Not a Marrying Man (14 page)

Sleep would not come, however, her mind as agitated as her body.

It had been a mistake, she finally accepted, having Warwick look after her. She should have gone home to her mother. She could still do that, she supposed. Her mother was in regular contact, ringing her at least every second day. Though she hadn’t been up to visit her daughter as yet. She claimed she’d caught the flu the day after Amber’s accident and hadn’t felt up to the drive.

Amber wasn’t entirely convinced of this. Doreen didn’t sound all that sick. But perhaps she was being paranoid.

Even so it was enough to make Amber reluctant to ask her mother for help. Under the circumstances, there was no alternative but to see this nightmare through.

Three and a half more weeks she had to endure. What a ghastly thought!

F
OUR
days later, Amber woke, feeling marginally better at the prospect of actually going out that day, dressed in something really nice for a change. Tara had been kind enough to go shopping for her, bringing back several outfits from a local boutique for Amber to have a look at.

One had stood out as both practical and beautiful, a pale blue woollen trouser suit with flared trousers that totally hid the ugly boot she had to wear. It had a long cardigan-style jacket, which was both stylish and contemporary, and a cream silk cami to wear underneath.

Amber had known without trying it on that it would be perfect.

The only trouble was getting it on. Judy was away for the weekend and couldn’t come in to shower and dress her as usual.

‘I think you can manage on your own now,’ Judy had said the day before. ‘Or you can get Warwick to help you.’

Amber had agreed to the woman’s face, but privately resolved that she would manage on her own, even if it killed her.

Admittedly, she was much steadier on her feet these days. It was three weeks now since her fall, the wound
from the operation had healed and the stitches were out. But it was still painful to put her weight on her ankle without the boot. She could manage to take herself to the bathroom easily, though she couldn’t leave the boot on in the shower as it would get very wet indeed. There was a stool in the corner for her to sit on, but Amber doubted she could get in and out of the shower stall without help. Which meant she would have to ask Warwick.

Not a good idea!

In the end she managed by wrapping the whole boot in cling-wrap. But it took her ages. Drying herself afterwards was particularly awkward, since she had to hold on to the towel rail whilst wiping herself down single-handed. Drying her hair wouldn’t be so bad as she’d thought ahead and set up her dryer on the bed, along with her underwear.

Possibly it was the noise of the hair-dryer that masked Warwick’s knock on the door. Whatever, suddenly, without warning, the door opened and he strode in, grinding to a abrupt halt when he saw that Amber was sitting on the side of the bed, stark naked.

‘Oh!’ she gasped, and snatched up a pillow to hold in front of her.

He laughed. ‘A bit late for that, don’t you think? I did knock. Obviously you didn’t hear me. I just wanted to see how you were getting on. It’s a quarter to twelve. I said we’d be there around twelve.’

Amber pulled a face. ‘I’m sorry but I won’t be ready for at least another fifteen minutes. I haven’t any makeup on and I’m not dressed yet.’

‘Um, yes, I did see that,’ he said.

Warwick could not believe it when she blushed. How many times had he seen her naked?

So why, Warwick, old man, did the sight of her sitting sweetly like that turn you on instantly?

‘It took me for ever in the shower,’ she said, clearly flustered by his presence.

Maybe she could see that he was excited. His jeans were fairly fitted.

‘I’ll give Max a call and tell him we’ll be fifteen minutes late,’ Warwick said, turning to walk quickly from the room. No point in embarrassing both of them further. Or in wanting what he could no longer have.

Fifteen minutes later he knocked on the bedroom door again.

‘Yes, you can come in,’ Amber replied. ‘I’m ready.’

Warwick did his best not to let the sight of her affect him this time, but she looked achingly beautiful.

‘You look lovely,’ he said. ‘Blue suits you.’

‘Thank you. You look very nice too.’

‘Nice?’ he repeated drily. ‘I’ll have you know I spent a small fortune on this outfit!’ A total lie. The black jeans and black and grey striped shirt had cost him around two hundred dollars in a menswear shop at Erina Fair, and the black leather jacket had been on sale for two-fifty at the same place.

He’d seen the complete outfit in the window, liked it, walked in and bought the lot, a most unusual thing for him to do. A few weeks ago he would never have purchased ready-to-wear clothes. He’d always had everything tailor-made. But since coming to Wamberal he no longer cared about such things. They seemed. unimportant.

