'Oh, yes! Byron would never commit adultery. Never! He's very strict on that kind of thing.'

'Even in those last years, when his wife was away a lot in those rest-homes you told me about? You did say she was in there for weeks sometimes.'

'Yes, she was. . .' Ava's confidence in Byron's celibacy wavered in the knowledge of his present affair with Catherine. She'd been rather shocked that her almost prudish brother had launched into such an open s.e.xual liaison. There again, he had changed since Irene's death. Loosened up quite a bit. Look how he'd accepted Jade becoming pregnant to Kyle before they were married.

'What about this Melanie you mentioned?' Vince asked. 'Your previous housekeeper. Could he have been having an affair with her?'

'Lord, no!' She laughed her incredulity at such a thought. 'No. no, you're quite wrong there. Besides, Melanie was only with us for a couple of years. We had another woman before that. A Mrs. . .um. . . Parkes...' Ava's voice trailed away as she recalled the abruptness with which Byron had despatched Mrs Parkes. Had he been caught out in an indiscretion with her? Beverley Parkes had not been an unattractive woman. . .

'I can see you're having second thoughts about your brother's moral rect.i.tude,' Vince said somewhat drily. 'Believe me, Ava, when it comes to s.e.x there aren't many men who can resist temptation, especially if they're frustrated at the time and an attractive woman offers herself to them on a silver platter.'

Ava stared at Vince, her mind jumping to all those rich woman who had propositioned him. Had he slept with any of them? Surely not. He'd been contemptuous of such women earlier. Why be contemptuous if he'd accommodated their wishes?

'Let's not talk about Byron any more,' she said, keen to change the subject. 'Or Irene for that matter. She's dead. If I'm still a failure then I have no one to blame but myself.'

'Dead right,' Vince agreed, making Ava's head jerk back in shock at his bluntness. His smile, however, was soothing. 'You've just had your first and last therapy session. Now it's time to change, madam. No more excuses. So what's the first thing you're going to do?'

'Er -finish that painting?'

'That and all the others! And then?'

'Then?' she repeated blankly.

'Then you're going to do something with them, aren't you?'

'Am I?'

'For pity's sake, must I hold your hand the whole way?'

Ava flushed furiously, and Vince groaned. 'G.o.d, I've done it again. Badgered you shamelessly when really it's none of my business. But dammit, Ava. I hate to see a nice sweet lady like you suffering from having been put down so cruelly all her life. I think if that Irene wasn't already dead and gone, I'd strangle her myself!'

Ava didn't doubt it. When annoyed at something, Vince was all volatile temperament, like most Italians. Maybe that was why she'd always found them so enormously attractive, because they embodied everything she wasn't. Outgoing.. Pa.s.sionate. Highly emotional. Being the wife of a man like Vince would be very exciting, she imagined. Both in bed and out. . .

Tm going to give you the name of someone, Ava, whom I want you to promise me you'll make an appointment to see.'

'Who?' '

'A Mr Giuseppe Belcomo. He's a very successful artist in his own right and an exceptional teacher. Owns a small gallery in Gordon where he holds exhibitions of his students' work from time to time. I'm sure he'll take you on when he sees what you've already accomplished on your own.'

'You really think so?' she asked, sounding and feeling unsure.

T know so. But you'll have to watch him. He'll try to seduce you. He always tries to seduce his attractive female students. Not that you should worry about it unduly. He's seventy-three next birthday.'

Her laughter was rather dry. She didn't think she would Have to worry, even if he'd been thirty-three.

And what does that mean?' Vince immediately pounced, his handsome features distorted by a disgruntled frown. He slanted her a suspicious look. 'I'm not sure I can trust you to call Giuseppe, do you know that? I think I'll contact him myself and have him drop by. Yes. that's a much better idea. He can see all your work without your having to cart it over to his place. What night would be the best night for him to call round?'

'Can't. . .can't he come during the day?' Ava asked, knowing she had no hope of deflecting Vince from this but worrying about Byron's reaction. Much as she claimed her brother was enthusiastic about her artistic talent, she wasn't at all sure about putting his support to the test.

'Nope. I'm coming too to make sure you don't fob Giuseppe off. And to make sure he behaves himself! But I can't come during the day for the rest of this week. My days are full. They'll be even fuller after today,' he finished ruefully.

Ava felt dreadful at this reminder of Vince's wasted time. 'I told you not to stay,' she pointed out in a pained voice. 'Look, Vince, I'm not sure any of this is such a good idea. I mean. . .I. . .I. . .'

One look at his face had her voice drifting to nothingness. 'All right,' she amended with a resigned sigh. 'Call your friend. But Friday night is the only night that suits.'

