His Inconvenient Wife Read online

  He let her go abruptly and she almost fell, clutching at the edge of his desk for support.

  ‘I can see why Danny’s so taken with you,’ he said, putting her from him. ‘But I’m not going to fall for your undoubted charms and spill the beans quite so readily as my brother.’

  ‘You’re not close, are you?’ she observed.

  ‘You know what they say—you can choose your friends but not your relatives.’

  ‘Yes, I do know that.’

  He must have sensed something in her tone, for his penetrating gaze captured hers once more.

  ‘Family loyalty is very important to me. I will do anything to maintain it.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s very admirable.’

  ‘You probably have no idea how far I’d go to protect my aunt.’

  ‘I think I’m getting the picture,’ she answered. ‘You’ve shown absolutely no scruples so far.’

  He surveyed her face for a long moment.

  ‘Is this how you usually go about interviewing people for your books? Apart from those you sleep with first?’ His tone dripped with sarcasm as his dark brown eyes ran over her suggestively.

  She lifted her chin defiantly, her eyes flashing.

  ‘I assume you’re referring to your brother?’

  ‘I’m sure he won’t be the only one, but, yes, I was referring to him.’

  ‘Your brother has been a fount of information,’ she lied.

  Damien’s mouth twisted.

  ‘No doubt he has, given the temptation.’ His eyes slid to her breasts and took their time returning to her face. Emily’s spine went rigid with anger and her hands tightened into fists at her sides.

  ‘Mr Margate—’ she fought her temper back under control ‘—I am researching an accurate biography on your aunt’s life. As I in no way wish to alienate her relatives I was hoping I could interview members of her family in order to present the public with an authentic account of both her personal and professional life. If you don’t cooperate then I’ll have to resort to other means.’

  ‘Why bother coming to me? Why not do what you people usually do and make it up as you go?’

  ‘I don’t work like that,’ she said. ‘I believe in telling it as it is. That’s why I want this to be an authentic account. Your aunt was—I mean is—a special person and—’

  ‘My aunt is no longer public property,’ he said implacably. ‘You might think bedding my younger brother gives you automatic licence to document everything to do with the Margate name, but I’m afraid you’re sadly mistaken.’

  ‘When did you last see your aunt?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s none of your business. Now get out.’

  ‘But surely—’

  ‘I said get out, Miss Sherwood, and I meant it.’

  Emily drew in a deep breath, her colour high.

  ‘Mr Margate, I don’t wish to cause trouble, but I—’

  ‘Get the hell out of here. Do you hear me?’

  Emily turned and slammed the door behind her, her legs shaking in reaction. She fumed at her own cowardice all the way down in the lift. She berated herself for not standing up to him, for not calling his bluff, but somehow he’d made her feel so pathetic. She’d felt like a mangy cat scrambling for crumbs at his feet. How was she to write this book without help from Rose’s nearest relatives? Rose had never married, never had children. Damien and Danny were her only living relatives since their father, her brother Donald, had died.

  Emily didn’t want to speculate. She didn’t want to rely on innuendo or gossip. She wanted to write the truth about a woman the public had loved and still missed. She didn’t want a repeat of Tyson’s Trial. She didn’t want to fail this time. She couldn’t fail this time.

  Danny called her at lunchtime. Emily had her arms full of washing and had to balance the phone against her chin to speak to him.

  ‘I’m sorry about last night,’ he said. ‘How did the cocktail party go?’

  ‘Fine.’ She grimaced as her pink g-string fell to the floor. ‘I won an award for Going For Vote. Your brother was very…’

  ‘Damien?’ Danny blurted. ‘Was he there?’

  Emily frowned as a hand-towel joined her g-string at her feet.

  ‘Didn’t you ask him to fill in for you?’

  ‘The last thing my brother would do is help me,’ Danny said bitterly. ‘I wonder what he’s up to?’

  ‘Yes, well, that’s exactly the same question I was wanting to ask you,’ Emily said.

  ‘I was going to tell you—’ Danny began.

  ‘Before or after we had sex?’

