Scandals And Secrets

Celeste headed across the lawns and up the stone steps to the back of the house, blinking madly as she went. I do not care about Byron Whitmore, she kept saying to herself. I do not care what he does or where he goes or whom he marries. I do not care!

Celeste swept into the huge kitchen and put on the kettle for a cup of coffee. By the time she was sipping its soothing warmth, she was almost her old self again.

Till she suddenly remembered the trial on Monday.

Her head dropped into her hands, her stomach instantly churning.

‘Oh, God...’

CHAPTER TWO

THE taxi sped off, leaving Gemma standing on the pavement with her suitcase at her feet. She was smiling to herself.

Nathan was going to get the shock of his life when she walked in. He thought she was out in good old Lightning Ridge, patiently awaiting the Monday afternoon flight back to Sydney. Instead, here she was, home a day early, the lucky passenger on a private jet chartered by an American couple staying at her motel.

The McFaddens had dropped in on the opal-mining town as part of a whirlwind tour of the outback of Australia, and, not finding the dust, flies and heat to their liking, had decided to head for Sydney posthaste. When Gemma had told them over breakfast this morning in the dining-room that she wished she were back home in Sydney as well, they’d offered her a lift. Delighted, she’d accepted, and here she was!

A glance at her watch showed it had only just passed one in the afternoon.

For a few seconds, she regretted that her trip back to Lightning Ridge had been so unrewarding in the matter of finding anything out about her missing mother. Perhaps she should have stayed the extra day and come back on the Monday as originally planned.

In all honesty, she hadn’t tried all that hard, had she? One short interview with Mr Gunther—her dead father’s only friend in Lightning Ridge—and one afternoon spent talking to the miners who’d just happened to drop into the pub. Neither would qualify as an in-depth investigation. Was it that underneath she was afraid of the truth? Or of finding out that Nathan was right? Some people’s pasts were better off left there.

Still, the trip back to where she’d grown up had made Gemma appreciate the life she had made for herself now in Sydney. She had an interesting job selling opals to an exclusive clientele in Whitmore’s glamorous store in the Regency Hotel. She was married to Sydney’s most successful playwright who also just happened to be the most handsome, sexiest man who’d ever drawn breath. And soon she was going to start having the family she’d always wanted.

Her big brown eyes melted as she thought of her husband, and their phone conversation last Friday night. That had been less than two days ago, but it seemed like an eternity. She’d done exactly as he’d suggested and thrown away her pills. Then she’d done the second thing he’d wanted: come home.

Smiling a very female smile, she extracted her keys from her carry-all handbag, picked up her suitcase and walked over to the security door of the four-storey building that housed their apartment. On the top floor, their unit had a lovely view of Elizabeth Bay and, while Gemma called it home for now, she knew she wouldn’t want to bring up a child, or children, in such a contained and restricted environment. She would want a house and a big back yard with a dog in it, a dog she would call Blue.

Gemma’s heart squeezed tight as she thought of that moment out at the Ridge yesterday when she’d visited Blue’s grave. He was buried not far from the dugout she’d been brought up in, on a small hillock he used to lie on sometimes. She hadn’t been able to stop the sudden welling-up of emotion nor the flood of tears that had streamed from her eyes. Now, as she turned the key and let herself into the building, she felt those tears pricking at her eyes again.

She would have brought Blue to Sydney with her if she’d had the chance. But some rotten swine had poisoned him while she’d been at her father’s funeral. She’d been shattered when she found his body, seemingly more upset over her dog’s death than her father’s.

Gemma felt a stab of guilt at that memory, frowning as she carried her case inside the cool foyer and shut the door behind her. Going back to Lightning Ridge had dredged up memories she would rather have forgotten. Yes, Nathan was right. One’s happiness lay in the future, not the past. Her future and her happiness lay in her marriage to Nathan, in their having a family together.

A determined expression momentarily thinned Gemma’s full mouth. If Nathan thought she was going to stop at one baby, he was very much mistaken. She’d hated not having any brothers and sisters, hated not having a mother and a father. No child of hers was going to go through life feeling deprived and different, as she had done. Her children would have every advantage she could give them.

