Wedding at Wangaree Valley

Alana could have kicked her dear friend in the shins—only she saw recognition of her annoyance in Guy’s amused eyes. “I do,” he replied. “Your mother was very gifted, Alana.”

“Indeed she was,” Alex added gracefully. “I treasure the beautiful shawl she made for me.”

Alana blinked back a shimmer of tears. Guy had been invited to her eighteenth birthday party. Not Alexandra. Alex had already moved to Sydney by that time. Her abrupt departure for the bright lights had come as a big shock to the Valley. Everyone had thought Alex loved her home. But Alex had left them. Alana’s party had been held at the Radcliffe Estate’s award winning restaurant. It had been an unforgettable night. When Guy had presented her with her present—a porcelain Art Nouveau statuette of a nymph with long golden hair—he had bent to kiss her cheek.

It had been a token birthday gesture, but she still remembered how it had felt. What could she call it? The very essence of sensation? It had touched every part of her, as if she was naked, even reaching down into the most intimate part of her body. She had never realised until then that a kiss on the cheek could cause such an immense erotic rush. It had been quite scary. It still was, when she thought of it—which was usually at night. Guy Radcliffe was the one person who had ever had such a galvanic effect on her. It had to be what, exactly? Fascination? Infatuation? Neither answer satisfied. It certainly didn’t venture into the realm of love. As she told herself frequently, there was a lot of distance between her life and Guy’s.

“Come through and meet our guests,” he invited now, his dark eyes still lingering on her in that special way.

What was she supposed to do about it? She wasn’t in her element flirting.

“Yes, do.” Alex took her arm companionably. “The Hartmanns are lovely people. I hope you’re going to enter The Naming, this year, Alana. You could win the trip to beautiful Napa Valley.”

Mercifully Alex didn’t add, You could take Simon.

The huge reception rooms swam with bright faces and happy voices. It was a smallish function—only around forty people had been invited. Alana knew them all, except for Guy’s special guests, who turned out to be a delightful couple in their early thirties, good looking, outgoing, and very friendly. The wife was wearing a particularly stunning yellow chiffon dress that moulded her willowy body beautifully. Alana caught Violette studying it in detail. For once she understood Violette’s avid interest in fashion. She would have loved to own a dress like that herself—especially as yellow was her colour.

“Ah, there you are, Lana,” Violette said, when she encountered her. “Surely you could have risen to a new dress, dear? What is that, exactly? Muddy gold? Or is it muddy green? I’m sure I’ve seen it before.” Her blue eyes bored into the lovely shot- silk taffeta of Alana’s dress. “You know, you’ve given a whole new meaning to the word thrifty!”

“And you to bitchy, Vi, dear,” Alana returned, long used to her cousin’s caustic style and almost bulletproof against it. “But I do love what you’ve got on.”

It would have been too churlish not to mention it. Violette was wearing a couture strapless number in aubergine. It suited her wonderfully well. All three Denby sisters were blonde and blue eyed, but they didn’t boast Alana’s magnificent honey gold mane. Rose came closest, but neither she nor Lilli were present that evening. They were staying with a socialite aunt in Sydney.

Simon took her into supper, which was simply scrumptious—as expected from the restaurant’s top chef, who was handling the catering. Across a table laden with delicious food, she saw Kieran talking to Alex. The really odd thing about Alex and Kieran was that, although they had known one another all their lives, these days they acted like strangers. Even now, with their eyes glued on one another, neither was smiling. Alex was tall for a woman, taller yet in silver stiletto evening shoes that matched her short glittery dress, but Kieran, at six-three, easily topped her.

Both she and Kieran took after their mother, Alana thought with nostalgia. Kieran’s blond hair was swept back carelessly from his broad forehead, thick and long, like a lion’s, but it suited him. His eyes, though, were their father’s, an unbelievable blue. He wasn’t wearing a dinner suit—he didn’t own one— but he looked great, in a summer-weight light beige suit. She had one handsome brother, she thought with pride. And beside his goldenness, Alex’s dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty looked very exotic.

Kieran had once called Alex, “The most mysterious creature I’ve ever known.” Alana had thought at the time she understood. Alex had a way of looking at you, with her great lustrous, almost tragic eyes. Actually, there was something mysterious about the way her brother and Alex related to one another, Alana had often thought. Not that they met up frequently, living so far apart. They were both super-attractive people, but it was as if both of them had long since made the decision to walk separate paths.

