Six Australian Heroes

‘Thank you, no. I’m nearly there so I’ll walk.’

‘Well, let me pay my share of the first ride, not that I have any idea what it is, but—’ She flicked her purse open.

He closed his uncut hand over hers. ‘It’s on me and I won’t take no for an answer.’

She looked down at the lean, tanned hand over hers and felt an unmistakable frisson run through her.

She tore her gaze away and looked up into his eyes.

‘As for your legs,’ he said, and flicked a dark blue look down her short tight skirt to her feet, ‘you’re right, they’re sensational.’

‘I didn’t say that,’ she protested, going pink.

‘No, of course not, you simply drew my attention to them.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m not complaining about that at all.’

She blushed more vividly and he smiled at her, suddenly and unexpectedly, such abreathtakingly, purely wicked masculine smile it put her into a worse fluster.

‘Well, good-goodbye, then,’ she stammered. ‘I do have to dash.’

He waited as she stood rooted to the spot for a moment before shaking herself and scrambling into the second taxi.

When she got home she rushed in but her father was exactly where she’d left him, watching television.

She heaved a sigh of relief, kissed the top of his head and went away to shower and change.

The sight that greeted her in her bedroom mirror caused her to close her eyes in frustration. She’d forgotten about the wretched beret she was wearing pulled down to her ears and for a moment she almost didn’t recognise herself. It certainly was about as unflattering a frame for her face as she could think of.

She ripped it off and her silky fair hair made a much better frame. Still, how mortifying to meet a man to die for looking like that?

Then the irony of it all claimed her. If anyone had reason to be turned off men, she did. So what had happened to her in the taxi?

CHAPTER ONE

FOUR years later it was an older and wiser Rhiannon Fairfax who found herself staring wide-eyed at a man in an airport lounge.

Her flight was delayed and she was feeling bored and restless.

He was, she supposed, a striking example of the male species. He was tall and dark and she got a glimpse of aquiline features. His physique was superb, wide-shouldered and sleek-hipped beneath designer jeans, a white shirt and a leather jacket that shouted expense and quality craftsmanship.

He was the man she’d shared a taxi with four years ago, she was sure!

He had someone with him, almost as eye-catching as he was; a woman, tall, slim, dark and expensive-looking. She spoilt it with a slightly submissive air as she received what was obviously a string of instructions from him.

Then his briefing came to an end and he turned more towards Rhiannon and smiled, suddenly and unexpectedly, at the woman he was with. She blushed and looked for an instant as if she’d been transported to heaven, before taking her departure.

If there’d been any doubt in Rhiannon’s mind, that smile banished it

But that was when he lifted his head and surveyed the crowded lounge with the smile gone.

She caught her breath at how well she remembered his dark blue eyes and that aloof air—although today it was more than that. He had the air of a man who took what he wanted when he wanted it and damn the consequences.

All the same, she felt herself smiling at the memory of that rain-soaked taxi trip.

Then she realised he was looking at her, and for a long moment she was flustered into immobility with the smile still etched on her lips.

He took his time as he examined her short though stylish fair hair, her figure beneath her grey, severely tailored trouser suit worn with a black blouse. It was such a long, slow assessment and so intimate, she broke out in goose-pimples.

Then he looked back into her eyes and, with a shrug, turned away.

Rhiannon felt herself blush vividly.

He obviously hadn’t recognised her—perhaps it wasn’t so surprising without that dreadful beret. But did she look like the kind of girl who made tacit passes at men?

She bit her lip suddenly. She’d certainly pursued an unusual line of conversation with a strange man in a taxi.

She was still smarting when the flight was called and she boarded economy class while her perfectly arrogant stranger disappeared into business class.

She tried to comfort herself with the thought that he probably had some short-comings like an unmasculine sort of vanity—it didn’t altogether work but, by the time the flight landed on the Gold Coast, most of her equilibrium had been restored.

She’d spent the last half-hour concentrating on her new position. Put plainly, she was a housekeeper. Put more accurately, she specialised in putting her skills to work for the rich, and sometimes the famous, for short stints while she reorganized their households to maximum efficiency and style; or in some cases for a special event.

