An Unsuitable Wife

An Unsuitable Wife

Lindsay Armstrong

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

SIDONIE HILL was not given to indulging in tears but that was exactly what she felt like doing as she dropped her bag to the ground and sat down wearily on a bench outside an Airlie Beach store.

Among her minor woes was the fact that she was overdressed and perspiring liberally, her major one the fact that she had just been presented with her fare home but had no home to go to, no job and no visible means of support. Not that she was entirely destitute but the disappointment of the whole situation was crushing as well as the fact that she couldn’t afford to stay out of work for too long.

How do I get myself into these situations? she asked herself bitterly, and blinked vigorously. She was not helped in her predicament by the small inner voice that told her she was, always had been and possibly always would be, a rather impractical kind of person, nor had this been helped along by the fact that she’d been born to a brilliant but highly impractical father to whom nothing but nuclear physics had had much importance. To make matters worse, she’d lost her mother at an early age and had been reared in the rarefied atmosphere of university academic life.

And that’s why, she thought gloomily, I’m over-qualified for this teaching job on an outback station—or was it just another way of saying they didn’t like the look and the sound of me? Quite likely, she mused with a grimace, but, be that as it may, my quest for adventure has passed me by; I’ve burnt my boats back in Melbourne—well, to be honest I’d just hate to go back, so what do I do?

She looked around. Airlie Beach in North Queensland was possessed of that blinding kind of sunlight one associated with the tropics and thought longingly of with not the slightest understanding of how powerful and hot it was, she realised. It was also a stepping-off point from the mainland for the Whitsunday Passage and essentially a holiday town where people wore little and seemed to be a very casual, free and easy lot.

Her eyes fell on just such a group, a man and two girls standing on the pavement a few feet away. The man, who, one had to admit, was tall and beautifully proportioned, nevertheless wore ragged shorts, no shirt to obstruct one’s view of his broad shoulders and sleek torso, or shoes, and his hair was longish and he had a red bandanna around it. The two girls had on bikinis beneath see-through shirts, and thongs, and were carrying small colourful holdalls; it appeared as if they were parting company, the girls from the man, because they were saying goodbye with a lot of hilarity and thanking him for a wonderful time. As a final gesture he embraced them in turn then waved them off and turned to go into the store.

It’s no wonder people find the look of me strange, Sidonie reflected; I must stand out like a sore thumb. And she mused along these painful lines for a few minutes then jumped as a voice beside her said, ‘Excuse me.’

It was the shirtless man who had just gone into the store and he was regarding her quizzically from a pair of very blue eyes set in a tanned, rather hawk-like face beneath his longish brown hair.

‘Are you talking to me?’ Sidonie enquired haughtily before she could stop herself.

‘Sure am! I believe you’re looking for a job?’

‘I—well, yes, but what’s it to you?’ Sidonie gazed up at him with more than a little affront expressed in her grey eyes.

He laughed at her and his teeth were quite white and dazzling, she noted at the same time as she bristled further and stood up—causing her interrogator to frame his lips to a soundless whistle. ‘Well, strike me pink,’ he drawled.

‘And what does that mean?’ Sidonie asked through her teeth although she had to tilt her chin up because he was nearly a head taller, probably at least six feet to her five feet four, she guessed.

‘I don’t know,’ he said pensively, those blue eyes roaming up and down her slender figure, so stiflingly dressed in a wilting heavy white cotton shirt with a tight-buttoned neckline and long sleeves, a hound’s-tooth check skirt, stockings and flat black shoes. Then his eyes came back to her face, registered the total lack of make-up and he murmured, ‘Just that you look hot and bothered, I guess; you have to have the palest skin in the place—which could be a problem but not insurmountable—and I don’t think I’ve seen such lovely fair hair for a while...’ He paused and grimaced. ‘I haven’t seen such a prim bun for years either so I think it was the combination of one uptight, out-of-place lady that caused me to express some amazement.’

Sidonie’s very pale skin burned in a comprehensive blush and, because she was inclined to be hot-headed as well as impractical, she said tartly, ‘If you think the impressions of a person such as yourself, whom one could be forgiven for confusing with a tramp—’ she allowed her gaze to roam up and down him as he had done to her ‘—mean anything to me at all, you’re much mistaken.’

