The Constantin Marriage

Natalie’s sculptured eyebrows shot upwards. ‘Is it?’

‘I could be the last to know—aren’t wives supposed to be?’

‘You don’t seriously believe Alex is being unfaithful to you so early on?’ Natalie asked with a frown.

Tattie thought of pointing out that, although she was behaving herself beautifully, Leonie Falconer was amongst the guests tonight. Leonie, who had been reliably revealed to her as Alex’s mistress before he’d married her—and she’d had no reason to believe, until tonight, that things had changed.

But although Natalie was her mother—or perhaps because of it—Tattie knew only too well that her mind moved in mysterious ways sometimes. Such as the number of times Natalie had brought her to Darwin over a year ago, ostensibly to catch up with her old friend Irina Constantin but really to position her daughter firmly in Alex Constantin’s sights.

Such as Natalie’s decision to move to Darwin herself after Tattie’s marriage, like some sort of guardian angel, even though she basically considered the place a far-flung outpost of civilisation. And she decided to hold her peace.

‘Just kidding,’ she said mischievously, and was relieved to see her mother subside. She couldn’t keep herself from thinking that there was irony everywhere she turned these days, though. It was her mother who had advised her before her marriage that there were times when men would be men and it was often wiser to ignore the odd fling they might have…

And she found herself watching her now, curiously, as Natalie expertly touched up her make-up. Whereas Alex’s mother was dumpy and not greatly into fashion, but with such a warm personality you couldn’t help loving her, Natalie was very slim and very trendy. She was also artistic and played the piano beautifully and adored what she called ‘café society’.

Whereas George and Irina Constantin rarely left each other’s side, Natalie had frequently sought the solace of their Perth home, away from the lifestyle of Beaufort and Carnarvon and Austin Beaufort, taking Tattie with her.

To be honest, Austin Beaufort had not been an easy man to live with, and Tattie could clearly remember asking her mother passionately once how she coped with him.

Natalie had smiled ruefully and replied that there was an art to coping with men, as she would no doubt discover for herself one day, but walking away from them was something they disliked intensely, and it generally brought them round.

And her mother was undeniably quirky, if not to say downright eccentric at times. She was one of the few people who always used Tattie’s full name, but when Tattie had asked her if she’d been named after a Russian ancestor her mother had replied that she hadn’t. And she’d gone on to say, ‘There’s no doubt pregnancy brought out the Russian in me, however.’

‘Why? How?’

‘Well, it can be very heavy-going at times, with lots of ups and downs and a distinctly 1812 cannon-like flavour to it for the finale. I guess that’s why the name Tatiana came to mind.’

Only her mother could say things like that and believe she sounded quite logical.

For all this, though, when she was not fencing with her mother on the subject of Alex and her marriage, she mostly loved her mother’s quirkiness. And she knew, even if she disagreed with the means, that Natalie had genuinely thought she was protecting her daughter from the dreaded prospect of fortune-hunters, and had genuinely thought she was in love with Alex.

As for disagreeing with her means, that wasn’t entirely true, Tattie forced herself to acknowledge. Because what her mother knew, but few people suspected, was how much of Austin Beaufort there was in his daughter beneath the gloss. And how much of that pioneering Beaufort blood ran in Tattie’s veins, so that Beaufort and Carnarvon meant an awful lot to her, and she’d inherited his almost mystical affinity with the Kimberley country they spread over.

Natalie knew how it had affected Tattie to see both properties start to run down during the last few years of her father’s ill-health before his death, and had sensed the moment of panic that had come to her daughter to discover, on her father’s death, that the responsibility for them now rested squarely on her shoulders. Mystic affinity was one thing. Running two cattle stations that covered the size of the United Kingdom was another.

From that point of view Alex Constantin had been an inspired choice on her mother’s part. It had also been, Tattie knew, why she’d gone along with the charade even after she’d realised she was being steered into marriage with a man who wasn’t in love with her. It had not had anything to do with the fact that she’d been more than a little in love with him. She would never do anything as essentially wet as marrying a man in the hope that she could make him fall in love with her…

‘Penny for them, my sweet?’ Natalie patted her fashionable bronze hair and stood up.

Tattie blinked. ‘Uh…she’s very attractive, Leonie Falconer, isn’t she?’

‘Certainly very golden. She’s a brilliant jewellery designer, I believe, but since she works with Alex you probably know more about her than I do.’

Yes and no, Tattie replied internally. I seem to be the only one tonight who knows she is—or was—his mistress. What I don’t know is why I should be alone in the possession of this knowledge. Perhaps I should be applauding how discreet they’ve been instead of worrying about it?

Her internal monologue was interrupted as her mother gave her hair one last pat and moved towards the door, saying, ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if she designed the clasp of your pearls—why don’t you ask her?’