Neither did he care about arriving at Max’s in Aunt Kate’s car rather than his made-to-impress Ferrari. All he cared about was Amber’s comfort.

‘I’ve never actually been here before,’ Amber said
when they arrived at Max’s address, which was less than a kilometre away from the B & B. Even from the street, it looked impressive: a multi-level cement-rendered house right on the beach. But what else would one expect? Max was a seriously wealthy man.

Amber and Warwick were stopped in front of the high-security gates for little more than ten seconds before they slid open to reveal an enclosed courtyard graced by tall palm trees and a fountain in the middle. Warwick drove in and followed the paved circular drive, bypassing a large garage complex on their left before pulling up in front of an elegantly columned portico. One of the two massive wooden front doors opened as soon as he turned off the engine, Max emerging with a welcoming smile on his face.

The two men helped Amber out of the car, Amber having refused to bring the walking frame along.

‘You’re just in time,’ Max said to them both as they made their way slowly up the steps. ‘I opened a bottle of simply marvellous red ten minutes ago and it should be ready to drink by now. But you don’t have to worry, Amber. Warwick told me you’re not a red girl, so I’ve put a couple of bottles of Sauvignon Blanc on ice for you.’

‘A couple of bottles!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ll be under the table before I’m finished.’

‘I wouldn’t think so. Tara prefers white as well. She’ll help you drink it. This way …’

‘What a lovely home you have,’ Amber said as she was led through the spacious foyer into the body of the house.

She’d been expecting something way different from the décor that greeted her. In the time she’d spent with Warwick in Sydney, she’d gone to a lot of dinner parties
in the homes of the rich and famous. Amber had found that she could divide the décor of these houses into two types: those that were filled to the rafters with chandeliers, antiques and more marble than the Vatican; and then there were the ones whose owners invariably had a penchant for black and white, plus the kind of stylistic minimalist furniture that looked good in a photospread but lacked both warmth and comfort in reality.

Tara and Max’s home was filled with both warmth
and
comfort, without an antique or a chandelier in sight. The main living area was open-plan, with recessed lighting and polished wooden floors covered by lush cream rugs, the same colours as the walls.

Everything was modern, yet casual: the soft-looking leather lounge suite in a lovely buttery yellow; the kitchen with its cream cupboards and stone bench tops. There was a play area for the children to one side, an informal eating area on the other, and a huge flat-screen television built into the back wall, on either side of which were floor-to-ceiling glass doors, beyond which Amber glimpsed a decked terrace and a pool.

‘Tara’s just getting Jasmine dressed after her morning nap,’ Max said, explaining his wife’s absence. ‘But she won’t be long.’

‘That’s all right,’ Amber replied. ‘Take me out to that table on the terrace and I’ll just sit in the sunshine.’

‘Good idea. I’ll pour you some wine in a jiffy but first I want Warwick to come and meet Stevie. He’s outside playing in the sandpit as usual.’

Warwick had forgotten about Max’s children when he’d accepted the invitation to this barbecue. He wasn’t good with kids, perhaps because he knew he would never have any. He was often impatient with them, and
indifferent to the many qualities their parents proudly pointed out.

But it was impossible not to like Stevie. Not only was he a good-looking child, he was totally lacking in that annoying energy that small children seemed incapable of harnessing. He also didn’t seem to need to be constantly entertained, being perfectly happy playing in the sandpit by himself, making roads and garages for his toy cars.

‘What a great boy you have there,’ Warwick said as the two men returned to the house.

‘We think so. He’s nothing like I was as a child,’ Max said as he went about getting everyone a drink. ‘I was a right little pain in the butt. Always wanting attention, always wanting to be first. Stevie’s extremely self-contained and very easy-going. He takes after my kid brother, who had the most wonderfully placid nature. His name was Stevie, too. Unfortunately he died young, of testicular cancer.’

‘What rotten luck.’

‘I don’t think it was totally a question of luck. Mum said he probably inherited the gene which caused it.’

Any talk of inheriting bad genes always got Warwick’s attention. ‘Aren’t you worried you might have inherited it as well?’

