A Taste of Honey (11 page)

Surprised, she said, “What did your father do?”

“He built houses.”

“He owned a construction company.”

“No, he built houses. He loved to build.” He gave a quiet laugh. “I know what you’re thinking. How come my mother married a builder? Simple, she fell in love with him. He never changed and neither did she. My mother came from a moneyed family. Her father was a heart surgeon and her mother a renowned psychiatrist. The house in Portsea belonged to her parents.”

“That’s your family home.”

“Nope. I was born in Warrandyte.”

“But your mother seems so — ”

“She likes to play lady of the manor.” He shrugged. “So what? Besides me, that’s all she’s got.” He stood and helped her to her feet. “My mother loved my father and when he died she was heartbroken for years. Her parents were killed in a car accident and I encouraged her to take over the house in Portsea. To give her substance. To give her a reason to live.”

He threaded his arm through hers as they made their way back to her father’s house. Charli said quietly, “I didn’t know. Didn’t understand.”

They reached the veranda. He spun her around, clasping his arms around her waist. She stared up and in the moonlight his eyes sparkled. “Just be yourself, Honey. Don’t change, whatever you do. That’s all I ask.”

His lips made a soft, embracing trail across her cheek to the lobe of her ear.

She brought her hands up to push him away but she might have been pushing a mountain so ineffectual were her efforts.

“Kiss me,” he said. His hands moved to the small of her back, pressing her to him, bringing her mouth in contact with his. “Kiss me.”

His eyes devoured her. Electricity sparked. His mouth covered hers and the world tilted. His mouth demanded. She responded. She was totally his.

He released her mouth. He claimed her mouth. He allowed the tip of his tongue to caress the inside of her mouth. Passion soared. Uncontrollable and fierce. Hot and powerful.

His hand clasped her breast, pressing the fullness. Her hands wound around his neck. The kiss would never end. He made to lift his head. She gave a small moan and traced his lips with her own. All-consuming heat. A need that must be fulfilled.

Her head fell back and his mouth trailed kisses down her throat. She could feel the heat of his mouth through the thick shirt she wore as he pressed kisses onto her breasts. Her hands clasped behind his head. Her fingers entwined in the lushness of his hair. She held his mouth to her breast. Needing him. Wanting him.

“I want you,” he whispered huskily. “Here, now.”

“I want you too,” she responded eagerly.

He pulled, half carried her to a cane sofa on the far side of the veranda. The hardness of the cane pressed into her back; she heard his soft murmurings of promises of love to come and lost herself in the magic of the night, the stars, and Will.

Feeling the coolness of his hand on her skin, she wanted this man with a passion and desire that scared her.

A back screen door slammed on the other side of the house and its echo swung her back into reality.

She sat up, stuffing her shirt into her jean top. “I think we need coffee.” What was she doing? Isn’t this what she wanted? Will making love with her?

What was she so scared of?

Oh, she’d fallen into the pit of temptation once and once only. There was no way she would ever allow Will to make love to her ever again. My God, she’d end up without a mind of her own, kissing his boots and dribbling over his shirt. She’d become his yes woman. And that’s exactly what the gorgeous but oh so dangerous William Knight wanted.

Wrong girl, Will. Too shrewd, Will. Too on the ball, Will.

Her self-talk restored her spirit. She could handle this situation standing on her head. She may love Will Knight deeply but she could resist his attempts to make love to her. Let Will throw cupid arrows her way, she was wearing her steel reinforced underwear.

She looked up at his face, mute and unreadable. What was Will thinking? What were his feelings? Did he even like her? How could she tell?

The sad part of it all was she would never know if Will ever really loved her.

She didn’t know if she could live with that.

A dowry or trousseau is the money, goods, or estate that a woman brings to a marriage — it contrasts with bride price, which is paid by the groom to the bride’s parents. Dowry is an ancient custom, and its existence may well predate records of it.

Charli padded barefoot into the bathroom and filled the bath, throwing in scented salts. She tucked her hair into a shower cap not wanting the steaming water to curl her hair any tighter than its natural curl. She creamed her face while waiting for the bath to fill. She painted her fingernails and toenails with a pale pink nail gloss.