One of the things Tattie loved about Darwin was its cosmopolitan population. In the space of half an hour she danced with a Danish boat-builder, met a Chinese couple who owned a popular restaurant and a New Zealander who made stainless-steel carvings, as well as a Japanese woman who designed clothes.

Nor could she fault her mother-in-law’s party-giving talents. Now the food had been disposed of, the long veranda glowed beneath fairy lights, and the air was fragrant with the heady perfume of what must have been a truckload of roses and orchids in all colours. The guests were colourful and, having wined and dined superbly, were set to dance the night away. It was an extremely successful party.

At all times, however, it was as if Tattie possessed an unseen pair of antennae tuned in exclusively to Alex and Leonie. So far her antennae had picked up no communication between them at all. Then she looked around and found Leonie standing directly behind her, apparently admiring the clasp of her pearls.

‘Oh. Hello,’ Tattie said brightly. ‘We’ve never met but I know who you are—do I have you to thank for my clasp?’

Leonie Falconer possessed hazel eyes, long gold hair and a statuesque figure presently clad in a beautiful gown of gauzy fabric shot with all the colours of the rainbow. She too wore pearls—Constantin? Tattie wondered—and a chunky, very lovely gold bracelet.

But all this was on the periphery of Tattie’s mind as she watched those hazel eyes narrow with a slight wariness then relax as she finished speaking.

‘No,’ Leonie said in a husky, transatlantic voice. ‘Not my work, but rather nice all the same.’

‘Thank you!’ Tattie looked around and, observing Alex nowhere in sight, added quietly, ‘Why did you come tonight, Miss Falconer?’

Leonie Falconer resumed her wariness rather abruptly. She was in her late twenties, early thirties, Tattie judged. She was also several inches taller than Tattie, but none of that prevented Tattie from eyeing her severely and imperiously.

A tinge of colour ran beneath Leonie’s honey-gold skin, then she shrugged. ‘Curiosity, I suppose. Why would I be invited in the first place? Also—’

‘I can tell you that,’ Tattie interposed swiftly, ‘Irina organised this party. Alex was unaware until today that you had been invited. So was I. And Irina was definitely unaware of who you were, otherwise she wouldn’t have touched you with a bargepole.’

‘I see.’ Leonie looked fleetingly amused then oddly bitter. ‘Well, there’s no reason I shouldn’t be here, as it happens. I got my marching orders some time ago. And marching orders they were too—Any fuss, Leonie, and Constantin will cease to do business with you. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how deadly Alex can be when he sets his mind to it. But when his brief infatuation with you ceases, Mrs Constantin,’ Leonie added silkily, ‘I’ll get him back.’ And she turned on her heel and walked away.

‘What was all that about?’

Tattie jumped and found her husband standing beside her. ‘Probably an age-old ritual between mistress and wife, Alex,’ she said coolly, then her lips trembled and she laughed softly. ‘But how bizarre that you should use me to extricate yourself from her.’

‘What do you mean?’ he said rather grimly.

Tattie opened her mouth then caught sight out of the corner of her eye of his mother, radiant in pink silk that didn’t suit her at all but didn’t manage to dim her personality either, approaching them with a slight limp. She sighed inwardly and said, ‘Don’t worry about it, Alex, but I think you should dance with me in a very husbandly way now, if for no other reason than to let your mother think her party is a real success!’ And she melted into his arms.

Surprise kept him rigid for a moment. And he said barely audibly, ‘You’re going to have to explain later, you know, Tatiana.’ Then he drew her into his arms and, despite the implicit threat in the use of her proper name that always told her he was in a dangerous mood, kissed her lightly before swinging her round to the music.

‘I think I’ll go to bed now, Alex,’ Tattie said at two-thirty in the morning, after a swift silent ride home at the end of the party.

She had preceded him into the lounge, a lovely room she had created in their apartment—the apartment he had bought and presented to her as a wedding present in accordance with the contracts he and her mother had agreed upon—with a view through the wide windows to the terrace. The view was dark now, of course, but the oil rig anchored in Darwin Harbour for maintenance was lit up like a Christmas tree.

‘Oh, no, you don’t, Tattie.’

She stopped in the middle of the lounge and turned to look at him. She had her shoes in one hand, her pearls in the other and her face was shadowed with weariness.

‘Alex, this is no time—’

‘Sit down, Tattie,’ he ordered, and came across to her with two tall glasses in his hands.

‘What’s this?’ she queried as he handed her one.

‘Something long, cool and delicious for someone who has partied as vigorously as you have. Don’t worry, I’m not planning to make you drunk and seduce you.’ He looked down at her wide eyes and slightly apprehensive expression.

Tattie took the glass from him, drank deeply as if she was very thirsty, then in a stiff little voice recounted her conversation with his mistress. And she sat down abruptly.