in Hunter Valley for a century and a half. The old girl sees the Prestons as upstarts and Yanks to boot. Still, they say she was usually civil to them—until they sided so strong with Sam. Now she’s offended about racing politics, too. Really offended. You see, my boss, Tyler Preston, he’s got this cousin. Well, the cousin—”
They rounded a curve and the view was suddenly dominated by a huge set of gates, framed by stone pillars ornamented with bronze and red crests. “Ta-da!” said Reynard with a chuckle. “Behold—Fairchild Acres.”
The security guard let them in, and Marie looked at the great lawn and the seeming endless pastures and paddocks beyond. Did Louisa own all this land?
They bounced down a broad drive between jacaranda trees, plots of bright flowers and the flash of water from a myriad of sprinklers. The rest of Hunter Valley might be browning and dry, but not Louisa’s lawn.
They rounded another curve. “And there is the humble abode of Louisa.”
At the end of the drive stood an enormous house. Gray stone and stucco, it rose three stories, with a gabled roof and rows of mullioned windows. The jacarandas gave way to a wider sweep of manicured lawn, decorated with large formal gardens. There was even an ornamental marble pool with a three-tiered fountain at its center.
She gaped at the house, the grounds. Reynard took a fork in the drive that led to the back of the house. “You’ll meet Mrs. Lipton first.”
Marie’s heart beat hard. Too hard. But Reynard had kept reassuring her that she wouldn’t need to lie. Her identity was true, her experience real, her credentials excellent. She should simply be closemouthed about her family.
“Just remember the nursery rhyme, love.” With a sidelong smile, he recited the poem:
“A wise old owl sat in his oak.
The more he heard, the less he spoke;
The less he spoke, the more he heard;
Why aren’t we all like that wise old bird?”
She eyed him thoughtfully. “Is that how you know so much about what goes on here? And you’ve only been here—what?—two months?”
He winked. “That’s it, love. Eyes open. Ears open. Mouth shut. That’s how you learn.”
He parked, got out stiffly, and opened Marie’s door as smoothly as if he were a trained chauffeur. Perhaps he’d once been one, for she didn’t know all of his past. Not by half.
He escorted her to a back door and gave the bellpull a smart ring, and then two more.
A girl of about eighteen opened the door. She had curling red hair and freckles all over her ruddy face. She wore navy-blue shorts, a white short-sleeved blouse and a white apron.
“Oh, Rennie,” she said with a grin. “Come in. And this must be your niece. Marie, is it?
“I’m Belinda, but everybody calls me Bindy. I’ll get Mrs. Lipton.”
Bindy talked fast, and she dashed off into a hallway just as fast. Marie stood, dazzled by the huge modern kitchen, gleaming with whiteness and chrome.
“Hello, Rennie,” said a man’s deep voice. The accent was American.
Marie turned to see a tall figure standing near a table. She looked up into his face, and her heart, already pounding, almost leaped out of her chest.
He was the man who’d defended her in the parking lot of the Scepter that night, the stranger she’d clung to so foolishly, so desperately. Suddenly the room seemed to swim round her, dizzying her.
Did he recognize her? Would he remember her? She prayed not.
“Mr. Preston,” said Reynard, heartily shaking hands with him. He grinned.
“What are you doing here? Miss Fairchild must be gone.”
“She is, and somebody had to do your work. So I brought the eggs today.”
Rennie grinned more widely. “Thanks kindly, mate. And meet my niece, Marie Lafayette from Darwin. She’s the new assistant cook. Marie, Andrew Preston from the U.S.A. He’s running for the presidency of the ITRF. Staying with his cousin over at Lochlain.”
Marie was still struck dumb and immobile. Andrew Preston stepped over to her and offered her his hand. Somehow she raised her own and placed it in his. It was like having tiny flames shoot up her fingers, through her arm, and into her heart.
She remembered he’d been handsome, but not as handsome as this. He might be the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, but it was a purely masculine beauty. He wore a white T-shirt that emphasized his shoulders and chest and revealed tanned, muscular arms. Around his neck was a peculiar necklace, a carved bird on a red string.
Low-riding blue jeans hugged his narrow hips and long legs. His riding boots were tall, black and dusty. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said.
His eyes were such a dark blue they seemed nearly black. His wavy hair was a dark and gleaming brown, and he seemed fully a foot taller than she.
Assume a virtue if you have it not, she thought. She raised her chin and gave a perky smile. “Pleased to meet you.”
He smiled back and released her hand. Again, strange sensations tripped through her body, making her giddy.
“I heard about your mother,” Andrew said. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He sounded as if he actually meant it.
“Thank you,” she said, her smile dying.
Andrew turned to Reynard. “I was just starting back to Lochlain,” he said. “See you there later. And I hope we meet again, Miss Lafayette.”
Marie nodded. She’d let down her guard, so she gave him a mildly friendly, totally professional and completely manufactured smile.
Andrew smiled again, almost hesitantly, and left by the back door.
“Well, you seemed a bit gobsmacked at the sight of him,” Reynard said, eyes narrowing.
“I didn’t know anyone was there. H-he surprised me,” she said defensively.
“I’ll bet he did, I’ll bet he did. And you surprised me.”
Before Marie could reply, an interior door opened and a tall woman entered. She had perfectly sculpted gray hair, a strong jaw, a kind face and a firm, stout figure. She wore a navy-blue skirt and blouse, and a ruffled white apron with a bib. “Rennie, you rascal,” she said, obviously pleased.
“Ah,” he replied, his tone silky. “And what mischief are you up to, entertaining gentlemen in your kitchen? Miss Louisa doesn’t know he was here, does she? You’re a bold one, you are.”
She made a shooing gesture at him. “She’s in Sydney getting her annual checkup. She won’t be back until this evening. Ah. And this is your niece, Marie?”
“The very one. Marie, Mrs. Lipton, the housekeeper. A marvel of organization, she is.”
Mrs.
