The Girl he Never Noticed (10 page)

Liz glanced at Daisy, who raised her eyes heavenwards.

‘Problem is I can’t play it—and girls aren’t allowed to, Cam said.’ Archie suddenly looked as troubled as only he could at times.

Liz squatted down in front of him and put an arm round him. Scout came and snuggled into her other side. She dropped light kisses on their heads. ‘It’s very hard,’ she said seriously, ‘to play a didgeridoo. You need to learn a special kind of breathing, and you need to be a bit bigger and older. So until that happens, Archie, what say we find out all about them? How they’re made, where this one may have come from, and so on.’

Archie considered the matter. ‘OK,’ he said at last. ‘Will you help me, Liz?’

‘Sure,’ Liz promised. ‘In the meantime, goodnight to both of you. Sleep tight!’ She hugged them both, and to
Daisy added, ‘I took them for a run through the paddock this afternoon to check out the new foals, so they should be happy to go to bed PDQ!’

Mrs Preston was standing in the middle of the kitchen still as a statue, with her fists clenched and her eyes closed, when Liz got there.

‘Mrs P! What’s wrong?’ Liz flew across the tiled floor. ‘Are you all right?’

Mrs Preston opened her eyes and unclenched her fists. ‘I’m all right, dear,’ she said. ‘It must be the late notice we got that’s making me feel a bit flustered. And, of course, Rose cutting her hand like that.’

‘Just tell me what to do. Between us we can cope!’ Although she sounded bright and breezy, Liz swallowed suddenly, but told herself it was no good both she
and
Mrs Preston going to water. ‘What delicious dishes have you concocted tonight?’

Mrs Preston visibly took hold of herself. ‘Leek soup with croutons, roast duck with maraschino cherries, and my hot chocolate pudding for dessert. The table is set. I’ll carve the duck and we’ll serve it with the vegetables buffet-style on the sideboard, so they can help themselves. Could you be a love and check the table, Liz? Oh, and put out the canapés?’

‘Roger wilco!’

The dining room looked lovely. The long table was clothed in cream damask with matching napkins, and a centrepiece of massed blue agapanthus stood between two silver-branched candlesticks.

Liz did a quick check of the cutlery, the crystal and
the china and found it all present and correct, then carried the canapé platters through to the veranda room. There were delicate bites of caviar—red and black—on toast, and anchovies on biscuits. There were olives and small meatballs on toothpicks, with a savoury sauce in a fluted silver dipping dish. A hot pepperoni sausage had been cut into circles and was accompanied by squares of cool Edam. There were tiny butterfly prawns with their tail shells still attached, so they could be dipped into the thousand island sauce in a crystal bowl.

It was the prawns that reminded Liz of the need for napkins for the canapés. She found them, and jogged back to the veranda room—not that they were running late, but she had the feeling that the less time Mrs Preston was left alone tonight, the better.

She deployed the napkins and swung round—to run straight into Cam Hillier.

‘Whoa!’ he said, and steadied her with his hands on her shoulders, as he’d done once before on a hot Sydney pavement—an encounter that seemed like a lifetime away as it flashed through Liz’s mind.

‘Oh!’ she breathed, and then to all intents and purposes was struck dumb, as the familiar sensations her boss could inflict on her ran in a clamouring tremor through her body.

‘Liz?’ He frowned, giving no indication that he was at all affected as she was. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Uh…’ She took some quick breaths. ‘Hello! I’m filling in for Rose. She had an accident—she cut her hand.’

His gaze took in her pinned-back hair and moved
down her body to her flat shoes. ‘You’re going to waitress?’

She nodded. ‘Don’t worry,’ she assured him, ‘I don’t mind! Mrs Preston really needs a hand and—’

‘No,’ he interrupted.

Liz blinked. ‘No? But—’

‘No,’ he repeated.

‘Why not?’ She stared up at him, utterly confused. He was wearing a crisp check shirt open at the throat, and pressed khaki trousers. She could smell his faint lemony aftershave, and his hair was tidy and slightly damp.

‘Because,’ he said, ‘you’re coming to this dinner as a guest.’

He removed his hands from her shoulders and with calm authority reached round her head to release her hair from its pins, which he then ceremoniously presented to her.

Liz gasped. ‘How…? Why…? You can’t… I can’t do that! I’m not dressed or anything.’ She stopped abruptly with extreme frustration. What she wore could be the least of her problems!