  ‘You must think I’m an absolute cad.’

  ‘Suffice it to say I had noticed the family likeness.’

  ‘So, you’ve had dealings with Damien, then?’ His tone was dry.

  ‘You could call it that.’

  ‘I hope he wasn’t too hard on you. He can be a little protective of Rose.’

  ‘A little protective?’ Emily gave a snort of derisive laughter which sent two more articles of clothing to the floor. ‘Anyone would think he was her son, the way he carries on—’

  There was silence at the end of the line.

  Emily stared at the pile of clean washing on the floor in front of her, their tumbled disarray not unlike the thoughts in her head.

  ‘Danny? Is that possible? Could Damien be Rose’s own son?’ she asked, clutching the telephone with both hands.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Emily—you know Rose never married.’

  ‘That’s not what I asked. Could Damien be her son? A child from a relationship in her past?’

  ‘Damien’s my older brother. He’s four years older than me, and even though he doesn’t necessarily look like me he’s very much like my father.’

  ‘But you don’t get on, do you?’

  ‘Lots of brothers don’t get along. It doesn’t mean they’re not related.’

  ‘But haven’t you ever wondered? I mean, Damien being so different from you. You told me several times that he and your parents were often at loggerheads.’

  ‘You told me the same thing yourself—that’s just Damien. He’s got a chip on his shoulder, that’s all. If I were you I’d give him a wide berth. He doesn’t always play by the rules and I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.’

  ‘I’m touched by your concern for my feelings,’ she said with heavy irony.

  ‘Emily, I really am sorry about last night, but Louise and I go back a long way.’

  ‘All the same, you could’ve told me yourself. It wasn’t very pleasant having your brother there to gloat over my dismissal.’

  ‘You’re not dismissed. Can’t we still be friends?’

  ‘That depends a little on your brother.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  A vision of Damien’s threatening expression crowded her mind.

  ‘Never mind. I’ll talk to you later. I’ve got things to do.’

  Emily gathered up the fallen clothes and dumped them on the nearest sofa. She went to her research file to look for the collection of Margate family photographs Danny had given her to copy. Laying them around her on the floor, she inspected each of them once more.

  There were numerous ones of the infant Danny, his platinum hair standing on end as he frolicked in the shallows of the surf, or chased after a shaggy-looking dog with a ball. However, the photographs containing Damien seemed to be an afterthought. He always seemed to be to one side of the camera focus. Was it a coincidence? Or was it a deliberate attempt to shut the dark and brooding boy out of the family centre?

  There was a larger photograph of the boys’ father, Donald Margate, tall and austere-looking as he gazed out over the top of his shining car. Emily could see Damien’s likeness in the breadth of shoulders and sooty hair. Their mother, Cora, had a flowered scarf tied around her ash-blonde hair, her pretty face wistful. As Emily searched back through each of the photographs she came to realise with an uneasy feeling that the only time Cora Margate smiled was when she was
looking at her younger son, Danny. Why hadn’t she seen all this before?

  Emily put the photos to one side and considered her next move. She had a week before she signed the preliminary contract with her publisher. A week before Damien Margate’s threats could be activated. A week to find out the truth.

  Clarice phoned her half an hour later with four engagements for her in as many hours.

  ‘You’re being interviewed first thing Monday for the breakfast show,’ she said gleefully. ‘After that it’s straight to the radio studio at NMDA. Then there’s a morning tea meeting with the editor of Writers’ Review and after that an interview with Nadine Brereton and Damien Margate.’

  ‘What?’ Emily gasped.

  ‘Nadine Brereton—you know, from that current affairs programme on pay TV. She wants to—’

  ‘I know who Nadine is,’ Emily said agitatedly. ‘But why Damien Margate?’

  ‘I thought you’d be thrilled. What a coup this is! The nephew of Rose has finally agreed to an interview.’

  ‘But I’ve had numerous interviews with Danny—’

  ‘I know, my love, but he’s just a boy compared to Damien Margate. He’s the one with the inside information on Rose’s whereabouts. He’s the one you should’ve been setting your sights on, not that perfidious little playboy who doesn’t know when to keep either his lips or his zip shut.’