Gemma’s mouth suddenly relaxed into a quietly rueful smile.

Just look at me, getting all carried away and serious. Thinking too far ahead was as bad as spending all one’s energy worrying about the past. My first priority is being happy here and now—and in getting pregnant with my first baby. Still, if Nathan’s mood on the phone the other night was anything to go by then the latter shouldn’t take too long.

Gemma hurried over to press the lift button on the wall, her heart racing excitedly as she thought of what was in store for her upstairs.

The lift doors whooshed back and she stepped inside the empty compartment, pressing number four and waiting impatiently for them to shut again.

Actually, she and Nathan hadn’t made love for ages. Not that Nathan hadn’t wanted to. He always wanted to. But some recent and rather shocking allegations about Nathan’s sexual history had played on her mind, and she’d begun making excuses not to make love with her husband. Even after being assured by an independent source that the most shocking of these allegations was untrue, she’d still found herself acting very negatively in the bedroom. Nathan had been remarkably patient with her, and she aimed to reward that patience in full tonight.

Maybe I’ll fall pregnant straight away, Gemma thought excitedly as the doors shut and the lift began to rise.

Probably not, she conceded, but it felt wonderfully warming to think about the possibility. It would give added meaning to what had previously been little more than a physical intimacy between them. Gemma held high hopes that having a baby together would bring about the emotional bonding with Nathan that she’d always felt was missing in their relationship.

With spirits high and pulse galloping, she stepped out of the lift on the fourth floor, eager to have her husband’s arms around her, to have him kiss her as he’d kissed her at the airport the other day. Too bad if he was deeply involved with his writing. She was going to insist he leave it and give her his full attention. No doubt he would be holed up in his study, his handsome face buried in the computer screen. But nothing was going to save him from being seduced today. Nothing!

Gemma’s grin faded to a frown as she opened their apartment door. Nathan’s raised voice was coming through the closed double doors that led into the living-room, sounding so impassioned that Gemma was shocked into stillness, her hand on the doorknob, her case still in the hallway outside. His next words came crystal-clear to her startled ears, and their content staggered her.

‘So what if it was just sex last night?’ Nathan scoffed angrily. ‘And the night before. When has it ever been anything other than just sex between us?’

Gemma paled, her hand tightening over the knob as Lenore’s voice flung a furious reply.

‘When has it ever been anything else but just sex for you with any woman?’

Nathan laughed.

Despite her being already frozen with shock and horror, that cold laughter chilled Gemma to the bones.

‘You think I didn’t love you that night all those years,’ Lenore swept on, ‘when we made a baby together? You think that was only sex for me?’

‘I know it was.’ Scornfully.

‘You bastard!’

‘Nothing is to be achieved by calling names. Why don’t you come over here and stop being a fool? Besides, you can hardly flounce out of here in a temper. You’re not properly dressed.’

Gemma had to stuff a fist into her mouth to stop an anguished groan from escaping.

A muffled groan did find its way through those hideous doors, however, and Gemma thought she would die.

‘I should never have let you talk me into coming here,’ Lenore cried. ‘I should never have let you touch me. You’ve always been bad news for women. God, but I hate you.’

‘Shall we see how much?’ he taunted.

‘No, don’t! Oh...oh, God, I’m hopeless...’

Gemma couldn’t stand another second of such emotional torture, but the wild urge to burst in on them and create an embarrassing scene was superseded by feelings of pained pride. Why should she humiliate herself in front of two such shameless creatures? They wouldn’t really care, except in how being caught out would affect their cruelly selfish and amoral lives.

But oh, God, the betrayal hurt as she’d never been hurt before. Nothing compared with the vice-like pain gripping her heart, nor the wintry emptiness within, as though her soul had been sucked dry by some huge emotional vacuum cleaner.

