The Last-Minute Marriage

‘Just leave. You’re wasting my time.’ Charles rose, smoothed his already too smooth waistcoat and walked around to the door. He was really overweight, Marcus noticed. Short. Pompous. A slime-ball. It was as much as he could do not to flinch as the little man stalked past him to open the door.

‘I’m sorry she’s wasted your time, Mr Benson,’ Charles told him. ‘I’m sorry she’s wasted mine. Go back to the farm, Peta, where you belong. Enjoy it for the last few weeks before it’s sold. But get used to it. It’s on the market the moment the week is up.’

‘I’m sorry I wasted your time.’

They’d been silent as they rode the lift to ground level. They emerged on to the street to brilliant sunshine and Peta blinked as if she couldn’t believe sun could exist in a place such as this.

‘I assume the farm is worth a lot,’ Marcus said mildly, and she blinked again.

‘What? Oh, yes. You heard what he said. It is.’

‘So you’ll be well off?’

‘Split…no. I won’t be well off.’

‘Do you have any professional training?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Do you have a career?’

‘Yes. I’m a farmer.’

A farmer. He might have known. Of course. ‘Can you get a job somewhere? Farming?’

‘Are you kidding? With four kids? Who’s going to take me on?’

‘Four kids?’ he said cautiously, and she shrugged as if it was none of his business. As indeed it wasn’t.

Or it shouldn’t be.

‘Look, I said I’m sorry.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Okay. Enough. You’ve been really nice to me. Much nicer than I possibly could have hoped for. I’ve come over here and I’ve been with Hattie while she died. Thanks to you, I’ve seen Charles and I’ve asked him what I had to ask. I knew it was hopeless but I had to try. For the boys. Now I’m planning to bury my Auntie Hattie with all the love that I can, and then I’ll get on an aeroplane and return to Australia. There’s an end to it.’

‘You have four kids?’ He was stuck in a groove, he thought, but had to know. How old was she? Twenty-five? Twenty-six?

Four kids.

His eyes moved involuntarily to her waistline and he thought, no. No way.

She saw his gaze shift. ‘What are you staring at?’

‘Your figure,’ he admitted with a rueful smile. ‘You’ve held up pretty well for four kids.’

Her eyes widened. She looked stunned. And then her face, which had looked strained to the point of breaking, suddenly creased into laughter. A gorgeous chuckle rang out, making others on the pavement turn and stare.

She had the loveliest smile. The loveliest laugh.

‘You’re thinking I’m a single mum with four kids?’

‘Well…’

‘They’re my brothers,’ she told him. ‘Daniel, Christopher, William and Harry. Twenty, eighteen, fifteen and twelve in that order. All students. The farm supports them all.’ She caught herself. ‘Or, I guess, I support them all. They help. They’re great kids but it’s mostly over to me. Until now. Now I guess the capital will pay for their education but heaven knows where we’ll live. The university vacations are four months long. That’s when we’re a family. And Harry loves the farm so much. It’ll break his heart if we have to leave.’

Silence. Marcus stared at her in disbelief.

Four brothers? She was supporting four brothers?

Good grief! So great a load on such slim shoulders. He winced and she managed a smile. Her laughter had gone again. The burden was back in place.

‘I’ve said it before. It’s my problem. Not yours.’

‘You could always marry.’ His voice was still faint with shock and she gave a rueful smile.

‘By Wednesday? I don’t think so. It was a crazy codicil made by a confused old woman who would have been desperate to make things right for everyone. Which was always going to be impossible.’ She took his hand in hers and shook—a warm, firm handshake that was a shake of dismissal. ‘Thank you very much for helping me, Mr Benson. You’ve done more than enough and I’m really grateful. Goodbye.’

And that was that. She turned and manoeuvred her crutches away from him, limping down the pavement, which was crowded with late afternoon shoppers.

She stood out, he thought, and it wasn’t just her crutches. In truth, it wasn’t her crutches at all. It was her flame hair. Her figure. The lovely curve of her slender neck. And her strength. The way she braced her shoulders, as if expecting to be struck.

It was so like David and Goliath, he thought again, but she had no slingshot. She had no weapon of any kind.

He stood and watched her go. He’d been dismissed. She was asking nothing of him.

She was on her own.

He couldn’t bear it. He didn’t have a clue what he was doing—what he was saying—but he knew only that he had to do it.

‘Peta, stop,’ he called, and she paused and half turned towards him.

‘Yes?’ She had the air of someone who’d already moved on. She looked slight and pale and somehow almost ethereal. As if any moment she’d vanish.

She could, he realised. He had this one moment to prevent it or she’d be gone and he need never see her again.

Which was what he wanted—wasn’t it? He didn’t get involved. He never got involved. He’d made a vow a long time ago and he’d never been tempted to break that vow.

Until now. Until the choice was to break the vow or to watch Peta take the next few steps and take her burden back to Australia.

He didn’t even know what her burden was. He hardly knew her. He had a corporate deal to stitch up; he had a date tonight with a woman most men would kill to be seen with; he had a life in New York…

Peta was watching him, her pixie face questioning. Waiting. Waiting for release so she could disappear.

He couldn’t give her that release. And there was only one way to stop her disappearing.

‘There is a way you can be married by Wednesday,’ he called, and the shoppers around them paused in astonishment.

Peta paused in astonishment.

‘How?’ she called, but maybe she hadn’t called it. Maybe her voice was a whisper. They were twenty yards apart and there were people between. He saw her lips move. He saw the thought in her eyes that he was holding her up for nothing.