Damian's open relaxed chatter flooded her with relief. At the same time, irritation that she'd begun to think like Nathan welled up inside her. Did she honestly want to be like her husband, looking upon everything with a world-weary cynicism? He denigrated every single man who even so much as looked sideways at her. In his opinion, the whole male s.e.x was wickedly waiting in the wings for her to give them the slightest cue or come-on before launching into a ruthless seduction.

Seeing Damian in the flesh again was a rea.s.surance in itself. His extraordinary handsomeness was not to Gemma's personal taste, but still, here was a man who could have just about any single woman who took his fancy. Why would he be bothered chasing after a married woman who, even if she was being besieged with doubts about her husband's love, was still very much in love with that same husband?

'You haven't bolted yet.' he suddenly teased, black eyes twinkling with a wry amus.e.m.e.nt.

'No,' she admitted.

'Don't tell me. The boss is out of town this week and you can't get caught.'

A guilty colour slashed across her high cheekbones.

'Not at all,' she denied. But it was true, in a way. It was Wednesday, and because of a matinee performance at the theatre where A Woman in Black was to be staged, rehearsal today was being held at a small theatre out in the suburbs. There was no chance of Nathan dropping in at the shop unexpectedly this afternoon, or of her being caught drinking coffee with Damian Campbell. 'I don't like you talking about Nathan like that,' she reproached. 'It's not nice.'

'Sorry.'

Gemma looked over at him. He didn't sound or look at all sorry, and his boyish grin was very disarming. She found herself smiling back at him.

'I think you might be as naughty as everyone says you are,' she said, her voice shaking a little. She was shaking a little, as though it were her behaviour that was naughty. But why shouldn't she have coffee with a man? she thought mutinously. Nathan had more than d.a.m.ned coffee with Lenore!

Damian laughed at her remark. 'I've been called a lot of things, but never naughty. At least, not since kindergarten.' Sparkling black eyes caressed hers across the table, Gemma feeling slightly discomfited by - the feeling of intimacy he'd managed to convey so quickly. There was something about Damian's eyes that was very magnetic. Once they locked on to you, you couldn't seem to look away.

Gemma had to make a real effort to drop hers down to the white tablecloth.

'Nathan found out about us, didn't he?' Damian said.

Her chin snapped up. 'There is no us , Damian,' she protested huskily.

He said nothing for a few seconds, that hypnotic black gaze boring into her till she felt almost light-headed. When his eyes finally slid away, an odd shudder rippled through her, almost as if she'd been physically released from some hidden force-field.

'No, of course not,' he said coolly, 'I only meant that he'd found out I'd spoken to you privately at the ball.' Now his gaze returned, penetrating and unsmiling. 'I'll bet he gave you an earful about me. . .

'Yet you're still sitting here,' he added slowly and with a sardonic arch to one of his straight black brows. 'Why is that, I wonder? Could it be that little Gemma doesn't quite believe everything her husband dishes out to her these days? Has she decided to buck the hand that feeds her? And dresses her? And undresses her. . .?'

Gemma shot to her feet just as the waitress arrived with their order on a tray. Under the other girl's startled look, she sank back down into her chair, deciding to depart in a more decorous fashion once the girl had gone. But during the time it took for the waitress to place the sandwiches and coffee on the table, then ask coyly if the gentleman wanted anything else, her anger dissipated somewhat.

Besides, she was rather curious about Damian's antagonism towards Nathan, and vice versa. Was it simply an extension of that old feud between the Campbells and the Whitmores? Or something more personal? It reminded her of the bitter enmity between Celeste Campbell and Byron. No one seeing them together could believe their mutual hatred was solely based on an argument their fathers had had over forty years before. It was too spiteful, too intense.

'I'm sorry,' Damian apologised again once they were alone. And he seemed to mean it this time. 'Ishouldn't have said that.'

'No,' she agreed. 'You shouldn't have.'

