LITMIR.BIZ

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to its own devices that morning and the result was a mass of untamed curls.

      There could be little or no resemblance to the girl at the shelter lunch or Holly Golightly, she reasoned, which should be a good thing.

      But, she also reasoned, really her clothes and hair were nothing compared to her absolute shock and disbelief at this move Brett Wyndham had made. What was behind it?

      She shook her head, locked her car and went to find him.

      It took a moment for Brett Wyndham to recognize Holly Harding. He noticed a tall girl in denims and a pink singlet with a leather tote hanging from her shoulder, wandering down the path from the car park. He noted that she looked completely natural, with no make-up, from her wild, fair curls to her boots, as well as looking young and leggy. Then it suddenly dawned on him who she was.

      He saw her look around the restaurant terrace—their designated meeting place—and he raised a hand. He thought she hesitated briefly, then she came over.

      He stood up and offered her a chair. ‘Good day,’ he murmured as they both sat down. ‘Yet another incarnation of Holly Harding?’

      ‘This is the real me,’ Holly said dryly, and studied him briefly. He wore a black sweater, olive-canvas trousers and thick-soled black-leather shoes. His short, dark hair was ruffled; while he might have made a perfect Spanish aristocrat a few nights ago, today he looked tough, inscrutable and potentially dangerous.

      ‘Would you like a drink?’

      ‘Just a soft one, thank you. I never mix business with pleasure,’ Holly replied.

      He ordered a fruit juice for her and beer for himself, ignoring her rather pointed comment. ‘If this is the real you,’ he said, ‘What makes you moonlight as a social butterfly?’

      ‘My mother. Please don’t make any smart remarks,’ she warned, and explained the situation to him in a nutshell.

      ‘Very commendable.’ He paused as his beer was served, along with a silver dish of olives and a fruit-laden glass of juice topped by a pink parasol for Holly.

      ‘But a bit trying at times,’ Holly revealed, allowing her hostilities to lapse for a moment. ‘I think I would have preferred standing on a street corner with a collection box rather than that lunch, but perhaps I shouldn’t say that in deference to your sister.’ She eyed him curiously then stared out over the gardens towards the river. The sun was setting and the quality of light was warm and vivid.

      He watched her thoughtfully. ‘Each to his own method, but we seem to have a few things in common.’

      ‘Not really,’ Holly disagreed, going back to clearly hostile, and turned to look straight at him. ‘Why have you done this?’

      He countered with a question, ‘Did you or did you not tell your mother you would love to interview me?’

      ‘I…’ Holly paused. ‘I told her an interview with you could provide the boost my career needed. I told her that I’d had no idea who you were, but if there’d ever been any chance of an interview I’d blown it.’

      ‘Only, being a mother, she didn’t believe you,’ he said wryly. ‘Well, it is on, on certain conditions.’

      ‘So I hear.’ She glanced at him coolly, as if she was highly suspicious of his conditions—which she was. ‘What are they?’

      ‘I’m a bit pressed for time. I need to be in Cairns—Palm Cove, precisely. I have an important meeting. And I need to be out at Haywire the following day for a few days. It’s the only free time I have before my brother gets married, and anyway—’ he looked at her over the rim of his glass ‘—it will set the scene for you.’

      ‘You—want me to come to Palm Cove and then on to this Haywire place with you?’ she queried a little jaggedly.

      He nodded. ‘Not only am I pressed for time, but logistically it makes sense. The best way to get you to Haywire is for you to fly out there with me from Cairns.’

      ‘Do I,’ Holly gestured, ‘actually have to see this Haywire place?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Why?’

      He sat back and shoved his hands into his pockets with a slight frown. ‘That doesn’t sound like a dedicated journalist. Why wouldn’t you want to see it?’

      ‘Mr Wyndham,’ she said carefully, ‘You have not only accused me of being a serial socialite and a gold-digger, you’ve mentally undressed me often enough to make me seriously wary of being stuck somewhere out beyond the black stump with you!’

      Like lightning, a crooked grin creased his face which didn’t impress Holly at all.

      ‘I apologize,’ he said then. ‘I was—’ he paused to consider ‘—not in a very good mood—not at the lunch, anyway. However, you’d be quite safe at Haywire. There’s staff up there, and I’m not in the habit of forcing myself on unwilling women.’

      Holly chewed her lip then said finally, ‘What are the other conditions?’

      ‘I mainly want to talk about the work I do—so nothing personal, unless it’s ancient history. And I want to vet it before it gets published.’

      Holly blinked several times, then she said frustratedly, ‘Why me?’

      He shrugged. ‘Why not? Not only are you a journalist, but you’re interesting.’ He looked amused. ‘I’ve never been walked-out on before, as you did at the lunch. I’ve never been told I was making a pass in a French accent. And I’ve never been accused of being as bad-minded as a leopard.’

      Holly realized she’d been staring at him openmouthed. She shut it hastily and watched him twirl his beer bottle in his long fingers before pouring the last of it into his glass.

      ‘But what really decided me,’ he continued, ‘was your mother.’

      ‘My mother?’ Holly repeated in dazed tones. ‘How come?’

      ‘I thought what she did was quite brave. Maybe it’s mistaken maternal faith—we’ll see, I guess—but I liked her for it.’

      Holly was seized by strong emotion and had to turn away to hide it as her eyes blazed. If it killed her, she would dearly love to prove to Brett Wyndham that her mother’s faith in her was not mistakenly maternal, even if it meant spending some days with him at Palm Cove and beyond the black stump…

      After all, there was bound to be staff at the station, and Palm Cove was highly civilized, wasn’t it? It was not as if she’d be stranded in some jungle with him. It would actually be quite difficult to be stalked by him up there, as predator and prey, and she was no silly girl to be seduced by palm trees and mango daiquiris.

      Was that all there was to it, however? Was simply to be in his company seductive? Was he just that kind of man? She couldn’t deny he’d had a powerful effect on her a couple of times—without even trying too hard, she thought a little bitterly. But surely that was in her power to control? Well, if not control, ignore.

      After all, was she not getting gold in return for a little self-discipline?

      She opened her mouth, looked frustrated and said, ‘You never give interviews. So I’m having a little difficulty with that.’

      ‘I’m branching out in a new direction that I was going to publicize anyway. I’ve read some of your pieces, you have your father’s touch and I thought you could do justice to it.’

      Holly’s lips parted and he could see the quickening of interest drowning the doubt and suspicion in her eyes. ‘Am I allowed to know what it is?’

      He shook his head. ‘Not yet. But it’s the very good reason for you to see Haywire.’

      Holly looked unamused. ‘I find you extremely—annoying at times,’ she told him.

      Brett

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