This wasn’t what she’d set out to do with her life. For most of her childhood she’d been rich and her parents had been famous. Then it had all fallen apart, she’d lost her mother and been forced to make a living.

It had occurred to her that her time at an expensive finishing-school in Switzerland could be put to better use than its original purpose of “finishing” her to take her place in society.

The result was that now, at twenty-six, she had her own one-woman agency that specialised in passing her expertise in house management, style, cuisine—she was a passionate cook—on to others.

She rarely accepted assignments that were longer than a month. This one would be for that duration and she would be extremely well paid for it. She’d learnt not to sell herself cheap.

The assignment, the one she was flying to the Gold Coast for, was an interesting one.

Southall, the present family seat of the Richardsons, was a vast country mansion perched on the scenic rim of the Gold Coast. The Richardson family owned large tracts of Queensland grazing country as well as cattle stations in West Australia and the Northern Territory.

It was an old family and an extremely wealthy one. And as its grazing empire had expanded, Southall, rural but with the advantage of being close to the coast, had been chosen as the family headquarters.

That had been in Ross and Margaret Richardson’s time.

Then Margaret had died five years ago and Ross had remarried fairly swiftly, a woman young enough to be his daughter—Rhiannon knew this from the gossip columns. Ross had taken his second wife, Andrea Comero, a model, to the south of France to live. He’d handed over the reins to his elder son, Lee, who was unmarried. Ross had died less than a year ago.

Both his sons had been unmarried at the time of Ross’s second marriage but the younger son, Matthew, had since made the trip to the altar with a gorgeous television starlet, Mary Wiseman. After a six-month honeymoon touring the world he had brought his bride to Southall.

Again, Rhiannon had gleaned this from the gossip columns but, while Margaret and Ross Richardson had been household names and faces, while Matt Richardson’s marriage had achieved quite a bit of publicity, while Andrea Comero had been a well-known face, Rhiannon knew nothing at all about the elder son, Lee.

It was on Lee’s behalf, however, that Rhiannon’s services had been sought by his PA. With great diplomacy she’d been given to understand that Mary Richardson née Wiseman, in her early twenties, was not au fait with running a large household. She was, however, said to wish to return to Southall its reputation for providing great food, wonderfully comfortable beds and always interesting company that it had held in Margaret Richardson’s day.

Where Lee Richardson himself came into it all, Rhiannon had no idea. Still, it was none of her business if he wanted his younger brother’s wife to take over Southall. It was Rhiannon’s windfall, in fact.

Rhiannon collected her luggage from the airport carousel then presented herself at the information desk, as she’d been instructed to do.

She was just about to give her name to one of the clerks, when a deep, husky voice beside her asked another clerk whether a Rhiannon Fairfax had made herself known to them.

She shut her mouth and turned to the speaker, only to stop as if shot. It was none other than the man from the taxi, the man who’d obviously mistaken the way she’d been looking and smiling at him in the airport lounge before the flight.

Her abrupt movement caught his eye, and he turned to her. Their gazes clashed.

‘Well, well,’ he drawled, ‘if it isn’t the lady who was trying to come on to me in Sydney, although “lady” may not be perfectly apt.’ His gaze swept downwards.

Rhiannon opened her mouth a couple of times but nothing came out. Then she took hold and said icily, ‘I was not trying to “come on to you”, I would scorn,’ her eyes flashed, ‘to do that.’

‘Could have fooled me, ma’am.’ But he frowned suddenly.

‘The thing is,’ she persisted through her teeth, ‘I happen to be Rhiannon Fairfax.’

Those rather amazing dark blue eyes narrowed. ‘Now, that,’ he said softly, ‘should be really interesting, Ms Fairfax.’

‘On the contrary—’

He overrode her smoothly. ‘Because I happen to be Lee Richardson, your—’ he let the word hang in the air ‘—employer.’

‘Oh.’ It was a singularly ineffective response, Rhiannon was uncomfortably aware, but it was all she was capable of at the time.

‘Mmm …’ he agreed with a lightening look of wicked amusement. ‘Perhaps you should bear in mind that life can be littered with coincidences before you eyes—’

‘Don’t go on,’ she interrupted, ‘unless you’d like me to turn around and go straight back to Sydney?’