'I just get mad when I think of a lovely young lady like you married to a man like Nathan Whitmore. Do you take sugar in your coffee?' he asked, holding the small silver tongs out to her after gently dropping a couple of cubes into his cup.

She took them and dropped one cube in, all the while wanting to ask further questions about Nathan but worrying over the wisdom of listening to things about her husband from an obvious enemy. Damian might lie. She wanted facts, not malevolent or exaggerated gossip.

'You have a habit of making nasty cracks about the sort of man my husband is,' she said while stirring her drink. 'But you don't really know him, do you?'

His laughter was harsh and dry. 'I know him a d.a.m.ned sight better than you do.'

She stiffened. 'I find that hard to believe. I'm his wife!' How odd, she thought, that as soon as someone else deigned to criticise Nathan she immediately leapt to his defence.

'You think because you've been married to the man a few measly months that you know him? Lenore was married to Nathan for over a decade and she never got to know him.'

'How do you know that?'

'With a few drinks under her belt, Lenore has a habit of using the nearest listener as a subst.i.tute therapist. I happened to have been by her side at a few parties over the years and I heard quite a lot about Nathan'sfailings, as a husband. Not in the bedroom, mind. I concede he's well versed in boudoir skills. Which is only reasonable, given his -er -co lourful. . . upbringing.'

'Meaning?'

Damian's black eyes glittered as they travelled over her frowning face. 'Surely you know about his mother, don't you?'

'I know she was a drug-addict, and that she died when Nathan was sixteen.'

'Is that all he's told you?'

'I. . .I know she never married Nathan's father. . .'

Damian chuckled darkly. 'My dear, she didn't even know who Nathan's father was, from what I've heard.'

'Who have you heard these things from?' she gasped.

'From a reliable source, I can a.s.sure you.'

'Are. . .are you talking about Lenore?'

'No.'

'Who, then?'

'Does it matter?'

'I think it does, if you expect me to believe you.'

'I see. . . Well, I certainly do expect you to believe me, Gemma my sweet. In fact, I'm counting on it.' He picked up his coffee and took a sip, holding her gaze over the rim of the cup. 'Irene told me.'

'I. . .Irene?' Shock made Gemma sound vague.

'You "don't know who I'm talking about?' Damian seemed surprised. 'Goodness, the Whitmore clan has certainly kept you in the dark, haven't they?'

'Of course I know who Irene was,' Gemma bit out. 'She was Byron's wife.'

'And my half-sister.'

'Oh. Oh, yes, I forgot.'

'So have most people, but Irene and I always did have a certain. . .rapport. Mother never could stand her, and neither could Celeste. Frankly, she was an incredible b.i.t.c.h with them, but she was always a sweetie to me. I could understand her, you see. Maybe we shared some similar genes from dear old Papa.'

When Damian stopped for a moment, his face deep in thought, Gemma also fell silent, her thoughts revolving. She was quite intrigued by these revelations about the woman who would have been her mother-in-law, had she not been accidentally killed in a boating accident last year. But no one around Belleview ever spoke of Irene Whitmore, except very briefly in pa.s.sing and not at all kindly.

'Irene always told me everything,' Damian continued after sipping some more coffee. 'Believe me when I say I know a h.e.l.l of a lot about your beloved Nathan.'

'From Irene's point of view, you mean,' Gemma inserted with another sharp frown. 'Let's face it, Damian, from what I've heard, Irene was not the nicest person in the world. Ava told me she could be very jealous and vindictive.'

'Ava would ,' he laughed drily. 'Poor old Ava! Still. . .she's quite right, to a degree. Irene was given to moments of vengeance: some called for, so me not. But she loved that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Byron Whitmore, and didn't deserve to be kicked in the guts the way he kicked her. I don't blame her one bit for going to bed with his golden-haired boy.'

Gemma stared at him, her face paling.

