The Constantin Marriage

“My suggestion is that we stop fooling around and get this marriage off the ground.”

Tattie’s mouth fell open as she sorted through this. “Fooling…?” she asked incredulously.

He lifted a dark eyebrow at her. “You led me to understand you knew what you were getting into, Tattie. And, for what it’s worth, your suggestion of a year’s grace was a good one. At least we know we can get along pretty well.” His mouth quirked. “We don’t appear to have any habits that drive each other up the wall.” He looked at her with a question in his eyes.

“Lovers could be a different matter.”

“My dear Tattie,” he murmured with his hands resting lightly on her shoulders and his gaze summing her up from head to toe, “I feel quite sure that it could only enhance our relationship to become lovers. Trust me.”

The Constantin Marriage

Lindsay Armstrong

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

ALEX CONSTANTIN rifled a hand through his dark hair and glanced at his watch. It was his first wedding anniversary and the time for the celebrations was approaching fast.

He pushed his chair back and swivelled it so that he could watch the sun set over Darwin and the Timor Sea as he thought about the evening ahead. His wife, uncharacteristically, had been more than happy to allow his parents carte blanche in organising the festivities—she was only now due to fly into Darwin.

His mother, not uncharacteristically, had been delighted to take on the task and the family home, one of them, would be polished to within an inch of its life and glowing with flowers. Mountains of delicious food would be in the last stages of preparation for the buffet supper and the long veranda would be cleared for dancing.

So far so good, he thought drily. What his mother had not dreamt, and what he’d only become aware of when she’d blithely dropped by the invitation list earlier in the day, was that she’d invited his ex-mistress, whose name was known to his wife, to be amongst the hundred or so people celebrating his first wedding anniversary…

A discreet knock on the door interrupted his reflections and his devoted secretary, Paula Gibbs, came in with the last of the dictation he had given her—and the slim, colourful gift box he’d asked her to get out of the safe before she left for the day.

‘Thanks, Paula,’ Alex said, and motioned her to sit down while he signed the letters. He pushed them back across the desk to her and his hand hovered over the present. ‘Would you like to see it?’

‘I’d love to!’

Alex opened the box, studied the contents for a moment, then with a shrug pushed it across towards Paula.

She picked up the box and let out a little gasp. ‘It’s beautiful! I knew it would be pearls, but diamonds as well! And Argyle pinks if I’m not mistaken.’

‘You’re not,’ Alex said wryly, and added in answer to the query in his secretary’s eye, ‘Giving her Constantin pearls would be a bit like giving coals to Newcastle. At least she’ll know I had to buy the diamonds.’

Paula closed the box after a last lingering look at the pearl necklace with its beautiful diamond clasp. Then she said firmly, ‘But Mrs Constantin isn’t like that, I’m sure.’

He replied, after a moment’s thought and with a fleeting smile, ‘No, Mrs Constantin is not like that at all, Paula.’ But he was suddenly and insanely tempted to add—Would the real Mrs Constantin please stand up?

He stood up himself instead, because Paula was an ardent fan of his wife, and, anyway, his problems were his alone. But the question was still on his mind as he drove the short few blocks home to the apartment that faced Bicentennial Park and Lameroo Beach. It had been a cause of some amusement for his wife that the Sultan of Brunei was reputed to own the penthouse in the same building. ‘Are you in the same class wealth-wise as the Sultan of Brunei, Alex?’ she’d asked with a gleam of sparkling fun in her blue eyes.

He’d denied the charge in all honesty, adding that the Constantin family fortune, added to the Beaufort fortune which she herself had inherited, would probably be less than small change to the Sultan of Brunei and, indeed, the Paspaley family which had pioneered cultured-pearl farming in the Northern Territory and the Kimberley region of Western Australia.

‘But you’ve also done very nicely out of pearls, thank you, haven’t you, Alex?’ she’d remarked, and added, ‘Plus the cattle stations, cruise boats et al?’

He’d agreed, but pointed out that she had also done very well out of her family’s fortune.

‘True.’ She’d glanced at him with a question in those stunning blue eyes.