‘I’m afraid you can’t, ma’am,’ said one of the wildly interested clerks who’d been following the exchange word for word. ‘The last flight left half an hour ago.’

‘I can spend the night in a motel, then—’

‘You can’t,’ Lee Richardson said, ‘because—’

‘Will you both stop telling me what I can’t do?’ She eyed him and the clerk with exasperation.

‘What I meant was,’ Lee Richardson amended gravely, ‘that I’m your lift up to Southall—when the flight was delayed and it was realised we were both on it, I was deputised to drive you up.’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ Rhiannon raised an eyebrow at him.

‘Nothing. But we desperately need you up there, Ms Fairfax. My sister-in-law is throwing a party the night after tomorrow that could, by all accounts, be a disaster.’

Rhiannon blinked. ‘How so?’

‘She gave the caterers the wrong day. They’re booked up for the right day, a Sunday, anyway. So, it would appear, is every other decent caterer on the coast. Of course, it may be beyond you to organise drinks and a buffet supper for thirty people at such short notice.’ He looked at her expressionlessly.

‘Providing I had access to shops, I could do it in my sleep,’ Rhiannon said gently.

Lee Richardson summed her up from head to toe. She was medium height, five feet five-to-six probably, and her figure was deliciously curvy beneath the grey suit and black blouse. Her straight, smooth fair hair was expertly cut to chin length and parted on one side. The longer side arched attractively against her face. She had rather unusual light brown eyes emphasised by long, carefully darkened lashes.

The rest of her make-up was light and flawless, so was her skin, her lips were luscious and gleamed a frosted coral-pink.

Was it his imagination, though, or had he met her before? Something in her voice and those sparkling brown eyes seemed to strike a chord but he couldn’t place it.

More to the point, could she ever look entirely businesslike? he reflected. Would that glossy, rather gorgeous air, those curves, always get in the way of taking her seriously?

She wasn’t what he’d expected. She definitely wasn’t the dragon-like person he’d visualised, who could impose their personality on a household that bore all the hallmarks of descending into a dysfunctional mess.

Although, Lee conceded, she had been quite cool under fire, so to speak; she might even be more interesting than his first impressions of her had indicated. But that brought up another query. She had been staring and smiling at him in a way that experience had shown him women did when they were analysing his potential in bed and out of it.

On the other hand, her wounded vanity might work to his advantage and things were in crisis.

Following this line of thought, he said drily at last, ‘I wonder.’

‘Then I’ll prove it to you, Mr Richardson,’ Rhiannon replied with a strange little glint in her sherry-brown eyes.

A muscle moved in his cheek, as if he was trying not to smile.

‘But don’t congratulate yourself on the fact that I walked into a trap of your making,’ she advised with obvious satire.

He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘No?’

‘No,’ Rhiannon agreed. ‘Look at it like this: I feel for your sister-in-law so I’ll help out with the party. I’m just as liable to pack my bags and go home the next day, however.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Lee Richardson said. ‘Please don’t take that the wrong way, Ms Fairfax,’ he added. ‘It’s only meant to imply that I’ve changed my mind—you could be exactly what we need at Southall. Let’s go.’

Rhiannon was still simmering as the powerful four-wheel-drive vehicle Lee Richardson drove climbed the range from the coast to the hinterland.

Indeed, part of her was deeply regretting the fact that she hadn’t flung his job back in his face but it wasn’t a mystery to her why she hadn’t. She needed the money, she rather desperately these days needed every dollar she could earn.

It was dark so she couldn’t take in the countryside as she thought her painful thoughts, although it was obvious the road was steep and winding.

Unfortunately, the dark also seemed to encapsulate her and Lee Richardson in a bubble where it was impossible for her not to be conscious of him in a rather disturbing way.

His hands were lean and powerful on the wheel—what kind of havoc would they wreak on her naked body? she found herself wondering again, to her dismay.

His profile was clean-cut, his shoulders, beneath the expensive leather, were tantalisingly broad and straight and he changed gear and drove the car with the flair and authority that somehow suggested to her he would demonstrate the same flair and authority in bed.

She closed her eyes and went hot and cold as this occurred to her.

