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'Miss Campbell,' Gemma called after her as she walked away.
Celeste turned, wincing a little. 'Celeste, please. I keep "Miss Campbell" for junior typists only.'
Gemma smiled, reminding Celeste forcibly of her stunning beauty.
'All right. Celeste. I just wanted to thank you again, and to say that you're not at all like I thought you'd be.'
Celeste smothered an amused smile. 'What did you think I'd be like?'
'I don't know. Not so nice. Oh, that sounds awful!'
'It sounds perfectly reasonable to me. I'm often not very nice, Gemma. But I don't think anyone could help being nice with you.' ,
Gemma looked disconcerted by this compliment. 'I'm not always so nice, either. Maybe I did push Nathan away from me. I. . .I'm not sure of anything any more.' Tears filled her eyes and she looked away.
Celeste was appalled at the sudden pricking of tears behind her own eyes. Good God, she was going all mushy and sentimental in her old age. It was all Byron's fault, raking up old memories, making her say things she should never have said. Or maybe this unexpected vulnerability was because her
own daughter would be about Gemma's age now. She might even look a little like her.
Celeste was not a natural blonde, her fair tresses achieved with considerable effort from her hairdresser. Her daughter was sure to be a brunette, like Gemma, and probably with similar brown eyes. Despite Celeste's own eyes being a light yellowish brown, dark eyes did run in the Campbell family. One only had to look at Damian. Since a blue-eyed father with a brown eyed mother almost always produced a brown-eyed baby, Celeste's daughter would most likely have deep brown eyes something like Gemma's.
Celeste swallowed and dragged up a covering smile. 'Don't think about it any more tonight,' she advised the obviously confused and very distressed girl. 'I won't be long. I'm a quick dresser.'
Dinner did not prove to be as difficult as Celeste had begun to fear it might be. Damian was his usual charming self and Gemma, with the help of several glasses of wine, relaxed enough to talk a little about herself in a general sense. She explained how Byron had made her learn Japanese before letting her work in any of his stores, and that she'd become quite competent at it.
'You won't have any trouble getting a job, then,' Celeste said. 'There are openings all over the place if you can speak Japanese well.'
'That's what I'm hoping.'
'We could find her a job at Campbell's, couldn't we, Celeste?' Damian suggested casually.
'Any time,' she offered, and meant it. Gemma would be an asset behind any counter.
'I did originally hope that,' the girl admitted. 'But now I think I should strike out on my own. Maybe I'll move interstate.'
'Why in God's name would you do that?' Damian's voice was sharp.
'Because she wants to be independent, Damian,' Celeste explained somewhat caustically. 'A concept I realize you don't understand.'
'She should be near friends at a time like this.'
Gemma gave him an apologetic look. 'I'm sorry, Damian. You've been marvelous, but I really don't like imposing on you and your sister.'
'What rubbish!' they both answered at once, then simultaneously laughed.
'At least stay a week,' Celeste compromised, knowing decisions should not be made in the heat of the moment.
'Yes, give us a week of your delightful company at least,' Damian insisted.
'Alright.'
Gemma's sigh of acceptance sounded relieved, and Celeste felt another pull on her heartstrings. Damn, in another week she wouldn't want her to go any more than Damian. Despite the traumas surrounding Gemma's visit, it was surprisingly pleasant having her around. Celeste decided she must definitely be entering a sentimental phase in her life. Next thing she'd be getting herself a dog!
'I hear you're an outback girl,' she said by way of changing the subject.
'That's right. Born and bred in Lightning Ridge.'
'Damned awful place!' Damian scorned. 'Hot as hell and wall-to-wall flies. I only went there once. Celeste had this idea about my learning to become an opal buyer. I soon dissuaded her, didn't I?'
'I think I quickly realized that anything with physical discomfort involved was not your forte.'
Gemma laughed. 'Then you wouldn't have wanted to live where I lived. I not only had wall-to-wall flies but wall-to-wall dirt.'
'How's that?' he asked.
'Dad and I lived in a dugout. You know. A hole in the ground. Well, not in the ground exactly. It was dug out of the side of a hill.'
