An Outback Affair/Runaway Wife/Outback Bridegroom/Outback Surrender/Home To Eden (33 page)

The Logan sisters attended, as a matter of course, seated amid a large group of young people, all of them friends since childhood. Amanda, in character, looked very eye-catching—teasing, posing, laughing impishly, letting out little screams of excitement when Mitch in particular thundered down the field, her big blue eyes openly devouring him. She was determined on having a good time, which apparently included flirting with every attractive man in sight despite her enormous crush on Mitchell Claydon. For Amanda, flirting appeared to be second nature.

Afterwards Amanda made it her business to track down Mitch who, as a member of the winning team, looked like a god in the saddle and was surrounded by admirers, male and female. Everyone knew Mitch. He was a great guy.

Amanda oozed her way in close, grabbing him by the arm. “Aren't you going to say hello to an old friend?” She smiled brightly, hugging him so her breasts pressed into his arm.

“Hi, Amanda!” Mitch tossed her a casual smile. “You look very pretty.” Indeed she did, with creamy bosoms popping out of a summery yellow halter-necked dress.

She let out a little squeal and twirled around. “I've never forgotten how you told me I looked good in yellow.”

“You do,” Mitch assured her in a somewhat less indulgent voice.

“Congratulations on your win,” she said sweetly, feeling tingly all over.

“It was a great match. Shelley here with you?”

“Yes. We wouldn't have missed today for the world. When is Christine going back to Sydney?” she asked, willing the stunning, vivacious Christine, who was circling the guests, to stay away.

“Why don't you ask her?”

“I will.” She laughed, a little bit of acid etched into the tinkle. “I must tell you how sorry I am I caused friction between you two. I was certain I'd read that article, but it must have been about someone else.”

“Forget it, Amanda. I have. Just be more careful in future.”

“Oh, I will. I felt just dreadful afterwards. Naturally I apologised to Christine. She's such a lovely person and she understood. These things happen all the time.”

“What things?” Mitch looked over Amanda's head with its buttery curls.

He could see Christine in the near distance, her lovely thick, springy hair, worn loose the way he liked it, lifting in the breeze. She looked effortlessly, supremely elegant in an all-white outfit that showed off her beautiful body. She wore a slinky designer top with a blue and silver logo
and narrow linen pants. She had done a great job of organizing this event, and was a vibrant presence in the swarming sea of faces. Chris was very good with people. She made everything come right. But he couldn't wait to get her to himself.

“You know the way things get misreported.” Amanda was nattering away like a flea in his ear. “But I didn't get this wrong.” In a flash she unzipped her yellow shoulder bag, pulling out a folded piece of newspaper and waving it tauntingly like a red flag at a bull. “Didn't Christine tell us her affair with Ben Savage was well and truly over?”

“Amanda, don't embarrass yourself,” Mitch warned, but Amanda fumbled with the newspaper as the breeze threatened to whip it from her and shoved it beneath his nose.

“So what's that, then?” She looked up at Mitch triumphantly, stabbing a fingernail at the clipping so hard it tore. “A red-hot example of lust, or is it love?”

“Throw it away, Amanda,” Mitch advised coolly. “That's an old picture. It says so right there.”

“Sure, but you have to admit that's some smooch!”

Anger engulfed him. “What do you hope to gain by this, Amanda?”

She seized his hand, looking up at him ear
nestly. “I'm on your side, Mitch. I'm your friend. I'm here for you. I want to save you pain.”

“You're way too kind.”

“I really care about you, Mitch,” she protested. “When I saw that picture in the paper it worried me deeply. How can anyone turn it on and off so easily? Especially with that guy. Let's face it. She left you once. She'll do it again.”

“I'd like to think that's my business, Amanda, not yours.” Mitch looked at her directly. “Why don't you toddle off now? I'd be more than grateful.”

“Oh, Mitch, you make me sound like a troublemaker…”

“Amanda, we already know you are.”

What a meddlesome little bitch, Mitch thought as, lip trembling, Amanda flounced off. But she was right about one thing. That kiss looked very real. So real he was back to his fluctuating moods. Was it possible he and Ben Savage were united by one thing? Were both of them Christine's victims? Sometimes it seemed there was no reassurance to be had.

Trust me. That's all I'm asking you to do.

