But we will,' she added hastily. 'Before the marriage, I hope,' Matt said dryly. Abruptly, his calm demeanour gave way to anger. 'For crying out loud, Nikki, you can't marry Richard Bligh.' 'Just because you say so?' she asked, striving to sound unaffected by his anger. She managed it, to her amazement, although she was trembling inwardly. 'No, damn it! Because you're not in love with him. If you were you'd know whether or not you wanted to have his children.' His hand shook slightly as he tilted the whisky glass to his lips and tossed the liquid down his throat. 'You should see yourself when you talk about him. You're so calm and businesslike, as if you were going into partnership with him instead of marrying the man.'

'But isn't marriage a partnership?' 'Of course, but it's an alliance of the spirit, not of the chequebook.' 'You know so much about it, I suppose,' she said, provoked in spite of herself.' He shook his head. 'I'm the first to admit I'm a novice. I made a complete botch of our first attempt. But I've learned from my mistakes, as I hope you have. I'm willing to try again if you are.' His eyes bored into her with frightening intensity and she had to shield her eyes with her long lashes, as if blinded by a brilliant light. His manner was persuasive, but then he always had been able to influence her when he talked like this. It was one of the reasons why she had agreed to marry him against her parents' wishes. But this time everything was different. She wasn't a naive teenager, flattered by the attentions of a more sophisticated man. She had a mind of her own, even if she wasn't sure what she wanted herself at this moment. He wasn't going to influence her so easily this time. 'It's generous of you to admit that you were as much to blame for our failure as I was. I used to think the fault was all on my side, but it doesn't alter the fact that I'm engaged to someone else. You're right about the mistakes we made last time. One of them was getting married in the first place.' He looked at her steadily for a moment. 'I see.' 'Do you?' she wanted to cry out, but kept silent. Could he see the real reason why she held back from him? It wasn't just the. fear that he would vanish from her life again on some wild goose chase. It was the much more terrifying prospect that she would lose herself in the force of his powerful personality. At nineteen such an idea would

have seemed laughable. Now, conscious of the disturbing effect he had on her senses, she knew it was a real threat. He stood up abruptly. 'Congratulations. You almost had me believing you.' 'What do you mean?' she asked uneasily. 'I mean for a minute there, you almost had me conceding defeat and consigning you to Richard Bligh. Then I remembered the way you responded to me in bed today. Whatever you call it, your actions were those of a woman in love.' She was saved from the need to defend herself when the telephone shrilled in the hall. For a moment, she was held in thrall by his steely gaze, then she wrenched her eyes away and went out to answer the telephone. 'Hello? Yes, this is Nicola Westbrook.' The woman on the other end was warm but brisk. 'I'm glad we managed to catch you, Miss Westbrook. I'm Sister McPherson from Gosford Hospital. Your fiancé asked me to contact you for him.' For him? That must mean .. . Her voice trembled as she phrased the question. 'Has something happened to Richard?' 'I'm afraid so . His car was involved in an accident a short while ago and he was injured.' 'How badly? Is he ... will he be all right?' The sister's tone softened. 'Doctor says he'll be fine. In fact, apart from a bump on the head he escaped with only cuts and bruises. But he's to remain here overnight for observation and he would like to see you. He said he has no other family.'

'That's right. His only relatives are distant ones and they live in Queensland,' she murmured, still in shock. 'Then I can tell him to expect you?' 'Yes, of course. I'll come at once, if that's all right,' she said. 'Yes, it's right in the middle of visiting hours so you can come any time. We'll expect you shortly. Goodbye.' It was only when Matt gently disengaged the receiver from her nervelesss fingers that she became aware that the sister had hung up. 'What's the matter?' he asked, taking in her white face and shaking hands. She turned horror-filled eyes to him. 'It's Richard. He crashed his car driving away from here and he's in Gosford hospital, asking for me.' 'I'll drive you there,' Matt said at once. 'No, you mustn't.' That was the last thing she wanted. 'Can't you see—it's because of us that Richard had the accident. It was all my fault.' 'Don't be ridiculous. You weren't in control of the car. He was.' 'That's not the point. He was in such a state when he left here that he must have driven recklessly. If we hadn't ... if he hadn't seen us ...' 'You don't know that's why he crashed,' Matt said decisively. 'It could have been some other factor entirely. Why not hold off the selfcondemnation until you talk to him?' She nodded dumbly, but even as she did so she knew Matt was wrong. If Richard hadn't been so upset by the sight of her in Matt's

arms, he would have driven with more care. Now he was in hospital, injured, and it was all her fault. Telling herself that such thoughts wouldn't help, she fought for selfcontrol: Richard needed her. Going to him now wouldn't change her role in the accident but it was the only way she could make even partial amends. She took the stairs two at a time. and changed quickly. The red shirt and denim skirt were hardly suitable for visiting a hospital. After a moment's hesitation, she slipped into a blue figured-silk shirtwaister and clasped a navy patent- leather belt around her slender waist. White high-heeled pumps and a matching handbag completed the outfit. There was no time to fuss with make-up so she settled for coating her full lips with clear gloss. Then she brushed her honeycoloured hair into a glossy curtain and secured it at the sides with tortoise-shell combs. Critically, she inspected her reflection in the mirror. She wasn't ready—nothing could prepare her to face Richard so soon, but knowing that she was well groomed lent her a small measure of confidence. 'Are you sure you don't want me to drive you?' Matt asked when she met him at the foot of the stairs. He looked her up and down with warm approval which changed into thinly veiled annoyance as he remembered that her preparations were to please another man. 'No, I'll be all right, thank you.' She made her way outside to where her car—a tiny Honda hatchback— was parked under the trees. She was achingly aware of him watching her as she reversed the car out from the trees and steered around the circular driveway. Resisting

the urge to look back, she turned into the side driveway and drove out through the open gates. It was tempting to put her foot down and reach the hospital as quickly as possible but she forced herself to drive sedately. The sister had assured her that Richard was in no danger. Besides, she needed every moment to compose herself before she faced him. He had asked for her so that meant he wanted to see her again. After this morning, she wouldn't have blamed him if he had rejected her completely. But how would he react when they met face to face? She forced her racing mind to concentrate on the coastal scenery, hoping that the sight would help to calm the turmoil raging within her. But even the breathtaking beauty of the Brisbane Water above which the road wound, failed to lift her spirits. It was not for want of trying on nature's part. The dense eucalypt forest facing the seashore was adorned with hundreds of spring wildflowers—Christmas bells, spider flowers and boronia. Here and there stood the state's emblem, the Waratah, its flame-like red blossom crowning a stalk taller than a man. Overhead, lorikeets, scarlet-throated parrots and honeyeaters swooped and dived on the bounty, plundering the flowers for their seeds and juices. As she drove around a bend into a shadowy glade, a bellbird sent up its distinctive chiming call. The scenery could have been drab and silent for all the effect it had on her mood. She was too preoccupied, agonising about what she would say to Richard when she walked into his room. In the end, she settled for a simple 'Hello, Richard' when she stood at his bedside at last. He was chalky white and his head was bandaged,

but apart from a violet bruise across one cheek he didn't seem to have any other injuries. 'Hello, Nikki,' he said softly, speaking a little more slowly than usual. She wondered if the doctor had given him something for pain. 'Are you all right?' she asked tautly. 'Still in one piece, so I'm told.' He forced a wry smile. 'I was lucky I didn't go over the cliff.' She bit her lower lip so hard that she tasted salty blood inside her mouth, but the question had to be asked. 'What happened?' He lowered his eyelids and she was afraid he had dozed off, then he suddenly opened his eyes again and to her horror she saw there were faint streaks of moisture on his cheeks. 'I was driving like an idiot,' he said quietly. 'I think you know why.' She felt the colour leave her face in a rush. 'Yes. I was afraid you'd say that. I want you to know, I'm sorry ... so very sorry, Richard.' 'Sorry for what happened, or that I caught you?' he asked harshly. Her eyes widened. 'Sorry that it happened, of course. I didn't want it to, but...' She was going to say that she had tried to resist Matt's attraction without success, but Richard misunderstood her. 'That bastard! I should have known he would try to force himself on you.' Suddenly she understood what he was getting at. 'Oh no, it was nothing like that. I wish I could say it was against my will—it would be easier for you to understand. But I was as much at fault as Matt was.'

'I see. You waited until I was away for the day then let him make love to you, hoping I wouldn't find out- was that it?' 'No!' she denied forcefully. 'It wasn't like that either. Oh, how can I explain something I don't even fully understand myself? We were alone together and the attraction was just too strong. But he didn't make love to me at all, in the end. He ... he couldn't.' For the first time since she arrived, a trace of triumphant amusement showed itself on Richard's pale face. 'Well, well. So the mighty hunter couldn't cope with his prey when he caught it!' 'Stop it!' she said angrily. 'You and Matt make me feel like a bone you've got between you. I'm nobody's prey, as you call it—not yours or Matt's either.' Richard groped for Nikki's hand on the bedclothes. 'I'm sorry, darling. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I guess I was so demoralised by seeing you with that bastard that it made me feel better to think of him being frustrated.' He stroked her fingers persuasively. 'I know this isn't an easy situation for you, any more than it is for me. Holborn must have meant a lot to you once. After all, you were married to him.' She looked at him through misty eyes veiled by her long lashes. 'I didn't expect you to be so understanding.' 'Don't get me wrong, I'm hardly understanding. I'm just trying to see your side of things. You're divided between past and present loyalties—am I right?' What would he say if she told him the division was between two kinds of present loyalties? For she could see now that was what it was. Matt wasn't a figure from her past to be got out of her system. He was a very real present-day rival for her love.

She had been so sure that Richard was the right man for her until Matt walked back into her life. Now, she just didn't know where she stood any more. She loved them both but for different reasons. Yet she plainly couldn't marry them both. Somebody was bound to get hurt and she had a dreadful feeling it was going to be her. 'You've very quiet suddenly,' Richard said teasingly. 'I suppose I feel guilty because you're being more reasonable than I have any right to expect,' she confessed. He squeezed her hand reassuringly. 'Most feelings have their testing time—this has been yours. It's over and done with.' Less confidently, he added, 'It is over, isn't it? You haven't changed your mind?' 'We're still engaged, if that's what you're asking.' That much, at least, she could count on. Right now she felt a desperate need for some stability in what had become a very bewildering situation. 'Thank God for that. I was afraid .. .' 'Afraid of what?' 'Nothing. The best thing we can do is forget today ever happened. I promise I won't even bring it up after we're married, when we have our first real fight.' She smiled her relief at being back on safe ground. 'We're not even married and you're already planning our first fight!' 'Not planning. But we wouldn't be human if everything was plain sailing, would we?' 'No, I suppose not.' Distantly a gong sounded throughout the hospital corridors. 'That's the end of visiting hours. I'd better go. Is there anything I can do for you?'

His grip on her hand tightened again. 'Yes, there is something—ask Holborn to find somewhere else to live. He's fully recovered now, after all.' Hot colour flooded her cheeks as she understood his reference. After what he had seen this afternoon, there was no doubt that Matt was fit and well. 'All right,' she agreed. 'Was there anything else, anything I can bring you?' He shook his head. 'They tell me I'll be out of here by tomorrow afternoon if no complications set in. But you can do one thing for me.' 'What's that?' she asked willingly. , 'Set a new date for our wedding. I realise Holborn's arrival messed up our original plans, but now we've had this talk there's no reason why we can't set a new date and plan towards it.' He grew more enthusiastic. 'I know! We'll announce it at the opening of your tjuringa display on Friday. I'll be up and about by then and we can make a real occasion of it—how does that sound?' Seeing the healthy colour which had come into his face as he planned, she could hardly tell him that she needed more time to be sure of herself before she set a new date. He would be more than ever convinced that she was still in love with Matt and she couldn't do that to him, not after his valiant attempt to see things her way. 'All right, we'll do that,' she agreed. Friday was still a couple of days away. Surely that would give her enough time to sort out her tangled emotions? She bent and kissed Richard lightly on the cheek. 'Take care of yourself.'

Before she could straighten, he pulled her closer and kissed her full on the mouth, clinging to her lips with a kind of desperation. Even as she tried to return the kiss with equal fervour, she found herself wishing it was Matt who held her. 'You'll be lying beside him and wishing it was me,' he had predicted. Dear God! Was he already being proved right? If she couldn't dismiss him from her mind now, while she and Richard were only engaged, what would it be like when they were married and Matt was hundreds of miles away? When Richard finally released her, she had tears on her cheeks. He brushed them carefully away. 'Don't cry, darling. I'll be out of here tomorrow and everything will be all right, you'll see.' She nodded, too overcome to speak. Richard thought that her tears were remorse over her part in his injuries. Instead they were for herself and her predicament. She made an attempt to be brisk and businesslike. 'Would you like me to pick you up after your discharge tomorrow?' 'No, don't trouble yourself. I've already arranged a lift home. My car won't be out of action for more than a couple of days. Luckily it's in better shape than I am, so I'll have it back before I've had time to miss it.' 'It seems as if everything's settled then,' she said awkwardly. The gong sounded again, louder this time. 'I'd better be going before they throw me out.' 'All right. I'll see you on Friday at the opening then.' 'Until Friday.' She hurried out of the ward and back to her parked car.

She drove home in a daze. What with Richard pressing her to set a new date for the wedding and Matt trying to talk her out of going through with it, she really did feel like a bone between two hounds. Now she had the added problem of how to persuade Matt to move out of Brookfield. As it happened, no persuasion was needed. He was packing his belongings when she went to his room. 'What's this?' she asked, although she already knew. 'Staying here didn't seem like such a good idea any more,' he explained, 'as doubtless Richard pointed out when you saw him.' She coloured hotly. 'He did say something of the sort,' she stammered. 'You are over your malaria now, and .. .' 'There's no need to try to soften the blow. I'm not going very far— just back to the motel up the road.' 'Oh. But I thought. ..' 'You thought I would tuck my tail between my legs and go quietly. Well I already warned you I don't give up that easily. I shan't stop fighting until there's a wedding ring on your finger—mine or Bligh's.' She was tempted to point out that Matt's ring was already on her finger, figuratively speaking, but she knew he was talking about the future, rather than the past. 'At least you make your position clear,' she said, nonplussed. He grinned at her. 'I always did.' Even though it was for the best, she felt a sudden reluctance to let him leave. 'Will you stay for dinner?' He arched an eyebrow at her. 'Are you sure that's wise?'

'Probably not, but we still have some talking to do. We may as well do it like civilised people, over a meal.' 'When will you learn that there's nothing civilised about two men competing for the same woman?' he asked, wonder in his voice. 'It's the most primeval of all struggles.' Since she had no answer for that, she turned quickly away and went into the kitchen, where she made an effort to divert her troubled thoughts by devising an intriguing menu for their dinner. She peered into the refrigerator, seeking ingredients for a simple but stunning main course. Chicken pieces provided the answer. Dressed with tarragon mustard, they were soon fricaseeing on a bed of fresh herbs. Buttered zucchini went into the oven at the same time, along with a loaf of garlic bread. For a first course she halved a ripe avocado and filled each half with segments of peeled grapefruit, dressing them with a mixture of honey, lemon juice and salad oil. While the meal was cooking she set a table out on the terrace where it was spring-warm, but not too hot. A pair of rosellas perched hopefully on the balustrade and she scattered food for them, too. If only the evening wasn't so tinged with a sad air of farewell everything would have been perfect. Matt came to the table dressed in a khaki linen short- sleeved safari suit, his shirt open at the neck to reveal a gold-plated mali leaf. The sight of the good-luck charm nestled in a bed of golden chest-hair sent a pang of longing through her. She disguised the reaction by busying herself with serving their dinner. 'This is excellent,' he said, savouring the chicken. The avocado had already earned his praise.

'I'm glad you like it.' They were back to being polite strangers again and she didn't know whether to be glad or despairing about it. She toyed with her wine glass. 'You haven't asked me what Richard had to say.' 'That's because I already know.' Surprise brought her head up and their eyes clashed 'How could you?' 'Because I know what sort of man Bligh is. Let me see—he was reproachful at first, then forgiving and almost painfully understanding—right?' 'Yes, but how .. .?' 'I told you, I know his type. Can't you see, Nikki, he's trying to make you feel so guilty you'll go ahead with marrying him against your better judgment?' 'How can you be so sure it's against my judgment? Before I left Richard, I agreed to set a new wedding day and announce it at the opening on Friday.' 'Then you're a fool,' Matt said savagely, swirling his wine around in his glass. 'I hear he's already talked you into selling Brookfield.' She was so taken aback that she didn't think to ask how he came by his information. 'He didn't have to talk me into it. The upkeep is becoming more than I can afford. Besides, Richard prefers to live in the city where his commissions are to be found.' Matt was really angry now, the throb of a pulse at his temple betraying that his temper was held in check by a thread. 'And what about what you want?' he flung at her. 'You'll hate living in the city, you know you will. Away from the forest and the wildlife, you'll

suffocate. Brookfield is your home. Your parents would have hated the idea of it belonging to strangers.' She tensed. The thought had occurred to her more than once since Richard proposed that she part with the house. 'They would want what's best for me,' she breathed. 'Even if it means giving up your heritage?' he demanded. She pushed her plate away, her food only half-eaten. Suddenly she had no appetite any more. 'My heritage, as you call it, barely stretches to keep the place going. If it wasn't for the gallery I'd have had to sell up long before this. It isn't fair to expect Richard to take on such a burden. At least I have a good reason for wanting to keep it going.' Matt reached across and took her hand. She was tempted to snatch it away but instead let her fingers lie limp and unresponsive in his grasp. 'Does Richard know you're nearly broke?' he asked. 'I've never made any secret of it—why?' 'Because I have a feeling he doesn't know how bad things are. After all, from the way you dress and the look of this place, you give the appearance of being a well-heeled heiress.' She regarded him suspiciously. 'What are you saying?' 'I'm saying that Richard is marrying you for your money.' As she gave a gasp of protest he went on. 'It wouldn't be the first time an artist has married his wealthy patron—or the woman he believes to be such.' 'That's the most ridiculous thing I've heard,' she said when she could speak again.

His eyes narrowed. 'Is it? You can't deny that you've played the role of patron to Richard.' She wondered how he had found out so much in the short time he'd been back in Sydney. 'Well, I ... I did meet him through the gallery. He came to see me about displaying some of his work.' 'And you introduced him to some of your contacts in Sydney, through whom he could get more work— right?' 'Yes, right, but it doesn't mean he's marrying me for that reason. Richard was well established, with plenty of commissions, long before he ever met me.' Matt had the grace to look surprised. 'You've seen some of his work from that period, then?' 'Well, no. But he's told me about it,' she said defensively, realising for the first time that she had taken Richard at his word from the beginning. What an idiot she was! Suddenly she saw that it had been Matt's intention to make her doubt Richard's credibility all along. 'You'll stop at nothing to get your own way, won't you?' she said in disgust. He was unperturbed. 'You must admit, it's food for thought. Of course, you'll discuss the money problem with Richard before your wedding day, won't you?' She studied him suspiciously but his expression was frank and guileless. 'Well, of course,' she said reluctantly. 'Tomorrow? Before you announce the new wedding day?' he persisted.

'Look, what are you driving at? Why should you care when we discuss our affairs?' He drew her hand towards him again and she could feel the warmth in his palm as he cupped it over hers. 'Because I care about you. Personally, I think you're afraid to bring up the question of money with Bligh.' She forced an unconvincing laugh. 'That's absurd. What do I have to be afraid of?' 'The truth. If you found out that Richard is marrying you because he thinks you're wealthy, you would be left with only one man who truly loves you for yourself, and you're even more afraid of that. Richard Bligh is your insurance policy.' There was a high note of tension in her voice as she asked, 'Against what?' He leaned across the table and gazed deeply into her eyes, creating an unnerving impression that he could see all the way to her soul. 'Against me.'