‘Wow!’ he said softly. ‘A very uptight lady. Is it because you’re out of work?’ he queried kindly.

Sidonie put her hands on her hips. ‘How do you know I’m out of work anyway?’

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘You were telling Mrs Watson in the store.’

‘Oh.’ It was true. She’d noticed a bulletin board in the store upon which were tacked a variety of notices such as items for sale as well as two positions vacant ones, one for a cook in a motel, one for an experienced Bobcat operator. Since she was quite sure she’d be a disaster as a cook and the wrong sex for a Bobcat operator, she’d enquired of the lady behind the counter if she knew of any other jobs available and had received the lowering information that the recession was biting so deeply that the usual flow of casual jobs such as barmaids, house maids, et cetera had quite dried up. ‘Well,’ she said loftily, his summing-up of her still rankling deeply, ‘I have to say the mind boggles at the thought of what kind of job you might be about to offer me but I suppose I could hear you out.’

He grinned and appeared to be not one whit perturbed. ‘I’m looking for crew.’

‘Crew?’ She frowned.

‘For a boat,’ he said patiently. ‘A fifty-two-foot yacht I’m—breaking in for a friend. It’s rather a handful on its own, you see, and my last crew have just left.’

‘Those girls?’

‘Uh-huh. Do you know anything about boats and sailing?’

‘As a matter of fact I do,’ she said slowly, then blinked confusedly and wondered if she’d gone mad. ‘However, if you imagine I would even consider crewing for a strange man... I could end up heaven knows what!’ she said hotly.

‘Raped, murdered and your body dumped in the briny?’ he said softly. ‘I should tell you your kind of superior, possibly neurotic girl doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest. You’d be quite safe but its entirely up to you.’ He smiled at her, a singularly charming smile that reduced that hawk-like impression surprisingly, and added wryly, ‘I don’t know why but my good deeds have a habit of falling flat—had you noticed that about good deeds?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Sidonie said stiffly.

‘Well, when I saw you sitting there with tears on your lashes—’

‘I wasn’t,’ she whispered, going bright red again.

‘Yes, you were. And when I found out why you were trying not to cry, I was prompted to be—philanthropic, I suppose, despite the fact that you couldn’t be less my type if you tried. Oh, well,’ he shrugged, ‘if you change your mind, if you do have any sailing experience, Mrs Watson has all the details. But I am sailing at the crack of dawn tomorrow on the high tide. Goodbye—I hope your fortunes improve,’ he said gravely, and strolled away.

* * *

Sidonie had lunch in a café in a curiously abstracted state, even for her. And at one point she thought, I can’t believe I’m even thinking this! But the fact was, she couldn’t seem to help it and the bevy of tanned, happy, skimpily clad people about her were, in a curious way, urging her on.

And when she’d spun out her lunch as long as she could, she found herself turning in the direction of Mrs Watson’s general store...

‘Mike Brennan, you mean?’ Mrs Watson said and sighed with pleasure. ‘Oh, he’s a lovely man!’

‘Well, I didn’t quite mean in that respect—is he reliable, respectable—that kind of thing?’

‘So far as I know.’ Mrs Watson opened her eyes wide. ‘He’s been coming up here for a few years now and I don’t know of any complaints. The opposite if anything; everyone seems to like him. And he’s a really good customer and he often brings me back some fish. Oh, no, he’s nice all right!’

‘Where does he come from?’

‘Somewhere down south,’ Mrs Watson said vaguely.

‘Well...’ Sidonie hesitated ‘...what does he do?’

‘Something to do with boats, I believe—oh, Jim—’ she looked past Sidonie to the policeman who had just come in ‘—this young lady is making enquiries about Mike Brennan, how respectable he is and so on.’

‘Mike Brennan?’ Jim said with a lift of his eyebrow. ‘One of the best if you ask me. Why?’

‘I think he’s asked her to crew on his boat,’ Mrs Watson murmured.

If she’d said Mike Brennan had asked a baby elephant to crew on his boat, Jim the policeman could not have expressed more surprise in a mostly silent way. His wide-eyed gaze roamed up and down Sidonie, his mouth opened to make some startled exclamation but he shut it sharply then coughed.

