It Happened in Sydney: In the Australian Billionaire's Arms / Three Times A Bridesmaid... / Expecting Miracle Twins

“Looking forward to it.”

Problems. Problems. Problems, Rowena thought as she hung up.

Was it possible beautiful young Sonya was in some way flawed? Had she a plan in mind? Marcus could offer her the good life, but would she be content for long with that? And what did Sonya think of David? She felt deeply troubled now. David was a marvellous young man. She couldn’t count the number of women young and old who had succumbed to David’s extraordinary charm. David had everything going for him. Sonya would be a rare woman if she didn’t feel his attraction. So what did Sonya think of David? On Sunday she would make it her business to find out.

CHAPTER THREE

WHAT am I doing? Where am I going with my life? I was coping well enough. Now I feel utter confusion.

She often got caught up in conversations with herself. Sonya sat in front of her mirror while she put in her earrings. These days all she could seem to focus on was David Wainwright and the mounting tensions and difficulties springing up between them. She wanted to stop thinking about him, but his image was so compelling he broke again and again into her consciousness, no matter how hard she tried to keep up the barricades. She had the dismal feeling her past life with its tragedies had damaged her. Well, she was damaged, she admitted, but for ever? That was a frightening prognosis.

Maintain the distance. Maintain the emotional barriers. You need no more complications in life.

There was no getting away from the voice in her head. Everyone had one, but, her being so much alone in life since the tender age of sixteen, her inner voice only got stronger. David Wainwright’s mental image was so persistent, so vivid, for the first time in her life she understood how dangerous powerful sexual attraction could be. It played havoc with one’s control. And he was coming to Lady Palmerston’s buffet lunch!

You’ll be seeing him again! Oh, sweet Lord! Forget the man.

Only her senses were exquisitely, excruciatingly sharpened. She realized to her dismay it was affecting her normal behaviour. Only how did one stop the mix of excitement and panic that stormed through her? She needed to block both emotions. A woman’s weakness only gave a man power. She didn’t want any man to dominate her thoughts, let alone her life. She wanted peace, peace, peace. A mature man, who had suffered himself, could give her that. Peace was important, a sense of being protected. God knew she’d had little of it in her fraught life. At twenty-five, she was still in recovery. At least that was how she thought of it.

Recovery.

Her history was a tragic one. But no one must know it. Not yet. When it came down to it meeting the Wainwrights had only complicated her life. She had to decide what she needed to do next. In less than half an hour, Marcus would be picking her up in his chauffeured Bentley. Marcus was a true gentleman, noble of character, much as her father had been. It would be a sin to lead Marcus on yet she knew she could have a real life with Marcus. No dramas. No concealing her true identity. She would have security. The age difference didn’t really bother her. Or it hadn’t until she had met Marcus’s nephew, David. Waves of emotion started to wash over her …

God, if you’re up there, you have to help me! I’ve no one else to call on.

Her parents had died very tragically in a car crash, ten years before. Only the crash had been engineered. She knew by whom. He would never do it himself. He would never be brought to justice. He lived in far-off America. But he had the power, the connections and the money to organize a hit even across continents. There would never be a mention of his name in connection with the tragic event. Laszlo had many friends in high places, even if he had many more enemies. But they couldn’t get to him. Like the Wainwrights, Laszlo was a billionaire with huge international interests in oil and steel.

And she had something he wanted very badly. The Andrassy Madonna. A precious icon that had been in the family since the seventeenth century. Up until recent times Laszlo had believed the Madonna, fashioned by medieval craftsmen—her robes and headpiece studded with diamonds, rubies, emeralds and seed pearls—had disappeared into the hands of the invading Russians when the estate was pillaged at the end of the Second World War. Laszlo’s father, Karoly, had done the wise thing gathering up his family and what he could of his fortune and fleeing Europe for the United States and safety. There, he became enormously rich again.

Her great-grandfather had stayed to the death. His eldest son, Matthias, the heir, had elected to stay with his father, resisting all pleas to make his escape. It was her grandmother, Katalin, who, as a little girl, had been the one to escape with the help of a loyal family servant. Her greatgrandfather and her great-uncle had been taken prisoners and never seen or heard of again. It was a tragic story repeated all over war-torn Europe and Russia.