‘You
are
dressed.’ He inspected the little black dress. ‘Perhaps not Joseph’s amazing coat of many colours, but it’ll do.’

Her mouth fell open—and Daisy walked into the veranda room, calling her name.

‘There you are, Liz! Oh, sorry, Mr Hillier—I was looking for Liz to tell her that she was right. Both Archie and Scout are fast asleep!’

‘That’s great news, Daisy,’ Cam said. ‘Daisy, I have
a huge favour to ask of you,’ he added. ‘We seem to be short-staffed—would you mind helping Mrs Preston out with dinner tonight? Liz was going to, but I’d like her to be a guest.’

Daisy’s eyes nearly fell out on stalks, but she rallied immediately. ‘Of course I wouldn’t mind. But…’ She trailed off and looked a little anxiously at Liz.

‘I look a mess?’ Liz said dryly.

‘No, you don’t!’ Daisy said loyally. ‘You always look wonderful. It’s just that your hair needs a brush! I’ll get one.’ And she twirled on her heels and ran out.

Leaving Liz confronting her employer with a mixture of sheer bewilderment and disbelief in her eyes.

‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked, her voice husky with surprise and uncertainty.

‘Because if you ever do agree to live with me, Liz Montrose, I’d rather not have it bandied about that you were once one of my kitchen staff. For your sake, that is.
I
don’t give a damn.’

Five minutes later, with her hair brushed but still no reply formulated to what her boss had said to her, Liz was being introduced to the house guests as his estate manager.

Half an hour later she was seated on his right hand, with her spoon poised to partake of Mrs Preston’s pale green leek soup that was artistically swirled with cream.

It was going amazingly well, this dinner party that she had gatecrashed.

The guest party comprised two middle-aged couples,
a vibrant woman in her early thirties, and Cam’s legal adviser in an unofficial capacity. The talk was wideranging as the duck with its lovely accompaniment of glowing maraschino cherries was served, and Liz was gradually able to lose her slightly frozen air.

And then the talk became localised—on horses. On breeding, racing, and buying and selling horses.

Thanks to the computer program Liz had set up for Bob, and her involvement in the stables, it wasn’t all double Dutch to her. She was even able to describe several of the latest foals that had been born in the past few weeks.

That was when she realised that all the guests had come to view the latest crop of yearlings Yewarra had bred.

It grew on Liz that the vibrant woman—her name was Vanessa—with her golden pageboy hair, her scarlet lips and nails, her trim figure and toffee-coloured eyes, was a little curious about her. Twice she had surprised those unusual eyes resting on her speculatively.

And twice Liz had found herself thinking,
If you’re wondering about me in the context of Cam Hillier, Vanessa, that’s nothing to my utter confusion on the subject! But what are you doing here? A new girlfriend? No, that doesn’t make sense. But…

Finally the evening came to an end, and all the guests went to bed.

Liz retreated to the kitchen, to find it empty and gleaming. She breathed a sigh of relief and poured herself a glass of water. Daisy had obviously been a tower of strength in the kitchen tonight.

Something prompted her to go out through the kitchen door and wander through the herb garden that was Mrs Preston’s pride and joy until she came to the lip of the valley.

It was only a gradual decline at that point, but it was protected by a low hedge and was an amazing spot to star-gaze. There was even a bench, and she sank down onto it and stared upwards, with her lips parted in amazement at the heavenly firmament above her.

That was how Cam Hillier found her.

‘One of my favourite spots, too,’ he murmured as he sat down beside her. ‘I was looking for you. Put your glass down,’ he instructed.

Liz opened her mouth to question this, but did as she was told instead, and he handed her a glass of champagne.

‘You hardly had a mouthful of wine at dinner, and there’s a refreshing quality to a glass of bubbly at the end of the day. Cheers!’ He touched his glass to hers.

‘Cheers,’ Liz repeated, but sounded notably subdued—which she was. Subdued, tired, and entirely unsure how to cope with Cam Hillier.

‘What’s up?’ he queried.

Liz took a large sip. ‘Brrr…’ She shook her head, but found her tongue suddenly loosened. ‘Up? I don’t know. I have no idea. If you were to ask me what’s going on I wouldn’t be able to tell you. I’m mystified. I’m bothered and bewildered. That’s what’s up,’ she finished.

He laughed softly. ‘OK, I’ll tell you. We got into a verbal stoush the last time we met.’

She made a slight strangled sound.

