Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress (14 page)

‘Oh, Mum. I made a mistake.’ Again. She snapped a handful of tissues from the box on the bedside table. ‘This time I really think my life’s over.’

Her mum straightened, held Didi at arm’s length and drilled her with that familiar don’t-be-ridiculous-Didi look. ‘That’s nonsense. It’s just started. You’ve finally achieved what you wanted.
How
much did you say he paid you?’

Didi smiled through her tears, this time not taking her mother’s glare so literally. ‘I didn’t. But it’s enough to live on comfortably for a bit while I work on more commissions. I’ve got orders for more and…’

‘The world’s opening up for you.’

She nodded, amazed at her mother’s support. She’d taken such different impressions with her when she’d left. Hugged them to her for years.

‘Tell you what, why don’t you have a shower, dress and come down to the kitchen?’ her mum said. ‘We’ll all have brunch. Rosita should be in shortly.’

‘Rosita still works for you?’ she said, wiping her nose.

‘She does. I’ll have her whip up one of those omelettes you always liked.’

‘I can’t get over the fact that you’re taking this new career in art so well,’ Didi said, between mouthfuls of fluffy egg mixture. ‘You never showed any interest.’

‘That’s unfair, Didi.’ Her mother sliced her toast into neat little squares. ‘We were worried you wouldn’t get anywhere and you’d be devastated; you were always so intense. So serious.’

‘Your words were art was a nice little hobby but what was I going to do for a real job?’

Her father’s hazel eyes met hers over the table. ‘We were worried you wouldn’t get where you wanted. We wanted you to have something to fall back on. Not many people can make a living as artists. You wouldn’t discuss it, as I recall,’ her father continued. ‘The moment I mentioned university it was as if I’d suggested life imprisonment.’

‘I wasn’t interested in academia, Dad. I wanted to create.’
Come back when you’re serious.

‘Yes. We know.’ The only sounds were cutlery scraping china. ‘So we let you stand on your own feet and waited for you to come back.’ Another silence. ‘It’s taken this long. Always were a stubborn little thing.’ Wistfulness laced his gruff words. ‘This is your home,’ he went on. ‘Always was, always will be, for as long as you want. I hope you see that now.’

Emotion was washing through her—guilt, regret. Love. ‘I do, Dad. I know I was a disappointment to you. I wished I could be like Veronica, but I just couldn’t.’

‘Not a disappointment, Didi. A puzzle maybe, but never a disappointment. Until you left. You walked away in anger, and you held onto it. That anger tainted your perception of what family is all about.’ He shook his head. ‘It was never give-and-take with you, was it?’

‘I think I’m learning how to do that now, Dad.’

He raised one bushy grey eyebrow. ‘Well, that’s good to hear.’ He wasn’t done, she noted as he set his cutlery on his plate and his elbows on the table. She just knew he was going to—

‘Now,’ he said. ‘About this man Veronica spoke about. Cameron Black, isn’t it?’

C
AM
took in the view through the reinforced gate designed to keep lesser people out. Old money. The wealth you inherited and enjoyed and never truly appreciated. And there it basked in all its glory in Sydney’s spring sunshine. The James O’Flanagan Residence.

He wasn’t impressed. Cam had the assets to build better, and he’d earned every cent of that wealth himself with his own blood, sweat and tears. In spite of the low-life he was biologically descended from.

He’d done a lot of soul-searching over the past long torturous and lonely week. Katrina’s prejudiced perception of others was wrong, and dangerous. The people Cam wanted to know judged others by their words and actions, not where they came from.

People like Didi.

She was smart and clever, caring and beautiful, inside and out. One of a kind. And he wanted her in his life.

He sucked in a deep breath. The woman he’d come to convince was somewhere behind yonder stone façade.

But first he had to convince her father. Adjusting his jacket, he gritted his teeth against a sudden turmoil in his gut and buzzed the intercom. An employee, he assumed, answered with a hint of an Italian accent.

