The Constantin Marriage
A little dialogue ran though her head, no matter that the girl is not one of us. She still looks to be pliable, and she does have Beaufort and Carnarvon—could he resist that? Could he?
‘Perhaps not,’ she answered herself, and started to dress.
It was yet another bright, cloudless July day, but it passed by in a bit of a blur for Tattie.
Her cleaning lady arrived as she was having her breakfast coffee, and together they went through the apartment, deciding what needed to be done. Then Tattie went back to her coffee, but the apartment stayed on her mind and she looked around with new eyes.
She’d chosen pastels, light, airy colours that were above all cool. There were no curtains but wooden louvers at the windows, and she’d made simple but effective statements—a glorious oil painting on a feature wall; a pair of waist-high porcelain urns hand-painted in soft pinks, gold and royal blue; an intricately carved solid silver bowl it was hard to take your eyes from, so perfect were its proportions and soft old glow as it sat on a small sea chest; a vast, comfortable cream couch lined with pink and pewter cushions.
Mysteriously, she thought with a sudden pang, it had all become home. Yes, of course the lure of the Kimberley region where her ancestral home was, a sprawling, rambling country homestead, still held pride of place in her heart—or did it? And if not, why not?
Because this was her own creation? she wondered. Because this was where she and Alex spent most of their time? There was also a house in Perth, another house in Darwin and an apartment in Sydney, but, even though she’d added her own touches to those, this apartment in Darwin was all hers—and Alex’s.
She took up her cup and wandered into his bedroom. Not that he’d known until their wedding night that this room was to be his and the main bedroom would be reserved for her exclusive use. And what kind of a gamble had that been? she paused to ask herself as she remembered how her wedding day had passed in a fever of nerves. Nerves and the terror that she might have made an awful mistake, only to discover that the equanimity with which he’d heard her out and accepted her proposal had killed a silly little ray of hope in her heart…
Nor would she forget the humorous quirk to his mouth and the glint of devilry in his eyes as he’d surveyed this bedroom on that night. Because, luxurious though it was, it contained a single bed—a king-size single not much smaller than a double, but nevertheless, perhaps a ridiculous gesture on her part, she brooded. Not to mention a sheer nuisance, since she’d had to get all its bedding custom-made, king-single linen to match her dusky-blue and pearl decor being impossible to come by.
She grimaced. Young and stupid she’d been, but was she only now about to discover just how young and stupid? She’d certainly had an inkling, as the milestone of her first anniversary approached and she’d found herself unable to come to any decision about her marriage, that—what? She was staring down the barrel of a gun? That she’d foolishly expected something to crop up, some resolution to present itself, only to find that she was still at square one?
If only she could find the key to the enigma that was Alex Constantin, she thought a little wildly, and walked into the room. The bed was unmade, but otherwise it was fairly tidy. He’d hung up his suit from the night before, his shirt was in the linen basket; only his tie was carelessly discarded over the back of a blue velvet chair. She picked it up and sat down on the bed, running the length of silk through her fingers.
Other than an exquisite pearl shell on the bureau, Alex had brought nothing to this room. No photos or memorabilia from his pre-marriage days. And his study in the apartment was the same. Functional, sometimes untidy, but essentially impersonal—so much so it was she who had added some blown-up photos of the beautiful bays and rivers that housed his pearl farms. Was he just that kind of man or were his treasures and mementoes stored elsewhere? At the Fannie Bay house of his parents? At—she shivered suddenly—a separate residence he maintained for entertaining his mistress?
I won’t do it, she thought abruptly, and got up to hang his tie on the tie rack in his cupboard. I won’t agree to a real marriage with Alex Constantin until I know without doubt that he is…madly in love with me!
She stared at his ties rebelliously, then went to change for her lunch date with his mother.
CHAPTER THREE
FOUR days later Tattie was no further forward in her decision-making process and not sure when to expect Alex back. He’d gone on to Broome, apparently. But she’d kept herself busy, spending most of her days in the legal-aid office where she played the role of receptionist but spent a lot of time listening to other people’s problems and trying to give sound advice.
It was a Wednesday morning before she left for work when she discovered an invitation in her mailbox from a friend who was having an impromptu luncheon at a popular café in Parap that day. It had been hand-delivered. It crossed her mind to wonder why Amy Goodall, whom she’d been to school with in Perth and was now living in Darwin, hadn’t simply rung her, but she shrugged as she tossed the colourful little invitation on the hall table. Amy had always been unconventional and given to springing surprises on people, and an hour of her stimulating company and others’ would be fun.
So she dressed with a little more care than normal for work in a stunningly simple sleeveless white piqué dress, black and white sandals and a loop of black and white beads. She brushed her hair vigorously and drew it back into a white scrunchie, and with a lighter step descended to the garage and her racy little silver Volkswagen Golf convertible.
At twelve-thirty she drove to the Parap shopping centre with its leafy boulevards, parked the Golf under a magnificent poinciana tree and stepped out to be confronted by a man who appeared from nowhere.
‘Mrs Constantin?’