  Emily grimaced at the bald truth of Clarice’s observation. Danny Margate was shallow and self-absorbed. Damien, however, was something else. She wasn’t sure she could handle him. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to try. What if he told the interviewer of his plans to sue? What if her editor heard the interview? How could she stop him from destroying her publicly?

  ‘Tell me the times—I’ll be there,’ she said to Clarice, rummaging for a pen and paper. She jotted down the engagements and rang off, assuring her agent-cum-publicist that she’d be there with bells on, even though deep inside her courage was slipping alarmingly.

  She dressed with care for the morning programme. Her hair was neatly styled into a slick French chignon and her subtle make-up was perfect. Her slim-fitting suit was hardly designer, but its shell-pink suited her colouring and, with a string of pearls and matching earrings, it would have to do. She faced the male interviewer with feigned confidence as he asked her about her research for Rose’s Cupboard, even announcing the various outlets where she’d be present signing her other two books. But once the bright lights of the cameras moved off her face she couldn’t wait to escape.

  ‘Well done.’ Clarice beamed. ‘I liked the way you hesitated over the question about Damien Margate, and the delicate blush was perfect.’

  ‘I wasn’t blushing.’ Emily rounded on her in irritation. ‘Those damn camera lights are hot as hell.’

  Clarice smiled, her eyes sparkling.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, taking Emily’s arm. ‘We’ve got to get to NMDA before nine and the traffic’s horrendous.’

  Emily followed in her wake, her legs starting to tremble at the thought that in less than two hours she was going to have to face Damien Margate in person.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  AFTER Emily finished the radio interview, which barely lasted three minutes and was in her opinion a complete waste of time, she joined Clarice in the foyer of the Regent Hotel near the Rocks. Clarice had already ordered her a lime and soda, and pushed it towards her when she sat at the table.

  ‘Nadine telephoned to say she’ll be a few minutes late. She’s organised to interview you and Damien in one of the hotel suites upstairs.’

  Emily felt uncomfortable at the implied intimacy of such an arrangement. A hotel suite? She and Damien Margate?

  Clarice checked the diamond-studded watch on her wrist. ‘He’s late.’

  ‘He’s not late,’ Emily said, picking up her drink. ‘He’s tactical.’

  Clarice’s eyebrows rose. ‘You know him intimately, then?’

  Emily shook her head. ‘No, but I know how his type works. He’s a power freak. It wouldn’t do for him to be here early, pacing the joint, at everyone else’s mercy. He’ll come at the last minute as if it’s him that’s conducting the interview, not Nadine Brereton.’

  Clarice took a deep, reflective sip of her gin and tonic.

  ‘You really should’ve been a crime writer, darling. You’re so good at reading people.’

  ‘Not all people.’ Emily pushed her drink to one side. ‘But there’s something about Damien Margate that intrigues me.’

  ‘He is rather sexy. Tall, dark and brooding,’ Clarice mused.

  Emily flicked a fiery glance at her agent. ‘He’s a stuck-up pig. I wouldn’t give him the time of day if I had a choice—’

  Clarice suddenly got to her feet and extended a rose-tipped hand to someone just beyond Emily’s left shoulder. ‘Mr Margate! How good of you to join us.’

  Emily wished the floor would open and swallow her, but seemingly the architects responsible for the plush interior of the Sydney Regent had not adequately prepared for such contingencies. The floor under her feet remained resolutely stable. However, the hand she reluctantly offered trembled as she extended it towards him.

  ‘Mr Margate,’ she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

  ‘Miss Sherwood.’ He nodded, his dark gaze raking her mercilessly as his hand swallowed hers.

  ‘Nadine won’t be a moment,’ Clarice gushed. ‘She’s setting up a suite for you both.’

  Damien’s brows rose speculatively as he turned his gaze back to Emily. ‘That sounds promising.’

  Emily refused to respond to his satirical look and instead turned to inspect the menu on the table in front of her.