‘My name’s Cameron Black and I’m here to see Mr O’Flanagan.’

No, he wasn’t expected, and yes, it was personal. He drummed his fingers against the pillar and waited. And waited.

Finally the gates swung open. He shouldered his bag and followed the smooth paved drive and its neatly trimmed hedge, aware that his movements were being tracked from one of those large glinting windows.

It wasn’t the prospect of meeting James O’Flanagan that had his gut cramping, his mouth turning dry—he could face any man on an equal footing. But the thought of facing one small woman had him sweating inside his shirt in the chilly salt breeze blowing off the harbour.

Determination added extra length to his stride. He wasn’t leaving until he’d seen Didi and said what he needed to say.

A middle-aged woman with long black hair tied back in a black ribbon showed him to a formal lounge room. She wore black trousers and a plain white blouse. He didn’t sit as invited, but stood to attention looking out at a statue of Venus surrounded by never-ending lawn. A blue Sydney Harbour gleamed in the distance.

‘Mr Black. Good morning.’

Cam swivelled to face the man with the crisp-edged voice. James O’Flanagan stood equal to Cam’s own height with greying hair and a day’s worth of stubble. For such a distinguished man he looked remarkably casual in a faded navy tracksuit.

His expression was anything but. Cool astute eyes studied Cam. His mouth remained firm but relaxed; a man in full control of the situation. Unlike Cam, who’d grown unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of such powerful scrutiny—and it all had to do with the woman he’d come to see.

‘Cameron.’ Cam stepped forward, hand extended, feeling as if he were facing his own execution. ‘Good morning.’

James’s handshake was brief and firm. ‘If you’re expecting to see Didi, she and her mother are out shopping at present.’

‘It’s you I wanted to talk to. My apologies—I didn’t inform you I was coming. Frankly, I wasn’t certain you’d see me.’

James indicated a hard-backed brocade chair, then seated himself in a silk-covered recliner. ‘Why’s that?’

Why indeed?
Cam sat, smoothing clammy palms over his trousers. He felt a tad light-headed. Must be the early flight coupled with a missed breakfast. And the fact that he hadn’t had more than a handful of hours’ sleep since Didi had left. ‘Didi’s mentioned me, I presume.’

‘Both my daughters have mentioned you. The question still stands—why did you think I wouldn’t speak to a man who’s been seeing a lot of my daughter in recent weeks? Some might say he’s the one man I
would
want to speak to.’

Cam fought the urge to clear his throat. The sound would be another sign of nerves James would pick up on. ‘Didi and I parted…Didi
left
under difficult circumstances.’

For the first time, James’s mouth allowed a hint of humour to tease the edges. ‘Sounds appropriate—Didi’s always been difficult.’ He tapped a fist against his chin and the humour disappeared. ‘When you say parted, are you talking personally or professionally? I was under the impression you were offering her a permanent spot in your gallery and intended liaising with her on future sales.’

‘That’s true. I will continue to give her all the support she needs, wherever she chooses to base herself.’

‘So it’s personal.’ Leaning back, he folded his arms, ostensibly at ease, but those cool eyes remained steady on Cam’s. ‘What has Didi told you about our family?’

Diplomacy, here.
‘To be honest, not a lot. During our conversations she told me she felt as if she never fitted in.’

James nodded as if it came as no surprise. ‘She certainly didn’t fit the criteria for your average child and that’s not changed. Did she tell you that at five years of age she cut her
mother’s imported silk brocade curtains up to make matching dresses for herself and her doll?’

Cam had to smile. ‘Curtains were mentioned.’ Just not the cutting of them.

‘We tried everything. Best schools, overseas with extended family. We suggested uni; she wouldn’t discuss it.’ He shook his head. ‘Never could compromise, that girl. In the end we had to stand back and watch her go. To let her find her own place, make her own mistakes. Damn hard not interfering.’