But the Madonna believed to be lost for ever was in her possession. Proof of her identity. It gave her power, but offered no immunity against Laszlo. Rather the reverse. Possession put her in danger. After the Berlin Wall came down the estate had been returned to the Andrassy-Von Neumann family, albeit in ruins. Laszlo claimed to be the rightful heir and gained possession of the estate, when she was the rightful heir. Only she would never make her claim. Never be in a position to make it. Laszlo would get rid of her before he allowed her to take anything he considered belonged to him. She would be just another young woman to go missing never to be seen again. Laszlo was a powerful man with all the money and a team of lawyers. She had neither. She had long since learned Might was Right. Not the other way around. Laszlo had been pumping a great deal of money into the country of his birth, buying influence and friends in high places. Many of the valuable stolen paintings and artifacts had been returned to him, but the thing Laszlo most wanted was the Andrassy Madonna.

And she had it. The one thing her grandmother had been able to spirit out of a war-torn Hungary.

She shook herself out of her dark, disturbing memories. For a short but intense period of her life, she had found herself in enemy territory, struggling to get by with no one close to trust. The risks had been compounded by her sex. A good-looking young girl on her own was considered fair game. Here in this country of such peace and freedom she was getting herself together. She regretted some of the things she had said to David Wainwright, especially the bit about his family being parvenus. One of her tempestuous moments. She’d thought she had learned to override them, but contact with David only made her painfully aware the wide range of emotions of her preadolescent years, when she had such wonderful parental care, were reforming.

For the occasion she had mixed two pieces she liked and felt confident in: a lovely apricot silk shirt with the sleeves pushed up, tucked into a great pair of cream silk-cotton trousers. She had settled on a wide deep pink and cream leather belt to sling around her waist. The belt pulled the outfit together. Several long dangly necklaces, pretty but inexpensive, around her neck, a striking silk scarf patterned in apricot, pink and chocolate, to tie back her long hair at the nape. She had a good cream leather shoulder bag to go with the outfit. The latest in high-heeled sandals. She knew Paula Rowlands would be there. If the Valentino David’s girlfriend had worn at the gala was anything to go on she knew how to dress. She wondered how serious the relationship might be. It wasn’t intense or she would have noticed. But money married money. Everyone knew that. Passion waned. Money handled wisely just grew and grew.

Lady Palmerston’s residence was situated in the most elite location in the entire country, nestling as it did between beautiful blue bays with breathtaking views of the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House. Marcus had told her on the drive over David had a penthouse apartment less than five minutes away. Maybe he often walked over to visit his great aunt. She realized if one had to enquire how much properties like these were worth, one didn’t have and would never have the money to afford them. Now she had an extremely wealthy man as a good friend. She knew she could make something come of it. A lot of women regarded marrying a rich man as a goal in life. Could she? She and Marcus were moving inexorably into another stage of their relationship. Falling in love with his nephew was unthinkable.

Yet her grandmother had been born in a palace. No fantasy, the truth. Sonya had never dared visit the magnificent Andrassy-Von Neumann estate but she had been shown many old books and seen the photographs of it taken before the Second World War broke out in Europe. She had studied them over and over, awestruck. Her grandmother had been born in a fairy-tale palace? The palace looked like something out of a dream. But the dream had been destroyed. She knew the estate had been taken over by the advancing Russian army in 1945. The stately palace had been left a wreck and its great tracts of valley with its lake, trees and wonderful gardens and glorious statuary left in ruin and rubble. All of the statues of gods and goddesses, water nymphs and the like had been used for target practice. Many act of senseless revenge, the glass in all the windows smashed. Inside the great house the grand collections of family crystal, glass and handmade porcelains. The valuable paintings had been declared sacrosanct. They had been carefully wrapped up and taken away.

War.

Was there ever going to be an end to it? She thought, Never. Life took some momentous turns. There were countless stories of reversals of fortune down through the ages. The Czar and his family who had lived in splendour had died in horrifying circumstances. The last Emperor of China had lived out his life as a market gardener. Her beautiful dispossessed grandmother had died relatively early, with a broken heart that had never mended. Her mother, taught both Hungarian and German at her mother’s knee, had sailed through her days like a swan on a lake, with perfect composure, but it was a composure that masked her deep, deep grief.

She had told Marcus none of this. Marcus didn’t even know her real name. As she had told David, Marcus didn’t pry. She knew he was waiting for her to confide in him, but she had built such walls of defence. Talking about her past would be accompanied by an inrush of pain. No one need know her traumas. All these long years no one outside her grandmother, her parents, now herself had laid eyes on the Madonna. She had not been allowed to see the Madonna herself until her sixteenth birthday. That had been two short weeks before her parents had been so cruelly killed.

Always remember Laszlo is out there to do you harm.

Memories of her mother’s green eyes looking into hers, her mother’s patrician hand stroking her long blonde hair. Good blood was in the genes.

