The Mistress: The Mistress\Wanted: Mistress and Mother (24 page)

“I’ll bring your dinner over to you,” Janet offered, but
Matilda stood firm.

“There’s really no need. I’ll just have a sandwich or
something, or go out to one of the cafés.”

“As you wish.” Janet shrugged as she headed out the door. “But
if you need anything, just ring through.”

Alone, Matilda changed into her working clothes—a pair of faded
denim shorts that had seen better days and a flimsy T-shirt, topping the rather
unflattering ensemble off with a pair of socks and her workboots. She poked her
tongue out at her reflection in the mirror—at least Katrina would be pleased!
Grateful for the diversion of the garden to take her mind off Dante, she turned
on her mobile, winced at the rather full message bank, then promptly chose to
ignore it, instead ringing the various people she would be needing, firming up a
time with Declan to bring his bob-cat and confirming the large number of skips
she had ordered to be delivered at Dante’s in the morning. Then she headed off
to the garden armed with a notebook and tape measure, ready to turn her vision
into the plans that would become a reality. She lost herself for hours, as she
always did when a project engrossed her, only downing tools and heading for the
summerhouse when the last fingers of light had faded, hot, thirsty and
exhausted, ready for a long, cool drink, followed by a long cool shower...

But not a cold one!

Yelping in alarm, Matilda fiddled with the taps, but to no
avail, realising with a sinking heart that no amount of wishful thinking was
going to change things: the hot-water system really wasn’t working. Grabbing a
towel, Matilda wrapped it around her and sat shivering on the bed, trying and
failing to decide what on earth to do. If she had been here for a couple of
weeks to type up notes or fix some accounts then somehow she’d have struggled
through, but even if her business cards screamed the words “landscape designer,”
at the end of the day gardening was a dirty job—filthy at times. And a fortnight
of black nails and grit in her hair wasn’t a prospect Matilda relished. Of
course, the obvious thing to do would be to ring Janet and explain the situation
but, then, there was nothing
obvious
about this
situation—the absolute last place she wanted to be was crossing Dante’s
manicured lawn clutching her toiletry bag! Eyeing the kettle, Matilda rolled her
eyes, the irony of her situation hitting home as she filled the tiny sink and
swished a bar of soap around to make bubbles—here she was in a multi-million
dollar home, and washing like a pauper!

Chapter 5

G
od,
it was hot.

Matilda filled up her water bottle from the tap and surveyed
the barren scene.

The morning had been crisp—par for the course in Melbourne.
Used to the elements, she’d layered her clothing—gallons of sunscreen, followed
by boots and shorts, a crop top, a T-shirt, a long-sleeved top, a jumper and a
hat. Up at the crack of dawn, she’d greeted the workers and given her
directions. Money wasn’t the problem, time was, so a small army had been hired
for the messy job of clearing the site. They all worked well, the skips filling
quickly. As the day warmed up the jumper was the first to go, followed an hour
or so later by her cotton top, and as each layer of clothing came off Matilda,
so too did the garden start to emerge—until finally, long since down to her crop
top, the late afternoon sun burning into her shoulders, Matilda surveyed her
exhausting day’s work. The subcontractors had finally gone, the skips noisily
driven away, leaving the site bare and muddy apart from the gorgeous willow. At
last she had her blank canvas!

Gulping on her water bottle, Matilda walked around the site,
checking the fence, pleased to see that it was in good order. All it needed was
a few minor repairs and a spraypaint but there was nothing that could be done
this evening—she was too tired anyway. All Matilda wanted to do now was pack up
her things and head for her temporary home. Actually, all Matilda wanted to do
was
leave
her things and head for home, but mindful
of safety she reluctantly headed over to the pile of equipment. She splashed
some water from her bottle onto her face and decided more desperate measures
were needed. Taking off her hat, she filled it and sloshed it onto her head,
closing her eyes in blessed relief as the water ran down her face and onto her
shoulders. Feeling the sting of cold on her reddened face and catching her
breath, Matilda delighted in a shiver for a moment, before the sun caught
up.

“Matilda.” The familiar voice made her jump. She’d been so sure
she was alone, but here she was, soaked to the skin at her own doing, face
smeared with mud, squinting into the low sunlight at the forebidding outline of
Dante. “I startled you. I’m sorry to barge in.”

“Not at all!” She shook her head and tried to look not remotely
startled. “It’s your garden after all—I was just packing up.” Brutally aware of
the mess she looked and with two nipples sticking out of her soaking top, thanks
to the halflitre of water she’d just poured over herself, Matilda busied herself
clearing up her tools as Dante came over.