Gemma somehow managed to close the door, hoist her carry-all up on to her shoulder and pick up her suitcase. She didn’t take the lift. She went down the fire stairs, quite slowly, each shuddering step like a death-kneel, her mind disbelieving of how quickly her excited happiness had been changed to despair.

Tears filled her eyes and flooded over, running down her cheeks. She didn’t stop to wipe them away. Neither did she stop going down those steps. If she did, she would surely sag down into a wretched impotent huddle, and once she did that she would not have the energy or the courage to do anything or go anywhere. Nathan might accidentally find her there and she couldn’t bear to hear the lies he was sure to come up with to explain what she’d overheard.

Gemma exited the building and turned to walk up the streets and around the corner, no real destination in mind. She just wanted to get as far away from Nathan and Lenore as she could. The act of walking was a salvation in itself, for having to put one foot in front of the other had a kind of robotic comfort. Gradually, the breeze dried the tears on Gemma’s cheeks and she felt the pieces of her shattered soul gradually reassemble into something that was capable of making decisions.

Not that she was whole again. Her heart would never be whole again, she recognised bleakly. It would remain broken, but a type of glueing together was taking place as she walked, her bewildered despair giving way to the human survival technique of cynicism and anger.

You shouldn’t be surprised, Gemma, a bitter voice berated. You had plenty of clues that Nathan hadn’t married you for love, no matter what he claimed. True love does not keep its emotional distance, nor harbour dark secrets. It is open and trusting and warm and wonderful. Nathan, on far too many occasions, was secretive and distrusting and cold and downright wicked. Look at the way he enslaved your senses, turned you into little more than a sexual puppet. If he’s been patient with you lately, it was because he had other fish to fry. He didn’t need to make love to you because he was having an affair with Lenore!

And you suspected as much. Go on, admit it, you stupid little idiot! Underneath you were worried about the time he was spending with Lenore but in the end you chose to ignore it, because you wanted to believe in his love, wanted to keep pretending.

As for Lenore...

Now that the initial shock was over and she was thinking more clearly, Gemma was stunned to find she didn’t feel quite so angry with Nathan’s ex-wife. In fact, she almost felt sorry for her. If Lenore hated Nathan, as she said, then that was because she was also still in love with him. Gemma could well understand a woman loving and hating Nathan at the same time. She certainly did right at this moment. But at least the hate part seemed to clear one’s vision of the man he really was. Lenore didn’t sound as though she was under any illusions. Neither was Gemma any more. Just to love Nathan was to become a fool, there was no doubt about that. A blind fool!

Gemma looked back over all the warnings she’d been given about Nathan, the warnings she had naïvely ignored. Instead, she’d stupidly gone into a marriage based on nothing but the physical. His wanting her to have a baby was the one thing that she didn’t quite understand. There again, men had babies all the time with women they didn’t love. Maybe it was a matter of ego, of wanting to replicate their genes, or of wanting to keep the women under their control.

Nathan had demonstrated a jealousy and possessiveness over her from the start, suggesting that, while he might not love her, he did like ‘owning’ her. Since their marriage, he’d moulded her into the sort of wife that suited him, a sexually submissive little doll whom he could dress as he fancied, parade in public on his arm, then bring home and make love to as he pleased.

Well, he wouldn’t be ‘making love’ to her any more, she vowed with an intense bitterness that kept the despair at bay. Their marriage was over as of this moment. She would never go back to him. Never ever!

Gemma strode on, around the next corner, heading towards she knew not what. But the ramifications of the decision she had just made were not long in sinking in. Would Byron give her the sack once he found out she’d left his precious adopted son? Even if he didn’t, where was she going to live now? She had no real friends, no one she could turn to, except perhaps...

Damian had said she could rely on him if ever she needed a friend.

Gemma slowed her step. Why was she so loath to call Damian Campbell? Was it just pride that was stopping her, or something more complex than that? Nathan’s own warnings about his enemy no longer held water, did they? One couldn’t believe a thing he said. And yet...