He could hear Christine's voice distinctly as it sounded in his head. He could see her large, beautiful eyes, imploring him to have faith in her. It should be easy. In some ways it was. But there was always something to stir up doubt.

 

Christine was still surrounded by people when Mitch joined her admiring group. Everything was good and pleasant; people were making jokes. She looked quickly at him and put out her hand, a slight look of puzzlement in her eyes as she tried to gauge his mood. He should have been in high spirits after his exciting win, but her long experience of him told her he wasn't.

“Excuse us, won't you?” She glanced around with a smile.

“Good show, Mitch.” One of the spectators, a prominent grazier and an ex-champion polo player with a rock-hard physique, reached out and punched Mitch's shoulder. “That was one helluva game!”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You and Kyall are really special.”

“That's quite a compliment coming from you, sir.”

“Never been more sincere in my life. Good luck to you, Mitch. Remember me to your father.”

“Will do.”

“Is something wrong?” Christine asked as they moved away from the tented area where most of the guests were congregated, enjoying refreshments.

“No, not at all.” Blue gums dripped dry leaves like confetti. They burnished her hair. He looked away. She tore his heart.

“Your eyes tend to give you away Mitch” she said gently.

“So I've been told.”

“I suspect bouncy little Amanda might have something to do with it. I spotted you talking to her.”

“No, you spotted her talking to me,” he corrected.

“So what did she say this time to get under your skin?”

“You should stop asking those kind of questions, Chris.”

“No, you should answer. That's if we want a future together—”

“Dare I hope?” he cut in sardonically.

“Do you want to hope? That's the point. There's no one else, Mitch.”

“Honest?” He gave her a half-smile though he wanted to cry out, I love you. But still he couldn't.

“Don't be difficult,” she begged. “It's been such a good day. I haven't spoken to a single person who isn't delighted to be here.”

“It's quite a crowd.” He looked about. The bunting and the women's dresses were an explosion of colour in the hot sun.

“You need a crowd at a fundraiser. I'm pleased because this is my first.”

“You've done an excellent job.” It made him
a little ashamed he couldn't sound more enthusiastic—he
was
very proud of her.

“You're making me feel uncomfortable, Mitch,” she said, dodging another cascade of falling leaves. “What did Amanda say to you? Obviously she's lurking in the wings, hoping I'll disappear from your life.”

“Again?”

“You're being a bastard, really.” She caught his hand, instantly raising tingles. “Why are you feeling so threatened? I thought we'd worked that out.”

He stared down at their joined hands. Hers so smooth, soft-skinned and white, his deeply tanned, hardened from his way of life. “If you look at this thing coldly, Chrissy, I don't really know your plans. You tell me you're thinking positively of ditching your career. I'd love to believe it. But anything could happen when you get back to Sydney. All the razzle-dazzle will start up again. You'll have a job on your hands just fending Savage off.”

“Okay.” She raised her chin, her voice low and tight. “So this is all connected to Ben? Little screwball Amanda is passing on a lot of information. I thought I'd warned her.”

He made no immediate answer, keeping hold of her hand. “I don't take any notice of Amanda, Chrissy. I think my own deep thoughts.”

“But you can't push away the past?”

He felt a powerful tide of love towards her. “I've told you before. It's not an easy thing for anyone to do. On the other hand, a future without you is just too bleak to contemplate.”

“You think I wouldn't suffer too?”

His hand tightened unconsciously, causing her to give an involuntary little whimper. “I'm sorry,” he apologized immediately, easing his grip on her, “but that kind of thing only raises expectations. Be careful with that.”

“I mean what I say, Mitch. You can't keep punishing me. We have to move on.”

“I know.” He stopped walking so he could turn to look at her, wanting desperately to kiss her, to feel her slender, pliant body in his arms. The longing was so unbearable sometimes he felt a kind of contempt for his own weakness.

To crush her mouth! He looked down at it. It was like a full-blown rose. He wanted to crumple it with the weight of his kiss. Impossible at the moment, with so many people about. But this was Christine, the sweet, ardent, beautiful long-legged creature he had loved from boyhood. He loved her more than his own life, of course. That was his trouble. He was unchanged and unchangeable.