CHAPTER FIVE 'OMMMMM. OMMmmm. OMMmmm.' With an effort bordering on desperation, Nikki poured into the yoga chant all of her worries and frustrations, trying to visualise them floating away from her as she had learned when she studied the discipline at university. The deep-breathing exercises calmed and refreshed her, but the mental peace refused to follow no matter how hard she tried. She kept seeing images of Richard and Matt over and over in her mind. At last she stretched and came up from her cross- legged position on the terrace with the natural grace and beauty of a cat, although at this early hour there was no one around to appreciate it. Normally she loved these solitary hours after dawn when the stillness was broken only by birdsong and the swirling of the waves against the cliff at the end of the garden. Today, the soothing effect was lacking. It was still there in nature, but she was unable to call up an answering inner tranquillity. Today, at the small function she had arranged to unveil the tjuringa display, she was supposed to announce the date when she and Richard would be getting married. Matt had already declared his intention to be there and she could think of no way to dissuade him, short of ordering him out of her life. He had given her a chance to do that and she'd been unable to take it. Deciding that a hot shower might work where yoga had failed her, she went back inside to prepare for what promised to be a nerveracking day.

She was just washing up her breakfast dishes when there was a knock on the back door. 'Anybody home?' 'In the kitchen, Aunt Benny,' she answered. Her aunt bustled in and sat down at the breakfast table. 'I hope there's some coffee left in that pot.' 'Plenty, help yourself,' Nikki invited, setting out a cup for her aunt. 'It was good of you to come over early to help me get everything ready.' Her aunt smiled warmly. 'My pleasure, love. Andrew will bring young Joy over here later in the morning then go back to look after the shop.' She sipped her coffee then frowned at Nikki. 'How are things between you and Richard?' 'The same,' she said warily. 'Why do you ask?' 'Richard came into the shop yesterday after he left hospital. He told me about his car accident and it didn't take much to work out what was behind it. He also tells me Matt Holborn has moved out of here.' Nikki nodded. 'That's right. He's gone back to the motel up the road, but he ... he's coming to the opening this morning.' Aunt Benny looked concerned. 'Oh, Nikki, is that a good idea? You simply can't keep two men on a string like this.' Is that what she was doing? Nikki had been so wrapped up in her own dilemma that she hadn't thought of it from Matt or Richard's point of view. Was she trying to have her cake and eat it, as Matt had suggested? Suddenly it occurred to her that there was an answer to her problem, in fact, the only possible answer. It was so obvious that she couldn't

understand why she hadn't thought of it until this moment. She smiled broadly. 'You're right, of course. So I'll have to do something about it today, won't I?' Her aunt plainly expected her to expand on her idea but she jumped up and finished clearing the table. 'It's time I was getting organised in the gallery.' Reluctantly, Aunt Benny drained her cup. 'I'll clear up here. You go ahead and I'll join you shortly.' They spent the next hour putting the finishing touches to the display and preparing refreshments for the guests. Nikki had ordered readyprepared trays of savouries from a local caterer. The trays were set out along with magnums of champagne, decanters of sherry, soft drinks and glasses. They had just finished when footsteps sounded on the path. Nikki and Aunt Benny exchanged surprised glances. 'Surely it can't be one of the guests this early?' Nikki said worriedly. Luckily she was already dressed in a smart summer-weight trouser suit, but she wanted to put some finishing touches to her make-up and hair. She relaxed when she saw that the early arrival was Richard. 'I came to see if there was anything I could do,' he explained. He was sporting a large sticking- plaster over one eye, but otherwise looked fully recovered. She gestured around. 'That was thoughtful, but Aunt Benny and I have everything ready. You can join us for a cup of tea, though. I'll be too busy later, so I'd better make sure I have my cup now.'

They walked back to the house where Aunt Benny excused herself and went upstairs to change. She had brought a smart dress with her, preferring to work in slacks and a blouse first and change afterwards, she said. As soon as they were alone, Richard's gaze softened. 'We haven't seen enough of each other lately,' he said huskily. Adroitly she avoided his embrace and busied herself preparing the tea. 'How can we if you keep throwing yourself under cars?' 'We both know why that happened,' he said seriously. 'Oh, Nikki, I...' 'Are you sure you're quite all right now?' she asked before he could continue. Apparently unaware of her strategy, he touched the plaster on his forehead and winced. 'Apart from this and a few bruises, I'm fine. The doctor said I was very lucky.' 'And your car?' 'I drove it over here today. It will need some panel beating but there's no mechanical damage. It was a good thing no other car was involved either, or I'd be up to my ears in insurance claims.' 'Poor Richard,' she said sincerely. 'I'm sorry I got you into such a mess.' 'It was my fault. I shouldn't have tried to drive in such a foul temper, but you don't know what it did to me seeing you in Holborn's arms, Nikki.' She might as well get it over with. 'He's coming to the opening later.'

Richard groaned aloud. 'Hasn't he done enough harm around here already?' 'He says he's interested in old things.' Richard grimaced. 'And pretty young things, too, make no mistake.' He brightened slightly. 'But after you announce our new wedding day this morning he'll be in no doubt about whom you belong to.' She winced inwardly at his reference to her 'belonging' to anyone. Why did men always insist on regarding women as property? The kettle shrilled, giving her a chance to collect her thoughts while she dealt with it. While the tea steeped, she turned back to Richard, recalling Matt's unpleasant accusations. She might as well settle them once and for all. 'Don't you sometimes wish we could keep Brookfield after we're married?' 'Whatever for? We'll be so much happier in a penthouse apartment in the city, where the action is.' 'More likely it will be a garret,' she laughed. 'I doubt whether Brookfield will fetch enough to buy anything luxurious. You'd better marry an heiress if you want anything too pricy.' He came up behind her and put both arms around her, squeezing her breasts affectionately. 'Why so practical suddenly? I hate talking about money. Especially when what I really want to talk about is you and me.' As his lips nuzzled the back of her neck, she felt a flood of relief surge through her. Matt was wrong! She had given Richard the opportunity to say he thought money wouldn't be a problem and he had bypassed it. She had even admitted that she wasn't an heiress. His lack of response proved that he wasn't interested in her for those

reasons. The discovery wouldn't change the decision she'd made this morning, but it was gratifying all the same. Richard's kisses became more insistent and he urged her to turn around so he could kiss her properly. She had a momentary vision of Matt's mouth on hers, so sensual and demanding, and she felt a thrill of desire course through her. But it wasn't desire for Richard, she admitted to her shame. What sort of monster was she turning into? Horrified at her own duplicity, she shrugged Richard off and reached for the teacups and saucers. His expression was hurt as he watched her. 'What's the matter?' 'Nothing,' she dissembled. 'But Aunt Benny could walk in any minute.' 'Being caught necking never bothered you before,' he said churlishly, but sat down at the kitchen table, murmuring a grudging thank-you when she set a cup in front of him. 'Try some of this shortbread, it's home-made locally,' she suggested, offering the plate to him. 'I'm going to miss the little shops and bakeries around here. In the city everything seems to be factory-made and processed.' 'You're not having second thoughts about moving to Sydney?' he queried. She toyed with her spoon, swirling the tea around into a miniature willi-willi in the cup. 'It's a big step for me,' she admitted. 'I've lived here all my life and the house has been in the family since colonial times.'

He slammed his cup down on to the saucer, splashing tea on to the cloth. 'It's Holborn, isn't it? He's started you thinking like this—you never did before.' 'Nobody started me thinking like this,' she said crossly, and discovered it was true. The reservations about selling Brookfield had been there all along; she had just never admitted it to Richard, or even fully to herself for that matter. 'Matt has nothing to do with this.' 'Then why is it that you and I have done nothing but argue since he came on the scene?' Miserably, she stared into her teacup. 'I don't know. I don't want to argue with you ...' 'Then don't,' he said firmly. He came around to her side of the table and wrapped both arms around her shoulders. 'I only want what's best for you—for us. Whatever you decided about the house is fine with me, okay?' Richard didn't know it but he was proving Matt wrong with every word. She squeezed his hand reassuringly. 'I'm glad you said that but you're right, it is too large and costly to keep up. I shall go ahead with the sale.' His smile widened. 'Good girl. I should have known it would take more than a Lothario like Holborn to turn you from the sensible course. Incidentally, I think as the groom I have a right to know ... 'To know what?' Aunt Benny asked, coming into the room. She looked young and pretty in a flattering chemise of pink slub linen with navy piping around the neck and shoulders. 'Nikki was about to tell me when she wants to get married,' Richard explained.

Nikki made a show of looking at her watch and feigned consternation. 'Goodness! Look at the time. There's a man from the local paper due at any minute. I'd better get down to the gallery. I'll see you both down there shortly.' Before they could say anything more she was out of the door and hurrying down the path. She still hadn't had a chance to fix her hair and make-up so the guests would have to take her as she was. If she went back inside Richard would want to finish their discussion about the wedding day and she wasn't yet ready to tell him what she had decided. A glance in the mirror at the gallery entrance showed her she didn't look too dishevelled. Thank goodness she wore her hair long and smooth so it needed only a brushing to make it presentable. Her skin had a naturally translucent look and her delicate colouring looked good whether left bare or artfully made-up. The journalist-cum-photographer was unloading his equipment from the car when she looked outside. His eyes glinted with pleasure at the sight of her, a reaction she was accustomed to getting from men but which never failed to flatter her. 'I didn't hear you drive up.' 'I'm the strong, silent type,' he quipped. Strong he might be, but silent he wasn't as he proved during the halfhour he spent interviewing her and photographing the display. She learned almost as much about him as he learned about her for the story. At last he pushed his notebook into a top pocket. 'This should make next Wednesday's edition. Luckily you timed your opening for our editorial deadline—or was it luck?'

'Not entirely. A little publicity always helps.' 'Not everyone would be so honest,' he mused. 'I've enjoyed coming here this morning—and it will make a good story. But there's one last thing I want to ask you.' 'I've told you everything I can about the display.' He grinned. 'You haven't told me whether or not you'll have dinner with me some time.' Would he be so keen if he knew she was married to one man and engaged to another? He would certainly get a story out of that! 'It's kind of you, but no,' she said as gently as she could. He took her rejection in good part. 'Can't blame a man for trying.' Fortunately, the other guests started arriving then, so she could introduce the journalist to some of them and make a graceful escape. 'Where do all these people come from?' Richard asked in an undertone when their paths finally crossed. 'Never underestimate the lure of free sherry,' she whispered back. 'Most of them are reliable past customers, a local alderman or two and a sprinkling of the media.' 'I wish they'd all go away so I could be alone with you,' he murmured into her ear. It was about the last thing she wanted at the moment, so she gave him an apologetic smile and began to circulate again, chatting to people as she passed. All the time, her eyes were roving across the crowd but she still couldn't spot the figure she had been unconsciously seeking. Where was Matt? she wondered, then shook herself

mentally. Why was it so important for him to be here? She only knew that it was. At last the door swung open and a commanding figure stepped into the main room, his eyes sweeping over the company like searchlights. Nikki realised that she had been holding her breath. 'Trust him to make an entrance.' She jumped at the nearness of the voice and turned to see Richard watching Matt resentfully. She ignored the comment and began to chat to a couple standing nearby, uncomfortably aware that she sounded over- bright and artificial. It was better than letting Matt see that she had been waiting for him. 'I think it's time to make the announcements now,' she said to the couple and moved to the centre of the room. After thanking them all for coming, she explained the history of the tjuringas and their significance, then introduced the local alderman who was to officially open the display. His speech was short and witty and Nikki was happy to see the local photographer snapping away with his camera. The pictures would probably appear alongside the interview she had given this morning. The alderman ended his speech to a sprinkling of applause. 'Thank you, Alderman Tindall,' she said warmly. 'That concludes the official part of the proceedings so please feel free to help yourself to refreshments as you look around the gallery.' As she stepped aside, she was aware of Richard bearing down on her, looking puzzled. 'You forgot to announce our new wedding date,' he said unhappily.

'No, I didn't forget. I just didn't think it was appropriate under the circumstances.' His eyes narrowed. 'What circumstances?' She looked at him appealingly. 'Not here. We'll talk about it after everyone has gone.' With a thunderous expression, Richard retreated to the refreshments table where she saw him pour out a large sherry for himself and down it ferociously, as if wishing it was something stronger. 'He knows,' she thought unhappily. Well, it couldn't be helped. There was nothing else she could do. 'So you aren't going to marry him,' said a soft voice near her ear. She swung around, her eyes widening. 'Matt! How did you know? That is ... I mean . .. nothing's been decided yet.' 'Oh yes, it has, and Bligh knows it as well as I do. Why do you think he's drowning his sorrows over there? He knows you've finally discovered that he isn't the right man for you.' 'And you think you are?' she said angrily. 'It so happens that I've decided not to marry anyone yet.' There, it was out. She had said it sooner than she intended and to the wrong man, but she felt better for getting it out into the open. The idea had come to her this morning while she was having coffee with Aunt Benny. Perhaps the yoga had done her some good after all, helping her to see things clearly for the first time in a long while. Since she couldn't choose between the two men, she was better off not marrying either of them. 'I'm glad,' Matt said quietly, surprising her.

'You ... you are?' 'Of course. I knew Richard Bligh was wrong for you the moment I met him.' 'You don't understand,' she persisted. 'I'm not just giving up Richard, but the idea of marrying anyone.' Couldn't he see that he was included? His eyes were still twinkling with maddening good humour. 'I heard you the first time. As I said, I'm glad.' He was impossible! She had expected him to be angry, even miserable—but this ... this delight in her decision was infuriating. It was as if he didn't care for her at all and had only been toying with her for his own amusement. Which would be just like him, she reflected. With a violent movement she turned away and almost cannoned into her young cousin, who was admiring some of the artefacts. The child's eyes lit up when she saw Nikki. 'Hi, Nikki. You've got some fantastic stuff here. Is it all real?' 'Cross my heart. They're on loan from a tribe who live in the Macdonnell Ranges in central Australia.' 'I'm going to do Aboriginal studies at university, so I can learn all about them,' Joy said confidently. How she wished her life path was as clear cut! 'You do that,' she encouraged. 'It's a difficult discipline for a woman because of all the taboos on what we're permitted to see, but things may have improved by the time you're grown up. After all, not so long ago we would have been put to death for looking at these tjuringas.'

Joy's eyes widened. 'Wow! Imagine a man being able to tell you what you can and can't do—and even kill you if you disobey.' It wasn't so different in their own society, Nikki couldn't help thinking. Granted, a man could hardly kill a woman for disobeying his dictates, but he could make her life intolerable by giving or withholding his affection. She wondered how a tribal woman would resolve a situation like her present one. Then she acknowledged that it could never have happened. The other women of the tribe would have ensured that she knew how to please her husband as a woman and he would never have gone away. She sighed heavily. How much more complicated things were between so-called civilised people. She became aware that Joy had asked her a question. 'I'm sorry, I was daydreaming.' Joy giggled. 'I get into trouble for that all the time. I asked you when we're going to choose my bridesmaid's dress.' Of course! The child still believed she was to be Nikki's bridesmaid. Her expression was so wistful that Nikki choked on the words to explain the changed situation. 'You can choose it anytime Nikki's ready to go shopping,' said a voice nearby. She froze, looking daggers at Matt. He knew about her decision so he had no right to raise Joy's hopes like this. 'We'll talk about it later, shall we?' she said brightly to Joy who wandered away, apparently satisfied. To Matt, she said fiercely, 'How could you? I told you I wasn't marrying anyone yet.' 'A decision I fully support,' he said.

'Then why did you let Joy think that nothing had changed?' He shrugged. 'It hasn't, necessarily. You said you weren't going to marry anyone. That only applies to Richard Bligh as far as I can see.' Her tone was scathing. 'And what about yourself? I'm not going to marry you either, if that's what you think.' 'Of course not. Because you're already married to me. But we can still solemnise our wedding vows, which would involve another ceremony.' He was insufferable. 'You're playing with my words,' she hissed back. She was interrupted by Alderman Tindall and his wife, taking their leave. 'Thank you for opening the display,' she said warmly, aware that Matt's eyes were still on her. 'My pleasure, Miss Westbrook. I'm always glad to promote a local business.' The departure of the official guest signalled the end of the morning, and one by one the others drifted away after murmuring their thanks to Nikki as she started tidying up. Aunt Benny was the last to leave. She came up with Joy in tow. 'I'd like to help you clean up but Andrew needs me back at the shop,' she said apologetically. Nikki hugged her warmly. 'It's all right, you were wonderful to do as much as you did this morning.' 'Don't forget that we have to talk about the dress,' Joy said as Nikki bent to kiss her.

Nikki gave Matt a furious look but smiled at her young cousin. 'I won't,' she promised. When her aunt had gone, she whirled on Matt. 'Now see what you've done.' Richard's voice, slightly slurred, came from behind her. 'What has he done now?' Her heart sank. While she had been fencing with Matt, Richard had been helping himself to the sherry so he was not quite sober as he walked up to them. He was hardly in a fit condition to receive her news but she had no choice. Since Matt already knew, it would be unfair not to tell Richard. 'I was just telling Matt not to make promises which aren't within his power to keep,' she said. 'Richard, we have to talk.' He shifted unsteadily from one foot to the other. 'Can't we do it without him?' he asked, gesturing towards Matt. 'No, it concerns all of us. Come and sit down.' Reluctantly, Richard followed them to a corner sofa but he remained standing while Matt draped himself casually on to the seat. Nikki seated herself along the other arm of the sofa as far away from Matt as she could. 'You asked me why I didn't say anything about a new wedding date,' she began. 'That's because I've decided there isn't going to be any wedding.' All the colour drained from Richard's face, leaving the stickingplaster on his forehead standing out in high relief. 'You can't mean that, Nikki.'

She looked down at the floor, shaken by the horror in his voice. 'I'm sorry, Richard, I know this wasn't what you wanted to hear…' 'Wasn't what I wanted? My God! There's only one thing I want and that's for you to be my wife.' 'Bravo,' Matt said softly, miming applause. Richard swung around to him. 'This is your doing, isn't it? You're behind Nikki's sudden change of heart. She was all set to marry me until you appeared on the scene.' Matt spread his hands wide in a gesture of innocence. 'I had nothing to do with it. Nikki has a mind of her own, remember.' 'He didn't influence me, Richard,' she said, and knew that it was true. Malt had been the catalyst which prompted her to do what she knew to be right all along. Richard was a safe harbour where she would be indulged and protected from emotional upheaval. But that was no reason to marry a man. 'You say that and you probably believe it,' Richard said miserably, 'but I know the truth. This bastard has been trying to get you away from me since the minute he turned up. You think I haven't noticed the lecherous looks he's been giving you?' She looked at Matt in wonder. Had he been giving her appreciative looks? To her chagrin, the idea sent a small frisson of excitement down her spine. She forced herself to concentrate on Richard. 'I can't help what he does,' she said firmly. 'You'll have to take my word that this is my own decision.' 'So this is your last word on the subject?'

'I'm afraid so. And I'm terribly, terribly sorry.' She slid the emerald engagement ring off her finger and held it out to Richard. 'You'd better have this back.' 'Keep it,' he said savagely. 'It will save lover-boy here buying you another one.' 'But I'm not engaged to Matt,' she said in surprise. 'True enough, she isn't engaged to me,' Matt said solemnly, that infuriating note of good humour back in his voice. 'So she isn't good enough for you? I know your type, you use women, take what you can get from them and then discard them like so much rubbish,' Richard spat out. He turned to Nikki. 'If you've got your heart set on him you'll have a long wait. Now he's got you into his bed he won't want you any more. It's the thrill of the chase with men like Holborn.' 'Stop it, Richard,' she said desperately. He seemed to have forgotten that she hadn't slept with Matt the day he interrupted them together. It was the sherry talking, she knew, as well as Richard's own hurt. But that didn't give him the right to slander her or Matt like this. 'That's right, tell me to shut up,' he went on. 'I'm last year's model now. Well, I'm not going to take it lying down, I promise you. I'm going to try to get you back, Nikki, so you're forewarned.' Tiredly, she passed a hand over her eyes. 'Talking like that won't do any good. I've told you how I feel. Why can't you just accept it?' Like a cobra uncoiling for the strike, Matt stood up slowly but deliberately. 'You heard Nikki. She just wants you to leave her alone.'