“I thought I’d bring Alex to see the garden before she went to
bed.” He was carrying her, which was just as well. It was rather more a
demolition site than a garden at the moment. Dante picked his way around the
edge and let Alex down on the one grassed area left—under the willow tree. It
was only patchily grassed, but at least it was clean and dry—and given that the
little girl was dressed in her nighty and had clearly had her bedtime bath, it
was just as well. Matilda gave up in pretending to look at her tools and watched
him as he came over. He was wearing shorts and runners—and no socks, which just
accentuated the lean, muscular length of his brown calves. His whole body seemed
incredibly toned, actually—and Matilda momentary wondered how. He didn’t seem
the type for a gym and he spent an immoderate time at the office.

“Hi, Alex.” Matilda smiled at the little girl, not remotely
fazed by the lack of her response, just enchanted by her beauty. “I know it
looks a terrible mess now, but in a few days it will look wonderful.”

Alex didn’t even appear to be looking—her eyes stared fixedly
ahead. A little rigid figure, she stood quite still as Matilda chatted happily
to her, explaining what was going to happen over the next few days, pointing out
where the water features would be, the sand pit and the enchanted castle.

“You’ve got a lot done today,” Dante observed. “What happens
now?”

“The boring stuff,” Matilda answered. “I’ve got the plumber and
electrician coming tomorrow and then the concreters, but once all that’s out the
way, hopefully it will start to take shape a bit.” And though she longed to ask
about his day, longed to extend the conversation just a touch longer,
deliberately she held back, determined that it must be Dante who came to her
now—she’d already been embarrassed enough. But the silence was excruciating as
they stood there, and it was actually a relief when Dante headed over to his
daughter and went to pick her up.

“Time for bed, little lady.” Something twisted inside Matilda
at the tenderness in his voice, the strong gentle arms that lowered to lift his
daughter. But Alex resisted, letting out a furious squeal that pierced the quiet
early evening air, arching her back, her little hands curling into fists.
Matilda’s eyes widened at the fury that erupted in the little girl, stunned to
witness the change in this silent, still, child. But clearly used to this kind
of response, Dante was way too quick for Alex, gently but firmly taking her
wrists and guiding her hands to her sides.

“No!” he said firmly. “No hitting.”

With a mixture of tenderness and strength he picked Alex up,
clasping her furious, resisting body to his chest, utterly ignoring the shrill
screams, just holding her ever tighter. Finally she seemed to calm, the screams,
the fury abating until finally Dante smiled wryly as he caught Matilda’s shocked
eyes. “Believe it or not, I think you just received a compliment. Normally I
don’t have to even ask to bring her in from the garden. Perhaps she is going to
like it after all.”

Two compliments even! Matilda thought to herself. Was Dante
actually saying he liked her plans as well?

“I’ll take her inside and get her to bed.” Matilda gazed at the
little girl, now resting in her father’s arms. Not a trace of the angry outburst
of only moments before remained, her dark eyes staring blankly across the
wilderness of the garden. “Are you finishing up?”

“Soon.” Matilda nodded. “I’m just going to pack my things.”

“You’re welcome to come over for dinner...”

“No, thanks!” Matilda said, and she didn’t offer an
explanation, didn’t elaborate at all, just turned her back and started to pack
up her things.

“It’s no trouble,” Dante pushed, but still she didn’t turn
around, determined not to give him the satisfaction of drawing her in just to
reject her again, just to change his mind or hurt her with cruel words. “I just
warm the meal up tonight. Janet has her Alcoholics Anonymous meetings on Mondays
and Thursdays.”

“But she said she had...” Matilda swung around then snapped her
mouth closed, furious with herself for responding.

“Everyone has their secrets, remember.” Dante shrugged then
gave her the benefit of a very wicked smile. “Come,” he offered again.

“No,” Matilda countered. This time she didn’t even bother to be
polite, just turned her back on him and started to sort out her things, only
letting out the breath she had been holding when, after the longest time, she
heard the click of the gate closing. Alex didn’t just have her father’s eyes,
Matilda realised, she had his personality, too. They shared the same dark,
lonely existence, cruelly, capriciously striking out at anyone they assumed was
getting too close, yet somehow drawing them in all the same, somehow managing to
be forgiven.

* * *

A cold shower mightn’t be so bad, Matilda attempted to
convince herself as she gingerly held her fingers under the jets. All day she’d
been boiling, all day she’d longed to cool down—but the trouble with her line of
work was that there was absolutely no chance of a quick dart in the shower. Her
hair was stiff with dust, her fingers black from the soil, her skin almost as
dark as Dante’s.