Slipping out of her bathrobe, she stepped into the hot water.

The last few weeks had been a whirlwind. Shopping with Ester for her wedding outfit. Meeting his family and friends on a more intimate basis, like lunch or dinner or drinks at the golf club.

Charli didn’t fail to notice the raised eyebrows at the haste of their marriage. She didn’t care. She was past caring. Let them think how they wished.

It was the same at work. The quiet acceptance at the beginning was stunned silence and now the gossipmongers were at work and talk spread through the office like wildfire. The story she liked the best, and she’d heard this from Judy, was that she’d had an affair with Malcolm Knight, and was pregnant with his love child. Will was marrying her out of duty and to help raise the next heir to Knight Books.

Well, they were nearly correct.

Grabbing the curved edge of the bath with both hands, Charli hoisted herself out of the bath. She wrapped herself in her bathrobe and headed for the bedroom.

Dropping the robe to the floor, she looked objectively at herself in the mirror. She had a nice body, well-proportioned, not voluptuous but pleasantly rounded. She turned to the side and examined the bump. The tiniest protrusion and a thrill of love and excitement filled her. Will’s baby.

She donned a tracksuit and padded barefoot to the window, gazing out across the lawn. It was a cool, green, beautiful day.

Her wedding day.

They were to be married at Newman’s Chapel in the grounds of Melbourne University where Will had attained his Master of Business Administration and Economics, and afterwards their reception was to be held at Mrs. Knight’s home.

There was a light rap on the door.

“Come in, Dad,” she called. “I’m decent.”

“It’s time to get ready. You look like you’re dressed for the Winter Olympics.”

He sat on her bedroom chair; she laid out satin underwear and mist-fine stockings.

“Are you all right?”

“Sure,” she assured him. “Just premarital nerves jangling around like a tambourine with a few metal jingles missing.”

“Only natural. I’m on a high myself. Don’t want to trip down the aisle or get a coughing fit or something like that. I want it all to go well.”

“You’ll be great, Dad,” she reassured him. “The belle of the ball.”

He chuckled. “More like the wallflower.”

He was excited about her wedding and had helped her decorate the chapel that morning with delicate pew ornaments combining roses with feathery fern and baby’s breath.

“I just wish — ” Their gaze connected. “If only mum were here.”

He nodded. “She’d’ve liked Will as much as I do,” he said, and heat rushed into her cheeks. “She’d be so proud of you, love. Just like I am. I want to say something now on your special day. I want to say how proud I am of you and what you’ve accomplished in your life. You’re sweet and nice and you think of the other person, and are always there to lend a helping hand.

“From the time you were born you’ve only ever given Mum and me love and pride.”

“Dad,” she said. “I’ve never heard you speak like this before.”

“I just wanted you to know, that’s all.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and laid her head on his shoulder. He patted her back. “Thanks, Dad.”

If her father knew why she was marrying Will Knight he’d be aghast. He wouldn’t understand. She could tell him that she loved Will with all her heart, and would, in truth, be the best wife she could be.

“Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?”

“No thanks, Dad.”

“Get a move on; you don’t want to be late.”

She gave a small humorless laugh. “It’s traditional for the bride to be late,” she said.

“Yes, but not too late.” He gave her a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll give you one hour, then I’m coming for you ready or not, Charli girl.”

He’d always called her Charli girl before her mother died. Calling her by that special name now made her heart ache. “Oh, Dad,” she whispered.

He drew her into his arms and it was the first time he had shown her any genuine affection since her mother’s death.

“Hush, hush,” he said. “I know how hard it’s been for you over the years since your mum passed away. I’ve neglected you. I realize that now. I was selfish and wrapped up in my own grief. I wanted to be with your mum so I shunned you, and I’m ashamed.”

“Oh, Dad I — ”

“Let me finish,” he insisted. “I love you, Charli girl, and if I let you down, then I’m sorry, but things will be different from now on. I’m your old dad again and about time too, I reckon.”