“If I follow you to Sydney and you let me do that, I'll never let you go,” he warned. “You're the woman I want. One day mother of my kids. You're my life. That's a big responsibility, Chrissy. You'd better think long and hard.”

“Can't you believe I've been doing just that?” she whispered, feeling so tender towards him she wanted to fold him into the softness of her breasts.

Despite the people around them, he couldn't help but put his arm around her waist. “I don't want you to leave.” The dappled sun gilded his face and struck pure gold from his hair. “Not for a minute. I want you beside me every morning I wake, the first face I see. Every night I want to make love to you in our bed. Nobody but you. It might be a strain, knowing that.”

Tears glittered like jewels in her eyes and she didn't bother to hide them. “But I want that too, Mitch, more than anything in life.”

“You do now.” He let his gaze rest on her beautiful face. “But you're going away very soon. Tell me again after you go back to Sydney.”

T
HE
fashion critics and the fashion spectators loved the parades.

“Christine Reardon isn't a supermodel for nothing,” the editor of one high-profile style magazine was quoted as saying.

She was a great success—an international model but one of their own.

Much was made of the fact she glowed with health and vitality, because the eating disorder anorexia was causing grave concern around the world and within sections of the industry itself. For all models, dieting was a way of life. Some of her friends in the business near starved to maintain their so skinny bodies, but she made sure she kept to a healthy diet and an exercise program worked out for her by an expert who'd helped shape a lot more famous bodies than her own. It took effort and discipline, but it worked, leaving her with a figure that drew “wow's”!

After the final parade—though she still had a swimsuit promotion to do—everyone piled into limousines, heading off for a party and buffet at
a top society hostess's opulent harbourside mansion. It was post-parade mania as usual.

She wore one of the evening's show-stoppers, a beaded silk chiffon gown in deep turquoise and purple, and a collection of turquoise and sterling silver bracelets on her arms, the elaborate matching pendant earrings swinging like chandeliers from her ears. She was expected to look very glamorous and sexy, which meant just that bit over the top, but it was all harmless enough.

What wasn't so harmless was the fact Ben Savage kept turning up everywhere she went, promoting the public perception they were still a hot item. How would Mitch feel if this ever got back to him? There were no guarantees she wasn't being watched by some private investigator. After that business with Amanda Logan nothing would surprise her. But Ben was on a high. His trip to Oz was a phenomenal success. He was everywhere in Sydney—on talk shows, at parties, functions, shopping centres.

True to his promise, he had attended tonight's parade, where a plethora of females had vied in embarrassing fashion for his attention. But he had persisted in staring up at Christine on the catwalk as though she was the sexiest woman in the world. He'd already tried to sweep her into one of those Californian clinches he'd perfected on his afternoon soap, but she'd elbowed him in the ribs.

Maybe it was going to take a little time for their split to sink in.

An hour or so later, at the party, he tried to kiss her again. She was tempted to tell him she was madly, deeply and truly in love with someone else, but she thought it might feed his competitiveness. That was the thing. Most actors were very competitive.

Around two a.m. she decided she just had to make her getaway. She'd held up just fine—she and Ben were the life of the party, which was precisely what their hostess expected—but her
joie de vivre
didn't stretch to three a.m.

She was quietly trying to ring herself a cab when Ben appeared at her elbow.

“You're so lucky, darlin'. A limousine awaits.”

“Really? A limousine?” Christine wasn't sure if he was telling the truth or not.

“Honey, would I lie to you?”

“Yes, you would.”

“Okay, then…” Ben turned, his eyes alighting on their very soignée hostess. “Can I talk to you, Jessy, please?”

Jessica Kimball who never, but never, answered to Jessy, cruised to their side. “Anything, Ben.” She looked up at him with mischief in her eyes.

“Could you please tell Christine here that there's a limousine at her disposal?”

Jessica hid her disappointment. “But of course, Christine. Surely you're not leaving? This lot are going to party all night.”

“I haven't had much sleep this past week, Jessica,” Christine apologized. “But I do thank you for a marvellous evening.”

“Our pleasure. You and Ben are a wonderful double act. You're not going too, Ben?”

“I just can't let her leave alone, Jessy.”

“I understand.” Jessica's smile was arch. “But you've both got to promise you'll come to the little reception I'm giving next week.”