Fortunately, not much later, they turned off the main road, drove down several tree-lined side-roads and came to impressive wrought-iron gates set in a high stone wall.

They opened silently at the press of a button in the car.

‘We’re here, Miss Fairfax,’ he murmured as he drove into a four-car garage. ‘You’re very quiet,’ he added as he opened his door and the overhead light came on.

‘I’m wondering what I’ve got myself into, to be honest,’ she replied.

He half smiled. ‘The nature of what you do—rescuing households from chaos—must often provide surprises.’

She regarded him steadily. ‘Yes, but if you must know my …’She broke off. She’d been about to say ‘my latest impressions’but she amended it to, ‘My impressions of you, Mr Richardson, are not exactly favourable.’

‘Listen, Rhiannon, you were the one who was staring and smiling at me in an unmistakable way,’ he retorted. ‘Any impressions you have of me flowed on directly from that.’

‘All right, I was staring and smiling at you but it wasn’t what you thought. It was because we’ve met before.’

He frowned and concentrated on her face then his eyes widened and he looked down at her trouser-clad legs. ‘What a pity,’ he said slowly, as his eyes came back to hers, ‘you aren’t wearing a skirt. I feel sure I would have recognised you immediately.’

She could tell that he was looking back down four years. Rhiannon flinched inwardly as she remembered with great clarity how she’d been rooted to the spot after he’d smiled at her.

‘I object to being summed up as a pair of legs,’ she said, anything to deflect his memories of the moment plus some genuine indignation.

‘You brought up the subject of your legs in that taxi.’

She shrugged. ‘I’m a different me now.’

‘That’s rather obvious,’ he commented. ‘No longer a chatty, bubbly girl perhaps.’

‘I am four years older.’

‘Is it that long ago?’

She nodded. ‘But to be perfectly honest I know why I was feeling bubbly that day—I’d just got rather a good job.’

She grimaced. ‘But I still can’t work out—’ she gestured with some humour ‘—how I got on to that tack.’

‘An instantaneous attraction?’ he suggested. ‘Despite claiming to be turned off all men.’

She studied him for a moment. His thick dark hair was straight and lay on his forehead. A little network of lines creased attractively beside his eyes when he laughed. His skin was tanned and, although he was clean-shaven, he’d probably look sensational with designer stubble; look dangerous, moody, gloriously sexy and desirable.

‘Uh—’ she reined in her thoughts with an inward frown ‘—no—yes. I mean to say I’m still turned off men, Mr Richardson. How about you? I gather you’re still “unspoken for”?’

‘You gather right,’ he said easily. ‘So what was it, then?’

She studied her hands then shrugged. ‘Just one of those things. Look,’ she swept her hair back from her face with her forefinger, not to know at all that it was the first time Lee Richardson not only saw the gesture but also found it got to him in a way he was hard put to describe, ‘may I make a request?’

His eyes narrowed and he hesitated briefly, then, ‘Go ahead.’

‘Can we put it all behind us? It was just one of those things and, if you really want me to get stuck in and sort out your home life, the best way is for us to make a fresh start.’

He considered several things. That she had a way of tilting her chin that gave her an almost regal air. That her straight little nose would have been haughty had it not been accompanied by a mouth that was anything but.

On the other hand, in light of what she’d been hired to do, a complicated-enough situation in its own right, he’d be mad to invite further complications.

‘All right,’ he said coolly and shrugged as he got out of the car.

Rhiannon took an unexpected breath because, as he closed his door, it was a bit like having a private door closed in her face. Why should it make her feel so curiously rebuffed?

There was a surprise waiting for them.

The house was in darkness and locked.

Lee Richardson frowned then retrieved his keys from his pocket and unlocked the heavy wooden front door. He led Rhiannon through the marble-tiled hall, switching on lights as they went, and into the kitchen.

It was a large, modern kitchen with black mottled granite counters and a commercial-size range and refrigeration—Rhiannon noted these things instinctively. There was a box pine table surrounded by six ladderback chairs and there were some colourful pot plants.

Lee Richardson put his keys down beside a phone on one of the counters, and pressed the message button that was blinking frenziedly.

It was a long message that came through and the caller, a man, sounded agitated.