Sidonie closed her own eyes and counted to ten beneath her breath. Then she said tautly, ‘I should have thought it was only prudent to make some enquiries before one sailed off with a man one had never met before, however—’

‘Oh, it is,’ Jim said hastily. ‘Very wise indeed. So what can I tell you? Mike is an expert sailor and I’ve never had one word of complaint from anyone who’s crewed for him over the years, nor from anyone he deals with here, chandlers et cetera. Uh—naturally—’ He paused and looked at her probingly.

‘You can’t absolutely guarantee he won’t be tempted to take advantage of me?’ Sidonie queried with asperity.

‘Well, no,’ Jim said seriously. ‘But I have my doubts it would be a problem. I mean to say...’ he paused again ‘...he—’

‘I know what you’re trying to say,’ Sidonie interrupted. ‘He himself told me I couldn’t be less his type if I tried.’

‘I was actually going to say I don’t think he’s the kind of bloke who presses his attentions where they’re not wanted. There are also plenty of girls who— uh—’ Jim grimaced and Mrs Watson tried to look serious but failed.

‘Who would queue up for his attentions?’ Sidonie supplied sardonically. ‘I can’t imagine why he doesn’t get one of them, then, or two or three.’

‘He could be wanting a break from that kind of thing, love,’ Mrs Watson said brightly.

Sidonie regarded them both somewhat balefully and then did the silliest thing. ‘All right. I can’t think what else to do at the moment but if any harm comes to me be it on your heads!’ And she carted herself and her bag, which was beginning to feel as heavy as lead, out of the store with this parting shot.

She stopped on her way down to the marina at another general store, a very general store, where she made several purchases. A shady white linen hat, a powerful sunscreen and a couple of colourful T-shirts. She paused at a rack of bikinis but reminded herself she did have a swimsuit in her bag, a rather aged, very plain navy blue garment, and told herself it would have to do. But, out on the pavement again, she suddenly changed her mind and went back in and bought not one but two bikinis, a bright red one and a hyacinth-blue one with white flowers on it. She then took herself to the park bordering the beach and sat down on a bench because her heart was beating uncomfortably and she was very much afraid she’d been extremely rash.

As she pondered this, she made the startling discovery that she’d been goaded into splurging her slender resources on bikinis of all things out of sheer pique. As a shot in the eye for all those who had made her feel entirely unattractive, and there’d been three of them, she mused ruefully, in the space of one day. But of course the larger issue, she reminded herself, was, was she going to go through with this?

She stared unseeingly at the vista before her then her eyes focused on the boats anchored off the shore; she drank in the wonderful view of the waters of the Whitsunday Passage—and before she could take issue with herself further she jumped up and began the half-hour hike to the Abel Point Marina.

* * *

‘Mike Brennan? Yes, that’s his boat, Morning Mist, over there. He—uh—expecting you?’

Sidonie looked sternly at the marina manager. ‘I’m crewing for him,’ she said equally sternly and was moved to add, ‘Now I’m sure that might cause you some mirth but I’m in fact very good at it. Would you be so good as to as to stop staring at me with your mouth open and let me on to his jetty?’

Morning Mist was a sleek, beautiful ketch painted the palest grey with navy trim and her skipper was lounging in the cockpit drinking beer from a bottle.

‘Good lord,’ he said as she dumped her bag on the jetty, ‘so it is true!’

‘What is true?’ Sidonie queried stiffly.

‘That you’re going to do it.’ Mike Brennan put his bottle down and studied her quizzically. He had donned a faded blue T-shirt but otherwise looked exactly the same.

‘I don’t know what you mean—how did you know anyway?’ She stared at him nonplussed.

‘I received a visit from the local constabulary a short while ago,’ he said gravely. ‘Who informed me that I’d better take the greatest care of you or else!’

Sidonie blinked. ‘Jim?’

‘Jim,’ he agreed with some irony.

She tried to shrug offhandedly. ‘It’s only what a sensible person would do, I should imagine.’

‘Oh, of course.’

‘Have I offended you, Mr Brennan?’ Sidonie then said tartly.

‘Not in the slightest, Miss—er—’

‘Hill. It’s Sidonie Hill—’

‘Ah, I might have known.’

‘What?’

‘That you would be called Sidonie or Prudence or Camilla, although I would have bet on Prudence.’

‘I have offended you,’ Sidonie said flatly.

‘Why should I be offended? As a matter of fact Jim often stops by for beer.’