Gemma sighed her confusion, halting completely on the pavement, putting the suitcase down. Momentarily, she closed her eyes, the events of the day threatening to overwhelm her. She felt so alone, so alone and so wretched. Tired too. Yes, suddenly, she felt dreadfully tired. Emotional exhaustion, she supposed.

Opening her eyes, she glanced around and there, on the next corner, stood an old hotel. What she needed was a quiet place to lie down. Somewhere she could simply sleep for a while. Nathan was not expecting her back in Sydney till the following afternoon. He was not expecting her to call tonight. This gave her over twenty-four hours to decide what action she was going to take. Wearily, Gemma picked up her suitcase again and began walking in the direction of the hotel.

What would have happened, she wondered grimly as she carefully crossed the street, if she had stayed in Lightning Ridge and come back as originally planned?

Gemma shuddered to think that she would have innocently gone back home to her husband’s bed, unknowing of his treachery, unsuspecting of how callously he had betrayed her over the weekend, how he would go on betraying her.

Innocent.

Unknowing.

Unsuspecting.

Well, she wasn’t innocent any longer and she would never be unknowing or unsuspecting again. From this moment on, Gemma Whitmore would place her trust in one person only.

Herself.

CHAPTER THREE

CELESTE surveyed her wardrobe with some concern on the Monday morning, moving outfit after outfit along the racks in her dressing-room, mulling over the effect each one would have on Byron Whitmore. What could she wear that wouldn’t inspire contempt in his eyes?

Or lust.

At this last thought, Celeste brought herself up sharply. What on earth was the matter with her, caring what Byron thought, or felt? It was her own feelings she had to worry about. Her own lust. Or desire. Or whatever people called it these days.

She’d read somewhere recently that lust had a chemical basis, hormones or such sparking off endorphins in the brain which in turn impelled one’s body to mate with the object of its desire without any reference to logic or common sense. A mindless animal thing, in other words.

A mindless animal thing was all she could possibly still feel for that man, she’d decided bitterly after her run-in with Damian at the weekend. Nothing else. Certainly not anything finer or deeper. She’d been silly even to consider such a possibility, let alone worry about it!

Since this was the case, she reasoned ruthlessly, then the person who needed protecting was herself, not Byron. How better to protect herself than to dress as provocatively as she always had, thereby ensuring his lust and contempt?

Celeste knew full well that the holier-than-thou Byron Whitmore would not contaminate himself by touching someone who epitomised everything he despised. She was safe, as long as she ran true to form. Whereas if she came out looking unexpectedly demure, shock might make him vulnerable to the primitive desires she knew still lurked in that staunchly high-principled soul of his. She’d seen the lust in his eyes the night of the ball as surely as she had felt her own.

A canary-yellow dress jumped out at her and she drew it from the rack, smiling. If that didn’t put some fire in his veins and disgust into those beautiful blue eyes of his then her name wasn’t Celeste Campbell.

Made of stretch jersey wool, the yellow sheath fitted her like a glove and finished mid-thigh. The high rolled neck and long tight sleeves practised reverse physiology by being more provocative than the lowest-cut, most revealing style. Perhaps this had something to do with the way it clung, projecting a subtle promise rather than overt promiscuity.

Subtle?

Celeste laughed. There was nothing subtle about that yellow dress if it was worn without a bra and only tights underneath—the ones with built-in panties which had not a single ridge to reveal their existence. She had worn it that way to the races one day and caused a minor sensation. Celeste remembered the occasion with wry affection because her photograph had been splashed across all the Sunday society pages and she felt confident Byron would have seen them. There was nothing that made her feel better than the knowledge she might have upset Byron’s equilibrium.

It was not simply a matter of a woman scorned having her revenge, as her brother probably believed. It was a matter of justice. Byron had to be punished for what he had set in motion with his merciless ambition. She shouldn’t have to be the only one to suffer.

The image of her lovely little baby girl swam before her eyes for a moment before she ruthlessly forced it down, down into the depths of darkness, hopefully never to surface again. She’d trained herself not to think about that any more, for what was the point? She’d done all that she could, had tried to find her baby. Tried and tried and tried. In the end, she had had to put the search side and go on with her life. Either that, or kill herself, or go mad.