'Have I shocked you again?' he said in a darkly dry voice. 'Poor Gemma. . .you really don't know anything, do you? Hasn't anyone told you of your Nathan's ingrained penchant for older women? When Byron found him after his mother's death, he was the live-in lover of some ancient old actress who boasted openly of her young lover's s.e.xual prowess and stamina.'

Gemma's hand lifted to her clammy forehead as Damian droned on and on. She could hear what he was saying, but the room seemed to be receding, her stomach rolling over and over.

'Given Byron's adultery with a certain relative of Irene's who shall remain nameless, who could blame her for having a little fling with the gorgeous young Nathan? He .was, as I've already explained, well trained in meeting the needs of more mature ladies. Irene certainly gave him a ten when she was telling me all about their sneaky nocturnal romps.'

Damian watched a green-gilled Gemma race for the ladies' room, knowing that he'd just delayed his chances of any imminent seduction in favour of a more immediate pleasure. But how he'd adored seeing those innocent eyes widen with revulsion and horror. And who knew? Perhaps his revelations might achieve the other end as well? Maybe they would give her the impetus to leave that b.a.s.t.a.r.d. If she crossed that high moral line he pretended to live by.

I'll offer her a position in one of our stores, Damian planned. And accommodation in one of the many blocks of units Campbell's own. At a reduced rent, of course. Something she can afford but which won't make her suspicious of my intentions. A girl not long left Lightning Ridge wouldn't have any idea of the rents in Sydney.

All might not be lost after all, he mused as he watched her come back to the table, white-faced and shaken.

'I. . .I can't stay,' she blurted out. 'I just can't. . .'

He picked up one of her limp hands, holding it fast against her rather weak struggle to free herself. 'Yes, you can,' he said firmly. 'You can do anything you want to do. You are a beautiful person, Gemma. And a good one. You deserve better than the life you're living. Get out before it destroys you, before Whitmore destroys you!'

She wrenched her hand away, s.n.a.t.c.hed up her bag and bolted for the door, not looking back.

Damian's sigh was frustrated. Perhaps he'd overplayed his hand. Laid it on too thick. It was always difficult to know how far to carry a lie.

Not that everything he'd said was a lie. Not by a long shot. Nathan Whitmore was a corrupt b.a.s.t.a.r.d all right. And a cruel one. What he'd done to Irene had been unforgivable. Blackmail was the lowest of the low. Even he had never stooped to such tactics.

Though it could have a certain appeal in certain circ.u.mstances. Yes, he would give the matter some further thought. . .

'Has the lady left already, sir?' the pretty waitress asked huskily. 'She didn't drink her coffee.'

Damian looked up and into her eager blue eyes.

Not much of a challenge. But the encounter with the delectable Gemma had aroused him. Besides, the thought of going back to that b.l.o.o.d.y office this afternoon was untenable. Celeste was in a foul mood, and he wasn't exactly in her good books since she'd found out about his bribing those j.a.panese tour guides. But dammit, he had to get some extra money somehow. He'd had a dreadful run at poker lately.

Yes, there were plenty of better ways to spend the afternoon than putting up with his b.i.t.c.h of a sister hauling him over the coals again, or asking him about that stupid opal she'd bought. How would he know how, when, where and why the d.a.m.ned thing had turned up again?

Focusing his magnetic black eyes upon the waitress, he flashed her a winning smile. 'What time do you finish here, darlin'?'

CHAPTER SEVEN.

AVA was still in a daze of delight when the telephone rang. Vince had not long left, after spending the entire day looking after her every whim and want, yet still completing the lawns and edges. His promise to call her the following day and let her know about Giuseppe's proposed visit on the Friday evening had still been ringing in her ears when the cook arrived to prepare the evening meal. The woman had given Ava a frowning look when she'd asked her what she wanted cooked that evening and Ava had said, 'Any old thing. I'm really not hungry.'

Ava had ignored the woman's mutterings and was swanning up the stairs when the jangling sound of the telephone had cut into her rampant fantasies about her blossoming romance with the most gorgeous, s.e.xiest, sweetest, kindest man who ever drew breath.

