By Marriage Divided

Domenica laid her hat down on a lovely mahogany drum table with a leather inlaid top. ‘Both my mother and my sister Christabel are wonderful people, Mr Keir, but not exactly business orientated. Neither was Dad.’ She looked briefly sad, then smiled wryly. ‘I don’t know where I inherited a few down-to-earth, practical genes from, but they’re happy to leave it all to me—I have her power of attorney. Now, I have an inventory here,’ she continued, suddenly brisk and practical right on cue. ‘I believe you have a copy?’ She glanced at him out of those amazing blue eyes.

‘I do.’ He drew some folded sheets of paper from the inner pocket of his jacket.

‘And, as you know, while most of the contents of the house were included in the sale, you did agree that we could keep some personal treasures.’

‘Yes.’ He inclined his head.

‘Well, I think we should check the inventory of what was to remain together now, then we can both sign it so there can be no disagreements later.’

Angus Keir looked her over unsmilingly and the nature of the mysterious niggle he’d experienced earlier suddenly came clear to him. He would like to have some power over this cool, serene and utterly gorgeous girl, some hold, even if it was only that she bitterly regretted having to part with a home he now owned. Why? he wondered. So he could lure her back to it? As an excuse to get to know her? Yes, he concluded, and his eyebrows rose in some surprise at the thought.

Then he realized that Domenica was looking at him curiously, but only because of the lengthening pause between them, and the irony of not making much of an impact on this girl at all when she’d done the opposite to him amused him inwardly but activated a resolve to change things…

‘I think that’s a very good idea, Miss Harris,’ he said. ‘And if you have second thoughts about anything you’d really like to keep, please let me know. I’d be happy to accommodate you.’

This time Domenica’s eyebrows rose, in sheer surprise. ‘That’s very kind of you but I don’t think there’s anything,’ she said slowly, as if she was not quite sure whether to believe him.

‘Should we start in here, then?’ he suggested.

It took them over an hour, and, although he’d inspected the house before and although houses didn’t mean that much to him, Angus Keir felt a sense of triumph to think that this lovely home with its use of timber and slate, the design that made the best use of natural light and the wonderful views, was his—even denuded of some of the Harris family treasures.

There was also an air about it of a home, not as if it should grace the glossy pages of an interior design magazine, not matched or co-ordinated within an inch of its life, but comfortable and gracious. Although, he conceded to himself, there would be one thing lacking.

And almost as if reading his thoughts, Domenica said, ‘I gather you’re not married, Mr Keir?’

‘You gather right, Miss Harris, but how could you tell?’

They were in the living room, looking out over the roses towards Sydney. Domenica glanced at him. They were standing almost shoulder to shoulder and, although she was five feet ten, even if she were wearing heels he would be taller than she was, she judged. And his physique and height at this close proximity plus the lines of his face—good-looking but with the hint in the uncompromising set of his mouth and the worldliness of those smoky-grey eyes of a self-assured man who got his own way frequently—did something strange to the pit of her stomach, she found.

He was also tanned where she was not, and it was impossible not to sense that he was extremely fit, and not only from the honed lines of his body but the way he moved. Then there was the masculine scent of crisply laundered cotton, tailored fabric and just plain man about him that was a little heady and, oddly, something rather touching about a small, star-shaped scar at the end of his left eyebrow.

A very fine example of a man in his prime, she thought, but with a slight sense of unease. She remembered, belatedly, what he’d said.

‘Uh—’ she wrenched her mind from the purely physical ‘—if I were a wife whose husband had just bought a house, any house, you couldn’t have kept me away,’ she said with a quizzical little smile, then shrugged. ‘On the other hand, it could be easier without a wife who may have wanted to change the house and imprint her personality on it—which could have cost you some more money.’

‘I don’t think, assuming I had a wife, I would let her change anything about Lidcombe Peace, Miss Harris.’

Domenica’s eyebrows rose. ‘Really?’

One word but uttered with such hauteur, Angus Keir reflected, he should feel instantly demolished. ‘Really,’ he agreed smoothly, however, and added, ‘I like it very much the way it is, you see.’

‘Oh.’ Domenica looked around and he could see her doing battle with pride in Lidcombe Peace and the kind of man who would not allow a wife to express her individuality. ‘Well—’ she faced him again with a fleeting expression in her eyes, this time of ‘It’s nothing to do with me anyway’ and held out her hand ‘…I’m sure you’d like to explore a bit more on your own, so I’ll get going. The other keys are on the hook in the pantry.’

He didn’t take her hand but said, ‘Would you have lunch with me, Miss Harris? I noticed a restaurant a few miles back that looked rather pleasant. And I wasn’t proposing to stay here any longer.’

She hesitated and frowned. ‘That’s very kind of you but—um—no, I should be getting back to work.’ She looked at her watch and then said with a fleeting grin, ‘Thanks, but I definitely should be making tracks!’

‘You don’t eat lunch?’ he queried.

‘Yes, I do, but on the run, if you know what I mean.’ Domenica stopped rather abruptly.