Her decision to put the past behind her and go on living had been a brave one. Of course, that didn’t mean she no longer suffered, or that she was totally successful in blocking those crippling memories. This was the second time this year she had lapsed. The first time had been when she’d seen that damned opal. How could she not have started thinking about the past when confronted by a piece of it? But confronting an inanimate object was nothing compared to confronting the man who’d set all the horrors in motion.

Celeste shuddered, then stiffened and straightened, using every ounce of her iron will to smooth the pained anguish from her face. Her tiger’s eyes, which had mirrored intense distress for a second, now flashed with the type of coldly glittering lights that would have terrified any enemy.

Celeste only had one enemy within reach these days. Byron Whitmore.

If I wear the matching yellow sandals complete with three-inch heels, she decided with icy determination, I should meet him eye to eye.

Well, not quite, she conceded drily as she draped the yellow dress over her arm and picked up those same yellow sandals. Byron stretched the tape measure to six feet four. If that wasn’t daunting enough, he had shoulders like axe-handles and legs any football player would kill for. Top that off with a classically handsome face which was ageing better than Cary Grant’s and you had a man so damned attractive it was downright unfair!

What irked Celeste as well was that Byron’s sex appeal was not dimmed by his possessing the sort of chauvinistic attitude to women that sent feminists into a right flap. Yet, for some weird and wonderful reason, most women responded to his strongly male stance very positively. They became coy in his presence. Coy and fluttering and feminine. She herself had been guilty of such a reaction in the old days, as had dear sweet Irene. Oh, yes, Irene had been putty in his hands, quite the reverse of the hard-edged sarcastic bitch everyone else had known her to be.

Thinking about the way she herself had blindly responded to Byron in the past rehardened Celeste’s heart towards him in the present. Unfortunately, her emotional toughness did not seem to spill over into other areas. Her mind and body were running their own races, recalling things she would rather not recall.

Byron, kissing her in his office when she’d been only seventeen.

Byron, making love to her. Once again in his office.

Byron, making love to her yet again. Not in his office. On the billiard-table. At Belleview. Two years later...

For a few tormenting moments she could almost feel how it had felt when he made love to her. God, she would have done anything he wanted. She had done anything he wanted!

Celeste squeezed her eyes tightly shut, detesting herself for the wave of heat flooding her body. But when her nipples actually hardened, her eyes flung open wide in shock.

Furious with herself for her lack of control, Celeste swept back into her luxurious bedroom, dumping her clothes on the huge round bed before heading for her equally luxurious bathroom. Arousal quickly gave way to other more satisfying emotions, a vengeful smile curving her generous mouth as she slipped the silky robe from her shoulders and snapped on the shower taps. God, but she was going to enjoy making that bastard’s loins itch today. It was the least she could do in the face of her own damnable desires.

* * *

CELESTE’S BITTER RESOLVE lasted right up till the moment her taxi pulled up in front of the court-house and she saw Byron walking down the street towards her. Her immediate flutter of nerves mocked her determination to be ruthlessly seductive in his presence, her instantly churning stomach bringing with it both irritation and dismay.

What in God’s name was the matter with her? This was Byron Whitmore here, the man who’d almost destroyed her. No mercy, Celeste. No mercy!

Damn, but he did look good in that black suit. Distinguished and handsome, yet incredibly sexy. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

The driver curtly announcing the fare snapped Celeste out of her emotional confusion. She handed him over a note, told him brusquely to keep the change, then began to alight from the back seat, just as Byron drew alongside. Their eyes met as she swung the door wide and presented her long legs to the spring sunshine.

Byron halted mid-stride to glare at her, his blue eyes soothingly derisive as they raked over her, taking in everything she’d wanted him to take in. This was familiar ground to Celeste and she indulged in a smug smile. With her self-confidence restored, she uncurled her tall athletic body with the sensuous grace of a Siamese cat, swinging the door shut behind her before turning to face her foe.