Biting down on her lip, Matilda dived into the shower, yelping
as the icy water hit her. Forcing herself to put her head under, she frantically
rubbed in shampoo, praying that in a moment she’d acclimatise, that the freezing
water might actually merely be cool after a couple of minutes’ more torture.
Only it wasn’t. Her misery lasted long after she’d turned the beastly taps off
and wrapped a towel around her, her poorly rinsed hair causing a river of
stinging of water to hit her eyes. Shivering and cursing like the navvy Katrina
had hoped for, Matilda groped for the door handle, wrenching it open and
storming head first into a wall of flesh.

“When were you going to tell me?” Dante demanded. “I could hear
you screaming...”

Matilda stood in shook. “Are you spying on me?” She felt
embarrassed and enraged. Her bloodshot, stinging eyes focused on the
walkie-talkie he was holding in his hand.

“It’s a child monitor,” he explained with infinite patience, as
if she were some sort of mentally unhinged person he was talking down from the
roof. But she could see the tiny twitch on his lips, knew that inside he was
laughing at her, her misery, her embarrassment increasing as he carried on
talking. “Janet left a note, telling me about the water. I just read it, so will
you, please, collect your belongings so that I can help you bring your things
over.”

“There’s really no need for that,” Matilda insisted, feeling
horribly exposed and vulnerable and also somewhat deflated that even standing
before him, her body drenched, clearly naked under a towel, she didn’t move him
at all. “I’ve got a plumber coming tomorrow...”

“Matilda.” He gave a weary sigh. “My daughter is asleep in the
house alone so could you, please, just...?” He faltered for just a fraction of a
second, telling her in that fraction of time that she had been wrong—that Dante
was very aware of her near-nakedness. She clutched the towel tighter around her,
scuffed the floor with her dripping foot as immediately he continued. “Get
dressed, Matilda,” he said gruffly. “I’ll come back for your things later.”

Which really didn’t leave her much choice.

Chapter 6

I
t was
a very shy, rather humble Matilda that joined Dante at the heavy wooden
table that was the centrepiece of his impressive al fresco area, the beastly
child monitor blinking at her on the table as she approached, her face darkening
to purple as she realised she’d practically accused the man of stalking her. She
braced herself for a few harsh words Dante-style but instead he poured an
indecent amount of wine into her glass then pushed it across the table to
her.

“Is red OK?”

“Marvellous,” Matilda lied, taking a tentative sip, surprised
to find that this particular red actually was OK, warming her from the inside
out. Holding the massive glass in her pale hand, she stared at the dark liquid,
anything rather than look at him, and started a touch when the intercom crackled
loudly.

“Static,” Dante explained, pressing a button. “Someone down the
road mowing their lawn or drying their hair. I just change the channel,
see.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t have any experience with children, do you?”

“None,” Matilda answered. “I mean, none at all. Well apart from
my friend, Sally...”

“She has a baby?”

“No.” Matilda gave a pale smile. “But she’s thought that she
might be pregnant a couple of times.”

He actually laughed, and it sounded glorious, a deep rich
sound, his white teeth flashing. Matilda was amazed after her exquisite
discomfort of only a moment ago to find herself actually laughing, too, her
pleasure increasing as Dante gave a little bit more, actually revealed a piece
of himself, only not with the impassive voice he had used before but with
genuine warmth and emotion, his face softer somehow, his voice warmer as this
inaccessible man let her in a touch, allowed her to glimpse another dimension to
his complex nature.

“Until Alex was born, apart from on television, I don’t think
I’d ever seen a newborn.” He frowned, as if examining that thought for the first
time. “No, I’m sure I hadn’t. My mother was the youngest of seven children. All
my cousins were older and I, too, was the youngest—very spoiled!”

“I can imagine.” Matilda rolled her eyes, but her smile
remained as Dante continued.

“Then this tiny person appeared and suddenly I am supposed to
know.” He spread his hands expressively, but words clearly failed him.

“I’d be terrified,” Matilda admitted.

“I was,” Dante stated. “Still am, most of the time.”

Her smile faded, seeing him now not as the man that moved her
but as the single father he was, trying yet knowing she was failing to fathom
the enormity of the task that had been so squarely placed on his shoulders.

“It must be hard.”

“It is.” Dante nodded and didn’t sweeten it with the usual
superlatives that generally followed such a statement, didn’t smile and eagerly
nod that it was more than worth it, or the best thing he’d ever done in his
life. He just stared back at her for the longest time, before continuing, “I
have a big trial starting next week, but once that it is out of the way, I need
to make a decision.”

“Whether to move back to Italy?”