Richard's expression was ugly. 'And what does she want from you— what she couldn't get the other day because lover-boy couldn't deliver?' So he did remember. For a horrifying moment, Nikki thought Matt was going to hit Richard. He was asking for it, but he wasn't fully in control of himself. Luckily Matt seemed to realise that and relaxed the hands he had balled into fists. 'Get out of here,' he said coldly. Richard took up a fighting stance and shadow-boxed close to Matt's face. 'Make me,' he challenged. 'Richard, no! Matt's a specialist in unarmed combat,' Nikki screamed, but Richard didn't seem to hear her. 'Stay out of this Nikki,' Matt said over his shoulder. 'I won't hurt him—too much.' She had imagined that it would be romantic to have two men fighting over her but now that the possibility loomed threateningly close, she felt sick. She didn't want to see either of them hurt because of her. She jumped to her feet and stood between them, her feet spread apart. 'Get out of the way,' Matt ordered angrily. 'Not until you two start behaving like adults instead of little boys,' she threw at him. 'Richard, can't you see he's had far more experience of combat than you have? He'd kill you in a fight.' 'I can take him, I know I can,' Richard grumbled, but with less certainty than before. 'In that case you don't need to prove it, do you?' she argued persuasively.

Seemingly glad of a face-saving way out, Richard nodded. 'But I meant it when I said I won't give you up without a fight.' 'Just as long as it isn't with Matt,' she implored. 'If that's what you want,' he agreed, and she was relieved to see some of the belligerence go out of his stance. 'Next time he might not have you to defend him, then watch out.' 'I don't need Nikki to defend me,' Matt interjected and her heart sank as Richard tensed again. Why couldn't Matt leave this to her? But the effects of the sherry were already wearing off and Richard could see the foolhardiness of his present behaviour. 'It's all right,' he said to Nikki. 'I'm going now, but only because you want me to, not because of him.' 'How will you get home?' she asked, suddenly realising that Richard was in no condition to drive his own car. 'I'll call a cab.' As she started to move towards the telephone, he put a restraining hand on her arm. 'Don't bother, I'll call from the house. It will save me staying in the same room with him any longer than I have to.' At the gallery entrance, he paused and looked back. 'I'll call you in a few days.' She nodded agreement and was relieved to see him leave shortly afterwards. Matt had returned to the couch and was sprawled across it with one arm stretched out along the seat back. 'Do you have to look so pleased with yourself?' she said crossly. 'Why shouldn't I? I've just seen my rival off the premises.'

'Would you really have fought with him over me?' she asked. 'If I had to. It wouldn't be the first time I've had to make my point physically. In most cases I only have to do it once.' She shivered, reminded again of what a complex man he was, one in whose shadow she could easily lose her own identity. Now she could add violence to his many disturbing traits. He stood up, stretching with panther-like grace. 'I'm glad we got this mess straightened out,' he said. 'I can't picture you anywhere but here at Brookfield.' Her head came up. 'What makes you think I've decided to stay at Brookfield? Now that I've broken off my engagement to Richard, I'm free to do anything I want. I may even sell the house and go backpacking around Europe.' To her dismay, he gripped her shoulders with fingers of steel, urging her irresistibly to her feet. 'You wouldn't last five minutes on the roads of Europe. Besides, you can't sell Brookfield.' 'Why not?' she asked defiantly. His mouth loomed tantalisingly close and she thought for a moment that he was going to kiss her. Inwardly, she found she welcomed the thought and every nerve-ending tensed expectantly. But when he leaned closer, it was only to say, 'You can't sell the place—because I won't let you.'

CHAPTER SIX SHE stared at Matt in astonishment, but before she could voice her surprise, he went on, 'You'll be lost away from this place, you know it as well as I do. Your home is here and your spirit, too—only Bligh can't see it the way I can.' She tensed. 'Leave Richard out of this.' 'Nevertheless, it's true.' It was true but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. If she gave in now she was as good as conceding that Matt knew what was best for her, better than she did herself. 'How are you going to stop me selling the house?' she asked instead. 'I'm your husband. Legally, you can't sell our marital home without my consent.' If he hadn't sounded so serious she would have laughed aloud. 'Our what? How can Brookfield be our marital home? You've never lived here as my husband!' His eyes darkened.. 'Not yet, perhaps.' The inviting way he said it started her pulses racing and her scalp tightened around her hairline, setting up a tingling sensation which travelled all the way down her spine. Involuntarily, she took a step backwards. 'No Matt, I.. .' He smiled lazily. 'I haven't asked you anything yet.' No, he hadn't; but they both knew what he was suggesting and she wasn't sure she was ready to resume their marriage yet—if ever. Their worlds, their standards, were all too different. If she had

listened to her parents when they said as much, she would never have married him in the first place. So why didn't she make an effort to stop him when he moved closer and began to caress the back of her neck? The gentle stroking became a persuasive massaging movement which bewitched her with its insistence. Gradually his hands progressed over her shoulders and down to surround her breasts, which tautened in response. When he turned her gently around to face him, she went like one hypnotised, knowing she should resist but unable to find the will. Her breathing quickened and she could feel her body temperature climbing. 'Look at me, Nikki,' he commanded. She raised her eyes to meet his and drew a strangled breath at the naked desire she saw mirrored there. When their eyes met, he groaned softly and pulled her hard against him, his lips searching for her mouth even as his arms came around her shoulders. Now was the time to tell him there was no future for them as husband and wife, to push him away convincingly. So why did she return the pressure of his lips with equal fervour? Her arms escaped from his imprisoning embrace and wound themselves around his neck, her fingers twining around his hair to bring his head closer down to hers. As she tasted the heady maleness of him on her mouth, breathed the musky scent of his after-shave lotion into her nostrils and felt the slight abrasiveness of his cheeks against her silken skin, she found herself wishing it would never end. At last, the state of his arousal became all too evident and he dragged his mouth away from hers. 'Let's go up to the house,' he urged.

Run! Hide! her conscious mind commanded, but her deeper self refused, knowing she wanted him as much as he wanted her. What did the future matter when two people felt the way they did? 'There's a couch in my office,' she volunteered. Never taking his eyes off her, he swept her into his arms and carried her into the small office off the gallery rooms. The couch was narrow but comfortable and he settled her carefully on it, then proceeded to remove his clothes with fierce concentration. She swung her legs over the side and began to undress quickly, glad that she was wearing a wraparound skirt and blouse which buttoned down the front. They were soon shed, leaving her clad in dove- grey bikini briefs and the merest wisp of lace around her breasts. The silence between them was unnerving, charged with so much which could not be spoken. 'I want you for my wife,' his actions said. 'And I want you—but I don't know for what,' was her unspoken answer. She allowed herself the luxury of a slow perusal of his athletic form as he slid his trousers off and let them drop to, the floor. His muscles stood out in high relief, the calves rounded-, the thighs firm and trim and his hips lean. She dropped her eyes before he could see where her wandering, gaze had taken her. But it seemed he knew because he was enjoying his own leisurely appraisal of her slim contours. 'Get those off,' he said, gesturing towards her remaining covering. In the face of his matter-of-fact attitude, any remaining trace of shyness left her. Perhaps that had been his intention all along. She unhooked her bra and let it drop to the couch, then wriggled out of her briefs.

He sighed appreciatively. 'That's much better.' Then he urged her back against the scatter cushions and stretched out alongside her on the couch. The lack of space forced them to press tightly together and the warmth of his body spread like fire through her. But it was nothing compared to the wildfire which tore along her veins when he kissed her, covering her body with his own. Why couldn't their marriage have been like this? she thought wildly in the brief moment before she gave herself up to the sensations surging through her. Everything would have been so different. Dimly, she knew she was confusing sexual attraction with real love, but it didn't seem to matter. All that mattered was their need for each other, a hunger which had lain dormant for six years, waiting for this very moment. Later ... much later, his lips nuzzled her ear. 'Happy, darling?' 'Very, very happy,' she murmured drowsily. Never mind that he might disappear into some far-off jungle next day or next week. She would always have this to remember. He sat up and pulled on his trousers. 'Would you like a drink?' She nodded. 'There might be some champagne left over from the opening.' He went into the gallery and came back with half a bottle of champagne and two glasses, pouring them each a drink. He handed her a glass and touched his to hers. 'To us.' He couldn't know it but there was no 'us'. As far as she was concerned, they were still two radically different people who had

shared something very special, but there it ended. 'To you and me,' she corrected. As they dressed again he grinned wryly. 'Well, at least you can't get a divorce on the grounds of separation any more.' He was joking, surely? 'Why not?' He gestured towards the couch which still bore the imprint of their entwined bodies. 'We're no longer separated, are we? Or at least we won't be as soon as I get back to the motel and fetch my things.' With great care, she set her glass down on a side table. 'You've got it all worked out, haven't you?' 'Got what worked out?' 'Step one—make love to estranged wife. Step two- move back into comfortable house,' she recited, barely containing her fury. He frowned angrily. 'Now just a minute. You can't think I seduced you just so that I could move in here?' 'What am I supposed to think? You were quick enough to accuse Richard of being a fortune hunter.' 'But this is different.' is it? I told you I can't be married to a man I can't rely on. That hasn't changed.' His lips tightened into an implacable line. 'I see. You want to discard me before I can discard you, is that it?' Her head came up and her eyes blazed. 'Can you blame me for protecting myself?'

'Not if you have something to protect yourself against. But I've already told you I'm different now.' She looked away from him. 'Unfortunately, so am I.' Without another word, he gathered his things and stormed out. Soon afterwards, she heard the sound of his car starting up and driving away. She had done the right thing, she told herself over and over. No matter what he said, she couldn't believe he had changed so much that he was ready for a settled existence. If she gave her whole heart to him, as she had been prepared to do once before, what guarantee did she have that he wouldn't walk out on some pretext? That's what it had been the last time. For so long she had believed that by refusing him on their wedding night, she had driven him away. Now she could see that it had been an excuse, because he hadn't wanted the commitment of marriage. She could have learned to please him if he had only been patient with her—the last few minutes had proved that. Now it was too late. She could no longer afford to trust him. All the same, she spent a very restless night going over and over the afternoon's events. She was relieved when the first coral streaks of dawn lit the dark sky. At last she could abandon any pretence of resting. After a breakfast of toast and coffee which she barely tasted, she walked down to the gallery to begin the day's work. The tjuringa exhibition would be open to the public for a few hours each day from now on, so she had some preparations to do. When she opened the door of her office, however, she was assailed by memories of yesterday and Matt. The velvet-covered couch was

still wrinkled and she smoothed it out hastily, trying by the action to erase the memory of what had taken place there. The champagne glasses were still on the floor and she picked them up, glad that she had spent some time last night clearing away the debris of the opening in the gallery itself. She didn't think she could face doing it now. Carrying the glasses through the gallery to the sink in an -alcove at the back of the cottage, she passed the blackboard which she used for lectures to groups of schoolchildren. It was wiped clean. Only as she moved it back into its place did she see that it had merely been reversed. Matt's stick figures were still there on the back and she turned the board over to study them in horrid fascination. So his puri-puri had worked after all. He had managed to 'sing' her to his bed, although not to keep her there. Savagely, she scrubbed the drawings away with a cloth until no trace of them remained. If only she could erase her own memory as easily, she thought as she walked back into the office. She was prevented from brooding further by the shrill summons of the telephone and she leaned across her desk to answer it. 'Brookfield Galleries.' 'Hello, Nikki. This is Bill Oldfield, how are you?' For a moment, she had trouble placing the man then remembered— he was the real estate agent to whom she had entrusted the sale of Brookfield. 'I'm fine thanks, Bill,' she said cautiously, not sure whether she wanted to hear from him or not. 'What can I do for you?' 'Not a thing, darling,' he said cheerfully. 'Except pay my bill when you get it—I've sold your house for you!'

She went cold all over but kept her grip on the phone and said as normally as she could, 'So soon? But you haven't even advertised it yet.' 'Seems I didn't have to. The picture in my office window did the trick. A man walked in off the street and offered to buy it for cash.' 'I see.' Desperately, she tried to sort out her tangled thoughts. 'He must want the house very badly.' 'Apparently he does. But you don't sound very happy about it. I thought you'd be delighted.' The estate agent wasn't to blame for her state of mind so she said quickly, 'Of course I am, Bill. You've done a terrific job. What happens now?' 'His solicitor will be in touch with your man about the exchange of contracts this afternoon. I gave him all the details as he wants to get it settled immediately. If everything's in order, he'll own the house within days.' 'I see. Thank you.' In a daze, she hung up the phone, only realising after she did so that she hadn't asked Bill for the name of the purchaser. Not that it made any difference. Whoever he was, he was still a stranger who would be living in her house before long. That he was a cash customer surprised her because she had set a high price on the property—subconsciously hoping no one would buy it, she admitted now. Since the purchaser already had the money available, she couldn't even look forward to a few months of grace while he obtained finance or sold another property. She tried to cheer herself up by thinking of all the things she was now free to do. Travel to Europe if she wanted, although not hitchhiking as she had suggested to Matt. She could go to France and

visit the Lascaux caves with their earthy-coloured prehistoric paintings. Somehow, the idea gave her little consolation. The simple fact was, she didn't want to leave Brookfield. Damn Matt Holborn for being right! Selling the house was like selling a part of herself. Without it, she felt incomplete and spending the money was like stealing it from her heritage. She was still mooning over the situation when there was a knock on the gallery door. Oh lord, she had forgotten it was past opening time. Patting her hair into place and taking deep breaths to calm herself, she went to open the door. It wasn't a customer who waited on the doorstep. 'Matt?' she said uncertainly. 'I didn't expect to see you again.' 'I know. I wasn't sure what sort of welcome to expect either.' Uncomfortably, he cleared his throat. 'Would you mind if I came in for a few minutes?' She glanced around as if seeking an avenue of escape and he held up his hands in mock surrender. 'I promise not to make an untoward move.' She coloured. 'I wasn't doubting you, but I thought we'd said everything we had to say to each other yesterday.' 'Not quite. I think we still have a few misunderstandings to clear up, then you can throw me out if you wish.' She stepped aside to let him enter the gallery and led the way into the office, avoiding looking at the couch. Tactfully, he took a chair opposite her desk and she seated herself behind it, using the desk as a kind of shield against whatever demands he had come to make on her.

He soon made it clear that he had no demands to make. 'You seem very depressed, I hope it isn't on my account,' he observed. She debated whether to tell him her news then decided that it would soon be common knowledge anyway. 'I'm just getting used to the idea that the house has been sold,' she informed him, then when he said nothing she added, 'Aren't you going to say, "I told you so"?' 'Whatever you think of me, I'm not as hard-hearted as all that,' he told her. 'As it happens, I already knew that Brookfield was sold.' She shot him a look of surprise. 'How could you? I only just found out myself.' 'Because I bought it.' Dumbfounded, she stared at him for a full minute before her voice returned. ' You bought it? But I don't understand. I thought...' 'You thought I was a penniless itinerant,' he finished for her. 'I'm aware of that, but it isn't true.' 'But you carry so little with you. And the motel...' He wrinkled his forehead expressively. 'It isn't much of a place, is it? Obviously it never occurred to you that I chose to stay there for only one reason.' All at once she understood and lowered her eyelashes so he wouldn't see the revealing look in her eyes. 'Why?' she asked softly, although she already knew the answer. 'To be near you,' he confirmed. 'And as for my lack of possessions, they're being stored for me until I find myself a permanent base. I'm used to travelling light, fortunately.'

'It seems that I've made rather a fool of myself, doesn't it?' 'Not at all. You arrived at a perfectly understandable conclusion, based on the evidence. The truth is, 1 have quite a bit of money put aside over the years—my needs being few. Then recently I was approached by a publisher who offered me a sizable contract to write my life story.' He named a sum of money which made her eyes widen. 'So you see, I can well afford to buy Brookfield.' 'As your permanent base?' she asked. 'Something like that. I thought it would provide the right atmosphere for me to write my book.' Knowing Brookfield's unique air of tranquillity, she agreed wholeheartedly. She also understood why he was keen to have the place. 'It seems I owe you an apology,' she said reluctantly. His eyebrows arched. 'What for?' 'For accusing you of being a fortune hunter like ...' 'Like Richard?' he supplied. She nodded. 'So you agree with my assessment of him after all.' She couldn't let that pass unchallenged. 'Not entirely. I decided not to marry Richard because I didn't love him, not because I agreed with you. Besides, he and I talked about the money question and he said it didn't matter to him.' Matt looked sceptical. 'He actually said that?' She stirred uncomfortably in her chair. 'Well, not in so many words. But he made it clear enough.' He expression remained unconvinced. 'Have it your own way.'

She didn't intend to go on arguing the question with him since it didn't matter now anyway. She had a much more pressing question to worry about. Since Matt was the new owner of Brookfield and he had just made it clear that he wanted the house for his own use, she would have to make plans to leave. The thought was acutely painful but she fought down the sensation. It was some consolation that the new owner was a man who appreciated the property as much as she did, even if he could never love it in the same way. 'Will you want to move in here soon?' she asked, trying to sound matter-of-fact. His grim expression softened and the corners of his mouth quirked upwards into the suggestion of a smile. 'Is that an invitation?' She blushed furiously, hating herself for the childish habit. 'No, of course not. I just want to know when I have to move out.' 'You don't have to at all.' She looked at him askance. 'I can't go on living here after you move in.' He shrugged. 'Why not? We are legally married after all.' 'You know perfectly well why not,' she said irritably. 'After yesterday . ..' 'After yesterday, I should have thought it would be even more acceptable, especially now that I've proved I'm not a fortune hunter.' 'Well, you thought wrong,' she shot back at him. 'I'm glad you weren't after my property, but I don't want your charity, either.' He looked frustrated. 'Well, then, what do you want?' She had no answer for that and her unhappiness showed on her face as she looked quickly away. 'I don't know,' she said almost inaudibly.

'Then why not give yourself a chance to find out,' he offered. 'Stay here for at least a while longer. It will give us the opportunity to get to know one another properly.' Unable to sit still any longer, she jumped up and paced to the window which looked out on a spectacular view of Brisbane Water. 'That's just what I'm afraid of.' Understanding dawned in his expression. 'I didn't mean that the way it sounded, although after yesterday, I'm not sure it would be such a bad thing.' 'Matt!' He spread his hands wide apart. 'All right, I take it back. What I'm trying to say is, we married in haste and were separated before we could really get to know one another properly—not just sexually, but in every way. If I gave you my word that I would leave you alone, would you consider staying here with me?' What a question! Unwittingly, her gaze strayed to the velvet-covered couch on which she'd lain with him yesterday. Could they possibly live under the same roof and be sure they wouldn't succumb to the same temptations again? Maybe that's what Matt was hoping would happen. It was true that they hardly knew one another, even though they'd been married all this time. Sharing a house would certainly give them ample opportunity to change that, but dare she risk a repetition of yesterday? Yes! her heart answered. Deep down, she knew that she wanted to know all about this enigmatic man she had married in her teens. Accepting his offer would also enable her to stay on at her beloved Brookfield for just a little longer. 'No strings?' she asked uncertainly.