‘I only make the point because you seem to hold my family fortune in a certain sort of low esteem,’ he’d said.

‘Is it because I’m only a first-generation Australian of Greek descent whereas the Beauforts go back to the pioneering roots of this part of the country?’

‘Darling,’ his wife had said, ‘I never make those kind of judgements. The Beauforts may have been around these parts for a long time but your family is a model of propriety compared to some of my ancestors.’

‘So why do you look condescending at times?’

She’d shrugged. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to. But perhaps some of your Greek family’s customs don’t entirely impress me. I’ll leave you to work out which one in particular.’ And she’d flitted away before he’d had the chance to remind her that her own mother, who had Russian blood in her, had actively participated in the custom she was referring to…

All this was still on his mind as he took the lift to their apartment, and all the illuminated rooms told him that his wife had arrived back from Perth on schedule. In fact, as her bedroom door was open and Sibelius was pouring out Finlandia from her CD player, he was able to observe Tatiana Constantin née Beaufort unseen and at his leisure.

She was dressed and applying her make-up. Her dress was long, strapless, and clung to her figure. It was the same cornflower-blue as her eyes and her dark hair was in a loose, shining bob to her shoulders. At five feet two, she was petite with a delicate figure and smooth, pale skin.

But his wife always had an air of vitality about her, often even suppressed excitement. He’d taken it for a girlish attribute at first—she was only twenty-one now—with not a great deal of substance behind it.

Then again, he’d taken a lot about Tatiana Beaufort on face value when he’d allowed his parents and her mother to manoeuvre them into an arranged marriage. So it had come as something of a surprise when she’d told him unemotionally on their wedding night that she was aware of its orchestration. She was even aware that he had a mistress, she even knew her name. And he’d had to revise his opinions of his wife further when she’d suggested that a year’s grace for them both might be a good idea. A year, at least, for her to make up her mind whether to make it a real marriage.

He had agreed and, a year later, was still revising his opinions. Yes, there was something irrepressible about Tatiana Beaufort, there probably always would be, but he’d been wrong about the lack of substance. Just how to quantify it was not so simple, however.

There was no doubt she’d made the best of this first year of their ‘marriage in name only’ or marriage by contract, as she’d called it. She’d relished the role of mistress of his several homes, breathing life and comfort and colour into them. She’d entertained with charm and originality. She’d travelled extensively with him and given the appearance of being a proper wife to the outside world, and she’d been genuinely interested in the process of cultivating pearls.

She had also added stature to the Constantin family by means of her charity work. She was a born social worker and she spent a lot of time working unpaid in a legal aid office. The only thing she hadn’t done to date to completely fulfil his parents’ expectations was to present them with a grandchild. Which, of course, was what it had all been about in the first place.

His parents were deeply family oriented, and it had been a cross to bear that they’d only been able to have one child. Therefore all their hopes rested on him, and they took an abiding interest in every aspect of his life. Occasionally this was claustrophobic and exasperating, but mostly he bore it with equanimity and did his own thing anyway. But when he’d reached thirty and shown no inclination to marry and provide the dynasty with heirs his mother had decided to take matters into her own hands.

From the first suitable girl she’d paraded in front of him, he’d been quite aware of what was going on. He’d even been slightly amused at her ingenuity. Then he’d grown exasperated by her persistence and gone into evasion mode. But this had hurt her feelings and then two things had happened simultaneously—he’d felt guilty and she’d come up with Tatiana Beaufort, the daughter of an old friend of hers. And there was one aspect of the Beaufort girl that had been impossible to ignore. Her family had been pioneers in the Kimberley district of Western Australia—it was a very old, respected name, and she came with two vast cattle stations.

Not that he gave a damn about the old, respected name, although he’d known his mother would like nothing better than to add a Beaufort to the Constantin family. But the cattle stations were something else…Between them, should he and Tatiana Beaufort marry, they would own a fair slice of the Kimberley and beef prices were in the process of doubling.

He’d still had no plans to actually do it, though, until it had become obvious that if his mother was a matchmaker of some skill, Tatiana’s mother, Natalie, was even better. Cool and subtle, she had presented her daughter beautifully, and it was, Alex had decided, rather like sparring with an accomplished business rival. Perhaps, he reasoned, this was why he’d become determined to find out why Natalie Beaufort, whose daughter could have married anyone, had seemed equally determined it should be him.

