a huge swathe through the giant state of Queensland. Blaine was the current custodian of the flame. Blaine Courtland, Genevieve’s kissin’ cousin, prince among men.
At thirty-one, handsome as the devil and just as arrogant, he was a much respected man in a tough man’s world. Blaine had been the hero of Genevieve’s childhood and early adolescence. Eight whole years separated them but they were light years away in substance and maturity.
The little girl Blaine had always called by a string of endearments: flower face, Violetta—because of her eyes—sweetness, cherub, little pal, even pumpkin—she remembered all of them—overnight turned into that silly little idiot Genni who was prepared to waste her perfectly good brain trying to emulate her fool of a mother. Blaine pulled no punches about Angel. He actually called her Jinx to her face. A lot of it stemmed from the fact the Courtland family collectively believed Stephen Courtland’s “accident” had been no accident at all. Everyone knew Stephen had been devastated when Angel walked out on him, taking his adored only child. A serious depression had followed.
“Angel, can I talk to you?” Genevieve asked, picking up her courage.
“I don’t really have time to talk now, darling,” Angel said, hunting up her exquisite evening purse, popping in a fragile lace-edged hanky. “Shouldn’t you be getting your beauty sleep? It’s going to be a wonderful day tomorrow. I’m so proud of you landing Colin.”
Genevieve received a mind picture of Blaine so searing it hurt her head. “I think I’ll pass on Colin,” she blurted abruptly.
“You’ll what?” Angel’s blue-violet eyes started so far from her head she looked like an adorable bug.
“I can’t go through with it, Mamma… Angel. I feel terrible about it, I know it’s what you want. What you’ve done everything in your considerable power to bring about, but I don’t love Colin. I never did. I was going through with marrying him to spite Blaine. I can see that now.”
Angel sat down heavily in a cream damask armchair, her tiny face blanching. “I’m not hearing this. I’m not!” she wailed. “What has this got to do with Blaine? You surely can’t believe he’ll be pleased about this. He’s paid for the whole blasted thing.”
She was betrayed. In that moment humiliation left her bereft. “He what?” Her desperation was almost total.
“Oh, don’t play the fool. It doesn’t work with me,” Angel scolded with some contempt. “You surely didn’t think I was going to outlay a small fortune. The Courtlands have a mountain of money. Blaine can well afford a lavish wedding for three hundred. A drop in the ocean to him. But it would leave a big dint in my bank balance.”
“My God!” Genevieve could have howled with the pain. “You let me believe you were handling all this, Mother. Yes, Mother. You are my mother, aren’t you? My father, God rest his soul, left you very well off. He loved you, the poor deluded man. He loved me. There has to be money, Mother. Look around this God-awful bedroom, this mansion of a house. Look at that dress you’ve got on. The diamonds in your ears and around your neck.”
“Will you please stop making a commotion?” Angel wrung her hands. “I have to look after myself, Genevieve. I have many more years left to me.”
“I thought you were working your head off to land Toby Slocombe?” Genevieve fired.
“Don’t you dare scream at me, you ungrateful little wretch.” Angel was furious and showed it. “How can you possibly let me down? Let Colin down? I don’t dare think of the consequences.”
“No.” Genevieve shook her head violently, in agony. “Because you expected me to help out once I got my hands on the Garrett money. You know Colin’s father is universally detested.”
“I happen to know he approves of you,” Angel said, tightlipped with anger. “He’s thrilled Colin has finally found someone who will be a good steadying influence on him.”
“You’ve played us all like puppets,” Genevieve said, recognizing it was true. “You might give some people the impression you’re an airhead but you always get what you want, don’t you, Mother?”
Angel had the grace to flush. “I don’t know what’s got into you, Genevieve. You haven’t been the same since you got back from Jubilee. Of course it’s Blaine. He’s always so goddam polite, but I know he hates me. They all do. They blame me for Stephen. As though I was there when he tripped over that bloody fence. They’re a revolting family. So uppity. The landed elite. Yet Blaine’s own mother ran off. Dear Crystelle. Don’t let him fool you. Blaine hates women.”
Genevieve brushed a long ash-gold tendril from her face. “He was kindness itself to me.”
“You mean when you were a little kid,” Angel scoffed, jealous of Blaine’s affection for her daughter to this day.
“A little fatherless kid. I loved Blaine with all my heart,” Genevieve admitted, frightened somehow by the depth of her own emotion.
Angel gave a hard laugh. “Well, that’s all gone by the board. You two have had a very difficult relationship for years now. The arrogance of the man! He has always interfered. You’d think he was your guardian, not me. Remember the time I wanted you to be a model. You could have been right up there at the top. An international career. You had everything going for you, but no, Blaine insisted you go on to university.”
“I was a straight-A student, Angel,” Genevieve reminded her. “I didn’t want to be a model.”
That struck Angel as irrelevant. “It’s the best career a beautiful girl could possibly have. Such an exciting, glamorous life.”
“So you say. It wasn’t for me.”
Angel’s pretty mouth puckered. “So working at the State Art Gallery is better?”
“I have a Fine Arts Degree. I’m quite a good artist myself. I’m learning all the time. I’m regarded as a valuable addition to the team. All of this fades into the background now, Angel, I can’t go through with this marriage.”
That struck Angel as shocking. She burst into faintly hysterical laughter. “Not a chance you’re getting out of it,” she cried loudly. “Blaine will drag you down the aisle if he has to. Don’t forget there’s the honour of the Courtland name at stake.”
Genevieve’s violet eyes burned. “I’m only a cousin, Angel. Third cousin. I don’t really count.”
“Don’t be so sure of that, my girl.” Angel began to fiercely swing an evening-sandalled foot. “This would be the most appalling breach of social etiquette. It’s unthinkable.”
“Except if I go through with it I’ll be making the most hideous mistake of my life,” Genevieve said in a voice thin with despair. “Please listen to me, Angel. I feel so alone. Shaking inside.”
But Angel was furious with her. “Who the devil are you, Genevieve?” she shouted. “Who are you really? You’re certain of it? Why now. Why didn’t you just leave it until tomorrow morning? Climb out the bathroom window. I know you’ve seen that movie with Julia Roberts. Jumping on horses. You’ve got cold feet. All brides have cold feet. A little surprise for you, darling. You simply cannot let any of us down. You’re emotionally fragile, like your father.”
At
