against her slanted cheekbones. If he were smitten, she was making sure he knew she wasn’t. He had to change that. He didn’t know if it was a wise decision or not. He didn’t care. Despite all his plans he had been shot down in flames. Remarkable it should happen when he least wanted or expected it. He even had an idea he couldn’t return to the man he was. Maybe the right woman might be able to save him, make all the pain go away?
A big might, was the cynical whisper in his head. She had said she knew the Callaghans. What she hadn’t said was she had been invited to Alana Callaghan’s wedding to his friend Guy Radcliffe. Now, why keep that a secret? Why act as though she was never likely to see him again? Perhaps she was as troubled in her way as he was in his?
He found he wanted those maybes resolved. It might shock and amaze him, but he wanted to know all there was to know about this woman. All of it. Even if he wasn’t ready.
Outside in the brilliant sunshine—the sun was blazing out of a cloudless opal-blue sky—the rest of the guests, those not able to fit inside the chapel, were milling all over the manicured green lawn. It was as big a wedding as he had ever attended. There were quite a few children, all dressed up for the occasion—especially the little girls, in their pretty party frocks—laughing and bobbing in and out of the crowds, playing games as children had always done and always would. Massive cream-and-gold marquees had been erected in the extensive home grounds. In the shimmering heat they seemed to float above the emerald grass.
She had to be deliberately holding back, because he didn’t see her again until they were all seated in the bridal marquee.
It didn’t take him long to locate her. She was at a table for eight flanked by two men, one around forty-five, the other his age. Both were dancing attendance on her. The food was superb, as were the wines—lashings of both. He was seated between two cousins of the bride, Violette and Lilli. Both of them were extremely good-looking. Perhaps Violette had the edge, but even she couldn’t hold a candle to her cousin Alana, Guy’s beautiful bride. Linc yielded to their harmless flirtations, effortlessly doing his bit. This kind of thing he was long used to. Both sisters appeared to find him worthy of their attentions, but in reality his antennae was constantly twitching, almost completely given over to tracking her. By some magic means he was now a woman-watcher. And that was just plain dumb. He was a guy who liked to hold the whip hand.
The speeches were over—all of them excellent, hitting just the right note. Guy had very movingly opened his heart to his bride and all the guests were applauding, everyone was so touched. Looking down the bridal table, decked with what looked like thousands of exquisite white orchids flown in from Thailand, Linc could see a little tear run down Alana’s cheek. He knew it for what it was—a tear of overwhelming happiness. Weddings were times of high emotion. What he hadn’t expected was to get all emotional himself. He tried to stand back from that kind of thing. Much better to keep all the emotions locked up inside. Grief, abandonment… As a boy he had been so crazy he had even blamed his mother for dying, for going away and leaving him. And his highly confrontational relationship with his father he had to paste over. He couldn’t bear to think about that poor silly creature Cheryl.
At last the formalities were over, and everyone was free to roam from table to table, meeting up with old friends, making new ones, joining in the dancing. A great five-piece group was playing. The guy on the sax was so good—the sound, the form, the phrasing—he would have been happy just to sit there, listening, champagne glass topped up regularly. Only Lilli caught hold of his shoulder, urging him to his feet. Someone with a professional-looking video camera started to film them. He guessed the Radcliffe-Callaghan wedding would make it into the glossy magazines. He might even make it himself. He didn’t look too bad in his classy suit, with a pink rose with a bluish tint in his buttonhole to match Lilli’s sexy satin gown. All four bridesmaids were wearing drop earrings of large Tahitian pearls with a fair-sized diamond above—a very generous gift from Guy.
‘This is wonderful, isn’t it?’ Lilli gushed. ‘Alana is my favourite cousin!’
He wondered about that.
After a while he felt as if he had danced with every girl inside the marquee except her. Every time he made a move towards her some other guy beat him to it, or one of the sisters clamoured for another dance. The elder one, Violette, was being rather forceful about it. Lilli had confided in him that Violette had been a long-time girlfriend of Guy’s.
‘He nearly married her, you know.’
He took that with another cup of salt. He had a feeling Guy was a one-woman man, and that woman was now his wife.
She must have moved outdoors.
Pleasant as it was, he was continually trapped by pretty girls, eyes shining, cheeks flushed. He couldn’t be rude and turn them down. He needed to keep up his role as groomsman.
‘Don’t disappear on me,’ Lilli begged, her bright blue eyes locking on his. ‘I promised Mike here another dance.’
It was his moment to make a move. His decline into sheer neediness was so dramatic, it was mind-blowing. He actually needed to see the woman. He actually wanted to see her smile.
A lovely gentle breeze was blowing, carrying the mingled scents of Wangaree’s spectacular gardens. A lot of other guests had drifted outside, most still hugging their champagne glasses.
Where was she? She couldn’t have gone home. Guy and Alana hadn’t left yet. Alana, as tradition demanded, hadn’t yet thrown her bouquet. The honeymoon was to be spent in Europe, but the happy couple were staying overnight in a suite at one of Sydney’s luxury hotels, before flying out to Paris via Dubai the next day.
Obviously she had decided to lose herself. It didn’t make him mad, but intrigued. He continued on his way, skirting the main paths bordered by banks of azaleas and rhododendrons, a positive sea of them, pink, white, ruby-red. He traversed a small ornamental bridge that spanned a glittering dark green lily pond before heading towards what looked like a secret garden. He was enormously impressed with the way Guy kept the place. The maintenance of the gardens alone was a huge achievement. Wangaree was a country estate in the grand manner. Even Gilgarra, though a top New England property, couldn’t match it.
The fringing trees along the path kept the light a cool subdued green, even on this brilliant sunny day. His mother had kept a lovely garden, continuing to work in it even as she’d sickened. He remembered the delight she’d had in her roses. She’d adored the English roses in the walled garden. David Austin roses, he remembered, luxurious and wonderfully fragrant. Perfume had been a big priority with his mother. Her David Austin roses had done well for her. As a boy he had spent many hours helping her, doing what he had called the ‘hard yakka’, all the while drunk on perfume and contentment. He had an eye for beauty.
Cheryl, now, had no interest in gardens at all. Jewellery was her big thing. Chuck had shown a lot of spunk, demanding their father turn over to him their mother’s engagement ring—a large emerald surrounded by diamonds. Their mother had always said it should go to her firstborn’s bride. Whenever she’d said it she had always caught hold of Linc’s hand, as if she had something else lined up especially for him. He thought it would have been her pearls, a gorgeous necklet her parents had given her for her twenty-first birthday. If he ever saw them around Cheryl’s neck he thought he might die.
Gradually the stone path was narrowing—he supposed to enhance its secret quality. He had to bend his head beneath a glorious shower of blossoms from a free-standing iron arch that was wreathed in a delicate violet-blue vine. It might be easy passage for most people, but not those topping six feet. He could be following entirely the wrong path, but somehow he didn’t think so. He fancied the spell that had been put
