“An odd answer, surely? Or do you mean his wife aside?”
“Please don’t hassle me, Mr Kilcullen,” she said, sitting straighter.
“God forbid!” A smile tugged at his mouth. “And I insist you call me Blaine. After all, you invited me to call you Sienna. I’m not a monster, you know.”
“Aren’t you?” Mark had really hated him.
He read her mind. “Probably Mark’s exact word. Monster. Should I be offended?”
Colour rose beneath her lovely creamy skin. “I’m just seeking the truth.”
He lifted his brandy balloon, took a mouthful, savouring it before responding. “Sienna, Mark may have seen me that way,” he said tersely, “but I’d like you to keep an open mind. You won’t find anyone from where I come from to hang a label like that on me. In fact anyone who tried to would be in for a hard time. My father was a greatly respected man. ‘The Kilcullen’ he was always called, as his father, his grandfather and great-grandfather before him. He was my role model. I could never let him down.”
Had that made less room for Mark? “I would think your father regarded you as the perfect son. Would you say Mark let him down?” Mark, being Mark, would have done just that. He had certainly let his wife down. “You would have been your father’s golden boy.” She pinned that silvery gaze, knowing she was acting out of character but she couldn’t seem to help herself. He was a very provoking man.
“Wrong colouring, surely?” His handsome face relaxed into another half-smile. “Golden boy fitted Mark much better.”
He should smile more often, she thought. It was a stunning illumination. “This has to be confusing.” She focused on a beautiful arrangement of flowers nearby. They would all have to rethink everything damning Mark had uttered about his family.
“It will be confusing when one feels compelled to change one’s opinion. I have a fair idea of what Mark told his wife. And you. He would have told you, of course.”
She took a full minute to answer, not ready for this. “Why ‘of course’? What could you be implying?” She hoped to God she hadn’t flushed. She wanted to keep her explosive memories of Mark private—especially from his half-brother.
“Let’s call it a desire to know what happened to my half-brother. As far as my family is aware you were the one person outside Amanda that Mark didn’t hate or resent in some way. Mark fed on resentment.”
That was her own judgement, yet she felt as if she was being dragged into a deep, murky pond. “Let’s get this straight,” she said. “When exactly did Mark talk about me? More to the point, why? I didn’t see Mark all that much.” Made sure I didn’t.
He tossed back the remainder of his cognac. “Don’t let me upset you, Sienna. None of this is easy. I only mean Mark obviously thought very highly of you. He wrote about you to his mother. That’s if you were Amanda’s bridesmaid and her best friend?”
“I was my cousin’s bridesmaid.” She frowned in perplexity.
“As I thought. Only Mark failed to mention you and Amanda were related. Knowing Mark, I would say it was a deliberate oversight. Hilary insisted on showing me his letter, although I didn’t particularly want to read it or even know what Mark had to say at the time.”
“Well, you could tell me now.” She settled her gaze on him. “The notion that he bothered to write about me at all doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. What did he say? Mark had good-looks, and an easy charm when the mood took him. That would be no surprise to you. But to be painfully honest we didn’t get to be friends.”
“Except Mark didn’t see it that way.” His shapely hand gently rocked his empty brandy balloon. “Not so surprising when one thinks about it. Mark believed what he wanted to believe.”
“Which, in my case, was what?” she asked, with more than a touch of asperity.
“Well, you are a very beautiful woman. And you seem to have been important to Mark.”
She gave an exasperated groan. “If I was, he didn’t share that with me.” She had no alternative but to lie. “What has that got to do with anything anyway?” she asked. “Mark fell in love with Amanda. Mark married Amanda. End of story.”
“Only you know the story, Sienna. We don’t. But I’m more than prepared to listen to anything you want to tell me. The marriage was happy?”
“Why wouldn’t it have been?” she parried. She wasn’t about to tell him there had been lots of crises, rows, Amanda in floods of tears. What good would it do?
He studied her. “The simple answer. I knew Mark.”
She had known him too. “It was happy enough,” she answered, caught up in a swirl of emotion. Even the air seemed charged.
“You were there when he had his fatal accident?”
Memory swept over her. She lowered her head, unaware the light was bouncing off her rose-gold hair. “Yes. Amanda had invited me along.” She had only relented and gone because Amanda had seemed desperate she join them at the ski resort. She still didn’t know why Amanda had appeared so distraught. “I don’t need to tell you Mark had a reckless streak. Amanda and I are experienced skiers. We’ve been skiing all our lives. Mark, very tragically, thought he was a lot better than he actually was. It was a terrible day. Amanda went totally to pieces.”
“But you didn’t?”
Her eyes flashed. “That sounds remarkably like an accusation of sorts.” Her response was just as terse as his question. “I was deeply shocked and saddened, of course, but I was glad I was there. Amanda needed me.” Amanda was one of the neediest young women in the world. But no need to tell him that either.
His eyes lingered on her beautiful face, now flushed with colour. He had angered her. But it couldn’t be avoided. “You do know I’m here to arrange for Mark’s body to be shipped home? I also want to invite Amanda to return with me. She must want to attend Mark’s funeral, surely? And she can finally meet the family. We will, of course, meet all her costs. Do you think she would do that?”
Sienna had to take time before she could answer. “Blaine,” she said in a subdued voice, “Amanda is rather a fragile person.”
“And you’re her anchor?”
“I’ve always looked out for her,” she admitted. “We’ve all deemed it important to look out for Amanda. She lost both her parents at such an early age. I must tell you she couldn’t have found better foster parents than my mother and father. There were and remain kindness itself.”
“I’m sure of that,” he said. “Hilary said your father sounded very kind and compassionate. But you don’t think Amanda will meet me, let alone come back to Australia with me?”
She stopped him by placing the tips of her fingers very briefly over his. It was a totally spontaneous action born of compassion. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
Her skin was warm and as soft as silk, yet it