  ‘I saw you on the breakfast show,’ he said, taking the chair next to hers.

  Emily had no choice but to look at him. ‘I’m surprised. I thought you had no time for the media,’ she said, re-inspecting the menu.

  ‘I like to keep myself informed of the latest developments,’ he commented drily.

  Emily shrugged dismissively. ‘I hope you weren’t disappointed.’

  ‘On the contrary. I was surprised you spoke so magnanimously of me.’

  She met his dark gaze levelly. ‘I could have said a whole lot more, but kind of figured the PG rating of the show would preclude the bit about you forcing yourself on me.’

  He didn’t even flinch. ‘I didn’t realise you had such scruples,’ he said with a wry twist to his mouth. ‘Perhaps I should’ve gone for broke.’

  She glared at him, sparks of vitriol brightening her blue eyes. ‘In your dreams, Mr Margate,’ she drawled insolently.

  He laughed as he shifted his chair to make way for the approaching Nadine, her film crew trailing her like devoted slaves.

  ‘That remains to be seen,’ he said cryptically and, standing, turned to greet the crew.

  They were led to one of the deluxe suites where the lighting men were already setting up. Cameras were being positioned and make-up assistants buzzed about with palettes of foundation to counteract the harsh lighting on Nadine Brereton’s face.

  ‘Now, if Miss Sherwood would sit here—’ Nadine directed her with a perfectly manicured hand ‘—and if Mr Margate sits here, next to me, we can get things rolling. Ready Joe?’

  The head cameraman nodded as he focused in on his subjects.

  ‘Hello, and welcome to Afternoon Muse. This is Nadine Brereton reporting live from the Regent Hotel, and with me are two intriguing guests. Firstly, I have beside me a biographer who is proposing to write about the illustrious, and may I say somewhat mysterious life of one of Australia’s most noted stage actresses, Rose Margate. I also have with me the nephew of Ms Margate, Mr Damien Margate, who has kindly agreed to an interview. Firstly, Miss Sherwood, is it true that you are currently facing intense family opposition in order to document Ms Margate’s life?’

  Emily faced the camera squarely, her expression determined. One whiff, she reminded herself, and her contract would be shredded along with her career.

/>   ‘No, not exactly. One family member has been incredibly generous with his time and attention. His input has been crucial to my research.’

  Damien’s derisive snort was audible to Emily, but she hoped it would be edited out in the short delay to transmission.

  ‘That would be Rose’s other nephew, Danny Margate?’ Nadine clarified.

  Emily nodded. ‘Danny Margate is extremely fond of his aunt and wanted an authentic and accurate account of her life for the public to enjoy.’

  ‘Is it true that you haven’t actually interviewed Ms Margate personally?’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  Nadine Brereton tilted her head in an imitation of puzzlement. ‘But how can one document someone’s life accurately without having directly interviewed the person?’ she asked.

  ‘Biographies don’t usually give word-for-word accounts of people’s lives. Very often biographies of famous people are written long after they have passed away. Writers use various sources of information, such as journals, photographic records, interviews with close friends and family,’ Emily explained.

  ‘But the Margate family—apart from Danny Margate, that is—have been most uncooperative, isn’t that correct?’

  Emily glanced at Damien, who was still sitting to one side of her, his expression inscrutable.

  ‘I’m sure they have their reasons,’ she said diplomatically.

  ‘Mr Margate.’ Nadine turned to Damien. ‘What is your major objection to Miss Sherwood’s account of your aunt’s life?’

  Damien’s eyes slid from Emily’s to face the camera.

  ‘I have no objection to biographies per se. I do, however, have an objection to biographies that are written against the express wishes of family members.’

  ‘So you’ve been against this from the outset? Is that correct?’ Nadine probed.

  Emily’s hands tightened in her lap and her breath stalled in her chest as she waited for his reply to Nadine’s question.

  ‘My aunt Rose chose to leave public life fifteen years ago. She gave more than thirty-five years of her life to her fans, oftentimes leaving little time for herself. She has not in any way authorised this account of her life and therefore neither do I.’