And finally she’d put her cards on the table. Tatiana, she felt, had been left extremely vulnerable to fortune-hunters since her father had died. Moreover, before her father had died, she’d led a very sheltered life. He’d been a strict, old-fashioned father, apparently, and the result was that Tatiana, although well-educated and very expensively ‘finished’, had had a mostly convent education with little contact with the real world.

‘She could so easily fall into the hands of an unscrupulous man, Alex,’ Natalie had said, and shuddered delicately.

Reviewing her daughter’s air of breathless anticipation as he had known it at the time, Alex had agreed—although tacitly. ‘What about love, though? I’m sure girls like Tatiana believe in love,’ he’d added with some cynicism.

Natalie had waved an elegant hand. ‘Is there anyone less wise than a young girl who believes herself in love for the first time?’

He’d raised his eyebrows and agreed with her again, but this time he’d said, ‘Maybe, but how do you propose to make her think she’s in love with me? In other words, would she agree to an arranged marriage?’

Natalie had taken her time in answering. She’d looked him over comprehensively, then murmured, ‘If you couldn’t make a young, impressionable girl fall in love with you, Alex Constantin, who could?’

Alex had met her eyes impassively and she’d laughed softly. ‘Sorry, but I’m sure it’s true. The other thing is, you have your own cattle stations—who would be better placed to take over the running of Beaufort and Carnarvon than you?’

‘Mrs Beaufort,’ he’d replied rather grimly, ‘this is your daughter’s future we’re talking about, not a couple of cattle stations.’

Natalie had shrugged. ‘Your own mother shares my…belief that a well-arranged marriage has as much chance if not more of success than…what else might befall Tatiana.’

‘My own mother,’ he’d stated, ‘has been parading a series of girls before me in the hope that I’ll fall in love with one of them.’

‘But all of them eminently suitable, I have no doubt.’

‘It is still not the same as cold-bloodedly choosing a husband for your daughter,’ he’d retorted.

‘Then I’ll tell you this, Alex. Tatiana is already a little in love with you.’

This had pulled him up short, although he hadn’t allowed Natalie Beaufort to see it. And, as he sometimes did, he’d mentioned the matter to his father. George Constantin had handed the reins of the Constantin empire over to him several years previously but he still liked nothing better than to be consulted. Yet it had come as something of a surprise to Alex to learn that his father was as keen as his mother for him to marry Tatiana Beaufort.

‘I didn’t even know you were aware of what was going on,’ he’d told his father with a lurking smile.

George had shrugged and confessed that he’d left all the details up to his wife, but of all the girls she’d found he had to confess that he thought none could hold a candle to Tatiana. She had looks, she was well-bred, apparently virtuous, and she was young enough to accept a gentle moulding into being a suitable wife. ‘And,’ he’d added, ‘your grandmother actually suggested and campaigned for me to marry your mother—look how well that turned out.’

‘It’s a different day and age now.’

‘Maybe.’ George had studied him keenly. ‘But would I be wrong in assuming that since Flora Simpson returned to her husband marriage has not been on your agenda?’

Alex hadn’t replied and George had gone on. ‘Your mother and I aren’t getting any younger, Alex. We’d given up hope of having children and thought we were past it when you came along. I think nothing means so much to your mother than to see you happy and with a family. Me too. And, if love has…disappointed you, maybe this is the best way. But the decision has to be yours, of course.’

Alex had glanced at him wryly and thought of telling him that due to his connivance he, Alex, now had a breathless girl a little in love with him, he was being pursued by the queen of all matchmakers and he was actually cherishing unworthy thoughts for a man of integrity—Beaufort and Carnarvon to be precise, to add to the Constantin empire.

But it was only human nature, he had assured himself, to wonder what would happen to Beaufort and Carnarvon if they were left to the mercy of a twenty-year-old girl with a mother who had a reputation of having only one use for money and that was to spend it—perhaps that was why they hadn’t been left to her in the first place?