The man past his first youth who wanted her had given her the news of their death, trying to take her into his arms, but she had resisted wildly, even so young recognising the erotic undercurrent in the family relationship. It was a terrifying thing to be left so powerless. She had waited and planned. Then she had disappeared. From that moment on always on the run. It was the equivalent of being turned out on the streets.

The buffet tables set up in the air-conditioned indoors were draped in spotless white linen, and laden with delectable food. In passing Sonya saw whole seared salmons, ocean trout, stacks of oysters, prawns galore, sea scallops, lobsters and delicious little “bugs”. There was also carved grain-fed lamb for those who liked a mix; warm salads, cold salads, potato salads, all the accompaniments. It could feed a Third World country.

The guest list was for a party of twenty. Four large glass-topped rectangular tables shaded by royal blue, white-fringed umbrellas were in place for al fresco dining. One could choose indoors or out, though the informal living room with its white marble floor and largely white furnishings was open to the broad terrace with its white canopy by way of a series of foldaway glass doors that brought the spectacular view in.

They were greeted warmly by Rowena, who led them out onto a sun-drenched terrace where the guests who had already arrived were assembled enjoying a glass of whatever they fancied, served by two handsome young man in jaunty uniforms that featured very dashing waist-length fitted jackets. Sonya recognised the logo of the excellent catering company Rowena had employed. She herself had provided the wealth of prize blooms, including some exquisite lotus blossoms, along with a generous amount of assorted leaves for Lady Palmerston to arrange herself. Lady Palmerston was as passionate about flowers as she was.

Smiles on all sides. Warm hellos. Nice to meet you. Some of the older ladies she knew. They were now her clients, thanks to their hostess. Mercifully Paula Rowlands’s antagonism wasn’t on display. Not yet anyway. Though Paula soon turned back to resume her conversation with her own kind of people.

Sonya watched as David Wainwright hugged his uncle. They were very close. There was no one to hug her like that any more. No family who had been out to look after her, just exploit her. When the moment came, David Wainwright all but shocked her by bending his handsome dark head to lightly brush her cheek. A couple of seconds only, yet she felt the thrill of it right down to her toes. When she looked up, his brilliant glance was hooded. It was obvious he wanted only happiness for his uncle, and just as obvious he didn’t see her as any sort of a solution.

Marcus had been drawn away for a moment by two of his old chums, Dominic and Elizabeth Penry-Evans, one a Supreme Court judge, the wife an eminent barrister. David turned to her, his tone friendly, but laced with challenge. “How nice to see you here, Sonya.”

“Very pleased to be here, David.” She gave him a cool little smile. No need for him to know she was trying to slow her quickened breath. “This has to be one of the most glorious views on earth,” she said, looking across the turquoise swimming pool to the sparkling blue harbour with its view of the famous Coat Hanger, the Sydney Harbour Bridge, and the world famous Opera House with its glittering white sails. “I believe you live only a short distance away?”

He was wrestling with an overpowering urge to pull at the silk scarf that tied back her beautiful hair. He wanted to see it loose and blowing, cascading around her face and over her shoulders. It was wonderful hair. “No doubt you will see my apartment some time,” he said, adopting a careless tone.

“No urgency.” She remained looking out over the spectacular view.

“I don’t actually know where you live,” he said. “But we can’t forget you’re something of a mystery woman.”

She turned back, lifting her chin.

It was an amazingly imperious gesture, he thought. A simple lift of the chin? Who was this woman? One thing was certain: she had gone to great lengths to hide her background.

“Of course you do,” she said. “It’s a wonder I haven’t stumbled over one of your spies.”

He gave her a twisted smile. “Maybe spying is a very harsh word. Just a little checking.”

“So you know I don’t live in your part of town.” The air around them seemed to be vibrating like the beating wings of a hummingbird.

“Well, maybe down a notch,” he said lightly.

“How kind.”

“You do admit to a chip on your shoulder, Sonya?” He knew he should move away from her. Only he couldn’t. He really couldn’t. He saw it as a blow to his self-control.

“I admit to a chip on both shoulders,” she responded with mocking sweetness. “But it has nothing to do with not having a lot of money, or not moving in your illustrious circles, David.”

How good his name on her lips sounded. No one else said it the same way. He got Holt from his mother. She was a Holt and never let anyone forget it. “Surely there’s a strong possibility that’s all going to change?”

“You’ll be the first to know, David,” she said scathingly.

“Marcus is already in love with you. But it’s not you, Sonya, I’m worried about. You’re obviously a young woman who knows how to look after herself.”