His eyes drilled Cam’s and Cam knew he was referring to their living arrangements—
previous
living arrangements. He nodded. ‘Didi makes her own choices.’

‘Did she talk about Jay?’ James asked.

She was virtually stood up at the altar.
The words still rang in his head. ‘Jay…’

‘It was a whirlwind romance—too serious too fast. They were engaged in a matter of weeks. A couple more weeks he was gone, back to his former girl. Broke Didi’s heart.’

A knife twisted in Cam’s belly—he’d hurt her too. ‘Killed me to see my little girl so gutted.’

Cam nodded. He knew the feeling well. Didi’s father wasn’t what he’d expected. He genuinely cared about her, and she couldn’t see it.

Still, James O’Flanagan might seem like a reasonable guy, but would Cam still be of the same opinion in the next few moments? He took a steadying breath and rose. If he didn’t have command of the situation at least he could feel that he was in control of his own body. Except that the floor shifted like quicksand beneath his feet and someone was siphoning the oxygen from the room because it was suddenly airless.

But Cam’s gaze was direct, his focus steady as he faced James. ‘I need to tell you—’

The sound of women’s chattering spilled through the doorway, cut off the moment the two women appeared.

Cam felt it all the instant he laid eyes on Didi—the sexual
zing, as strong as ever, the flash of like recognising like. The quiet simmer of something stronger, something deeper—the foundation on which the rest was built.

She looked impossibly fragile and tiny in black leggings and an oversize windcheater, which had slipped off one shoulder exposing a turquoise bra strap and the glint of platinum chain he’d given her. He could smell her honey and almond scent from across the room.

Guilt rode him hard—that last evening he’d been so cool, so distant and unapproachable. He’d hurt her. He wanted to go to her, drag her into his arms, tell her he was sorry and never let her go, but he remained standing where he was.

Didi had heard Cameron’s rumbling voice as she reached the open doorway and everything inside her, every thought, had spun in a thousand different directions.
Why was he here?

And then she forced herself to peek inside and there he was. Looking at her as if he wanted to eat her up. He wore fawn trousers and a deep blue suede jacket that accentuated his navy eyes. His white casual shirt was open at the neck revealing his tanned throat.

‘Hello, Didi.’

Ah, the way he said her name…as if she were special. She knew better but her heart clawed its way up her throat along with a rising humiliation, her green eco-shopping bags slipping from her fingers as the strength drained out of her.

Didi had never been afraid of anything or anyone. Not until she’d met Cameron. Not until she’d fallen in love—really in love. Jay had been a mere rehearsal for the ultimate performance.

She was afraid now.

Afraid of what he might say. Afraid of what she might do. Of what she wanted to do. Even now, after the cool way he’d ended it, she wanted to rush right over and hurl herself into his arms and beg him to take her back.

‘What are you doing here?’ Pride kept her voice firm and
prevented her from running in the opposite direction. Pride and a fragment of that inner strength she thought she’d lost but managed to grapple back. ‘I don’t want you here, Cameron, nor do I want to talk to you. Anything we have to discuss we can do via a phone call or email.’

‘Didi,’ her father rebuked mildly. ‘We brought you up better than that.’

‘I’m here to talk to your father,’ Cameron said.

She reached down, picked up her grocery bags. ‘I’m going to put these in the kitchen. Please be gone when I get back.’ Somehow she managed to walk away, hearing her mother say, ‘Well…give Didi a moment. It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr Black. What refreshments can I offer you?’

And Cameron’s, ‘Thank you, but I’m fine for now. Maybe later.’

Which left Didi with two alternatives. She could hide or she could show him she was managing just fine on her own.
As they’d agreed.
And whatever he had to say to her father…well, it couldn’t be worse than what he
hadn’t
said to her, could it?

Moments later she stood at the doorway. Her parents were seated, her mother saying something inane about the weather while Cameron stood to stiff attention in the centre of the room, his hands behind his back. He turned the moment she stepped into the room and met her gaze.