'I didn't realise you were such a social b.u.t.terfly,' he said on a puzzled note. 'From what you'd told me, I got the impression you lived a rather quiet life.'

Ava now regretted the extent of her confessions to Vince.

'I do,' she admitted stiffly. 'It's just that I'd rather Byron not be here when you come.'

'And you say he's not an ogre,' Vince muttered.

'He's not! He's just. . .difficult. . .sometimes.'

That's a euphemism for ogre if ever I've heard one. But it's your life, Ava, and I wouldn't dream of causing you any unnecessary ha.s.sle. I'll bring Giuseppe over Friday night, if he's free. If he's not, I'll call you and we'll find some other time your saintly sibling is absent. I'll be calling you tomorrow anyway to see how your head is faring. Have you got a headache now? You're frowning at me.'

'No. No, I haven't,' she realised with some surprise. To be honest, she'd almost forgotten about the accident. It was hard to concentrate on anything with Vince making such astonishing statements. Why on earth was he bothering to be so sweet to her?

'Good!' he p.r.o.nounced. 'Look, I think I'll pop down the road and buy us both some lunch. I'm hungry and so must you be. Is there anything special you like to eat for lunch?'

'Not really,' Ava said, amazed at this next realisation that she hadn't given food a thought all day. If this kept up, she would indeed lose some weight. 'A salad sandwich?' she suggested.

'Done! And I'll get us some juice to drink. Is there anything else you'd like me to do for you while I'm down at the shops?'

'Er - which shops are you planning on visiting?'

The shopping centre just a few blocks down the road. You must know the one I mean.'

"Yes. I do.' Byron's suit was there. 'Do you think you could pick up some dry cleaning for me?'

'Sure.'

'It's not too much trouble?'

He gave her an exasperated look. 'For pity's sake, woman, the way you carry on, I'm beginning to think no one's ever done anything for you in your life!' He flashed her a frowning look before muttering something and shaking his head. 'What's the big deal, anyway? I'll already be down there, won't I?'

'Yes, I suppose so. . .'

'Then just give me the ticket and stop arguing. G.o.d!'

'I'll have to get off this divan to get it.'

'Can't I get it for you?'

'No,' she said weakly, cringing inside.

'Whyever not?'

'Because I. . .1 can't remember where I put it. It's downstairs s. . .s. . .somewhere,' she stammered as she always did when she felt stupid.

Vince raised his eyebrows to the ceiling. 'You artistic types are all alike. Absent-minded and airy-fairy.' His sudden grin disarmed the rapidly gathering feelings of inadequacy and stupidity. 'But where would the world be without its artists? It'd be pretty dull filled up with just us physical types, wouldn't it?'

'Oh, I don't know,' Ava murmured, when, as she attempted to stand, Vince slid a helping arm around her. She wasn't sure if her light-headedness was due to the b.u.mp on her head or Vince's touch. A couple of fingertips were brushing the underside of her left breast. Whatever, a dizzy spell struck and her knees went from under her. Once again, she found herself swept up into those big strong arms, her own arms automatically snaking around his solid neck for extra support. Her fingers contacted some soft wavy ends, Vince's hair being rather long at the back.

'This. . .this is getting to be a habit,' she croaked on their way downstairs.

His eyes dropped to hers. 'Well don't get used to it. I only do this on Wednesdays, and only during the first week of spring.'

'Oh. .

'Of course. . .all rules are meant to be broken,' he said as he stepped carefully on to the foyer floor.

Ava stared back up at him, her lips parting slightly as her heart jolted into a gallop. For a second his stride faltered completely, an odd cloud darkening his warm brown eyes. Ava's senses swam under their narrowed gaze and she could have sworn his arms tightened around her, lifting her slightly closer to his mouth. The thought that he was going to kiss her brought a widening of her eyes and a mad acceleration to her already pounding heartbeat.

But she was deluding herself, as usual, his next words indicating he'd only been rearranging his c.u.mbersome load after the hazardous walk down the elongated marble staircase.

'I thought this house was dangerous before,' he muttered quite testily. 'I didn't know just how dangerous.'

Ava's disappointment was acute, as was her embarra.s.sment. Why on earth would a man like Vince want to kiss her? She had to be losing her mind! 'I. . .I'll buy some carpet for those stairs as soon as I can,' she promised for something to say to cover her shame.

'What? Oh. yes. . .the carpet. You do that, Ava. And if you need someone to install it for you, Morelli's Maintenance employ an excellent man who's a dab hand at that kind of job. His name's Roger White.'

"I. .I'd rather have you, Vince,' she said, not wanting another stranger around the house. He was going to send over one of his brothers next Monday for the lawns. 'Don't you do that sort of thing?'