Dante nodded. “Every doctor I have consulted tells me that Alex
needs a routine, that she needs a solid home base—at the moment I am having
trouble providing that. Katrina is only too willing to help, but...” He
hesitated and took a long sip of his drink. Matilda held her breath, willing him
to continue, to glean a little more insight into the problems he faced. “She
wants to keep Jasmine alive, doesn’t want anything that might detract from her
daughter’s memory, which is understandable, of course, only sometimes...”

“It’s a bit much?” Matilda tentatively offered, relieved when
he didn’t frown back at her, relieved that maybe she understood just a little of
what he was feeling.

“Much too much,” Dante agreed, then terminated the
conversation, standing up and gesturing. “I will show you the guest room, it’s
already made up—then we can eat.”

“I might just grab a sandwich or something when I get my
things,” Matilda started, but Dante just ignored her, leading her through the
house and upstairs, gesturing for her to be quiet as they tiptoed past Alex’s
room, before coming to a large door at the end of the hallway.

Clearly Dante’s idea of a guest room differed from Matilda’s
somewhat—her version was a spare room with a bed and possibly an ironing board
for good measure. But Dante’s guests were clearly used to better. As he pushed
open the door and she stepped inside, Matilda realised just how far she’d been
relegated by Katrina. Till then the summerhouse had been more than OK, but it
wasn’t a patch on this! A massive king-sized bed made up with crisp white linen
was the focus point of the fabulously spacious room, but rather than being
pushed against the wall and sensibly facing a door, as most of the population
would have done, instead it stood proudly in the middle, staring directly out of
one of the massive windows Matilda had till now only glimpsed from the outside,
offering a panoramic view of the bay. Matilda thought she must have died and
gone to heaven—ruing every last minute she’d spent struggling on in the
summerhouse when she could have been here!

“I won’t sleep,” Matilda sighed dreamily, wandering over to the
window and pressing her face against the glass, like a child staring into a
toy-shop Christmas display. “I’ll spend the whole night watching the water and
then I’ll be too exhausted to do your garden. It’s just divine...”

“And,” Dante said with a teasing dramatic note to his voice
that Matilda had never heard before, “it has running water.”

“You’re kidding.” Matilda played along, liking the change in
him, the funnier, more relaxed side of him she was slowly starting to
witness.

“Not just that, but
hot
running
water.” Dante smiled, sliding open the
en suite
door
as Matilda reluctantly peeled herself away from the view and padded over. “See
for yourself.”

The smile was wiped off her face as she stepped inside.
Fabulous it might be but she couldn’t possibly use it, her frantic eyes scanning
the equally massive window for even a chink of a blind or curtain.

“No one can see.” Dante rolled his eyes at her expression.

“Apart from every passing sailor and the nightly ferry load on
its way to Tasmania!” Matilda gulped.

“The windows are treated, I mean tinted,” Dante simultaneously
explained and corrected himself. Even a couple of hours ago she’d have felt
stupid or gauche, but his smile seemed genuine enough at least that Matilda was
able to smile back. “I promise that no one will see you.”

“Good.”

“Now that we’ve taken care of that, can we eat?”

This time she didn’t even bother to argue.

Wandering back along the hallway, Dante put his fingers to his
lips and pushed open Alex’s door to check on his daughter. Matilda stood there
as he crept inside. The little girl was lying with one skinny leg sticking out
of between the bars of her cot, her tiny, angelic face relaxed in sleep. Matilda
felt her heart go out to this beautiful child who had been through so, so much,
a lump building in her throat as Dante slowly moved her leg back in then
retrieved a sheet that had fallen from the cot and with supreme tenderness
tucked it around Alex, gently stroking her shoulder as she stirred slightly. But
Matilda wasn’t watching Alex any more. Instead, she was watching Dante, a sting
of tears in her eyes as she glimpsed again his tenderness, slotted in another
piece of the puzzle that enthralled her.

When he wasn’t being superior or scathing he was actually
incredibly nice.

Incredibly nice,
Matilda thought a little later as Dante
carried two steaming plates into the lounge room and they shared a casual
dinner. And whether it was the wine or the mood, conversation came
incredibly easily, so much so that when Matilda made a brief reference to
her recent break-up, she didn’t jump as if she’d been burnt when Dante asked
what had gone wrong. She just gave a thoughtful shrug and pondered a moment
before answering.

“I honestly don’t know,” Matilda finally admitted. “I don’t
really know when the problems started. For ages we were really happy. Edward’s
career was taking off, we were looking at houses and then all of a sudden we
seemed to be arguing over everything. Nothing I did was ever right, from the way
I dressed to the friends I had. It was as if nothing I did could make him
happy.”