He made a gesture of crossing his heart. 'No strings.' 'All the same, I'd like a little time to think before I give you my answer,' she said. He frowned. 'You can have until tomorrow, which is as long as I can endure that motel. After that I intend to move into my new house— ready or not.' Until tomorrow! It seemed such a short time to make such a momentous decision. Yet was it so momentous? If things didn't work out she could always leave and she would be no worse off than she was at present. 'All right, I'll give you my answer tomorrow,' she promised. He stood up with catlike grace, dominating the small room with his presence. 'I suppose I must be content with that. I'll see you tomorrow then.' When he had gone she sat at her desk for a long time, her thoughts whirling. What did she want? She wanted to stay at Brookfield, that much she knew. But did she want to stay here with Matt? Granted, he had promised not to touch her unless she wanted him to—so what was she so afraid of? Could she be afraid of falling in love with him all over again? Yesterday her body had betrayed her by responding to his advances with shocking abandon, but that didn't mean they were compatible in any other way. There was still the frightening possibility that he would encourage her to depend on him, then desert her as he had done before. Even as she argued with herself, she knew what her answer must be. She couldn't walk away from her beloved Brookfield while there was

still a way to stay on here. And whatever the risks, she knew she had to find out what sort of life she would have with Matt. There was really no risk of her falling in love with him again, because she had simply never stopped loving him. True, she had married him in haste but she had been as sure of her feelings then as she was now. The only thing she wasn't sure of was how he felt. Did he care enough to give up his nomadic existence for her? There was only one way to find. out and waiting until tomorrow wouldn't change anything. As she reached for the telephone to call him at the motel, there was disturbance in the main gallery. 'Anyone there?' called a woman's voice. Customers! She had forgotten that the 'open' sign was displayed on the gate. Fixing a professional smile on her lips, she went to greet the visitors. They came in to browse around, as they put it, but ended up buying several bark paintings from her stock. She was just packing the purchases when Richard arrived and her fingers fumbled with the string. What was he doing here? Richard made no move to approach her, instead looking around the displays while he waited for her to finish with her customers. As soon as she showed them out, he came over to her. 'Nikki, I came back to pick up my car but I couldn't leave without seeing you.' 'Why, Richard? You know I meant what I said yesterday.' His face fell. 'I was afraid of that. All because I made a damned fool of myself.' 'It isn't just that,' she said awkwardly.

'Then what is it? You know I want to marry you. Matt Holborn doesn't know you half as well as I do. If he cared about you, he wouldn't have stayed away so long. If it was me, I'd have broken my neck to get back to you.' 'Please don't,' she begged. 'I don't want to hurt you, Richard, but I'm afraid I don't love you enough to marry you. I finally realised it, and decided it would be unfair to go ahead with the wedding, knowing the truth.' 'Unfair to whom?' he demanded. 'To me or to Holborn? You know I'll take as much of your affection as you're prepared to offer. It doesn't matter if you don't feel the same way about me as I do about you. It will come in time, I know.' Why was it so difficult? 'I don't deserve you to feel this way about me,' she said wretchedly, 'especially since I can't return it. I'm just so mixed up right now. I need time to sort myself out.' He seized on her remark eagerly. 'I knew that was all you needed. Take whatever time you like, but don't tell me it's all over for us because I won't accept it.' 'There's something else,' she said unhappily. 'I got a call from the estate agent this morning. He's found a cash buyer for Brookfield.' Richard's expression lightened. 'That's terrific news. A cash buyer means no delays or hitches, doesn't it? Then there's nothing to stop us from going to Sydney together after all.' 'I ... I'm not leaving,' she said quietly before he could say any more. 'Not leaving? You mean the buyer doesn't want to live here himself?' 'Not exactly. Richard, the buyer is Matt Holborn and he's invited me to stay on here with him.'

His expression grew thunderous as she recoiled from the ugliness in his eyes. 'You mean share the house with him?' She nodded and his eyes blazed. 'You can't possibly mean to accept.' 'I am married to him,' she reminded him. 'But in name only, you said so yourself. I've been checking up on your Matt Holborn and if you had any idea of his reputation, you wouldn't even consider staying here.' She clapped her hands over her ears. 'I don't want to hear any more.' 'Of course you don't. But you'll find out for yourself, soon enough. I intend to keep on digging. I'm not giving you up to him without a fight, I warned you of that.' In the face of his unreasoning fury, she was close to tears. 'Please stop this, Richard. I don't want you to keep digging, as you call it, looking for ways to discredit Matt. I wouldn't believe any so-called evidence you found anyway, so there's no point.' Richard's disgust was almost tangible as he took a step back from her. 'So that's how it is. There's a name for women who let men set them up in fancy houses, you know. It makes you nothing but a . ..' 'Stop it!' she screamed, drowning out the ugly name he flung at her. She could hardly believe this was the same man she had been engaged to, calling her filthy names as he raged like a madman. 'Get out of here,' she ordered, choking back the tears. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. 'All right, I'll go,' he said savagely, 'but I take back what I said about making a fool of myself. You're the one who's being a fool if you think you have any sort of future with a man like Matt Holborn.'

He stormed out, slamming the door with a ferocity which made the windows vibrate, leaving her shaken and tearful. How dare he call her such terrible things? He couldn't be right about Matt, no matter what he had uncovered. She refused to believe Matt wanted her here for any reason but the one he had given her. Richard had come here intending to change her mind about Matt. Instead, he had hardened her resolve to go ahead and share the house with him for a trial period. She just hoped with all her heart that it was she and not Richard who was proved right.

CHAPTER SEVEN NIKKI felt a surge of panic as she watched Matt unloading his suitcase from the blue BMW. It was all very well to talk about him moving in but now that it was actually happening she wasn't sure how it was going to work out. He had promised to leave her alone until she was ready to resume her marriage to him—if ever; but would he be able to keep his promise when they, were alone together in the house? His house, she reminded herself unhappily. Contracts had been exchanged yesterday on condition that he could have immediate possession of the property, so he was now the owner of Brookfield. He set his case down on the terrace. 'Which room do you recommend?' 'Take any one you like, since they're all yours anyway,' she said stiffly, regretting her tone as soon as the words were out. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean that the way it sounded.' 'You probably did, but in your shoes, I would feel the same way,' he said generously. 'Don't worry, I don't plan to rub my new status in too much.' She forced herself to smile. This situation was of her own choosing so she might as well make the best of it. 'Why not have your old room back? It has its own bathroom.' 'And its share of happy memories,' he said, his eyes clouding with nostalgia. 'I wasn't thinking of that,' she said hastily, sharing his vision of them together in that room. 'It's just the most convenient room for you, that's all.'

'On second thoughts, maybe I'll move in upstairs, closer to you,' he volunteered. Before she could tell him that she didn't think it was a good idea he had taken the stairs two at a time, suitcase in hand. Overhead, she heard him opening and closing doors as he explored the house. Resignedly, she followed him up the stairs and stood at the doorway of the room he had chosen. It was her father's old room, across the hallway from her bedroom although the doors were offset so they didn't look directly into each other. 'What made you choose this room?' she asked as she watched him hanging up his clothes. He paused in the act of slipping a safari jacket on to a coathanger. 'Why do you think? Your room is across the hall, isn't it?' 'You know perfectly well it is. But I thought we agreed . .,.' 'We agreed not to rush anything,' he interjected. 'I didn't promise not to be as close to you as I can get.' Damn him! Why did he make things complicated? Sleeping in this room, he would be able to hear her tiniest movements—as- she would be able to hear his. Maybe that's what he had in mind, to tantalise her with the sound of his movements around the room .. . and in bed . . . until she came to him of her own accord. 'This was Dad's room,' she said to distract herself. 'Was it? I didn't know. Will it bother you if I use it?' Of course it would bother her. Having tasted his lovemaking once, the sweetness of it had remained to haunt her and he knew it. 'No, not

in the way you mean,' she demurred. 'This house and Dad's work are his memorials, not anything you can put in one room.' 'Very wise,' he agreed and went on with his unpacking, seemingly dismissing her. 'If there's nothing else, I'll leave you to it,' she said irritably. He didn't look up. 'Fine. I don't want to upset your routine.' Never mind that he had already upset it by coming back, almost from the dead. He had further upset her life by buying Brookfield, although that wasn't a fair argument. If he hadn't bought it, someone else would have. 'Then I'll be off,' she said flatly, feeling unaccountably disappointed that he didn't want her to stay around. 'I'm having lunch with Aunt Benny.' 'Enjoy yourself,' he said shortly and went on with his unpacking. The sense of rejection stayed with her as she drove to Aunt Benny's home on the outskirts of Gosford. She and Uncle Andrew lived in a roomy three-bedroomed bungalow attached to a brick shopfront at one end. Uncle Andrew was in the shop when she pulled up outside. Through the large plate-glass window she could see him talking with some customers so she didn't go inside but went straight around the side to the family entrance. As she strolled between Uncle Andrew's prize rose bushes, she breathed in the heady scent of his favourite Golden Glory, remembering how these bushes had been in bloom on the day she first met Matt. Matilda's Gift Shop sold Australian handicrafts and souvenirs, so fronted on to a main coastal road. Matt had been in the area to look at

some land, he told her later, and stopped at the shop to ask for directions. How different her life would have been if she hadn't been minding the shop that day, while her aunt and uncle were holidaying overseas. But she had been there and the rest was history. 'Are you going to stay out there sniffing that rose all day?' asked a cheerfully reproving voice. She smiled at her aunt. 'I might come in by teatime.' 'You'd better hurry because there's lemon sponge pudding for lunch,' added her cousin, Joy. 'In that case, I'll come now,' she laughed. 'I wouldn't want to miss Aunt Benny's famous lemon sponge.' 'Cupboard love,' muttered her aunt, but she hugged Nikki and ushered her into the house. Aunt Benny's home was like the woman herself, neat but comfortable, with just enough possessions lying around to give it a lived-in air without being cluttered. Nikki sank on to a tapestrycovered rocking-chair, her expression blissful. 'It's always so good to come here, like a second home.' 'You know you're welcome anytime,' her aunt assured her. 'Did you see Andrew on your way in?' 'He was busy with customers, but I'll have a chat to him later,' she promised. Aunt Benny poured fragrant jasmine tea for them all from a pot on a tray set out on a side table and offered her a plate of freshly made scones.

When she took one, it was still warm from the oven. 'These are good,' she said, biting into the cake. 'Baked specially for you,' her aunt explained, frowning at Joy who was helping herself to a scone for each hand. 'Why don't you take your tea outside in the fresh air, child?' 'Funny how kids always need fresh air but grown-ups never seem to,' Joy grumbled, but took herself off after a look at her mother's warning expression. As soon as she had gone, Aunt Benny turned to Nikki. 'There's a rumour going around that you've sold Brookfield.' 'It isn't a rumour, it's true.' 'I must say, it's nice to find these things out second hand,' her aunt said, plainly hurt. Nikki leaned across and patted her hand. 'I wasn't keeping it from you, it only happened yesterday, or at least the formal exchange of contracts did. Bill Oldfield was probably gossiping prematurely.' 'So where will you live now? There's always a room for you here.' 'I know, and thank you, but it isn't necessary. You see I .. . I'm staying at Brookfield. Matt Holborn is the new owner.' Aunt Benny stared at her. 'Your ex-husband?' 'He isn't "ex" yet, so it's perfectly respectable if that's what's worrying you.' Her aunt frowned. 'That wasn't what concerned me. It's you I'm worried about. He deserted you once before. What's to stop him doing it again?'

The question had occurred to Nikki more than once. 'It's purely an arrangement of convenience,' she assured her aunt. Aunt Benny sniffed. 'I'm sure. And all the while, poor Richard is languishing in the background like a toy you've grown tired of and discarded.' So it was 'poor Richard' now, was it? Nikki laughed, earning a look of displeasure from her aunt. 'You think I should stick with the devil I know, don't you?' 'Very aptly put. That Matt Holborn is a devil and taking up with him won't do you any good, you mark my words.' In spite of the sunshine streaming into the room, Nikki shivered. 'It's too late now, anyway. I've agreed to share the house with him for a trial period,' she said firmly. Her aunt crumbled a scone into bits on her plate and absently brushed crumbs off her skirt on to the carpet, a sure sign that she was preoccupied with worry. Nikki eyed the gesture sorrowfully. She hated upsetting her aunt but this was something she had to decide on her own. 'So your mind is made up?' She nodded reluctantly. 'I'm afraid so.' Setting the plate with the demolished scone aside, Aunt Benny stood up. 'Then it looks as if my efforts were all for nothing.' 'What efforts?' For the first time, Aunt Benny looked uncomfortable. 'I ... er ... invited a guest to join us for luncheon today.'

'One of your friends? How nice.' 'No, it isn't one of my friends, it's one of yours.' On cue, the doorbell pealed and her aunt went to answer it. She came back a few minutes later, talking over her shoulder to the new arrival. At once, Nikki jumped to her feet. 'Richard! Aunt Benny, you didn't.. .' Reddening, her aunt nodded. 'I'm afraid I did. I invited Richard here today in the hopes that you two could sort out your differences.' Nikki gave Richard a reproachful look. 'And you agreed to this ... this scheme?' His eyes met hers then skidded away, his gaze settling on a point somewhere over her left shoulder. 'I thought it was a good idea at the time.' How on earth would she explain this to Matt? He would think she wanted this rendezvous. Not that she owed Matt an explanation, she added to herself. But he would wonder what sort of game she was playing. 'I don't think I'd better stay for lunch,' she said regretfully. At once, her aunt looked miserable. 'Please don't leave, Nikki.' . 'I'll go if you like,' Richard volunteered. He looked so pathetically appealing that she relented. 'All right, I'll stay—but just for lunch. And only if you two promise not to spend the whole meal engineering a reconciliation.' Aunt Benny grinned sheepishly. 'I promise.'

Nikki knew she wasn't supposed to see the conspiratorial wink directed at Richard but she caught it out of the corner of her eye. The two of them probably thought they had won. They soon found out otherwise. All through the meal, Nikki kept the conversation carefully on neutral topics. As soon as they wore out the subject of the weather she quizzed Richard about a forthcoming local council election. Only the gentle tap of her aunt's fork against the side of her plate betrayed how irritated she was with her niece. Well, she would have to get on with it. This cosy lunch a trois wasn't Nikki's idea. 'That was delicious,' she said as she finished the last of a superb lamb and veal terrine her aunt had prepared. 'You must let me have the recipe.' 'With pleasure. I thought it would be ideal for a hot day.' Before her aunt could steer the conversation around to marriage, Nikki leaned towards Richard. 'How is your exhibition in Sydney doing?' 'Warmed by her interest, he brightened, shedding some of the hangdog look he'd worn throughout lunch. 'It's had some very good reviews and the gallery has had plenty of traffic through it.' 'Lots of sales, too, I trust?' He became gloomy again. 'Not nearly enough. I'd hoped to have made my money back by now.' Her eyebrows arched in surprise. 'Your money? Surely you aren't backing this out of your own pocket?'

'Since none of the gallery owners had enough faith in me, I figured I had to do it myself,' he said belligerently. 'Sooner or later the artbuying public must be made to see the light.' 'You can't make people buy your work. They have to be attracted to it,' she reminded him. 'Hah! They're attracted to pretty little gee-gaws for the living-room. My stuff is art!' She had heard Richard talk like this before, but to her knowledge it was the first time he had staked his own money on his beliefs. 'What happens if the show isn't a commercial success?' she couldn't help asking. 'Then I'm down the drain, aren't I?' He gave her an accusing look which seemed to suggest it would be partly her fault for deserting him just when he needed her. 'Somebody had to have faith in me,' he added. 'We all have faith in you,' she said non-comittally. 'Not enough to stick by me when I needed you.' 'Our personal relationship has nothing to do with whether or not I believe in you as an artist,' she said desperately. She was aware that her aunt had quietly left the table, ushering Joy out of the room with her. In trying to be tactful, Aunt Benny had landed her in a very awkward spot. Richard would never have steered the conversation on to such personal ground unless they were alone. 'How would you know?' he flung at her. 'You're not an artist yourself. You can't know how closely one's artistic and personal integrity are entwined.'

She shook her head vigorously. 'Oh no, you can't make me responsible for your career success or failure just because I won't marry you. You're a damned good sculptor and you know it.' His eyes gleamed. 'Then you do believe in me! I knew it. I knew we just had to have this talk.' It was hopeless! Whatever she said, Richard was determined to turn it into a vindication of himself rather than his work. She lowered her eyes, veiling them with her long lashes so he wouldn't see the sadness in them. 'It's no good,' she said quietly. 'Just because I believe in your work doesn't change how I feel towards you. I can't help it, Richard, I just can't make myself love you however much I want to.' He seized on her last words, ignoring the rest. 'Then you do want to. If Holborn hadn't turned up, you'd still be engaged to me, I know it.' Would she? Was it fair to blame Matt for her change of heart? No, she decided sadly. She was only nostalgic about Richard because he was so undemanding, unlike Matt. 'It wouldn't have worked anyway,' she said aloud, 'I was marrying you under false pretences and I just didn't know it.' 'But you can't be sure of that, can you?' He was clutching at straws. 'I suppose not,' she sighed, 'but I do know we would have split up sooner or later. Matt was only the catalyst. You and I are too different. You're more organised than I'll ever be. We like different things—the list goes on.' 'Those things could be overcome, I know they could.' Emotionally exhausted, she gave up. Richard just wasn't prepared to admit that their engagement had been a mistake from the beginning—at least on her side. She had been looking for the love

and companionship she had lost when Matt disappeared. It had taken his return to prove to her that he was the only man who could fill the void he had left in her life. When Richard left soon afterwards she was glad, not knowing what more she could say to comfort him. Aunt Benny came back into the room looking unhappy. 'I did the wrong thing, didn't I?' 'I'm afraid so, but you meant well.' 'You know where good intentions lead, don't you?' her aunt asked ruefully. 'But you can't blame me for wanting to see you happy. June would have wanted me to do that.' At the mention of her mother, Nikki's face crumpled. Although she had spent half a lifetime fighting against their well-meaning constraints, she missed their advice and support more than she had ever admitted to anyone. Aunt Benny put an arm around her shoulder. 'Don't be upset, Nikki. I didn't realise what a strain this would be for you.' 'If only I knew what I w-w-wanted,' she gulped, taking deep steadying breaths.'I think you already know, but you're just not admitting it to yourself,' her aunt said sagely. Aunt Benny's words were still ringing in her ears when she returned to Brookfield. She still hadn't been able to talk to her uncle because he was busy in the shop, but she was sure he would have agreed with his wife, although he would never have meddled in Nikki's life the way Aunt Benny had done today. How could she invite Richard to lunch knowing that the engagement was ended?

At least one good thing had come out of the encounter—young Joy now knew that the wedding was off. Predictably she had been disappointed but with the optimism of youth, she had extracted Nikki's promise that she could be her bridesmaid, 'when you do get married'. When would that be? she wondered now. Aunt Benny had been right when she said that Nikki already knew what she wanted. She wanted Matt at her side. Her aunt had also perceived the reason why it could never work. She would always be afraid that Matt would desert her as he had done before. He couldn't know how badly that experience had wounded her, or how much she had blamed herself for failing to live up to his expectations. For a long time afterwards she had believed she was frigid. Only her short-lived affair at university had proved otherwise, and then she had been forced to end it because Matt kept intruding on her thoughts. He had a lot to answer for, one way or another. The object of her reflections was seated on the terrace, looking pensively out towards Brisbane Water. He looked up as she walked in. 'Did you have a good time?' 'Mmm, fine thanks,' she murmured, not wanting to enlighten him just yet. There was no reason why she should, but she shrank from letting him know that she had lunched with Richard. Matt uncoiled his lean form from the canvas chair with the lithe grace of a panther. The shorts he wore left his legs bare and the muscles rippled as he moved. 'I'll get you a drink.' She dropped into the chair opposite his and was about to ask for a soft drink when she suddenly rebelled. 'I'd like a glass of white wine, thanks.' His eyebrows lifted. 'That sort of day, hmm?'

He went off to fetch the drinks, leaving her alone on the* terrace. Strange, but it still felt like home even though technically it belonged to someone else now. Below her the green sward rolled away towards the cliff edge and she could hear the waves rolling against the sandstone beneath. In the distance, the azure sea was tipped with diamond points where the sun sparkled off it. Now and then a mullet jumped out of the water, scattering jewelled droplets over the surface of the ocean before it slid beneath the waves again. Matt padded up behind her, his bare feet making no sound on the decking. 'Penny for them.' She jumped. 'I was just enjoying the view. I've seen it every day of my life but I never tire of it.' He set the drink down in front of her. 'Yet you were willing to part with it.' She chuckled softly. 'Not all that willing. You paid a high price for it.' 'Not as high as the one you paid.' He was right as usual. Selling her family home had cost her far more in personal terms than it had cost him in money. He settled himself in his chair again and stretched his legs out in front of him, hooking one tanned leg over the other at the ankle. Hungrily, her gaze travelled up his legs then she looked quickly away. She had been afraid he would be unable to leave her alone; now she was the one having distracting thoughts. 'Now tell me why a lunch with your aunt drove you to drink,' he urged, sipping his scotch and soda.