“You couldn't keep us away!” Ben bent gallantly to kiss Jessica Kimball's cheek.

“So, where to?” Ben asked when they were tucked into the back seat of the luxurious limo. So far he hadn't been able to find out where Chris was staying. That was top secret.

Christine gave him the address, a twenty-minute drive away.

“About time too,” said Ben, the super-optimist, with unwarranted satisfaction.

 

Mitch had heard about how great a fashion model Christine was. He'd even studied her photographs on the quiet—photos that appeared in the fashion magazines his mother subscribed to. Now he was seeing her in action. She was extravagantly beautiful with her flawless hair and make-up. Her clothes were a treasure trove of evening gear, fea
turing the most beautiful colours and fabrics he'd ever seen in his life. Already tall she was a goddess in high-heeled sandals. How she didn't stumble and break her neck he'd never know. In fact he was fearful, but there she was, stepping it out—sometimes darn near at a gallop—with all the in-built confidence and panache of a creation who hardly seemed to touch the ground.

His Chrissy! Boy, was he in deep! The very sight of her melted his bones.

He was lucky to have found a seat. The parade was a sell-out. But a very pleasant older woman, whose face seemed way too small for her incredible hairdo, had shown she had clout by fitting him in towards the rear of the huge room. That didn't bother him at all. He was here to surprise Chris as well as get a chance to see her strut her stuff, and sure enough she was marvelous, with some technique of moving and showing off the clothes that the other models, despite their good looks and good figures, couldn't match. Small wonder she had made it in this business. She had everything!

Looking around him, he could see that people loved her. She smiled at them. Really smiled. She looked vivid and vital. She looked as if she loved her audience and they embraced her.

Which was precisely what he desperately wanted to do. These intervening weeks had been a tough time for him. He had delivered his ulti
matum and even now he wasn't sure if Chris was truly ready to sacrifice what must be a glamorous life. Now there was a great waiting. A kind of suspended animation until he was face to face with her again and could hear her say those three little words he so desperately wanted and needed to hear. I love you.

Ten minutes later, as she was showing off a seductive midnight-blue lace gown—what size was her tiny waist?—he spotted the American soap star, his
doppelgänger
, Ben Savage.

Wasn't that just lovely! Shock quickly crystallized into a rush of hostility the like of which Mitch had never experienced before. The reason why he hadn't spotted Savage before—and God knows he'd looked—was that Savage had for some reason changed places with a big burly guy who would have looked more at home driving an armoured van. It was impossible to miss his resemblance to himself. Savage might have been a Claydon. He was sitting down, so he didn't know how tall Savage was, but he sure stood out from the crowd.

After that his sense of enthrallment went rapidly downhill. The rest of the parade was painful to endure. He spent as much time watching Savage and his reactions—which the soap star made no effort to hide—as Christine. Savage, bless him, was very, very supportive. His eyes were glued to Christine's every appearance which
he greeted with applause, picking up his conversations with the other guests immediately she moved off-stage.

So Savage was still very much taken with Chris. Maybe that was why he was here in Australia? Wasn't it a long way to come to promote a soap opera? Maybe Savage had decided to ask Chris to marry him? What he was witnessing wasn't smiling affection for an ex-girlfriend. It was an intimate reaction. God knows, they'd been lovers. If that wasn't enough to inspire animosity, what was?

The talk at his table was all about the gala post-parade party at the home of some very well heeled society hostess—Jessica something. The woman beside him—Heather—had already told him with effusive gaiety she thought she'd been seeing double when he'd arrived.

“Why, you and Ben are so alike you could be brothers!”

Sacred cow! He'd hoped she would tell him more about the “fabulous” post-parade party; instead she issued an invitation of her own.

“Listen, I have the most marvellous idea. Why don't you join us? We're going on to a nightclub.”

He'd regretfully declined, citing a previous engagement, trying to be pleasant when he was feeling jangled beyond belief.

Christine and Savage. He definitely wanted an explanation.

When he finally made it backstage there was such a packed gathering it was difficult to move. Someone actually called him Mr Savage along the way, albeit uncertainly, causing him to grind his teeth. And instead of being there in all her glory, Christine, he was told, had been whisked off in a limousine. Naturally Ben Savage had been one of the party. Were they related?