‘Then why are you going out of your way to insult me?’

‘I don’t think,’ he said musingly, ‘it’s an insult to be called prudent by name or nature.’

‘It most certainly is,’ she replied vigorously, ‘the way you do it! Look,’ she added, ‘I’m very hot, I’m tired, I’ve been carting my bag around for hours and it wouldn’t be far from the truth to say that I’m nearly at the end of my tether one way or another, so do you want me to crew on your wretched boat or do you not?’

He regarded her entirely enigmatically for a long moment—her heated face, the damp curly wisps of hair coming adrift from her bun, the quite inappropriate clothes she was wearing. Then he surprised the life out of her by saying, ‘It would be an honour to have you crew on my boat, Sidonie Hill.’ And he vaulted over the handrail lightly and landed beside her on the jetty. ‘Welcome aboard. I’ll bring your bag up.’

* * *

‘Well?’

Sidonie looked around again. The interior of Morning Mist was deeply comfortable and wood-panelled with a jade-green carpet and padded velour seats in a matching jade with a tiny black dot. One such seat curved around a dining table and opposite was another, sofa-length and strategically placed for viewing television. The galley was probably a cook’s dream with a long island bench separating it from the main living area. There were two sleeping cabins, one fore, one aft, and they both had showers and toilets. But, apart from all the dark-panelled and jade splendour, it looked lived-in. There were polished brass lamps and full bookshelves, there was a bowl of fruit on the island bench, a compact disc player beside the television, and several maps and familiar instruments strewn over the chart table.

Her eyes came back to rest on Mike Brennan’s face. ‘It’s very nice,’ she said briskly. ‘What instruments do you carry, Mr Brennan?’

He lifted an eyebrow. ‘I think you’d better call me Mike—uh—radar, GPS, auto-pilot; twenty-seven meg, VHF as well as Single Side Band for radios, Auto-Seaphone and the motor is a Gardiner.’

Sidonie’s grey eyes suddenly shone with enthusiasm. ‘Lovely,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I had something to do with a very old Gardiner once but it was a gem. GPS? Do you know I’ve always been fascinated by satellite navigation—I know the old salts think they’re expensive toys but I think it’s thrilling!’

He said nothing for a moment but there was no disguising the surprise in his eyes. ‘So you do know something about it?’

‘Quite a bit,’ she confided. ‘My boyfriend and I used to do a lot of sailing on Port Phillip Bay—that’s off Melbourne—’

‘I have had some experience of Port Phillip Bay,’ he murmured.

‘Then you’ll know it’s no kindergarten!’

‘Definitely not,’ he agreed and narrowed his eyes. ‘What does your boyfriend have to say about you doing this?’

Sidonie sobered. ‘He’s no longer my—that.’

‘Why?’

Sidonie stared at him haughtily. He shrugged and a wry smile twisted his lips. ‘You might as well tell me. What possible harm could it do?’

She frowned then said reluctantly, ‘I suppose you’re right—although I don’t think crewing means I should have to bare my heart to you or that kind of thing. I—’

‘By no means. OK, it’s up to you.’

Sidonie thought for a bit then she said matter-of-factly, ‘He fell in love with someone else, someone who was all the things I’m not, I guess, although she’s hopeless on boats, but then again...I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.’ She shrugged ruefully. ‘It must be to do with having had an extremely trying day!’

Mike Brennan tried not to smile. ‘Do you drink?’ he queried.

‘Very rarely—what’s that got to do with it?’

‘Sometimes it helps. Why don’t you also take the weight off your feet?’ He pointed to a bar stool and went behind the island bench.

Which was how, several minutes later, Sidonie came to have in her hand a glass full of a lovely chilled white wine and before her on the bench a bowl of walnuts and olives.

Mike Brennan waited until she’d sipped some wine before he said, ‘How come it’s been such an unusually trying day?’

Sidonie put her glass down regretfully. ‘Well, I applied for a job up here—not precisely here but at a small outback school on a large cattle property. They seemed very impressed with my credentials and they paid for me to fly up for an interview so I—’ she paused and grimaced ‘—I rather assumed the job was in the bag so to speak.’

‘It wasn’t?’

She sighed. ‘They took one look at me and...came to the conclusion I wouldn’t suit although what they told me was I was over-qualified for it.’