'I only asked for a glass of wine. Why should you think there's anything wrong?' she asked crossly, annoyed that he should find her so transparent. 'I know you better than you think, young Nikki,' he laughed. 'Then you know better than to call me "young Nikki",' she snapped back. 'You sound like my father.' He sobered at once. 'That I most certainly am not. The way I think of you is anything but fatherly, I assure you.' She shot him a look of appeal. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. But it has been a trying day.' She might as well be honest. After all, she had nothing to hide. 'Aunt Benny invited Richard to lunch as well. She was hoping we'd kiss and make up.' His face remained impassive but his fingers tightened around the glass. 'And did you?' 'Of course not. I told both Richard and my aunt that they were wasting their time.' Matt took a long pull on his drink, then set it down. 'Your aunt doesn't approve of me, does she?' 'No, she doesn't. She thinks you're unreliable and likely to desert me again at a moment's notice.' Clasping his hands behind his head, he stared fixedly out to sea, not looking at her. 'I see. Is that what you think, too?' The temptation to be honest was too strong. 'It's what I'm afraid of,' she admitted, choosing her words with care. 'After all, you did go away once before.'

'I intended to come back after I'd given you some time to think,' he reminded her. 'It was hardly my fault that I was gone for six years. I came back as soon as I could.' 'Yes, I must grant you that. But it still doesn't change the fact that I went through hell after you left. My parents were all for me getting our marriage annulled then. Perhaps they knew something I didn't.' He straightened and swung himself around to face her. 'What's that supposed to mean?' 'It means I hardly know anything about you even now. For all I know, you could have a wife and six children in some other country. You've never told me anything substantial about your life before we met, only hints and glimpses. It's like being married to a phantom.' He took a deep breath. 'Fair enough. What would you like to know?' Unprepared for such a frank response, she was taken aback. All the questions she'd been rehearsing for years went out of her head. 'Well, do you have a wife and six children somewhere else?' she asked fatuously. He laughed aloud. 'Cross my heart. Sweethearts a-plenty, but never one I'd consider taking to the altar.' Yet he had taken her to the altar. Her heart began to beat faster at the thought. 'The next thing you'll be telling me you had to fight them off,' she said with forced lightness. 'You probably won't believe me, but I was never interested enough in a woman to keep her around for more than a night or two,' he confessed. As she blanched, he went on, 'There's no need to look so shocked. You must have known I was no monk when we first met.' 'I suppose I did. I just don't like to think of you having. ..'

'Lovers?' he supplied for her. 'It's not a dirty word, not if the sentiment is pure. But that's not what you're saying, is it? You're jealous, that's what's eating you.' 'I'm nothing of the sort,' she defended herself hotly. That would reveal how much she cared for him, and she wasn't prepared to admit as much to him—at least, not yet. 'I was just curious, but you still haven't told me anything about your life before we met.' He wagged a finger at her. 'That's known as changing the subject, young Nikki, but all right. I was a crocodile-hunter on the Fly and the Sepik before I came back to Australia.' 'The Fly and the Sepik?' 'Rivers in New Guinea. I had a trading post in Moresby and I used to deal in artefacts and croc skins.' Her eyes widened with understanding. 'That's how you come to know so much about native art.' 'You can't help it. The more you know about tribal customs and beliefs, the easier it is to get along with the various tribes.' 'Crocodile-hunting sounds dangerous,' she said, shuddering. He shrugged off her concern. ''Not if you know what you're doing. I've bagged eighteen-footers from a native canoe—it's safe enough if you're careful.' 'And before New Guinea?' she asked, enthralled. 'As I've told you, I went to school in England and had the choice of returning to South America where my parents were, or coming to Australia. I chose to come here and used my knowledge from living in Peru to start a safari business in the Northern Territory. It's too

tame up there now, so I sold the business and went to New Guinea. So there it is, my biography in a nutshell.' If the Northern Territory was too tame for him, what hope was there that Sydney could hold him? she thought unhappily. 'Don't you miss your adventurous life?' she asked, feeling her pulses begin to race as she waited for his answer. 'I suppose I do. Adventure gets into your blood. But there's more than one kind of adventure.' Was he trying to tell her that he could still take off in search of adventure? It was the answer she dreaded most and she was unable to put her fear into words. He seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts. 'I said there's more than one kind of adventure,' he repeated. 'The adventure of writing my book, for instance—or having children and bringing them up.' A shudder of longing passed through her and she took a steadying gulp of her wine. If only she could rely on him. But how could raising a family compare with the adrenalin-pumping excitement of crocodile-hunting in a wilderness? 'I don't know,' she said diffidently. 'You don't know how I could be turned on by the thought of my own child? My God, woman, how can any other adventure compare with creating and moulding a human being?' 'I know that, but I just can't believe you feel the same way.' His expression was forbidding. 'What you're asking for is my guarantee that I won't stray if we resume our marriage, and I just can't give it to you. I can't see into the future so I don't know how either of us will feel in ten, fifteen or twenty years. We have to trust that love is strong enough to bind us.'

She raised brimming eyes to him. 'And if it isn't?' 'Then surely we're better off apart.' Couldn't he see, that was the very thing she feared? To him, marriage and parenthood looked like an adventure because it was novel and challenging. But what if it wasn't enough to satisfy him once the novelty wore off? Would he feel free to walk away on the grounds that they were 'better off apart'? 'You make it all sound so simple,' she said bitterly. In exasperation he stood up and began to pace up and down the length of the terrace, his athletic strides eating up the slatted timber. He looked like a caged animal whose quarters were barely large enough to contain him—an apt. comparison under the circumstances, Nikki thought wryly. She could see now what she hadn't seen at nineteen, that trying to domesticate a man like Matt was like trying to cage a panther. Neither would thrive in captivity. 'It is simple,' he was saying. 'The trouble with you is you're still living in a fantasy world where things end happily ever after. That's what was wrong between us before—you had a fantasy lover, not a man. When I came to your bed on our wedding night you were shocked because your Prince Charming had turned into a real man with real needs and desires and you didn't know how to handle such base motivations. I have a feeling that you still don't. Maybe you should marry Richard Bligh. The two of you can have a terrific fantasy life together.' It was too much! In a fury, she jumped to her feet and stood with legs apart and hands on hips, her posture challenging him to take back his last words. 'You think you know everything, don't you?' she threw at him. 'Well, you seem to have overlooked one important fact. I don't love Richard Bligh. I love you, and that's no fantasy.'

He stopped in his tracks and stared at her. 'What did you just say?' It was too late to take it back now. 'You heard me, I said I love you.' 'No strings? No guarantees?' 'Not if you aren't prepared to give them.' His mouth quirked into a respectful smile as he stared at her, his eyes gradually warming. 'Well, I'll be a . .. you really have grown up in the last six years. Maybe there is a future for us after all.' For the first time in her life she understood the meaning of the words, 'bedroom eyes'. She was looking into them now as they faced each other on the terrace, and a thrill of anticipation coursed through her. She hadn't meant to tell him how she felt just yet but now she had, she was glad as she basked in the warmth of his gaze. He wanted her; she could see it in the way his look devoured her. He took a step towards her and she began to tremble with excitement. Before he could take her in his arms, they were jolted back to the real world by the strident ringing of the telephone. 'The hell with it, let it ring,' he said irritably. 'It could be important.' 'It'd better be.' He strode through the French doors and into the hallway where she heard him pick up the receiver. 'Yes, Holborn speaking. They did what? Look, hold on for a moment.' He placed the receiver on the hall table and came back to the doorway. Without apology, he closed the doors, shutting her out, then returned to the telephone. Through the glass she saw him speaking again but couldn't hear the conversation.

She felt like a pricked balloon, all the joy and promise of the last few minutes evaporating as she digested the fact that he had deliberately excluded her from the telephone call. He was entitled to his privacy, she conceded, but if they were to share the future together, surely they shouldn't start by having secrets from one another? Moodily, she finished her wine, already regretting that she had confessed her love for him. How could she have been so naive as to believe all his promises when she knew what sort of man he was? Her worst fears were confirmed when he came out on to the terrace a few minutes later, his face set. At once, she forgot her own hurt in her concern for him. 'What's the matter?' 'Nothing that need worry you,' he said shortly. 'But I'll have to go to Sydney for a couple of days. Will you be all right on your own?' 'I've been all right for the last six years,' she threw at him, but her irony was lost on him. He merely nodded tautly. 'In that case, I'll go and pack.'

CHAPTER EIGHT 'OH, bother!' Nikki stared at the empty coffee jar. Running out of coffee was the latest in a string of such minor aggravations. The day had started badly when spitting rain prevented her from doing her usual half-hour of yoga on the terrace this morning. Then, while doing her quota of housework, she plugged in one too many appliances and blew a fuse. Naturally, there was no spare fuse in the box. Matt's sudden departure had nothing to do with it, of course. It was mere coincidence that her sudden attack of clumsiness and forgetfulness had developed hard on the heels of his announcement. If only he had offered her some sort of explanation. Instead, he had packed and driven off as if possessed, barely remembering to say goodbye—see you tomorrow. At least he would be back this evening. Not that she cared whether he came back or not. This little display just proved how right she was about him—irresponsible and unfeeling. Otherwise, he would have at least told her what was the matter. Since there was no coffee, she brewed a pot of Earl Grey tea and drank a solitary cup sitting at the kitchen window staring out at the leaden sky. What a fool she had made of herself, blurting out her love for him without waiting to find out whether he returned her feelings. Well, now she knew. He wanted her in his bed, but wasn't willing to share his life with her. 'Curiosity killed the cat,' she said aloud, but she knew that it wasn't curiosity which made her want to share whatever was troubling him. She wanted to be part of his life, 'for better, for worse' as they had vowed six years ago.

He was right about her love of fantasy. One of her fantasies was that Matt Holborn felt the same way about her as she did about him. Decisively, she stood up and carried her cup to the sink. Mooning over Matt wasn't going to change the kind of man he was so she might as well get on with her life and try to forget him. Easier said than done, she was sure, but sooner or later she had to try—and for the sake of her peace of mind, it had better be sooner. Since Matt hadn't told her what he wanted to do about the gallery she was keeping it open for the time being. If he didn't want to buy the goodwill and the standing exhibits from her she would have to think about finding a new home for them soon. Perhaps she could find an old terrace house where she could have the gallery downstairs and an apartment for herself upstairs. The idea kept her thoughts busy and away from the subject of Matt for a whole ten minutes, then she spent another half an hour dusting and tidying the exhibits in the gallery. Fortunately, a local tourist bus drove up soon afterwards and. disgorged a dozen enthusiastic visitors who besieged her with questions. 'What's a juringa?' asked a woman, pointing to the display of decorated stones. Nikki smiled gently. 'It's "tch" as in Tchaikovsky.' She went on to explain the significance of the stones. At once, the woman urged her husband to buy some but Nikki shook her head. 'I'm sorry, they aren't for sale. We're very lucky to be allowed even to look at them,' Luckily the couple didn't take offence, deciding to buy some of the other artefacts instead. By the time the coach left, Nikki had sold quite a few items and made a healthy profit for the day. On impulse, she locked the gallery and

went out to the front gate to turn the sign around to 'closed' before anyone else drove in. Soon afterwards, dressed in her favourite handprinted poncho and matching straight-legged trousers, she was driving towards Gosford. At the top of her shopping list were coffee and fuse wire, so she had a legitimate reason for the trip. The shopping was just an excuse, she acknowledged as she drove. In truth, she wanted to get away from Brookfield with its reminders of Matt, and mix with carefree people in the brightly lit atmosphere of the shopping complex. Gosford was the tourist heart of Brisbane Water, founded in 1839 and named after the second Earl of Gosford. The surrounding agricultural, fruit-processing and quarrying industries assured the centre a prosperous future. Today the modern shopping complex was bustling and noisy, but Nikki revelled in the life and colour. It was just what she needed to counteract her grey mood. 'Nikki, what a surprise.' With a shock, she recognised Richard coming towards her out of the crowd. He looked positively ill, with newly etched lines down the sides of his face. His skin was an unhealthy grey colour and his deepset eyes were ringed by violet shadows. 'Hello, Richard,' she said awkwardly. 'I . .. er . . . had some shopping to do.' She gestured towards her purchases. 'Me too.' All at once his face crumpled. 'Nikki, I Have to talk to you. Please come and have some lunch with me.' 'No, I ... I'd better not.'

'Please? I hate to eat alone. Just a sandwich and coffee if that's all you have time for.' She could hardly refuse without making a scene so she nodded and he steered her towards a group of tables set under striped umbrellas, where they could sit and watch the passing parade. She would have preferred a less public place but Richard was already drawing a chair out for her at one of the tables. He took the seat opposite her and leaned across the table. 'I'm so glad I ran into you here.' If she hadn't decided to come shopping on impulse, she would have suspected Richard of staging their meeting. She looked away from him, pretending interest in the shoppers. 'I just felt like getting away from the house for a bit.' To her dismay, he reached across and grasped her hand, pulling her arm towards him so she was forced to meet his eyes. 'I had to see you, Nikki. When you weren't at home or your aunt's place, I guessed you must have come shopping.' So the meeting hadn't been accidental after all. 'You were following me?' she asked. 'Yes, but it's not what you're thinking. I did it for you, not for myself. I realise it's over between us but I care enough about you to want to protect you.' She frowned. 'Protect me from what?' Richard's face twisted into a mask of hatred. 'From that man you're sharing the house with.' All she could do was stare at Richard, too stunned to try to conceal her astonishment. 'I know you don't like Matt—I'd be surprised if you

did—but I have nothing to fear from him. What makes you think I should have?' He looked around furtively and leaned closer, lowering his voice as he spoke. 'I think he's some sort of spy or something.' Now she could hardly hold back her laughter. 'Oh, come on, Richard. You're being ridiculous.' 'Am I? Then tell me why he was skulking around the back streets of Sydney yesterday?' 'He ... he had some business in Sydney. He stayed there last night and is coming back today. I wouldn't call it skulking.' His grip on -her hand tightened, his expression earnest. 'I tell you he was acting strangely. I saw him on a street in Chinatown and I'm sure he saw me. Straight away, he ducked into a grocery shop and pretended to be browsing around the shelves.' It was too silly for words. 'He likes to cook,' she explained. 'Maybe he was shopping for special ingredients.' 'And maybe he wasn't. I continued on to the next corner and rounded it, then looked back. As soon as he saw I was out of sight, he came out of the shop and disappeared down an alleyway.' It did sound odd, she had to agree. 'But it hardly makes Matt into a spy,' she said flatly. Richard looked disappointed. 'You're determined to defend him, aren't you?' 'Against absurd accusations like that one—yes.'

His eyes narrowed and a fanatical gleam came into them. A tremor shook her as she encountered his fixed expression. It was like looking at a stranger. 'I have another accusation which you can't dismiss so lightly,' he went on. 'Remember I told you I was doing some digging?' Reluctantly, she nodded, intrigued in spite of herself. 'I found out something very interesting. Did you know that your precious Matt Holborn was shacked up with a woman in Saigon before he came back here?' Determinedly, she put her hands over her ears. 'I don't want to hear any more of this nonsense.' He prised her hands away and held them flat on the table. Richard wasn't a muscular man but his determination lent him unusual strength and she was unable to pull free. 'This time you're going to listen for your own good,' he insisted. 'I have proof that Holborn was living with a woman called Henriette. Here, I'll show you.' Releasing her, he fished in his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper, but she waved it aside, relief flooding through her. 'Don't bother. I know all about Henriette. She took care of Matt after he was released. He told me himself. She's married to a plantation owner.' Richard shook his head sadly. 'You really have been duped by him, haven't you? My dear Nikki, Henriette Nim has been a widow since the war. She runs the plantation with the help of labourers. According to the journalist friend who wrote me this letter, she's a very attractive woman.' Luckily the waitress came to their table to take their orders just then, so Nikki had a few minutes in which to regain her composure. She was determined not to let Richard see how shaken she was by his revelations. Distractedly, she ordered a toasted ham sandwich and coffee and distantly heard Richard do the same. She was sure when

the food arrived she wouldn't be able to eat a mouthful, but to leave now would betray her real feelings. Why had Matt allowed her to think that Henriette's husband was still alive? He had said that Henriette 'married a French plantation owner' . .. not 'is married to' but she felt certain that his choice of words had been deliberate. No wonder he was able to say he wasn't cuckolding the woman's husband. She started when Richard patted her hand. 'I'm sorry if this came as a shock to you.' Pretending indifference, she forced a smile. 'Why should it? I'm only sharing the house with him until I decide what to do with myself.' 'Then you aren't going back to him?' The sudden optimism in his voice alerted her. 'Whatever I decide, it won't change things between us. I've been thinking about taking off for Europe.' In the space of a few minutes he seemed to age several years and she regarded the change with alarm. 'I'm sorry if this hurts you, Richard—but surely it's better if we're honest now, than after we're married.' 'It's easy enough for you to say,' he grumbled. 'You can just head off to Europe without a care, leaving me to pick up the pieces. After all I tried to do for both our sakes...' All at once she realised what he was trying to say. 'Just what did you do for "both our sakes"?' she asked uneasily. He tried to shrug it off, apparently regretting having said as much as he had. 'It doesn't matter now, does it?'

'I think it does. You're in some sort of trouble and you think I'm somehow to blame, don't you?' 'I didn't say that.' 'But you implied it, so you'd better tell me just what sort of trouble I've supposedly got you into.' Before he could say any more, the waitress placed their sandwiches and coffee in front of them. Nikki toyed with hers, but Richard fastened on to his hungrily. What on earth was the matter with him? She let him eat for a few minutes, sipping her coffee, then faced him across the table. 'You had something to tell me.' Sullenly, he finished his mouthful before he answered. 'I didn't want to tell you. I was going to wait until the exhibition was a big success and then surprise you.' 'But it wasn't a big success, was it?' she asked quietly. 'I've lost most of my savings staging it,' he said bitterly. 'I only did it for you, to prove that you weren't marrying a no-hoper. For all the good it did me.' 'I never thought of you as a no-hoper,' she said, shocked. 'I know you have talent. It's just a matter of time before you're appreciated.' 'Like most artists, it will probably be after I'm dead,' he said gloomily, apparently determined to wallow in his self-pity. A new thought occurred to her. 'This wasn't the first time, was it?' He sighed heavily. 'You may as well know. All those shows I told you about—they were all financed with my own money.'

'And now you're heavily in debt and blaming me. Oh Richard, how could you be so foolish?' 'Is it foolish to want to impress the woman you love?' 'I wish I could be sure that you did love me,' she said unhappily. 'Are you sure it wasn't because of the opportunities you could see to display your work in your own gallery?' His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed convulsively. 'Since you're determined to think the worst of me, I admit that I liked the idea of being master of a place like Brookfield. But I did care for you, Nikki, I swear I did.' 'That's something at least.' It was little enough consolation given that Brookfield was his first love, and she only came second. It was also humiliating to discover that Matt had been right about Richard all along. She reached into her handbag and drew out her cheque book. 'What are you doing?' he asked suspiciously. 'How much do you need to get you out of trouble?' she asked, her pen poised over the paper. He hesitated, apparently torn between salvaging his pride and restoring his finances. In a low voice, he told her the amount. 'Are you sure you can afford it?' he asked as she wrote out the cheque. 'The deposit Matt paid for Brookfield will cover it, and I'll soon have the balance of the purchase price,' she assured him. 'Since you went into debt for my sake, it's the least I can do.' When she pushed the cheque towards him he picked it up in two fingers, as if it could bite. 'To think I'm reduced to taking Holborn's money,' he said, the self- loathing transparent in his expression. However, she noticed that he folded the cheque into his wallet.