‘You’re still here,’ she said.

His posture straightened, something flashed in his eyes. ‘I’m not leaving yet. I have something to say.’

‘Give the man a chance, Didi, for God’s sake,’ her father ordered.

Holding her head high, she crossed the room, conscious of Cameron’s eyes tracking her the whole way. She stood rigid beside the sofa.

Cam dragged his eyes from Didi’s and directed his gaze at her father. ‘If you do a background check on Cameron
Black you won’t find me. Because my birth name isn’t Black. It’s Boyd. You may have heard of my father, Bernie Boyd. He was a known criminal and he died during a police chase.’

Silence rushed through the room. But James’s expression didn’t alter. He knew, Cam realised with a flash of insight. Of course he’d know. A man like James O’Flanagan would make it his business to know. He’d probably known the day after Veronica’s visit.

Why hadn’t he hunted Cam down?

‘You never bothered telling me this stuff—why are you telling my parents?’

Cam turned at Didi’s harsh voice. She was clutching her hands to her chest, her eyes grey and sharp, running him through.

‘My father had a string of mistresses,’ James said as if Didi hadn’t spoken. ‘He cheated on my mother for thirty years and drank himself into the grave. Does that make me a lesser man? I’d like to think not. I’d like to think I’m judged on my own merits.’ He inclined his head. ‘The same way I judge you, Mr Black. From what I’ve read about you, you made your fortune through sheer hard work. My enquiries have uncovered a man of persistence and integrity. A man I can respect and admire.’

Cam unclenched the hands he’d fisted behind his back. ‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’ The tightness in his chest eased, but only some.

He turned to the white-faced woman before him. He’d loved her the moment she’d voiced her low opinion of him loud and clear that first night. He just hadn’t known it then. And she loved him too. She had to, he thought as something like panic skittered through him—his heart recognised hers.

Because love, he knew, was such a fragile experience—for both of them—he took a moment to soothe her with his eyes and spoke with a forced calm he didn’t feel. ‘Didi, why don’t we go outside for a few moments? I’d like to talk with you privately—’ he glanced at her parents ‘—if you’ll excuse us?’

James nodded. ‘Fine by me.’

‘Why would I want to go outside with you?’ she shot back in turbulent contrast. But he heard so much more behind the defiance and the stormy emotions in her eyes. Panic, pride. Passion.

‘Because if you don’t, I’ll be forced to propose marriage to you in front of your parents and I really wanted to do that without an audience.’

Her breath hitched, her chin came up and shocked eyes stared back at him as twin spots of colour skidded along her cheekbones. ‘You don’t do commitment, why would you want to marry me? And you’ve just tried to convince them you’re not suitable husband material.’

Would it always be this difficult with Didi?

Would he want her any other way?

‘Maybe I’ve changed. Maybe I’ve had time to think about it. About us.’ He pinned his gaze to hers, searching for the answer he wanted. Needed. The answer he knew was there. He was barely aware of Didi’s parents making their way to the door.

Keeping his eyes on hers, he crossed the few steps separating them and wrapped his hands around her upper arms. ‘I’m not asking them to marry me, I’m asking you. Damn it, Didi.’ He gripped her arms tighter, gave a little shake. ‘Look at the mess you’re making of this.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you. You stubborn, difficult woman. I thought I’d ruin your reputation as an artist if people discovered my background and I was associated with you in a personal way. I didn’t say what I wanted to ask you on that last night—what I’d planned to ask—because I didn’t want to jeopardise your future. You’d worked so hard for success.’

‘Yes. And you gave me the opportunity I needed.’ She smiled for the first time. Only a tiny smile but it lit him from the inside out, spreading warmth through his limbs and hope in his heart.

He’d missed that smile. He’d missed her mess in the dining room, her clothes on the floor in his bedroom, her quick wit and charming idiosyncrasies. He’d missed her tousled hair tickling his nose as he slept.