He stopped, but she said nothing so he went on. ‘Yes, a war of words after a rather lovely interlude, when I made an unfortunate remark which incensed you and you slammed your way inside, whilst I slammed my way back to Sydney in the dead of night, where I remained, incensed, for some days.’

He paused and went on with an entirely unexpected tinge of remorse, ‘I don’t very often get said no to—which may account for my lack of graciousness or my pure bloody-mindedness when it does happen. What do you think?’

‘I…’ Liz paused, then found she couldn’t go on as a lone tear traced down her cheek. She licked the saltiness off her upper lip.

‘I mean,’ he went on after a long moment, ‘would I be able to mend some fences between us?’

‘I can’t…I can’t move in with you,’ she said, her voice husky with emotion. ‘Surely you must see that?’

‘No, I don’t. Why not?’

‘I’d…’ She hesitated, and breathed in the scent of mint from the herb garden, ‘I wouldn’t feel right. Anyway—’ She stopped helplessly.

‘Liz, surely by now you must appreciate that you have a rather amazing effect on me?’

‘You don’t show it.’ It was out before she could help herself.

‘When?’

‘Earlier. When we first met.’ She clicked her tongue, because that wasn’t what she’d meant or wanted to say, and moved restlessly. ‘I even wondered if you’d brought Vanessa up here to…to taunt me.’

‘Much as I don’t mind the thought of you being jealous of Vanessa,’ he said dryly, ‘she’s happily married to a champion jockey who rarely socialises on account of his weight battles.’

Liz flinched. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured.

‘Have another sip,’ he advised. ‘What would you do if I told you that, along with wanting to stick pins into an Ice Queen effigy, I haven’t been able to sleep. I’ve been a monster to work with. I kept thinking of how good you felt in my arms. I kept undressing you in my mind. Incidentally, how have
your
few days been?’

Liz swallowed as she recalled her days—as she thought of how she’d exchanged the swings for the roundabouts in her emotions. Round and round, up and down she’d been, as she’d alternated between maintaining her anger and wondering if he was right. Was it time to let go of her past and try to live again? Was she being unnecessarily melodramatic and tragic? But of course that hadn’t been all she’d grappled with over the week.

There’d been memories of the pleasure he’d brought to her, memories of the man himself and how he could be funny and outrageously immodest when he wasn’t being an arrogant multi-millionaire. How he was so good with kids—the last thing she’d have suspected of him when she’d gone to work for him. All the little things she couldn’t banish that made up Cam Hillier.

‘I was…a little uneven myself,’ she admitted, barely audibly.

‘Good.’

She looked askance at him.
‘Good?’

‘I’d hate to think I was suffering alone.’

For some reason this caused Liz to chuckle—a watery little sound, but nonetheless a sound of amusement. ‘You’re incorrigible,’ she murmured, and with a sigh of something like resignation she laid her head on his shoulder.

But she raised it immediately to look into his eyes. ‘Where do we go from here, though?’ There was real perturbation in her voice. ‘I still can’t move in with you.’

‘There is another option.’ He picked up her free hand and threaded his fingers through hers. ‘You could marry me.’

Liz stiffened in disbelief. ‘I can’t just
marry
you!’

‘There seems to be a hell of a lot you can’t do,’ he said dryly. ‘What
can
you do?’

She went to get up and run as far away from him as she could, but he caught her around the waist and sat her down. He kept his hands on her waist.

‘Let’s not fight about this, Liz,’ he recommended coolly. ‘You said something to me once about two sane adults. Perhaps that’s what we need now—some sanity. Let’s get to the basics.’

He watched the way her mouth worked for a moment, but no sound came and he went on. ‘I need a mother for Archie. You need a father for Scout and a settled background.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘You couldn’t find a much more solid background than this.’

Liz stared at him with her lips parted, her eyes stunned.

‘Then there’s you.’ He tightened his hands on her
waist as she moved convulsively. ‘Just listen to me,’ he warned. ‘You’ve settled into Yewarra and the life here as if you were born to it. If you don’t love it, you’ve given a very good imitation of it. Has it been an act?’ he queried curtly.

‘No,’ she whispered.

‘And Archie?’

‘I
love
Archie,’ she said torturedly. ‘But—’

‘What about us?’ His gaze raked her face, and his eyes were as brooding as she’d ever seen them. ‘Let’s be brutally honest for once, Liz. We’re not going to be a one-night wonder. We wouldn’t have felt this way for two crazy months if we were.’