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'And how old is this Catherine person?' she asked as nonchalantly as she could manage.
Damian's smirk suggested he'd picked up on her tension. 'A good few years younger than you, dear sister. And smashing-looking, I'm told. '
Celeste threw her brother a savage look and he laughed.
'Jealousy can be an ugly thing. Not that you've got anything to worry about, Celeste. No woman can hold a candle to you when you put your mind to it. I'll never forget the look on that bastard Whitmore's face when you swanked into the Regency ballroom recently in that dress. God, he couldn't keep his eyes off you. Not that I blame him. That was some dress.'
Celeste cringed at the memory of that dress. She hadn't realized, till she was making her way down the centre of the ballroom and caught a glimpse of herself in one of the mirrored walls, how that dress looked from a distance. The skin-colored material and tightly fitted style gave the illusion of nudity, the selected beading marking out a provocative outline around her nipples and crotch.
Up close in the boutique, it had not looked so scandalously revealing. Still, under Byron's critical gaze, she'd had no alternative but to carry off the outrageous outfit with panache or be left looking a fool.
'It was perfectly obvious to anyone with a brain in their head,' Damian was raving on, 'that you've only got to click your fingers his way and he'd drop Catherine as though she has a contagious disease. Alternatively, you could have some real fun and wait till he married the silly bitch, then move in for the ultimate kill. A married Byron seems to bring out your best hunting instincts.'
Celeste amazed herself by not reacting visibly to Damian's crude and inflammatory remarks. Her expression remained remarkably cool, as was
her laugh. 'I think you're confusing me with yourself, brother dear. You're the one who's always running after married people. I prefer my bed partners both single and decidedly younger than fifty. I don't think Byron Whitmore fills the bill, do you?'
Retying the sash on her robe, Celeste picked up her towel and pushed past her brother, striding confidently towards the door. Damian scowled after her, irritated by his lack of success at stirring up trouble.
What he didn't see was the grey pallor in his sister's face as she left the pool-house, or the haunted look in her eyes. Neither could he guess at the storm of emotion gathering in her heart, nor her lack of confidence in her ability to deal with any of it.
Celeste headed across the lawns and up the stone steps to the back of the house, blinking madly as she went. I do not care about Byron Whitmore, she kept saying to herself. I do not care what he does or where he goes or whom he marries. I do not care!
Celeste swept into the huge kitchen and put on the kettle for a cup of coffee. By the time she was sipping its soothing warmth, she was almost her old self again. Till she suddenly remembered the trial on Monday. Her head dropped into her hands, her stomach instantly churning.
Oh, God…
CHAPTER TWO
THE taxi sped off, leaving Gemma standing on the pavement with her suitcase at her feet. She was smiling to herself.
Nathan was going to get the shock of his life when she walked in. He thought she was out in good old Lightning Ridge, patiently awaiting the Monday afternoon flight back to Sydney. Instead, here she was, home a day early, the lucky passenger on a private jet chartered by an American couple staying at her motel.
The McFaddens had dropped in on the opal-mining town as part of a whirlwind tour of the outback of Australia, and, not finding the dust, flies and heat to their liking, had decided to head for Sydney posthaste. When Gemma had told them over breakfast this morning in the dining-room that she wished she were back home in Sydney as well, they'd offered her a lift. Delighted, she'd accepted, and here she was!
A glance at her watch showed it had only just passed one in the afternoon. For a few seconds, she regretted that her trip back to Lightning Ridge had been so unrewarding in the matter of finding anything out about her missing mother. Perhaps she should have stayed the extra day and come back on the Monday as originally planned.
In all honesty, she hadn't tried all that hard, had she? One short interview with Mr Gunther-her dead father's only friend in Lightning Ridge-and one afternoon spent talking to the miners who'd just happened to drop into the pub. Neither would qualify as an in-depth investigation. Was it that underneath she was afraid of the truth? Or of finding out that Nathan was right? Some people's pasts were better off left there.