Whatever, he thought, coming back to the present as he watched his wife brush her hair vigorously then pause and conduct a few bars of Finlandia using her brush as a baton. He’d had to do nothing but go with the flow from that point on. Tatiana had appeared to welcome his attentions and enjoy his company.

On the lovemaking front he’d learnt that she was rather shy. He had strongly suspected she was a virgin and would like to remain one until she was married. But as their relationship had progressed he’d found that she trembled in his arms and enjoyed his kisses. By the time they’d got engaged he’d been sure that, whatever his feelings were, Tatiana Beaufort was more than a ‘little’ in love with him.

So what had happened? he wondered, not for the first time. She had consistently refused to explain where she’d gained her knowledge of his mistress, and if she’d known all along it was an arranged marriage, why leave it until then to tell him? Had she ever been even a ‘little’ in love with him?

Finlandia, and Tatiana, still armed with her brush, came to a stirring conclusion, then she whirled round and saw him leaning against the doorpost. And in the moment before she spoke he saw the rush of colour that came to her cheeks and the momentary look of vulnerability that came to her eyes. Because she’d been caught conducting an imaginary orchestra, he pondered, or because of him?

‘Alex! How long have you been there?’ she asked laughingly, almost immediately recovered.

‘Long enough to be impressed by your conducting skills.’

‘Oh, that’s not fair!’ she protested. ‘I had no idea you were home.’

He straightened. ‘Don’t be embarrassed, Tattie. I have the urge to do the same sometimes. How was Perth?’

‘Lovely.’ She sighed. ‘Lovely and cool! I had great fun getting out all my winter clothes and sitting in front of a fire. What have you been up to?’

‘The same.’ He shrugged. ‘By the way, happy anniversary!’ And he put the gift box into her hand.

She sobered and looked up into his dark eyes. ‘I…Alex, you didn’t have to get me a present.’

‘No,’ he agreed.

‘Then…why?’

‘I’m quite sure your mother and my parents will be dying to know what I bought you. And I’m quite sure they believe you merit a present for being such a good little wife to me, and you have—for the most part.’

Tattie swallowed visibly. ‘You’re angry,’ she said quietly.

‘Not angry,’ he denied. ‘Puzzled. And wondering what is in store for the second year of our marriage or—if there is to be one?’ He looked down at her with a thoughtfully raised eyebrow.

Tattie looked away and turned the box over in her hands. ‘The thing is, I…haven’t made up my mind…yet.’

He smiled satanically. ‘Are you asking for another year, Tattie?’

‘No.’ She squared her shoulders and looked up at him.

‘But I would like to discuss it with you and I don’t think now is the right time. For one thing we’ll be late.’ A smile touched her mouth. ‘Think how anxious that would make your mother!’

‘Very well,’ he said after a long, searching moment, and took the gift box out of her hands. ‘In the meantime, allow me to do this.’ He drew the necklace out of the box and she gasped much as Paula had done as the river of stunning pearls ran through his fingers and the intricate white and pink Argyle diamond clasp caught the overhead light and reflected it radiantly. ‘Turn around.’

‘Alex,’ she breathed, ‘it’s beautiful, but I don’t—’

‘Tattie, just do as you’re told,’ he commanded.

‘But I’ll feel a fraud, Alex,’ she protested.

‘You are a fraud, Mrs Constantin,’ he reminded her, and grinned wickedly as she opened her mouth to accuse him of the same thing. ‘No, don’t say it. You shouldn’t have agreed to this party in the first place if that’s how you feel.’

She subsided, then looked frustrated. ‘You may be able to twist your mother around your little finger but I can’t. She…she just flatly insisted on a party.’

‘My dear, if I could twist my mother around my little finger, not to mention your mother, neither of us would be in this mess. Since we are, however, I intend to put a good face on it and so should you. Turn around, Tattie.’

She stared at him with her lips parted and confusion in her eyes for a long moment, then did as she was bid.

‘There,’ he said, and felt her tremble as his fingers touched the skin of her neck. ‘Mmm.’ He turned her back. ‘Perfect,’ he murmured. ‘Have I told you about strand synergy, Tattie?’