‘Lee, Matt here, Mary’s done a bit of a bunk. I think she was really gutted about getting the caterers mixed up and she’s gone home to her mother. All she’ll say is she’s quite sure you and the super-housekeeper or whatever she is will be able to organise things much better than she could so she’ll leave it all up to you both. I don’t fly in from Perth until Sunday afternoon but I’ll pick her up from her Mum’s then and bring her up …’

There was a pause then Matt Richardson continued, ‘Don’t be too hard on her, bro, she is pregnant and maybe that’s panicking her too. And I know you can handle the blasted party, somehow. Bye. Oh, by the way, the numbers may have grown.’ Click.

Lee Richardson swore softly.

‘Oh, dear,’ Rhiannon said. ‘Perhaps she’s left a guest list?’

‘Entirely too sane and sensible for Mary to think of that,’ he said grimly then shrugged. ‘So. Would you like a drink?’

Rhiannon pulled out a chair and sank into it. ‘A glass of wine wouldn’t go amiss if you’ve got one.’

‘I have a whole cellarful but there should be some chilled in the fridge.’

There was and he poured a glass for her. He mixed himself a Scotch and water.

He said, as he sat down opposite her, ‘Has this ever happened to you before, Ms Fairfax?’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘No. But it’s not insurmountable. Pregnancy can produce some curious mood swings,’ she murmured almost to herself—then added swiftly, ‘I believe she’s also an actress?’

He stared at her rather penetratingly before saying, ‘Yes.’ He sat back and shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘What I’d really like to do is call the whole thing off.’

‘Do you think that’s a good idea? Mightn’t it reinforce your obvious disapproval of your sister-in-law?’

A rapier-like blue gaze came her way then Lee Richardson smiled reluctantly. ‘Is it that apparent?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘I see why you’re good at this kind of thing. Cool and logical. Funnily enough,’ he looked amused, ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for such a cool, logical girl four years ago.’

Rhiannon moved a little uncomfortably.

‘On the other hand I did find you charming,’ he said. ‘And forthright.’

‘I don’t suppose you’re ever going to let me live that down,’ she said tartly then looked more uncomfortable. ‘Not that any “ever” is going to be involved.’ She took a sip of wine and added, ‘Just the duration of the job.’

He squared his shoulders and studied her comprehensively until she broke out into goose-pimples at the way that dark blue gaze slid over her upper body. Then he drawled, ‘Do you really think so?’

Rhiannon’s nose took on a slightly pinched look. ‘I know so!’ She drained her glass and said coolly, ‘Are you doing the party or not?’

He considered. ‘Yes.’

‘Then would you mind if I had a look around, just to assess the facilities?’

‘Be my guest, but I’ll show you to your bedroom first.’

Rhiannon woke the next morning at five o’clock, as the sun was just climbing over the horizon, and took a few minutes to collect her thoughts.

Southall itself was beautiful, even from the impressions she’d got in the dark last night.

The house had sandstone walls beneath a vast shingle roof. Fluted columns supported the veranda roof, some of them smothered with flowering creepers—heavenly scented white jasmine at the moment.

Wooden shutters graced the windows and the paved courtyard off the main entrance had a gargoyle fountain and a fabulous display of pink camellias in terracotta tubs.

The main rooms were high-ceilinged and perfectly proportioned. Sealed timber floors were scattered with priceless Persian and Chinese rugs. The furniture was a mixture of heirloom and antique, walnut, mahogany, silky oak, and the sheer luxury of modern cushioning in couches and chairs covered in topaz velvet or white brocade.

The lamps, and there were many of them, had a bouquet of deep silk shades in just about every lovely zinnia colour.

The dining-room table seated sixteen and had an exquisite floral inlay.

Behind the scenes, she’d found a large linen press with some of the fine heirloom stuff encrusted with lace appliqués. There were six dinner services to choose from, one of them a very old Spode willow-pattern service that took her back to her childhood—her parents had had one and she’d loved counting the birds and all the other features. There was a vast Community Plate cutlery set in its own cabinet.

Waterford and Stuart crystal glassware abounded. There was enough silverware, including rare pieces like fish forks—from the days when it had been considered a crime to touch fish with steel knives—to keep a butler occupied solely with polishing it.