“So everything was perfect and then out of the blue arguments
started?” Dante gave her a rather disbelieving frown as she nodded. “It doesn’t
happen like that, Matilda,” Dante said. “There is no such thing as perfect.
There must have been something that irked, a warning that all was not OK—there
always is.”

“How do you know?” Matilda asked, “I mean how do you know all
these things?”

“It’s my job to know how people’s minds work,” Dante responded,
but then softened it with a hint of personal insight. “I was in a relationship
too, Matilda. I do know that they are not all perfect!”

According to everyone,
his
had
been, but Matilda didn’t say it, not wanting to break the moment, liking this
less reticent Dante she was seeing, actually enjoying talking to him. “I
supposed he always flirted when we were out and it annoyed me,” Matilda
admitted. “We’d go to business dinners and I didn’t like the way he was with
some of the women. I don’t think I’m a jealous person, but if he was like that
when I was there...” Her voice trailed off, embarrassed now at having said so
much, but Dante just nodded, leaning back on the sofa. His stance was so
incredibly nonjudgmental, inexplicably she wanted to continue, actually wanted
to tell him how Edward had made her feel, wanted Dante to hear this and hoping
maybe in return she’d hear about him, too. “He wasn’t cheating. But I wondered
in years to come...”

“Probably.” Dante shrugged. “No doubt when you’d just had a
baby, or your work was busy and you were too tired to focus enough on him, not
quite at your goal weight.” He must have registered her frown, her mouth opening
then holding back a question that, despite the nature of this personal
conversation, wasn’t one she had any right to ask, but Dante answered it anyway.
“No, Matilda, I didn’t have an affair, if that’s what you are thinking. I like
beautiful women as much as any man and, yes, at various times in our
relationship Jasmine and I faced all of the things I’ve outlined, but I can
truthfully say it would never have entered my head to look at another woman in
that way. I wanted to fix our problems, Matilda, not add to them.”

And it was so refreshing to hear it, a completely different
perspective, her doubts about opening up to him quashed now as she saw the last
painful months through different eyes.

“In the end he spent so much time at work there really wasn’t
much room for anything else...”

“
An
y
thing
else?” Dante asked, painfully direct, and Matilda took a gulp
of her drink then nodded.

“You know, for months I’ve been going over and over it,
wondering if I was just imagining things, if Edward was right, that it was my
fault he couldn’t...” She snapped her mouth closed. In an unguarded moment she’d
revealed way, way more than she’d intended and she halted the conversation
there, hoping that Dante would take the cue and do the same, but he was way too
sharp.

“What was your fault?”

“Nothing.” Matilda’s voice was high. “Wasn’t what I told you
reason enough to end things?”

“Of course.”

Silence hung in the air. As understanding as Dante might have
been, he certainly couldn’t help her with the rest. There was no way she could
go there, the words that had been said agony to repeat even to herself. It was
none of his damn business anyway.

“You know, people like Edward normally don’t respond too well
to their own failings—they’d rather make you feel like shit than even consider
that they had a problem.” His voice was deep and unusually gentle, and though
she couldn’t bring herself to look at him she could feel his eyes on her. His
insight floored her. She felt transparent, as if somehow he had seen into the
deepest, darkest part of her and somehow shed light on it, somehow pried open
the lid on her shame. And it was madness, sheer madness that she wanted to open
it up more, to let out the pain that was curled up inside there...to share it
with Dante.

“He said that it was my fault...” Matilda gagged on the words,
screwed her eyes closed, as somehow she told him, told him what she hadn’t been
able to tell even some of her closest friends. “That maybe if I was more
interesting, made a bit more effort, that he wouldn’t look at other women, that
he wouldn’t have...” She couldn’t go there, couldn’t tell him everything, she
could feel the icy chill of perspiration between her breasts, could feel her
neck and her face darkening in the shame of the harsh, cruel words that had been
uttered.

“I would imagine that it’s incredibly difficult to be amazing
in bed when you’ve been ignored all evening!” Her closed eyes snapped open, her
mouth gaping as Dante, as direct as ever, got straight to the point. “I would
think it would be impossible, in fact, to give completely of yourself when
you’re wondering who he’s really holding—whether it’s the woman in his arms or
the one you caught him chatting to at the bar earlier.”

And she hadn’t anticipated crying, but as his words tore
through her only then did she truly acknowledge the pain, the pain that had been
there for so long now, the bitter aftermath that had lingered long after she’d
moved out and moved on with her life. But they were quiet tears, no sobs, no
real outward display of emotion other than the salty rivers that ran down her
smeared cheeks, stinging her reddened face as Dante gently spoke on, almost
hitting the mark but not quite. She’d revealed so much to him, but her ultimate
shame was still locked inside.