Later, Alana was much in demand for dancing. Simon called her a miracle in a man’s arms. Actually, it was just that she loved dancing when she got the chance. She found it astonishingly easy, but Simon found it extremely difficult.

“You’ve got to let yourself go,” she advised. She really hadn’t encountered anyone quite as uncoordinated as Simon on the dance floor.

“You’re so brave!” he said. “If I let myself go I’d only be sorry. And so would you.”

A familiar voice spoke over Alana’s shoulder. “As host, it must be my turn.”

It would be just her and Guy. So close! Instantly she felt that enormous rush. She could weep for her own susceptibility if she had the strength. Guy didn’t have a loud voice, yet its special timbre, well-bred but a little edgy, sliced through the surrounding chatter.

Simon beamed at his cousin, ready to do anything he asked, and Alana spun around to face Guy, conscious of damp little tendrils of hair clinging to her cheeks and her nape. She could never look perfect when she wanted to. She knew she had a good clear skin, but it was inclined towards looking dewy instead of wonderfully matt, like Alex’s or even Violette’s. Perhaps her foundation was all wrong? Oh, hell—what did it matter?

Guy took her hand.

It was like being zapped. She even fancied she could see little blue arcs of static electricity crackling between her hand and his. It made her feel strangely weak—as if all her strength was draining away and her legs were about to give way. She couldn’t have moved even if she had wanted to, though her heart was pounding so hard even her ears hurt. This was madness, pure and simple. It would have been much wiser to have spent the evening safely at home, tucked up with a good book.

Simon gave her a much-needed moment to collect herself. “You won’t find a better dancer than Lainie in the whole valley,” he told Guy fondly, only too pleased to retreat from the dance floor and leave Alana to his celebrated cousin. “You can enjoy yourself at last, Lainie,” he promised, giving them a wave that looked something like a Papal benediction.

Guy couldn’t help it; he laughed. “He really puts you on a pedestal, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” The time was ripe to tell him she and Simon weren’t an item.

“Oh, nonsense!” His tone was amused, those brackets beside his mouth deepening into sensual creases.

“Maybe Simon and I should split up for a bit,” she said airily. “People seem to think we’re a fixture.”

He drew back his dark head, staring into her eyes. “Aren’t you?”

Cool. Keep cool.

So much for that! She found herself answering with intensity. “What if I dared ask if you and Violette are an item?”

“Who says we ever were?” he challenged.

She drew a long breath. “Most of the Valley. Simon and I aren’t and never will be an item, Guy. Simon and I are best…pals. Yes—pals is a good word for it. I’ve been looking after him ever since I can remember. Certainly pre-school.”

“He loves you.” There was a quiet seriousness in Guy’s voice.

Uncertain, she searched his eyes. They were beautiful eyes, black as night, but with a diamond sheen. “You sound serious?”

“I’m always serious with you, Alana.”

Heat swept her like a flame. She could feel the flush spread out all over her body. “Well, I never knew that! In fact, it’s a bit too much to take in. Generally you speak to me as though I haven’t made much progress since my eighteenth birthday.”

“A bad habit I picked up,” he rejoined suavely.

“So you admit it?”

“Absolutely. You didn’t really want me to treat you like an alluring woman, did you?”

She nearly folded, deeply surprised. “Hey, I’m not the alluring one. You are.” The heat off her body could be throwing off sparks.

“Alana, that’s plain crazy!” He spun her then, in what felt like some elegant choreographed step. In fact the two of them were beginning to look like ballroom champions, she thought, aware people were looking their way, expressions openly admiring. “Men aren’t alluring,” he scoffed gently.

“Aren’t they?” He gave off male allure in metre-high waves. “You should try reading some of Vi’s romances.”

“Violette reads romances? How delicious!”

As was his laugh. “Well, she might, for all I know. I was having a little joke. But, just so there’s no misunderstanding, I want to make it perfectly plain. Simon and I have no plans that involve romance.”

That little smile was tugging at his mouth. “Does one have to plan it?’ he asked. “Surely it just happens? You wake up one morning wishing you could reach out for that special someone.”

Her body quickened. She knew his hands would be just lovely. “Well, you must have done a fair bit of that—” There was the faintest trace of hostility in her voice. She broke off, horrified. He was her host.

He drew back to stare down at her. “It might be a good time to tell you, Ms Callaghan, that you’ve just about used up all my gentler feelings towards you.”

“So I should start to worry?” she challenged.

For answer he pulled her in so close that the room around them started to blur.