‘How about dinner this evening, then?’ he suggested.

She was silent, desperately trying to think of an excuse and, of course, every second she delayed made it obvious she had none.

‘Unless you eat all your meals on the run, Miss Harris?’ he drawled.

Domenica flinched inwardly at the underlying sarcasm of his question. She also asked herself why she was so unwilling to see more of this man without even giving it much thought, and realized it was an instinctive reaction to a subtle process that had been going on between them from the moment they’d laid eyes on each other. Certainly, for his part, an assessment of her that was not only physical but as if her mental processes were on test too had taken place—then again, she hadn’t been immune from making assessments either.

But it still came as something of a surprise to her that she should have been drawn into the process. Because she’d been prepared to dislike him thoroughly and with good reason, considering the war they’d waged over the sale of Lidcombe Peace? Only to discover herself speculating on his physique but, not only that, responding to the things he’d said as they’d moved about the house, things that had indicated a sense of humour as well as a man who might be interesting to know intellectually…

Or had it been a lot simpler? she reflected. That there was a magnetism about Angus Keir that could be summed up in three words—sheer sex appeal. It was impossible not to be impressed by his body, by his hands, by an aura of refined strength, as well as touched by the lurking feeling that, when you added it all up, it made you feel particularly womanly.

She blinked surprisedly at this choice of words that had sprung to mind and didn’t sound like her at all, and decided it was all the more reason to escape Angus Keir as soon as possible.

She said, ‘No, I don’t eat all my meals on the run, Mr Keir, but the thing is, although I told you I was a realist, it hasn’t been that easy to hand Lidcombe Peace over to you, or to anyone, for that matter, and I think it would be better to make a clean cut now.’ Which had an element of truth in it, she mused.

But the expression that crept into those smoky-grey eyes as he looked down at her meditatively was both insolent and sceptical, causing Domenica to feel suddenly unsure of herself. Because he’d read exactly how ‘womanly’—just hate that term now, she decided with gritted teeth—he’d made her feel, and knew all too well that she was disseminating for the most part?

Damn him, she thought. Who does he think he is? The Sheik of Araby? Only to close her eyes in further frustration as she wondered where these outlandish or coy expressions were coming from, and to fall back on her mother’s tried and tested defence for all situations that she felt were beneath her—pride.

She tilted her chin, looked at him with extreme composure and said coolly, ‘So, goodbye, Mr Keir. I don’t think there’ll be any need for our paths to cross again. My solicitor can deal with any problems you may have.’ And she picked up her hat and stalked out.

Nor did she give any indication as she strode to her car of the mixture of annoyance yet skin-prickling awareness of him watching her that possessed her until she was in the car, turning the key. And only then did she give some rein to her emotions—because nothing happened.

‘Start, damn you!’ she ordered it, and tried again. But it didn’t and she only just restrained herself from pounding the steering wheel with her palms.

While Angus Keir, standing on the veranda with his hands shoved into his pockets, grinned satanically and started to walk towards the car as Domenica Harris got out and slammed the door with a lot less savoir-faire than she’d previously exhibited.

‘It’s the starter motor,’ he said a few minutes later. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t had trouble with it before.’

Domenica, still raging inwardly, paused and thought a bit as she fanned herself with her hat. ‘Now you mention it, it has been sounding a bit strange lately. Can you fix it?’

Angus took his time about replying because he was laughing inwardly, this time at her lady-of-the-manor manner, and because he knew that, while he might be able to fix it temporarily, he had no intention of doing so. ‘I’m afraid not. But I’d be happy to give you a lift into town, Miss Harris.’ He wiped his hands on his handkerchief and closed the bonnet. ‘The only thing is, I’m starving.’

Domenica regarded him frustratedly.

‘I could also tow the car down to the local garage where you could make arrangements for it to be repaired and returned to you,’ he added.

She glanced at his vehicle, a large, powerful, latest model Range Rover undoubtedly capable of towing her rather shabby hatchback sedan, and said through her teeth, ‘Don’t rely on fate always working in your favour, Mr Keir!’

‘Certainly not,’ he responded. ‘But I’m sure you’ll feel better after a civilized lunch rather than eating on the run, Miss Harris.’

The restaurant had a garden area with tables set beneath a pergola bearing the weight of a grapevine laden with dark, bloomy fruit. It offered delicious shade on what was now a very hot summer’s day, and that was where they ate. There were birds singing in the hedge that screened the road, cicadas shrilling in the grass and yellow cotton cloths on the tables. They also shared a small carafe of the house wine, which Angus had ordered without consulting her.

But, both the wine and the delicious, home-made steak and kidney pie she’d ordered did put her in a better mood. It even made her feel that she’d been rather churlish, and she set out to make amends, although in the most general way. She followed his lead on several topics of conversation ranging from sport, to books, to politics, then found herself, without quite knowing how it had happened, telling him about her business.

‘They’re girls’ clothes,’ she said, ‘and marketed under the “Primrose” label. I cater for girls from four to twelve, which is about the upper limit for most girls to enjoy lovely, frothy, feminine creations.’