She gave him a hug and kissed him warmly on the cheek. “I love you, Dad.”

He moved away from her and when he spoke his voice was husky with emotion. “I’ll be back in an hour, so be ready.”

True to his word, in one hour there was a rap on the door and her father’s voice calling. “Hey, how’s it going in there? Are you nearly ready?”

Charli opened the door and her father’s breath caught in his throat. “Charli girl, you’re beautiful.” His voice broke. “If your mother could see you now, how proud she’d be. Will’s a lucky man.”

Charli wore a bridal dress with a shimmering bodice made from imported silver fabric. Layers and layers of organza made up the skirt, which was detailed with pearls and diamantes. Her hair tightly curled around her face and fastened in the side of her hair, just above her ear, was a small white rose. Her bridal bouquet was white roses, baby’s breath, tiny white daisies, and fern tied into a pretty country bunch finished with a white satin bow.

She kissed her father’s cheek. “Thanks for the flowers, Dad, they’re beautiful.”

“You put them to shame,” he told her. “You’ll come and visit me after you’re married. You won’t forget your old man, will you?”

She was surprised at his question. “Whatever makes you think that? Why wouldn’t we come and visit you?”

“I don’t know. You could get caught up in your publishing business. Rushing here, going there. You may change. Money has a way of making people change even if they don’t think they could. It sort of happens without you knowing it.”

“How could I stop loving you? That would be impossible. It wouldn’t matter if I were rich or poor, nothing could alter the way I feel about you; nothing,” she stressed.

He gave her a hug. “I’m getting sentimental in my old age. Don’t take any notice of the ramblings of your old dad.”

They made their way down the stairs and into the waiting car to take them to the church.

“You’ll have to visit us, Dad.”

“No way,” he said shaking his head. “I hate the city.”

“You’re a snob, Dad,” she chided him.

“How do you reckon that out?”

“You tell me not to change and to come and visit you in Rich River, but you won’t come and visit us. Think you’re too good for us, hey?”

He chortled. “You got me, Charli girl. Nothing can stop me from coming now.” He peered out of the window. “Here we are. Good Lord, look at the crowd, it looks like sale day at the market.”

She peered over his shoulder. There were people everywhere. Men with still cameras and some with video cameras, and in the midst of it all looking like a clone of the Queen was Ester Knight, dressed in blue lace and wearing a large brimmed blue organdy hat, busily organizing some of Will’s university mates to form a guard of honor.

“That’s some woman,” Steve said.

“Dad, have you got the hots for Ester?” She was going to chastise him when she remembered how long he’d been on his own, and that her father was only fifty. Still young in anyone’s book.

“I was just admiring her, that’s all. Can’t a bloke do that without an inquisition?”

She kissed her cheek. “Of course you can, and it’s nice that you like her. She might even like you.”

“Now wouldn’t that be interesting.”

• • •

Her marriage to Will was a blur to Charli.

She recollected the wedding march beginning and slowly walking down the aisle on her father’s arm. She recalled standing in front of the altar and Will’s hand taking hers. And she could bring to mind the minister’s words when he quoted the Song of Solomon.

Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave.

It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame.

Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot wash it away.

If one were to give all the wealth of his house for love, it would be utterly scorned.

She still could feel the coolness of Will’s ring on her finger. But most of all she remembered Will’s kiss upon her mouth.

The wedding may have been a blur but the reception was more than real. The reception party was held at his mother’s home and she’d gone to pains to get the setting as exquisite and expensive looking as possible.

Charli became aware of her surroundings. The sound of laughter, the tinkling of glass and cutlery, and the soft notes of the band playing mood music somewhere in the background.

Michael Meadows, a cousin of Will’s, was the Master of Ceremonies. He stood, rather awkwardly, coughed to clear his throat, and then in a booming voice that jarred her ears, said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the bride and groom.” He raised his glass toward them. The rest of the wedding party rose to their feet and raised their glasses. “Charli and Will.” The band broke into the chorus of “Crazy.” Charli thought it most appropriate. That’s what they both were, crazy out of their minds.