have worn off on Genn. She looks like she wants to do a runner,” she whispered to Astrid, who by way of response grabbed Tiffany by her beautiful ballooning sleeve.
“Perfect! If Genn doesn’t want to marry him he can marry me.”
And there was worse to come. Downstairs Blaine Courtland had arrived. He stood in the marble-floored, flower-bedecked entrance hall, peonies, lilac branches, delphinium, roses, perfect carnations, looking upwards with eyes as brilliant as diamonds. He wore the traditional grey frock coat, grey trousers, waistcoat and a sapphire-blue satin cravat with a diamond stickpin, but his stunningly handsome face sported no smile. Indeed it appeared he, too, didn’t feel like a wedding, although it was common knowledge on the grapevine he had paid for the whole thing.
“God, isn’t he brilliant! The cattle baron,” Montana muttered to Penelope. She was thrilled to be moving in such a world of wealth and glamour. “I’m mad about dark smouldering types with a cleft in their chins. Purple passion, you know.” She gave Penelope a rather awful dig in the ribs.
“He’s spoken for, darling,” Penelope reminded her. “Sally Fenwick. Well-known pastoral family. Minor royalty.”
“Wouldn’t we all like to be,” Montana groaned. “But shouldn’t someone remind him it’s a wedding we’re going to. He looks a bit scary. For-mi-dab-leh as the French would say. I tell you, Tiff, there’s something going on.”
It was certainly starting to look like it. Genni didn’t look happy. Neither did her cousin who exactly fitted the picture of the sort of man Genni should have married, Tiffany thought even as she recognised that simply wasn’t on.
For as long as Tiffany had known Genni, coming up twelve years now, Genni had idolized her cousin, although of recent years Genni had confided he had hurt her badly by treating her as though she wasn’t really capable of managing her own affairs. “He can be awfully rough on me!” Tiffany remembered Genni’s exact words. This marriage had to be one of those times. Both young women in their conversations had made extravagant attempts to steer clear of any rapids. It was Angel who had engineered the whole wedding, Tiffany suddenly realised, making glorious lovers out of just good friends.
Her heart labouring in her chest, Genevieve hugged the polished railing as she made her way slowly down the staircase to the magnificent gallery-style entrance hall supported by massive marble columns. Angel was seriously into drama though to Genni’s eyes there was always an over-abundance of everything.
But on this day of all days she didn’t notice the artworks, the soaring fresco ceiling, breathtaking chandelier and grand golden console and mirror with so much ormulu it would have looked a whole lot better at Versailles. She only had eyes for Blaine. Loving him as she now found she did had to be her tragic secret. He looked magnificent but so stern-faced staring up at her, such a glitter to his eyes she felt like she was drowning in a silver lake.
Yet when she finally reached him, as though drawn by a powerful magnet, he bent his crown black head to kiss her cheek. “Hello, cherub,” he murmured. “You look exquisite. I knew you would.” His voice dropped lower, for her ears only. “I want to tell you, Genni, I’ll always be here for you. No matter what happens. I’ll never let anyone hurt you. Or make you unhappy.”
She made a small sound of agony, her violet eyes burning in her pale face. “Oh, Blaine! Why couldn’t I talk to you last night?” she implored.
Instantly his black brows drew together and his lean powerful body radiated a kind of menace. “You wanted to talk to me when you came to the hotel?” he questioned, his voice with an imperative note to it.
Electric tension seemed to be flashing all around them. It was in his face, in his remarkable eyes. She was afraid where it could lead. “It’s all right, Blaine.” Her voice vibrated a little wildly. “All right. It would have been too late anyway.”
“What?” He grasped her two hands and took them firmly in his own. “I need to know what you mean, Genni? Don’t be afraid.”
But I am afraid, she thought passionately. Afraid of you and what you mean to me. Afraid of my own feelings that have grown and grown like some monstrous secret flower.
“All right there, Blaine, Genni?” Angel who had been concentrating on fastening the clasp of her diamond bracelet that matched the sunburst on her shoulder now called, shooting anxious eyes at them. She had always been aware on some deep unprobed level Blaine and her daughter shared an unbreakable bond.
Blaine ignored her, his entire attention focused on Genni. “Genni, you’ve got to tell me the truth.” His voice was low and taut. “Do you love this man?”
There was a moment of rushing silence. It was now or never. Then she remembered Sally. Sally at this year’s celebratory Polo Ball with Blaine’s gorgeous orchid pinned to her evening dress. Sally beaming with pride as people turned to see her and Blaine together. Sally looking for Blaine the moment he moved out of sight, eyes moving rapidly around the room. Sally hugging his arm.
“I must do, Blaine,” Genni answered quietly. “I’m going to marry him.”
“This is something you really want?” Clearly he still didn’t believe her.
“God, Blaine, you’re so unrelenting.” Wanting to punish him as he had punished her, she spoke fiercely, in so much pain, so much pride, it was important she stop him from questioning her further. It was all too late. Colin had pursued and won her. Not Blaine. No matter what, Blaine was lost to her.
“I’m sorry.” He dropped her hands at once, his dark high-mettled face now closed against her. “Forgive me. I wish you all the happiness in the world.”
“I know you don’t,” Genni found herself responding wildly, too far gone to care. They were almost on the verge of one of their monumental arguments.
“Be careful what you say,” Blaine warned, his eyes narrowed to mere slits.
In the entrance hall everyone stood around absolutely enthralled by what was going on between Genni and her commanding cousin. Although no one could make out what was being said, the body language told them heaps. There was grief, anger, and hurt, a raging that looked like antagonism. Genni’s face was still very white but a high colour burned her cheeks. From stillness she had burst into abandoned brilliant life.
It wasn’t looking good. Angel had the dismal feeling the two of them might just up and away. On the point of desperation, concerned for their every move, Angel stepped in. “Photographs people!” She turned swiftly to snap her fingers at the society photographer, Bernard, famous for his designer weddings, who gave no indication whatsoever he saw or heard her. “Then we really should be leaving for the church.”
“There’s time, Angelica.” Blaine glanced briefly at his watch feeling like a lion wanting to protect its young. No one was going to push Genni into marriage. “Anyway, isn’t it fashionable to be late?”
It was unless one had a great deal of worry on one’s mind. Blaine was a man capable of anything, Angel thought, hustling them all into the spectacular formal living room with its breathtaking views of Sydney Harbour.
“You’re over here, Blaine, next to me,” she cooed, hoping to God Blaine would calm down.
Such was the severity of Blaine Courtland’s expression everyone was amazed when he actually crossed the floor to tower over the petite Angel, five-three, and she was wearing high heels.
“I