He traced the lie of the pearls down her skin and across the top of her breasts beneath the blue material of her dress and back up to her neck, and he saw her take an unexpected breath.

Then she began to recite, as if it was a lesson she’d learned, ‘The art of choosing the right pearls to put together and drilling and knotting them so the strand drapes like a piece of silk rather than dangling around the wearer’s neck.’

‘You’ve done your homework,’ he said humorously, and turned her again, this time in the direction of her dressing-table mirror. ‘What do you think?’

Tattie took another breath as she studied the pearls in the mirror, but he thought that the whole picture was absorbing her more than the pearls themselves, the two of them close together in the mirror.

She closed her eyes suddenly and said, ‘Yes, quite perfect. Thank you so much.’

But, as her lashes fluttered up, their gazes caught in the mirror. And he saw the surprise in her eyes as he said softly, ‘You’re quite perfect too, Mrs Constantin, and your skin is a perfect background for these pearls, it has its own beautiful lustre.’

This time he traced the outline of her oval face and looked down her figure in the lovely dress and thought that she really was exquisite in her own way. Like a delicate figurine, smooth and softly curved but at the same time full of life and laughter.

‘Give me ten minutes to shower and change,’ he said then, wresting his mind from his wife’s physical perfections, and went to turn away but paused. ‘Tattie, there’s one other unfortunate aspect to tonight’s party.’

She was standing quite still, as he’d left her, and she blinked a couple of times as if she was having trouble redirecting her attention. ‘There is?’ she asked a little blankly.

He grimaced. ‘I only saw the guest list today when my mother dropped it into the office. Leonie Falconer is on it.’

He stopped and studied her narrowly but perceived no reaction—at first. Then a dawning look of comprehension came to Tatiana.

‘You mean…you mean your mistress?’ she stammered.

‘My ex-mistress,’ he replied harshly. ‘How that bit of information escaped my mother I’ll never know, but—’

‘Perhaps she took it for granted that you had reformed since you married me?’

‘Quick thinking, Tattie,’ he parried swiftly, ‘but you yourself gave me to understand you didn’t expect me to live like a monk while you made up your mind about this marriage.’

Tatiana flushed and closed her mouth.

‘Even so,’ Alex went on, after a tense little moment, ‘whatever else I am—’ he looked fleetingly amused ‘—parading my mistresses in front of my wife is not one of my vices. But Leonie has chosen to make herself unavailable today—she’s not at her office, she’s not home and she’s not answering her mobile phone—so I felt…honour bound to warn you that I haven’t been able to warn her off.’

Tatiana drew herself up to her full five feet two. ‘How kind of you, Alex,’ she said with all the famed Beaufort hauteur she was capable of but hadn’t allowed him to see until after she’d married him, ‘but Ms Falconer is welcome to do her damnedest!’

He raised a wry eyebrow. ‘Bravo, Tattie! See you in ten minutes.’

CHAPTER TWO

DARWIN, the northernmost city in Australia and named after Charles Darwin, had only two seasons—the wet and the dry. The wet season coincided with spring and summer on the rest of the continent and the dry with autumn and winter, but, since the temperature rarely fell below thirty degrees Celsius during the day, winter was an inappropriate term.

It was early in the dry season as Tatiana Constantin rode beside her husband to her first wedding-anniversary party, reflecting as she sat in the plush cream leather comfort of his blue Jaguar that things could have been worse. It could have been the height of the wet season when the humidity was legendary, flooding and violent storms were common and cyclones often a threat.

How would she have coped, she wondered irrationally, with that kind of weather on top of the cyclone-like disturbance of mind she was experiencing at the moment? With the kind of weather that, in the few short steps from an air-conditioned car to air-conditioned premises, left you bathed in sweat with your make-up melted and your hair limp?

She glanced at Alex through her lashes. Unlike her, he had been born and bred in Darwin and the ravages of the wet season never seemed to bother him. But men, she reminded herself, didn’t have to worry about looking limp and bedraggled. Indeed, men, she added bitterly to herself, had more powers than were altogether good for them. Such as being able to command a mistress to do this or that.