‘Yes,’ Tattie said uncertainly, and with a strange feeling at the pit of her stomach. He was tall, he looked as if he hadn’t shaved for days, and he had angry blue eyes and matted curly hair. He was also completely unknown to her.
‘Just do as I say, Mrs Constantin,’ he recommended, and pulled a small gun from the pocket of his jacket.
Her eyes dilated and her heart leapt into her throat. ‘What on earth—’ she began.
‘Come with me nice and quiet so I don’t have to use this, which I will if I have to.’
‘I…I…’ But as she stammered and felt like fainting he took her elbow in a hard grasp and began to lead her towards a battered utility parked two spots away from the Golf.
She stumbled and tried to pull her elbow free but he growled an obscenity into her ear. She sucked some air into her lungs and opened her mouth to scream, but she felt the gun poke into her waist—and nothing came out of her mouth. Then all hell broke loose.
A car screeched to a halt in the middle of the road only a few feet from them—a blue Jaguar—and Alex jumped out without bothering to switch off the engine.
Her attacker immediately pulled her in front of him and swore viciously but Tattie buckled at the knees, wrenched her elbow free and threw herself sideways. Alex leapt on the man and punched him to the ground in a hail of devastating blows.
Tattie got to her knees as they rolled away from her, saw the gun on the ground and fell on it, but her assailant was no match for Alex—he was being mercilessly subdued in a show of brute strength that made Tattie blink. Then there were sirens and police swarming around them. Finally Alex, still breathing heavily, was helping her to her feet.
‘What…? I don’t understand… Oh, you’re bleeding!’
‘It’s nothing, Tattie. Are you OK?’
‘Yes, I think so, but…why…what?’ she gasped.
He held her close for a moment then said gently, ‘Come, I’ll explain when we get home.’
Three policeman had accompanied them and now listened intently to Alex’s explanation.
‘When I got home today I noticed this invitation on the hall table.’ He lifted Amy’s colourful little card. ‘But it so happens I ran into Amy Goodall at the airport this morning and we had a bit of a chat. I was on my way home from Broome, she was on her way to Sydney, so it made no sense that she would be inviting my wife to lunch today. I also noticed that the invitation had been hand-delivered.’ He proffered the envelope. ‘And it occurred to me that someone might have deliberately lured my wife out on a false pretext.’
Tattie made a strange little sound of disbelief.
‘And that’s when you rang us,’ the detective in charge murmured. ‘Only you got there before us. Mrs Constantin, did you recognise the man at all?’
‘No! I’ve never seen him before.’
‘Did you find this invitation at all strange?’
Tattie shrugged. ‘I wondered why she hadn’t rung, that’s all. But she is that kind of person, prone to springing surprises.’
‘So it would be fair to say the gentleman we’ve taken into custody must be aware of Miss Goodall’s quirks. How well do you know her, incidentally, Mrs Constantin?’
Tattie told him.
‘And you don’t think she could have had anything to do with this?’
‘Good heavens, no! Anyway, she’s on her way down south.’
‘Yes,’ the detective said thoughtfully, and looked at Alex. ‘The obvious thing that springs to mind is kidnapping for ransom.’
Tattie gasped, and if she hadn’t already been sitting down would have collapsed.
Alex said then, ‘I think my wife has had enough for the moment.’
As soon as the police had left, Tattie said one of the sillier things she’d ever said as she looked at Alex wide-eyed and still stunned.
‘Why would anyone want to kidnap me?’
He came to sit down beside her. There was a darkening bruise on his cheek, his shirt was torn, his knuckles grazed, but the cut on his arm had stopped bleeding. For that matter, her lovely white dress was stained, her knees were grazed, her scrunchie was hanging by a thread of hair and her face was dirty.
He half smiled and gently removed the scrunchie. ‘Why? I have rather a lot of money, Tattie.’
She swallowed. ‘Thank heavens you came home and saw the invitation. Thank heavens you bumped into Amy! I didn’t know what to do. Part of me was thinking, surely he wouldn’t shoot me in broad daylight in the middle of Parap, but the other half couldn’t be sure. It…I…’
‘Tattie.’ He took her in his arms. ‘I can imagine. And if it’s any consolation I doubt whether he would have shot you in the middle of Parap, but he’s safely under lock and key now.’
‘Maybe there are more of them!’ She shivered in his arms.
‘I doubt that too.’ He stroked her hair. ‘I suspect he was a loner and it wasn’t a very well-thought-out plot.’
‘Maybe,’ she conceded, but couldn’t stop shivering.
‘Hey,’ he said quietly, ‘it’s over. I’m here.’ And he kissed her.
As an antidote to extreme nervous tension, it worked well. The shivering started to subside as his mouth closed on hers, and the incredible events that had befallen her gave way to something else.
How good it felt to be in his arms, how safe—and how ruthless he’d been in her defence, as if she meant an awful lot to him. Then even those thoughts receded and sensations began to take their place. She no longer noticed that she was in a mess. She began to be aware of herself on a different plane altogether, very much as a woman with all the needs and desires of one, most of which he was attending to with his hands and his lips.
