treating me.”
Sally stared her down, denying her the satisfaction of seeing any evidence of a guilt trip. Besides which, she felt no guilt. None at all. She and Jane had done their best to please their father while he was alive. That need to please had ended with his death.
Lady Ellen puffed herself up and started to stalk out of the room in high dudgeon. She snapped her fingers at Jane. “You can come and help me pack.”
“No. Jane stays here with me,” Sally countermanded, not about to let her sister suffer the role of whipping boy.
“What? Even the worm turns,” was jeered at Jane who shrank behind Graham as Lady Ellen passed by.
Then she was gone, leaving behind a bleak emptiness that drained away the strength Sally had somehow managed to hang on to during the horrible confrontation. She started to shake.
“Anything I can do for you, Sally?” Graham asked caringly.
Her mind felt too scattered to think straight anymore. She needed comfort. “Would you ask Jeanette to bring us a pot of tea, please, Graham?”
“Sure.”
He left the two sisters together. Sally held out her arms to Jane, who flew into the offered embrace, hugging her tight and bursting into tears. “It’s okay,” she automatically soothed. “We have each other. Whatever the future holds, we’ll always have each other.”
Right now the future felt like a blank slate.
But it wasn’t really.
Jack Maguire was written on it.
This had been his day of reckoning.
Hers and Jane’s, too.
She wondered how the slate would read in a year’s time, but was too worn-out to think about it. Just take one day at a time, she told herself, do what feels right. Even when Jack Maguire comes to visit, I won’t do anything that doesn’t feel right.
CHAPTER SIX
JACK Maguire stood at the lounge room window of his Woolloomooloo apartment, watching the Queen Mary 2 make its majestic way down Sydney Harbour. It was accompanied by a flotilla of small craft which were made to look absolutely tiny by the massive cruise ship. Quite an incredible spectacle, Jack thought, and bound to bring out crowds of spectators on this, the new Queen Mary’s first visit to Sydney.
His mind drifted to another first visit—one which he expected to be more personally satisfying. It had been two weeks since the contract with Sally Maguire had been signed, and she hadn’t called him for help on any problem. He’d given her his cell-phone number but not once had she used it. Was she intent on proving herself capable of any task or was she shying clear of him?
Lady Ellen would have tried her best to poison her mind against him, but Lady Ellen had left the Yarramalong property the morning after the reading of the will. Couldn’t bear to stay there with Sir Leonard gone, he’d heard on the social grapevine. Not a word about eviction. She was currently being cosseted as a house-guest of a high-society friend, playing the grieving widow and saving pride by pretending she’d left Sally to manage the property with her horses.
The silence from Yarramalong niggled him. Had Sally agreed to her mother’s pretence, intent on keeping him out of their lives as long as she could? He didn’t care what Lady Ellen said or did, provided she was out of the picture he’d set up for himself. However he did want to know if Sally had actually thrown her lot in with him or was playing along with her mother’s game of deceit.
Time to make contact with her, he decided, and smiled cynically over the rush of eagerness that charged through him. Lust could make a fool of a man, and Jack was determined on never becoming any woman’s fool. The trick was to control his desire for Sally Maguire, not ever allow it to gain too much power over his thoughts or actions. Being master of his own fate was the prime directive of his life and he was not about to change it.
He forced himself to wait until after the dinner hour before he called her, anticipating she would definitely be in the house at that time—not out with her horses—and readily available to chat with him. Having armed himself with a relaxing glass of cognac, he settled into his favourite chair, made the connection to the Yarramalong property, and listened to the buzzing summons of the telephone, conscious of a buzz of excitement in his blood as he wondered how much she’d thought about him this past fortnight.
“Sally Maguire.”
The blunt announcement gave nothing away except her name.
“Hello, Sally,” he drawled, rolling that same name off his tongue with considerable relish. “It’s Jack Maguire, calling to catch up with what’s happening at your end.”
“Oh!” A breathy gush of surprise, then a burst of anxious concern. “Was I supposed to give you weekly reports or something? I don’t remember you saying so.”
“I didn’t. I hear Lady Ellen is in town. I take it she won’t be coming back to the property?”
A pause, then still with a note of anxiety, “I’m not expecting her to. She took all her personal things. I don’t think it would suit her to … to make trouble over the situation.”
It was an astute point. Wrong image if the widow wanted to make golden hay with a second husband. “How much trouble did she make for you, Sally?” he asked, still wondering if she had agreed to some deceptive scenario with her mother behind his back.
He heard the slight huff of a deep breath being scooped in. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said very firmly. “I stood my ground. Okay? Everyone who works here has chosen to stay on. We’re doing fine. No problems.”
I stood my ground.
Jack smiled over those fighting words.
There’d been trouble, all right, but Sally had not given in to her mother on anything. Definitely a strong backbone there. He liked that in her. It could very well add a lot of spice to getting her into bed with him. He didn’t believe she would come easily. Which made the prospect of winning the pillow fight all the more exciting.
“Are you … are you planning to visit soon?”
Her hesitant question revealed a nervous apprehension about his presence on the property. He didn’t want her afraid of him. That wasn’t part of his plan at all. Better to settle any fears she had—possibly implanted by the venomous Lady Ellen—before they grew into an insurmountable block.
“Tomorrow,” he decided. “It’s Friday. I’ll fly in about six-thirty tomorrow evening and spend the weekend evaluating the whole place.”
“Tomorrow,” she said weakly, as though in shock at how quickly he would be arriving on the scene.
“Okay with you?” he pushed.
“Yes. Yes, of course,” she said in a rush, obviously determined not to be found at fault. “Six-thirty. I’ll have the welcome mat ready.”
“Thank you, Sally.” He poured warmth into his voice. “I’ll look forward to it.”
Sally