‘Over-qualified to be a teacher?’

‘Yes. Well, I must admit I haven’t had a lot of experience at it,’ she said ruefully. ‘The one job I did have in that line—er—wasn’t entirely successful but I’m quite convinced the school was more to blame than I was.’

Several expressions chased through Mike Brennan’s blue eyes but he said soberly enough, ‘What did you do?’

‘I—’ Sidonie glanced at him cautiously ‘—I taught them to play poker. At the same time I was teaching them English,’ she hastened to add.

‘How old were they?’ he said in the same sober way.

‘Seven and eight.’

He burst out laughing.

‘It’s not really funny,’ Sidonie remarked reproachfully. ‘Their English improved dramatically as it happened.’

‘I don’t quite see the connection,’ he said, still grinning.

‘It’s simple.’ She looked surprised. ‘We would only have a game if everyone had done their homework and concentrated properly in the lesson.’

‘Quite simple,’ he marvelled. ‘But the school didn’t approve?’

Sidonie sighed again. ‘They said I could be turning them into compulsive gamblers.’

‘What a prospect—you might have been better with Snap and Happy Families.’

Sidonie shrugged. That’s another of my contentions that they didn’t agree with—I think children are often a lot brighter than they’re given credit for.’

‘Well, I agree with you there, but you didn’t actually use money—or did you?’

‘Oh, no, we used broad beans.’

He grinned and offered her an olive.

‘Thanks.’ She bit into it reflectively. ‘So.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘So? Your teaching experience sounds not only limited but disastrous yet you were quite sure you would get this job—forgive me but that sounds a bit rash.’

‘It was,’ Sidonie agreed gloomily. ‘But I really wanted to get out of Melbourne and...’ She trailed off and sipped some more wine.

‘What are these over-qualifications you have?’

She brightened. ‘A BA—I actually majored in English Literature—and a Bachelor of Science.’

‘I’m impressed,’ Mike Brennan murmured. ‘But it seems a rather unusual combination.’

‘Unfortunately—’ Sidonie looked wry ‘—I’m rather unusual. If you must know I quite often feel a bit of a freak and never more so than today,’ she added with a grimace. ‘But I can assure you it’s possible to be interested in science and arts.’

‘I do apologise, I didn’t mean to sound patronising,’ he said gravely. ‘Perhaps you should pursue the scientific side—career-wise, that is—rather than the educational side.’

‘I was,’ she said briefly.

‘So?’

‘I was bored to tears,’ she said solemnly.

‘That doesn’t—does that make sense in light of what you’ve just told me?’ he queried wryly.

‘Probably not.’ She drained her glass. ‘It all rather goes back to my father, who died fairly recently. He was a nuclear physicist, you see, and he could never understand why mechanics was my forte. And when I wanted to get out of the laboratory and actually work among motorbikes and so on—they really fascinate me mechanically—he got very upset. He said it was no job for a girl, which was really strange because he’d always treated me as a son until then.’ She blinked away a tear. ‘So I stayed on, well, with just that one stint teaching—he didn’t mind that—until he died. I do beg your pardon.’ She drew a hanky from her pocket and blew her nose. ‘I’m normally not in the least emotional.’

Mike Brennan said thoughtfully, ‘Losing your father and your boyfriend can be emotional experiences, I should imagine. But what’s stopping you working with motorbikes now?’

Sidonie twisted her hanky. ‘Everyone I approached laughed at me.’

Mike Brennan laughed himself. ‘I wonder why?’ he murmured and poured her another glass of wine.

Sidonie looked down at herself. ‘I know why,’ she said with gentle melancholy and reflected that if one glass of wine made her feel this sorry for herself she ought not to have any more, but it was oddly comforting to be able to be so honest. ‘There just doesn’t seem to be a role in life for me.’

‘At—twenty or so...’ he hazarded, ‘I wouldn’t regard it as a blight on your life yet.’

‘Twenty-three,’ Sidonie said drily, ‘and that’s the kind of facile thing people say but I do assure you it’s no help at all.’

He looked at her thoughtfully, not in least perturbed by her intended slight, apparently, then he said idly, ‘Could I make a less facile suggestion? Don’t wear your hair like that, throw away those clothes—and life might just surprise you, Sidonie Hill.’