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'I'm not going to swear to anything! I was just trying to do the right thing by ringing and telling you this. I thought if Nathan understood that his wife had uncovered his adultery then he wouldn't go running around Sydney like a chook with his head cut off.'
'You mean you thought he wouldn't force his way into that fortified castle you call a house and strangle Damian with his bare hands. You're a fool, Celeste. A damned fool. I'll relay your message, but God help your brother. Nathan loves Gemma, really loves her. He would not be unfaithful to her. There is a reasonable explanation for what she saw, or thought she saw, and I aim to make sure she hears that explanation before your brother does something he's likely to get killed for!'
He slammed the phone down in her ear, so forcefully that she cried out. Celeste dropped the receiver back into place then slumped back on to her pillows.
Oh, God ...
She should never have become involved, should never have stuck her big nose in where it wasn't wanted. She should definitely never have asked Damian to bring Gemma home tomorrow. Next thing, she would have a furious and possibly violent Nathan on her doorstep.
Celeste contemplated ringing Byron back again and begging him not to say a word but she knew that was useless. Byron wouldn't take any notice. He would possibly take delight in stirring up trouble for her.
Crossing her arms across her eyes, Celeste lay there, aware of her head still spinning and her heart racing. Was it just the wine, or had even talking to Byron done this to her?
God, but I hate that man, she told herself, sitting up abruptly and swinging her feet on to the thick pile carpet. Resisting the silly urge to actually go swimming, Celeste decided she might join Cora in watching that movie. Distraction was desperately needed.
But when she swayed violently on standing up, then almost banged into the bedroom door on the way out of the room, Celeste decided a strong cup of coffee might be better, by which time the movie would have started. Movies weren't much good when you'd missed the beginning. Perhaps she'd read a book.
Ten minutes later, she was browsing through their extensive library, a mug of steaming black coffee cupped in her hands. Nothing appealed, however. Really, a visit to a bookstore was in order. Classic novels were all very well but there were times when one just wanted to be entertained in a racy, pacy way.
Maybe some music, she decided, leaving the library and wandering along to the lounge-room where the CD player was located. Selecting a Michael Bolton CD, she slotted it in, pressed play then settled back to simply enjoy. She was still simply enjoying when the doorbell buzzed, the doorbell connected to the front gates, not to the front door. Celeste shot upright from where she'd been lying on the lounge. Good God! Nathan Whitmore. Byron had told him Gemma was here and he'd come to storm the Bastille!
The bell buzzed again, then continuously, as it did when someone leant on it.
Clearly, he was not going to go away. Neither was Cora going to come to the rescue and answer it, because Cora was ensconced away in her room at the back of the house, watching a movie. She wouldn't even hear the buzzer.
Squaring her shoulders, Celeste stood up and walked out into the entrance hall where she flicked the button on the security intercom. 'Celeste Campbell speaking,' she said in her best authoritative voice. 'Who is this?'
'It's Byron Whitmore, and you'd better let me in right away or I'm going to huff and puff and blow your bloody house down.'
'Heavens to Betsy,' came her droll reply. 'I'm simply terrified.' Which she actually was, but be damned if she was going to show it!
'Celeste, I'm warning you, I. .. '
'Oh, do shut. up, Byron. It's much too late at night for such twaddle. If you'd stayed on the line long enough before, you rude man, I would have been able to tell you that Damian and Gemma are not here. Neither do I know where they are.'
'Prove it! Let me in so that I can see for myself that they're not there.'
'Be my guest!' Celeste snapped, pressing the button that would open the gates. It was only when Byron drove in and actually presented himself at the front door that she remembered how she was dressed. And by then it was too late. If she didn't open the door immediately he would probably batter it down. Or break one of the glass sections.
Wrapping the negligee around her as modestly as she could, she went to the door and opened it. Byron strode straight in, looking devilishly attractive in a casual pair of grey trousers and a sky-blue crew-necked sweater. Looking at him, Celeste could not believe he was fifty. He looked many years younger. He also looked very, very angry.