'd.a.m.n and blast,' she muttered irritably, hating having to abandon the mental image of Vince partnering her to next year's opal ball. She'd be divinely slim and svelte by then -in her mind -weari ng a figure- hugging black gown and quite taking everyone's breath away with her slender elegance and astonishingly handsome companion.

The imaginary scenario dismissed, Ava had a moment of dithering as she tried to make up-her mind whether to go back downstairs to the extension in the foyer or to keep on going to the one in the upstairs hall. Further irritation descended with the unpalatable realisation that such a simple decision was rattling her. Even her making up her mind to keep going upstairs didn't make her feel any better.

Did someone as weak-willed as herself possess the fort.i.tude and stick-at-it-ness to put into action all these new resolutions Vince had sparked in her today - exercises to be done, paintings to b e finished, cla.s.ses to be taken?

'And carpet to be put on these infernal stairs!' she grumbled aloud when her foot almost shot out from under her on the top step. Frustration launched her into potentially reckless strides which brought her with surprisingly safe swiftness down the corridor to the hall telephone. Glaring at the nuisance of a thing, she s.n.a.t.c.hed the receiver up to her ear. 'Yes?'

'Ava?' The female voice on the other end sounded very uns ure.

'Yes," Ava snapped. 'Who is this?'

'It's -er -Gemma. Have I caught you at a bad time?'

Guilt consumed Ava. What was wrong with her, snapping like that? Gemma must think she was dreadfully rude. But with her forcible return to reality, Ava had had to face that her silly dreams about Vince were just that: dreams. They would never come true. And this time, reality had made her angry as well as depressed.

'I'm sorry, Gemma,' she apologised. 'I didn't mean to bite your head off. I. . .I'm a bit off today. I -er - fell over this mornin g on the back terrace and cut my head open. Isn't that just like me?'

'Oh, dear, that sounds nasty. Are you all right? Did you get the doctor? Would you like me to come over? I've just got home from work and Nathan's not home yet but I could quite easily leave him a note and drive over.'

Ava's guilt increased, if anything. She hadn't been trying to gain sympathy by telling Gemma about her mishap, just trying to find an excuse for her bad manners. But what a sweety that girl was. She'd endeared herself to everyone at Belleview from the first moment she'd set foot in the place. Never had Ava known such a kind, generous, soft-hearted girl. She was far too good for the likes of Nathan!

'No, no,' she blurted out. 'I wouldn't dream of making you come all this way when you've just got home from work. I'm fine. Really. It didn't even need st.i.tches. I'm just mad at myself for being so clumsy all the time. But what about you, Gemma? You don't usually telephone for nothing. Is there something wrong?'

'Oh -er -not really. I. . .urn. . .I wanted to ask you a few things, but if you're not feeling well then I think perhaps I. . .1 -'

'I'm feeling perfectly well,' Ava cut in firmly. 'You'll make me feel terrible if you hang up without asking me what you wanted to ask me. I'll worry and you wouldn't want that, would you?'

'No. .

'Ask away, then.'

'It's rather awkward, really. . .'

Ava knew she was not the most intuitive person when it came to tuning into other people's emotions. She'd lived her life far too much as a dreamy outsider. But suddenly, Gemma's smothered distress communicated itself to her and her chest tightened with instant concern. Yet oddly enough, she felt flattered too. Someone was turning to her for advice, and help. She determined to do her very best to soothe this sweet girl's fears, if she could.

'It's about Nathan,' Gemma went on hesitantly.

Well, of course it was, Ava thought ruefully. She should have realised that immediately.

'And. . .and Irene. . .'

Ava blinked her shock. Nathan and Irene! Good G.o.d, did the girl mean what she thought she meant?

'I. . .I'm not sure I understand what you mean,' she said, hoping against hope she was getting the wrong vibes here.