He hesitated, then smiled. It was a most peculiar smile. 'No. . .no, I don't do that sort of thing.'

When his face a.s.sumed a closed look Ava didn't like to persist, but she was left with the odd impression that he wasn't talking about installing carpet.

'I'll send Roger out to do the lawns next Monday as well,' Vince said abruptly, his legs resuming their long stride as he crossed the foyer.

'But I thought you were going to send one of your brothers?'

'I was. . .but I think Roger will suit you better all round. He's a good man. Yes, a very good man.' Vince carried Ava through the family-room and out into the kitchen where he frowned at the wall clock. 'Good G.o.d, is that the time? One o'clock? We'll have to get a move on here. Now where do you think you might have put that infernal ticket?'

CHAPTER SIX.

GEMMA glanced at her watch. One o'clock. At long last, s he thought with a weary sigh. Lunch.

Normally, time at work flew for Gemma. She loved showing customers the beautiful designer opals that Whitmore's had for sale in this particular shop. Being in the foyer of the exclusive Regency Hotel, the range of jewellery they kept there was very upmarket, much more so than their other Sydney store down at the Rocks whose clientele was mostly made up of the less affluent tourists wanting to buy a simple opal ring or pendant to take home.

The sort of person who came into the Regency store was more interested in purchasing an opal that would serve as both an item of jewellery and an investment. Over fifty per cent of their customers were wealthy j.a.panese, which was why Gemma had had to learn j.a.panese before Byron had allowed her to work there. She'd had to study very hard to become even pa.s.sably fluent in the language at her time of starting as a sales a.s.sistant a few months back, but since then constant use had improved her fluency in leaps and bounds. Gemma felt great satisfaction in this and was usually keen to serve as many j.a.panese customers as possible.

Any other day she would have been pleased when a large group of j.a.panese walked in, as had happened a couple of hours back. Today, however, Gemma hadn't felt like smiling politely all the time and having to concentrate on what was being asked of her. She'd been at screaming point by the time they'd all finally trundled out, not even the extent of her sales making up for the stress of the long and demanding encounter. At least now she'd be able to escape and go for a quiet walk, away from people and noise, to somewhere she could just sit and think..

Turning from the counter, she signalled the manager that she was off to lunch, then walked quickly through the curtain into the back room where she lifted her cream woollen blazer off the coat rack and drew it on over her cla.s.sically simple forest-green dress. Her shoulder-length hair, she noticed in the mirror on the wall, was still tidy, its clever cut making it curve naturally around her face in soft bangs. Her make-up needed a touch-up and after doing that she automatically sprayed on some of the Arpege perfume she kept in her bag at all times.

Her grooming complete, she looped the long strap of her tan handbag over her shoulder and left the shop, mouthing a smiling farewell to Peta and Graham, who were both busy with customers. Her long legs moved her tense body swiftly across the hotel foyer, out through the revolving doors and down the ramp to spring sunshine and fresh air.

Gemma stood for a second and breathed deeply, till she caught a strong whiff of the carbon monoxide from the steady stream of taxi exhausts as they pulled up and left the hotel. Wrinkling her already pert nose, she shuddered, then determined not to breathe too deeply again till she reached the really fresh air of the Botanic Gardens. In five minutes, she'd be there, provided the lights were kind.

She walked quickly, head down, unaware of the man who'd followed her out of the hotel, and was still following her, an intense look on his strikingly handsome face. When Gemma had to stop at a set of lights, he momentarily fell back into a nearby doorway, his narrowed gaze never leaving her.

Her inner agitation had been clear to him from the moment she came out of the shop door. Hopefully, this meant that her marriage to Nathan Whitmore was as rocky as his information suggested it was. He hadn't wanted a woman this much in years, hadn't waited for one for this long. Ever. But waiting, he was finding, could be an extremely strong aphrodisiac. And he could do with one these days.

Simple s.e.x with a woman was beginning to pall. It was all too d.a.m.ned easy for a man like himself. Amazing what a combination of good looks, wealth and reputation could achieve without any real effort on his part. Women seemed very keen to accommodate him in just about whatever way he fancied. Well. . .a certain type of woman did.

Only he didn't fancy that type any longer. Where was the challenge in that? There was no sense of triumph in a gold-digging s.l.u.t coming across on the first date. Or in laying a whip across the bare b.u.t.tocks of an amateur wh.o.r.e. Even his affairs with the wives of the businessmen he met in his position as sales and marketing manager for Campbell Jewels were beginning to bore him.

Bu: what if he could possess Nathan Whitmore's lovely young bride. . .?

