A Marrying Man?. Lindsay Armstrong

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      ‘No,’ she said evenly, ‘Georgia will do. But what has this got to do with the price of eggs, Will?’

      ‘Just that Neil wrote to me about you—he used your nickname, and he’s still using it in his delirium.’

      ‘Neil never called me Blondie—’

      ‘Perhaps not to your face,’ William Brady said mildly. ‘But in his letter to me he described you as a blonde goddess and said he hadn’t realised what love was about until he met you. He mentioned that your background was impeccable and teeming with judges and barristers…’

      He stopped and raised an ironic eyebrow at her as she made a disbelieving, inarticulate sound, then went on remorselessly, ‘Then, when I went through his things, what should I discover but your unfinished portrait? Whose name should be in his diary, heavily underscored, but yours—with one of your doorkeys?’

      Georgia, who’d been staring at William Brady wide-eyed and with her mouth open, closed her mouth with a click. ‘This is…this is…I’m lost for words. No, I’m not. There’s got to be some terrible mistake. Other than the fact that Neil and I appear to you to have parted, why have you automatically assumed the blame for it lies at my door? Why, in other words, although you’ve never laid eyes on me before, am I such an object of contempt?’ Her eyes challenged him angrily.

      He shrugged, fiddled with the stem of his wineglass, and she noticed with the periphery of her mind that he had long fingers and wore a battered old watch on a leather band that had seen better days. ‘I made some enquiries.’

      ‘Ah,’ Georgia said ironically. ‘Do tell me more!’

      He lifted his hazel eyes and they met hers with that amusement she’d seen lurking in them before. ‘You have to admit you’re a colourful character, Georgia,’ he said wryly.

      ‘Go on,’ she commanded.

      ‘Well…’ He sat back. ‘Twenty-three, been to all the right schools and finishing schools, mixed in the right society, could ride almost before you could walk, were a show-jumper—those are the kind of things I came up with. Plus the fact that Daddy has never been able to deny you anything, apparently, including this little spread.’ He looked around. ‘Then there’s the reputation you seem to have acquired for being—stuck-up.’

      She sat forward and propped her chin on her hands. ‘Who told you that?’

      ‘Several people.’

      Georgia laughed. ‘I wonder if you researched any of my friends? It doesn’t sound like it to me.’

      He narrowed his eyes. ‘You seem to be curiously unmoved by these allegations, Georgia,’ he said reflectively.

      ‘I am, mainly because they’re untrue, so perhaps I could set the record straight, Will?’ She eyed him, then continued without waiting for a reply, ‘I did do a bit of show-jumping in my teens, but it was never a career or an ongoing passion with me—just the kind of thing a lot of girls who love horses dabble in for a while.

      ‘And my father didn’t buy this place for me. I inherited it from my grandmother, as a matter of fact, but what I inherited was a ramshackle old set of stables on twenty acres of bush, whereas what you see today,’ she said proudly, ‘is the result of my own efforts.

      ‘Yes, I did borrow from my father for some of the improvements, but I’ve paid him back every cent and I’ve turned this place into a successful spelling farm where people know they can send their racehorses between campaigns to rest, be pampered and cared for excellently. In other words I’ve turned it into a thoroughly good business proposition. I support myself entirely from it and it has the added advantage of being something I love doing.’

      ‘I stand corrected,’ William Brady murmured, although he didn’t appear to be chastened in the slightest, as he proceeded to demonstrate. ‘What about the men you’ve been associated with?’

      ‘All those men I gave my doorkey to?’ Georgia said with genuine amusement in her eyes. ‘Don’t you believe a word of it, Will! I’m surprised someone didn’t tell you how frigid and stuck-up I am.’

      ‘So they didn’t represent a long line of affairs?’

      ‘Hardly any of them, Will. Hardly any of them,’ Georgia said gently, but for some reason a glint of anger was back in her eyes. Although she added lightly enough, ‘Nor was Neil Dettweiler in love with me, Will. I really would have known, and taken great pains to avoid it, you see. And do you honestly believe a man in love would want to exhibit his beloved in the altogether for the Archibald Prize?’ She put her head on one side and scanned him with rueful amusement.

      But he laughed back at her. ‘It’s not such an insult, you know. For a man in love who also happens to be an artist—’

      ‘Possibly not,’ Georgia conceded. ‘I mean, to want to paint the portrait, but not the exhibiting bit—not the kind of man I would want to be in love with me, at any rate.’

      ‘Then do you have any explanation for your name being in his diary, your key amongst his things, for the way he’s asking for you?’ he asked drily.

      Georgia stared at him and felt her skin prickle as she realised that this man simply didn’t believe her—and that on certain evidence which she simply couldn’t explain he was probably within his rights not to. ‘No, I can’t,’ she said baldly at last. ‘It’s a complete mystery to me.’

      ‘Would it be too difficult to work on the assumption that he hid this grand passion for you from you, Georgia?’

      ‘Do you mean…?’

      ‘Yes. Come to Sydney with me tomorrow morning. What have you got to lose?’

      ‘I’ve got horses—’

      ‘Do you have no one to help you with them? For a day or two?’

      Georgia tightened her mouth, then looked at him coldly. ‘How do I know this isn’t some plot?’

      ‘What kind of plot? Oh, come now, Georgia—’ William Brady looked at her quizzically ‘—you’re really not my type. I thought you might have sensed that.’

      ‘Easy to say, Mr Shakespeare. Easy to say,’ Georgia taunted. ‘There’s no reason on earth, however, why I should believe a word of what you’ve said—in fact there are a few good reasons for me not to!’

      He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it across the table to her. ‘Ring the hospital yourself.’

      Georgia stared down at it then rose and walked to the desk. A few minutes later she put the phone down and turned back with a frown to William Brady.

      ‘Well?’

      ‘He’s in Intensive Care—they’re not making any predictions at the moment,’ she said slowly. ‘His mother’s with him—they offered to let me speak to her.’

      ‘If you wouldn’t mind I’ll give…his mother a call myself in a moment. In the meantime, will you come?’

      ‘But СКАЧАТЬ