‘Nope. Stevie and I have different dads. Stevie’s father died young of cancer. My dad’s still going strong. He did have a stroke a few years back, but he’s recovered well.’

‘Your mother married twice, did she?’

When Max hesitated to answer Warwick knew he’d possibly touched a nerve.

‘No,’ Max said eventually. ‘Mum had an affair.’

‘Ah …’

Max shrugged. ‘It wasn’t entirely her fault. My dad was away from home a lot. I guess she was lonely.’

‘Does your father know about your mother’s affair, and your brother’s paternity?’

‘He didn’t at first. When he found out, he did what most men do when faced with something unthinkable. He ran away. Well, not literally. But he travelled even more than he already did.’

Which is what I do, Warwick conceded. Travel a lot. Go from place to place, business to business, woman to woman.

And it had worked well for him up till now. He hadn’t allowed himself time to think. Thinking inevitably led to depression and other more terrible thoughts. He felt genuinely sorry for Max’s father and understood fully his methods of dealing with his wife’s infidelity.

‘It must have been a very difficult time for him,’ he said sincerely.

‘It was a very difficult time for me, too,’ Max said a bit sharply. But then he shrugged. ‘But that’s all past. No point in living in the past.’

‘No point at all,’ Warwick agreed. It was the future that was the worry.

‘Here. Take this glass of white out to your girl. I’ll go see what’s keeping Tara.’

Warwick stood for a long moment after Max disappeared. Finally he gave himself a mental shake and headed for the terrace.

‘It
is
good to get out of that bedroom for a while,’ Amber said as he handed her the glass of white.

‘Max has gone to see what’s keeping Tara,’ he told her, and took a sip of his own wine. ‘Mmm. This is a
very
good red.’

‘Oh, you men and red wine,’ Amber said somewhat
impatiently. ‘I don’t know what you see in it. Give me white any day.’

‘You’ll change your mind when your taste buds mature. Ah, here’s Tara now. With little Jasmine, isn’t it?’

How strange, Warwick thought as he looked Max’s wife up and down. She was a really stunning-looking blonde, and had a great figure, shown to advantage in tight white jeans and an emerald green mohair jumper that matched her green eyes.

But she didn’t make his heart race the way Amber could, which perhaps was just as well.

Warwick soon saw that Max’s three-year-old daughter was absolutely nothing like her older brother, either in looks or in nature. Whilst Stevie was an attractive enough child, Jasmine promised to be a great beauty, with her mother’s heart-shaped face, soft blonde hair and striking green eyes. On top of that, where Stevie didn’t like attention, Jasmine lapped it up. She quickly demanded that ‘Uncle Wawie’ pick her up and hold her whilst her daddy attended to the barbecue.

Amber had already gone back inside with Tara so Warwick could find no reason to refuse.

‘Jasmine loves to watch me do the barbecue, don’t you, princess?’ Max said indulgently after Warwick had hoisted Jasmine up high into his arms.

‘Daddy sometimes burns the meat,’ his daughter said, somewhat precociously for a three-year-old. “Specially the sausages. That’s why I have to watch. You can watch too, Uncle Wawie.’

Max rolled his eyes. ‘What say Uncle Wawie looks after the sausages whilst I do the steak?’

Jasmine pouted her already pouty lips. ‘He can’t do
that, Daddy. He only has two hands and they’re both busy.’

‘Yes, Max,’ Warwick said. ‘Very busy.’ And he picked up his wine glass with his free hand and took an appreciative swallow.

Max shot him a droll look. ‘I tell you what, Jasmine. Why don’t you go over and play with Stevie in the sandpit? He must be lonely there all alone.’

‘Stevie likes playing ‘lone, Daddy. I want to stay here.’ And she batted her eyelashes shamelessly at Warwick.

Suddenly, it killed him, the fact that he would never have a gorgeous little girl of his own like this. Or a great son like Stevie.

If only he hadn’t been his father’s son, he could have married Amber, and had a family like Max’s. He could have lived up here in a house just like this. Could have grown old with Amber the way Max would probably grow old with Tara. Could have become a grandfather, even.

But that would never be.

Max was so right. It was all a matter of inheritance.

Warwick knew then that he could not bear to stay with Amber much longer. He had to go back to the life he’d had before, where nothing and no one mattered to him. This was much too painful.