It had always piqued him that he'd never been able to seduce that b.a.s.t.a.r.d's previous wife. Lenore was a beauty too, but unfortunately too streetwise to fall for his lines of approach. Damian's hatred of Nathan Whitmore had grown with his lack of success with Lenore, but he had no intention of failing this time. Gemma Whitmore was no Lenore. How could she be at only twenty?

He could still recall the first moment he'd seen her at the ball in that exquisite dress, looking incredibly sensual yet sweetly innocent at the same time. There was no doubting that that lush body of hers had never experienced anything like what he wanted to make it experience. The thought of Nathan Whitmore capturing such a delicious virgin for himself rankled. Where had he found such a prize? From talking to her later at the ball, Damian had seen first-hand just how innocent she was, how sweetly trusting and naive.

His loins contracted fiercely as he imagined what it would be like to have her at his mercy, in hearing her whimpering cries, be they either of pleasure or pain. G.o.d, yes, he'd give anything for that. . .

The lights turned green and Gemma stepped off the kerb, only to have someone tread heavily on her heel from behind so that she stumbled and sprawled on to her knees on the pedestrian crossing. A couple of people asked if she was all right, one man stopping to put a supporting arm around her waist as he helped her back on to shaky legs. When he picked up her bag which had slipped from her shoulder, then went to hand it back to her, she found herself looking up into a pair of incredibly beautiful and familiar black eyes. They rounded immediately with the same 'startled recognition as her own.

'Mrs Whitmore!'

'Damian.' His name escaped her lips on a shocked whisper, her eyes wide upon the man her husband had warned her never to speak to again, under any circ.u.mstances.

Damian was Damian Campbell, younger brother of Celeste Campbell, the scandalous woman head of Campbell Jewels. In his late, twenties, he was as handsome as the devil and supposedly as wicked, if Nathan and her in-laws were to be believed. But when Gemma had met him for the first time at the Whitmore Opals ball two months ago she'd seen no evidence of that wickedness.

OK, so he probably shouldn't have approached her on the sly the way he had, or told her Nathan didn't really love her, that he'd married her for one thing and one thing only. But she couldn't deny the sincerity of his concern for her, or his offer of friendship, if and when she might need it. While she had hotly denied his a.s.sertions about Nathan at the time -had literally run away from the disturbing claims -she now worried that he migh t be right.

Gemma had been married to Nathan for nearly six months and their relationship hadn't grown in any way except s.e.xually. Maybe he was satisfied with the way he'd turned her into his s.e.xual puppet, pulling her strings this way and that, but she wasn't. Lately, he'd focused their relationship on the physical more than ever, their lovemaking having taken on a dangerous edge by his choice of time and place, not to mention position.

But where in the early months of their marriage Gemma had always felt wonderful after they'd made love, sometimes now she was left feeling awful. Nathan could be quite cold to her afterwards, as though he almost despised her for having responded as wildly as she had. Was that the way a man really in love acted?

The sounds of horns honking had Damian urging her back on to the pavement, a speeding taxi just missing her. He shook an angry fist after the driver. 'Have a bit of common decency., you impatient b.a.s.t.a.r.d!' he shouted before turning worried eyes upon a trembling Gemma. 'Are you all right, Mrs Whitmore? G.o.d, you're shaking and you look awfully pale. Let me take you somewhere where you can sit down.'

She was incapable of stopping him from taking her arm and guiding her into a nearby coffee lounge, solicitously seeing her seated at a small table for two against the far wall before sitting down opposite. A waitress materialised by his side almost immediately and Damian ordered two coffees plus a plate of mixed sandwiches.

Seeing the way the attractive young waitress was visually gobbling up her extraordinarily handsome male customer, plus a fleeting glimpse at the way Damian momentarily eyed her up and down, sent some of Nathan's warnings tumbling back into Gemma's mind.

The man is a rake. . .no conscience. . .decadent. . . shocking reputation. . .a home-wrecker. . .have nothing to do with him. Ever!

Nathan would undeniably contend that this was a contrived meeting. But if Damian Campbell had evil intentions towards her, then why had he waited nearly two months to put those evil intentions into action?

Still. . .she supposed it was possible. He might have followed her, deliberately trodden on her heel, pretended to be surprised on seeing her. . .With the waitress's departure, Damian swung still concerned eyes upon her, his anxious gaze raking her face before bestowing a relieved smile upon her. 'You're looking better already. I hope you like coffee. I can easily change it to tea if you' prefer. And I ordered us some sandwiches. I was just about to buy myself some lunch when I ran into you, but I'm afraid I have to be back at the office in. . .' he glanced at his wrist.w.a.tch '. . .half an hour.'