He'd had more than enough of that.

He had no idea when she'd be back. But he did know where she was staying. Kyall had told him about the apartment he'd bought in Sydney for his and the family's use. It was bound to be an up-market pad. Kyall did a lot of travelling on family business, and an apartment suited him better than a hotel. Chris, in fact, would be the first one to make use of it.

Chris? Or Chris and the soap star? The thought that Chris mightn't be one hundred per cent faithful might drive him insane. As it was he was in turmoil. He had the appalling notion that Christine and Savage might be back together again. These things, however repellent, happened. There was always the possibility Christine's affections for him hadn't proved strong enough.

What an agony! He was sickened by his own feelings of insecurity. Surely if he loved her he
shouldn't be so ready to pre-judge? Surely he owed her the chance to explain.

It had better be good!

 

The penthouse apartment had a phenomenal view. He might have known. It was a wide-angled one that took in sparkling Rushcutter's Bay, its beautiful marina afloat with all manner of craft and the occasional mega-yacht. There was a long view of the Sydney Opera House, with its famous billowing white “sails” lit to night-time radiance, and just behind it the noble span of the Sydney Harbour Bridge, one of the longest and certainly the widest steel-arch bridge in the world.

It and the Opera House identified Sydney for all Australians and visitors from all over the world. He couldn't think of another harbour more blue or more magnificent. And over the years he had managed to see them all. The city's night-time glitter was spectacular too.

While he was here he'd intended to hit the beaches with Chris. Sydney's thirteen beaches, between Manly and Palm Beach, were among the best in the world. The restaurants weren't bad either, catering for every conceivable taste and culture. This was a big, cosmopolitan city. Another big plus for him was the warm, fine weather. Summer was much milder than in his fiery desert home.

He turned away from the view to inspect the
apartment. Kyall had given him a key in case Chris wasn't available to meet him when he arrived. She had a tight schedule. Kyall must have been working with someone—an interior designer—because Mitch found as he wandered around the easy-flowing layout that the apartment had been fully furnished: not with the traditional grandeur of Wunnamurra's legendary homestead, but with a more contemporary tailored look, bringing in a lot of comfort and luxury.

He approved of the beautiful wood floors and the designer rugs. The sofas and the armchairs in the living room weren't too bad either. They offered a lot of comfort. And wasn't comfort what he needed?

He made himself a stiff drink, Scotch on the rocks, before sinking into a deep armchair, facing the sparkling view, and loosening his tie. The idea was to catch forty winks—he'd been endlessly on the go just to get here—before Chris arrived home.

On her own? A feeling of dread stuck in his throat.

He'd had a truly terrible time after Chris had run off that first time. It had never left his consciousness. Her absence had never cured him. He took a swallow of his Scotch—the best; the McQueens knew how to live—unwilling to allow those old feelings of loss and rejection to creep over him again. If she had Savage by her side he
honestly couldn't condone the guy's getting through the door. He'd heave himself to his feet and mosey on home to Marjimba, leaving the situation wide open to his rival.

If he couldn't trust Chris it made no sense to marry her. The risk she would run again was too high. He saw clearly he mightn't let her do it.

 

Ben insisted on coming up to her door. Christine knew there wasn't a small part of him that would represent a threat to her, but he literally wouldn't go away. He wanted to have his say before he left the city. It was clear he genuinely thought giving up her glittering career, which she had hinted at, was one big mistake.

At her door he touched her shoulder lightly. “One for the road?”

“I'd rather we didn't, Ben.”

“You know you can trust me.”

“I do trust you, Ben. You're what my mother calls a gentleman.”

“What do you call me?”

“A good friend.”

“Then let me in for a few moments, Chris,” he begged, with a little-boy-lost look Mitch definitely didn't have. “If I could wrap my arms around you it would take away the pain. We should never have parted.”

“We did, Ben, remember? And you've had
quite a few affairs in between. So this isn't a great idea.”

He gave her a long, almost uncomprehending look. “It makes no difference if I tell you I still love you?”

“Ben, our affair is behind us. It was good fun, but it couldn't last.”

“That was my stupid fault.” He dropped his head onto her shoulder, giving her the curious notion he'd done that very thing in his soap. “We were great together. How about one kiss before I go?”