He stroked her arms with his long fingers and she shivered quite differently, with delight. He kissed her lightly, then those cool, firm lips sought the soft hollows at the base of her throat while his wandering fingers combed through her hair. But not only was it what he was doing to her, it was the feel of his strong, hard body against hers that filled her with a lovely, special feeling of excitement.
Then he started to kiss her more deeply and she responded, shyly at first, then more and more freely. They drew apart once and she stared at him, suddenly overwhelmingly aware of the sexy side of Alex Constantin as she’d never been before. The mouth-watering masculinity of his wide shoulders and lean hips, the planes of his face, and what being under the gaze of his faintly amused eyes did to her.
It was one thing to be sitting beside him in a car and feel his presence like a body blow, she realised. It was one thing to have been kissed by him during their engagement—most chastely, she now realised. It was entirely another thing to have him focused squarely on her and kissing her with all that latent sexiness very much unleashed. Oh, yes, she thought a little wildly, this was another matter altogether.
‘This’ brought out the strangest thoughts in her. How glad, for example, she was to be wearing a minuscule but very fetching pair of white lace bikini briefs and a matching bra. How her skin would feel against the cream textured velvet of the couch when he undressed her; how hot, erotic and sexy she felt herself, so that the couch, the carpet, anywhere would be OK for him to make love to her, because she might die a little if he didn’t…
Then he slid his hand beneath the hem of her dress and stroked her thigh, and she made absolutely no protests of any kind—and the phone rang.
She thought he swore under his breath. She thought she made a husky little sound of sheer frustration, but in the next moment he’d released her and she was sitting very properly, with her hem tucked around her legs, while he went to answer the phone and the door.
‘The police,’ he said, coming back to her with his lips twisting to see she hadn’t moved a muscle. ‘I need to go down to the station but you don’t have to come. And you don’t have to worry about being alone. The apartment has been put under surveillance just to be on the safe side.’
Tattie licked her lips but found herself with nothing to say.
‘Why don’t you have a long shower and a rest?’ he suggested. ‘Or would you like me to call your mother or my mother?’
‘No! Uh…no, thank you.’ She tried to smile. ‘I’d rather not be fussed over at the moment.’
‘Tattie.’ He sat down beside her and put his arms loosely around her. ‘You look as if you’ve been in an earthquake, and I don’t mean physically, although there’s that too. But the fact that we both enjoyed that very much has got to help in our marriage, wouldn’t you agree?’
Her lips parted but again no sound came.
‘Anyway—’ he smiled faintly ‘—think about it. I’ll be as quick as I can. And I am going to call your mother and my parents—we can’t leave them to hear about it on the radio and I don’t think you should be alone.’
He waited until George, Irina and Natalie arrived. It didn’t take long for them to rush over. He suffered their concern—his mother thought he might need stitches in his arm—and admiration with a wry little smile.
And for a time after he’d gone Tattie was glad not to be alone. So she let them ply her with tea and cake and generally fuss over her, especially her mother, who kept folding Tattie in her arms. And she went through it all again with them, unaware of how her eyes shone as she described how magnificent Alex had been in her defence.
But all of a sudden she knew she had to be alone, and she told them she was going to have a sleep. It took some determination to persuade them—again, especially her mother—that she would be fine, but finally they left.
She took a bubble bath in the huge, raised marble bath that was fashioned in the shape of a shell in her en suite bathroom. The marble was champagne-coloured and all the towels, the soap and bottles were a soft jade-green. It was normally a most relaxing place but, even smothered in bubbles to her chin and with two fragrant candles burning as she soaked away the unusual events of the day, she felt far from relaxed.
Really, she thought, it was too much to be almost kidnapped then subjected to her husband at his dangerously sexy best—a first for her—all in the space of a few hours!
Was it any wonder she couldn’t think straight?
And was this why Leonie Falconer was determined to get Alex back? Because his dangerously sexy best was irresistible?
She looked at the pads of her fingers and discovered they were wrinkled. So she got out of the bath before she resembled a prune all over, but her thoughts continued like a string of pearls with synergy—one set of thoughts leading smoothly to the next. No, not smoothly, she contradicted herself, not synergy at all, really, but jumping about like fleas, with all sorts of possibilities for this turn of events presenting themselves…
How long had Alex deliberately deprived himself of his mistress, and did that have anything to do with him needing not necessarily her but any woman?
She would have to put it to him, she felt, although she quailed inwardly at the prospect. Because it was all very well to take these developments at face value, but what protection did that offer her against spending the rest of her life in love with him while he had a series of mistresses once he’d secured her, heirs for the dynasty and, of course, two cattle stations?
She dressed in a long fuchsia skirt, to hide her grazed knees, and a pale rose silky knit top. And, because she didn’t have anything else to do, she started to prepare dinner. It was a beautiful evening with the sun setting over Mandorah, so she set the glass table on the veranda—a yellow candle in a glass, frosted yellow wine glasses, and white Rosenthal china with ice-blue place mats and napkins. And her stir-fry beef with oriental rice and a salad was just about ready as Alex came home.
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