and clutched her head as the blackmail thought raced through her mind.
Tired as she’d been, sleep had been difficult, and when she’d achieved it weird dreams populated by Leonie Falconer resembling some sort of smug sun goddess had plagued her. So why had she woken up with blackmail on her mind?
Because apart from her mother only Alex knew how close to her heart Beaufort especially was. How could he not? True, she’d been fascinated by the cultured-pearl side of his business—she would have loved to be visiting the farms with him—but it was his cattle stations and how he handled them that she had attempted to absorb like blotting paper. All for the purpose of applying that knowledge to Beaufort and Carnarvon should she ever have to run them on her own.
But, more than that, perhaps only Alex guessed that twelve months had not been long enough for her to have the confidence to run them on her own and that was why he’d applied the sheer blackmail of promising her some of his time at Beaufort and mentioning the ideas he had for the station. What else could she think?
‘You could ask yourself why he wants to stay married to you, Tatiana,’ she murmured, and lay back with a sigh.
Had the impossible, the wonderful, the dream within a dream that she hadn’t dared to allow herself to dream, come true? Had her husband finally fallen in love with her? Or had the time come to amalgamate her inheritance with his into one big cattle operation, something that had not happened to date?
Why, she pondered gloomily, did that seem much more likely?
And she answered herself tartly, he made her feel like a kid, not—apart from one fleeting moment yesterday and she wasn’t even sure about that—a woman he found desirable. It was as simple as that.
On the other hand—she sat up again, struck by a new thought—why had he divested himself of his mistress? Because of a growing but hidden attraction to her—or so she would have no ammunition with which to continue the stalemate or base a decision to leave him on?
Her bedside phone rang. She stared at it, then lifted it reluctantly.
‘Hello?’
‘Tattie?’ her mother-in-law said down the line in a slightly overwrought way. ‘My dear, that was the best party I’ve ever given and all thanks to you!’
Tattie frowned. ‘No way, Irina. I didn’t do anything; you did it all.’
‘But you were there, you were so lovely, and the whole world could see that you and Alex are perfect for each other—I just wanted to tell you! Perhaps next year,’ she added, ‘we will have a little addition to the family to celebrate? Tattie…’ There was a slightly awkward pause down the line—an indication of a bull being taken by the horns as it turned out. ‘Are there any problems in that direction? Because I have the best gynaecologist in the country, the most understanding, most gentle, most kind, and he has performed miracles for several of my friends’ daughters.’
This time Tattie grimaced, then drew a deep breath. ‘Irina…’ But she couldn’t do it. She simply couldn’t dent her mother-in-law’s enthusiasm and her old-fashioned belief that her arranged marriage concept had worked blissfully—although it did cross her mind to say, Perhaps you should have found a Greek girl for Alex. A girl who would understand these things and know where her duty lies…
She cleared her throat. ‘Uh—Irina, no, no problems that I know of, but this is between Alex and me, I feel…I really feel, don’t you?’
There was silence, then, ‘My dear, forgive me,’ Irina said a little tremulously down the line. ‘Of course it is. It’s just that I have such a longing for grandchildren and, sadly, I’m not getting any younger.’
‘Irina…’ What to say? Tattie thought desperately, because in every other respect Irina had been a lovely mother-in-law. Nor was she getting any younger, and she was also plagued by a troublesome hip, but kept putting off a hip replacement because of her fear of hospitals and operations.
She was saved by Irina herself, who said bravely, with less tremolo, ‘I promise not to mention these things again, Tattie. I just… Last night…seeing you and Alex…I got carried away. Forgive me?’
‘Of course,’ Tattie said warmly. ‘Tell you what, why don’t we have lunch? I’ll ring Mum and see if she can make it as well and we can have a gorgeous gossip about the party. How about Cullen Bay?’ She named a restaurant.
She put the phone down eventually, wondering as she did if she wasn’t digging a deeper grave to have to climb out of one day. Then she lay back and switched on her television, only to be arrested as she flicked through the channels by a programme about an Indian family in Mauritius. What arrested her was the fact that the patriarch still chose husbands and wives for his family, even sending to India for them, and the whole family laughingly agreed it was still the best way to go.
She tightened her mouth, switched off and got up to take a shower. While the shower refreshed her body the circles of her mind ran around a familiar pattern. Why hadn’t the Constantins sought a Greek girl for Alex? She knew enough about the continental community in Darwin to know that it wasn’t only amongst Mauritian Indians that this practice was common. She could even see a certain sense to it. Same culture, same background—possibly the same expectations.
But Alex was about as cosmopolitan as they came—or, to put it another way, he was as Australian as they came. So perhaps he wouldn’t have stood for it?
A smile crossed her lips at this point in her reflections but it was gone almost before it was born—Alex did exactly as he pleased, she knew, despite his affection for his parents. So had they been, as she’d long suspected, rather clever? Had they found the one lure he’d been unable to resist in their quest to further the dynasty?
A little dialogue ran though her head, no matter that the girl is not one of us. She still looks to be pliable, and she does have Beaufort and Carnarvon—could he resist that? Could he?
‘Perhaps not,’ she answered herself, and started to dress.
It was yet another bright, cloudless July day, but it passed by in a bit of a blur for Tattie.
Her cleaning lady arrived as she was having her breakfast coffee, and together they went through the apartment, deciding what needed to be done. Then Tattie went back to her coffee, but the apartment stayed on her mind and she looked around with new eyes.
She’d chosen pastels, light, airy colours that were above all cool. There were no curtains but wooden louvers at the windows, and she’d made simple but effective statements—a glorious oil painting on a feature wall; a pair of waist-high porcelain urns hand-painted in soft pinks, gold and royal blue; an intricately carved solid silver bowl it was hard to take your eyes from, so perfect were its proportions and soft old glow as it sat on a small sea chest; a vast, comfortable cream couch lined with pink and pewter cushions.
Mysteriously, she thought with a sudden pang, it had all become home. Yes, of course the lure of the Kimberley region where her ancestral home was, a sprawling, rambling country homestead, still held pride of place in her heart—or did it? And if not, why not?
Because this was her own creation? she wondered. Because this was where she and Alex spent most of their time? There was also a house in Perth, another house in Darwin and an apartment in Sydney, but, even though she’d added her own touches to those, this apartment in Darwin was all hers—and Alex’s.
She