A few minutes later he pushed his chair back. 'I guess this really is goodbye. I don't think I could face you any more after this.' With a grudging thank-you for the money, he shuffled off. She stayed where she was for a while longer, nursing her coffee while she tried to sort out her whirling thoughts. She couldn't believe that so much had happened in one morning. In the space of a few short hours she had discovered that Richard was marrying her for money first and love second. As well, it seemed that Matt had deceived her over his relationship with Henriette Nim, and had been seen behaving furtively in Sydney's Chinatown. What should she make of it? What could she make of it, except to conclude that once again, Matt had manipulated her for his own ends. In the guise of being honest with her, he had implied that Henriette was a married woman, somehow creating the impression that she was middle-aged and unattractive. According to Richard's correspondent she was not only a free woman of property, but she was an attractive one as well. It was also a blow to discover that Matt had lived with her for three months. So much for his claim that he had rushed home to Nikki after he was released from house arrest in the north. Why had he bothered to come back at all? It wasn't because he needed Nikki's money—his purchase of Brookfield proved that he was well off in his own right. The only other possibility was that he had quarrelled with Henriette and been unable to stay in Saigon. The nerve of Matt Holborn. To think he could just come back with his fanciful story—she wasn't even sure how much of it she believed any more—and take up where he left off. His lovemaking and his talk about the adventure of raising a family had almost fooled her into taking him back.

Well, this time, he was in, for a surprise. If he could disappear without a backward glance, why couldn't she? If she rushed home and packed now, she could be gone before he returned from whatever he was up to in Sydney. Richard's suggestion that Matt was a spy was plainly absurd, but she could think of no other reason why he should avoid Richard, ducking into doorways to cover his real destination. What did it matter now anyway? Since she didn't plan to see him again, he could keep his secrets and welcome to them. This time, she didn't mind the rain spattering on her windscreen as she drove back to Brookfield. It was as if the weather was doing her crying for her. She didn't plan on wasting any more tears over Matt Holborn, but the tears were there—better that the sky should shed them on her behalf. Once back at Brookfield, however, the problem of what she should take with her had to be dealt with. The furniture and fittings had been sold with the house but she was still faced with a daunting number of possessions to choose from. In the end, she decided to take only her clothes and personal effects. She could always write to Matt when she was settled, and ask him to send on the rest of her things. The gallery presented more of a problem. Her grandfather's collection of artefacts was safe enough where it was. Matt would look after it, she knew. But what was she to do about the sacred tjuringas which had to be returned to their tribal owners in a few days? She settled for writing Matt a letter explaining what to do with the artefacts. Since he couldn't be expected to repack them for dispatch

to the Northern Territory, she spent several precious hours doing the job herself. Anxious as she was to get away before Matt returned, her conscience wouldn't let her shirk her responsibilities. It was early evening by the time she came back into the house, her face and arms streaked with dust from the gallery storeroom. She would have loved to luxuriate in a steaming hot bath but there wasn't time so she had a quick shower to wash off the worst of the grime. Swathed in a dressing gown over shower-damp skin, she wound her wet hair into a towel turban and set about packing her clothes and possessions. She had filled two suitcases when she decided they would have to do. Her small car wouldn't hold much more anyway, so she would have to leave everything else behind. She was so preoccupied with trying to fasten the larger suitcase that she didn't hear the bedroom door open behind her. 'What the devil is going on here?' She spun around, her heart hammering with shock, to find Matt standing in the doorway, his arms folded aggressively across his chest. His expression was grim. 'What does it look like? I'm packing to leave,' she said, trying to keep her voice steady. 'Just because I had to go away for twenty-four hours?' he asked incredulously. She schooled her features into a carefree mask, adding a shrug of her shoulders for good measure. 'What's twenty-four hours after six years?'

In two strides he crossed the room and took her by the shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh. In vain, she twisted in his grip. 'Let me go.' 'Not until you explain why you decided to run out on me the moment my back was turned.' 'That's rich, coming from, you!' she flung at him. Inexorably, he steered her backwards until she was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking up at him in impotent fury. He took a step away from her and stood watching her as if she might try to escape, dressing gown or no. 'Now tell me what brought this on.' She jutted her chin out mutinously. 'I don't owe you an explanation for my actions.' He folded his arms again as if he was keeping his hands off her with an effort. 'Yet you expect one from me, don't you? You're throwing this tantrum because I didn't tell you why I had to go away.' He made her anger sound like a childish outburst, she thought furiously. 'That's only part of the reason,' she said steadily. 'I saw Richard today.' 'You're making a habit of running into him when I'm not around,' he sneered. 'What did our troublemaking friend have to say this time?' 'He's not a troublemaker. He was only trying to protect my interests. He told me he saw you in Chinatown yesterday.' Was it her imagination or did a fleeting expression of alarm cross Matt's rugged features? 'What else did he tell you?' he demanded. 'He said when you saw him, you went into a shop to put him off your tracks, then went down another alleyway as soon as you thought he

was out of sight.' There—let him try to explain that behaviour if he could! 'It never occurred to you that I went into the shop to ask for directions?' he said as a small smile played around the corners of his mouth. 'It wouldn't be the first time I've done that—as you should know.' What an idiot she was! Here she was looking for cloak-and-dagger explanations for his behaviour when she hadn't even considered the most obvious reason. 'Did you go in to ask for directions?' she asked, wide- eyed. He hesitated for a moment then seemed to reach a decision. 'No, I didn't.' 'Then why…' He held up a hand. 'I can't tell you any more, so don't ask. It's for your own good, I swear. You'll have to trust me—please?' Her instincts urged her to say yes, but still she held back. There was the question of Henriette to be settled. 'Richard told me something else today,' she ventured. The lines around his mouth tightened and she saw a pulse point start up in his throat. 'Bligh has been very busy, it seems. Well, don't keep me in suspense.' She lowered her lashes, her fingers plucking nervously at the woven strands of the bedcover. 'He said you lived with Henriette Nim for three months before you came back to Sydney.' He placed a hand under her chin and gently but irresistibly forced her head up so their eyes met. 'I told you about Henriette, how she helped me regain my strength after I—after my release, didn't I?'

'Yes, but you implied that she was married—instead, I find that she's a beautiful widow.' He chuckled softly. 'So you are jealous. I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said Henriette is nothing more than a very dear friend?' She shook her head, dislodging his hand which he let drop to his side. 'It's no good, Matt. I don't know what to believe about you any more. You told me that it was thoughts of me which sustained you throughout your captivity; that you couldn't wait to get back to me— now I find that you were willing to delay your return by three months.' This time, she met his eyes willingly, her gaze imploring him to offer, some sort of explanation she could accept. 'It was—necessary,' he said flatly, disappointing her. Abruptly, he turned away and walked towards her door. 'Get dressed, we have to talk.' Before he went out, he added, 'I had hoped to spare you the details but remember that you were the one who insisted on being told.' Her trepidation grew as she threw off the towelling robe and stepped into cotton jeans, then pulled on a supple jersey top. The,, roomy garment had a shirred waist and softly draping dolman sleeves so there was no need for a bra underneath it. She didn't want to waste any more time than she had to in dressing. Contrarily, she also felt an urge to delay facing him for as long as possible. His parting comment had implied that she wouldn't enjoy what he had to tell her. She soon found out he was right. When she joined him in the living-room, he had mixed brandies for them both and handed her a glass. 'I don't want a drink, thanks,' she demurred.

He thrust it towards her. 'I think you're going to need it.' Warily, she accepted it and settled herself on the couch opposite his chair. 'I'm ready.' He regarded her wryly. 'I doubt it. But the truth is, Henriette found me in a ditch. She thought I was dead. Luckily, she decided to bury me in the name of decency and found out I was alive—but barely.' She clutched a hand to her mouth. 'Oh, Matt.' 'Yes—"Oh, Matt". When she discovered I was still breathing, Henriette took me back to her house, modest though it is.' As she opened her mouth he anticipated her question. 'Yes, she does run her husband's plantation but all that's left are a few miserable rice paddies. Everything else was destroyed during the war. Still, she shared what food she had with me and nursed me until I could fend for myself again—so your idea of a torrid romance between us was very unlikely.' 'But you said you were under house arrest. Didn't they treat you properly?' A shadow crossed his even features and he massaged his chin with one hand. 'They treated me very well— when it suited them, which was mostly when foreign journalists were around who might want to interview their prisoners.' He laughed, a dry humourless sound. 'They're terrified of getting a bad press in the outside world.' 'And the rest of the time?' 'The rest of the time I ate when somebody remembered to feed me. If I was a bad boy and refused to answer questions, I might not eat for a week.'

She had a feeling that he was keeping even worse details from her and—God help her—she lacked the courage to press him. Already, she shuddered inwardly at the picture he painted of his lost years. The captivity would have been bad enough for a freedom-loving man like Matt, but the deprivation must have made it intolerable. Yet somehow he had endured it all to come back to her. 'What made you keep going?' she asked in a voice barely above a whisper. The look he gave her spoke volumes. 'Can't you guess?' 'I think I can.' At once, he came to her and urged her to her feet, pulling her tightly against him so he could feel the fullness of her unbound breasts through the material of her shirt. As his mouth found hers, his hands slid under the shirred waist of the garment and she felt him massaging her spine. Her breathing quickened and she pressed closer against him. 'I'm glad you told me,' she whispered when he released her to take a breath. 'I didn't want to hurt you.' She traced the scar on his temple with her finger. 'They hurt you.' As he started to speak she pressed the finger against his lips and he nibbled on it hungrily. 'I know you don't want to tell me any more and I shan't ask, but I know you haven't told me the worst of it. I can guess the rest and I want you to know I'm sorry for ever doubting you.' 'Then you're willing to trust me even though I can't tell you why I had to go to Sydney, or what I was doing there?'

A tremor of apprehension shook her. Was she being even more of a fool by agreeing? There were still so many questions he hadn't answered, so many things she would never know about him. Could she accept that and go on from here? It was what she wanted more than anything, yet could she live with such a situation? 'Can't you tell me any more?' 'No. And it's better for both of us if you don't ask again. Will you agree to that?' Unable to think clearly while he held her like this, she moved out of the warm circle of his arms. Defensively, she wrapped her arms around herself and stared out of the window at the darkening seascape. 'I don't know, Matt. I wish I could just say yes, but. . .' 'But you still have doubts, don't you?' Miserably, she nodded. 'I understand,' he said tautly but it was clear from his tone that she had disappointed him. 'I suppose it was a lot to ask.' He turned on his heel and was half-way out of the door before she came to her senses. 'Wait! Where are you going?' 'There's no need for you to leave. I'll pack and clear out.' 'But it's your house.' 'I hold the title, but it's still your home and always will be. I'm the interloper here so it's only fair that I be the one to leave.' Blinded by tears she rushed across the room and hurtled herself into his arms. 'I don't want you to go. I'll do what you ask. No more questions, I promise.'

He held her at arm's length, his finger tracing the trail of tears down her cheek. 'You can't know how much I needed to hear you say that. I could never have an affair with another woman, knowing you were waiting for me here. You should know me better than that.' She drew a long shuddering breath. 'That's the trouble. I don't know you at all.' Her simple statement seemed to hit him with the force of a thunderbolt. 'You're right, Nikki. But by God, I intend to do something about it, starting now.' She regarded him uncertainly, still held by his encircling arm. 'What do you mean?' 'Don't look so alarmed, I'm not going to carry you off upstairs just yet.' His caressing gaze took in the generous curve of her breasts and hips, revealed by the thin clothes. 'We both know we're compatible in bed at least—but you and I have a lot more going for us than sexual attraction, and I intend to prove it to you.' He released her and moved back to the door, chuckling as she raised a bemused look to him. 'It's all right, I am still going to pack, but this time for a different reason. I intend to court you properly, the way I should have done the first time, young lady.' Had he gone mad? 'But we're already married.' 'A fact I intend to forget from this moment,' he said, only confusing her the more. 'Can't you see—we thought sharing a house would be the answer, but it isn't. With you sleeping across the hall from me, I can only think of one thing. So I'm going to move back to the motel down the road—temporarily,' he added as she began to protest. 'From there, I'm going to woo and win you all over again.'

She felt as if she was on a merry-go-round, being whirled faster and faster until the world around her was a blur. 'What happens if I turn you down this time?' she asked. At once he sobered. 'I'm willing to take that chance. But I've a feeling you and I are going to fall in love all over again.' Did she believe in second chances? There was only one way to find out.

CHAPTER NINE MATT was as good as his word. From the next day, she started to receive a steady stream of flowers and phone calls. He was courting her with a vengeance. She was arranging his latest offering—a magnificent sheaf of gladioli—in a fluted crystal vase, when there was a knock on the door. She glanced at the grandfather clock. Goodness, how did it get to be so late? 'Come in, Aunt Benny, I'm in the dining-room,' she called. Luckily her aunt was a very understanding luncheon guest. She wouldn't mind if Nikki finished her luncheon preparations while they talked. Her aunt walked in and kissed her warmly. 'How are you, my dear?' 'Fine thanks, Aunt Benny—and you?' 'Pretty much as usual. But you're more than fine, you're positively radiant.' She studied the flowers admiringly. 'And these didn't come from your garden. Got yourself a new admirer, have you?' Nikki felt her face growing hot. 'Something like that.' She finished arranging the flowers and checked the progress of their lunch in the oven, then poured a glass of white wine for each of them. 'It's such a lovely day. Let's take our drinks into the garden.' They sat on the lawn in the shade of an ancient peppercorn tree, their chairs angled so they could appreciate the magnificent seascape. Aunt Benny swivelled in her chair. 'Where's your house guest today?' 'If you mean Matt, he's moved out, back to the motel.' Her aunt nodded. 'I'm not surprised. A man like him won't stay in one place for long. You're better off without him.'

Suddenly Nikki realised that her aunt thought her admirer was a new man entirely. 'No, it's not like that at all. Matt moved out to give me some breathing space. I couldn't think straight while we were under the same roof.' Her aunt's eyes narrowed. 'Sounds to me like you're still not thinking straight. That man is an adventurer— what we would have called a rake, in my day. You can't be serious about taking up with him again.' Nikki sipped her wine before answering. 'Yes, I can. You see, whatever else he may be, he's the only man I have ever loved—I think, the only man I could love.' 'What nonsense! You're besotted with him because he's mysterious and glamorous and a bit elusive.' Nikki smiled nostalgically. 'You sound just like Mother. She said almost exactly the same things when I announced that we were getting married.' 'Pity you didn't listen to her,' snorted Aunt Benny. 'But then you never did listen to anybody, did you?' she added, not unkindly, 'Just like your mother at the same age.' Nikki stared at her in amazement. 'I can't believe that Mother was ever as headstrong as me.' 'You'd better believe it. Our parents were totally against her marrying Phillip Westbrook. They thought he was much too old and sophisticated for her.' 'Yet they were blissfully happy together,' marvelled Nikki. So much so that, after her husband died, June Westbrook had lost the will to live. If only she and Matt could make such a successful match!

Aunt Benny seemed to read her thoughts. 'Don't get romantic notions, young lady. Not all such marriages are as happy as your parents'. Most of them end up on the rocks and then we oldies sit back and say "I told you so".' Nikki regarded her aunt affectionately. 'You'd never say that, would you?' Aunt Benny chuckled. 'I did in your mother's case. But then I was the only one who believed it could work.' 'Yet you don't think there's any hope for Matt and me?' 'I didn't say that. I only said the odds are against it. Besides, Phillip's, life was an open book. There's something very mysterious about your Matt.' Although thrilled by the reference to Matt as hers, Nikki was disturbed by her aunt's statement. 'What makes you think that?' 'Dick Sutton was talking about him in the shop the other day.' Nikki wrinkled her brow. 'You mean the owner of the motel?' 'That's him. Never did have much time for him myself. Can't abide the way he's let that place run down. But when he started gossiping about your Matt, I pricked up my ears. He said his telephone's been running hot with international calls. Of course, one call a week would be running hot to him.' Nikki ignored the aside. 'What else did he say?' 'Apparently Matt's been having a lot of visitors, too, and they take care not to be seen going into his room.'

Added to what Richard had told her about Matt's behaviour in Chinatown last week, it did sound peculiar. 'There must be a simple explanation,' she said, sounding doubtful even to her own ears. 'You tell me what it is and we'll both know,' Aunt Benny said, draining her wineglass. For lunch, Nikki had prepared an asparagus mornay which she served with fresh coleslaw and tomatoes from Brookfield's rambling vegetable garden. But she hardly tasted the food, being too preoccupied with what her aunt had told her. Fortunately, Aunt Benny was in a garrulous mood and regaled her with the latest gossip gleaned from the shop, so she could murmur her responses while mulling over her problem in the back of her mind. What if Matt really was a spy? It didn't seem likely but what other explanation was there? She had dismissed Richard's suspicions out of hand, but it was harder to dismiss her aunt's counsel. She was usually so sensible and practical. He telephoned again that afternoon, after her aunt had gone, and it was all she could do not to blurt out her suspicions. She had promised not to ask him any more questions, never dreaming how hard her vow would be to honour. 'You sound preoccupied, love,' he said in concern. 'Is anything the matter? Nobody's been bothering you, I hope.' Why should he think so? 'No, the only caller I've had was Aunt Benny who came to lunch.' His voice was vibrant with relief. 'That's good. I don't like to think of you all alone in that huge house.'

It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him that it hadn't worried him for over six years, but she didn't want to start a quarrel. 'I'm all right, really.' 'All the same, I'd be happier if I was there with you. I'll come over for dinner tonight.' Was that a request or an order? she thought. Why was he so concerned about her being alone in the house all of a sudden? At the same time, the thought of spending the evening with him set her pulses racing. 'What would you like me to cook?' she asked, her voice husky. 'Don't prepare anything. It's time I did the cooking for a change. I'll bring the ingredients with me and cook you something really memorable.' 'It sounds wonderful,' she said heartily. 'Will we need the lace tablecloth and candles, or raffia mats and flowers?' 'The mats, the flowers—and candles,' he responded, his tone softening, 'I shall enjoy making love to you by candlelight.' He hung up before she could respond, leaving her with a gnawing sensation like a hunger deep inside her. The evening was hours away and she felt an urgent need for his presence now, to drive away the phantoms her aunt's comments had conjured up. Was her aunt right? Had she lost her sense of perspective where Matt was concerned? She was finding it harder and harder to reconcile her private view of him with the mysterious man Richard and her aunt perceived.

The afternoon stretched endlessly ahead. The gallery was closed so she couldn't even console herself with the distractions it offered. On impulse, she decided to drive over to her aunt's place. Aunt Benny raised her eyebrows when she answered the door to Nikki. 'Did I leave something behind?' 'Only me. I was at a loose end and as I had promised Joy a new dress, I decided since it couldn't be a bridesmaid's frock, I would buy her another one.' Her aunt ushered her inside. 'You don't have to do that.' 'Oh, but I want to. It will give me a lot of pleasure.' 'In that case, I'm sure young Joy won't object. She's just at the stage where she's starting to take an interest in clothes. But don't let her talk you into buying any of that crazy punk gear.' Laughing, Nikki gave her word and she and an excited Joy set off for the shopping centre. 'Now I'll have something new for the school end-of-term party,' she enthused. Nikki eyed her young cousin happily. 'I'm sorry it won't be a bridesmaid's dress. Are you sure you don't mind too much?' 'Of course I do,' Joy said earnestly. 'I'd much rather you were getting married—but I'm not sorry you aren't marrying Richard.' 'Why ever not?' 'He's so stuffy and . . . and particular,' she said, wrinkling her nose. It was such an accurate summing up of Richard that Nikki laughed, then realised she shouldn't encourage the child to mock her elders like this. 'That's quite enough,' she said, trying to sound firm.

