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Matt didn’t need this advice. “What I can buy is property,” he went on purposefully, wanting to ram the good intentions he’d been nursing down Peta Kelly’s throat. “For example, I wouldn’t have too much trouble finding the means to purchase a five bedroom home, with a pool and a tennis court thrown in. If I had a use for it.”
The blue eyes went blank.
“Five bedrooms?” his mother queried, astonished at his choice. “Most modern homes don’t have more than four.”
Matt kept his gaze boring into Peta’s, relentless in nailing his point. “I believe the question was buying power. Satisfied?”
She came out fighting, her cheeks still aflame but stubborn pride in her eyes. “Since you have so much to offer, perhaps you should draw up a premarriage agreement to protect yourself. It would avoid the risk of being taken to the cleaners by some unscrupulous woman...” she paused, baring her teeth “...should the marriage fail to live up to your expectations and you want a divorce.”
“Oh, I so dislike that practice!” his mother declared, shaking her head in a pained fashion. “How can any marriage work without trust and real commitment? People shouldn’t enter into it if they’re already looking for it to fail.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Matt said emphatically, cutting Peta’s feet out from under her.
She stared at him.
He stared right back, daring her to continue her attack on his character, promising her a retaliation she wouldn’t forget. Confusion crept into her eyes. She dropped her gaze, giving up the fight.
To Matt it was a hollow victory. Nothing had been won. A sense of loss gnawed at his guts. He told himself he was better off not getting involved with Peta Kelly. Let her stew in her own sour juices. Shouldering her bitter baggage would bring him no happiness.
For once, his mother decided discretion was the better part of valour and didn’t persist in pushing her opinions. Peta didn’t offer any more. Ignoring the silence that had descended at their end of the table, Matt mechanically went through the process of finishing his meal. His stomach staged a mini-revolt but he kept forcing the food down, determined to eat the lot.
However, when his emptied plate was collected by the waitress, he simply couldn’t face the sweets course which had been laid out on the buffet table. It was passionfruit mousse, an ironic reminder that the passion he’d fancied with Peta Kelly had been killed stone-dead.
His mother attempted to revive conversation, asking Peta what pampering she had decided upon and expounding on the pleasures of the treatments she had experienced here. Matt shut his ears. He decided to walk down to the village hotel and get roaring drunk. To hell with health!
“Are you going to come to the meditation session with the Thai monks, Matt?” his mother asked, tentatively reaching through his silence.
“No, I’m off for a walk in the clean night air,” he answered, casting a mocking look at Peta Kelly as he rose from the table. “I hope the meditation will help you relax so you can sleep well. It would be a pity not to get some benefit out of coming here.”
Before either of them could say a word, he flashed a smile and added, “Please excuse me, both of you.”
He left without a backward glance.
What was dead was dead.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE clean night air was decidedly chilly. Winter in the southern tablelands was more biting than in Sydney. Matt dropped into the cottage to don his parka and gloves. There was no point in freezing to death when all he wanted was a pleasantly pickled mind and body. Alcohol might not promote joie de vivre tonight but it should numb the pain of dashed hopes.
As he emerged from the cottage, his attention was drawn by running footsteps on the flagged terrace leading from Reception. His gaze narrowed on the flying figure of Peta Kelly. She caught sight of him and came to a panting halt, her eyes wildly targeting his, a sense of urgency pulsing from her. Matt’s mind raced to account for it.
“Is there something wrong with my mother?” he shot at her.
“No!” She shook her head to allay any such fear. Her hands lifted in an agitated gesture of appeal. “I...I just wanted to catch you...speak to you...” She spoke jerkily, out of breath and totally discomposed.
Matt noticed she was now wearing her leather jacket, though she hadn’t stopped to zip it up. Gloves were clutched in one hand. She’d obviously meant to run him down however far he’d gone. Which piqued his curiosity.
“Taking a risk, aren’t you, Peta? Little Red Riding Hood chasing after the Big Bad Wolf?”
Her head jerked into an anguished little roll. “I’m sorry,” she burst out. “I know you must think I’m not worth any more of your time, but...I really am sorry for what I said to you at dinner.”
Sorry she’d wrecked a chance that might have been viable? Too late, lady, Matt thought grimly. Peta Kelly had shown her true colours and he didn’t like them. He didn’t want any part of them.
“We’re all entitled to our own opinions,” he said, dismissing her apology as unnecessary.
“Not if they’re not fair,” she retorted, her face pained by the admission.
It made him pause, frown, his own sense of fairness being pricked. Was she genuinely upset at her misjudgment of him or did she have another agenda?
