The Outback Marriage Ransom

Because the picture he’d always had of her charmed life was askew.

What did he hope to achieve by intervention? Who did he think he was? Super-guy to the rescue?

Well, it might turn out as a black joke on him, but Ric knew he wouldn’t rest easy until he knew the truth behind that photograph.

Determination drove him to Vaucluse. Determination took him up to the massively colonnaded front porch and pressed the doorbell. Determination made him endure the long wait for the door to be opened—not by Lara, but by a middle-aged woman. The permed grey hair and royal blue button-through uniform dress instantly cast her as staff in Ric’s mind. Probably the housekeeper.

‘My name is Ric Donato. I’ve come to visit Mrs. Chappel,’ he declared with even more determination.

‘I’m sorry, Mr. Donato. Mrs. Chappel isn’t receiving visitors today,’ came the totally uncompromising statement. But it did reveal Lara was here.

‘She’ll see me,’ he replied grimly, holding out the envelope. ‘Please give this to Mrs. Chappel and tell her Ric Donato has come to discuss its contents with her. I’ll wait for her reply.’

‘Very well, sir.’

She took the envelope and closed the door in his face.

He waited.

In a way, it was blackmail. Lara would know it wasn’t the only copy of the photograph. She would be afraid of what use he might make of it. Fear would open this door to him. Then he would be entering her life again.

For how long he didn’t know.

He thought of it only as…something he couldn’t turn away from.

CHAPTER TWO

LARA sat in the nursery, her feet automatically tipping the rocking chair back and forth in a rhythm that was supposed to soothe, although she knew nothing was going to lift the depression of being imprisoned in this life with Gary. She had to escape it. Had to. But how?

She stared bleakly at the empty cot, the empty pram, the empty everything she’d bought for the baby she didn’t have. Stillborn. She wished she’d died with it. The ultimate escape. Probably the only one. Gary was too watchful of her to let her get away. Watchers everywhere.

All the same, she had to go before he made her pregnant again. She desperately hoped it hadn’t happened last night. That would be unbearable. She’d managed to get a packet of contraceptive pills from a pharmacy in Kings Cross, lying about leaving her prescription at home, promising to bring it in the next day. But she’d only been taking them for two weeks and wasn’t sure they would work yet.

Having a child would trap her in this marriage forever. Impossible to flee. Gary would have the law after her in no time flat, getting custody. Everything within her cringed from the thought of leaving a child in his keeping. That couldn’t be allowed to happen.

Marian Keith appeared at the doorway, holding a large white envelope. She was Gary’s choice of housekeeper, a widow in her fifties who’d run into financial difficulties, having sons who needed helping through university and very grateful for the generous wage she earned here.

All the domestic staff were Gary’s choices and they answered to him, not his wife. Yet occasionally Lara did catch a flash of sympathetic concern in the housekeeper’s eyes. More than anyone else, Marian Keith saw what went on in this house. Not that she saw much. Gary was careful to keep his brand of tyranny private.

‘Excuse me, Mrs. Chappel, there’s a gentleman at the door…’

‘You know I can’t see visitors today, Mrs. Keith,’ she said wearily, rocking on, her gaze drifting to the Walt Disney motifs printed on the wall. Snow White. Lara grimaced. She’d certainly eaten a poisoned apple when she’d married Gary Chappel. And there was no one to rescue her. No one.

‘He was very insistent. A Mister Ric Donato…’

Shock slammed into Lara’s heart. Her gaze jerked back to the housekeeper. ‘Who?’ she asked, not ready to accept what she’d heard.

‘He said his name was Ric Donato.’

Unbelievable after all these years! Her mind spun back to the past. How many times had she looked for him then, hoping he’d turn up, wanting to be with him again, not caring who he was or what he didn’t have. Ric Donato. Ricardo…

A lost dream.

One she’d buried as the years went by with no sight of him, no contact with him. Too late now. Impossible to let him see her like this.

‘He asked me to give this to you.’ Marian Keith came into the nursery, holding out the envelope. ‘He’s waiting at the door. He said you’d want to discuss the contents with him, Mrs. Chappel.’

Lara shook her head but she took the envelope and slit the flap open with her finger, curious to see what was inside. She only half removed the glossy sheet of paper, another more fearful shock hitting her at the sight of the faces printed on it.

Her hand instinctively shoved the sheet back in the envelope to keep it hidden. For several moments her mind froze in sheer terror of the consequences if the photograph was released to any form of the media.

‘What should I tell him, Mrs. Chappel?’

Him… Ric Donato waiting at the door…prepared to discuss the contents…

She had no choice.

It was either see him or…

Her heart fluttered. Her chest was unbearably tight. She sucked in air and made the only decision that might save her from Gary’s rage. ‘Show Mister Donato out to the patio, Mrs. Keith. I’ll see him there.’

Hesitation. Worry. ‘Are you sure, Mrs. Chappel?’

Gary would find out she’d had a visitor. No escaping that. She would have to confess why. Dear God! There was no way out. But better to stop this from going public and take the punishment for causing the scene that had been so graphically captured by someone’s camera.

‘I’m sure, Mrs. Keith,’ she said with far more confidence than she felt.

‘Very well.’ A nod of wary acquiescence and a brisk departure.

Lara couldn’t bring herself to move. The envelope gripped in her hand felt like dynamite, the fuse already lit and nothing was going to stop it burning to a dreadful explosion. Even if she was able to block publication of the photo, Gary would hate anyone knowing about it and Ric Donato knew. She shrank from facing the knowledge in his eyes—dark eyes—like dark brown velvet, she had once thought, caressing her, making her feel…

She shuddered, automatically trying to shake off the memory. No point in it. Too much water under the bridge since then. She’d only been fifteen, Ric sixteen. It had been a wildly romantic fixation…a crazy dream…Romeo and Juliet…ending because it had never had a chance of surviving in the real world.

And surviving was what it was all about, Lara thought grimly.

She pushed herself out of the rocking chair. Mentally bracing herself for the inevitable meeting with Ric Donato, she made a quick trip to the downstairs powder room to check her appearance. Make-up almost hid the discolouration around her eye. Carefully drawn lipstick minimised the puffiness of her mouth. Her long blond hair, as always, was a smooth, shiny fall to her shoulders. Even around the house, Gary expected her to maintain an impeccable appearance.

She wore stone-coloured designer jeans and a long-sleeved brown and white striped shirt. The cuff covered the bruise around her wrist. Nothing showed except…she put on a pair of sunglasses—perfectly reasonable to wear them on the patio, considering the sun glare from the swimming pool.

Probably stupid pride, she mocked herself. Ric Donato was not about to be deceived. He hadn’t come to be fobbed off, either, though why he had come…Lara took a deep breath in a desperate attempt to calm her inner agitation. He had to be faced, regardless of what motivation had brought him here.

She carried the envelope and its too revealing contents out to the patio, trying to quell the fear that was making mincemeat of her stomach. He was already there, standing under the sails that shaded the outdoors dining setting, gazing out at the sparkling blue waters of Sydney Harbour.

She was surprised to see him wearing a suit. The fabric and cut of it sharply reminded her of who Ric Donato was now—a man who could afford as many beautifully designed and tailored suits as he cared to own—a man who had the power to broadcast her private secrets to a gossip-hungry world. Over the years she’d read quite a few articles about him—prize-winning photo-journalist, moving into business with a network of photographic agencies around the world.

Yet she found herself staring at the black curly hair that was still worn long enough to dip over the back of his collar, remembering a much younger Ric Donato, remembering her fingers threading through the tight corkscrew curls…

One kiss.