'Richard is a very good man. I just didn't love him enough to marry him.' 'But you do love Mr Holborn,' Joy said decisively. 'How can you possibly know that?' 'It shows,' was all Joy would say, leaving Nikki to wonder what signs gave her away. Joy was far too perceptive for her age, she decided, and changed the subject. In keeping with Joy's age, she led her towards a rack of new season's party dresses. Nikki had a moment of anxiety when she saw her cousin veer towards a range of the violently coloured punk clothes Aunt Benny had warned her against, but of her own accord Joy selected a youthful dress with drawstring waist, ruffled neckline and three-tiered skirt in shades of dark blue and seafoam. An assistant took the child into a fitting-room, and she came out moments later, pirouetting on her toes to show off the full skirt. 'What do you think?' 'You look enchanting,' Nikki said sincerely, seeing an echo of herself at the same age in the big-eyed pre- teenager. The vision brought a lump to her throat. 'As pretty as Marie Osmond?' asked Joy gravely. 'Oh much, much prettier.' Feeling warmed by Joy's childish enthusiasm, she delivered her cousin back to Aunt Benny and left them together, admiring the new dress. 'Thank you so much, Nikki,' Joy said at her mother's urging. Nikki stroked the child's hair affectionately. 'My pleasure.'

Her cousin accompanied her to the door then looked back over her shoulder to make sure her mother wasn't listening. 'Thank you for both dresses,' she whispered. Nikki was baffled. 'But we only bought one.' 'So far,' said Joy mischievously. 'There's still the dress I'll have when you get married to Matt Holborn.' 'Joy!' Nikki pretended to be shocked, but she couldn't really deny that she was having similar thoughts. Even though she and Matt were already legally married, she liked the idea of repeating their vows at a new ceremony. It would be like starting their marriage anew. She winked at the little girl as the door closed after her. Her shopping expedition had left only an hour before Matt was expected. Since she didn't have a meal to prepare, she spent a long time choosing her outfit for the evening, finally deciding on a slinky jersey gown with halter neck and low-cut back, in a clear aqua shade. At her throat she clasped a turquoise choker which had belonged to her grandmother, then she stood back to admire the effect. Impulsively, she gathered her shoulder-length hair in one hand and wound it into a knot at her nape. Definitely more sophisticated. Minutes later she was ready, the new hairstyle feeling cool and elegant. As she started down the staircase, the front door opened and Matt stood framed there, looking up at her. She froze in mid-step. 'Don't stop there,' he urged, his gaze sweeping over her like a flame thrower, igniting fires of passion deep within her. 'I'm waiting.' Her eyes locked with his, she continued her descent, her feet finding each step by pure instinct. When she reached the bottom he hesitated

only a moment before he gathered her in his arms, his mouth seeking hers hungrily. 'I've been waiting for this moment all day,' he said softly, his lips moving provocatively against hers. She nodded, too choked with emotion to speak, but her eyes answered for her as she clasped her hands tightly behind his neck, pulling his head closer. The kiss lasted for seconds but it seemed more like hours. She was drowning in the warmth of his embrace, hypnotised by the spell of his lips. Then she drew a sharp breath as his tongue gently parted her lips and plumbed the depths of her mouth. Their tongue tips touched and an agonising surge of desire pierced her. Instinctively she thrust her hips against him, feeling every taut muscle through the thin fabric of his safari suit. At last he wrenched himself away and she could see that he was as shaken as she was. 'Want to forget dinner?' he asked thickly. How she longed to say yes and be carried up the stairs in his arms, to surrender to whatever demands he made on her. The taste of him lingered on her mouth and his musky after-shave tantalised her nostrils. It would be so easy to give in. Precisely because it was too easy, she shook her head. 'This wasn't the way we planned it.' Frustration made him angry. 'To hell with plans. Can't you just follow your instincts for once in your life?' A muscle twitched at the corner of her mouth. 'I did once, remember?'

He saw her meaning at once. 'Yes, and look where it got you. I'm sorry, I shouldn't try to rush you. But damn it, I can't help wanting you—can I?' Nor I, you, she wanted to cry out, but was fearful of arousing his desire again, perhaps beyond his power to control it. As Matt had pointed out, they already knew they were compatible in bed. Now it was time to find out whether they shared anything else, enough on which to build a life together. 'You'd better go and cook that meal,' she urged. 'I'll set the table.' At least working in separate rooms would give them a chance to cool down, she told herself as she prepared the table. Whenever she was in the same room with him, it was agony not to enfold herself in his arms. Resisting might be easier with the table between them. The candles. Remembering her promise to Matt, she got out two delicately tapering red candles and set them in their silver holders in the centre of the table. They looked incongruous between the rustic raffia place mats and wooden-handled cutlery, but once night fell, all you would see would be their flickering light, she decided. Matt refused to let her into the kitchen to watch him at work. Through the dining-room window, she had seen him unload bags of groceries from his car. What on earth was he preparing to need so many supplies? At last he came in bearing a laden tray. 'Welcome to Saigon,' he said dramatically. She took her place at the table and looked curiously at the dishes he set in the centre of the table. 'What's all this?'

'I decided to prepare some traditional Vietnamese recipes I learned on my travels,' he explained. With a flourish, he removed the cover from the soup tureen. 'Canh Chua Ga—pineapple soup with chicken.' She sniffed the dish, scenting fresh pineapple, celery and other spicy ingredients in the golden stock. 'Smells sensational. What else have you conjured up?' 'Thit Heo Kho Tieu—pork caramel; Goi Tom—a kind of coleslaw of shrimp and chicken; and Muc Xao Chua Ngot—I hope you like squid,! he added, smiling. 'I've never eaten it, but since it doesn't look like squid it will probably be all right,' she said. 'You are amazing.' 'Try it first before you're too complimentary,' he cautioned. The coleslaw tasted of lemon, coriander and garlic but was pleasantly spicy without being too hot. The sweet and sour squid was decidedly tasty so it was easy to forget that she was eating a relative of the octopus. But she screwed up her face at the caramel pork. 'Too salty.' 'It's meant to be like that,' Matt assured her. 'It should be eaten with a lot of rice. You'll find it absorbs some of the salt taste.' She did as he suggested and found it a great improvement. After trying all the dishes, she announced that the pineapple soup was her favourite. The pleasant combination of fresh pineapple, chicken meat, capsicum and mint in a delicate fish sauce appealed to her western tastes. 'I thought you'd say that,' he observed when she told him. 'Perhaps the other dishes are an acquired taste.' 'Wherever did you learn to cook like this?' she asked.

He hesitated before answering. 'Henriette taught me most of the dishes. They're meant to make the most of what meat and fish is available.' He looked down at the tablecloth before facing her again. 'I had a lot of time on my hands while I was convalescing.' This time she kept her surge of jealousy firmly in hand. He had already assured her that there was nothing between himself and Henriette. She had no cause to be jealous of the unknown woman. If anything, she should be deeply grateful to her for saving Matt's life. 'She sounds like a very generous woman,' she said quietly. He regarded her with pleased surprise. 'Believe me, she is. I just hope it doesn't cost her too dearly.' Her head came up. 'What do you mean?' His expression told her he was already regretting his words. 'Nothing really. But generous people can be taken advantage of,' he said offhandedly. She had a feeling it wasn't what he meant to say at all, and felt a resurgence of resentment at being once again excluded from whatever was worrying him. She pushed her chair back from the table. 'I'll do the cleaning up,' she said stiffly. 'Now you sound upset again. What have I said this time?' 'Nothing,' she said flatly. It was the truth, after all. 'I just want to get the dishes cleared away.' Before she could collect the plates and carry them into the kitchen, he came up behind her and clasped his arms around her waist, drawing her back against him. 'I know I'm asking a lot,' he breathed into her ear, 'but please don't turn away from me now. I know you're hurt

because I can't answer all your questions, but I need your trust and support more than I've ever needed anything in my life.' The impassioned plea shook her, He needed her! She was sure he wasn't just saying that to win her over. Something in his tone convinced her he meant every word. She relaxed against him, resting her hands on top of his. 'I do trust you,' she said from her heart. 'Will you tell me when you can?' 'When I can,' he vowed. He turned her slowly around so that she was encircled in his arms, then brushed the stray hairs away from her forehead. 'You're so much more than I deserve,' he breathed and kissed her very, very lightly on the mouth. It was a butterfly kiss, no sooner landing than it was gone, but it was the most sensuous touch she had ever received. She drew a strangled breath. 'I'd better finish those dishes.' There was laughter in his eyes as he released her. 'To the kitchen then, woman. I have to make a telephone call.' However hard she tried not to resent his actions, a stab of pain pierced her as she shut the door between them. For the merest moment, she was tempted to listen at the door, then her conscience drove her to carry the dishes out to the kitchen. By the time she had finished the dishes, he was back in the livingroom again. She set their coffee cups down on the low table and he poured thimble-sized glasses of Grand Marnier, setting them down alongside the coffee. Then he dropped down beside her on the couch and stretched an arm along the back, behind her. Dreamily, she leaned into his arm and he

tightened it around her. 'Wouldn't it be wonderful if this night could last forever,' she murmured. 'It could, if we were husband and wife again.' She knew he wanted her to urge him to stay as her husband, but there were still too many unanswered questions. Until there was complete trust between them—and he had admitted he couldn't let her into his secrets yet—she would always feel unsure of him. He drew her against him and pressed hungry kisses on to her forehead and throat, and she pushed her head back, closing her eyes to savour the feel of his lips against her skin. Gradually, he moved downwards until he reached the cleft of her breast. Impatiently, he pushed the material aside and kissed first one breast then the other, his breath quickening. From the heat radiating from his hands, she guessed his temperature was climbing as rapidly as hers was. This was madness. In a very few minutes, he would urge her to go to bed with him and she would be powerless to resist, spellbound by the attraction she felt for him. She pushed him away. 'No, Matt, this isn't the way.' He got up and prowled around the room, venting his frustration in physical movement. At last he slumped into a chair opposite her and picked up his liqueur, tilting his head back to drain the tiny glass. 'I can't help it,' he growled. 'You're driving me crazy. Why couldn't you have worn a track suit or something?' Guiltily, she pulled the thin fabric back over her breasts and tied the halter neckline tighter, to conceal more of her pale flesh. The shadows in his eyes told her he was still imagining what was underneath, but there was nothing she could do about that. 'Was your phone call productive?' she asked tautly.

'The man I wanted was out,' he said, making her none the wiser. At last he stood up. 'This is hopeless. If I stay here any longer you know where we'll end up.' 'Where are you going?' she asked, torn between wanting him to stay and needing the breathing space which his absence provided. 'I'm going for a run on the beach, then home to the motel. For a cold shower,' he added significantly. 'I'll call you tomorrow.' The house felt deserted when he had driven away, as if all the life had gone out of it. All the life had gone out of her, she reflected. He brought it back to her whenever he was here, taking it with him when he went. What was she going to do? She wanted him . .. no, she needed him ... more than any other man she had ever known. Yet until she could fully trust him, there was no future for them. .She hoped whatever his problem was, he would resolve it soon so there could be trust between them.

Next day she awoke with a light-hearted feeling, wondering what had prompted her gay mood until she remembered that Matt had promised to telephone. After last night he probably wouldn't want to spend another evening alone with her, but they might go out somewhere, to Kuring-Gai Chase perhaps where they could go bushwalking, or down to Brisbane Water to swim and sunbathe. Wanting to be ready for whatever he had planned, she hurried through her morning exercises, ate a quick breakfast of grapefruit and

toast and dressed in snug- fitting stretch jeans and the cross-over red shirt Matt remembered from their courting days. Deciding that the telephone would ring just as well if she was in the gallery as pacing up and down in the house, she set about organising the return of the tjuringas to their tribal owners. They were collected by an air express courier and she handed them over thankfully. The telephone rang as she was closing the gate behind the courier and she ran inside to answer it. 'Hello—Brookfield Galleries,' she said breathlessly. 'If I have that effect over the phone, I'd better not come over,' said a caressing voice. He sounded happier than she had heard him since he came home, as if some great burden had been lifted from his mind, and her heart lightened in response. 'I'm willing to take the risk,' she said provocatively. 'In that case, I'll pick you up at three.' 'Where are we going?' 'It's a surprise. You'll have to wait and see. Until three, my darling.' For a long time after he severed the connection, she held the phone against her breast, then realised how foolishly she was behaving. Just because he rang when he said he would—and called her his darling, there was no need to act like a teenager accepting her first date. He had sounded so happy. She wondered if his surprise was to reveal what had been troubling him recently. It must be resolved now, to account for his light-hearted attitude. She couldn't remember when he had sounded so carefree.

By the time the grandfather clock chimed a booming three, she could hardly contain her excitement. But three-fifteen came and then threethirty, still with no sign of Matt. He must have had some car trouble on the way to Brookfield, she decided, trying not to worry unduly. When four o'clock came and went, and he still hadn't arrived, she began to get really worried. Chewing her lower lip anxiously, she stared at the phone, willing him to ring with some sort of explanation. When it remained stubbornly silent, she picked up the receiver and dialled the number of Matt's motel. The phone rang and rang and, when no one answered, she decided there was nothing for it but to drive over there herself. If Matt had succumbed to another attack of malaria, he could be lying helpless in his suite, unable to contact her because the switchboard was unattended. It took her only minutes to get her car out and drive the short distance to the motel. Sure now that Matt must be ill and needing her, she hurried to Reception but was stopped by Dick Sutton coming around the side of the building. 'Anything I can do for you, Miss?' 'I'd like a key to Mr Holborn's room,' she said. 'I'm worried that he's been taken ill.' 'No need to worry about that,' the man assured her. 'He checked out of here just after lunch.' 'Checked out?' she repeated stupidly. 'But he can't have. That is—we had a date this afternoon.' The man shrugged and his indifference made her understand why Aunt Benny disliked him. 'Can't be helped, Miss. You wouldn't be the first woman ever stood up on a date.'

'Matt wouldn't do that,' she whispered. 'Didn't he give you any idea where he was going?' The man scratched his head. 'Guests don't usually leave forwarding addresses, you know.' Then he seemed to take pity on her distress. 'Look, if it's any good to you, he did get an international phone call before he left. Course that mightn't mean much. He got a string of 'em while he was here. Place was as bad as the U.N.' With an effort she curbed her impatience. 'Yes, I'm sure it was. I suppose you have to put all calls through your switchboard.' 'That's right. People just don't realise how much work there is in a place like this. They moan and groan something fierce if they don't get their toast just so and their eggs cooked just right. But they'll leave the rooms any old how and then complain if things are rundown next time they come. Is it any wonder I get sick of this business and feel like packing it in sometimes?' She felt as if she was going mad, but managed to sound sympathetic. 'It must be terrible for you. Especially if you get a guest like Mr Holborn with all his callers.' 'He was a right one, he was. All hours of the night, they were calling him. I guess because it's daytime there when we're sleeping—you know?' She nodded, wishing he would stick to the point. 'This last call, the one that sent him rushing off—can you remember where it came from and who made it?' Her apparent sympathy had softened his attitude and he smiled, revealing twin rows of ill-kept teeth. 'I can do better than that, love. I keep this log book, see, with all the calls and who made them and so on.'

'Would you have a record of an incoming call?' she asked, surprised. 'Not normally, no. But this one I did because it was reverse charge. I had to make sure Mr Holborn was willing to pay for it before I put it through.' He chuckled, an ugly humourless sound. 'Must've left that poor woman in some sort of state, though. She sounded real upset when I told her she'd have to wait while I checked if Mr Holborn would accept the charges.' Burning with impatience, Nikki forced herself to stay calm. Bullying a man like Dick Sutton would get her nowhere. She followed him into an office piled high with what looked like months of back paperwork. One wall of the office was fitted with special glass through which she could see the entrance to the motel. She hadn't been able to see through it at all from the other side. This must be how Dick Sutton was able to observe Matt's visitors coming and going. The man shuffled through a stack of files piled on top of an ancient cord-operated switchboard. 'Ah, here it is, love. Told you I had records of everything.' He turned to the last page. 'Yes, 1.15 this afternoon. Mr Holborn in room sixteen accepted a reverse charge call from a Henriette Nim. If you ask me, he's been getting her into a spot of bother, wouldn't you say so?' She stared at him, nonplussed. 'I don't understand.' He leered at her. 'A baby, of course. I'll bet she's expecting and he's run out on her, thinking he can hide out down here to avoid his responsibilities.' His amusement changed to consternation when he saw that tears had begun to course down Nikki's cheeks. He offered her a grimy handkerchief but she shook her head, fighting to regain control.

'Here, love, I didn't mean anything by what I said. Has he gone and got you the same way? The bastard!' Unable to take any more, Nikki spun around and fled from the office, leaving the man staring after her, shaking his head.

CHAPTER TEN 'IT'S for you, Nikki. I'm afraid it's him again.' Nikki looked uncertainly at the telephone Aunt Benny held out to her. All she had to do was take it and press it to her ear to hear Matt's velvety tones once again. But she had vowed to make the break a clean one, which meant no contact of any kind. Determinedly, she shook her head. Sadly, her aunt told Matt that Nikki wasn't available right now, her tone suggesting that she never would be to him. Then she hung up. 'You know you're welcome to stay here as long as you like, love. But sooner or later you're going to have to face him—even if it's only to say goodbye.' Nikki went on tidying the shelves in the shop, putting out new stock as she went. 'He already knows it's goodbye,' she said grimly. 'He made the choice himself when he went haring off in response to that phone call. He didn't even have the decency to call and cancel our date.' Her face set, Aunt Benny began to remove the apron she wore when working in the shop. 'I suppose you know best, love. All I know is I need a cup of tea. Will you join me?' Needing some time alone, Nikki declined. 'I'll have mine later. You go ahead and take your time, I can manage here for as long as you like.' Her aunt brightened. 'It's wonderful having you here, Nikki, and not just because you're such a help with the business. Your uncle and I love having you with us. I just wish it was under happier circumstances.'

She turned towards the door connecting the shop with the house. 'If you're sure you can manage, I might catch up with some bookkeeping.' 'Take all the time you need,' Nikki assured her. When her aunt had gone she let her hands carry on with the mechanical task if stocking the shelves, while her mind roved back over the events of the last few days. It seemed like an eternity since she had fled from the motel with the owner's crude suggestion ringing in her ears. She didn't believe for a moment that Henriette Nim was expecting Matt's baby, or that he would have come to Australia to escape such a responsibility. She would never even have considered it if Dick Sutton hadn't planted the idea in her head. Yet what other explanation was there? Maybe Henriette had followed him here to demand his support and that was why he was unable to face Nikki again. If only he had told her more about what was going on. Now she had only wild notions to sustain her and they led her to the sort of outrageous suggestions she was now entertaining. But were they so outrageous? If Matt was trying to evade his responsibilities to Henriette, it would explain some of the cloak-anddagger behaviour Richard and her aunt had observed. It all fitted so neatly, yet the very idea was tearing Nikki apart. If it was true it meant that Matt had lied to her ever since he reappeared. He had repeatedly assured her that Henriette was no more than a friend, yet Nikki now knew that the woman was an attractive widow. Matt had been alone and destitute in Vietnam. Was it so surprising if he turned to whatever comfort was offered to him?

'No!' she whispered aloud, screwing her eyes tight shut to exclude the unwelcome vision. She couldn't believe Matt would do such a thing. Driven by misery and uncertainty, she hadn't been so positive when she returned to Brookfield after visiting the motel. All she could think about was getting away, to where Matt couldn't find her. Coming to Aunt Benny's had been the obvious solution. Bless her aunt and uncle! They had accepted her sudden arrival on their doorstep with equanimity. She could see the questions in their eyes but nothing was said beyond their words of welcome. In return for their hospitality she had volunteered to help out in the gift shop, giving Uncle Andrew a welcome rest and the chance to go away on a long- postponed stock-buying expedition. The extra help also freed Aunt Benny from the shop for a few hours each day so she could catch up on a backlog of administrative work. Unfortunately, it hadn't taken Matt very long to work out where she had gone. She had only been here for two days when he started telephoning. Caught unawares the first time, Nikki had answered his call, slamming the receiver down when she recognised his voice. After that, Aunt Benny answered most of the calls, making excuses for Nikki whenever Matt came on the line. Aunt Benny was right, though. She couldn't keep avoiding him indefinitely. Sooner or later she would have to face him and tell him that this time, it was really over between them. He shouldn't be too upset. After all, he still had Henriette. The admission brought bitter tears to her eyes and she dashed them away angrily. She had shed all the tears she was going to over Matt—both when he disappeared, and when she found out she had lost him to Henriette after all. Now she had to get on with her life; a life which didn't include Matt Holborn.

