His beloved father had gone about his life but both of his children had known inside he was shattered. That’s what women were capable of. Leaving a trail of destruction.
He looked away at the brother, David Langdon, thinking with a vague sense of astonishment he liked the man on sight. Brother and sister shared a resemblance—not as marked as his and Belle’s—mostly the colouring. She looked very delicate beside him, ultra feminine. Long, light beautiful bones. The brother was a big man, well over six feet like himself, but strapping rather than lean, very fit and strong looking. His hair was a tawny mix of dark blond to bronze, his eyes a pronounced shade of topaz. Both had generous well defined mobile mouths.
Cy introduced them. The two men shook hands then Langdon speaking easily—he exuded charisma—introduced his assistant, Matt, who regarded Sunderland somewhat warily as if he thought this was someone who could turn dangerous and he was already aware of it.
“I’m looking forward to us all having dinner together,” Langdon said after a few minutes of exchanging social pleasantries. “Meanwhile I hope you enjoy the showing. I have to circulate, it seems.” Cy’s stepsister, Robyn, the owner of the gallery, looking very glamorous in black and white was beckoning to him pushing forward a distinguished looking elderly man. “Excuse me, won’t you?” Langdon’s manner was so warm and charming Ross thought the man would have no difficulty selling heaters to the nomads in the desert. David Langdon had every appearance of a man you could trust with your life.
They all began to study the remarkable array of photographs, moving about the room in procession. Ross listened to the comments of his friends as they talked. Jessica, the creative one, was very knowledgeable. She was just right for Cy he thought. Lucky guy! He wondered where Belle had got to. Ah, there she was, standing with a red-haired woman, seemingly at ease. He stopped for a moment to read a CV of Langdon’s work. Very impressive. He’d spent time in the war zones, East Timor, Afghanistan, Iraq. He was very widely travelled. A great deal in South East Asia. Thailand, Cambodia, Indonesia, Malaysia, Papua New Guinea. Ross had seen his marvellous impressions of that little known country although it lay on Australia’s door step. Separated momentarily from the others—so many people wanted to meet Jessica—he studied the shots of the Great Barrier Reef and the glorious tropical islands. Langdon must have spent hours and hours flying around trying to find the exact spots. Probably in a helicopter or a light plane, door open, strapped in tightly so he could film. Perfect crystal clear waters, cobalt skies, pure white sand ringing jade islands.
He wouldn’t mind a few weeks on a tropical island. He could almost feel himself there. His eyes dwelt with pleasure on a magnificent shot of the Outer Reef shot from the air. The deep channel was a deep inky blue, the waters a deep turquoise, with channels of aquamarine. The fantastic coral gardens were in the foreground, an anchored boat and a group of snorkellers swimming off the reef wall lending perspective. Moving on, he recognised Four Mile Beach at Queensland’s Port Douglas, the purple ranges in the background, luxuriant palms and vegetation wrapping the wide beach, sun worshippers like little colourful dots on the sand. A marvellous, marvellous shot of a small sand cay covered with nesting crested terns, the deep turquoise waters rippled with iridescent green like the heart of a black opal. He felt like he was in the middle of the ocean.
“These are good,” he found himself murmuring aloud.
“You sound surprised?”
He straightened and turned slowly before answering, giving himself time to suppress the involuntary electric thrill that flared along his nerves. As a consequence his voice came out in that strange arrogant fashion. “That wasn’t my intention. Your brother is more than a fine photographer. He’s an artist.”
“He is,” Samantha said with complete conviction, her cheeks flushing a little at the curtness of his tone. Her powerful attraction to this man shocked her. Not Mr. Nice Guy that’s for sure. Formidable. “I run the Sydney gallery for him. Of course you know that. We’re thinking of opening another one here in Darwin.”
“And what do you suppose Robyn will think about that?” Incredibly in his imagination he was pushing her low necked dress down from her shoulders. She had beautiful breasts. She had teased him with their beauty at the wedding, smiling into his eyes, provoking him to dance with her. Of course he was obliged to. They were after all chief bridesmaid and best man.
She was shrugging lightly as if to show she was unfazed by his scrutiny and the challenge of his comment. “There’s plenty of room for another gallery. Robyn specialises in paintings and sometimes sculptures. Hopefully one gallery will be a spin off for the other. There are always a great many tourists in town.”
“Yes,” he agreed briefly, feeling as though he was drunk on some rich potent wine. That was the effect she had on him. But no way, no way, was he about to fall to his knees.
She was returning his gaze equably, so gracious when he always acted the complete boor around her. He suspected she was doing it deliberately.
“I’m wondering why you don’t like me, Ross?” she inquired softly. “No, don’t throw up your head.” Which he did in that high mettled way. “Don’t deny it. We both know it’s true. Remember how it was at the wedding?”
As if he had forgotten.
“I didn’t imagine your…what can I call it? Animus, antagonism? Was it something I said? Something I did? I seem to have gone over it many many times in my head. But it’s still there tonight. The thing is, David and I are so hoping you’ll act as our guide. It would be awkward if there remained difficulties between us.”
He frowned, giving her a look that both smouldered and sparkled. “You intend to go along then?”
“I’ve never seen a man with aquamarine eyes.” She was so unnerved she didn’t answer his question, but said the first thing that came into her head.
“It runs in the family.” He returned carelessly. “Lest you deflect me, I’ll ask again. Do you intend to go along on this trip?”
There was no mistaking the opposition on his hard, handsome face. “I’m thrilled David wants me,” she said, feeling the friction between them like a burr against the skin. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed the little texts beneath the photographs. I was responsible for them.”
It was a reflex to compliment her. He had thought they were Langdon’s; a few lines, often poetic capturing the very essence of the scene. “Very good.”
“I don’t think you know—I made such a poor impression on you at Cy’s and Jessica’s wedding but I write and illustrate children’s stories as well as managing the gallery. They’re for children with vivid imaginations. They’re starting to do very well. Jessica and I took a Fine Arts Degree together, but I’m not nearly so gifted as she. It won’t be too long before Jessica gives an exhibition of her paintings. She not only fell madly in love with her Territory Man, she fell in love with the Territory. So far David hasn’t photographed the Top End or the Red Centre which has been widely covered of course. He likes to capture his subject matter in a new light.”
“And it works.” He tried hard to lighten up but that was difficult when he was standing less than an arm’s length from her. “You realise a trip into Kakadu wouldn’t be a picnic?”
She tilted her chin, hoping her eyes weren’t betraying her reactions. This man attracted and daunted her in equal measure. “I know it’s a great wilderness area.”
He nodded, his black hair sheened with purple highlights like the sky at midnight. For a cattle man used to working gear, off duty he was very stylishly groomed. Dark cream