The bell above the shop door tinkled and she looked up as a man in motor cyclist's leather clothing came in. He was carrying a small parcel which he held out to her. 'Mrs Holborn?' At his use of the name, she froze in the act of reaching for the parcel. There was only one person who would call her that. 'Yes,' she admitted reluctantly. 'Would you sign here, please?' He placed the parcel on the counter and offered her a courier's docket book and pen. She scribbled a facsimile of her married name, looking at the writing as if it was an alien thing. In a daze, she handed the book back to the courier. He smiled and replaced his helmet on his head. 'Have a nice day, Mrs Holborn.' Then he was gone and she heard the roar of his bike as he drove off on his next errand. For a long time, she just stared at the parcel on the counter. Since Matt couldn't get her to come to the telephone, he had apparently decided to send her a message. It was all she could do not to fling it across the room, as far away from herself as possible. Then common sense took over and she realised that she could always tear the message up after she'd read it. She didn't even have to answer it if she chose not to. Even so, her fingers shook as she undid the fastening of the padded envelope. A slim piece of tree bark tumbled out. There was no message, just the piece of bark, and an uneasy sensation crept over her as she turned the wood over. On the other side, Matt had drawn a crude pair of stick figures entwined on a stick double bed.

She stared at the puri-puri in fascination. After all that had happened, Matt was still using the primitive magic to 'sing' her back to his bed. Well, it wasn't going to work this time. No amount of magic was going to take her back to him. She dropped the bark into the wastepaper basket under the counter, but it landed face up with the drawings staring at her, so she dropped the wrapping on top of it. 'Nice try, Matt,' she said with a humourless smile. The drawing continued to haunt her for the rest of the day, try as she might to distract herself with work. She couldn't help remembering how the Aborigines had once used such magic to achieve their purposes. Of course, the puri-puri's power lay solely in the victim's belief in it, she told herself firmly. As long as she refused to believe that Matt's drawing had any power to influence her, she was perfectly safe. So it was purely in the interests of neatness that she later carried the wastebasket out to the courtyard behind the shop and dropped the contents into the incinerator, watching with satisfaction as the flames claimed the piece of bark. Shortly before closing time, her aunt looked in on the shop. 'How is everything?' Nikki smiled. 'Fine. I've only had one or two customers this afternoon, I'm afraid, so I've had lots of time to catch up on tidying and restocking.' 'Don't worry, that's normal for this time of the week. This place is like the girl with a curl—when we're quiet, we're very very quiet but when we're busy, it's bedlam.'

'You really like running this shop, don't you?' Nikki asked. 'For all its worries and frustrations, I wouldn't do anything else,' Aunt Benny said sincerely. 'One of the great advantages is that we only see people at their best—when they're in a relaxed, holiday mood and looking for something to help them remember the good times.' It was a novel way of looking at the shop, Nikki reflected after her aunt had gone back to her bookkeeping. She surveyed the gifts and souvenirs with a fresh eye, seeing them the way her aunt did, as a treasure-house of happy memories. The thought brought a smile to her full lips and a sparkle to her eyes, the first trace of light-heartedness she had felt since leaving Brookfield. The smile was still there a little later when a woman walked into the shop, and she responded with a shy smile of her own. 'I was afraid you might be closed for the day.' The woman's voice had a soft, caressing quality. She must be a tourist, Nikki reflected, since her features were Asian and she was dressed in a long white au dai with a high collar ringed by a single strand of pearls. Her serene expression made it hard to guess her age, but Nikki estimated her to be in her forties or older. Her hair was long and coal black, neatly combed and caught at the nape by a woven cane hair ornament. It was her eyes which captured Nikki's attention most strongly. In her fine-boned face, they seemed huge, and reflected a deep sadness, as if she had witnessed much tragedy in her life.

'May I help you?' she asked, instinctively matching her customer's soft tone. 'I would like very much to look around, if that's all right?' 'Of course it is. Go right ahead. If you need any help with anything, you have only to ask.' Gracefully, the woman moved around the shop, picking up small items here and there and giving them her full attention. It was a pleasure to watch her move and Nikki had to make an effort to avoid staring. 'Please. What is this?' the woman asked, holding up a white carving about four inches high. Inordinately pleased at being able to help, Nikki moved closer to the woman. 'It's a scrimshaw.' The woman's eyes darkened with puzzlement. 'Scrimshaw?' She pronounced it 'sclimshaw'. 'It was a hobby with sailors of old,' Nikki explained. 'This design is engraved on a whale's tooth. We had many whaling stations along the Australian coastline until only a few years ago.' Smiling, the woman held out the delicately decorated tooth. 'I buy. For gift to very special man.' 'I'm sure he'll be delighted with it,' Nikki said warmly. 'Would you like me to gift-wrap it for you? Ready for giving to your friend,' she clarified. 'Oh yes, please. Even if cost more.'

'There's no extra charge,' Nikki assured her. 'My aunt, who owns this shop, offers gift-wrapping as a service. It's our pleasure.' As she boxed and wrapped the exquisite piece, she was aware of the woman's large eyes following her every movement. When she had paid for her purchase, the woman sighed softly. 'Matt is right, you are a very fine person.' Nikki's head came up with a jerk. 'You know Matt?' All at once, it came to her. 'Then you must be. . .' 'Yes. I am Henriette Nim.' All her preconceptions about Henriette were swept away as their eyes met. There was no way that this gentle, softly spoken person could be Nikki's rival—or anyone's for that matter. She was regarding Nikki with compassion. 'I see you are surprised. You did not know I was in Australia?' 'Well, no .. . I . .. Matt never mentioned that you might come.' Henriette's huge eyes seemed to look into Nikki's very soul. 'Did you give him the chance? I see not. It was what I feared, that I had somehow managed to come between you two.' 'Of course you didn't,' Nikki denied, but without conviction. Henriette looked down at the floor, her hands clasped tightly together. 'I know truth,' she said softly. 'You think I am woman Matt live with in Vietnam. Not true. He is very special to me, but not in that way. You see I owe him my life.' Choked by Henriette's compassion which she knew she didn't deserve, Nikki lowered her own eyes. 'That's strange. It's exactly what he says about you—that you saved his life, I mean.'

'Then the debts have cancelled each other out. Now we can be friends because we wish it, not out of obligation.' She gestured towards the gift-wrapped package. 'This gift is for Matt. You think he will like?' Her eyes shining, Nikki nodded. 'Very much indeed.' Henriette picked up the small gift and placed it in Nikki's hand, curling her fingers around it. 'Then you give him.' 'Oh! But I can't, it's your gift.' 'No. My gift to you both. To help heal trouble I cause.' 'If there's any healing to be done, I should do it,' Nikki said huskily. 'I was the one who wouldn't listen. Matt tried to tell me about you but I refused to trust him even when he begged me to.' A great sadness showed in Henriette's eyes. 'Trust must be earned. Will you give Matt the chance to earn yours?' 'How can I? I've turned him away so often that I don't know if he'll want to see me again.' A glimmer of frustration flitted across Henriette's calm features but was quickly masked. 'But he does. He talks of little else. Go to him, child. He is waiting for you.' A lump came into Nikki's throat, making it hard to breathe or talk. 'Where?' was all she could force out. Henriette shrugged. 'Where else but at your house? He has not moved from there since he brought me here, in case you should come back.' Nikki found her voice with an effort. 'In that case, I'd better not keep him waiting any longer.' At the shop door, however, she hesitated. 'What about you?'

Aunt Benny must have been waiting behind the door which connected the shop with the house, because she came in just then. She was smiling broadly. 'Don't you worry about Henriette, dear. She and I have everything planned.' Henriette must have called at the house before coming into the shop. Was everyone in on this except her? 'What are you up to?' she asked suspiciously. 'We're not up to anything,' Aunt Benny laughed. 'But when Henriette told me her story, I guessed you and Matt would want to have some time alone so I'm taking Henriette out for a few hours.' 'We go to see kan-guru, is it not?' asked Henriette. it is,' Aunt Benny assured her gravely. 'Since we still have a couple of hours of daylight left, I'm taking Henriette over to Eric Worrell's Reptile park where she can see all the kangaroos she wants to.' Nikki felt as if a great weight had been removed from her shoulders. She rushed across the room to her aunt and enveloped her in a bonebreaking hug. 'You're wonderful, I don't deserve you.' Her look of heartfelt gratitude encompassed both women. 'Both of you.' As she left the shop, Aunt Benny called out, 'Is this package yours, Nikki?' 'I'll be back for it later,' she called over her shoulder. Matt would treasure the scrimshaw, but she had a much greater gift to take to him right now. It was all she could do to keep to the speed limit as she drove back to Brookfield. Despite all that Henriette and her aunt had said, she couldn't believe that Matt wanted to see her. She had spurned all his attempts to heal the breach between them, and had refused to give

him the benefit of the doubt. Her bridges must be well and truly burned by now. When she drove up to Brookfield, the gates were wide open and the 'gallery closed' sign swung from the wrought iron, adding to her apprehension. The house was deserted when she went inside. Only his breakfast dishes, washed but not dried, gave away that anyone was living here. Her heart was thudding so loudly that he must hear it, but his room was also deserted, the bed made up with military precision and giving no clue as to whether he had slept there last night. Henriette was wrong; he wasn't waiting for her at all, she decided when a thorough search of the house revealed no sign of him. Then she thought of the gallery. Could he be waiting for her there? She pushed open the Tasmanian-oak door and looked uncertainly around it, her eyes widening as she saw what was ranged around the walls. On every piece of vacant wall were more of the puri-puri drawings, all of the man and woman on the stick bed. She went inside. 'Matt?' She started when he emerged silently from the office. His eyes were ringed with dark shadows and he looked unshaven, his clothes crumpled as if he had slept on the couch in the office. 'I suppose you've come for the rest of your things,' he said listlessly. She could hardly speak for the lump choking her throat. 'I've come for something much more precious than that,' she whispered. 'Of course, you may not want me after all I've done to you, but...' He stared at her in sudden understanding. 'You mean you didn't come here to pack?'

She shook her head. 'After what Henriette said ...' The blackness shuttered his face again. 'You've spoken to Henriette, so you've come back out of pity, haven't you?' Such an idea had never even occurred to her. 'No, I didn't come out of pity, and Henriette didn't tell me anything, except that there was nothing between you and her. I'm ashamed that I ever thought there was.' 'So now you have your proof, you can accept my word,' he said harshly. This was more difficult than she'd imagined. 'Now you're the one being stubborn,' she flung at him. 'I didn't need any proof as you call it, to know that I love you. All I needed was some assurance that you loved me in return. All the evidence I had, so far, seemed to make it very one-sided. Henriette gave me my first inkling that you might feel the same way as I do.' He gave a low groan. 'Oh, Nikki, to think it took a third person to make you understand that.' Her eyes widened. 'You mean it's true?' 'Of course, you little fool. Why do you think I refused to take no for an answer?' 'I thought it was your pig-headed pride, wanting what you couldn't have.' 'It was much more than that,' he breathed, his eyes dark with desire this time. 'I thought you'd never get here.' She looked around at the drawings. 'It wasn't for want of trying.'

There was a brief flare of amusement in his dark eyes. 'A man has to do something to keep busy.' 'I can think of much better ways,' she said shyly. He opened his arms and she went into them, relaxing against his broad chest with the feeling that she had indeed come home. As she buried her face in his shirt, drinking in the musky male scent of him, he kissed the top of her head, 'Why did you ever leave me, Nikki?' She lifted her head and met his eyes. 'I thought it was the other way around. When I went to your motel and found you'd rushed away in response to Henriette's phone call, I was sure I'd lost you to her.' Gently, he traced a faint tear along its path down her cheek. 'Now you've met Henriette, do you still feel the same?' 'How could I? She's utterly charming. She said you saved her life.' 'She's probably exaggerating. We'll never know for sure.' This time, he wasn't getting away with being evasive. 'I think you ought to tell me the whole story,' she said firmly. He hesitated, as if trying to make up his mind. Then seeing the set line of her jaw, he smiled. 'I suppose I can now, although I didn't want to involve you in any of it.' 'In any of what?' she asked in exasperation. He sighed heavily, then led her out of the gallery to a pair of canvas chairs set under the pepper tree. Guiding her into one, he took the other, but kept a firm hold on her hand. She could feel the heat radiating from him as he held her.

'I wasn't released—I escaped. I just couldn't stand being shut up like an animal any longer.' 'So you were a fugitive when Henriette found you,' she hazarded, feeling fear for him grip her heart like a vice. He nodded, his eyes fixed on a far horizon she was sure belonged to another country. 'She found me and sheltered me at great risk to herself, then loaned me the money to get back to Australia where she knew I had access to my own funds. 'I wanted her to come with me but she didn't want to leave her home, even though she knew she was in danger for helping me. 'Then, soon after I got here, there was an attempt to kidnap her off the streets of Saigon.' in broad daylight?' Nikki asked sceptically. His answering look was wry. 'Saigon isn't like Sydney, my love. All sorts of things happen there which would never happen here.' 'Go on,' she urged, not wanting to distract him. 'There isn't too much more to tell. After the kidnap attempt, Henriette was finally convinced that she would have to leave her country. She asked me to help her obtain permission to come here. 'Luckily, I have friends who were willing to help me cut through the red tape more quickly.' 'So that's what you were doing in Chinatown the day Richard spotted you,' she said in sudden comprehension. 'But why the cloak-anddagger stuff? Why didn't you just tell me what you were trying to do?'

'I was warned that there was a chance that my enemies could try to get back at me through the people closest to me. There's only one person I care about and I couldn't risk involving you. It's only now that Henriette is safely in Australia, that I can breathe easily again.' 'But the phone calls—when you broke our date to go rushing off?' He smiled slightly. 'Remember I told you I wanted it to be a surprise?' 'I remember. You sounded happier than I'd ever heard you.' 'I was happy. I thought I'd pulled it off at last. I was going to take you to the airport to meet Henriette when she arrived, but there was a lastminute attempt to stop her boarding the flight for Australia. She rang me, terrified that she wouldn't make it.' 'How could anyone stop her?' she asked, confused. 'Remember, certain factions wanted to punish her for helping me to flee the country,' he said, his tone tired. Her heart went out to him. If only he could have shared this with her. 'I had to get to my friends to see how best to help her.' 'You obviously succeeded,' Nikki said in relief. 'I met the proof of that this afternoon.' 'Yes, but it was touch and go for a while. I didn't dare take the time even to explain it to you. By the time I'd told you the whole story, as I'm doing now, she might have been under arrest on some trumpedup charge.' 'Now that I know the whole story, I can see that you didn't have much choice,' she agreed, 'but I still wish you'd let me share it with you—risk or no risk.'

He caressed her hair. 'I'd die before I put you in danger, Nikki. You must believe that.' 'How can I doubt it, after what you've been through?' she asked, her voice deepening. She looked far out towards the white-capped ocean. 'What will happen to Henriette now?' 'She's being looked after by the friends who helped me to obtain permission for her to come to Australia. Many of her people live in Sydney, so she'll soon settle down here. Of course, she'll always miss her homeland but at least she'll be able to live without fear. I'll still be her friend, of course.' She looked at him fondly. 'I wouldn't want it to be any other way.' 'Then you do understand about her?' 'I don't think I ever really doubted you,' she said sincerely. 'Not even during the years you were gone.' 'You were what sustained me through those years,' he said intensely. 'If it hadn't been for thinking of you, I'd have gone mad.' He reached into his wallet and pulled out a faded photograph which she recognised as one he had taken at Kuring-Gai Chase before they were married. She hardly recognised herself as the carefree teenager in the tattered photo. 'Do you remember this?' 'It was one of our first dates. Did you have it with you all that time?' The corners of his mouth turned down and a savage expression narrowed his eyes. 'My guards found this picture on me and used to regale me with stories of what you were doing while I was gone, the men you were seeing .. .'

'None of it was true,' she reminded him gently, appalled at being so used against him. 'I know. I held on to my faith in you through everything they could say. But when I got back here and found out that you were engaged to Richard Bligh, it was as if my worst nightmares had come true. I couldn't help wondering if the guards had been right.' 'Matt!' she said, shocked. 'It was only after I became convinced that I would never see you again that I agreed to marry Richard. There was never anyone else in my heart.' 'So we were both prisoners in a way—you because of your uncertainty over me. Dare I say.. . your love for me?' 'You can because it's true,' she agreed wholeheartedly. He took her hands and urged her down on to the soft grass, covering her pliant body with his in an embrace which held six years' worth of urgency. When he released her mouth at last, he said, 'Tell me you still love me, Nikki.' She smiled shyly up at him. 'There's no "still" about it. I never stopped loving you.' He frowned. 'Yet you would have married Bligh.' She touched a finger to his lips, silencing him. 'I don't know if I would have or not. He offered me companionship and an escape from the loneliness of the last few years. He knew I wasn't in love with him yet he was willing to accept whatever part of me I was prepared to give.' 'But not the part which belonged to me?'

She shook her head. 'How can one part with something one has already given away?' 'Do you mean that?' 'With all my heart,' She looked briefly away from him. 'There's only one thing I need to know. Why did you leave me on our wedding night? I know why you stayed away so long,' she added as he was about to speak, 'but why did you go away at all?' He cleared his throat before answering. 'I suppose it's no good me saying it was because you told me to go?' She laughed lightly. 'Not after what I've seen of your determination since you came back. No matter what I said, you wouldn't have gone unless you wanted to. But why?' He gazed fondly down at her, straddling her body with his arms so his mouth was only inches away from hers. 'I had to go,' he confessed. 'It wasn't until our wedding night when you were too frightened to let me make love to you, that I finally faced what I should have known ages before. You were so young, such an innocent. I realised that I had made you my wife before you'd had time to grow up properly. Your reaction that night showed how little you knew of the world of men. I felt that I'd taken unfair advantage of your innocence for my own sake. 'So I left before we'd made love, hoping that you would eventually realise it was for the best. I intended to come back after you'd had time to think, to offer you an annulment if you wanted it, never guessing what would happen.' 'I'm not an innocent now,' she breathed, tasting his breath in her mouth. 'You don't have to protect me any longer.'

'I'll always want to do that,' he assured her. 'But I'll do it as your husband, not as some fantasy knight in shining armour.' 'Speaking of fantasy,' she smiled, 'did you know that Richard firmly believes you're a spy?' At the mention of the other man's name he frowned, but his expression lightened as he noted her teasing expression. 'Maybe I am. I'd like to show you what sort of undercover man I am.' She'd already had a taste of his skills in that regard and a delicious shiver of desire went through her. She arched her body up to meet his. 'I do believe that's a proposition, Mr Holborn.' He grinned. 'You believe right, Mrs Holborn.' She lowered her eyes. 'Then what are we waiting for?' He pretended to be shocked, then lowered himself close against her, propping his weight up on his elbows. 'You really have come a long way,' he said, but there was grudging admiration in his tone. She smiled. 'If we go up to the house, I'll show you how far I've come.' He took her hands and helped her to her feet, then clasped an arm around her shoulders so she was held tightly against his side as they walked towards the house. 'Joy will be thrilled,' she observed as they walked. He gave her a questioning glance. 'Why should Joy be pleased?' 'She'll get to be a bridesmaid at last, when we renew our marriage vows,' she explained.

He groaned softly. 'You wouldn't make me wait until we've gone through another ceremony?' She shook her head. They had been waiting for each other for six years and that was long enough for anybody.