Piping Her Tune Page 4

  “I think there were four applicants, right? Where’s the other one?”

  On cue, two figures emerged from behind the palm. Victoria’s eyes widened. “Is this a damn joke, Fiona?”

  As Fiona began to stutter, Abby poked a finger in the air, her tone caustic. “I’m an invited guest, Victoria, so you’d better be civil to me.”

  “You’ve got the hide of an elephant turning up here.”

  “If I’d been aware of what it was all about, I certainly wouldn’t have come.”

  Victoria forced herself to calm down. She shot a look at the entwined arms, and only then noticed Chantal. Surprise and delight flushed through her. “I knew you were coming, but I hardly expected you to…”

  “Oh, Vic, the night is turning out to be so entertaining,” Chantal offered with a soft laugh. “Come, be nice to my friend Abby and give me a hug. Tell me what you’ve been up to all these years. It has been a long time.”

  Victoria relaxed and anger dimmed in her eyes as she clasped the Frenchwoman. “Too long. It’s so good to see you.”

  Fiona seized the opportunity in the unexpected calm and suggested they adjourn to the dining room. Victoria felt Annabelle tug on her sleeve and heard the whisper in her ear. “It’s time to be a good hostess.”

  Victoria stifled the cutting retort that hovered on her lips.

  She’s right. Tonight, diplomacy will have to be the better part of discretion. If I continue the confrontation with Abby, it’ll only alienate the others. I’ll just have to damn well ignore her the rest of the night.

  She inclined her head in agreement; Fiona’s face registered heartfelt relief. Without any more ceremony, Victoria took Karen’s arm with one hand and Emily’s with the other. She walked them into the house and the others followed in their wake. Jan Hardy greeted them at the door of the dining room and cast a look of trepidation at the CEO. Victoria regarded her, poker-faced, so she smiled. “Come in. You might like to organize the seating arrangements.”

  “I’d like to sit at the head of the table between Karen and Emily. Grace can sit next to Emily and Fiona, Annabelle next to Chantal.” She eyed the far end of the table. “Abby can sit between you and Malcolm.”

  As they filed in to take their seats, Chantal patted the chair next to her. “I think Abby can sit here, if that’s not a problem.”

  “Of course not,” murmured Jan when Victoria didn’t answer.

  Annabelle quickly slid into the seat on the other side of Abby. “This one will do me.” She looked at her friend with a hint of a challenge in her green eyes. “Is that all right, sugar?”

  Victoria gritted her teeth, acutely aware of the others’ stares. A muscle clenched in her jaw as she nodded.

  With a satisfied smile, Annabelle moved her chair closer to the artist.

  * * *

  Abby felt the pressure of Annabelle’s thigh pressed against her leg with disquiet. Damn the woman. How could anyone be so hormonal all the time? Was she was just promiscuous or acting out some sort of role? Well, it was a game she was definitely not going to play. Abby regarded her blandly before she cleared her throat. “Perhaps you could move your chair a bit more to the right. It’ll give us room to eat.”

  Annabelle stiffened. She had just been rebuked, subtly but very definitely. Abby knew rejection from a woman was probably a new and very unwelcome experience. To make matters worse, Abby looked up to catch Victoria’s gleam of interest.

  Annabelle smiled though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course,” she said and quickly shuffled her plate and flatware slightly to the right. Abby had no doubt she was planning her next move. Conversation ceased as the soup arrived, which gave Abby time to gather her thoughts. Victoria left her edgy and disturbed. Abby stole a peep at her with fascination. The intensity about the businesswoman struck a chord. She recognized that familiar look—Victoria had had it when she was being painted, a barely contained throb under the skin. And it was hard to ignore how fetching Victoria was. Abby frowned at the thought, annoyed by the involuntary twitch of arousal. Trust her libido not to recognize the enemy. The old adage was true. Love is akin to hate, and she certainly disliked Victoria Myers.

  Abby tilted her head to the side to study Chantal. The Frenchwoman was sweet, gorgeous and no doubt a fantastic lover. She tried to visualize them in bed together making love, but the thoughts provoked no reflex arousal, no erotic cravings.

  “I am intrigued. You and Vic seem to have a rocky history,” said Chantal, catching her gaze. “Did you have a bitter parting?”

  Abby’s eyes widened. “Goodness, no, she’s far too sophisticated to be interested in anyone like me. She’s way out of my league.”

  Surprise flitted across Chantal’s face. “Oh, I have completely misconstrued the situation. But you do yourself an injustice. What’s the story with the two of you?”

  Annabelle, who finally extricated herself from her conversation with Malcolm, caught the last question. “Abby painted Vic’s portrait for the Archibald,” she said a little smugly.

  Chantal raised her eyebrows. “A portrait? Wasn’t it any good?”

  Annabelle chuckled. “I’ve got it on my iPhone. Want to have a look?”

  The picture flashed up, and Chantal drew in a sharp breath. She turned to peer closer at Abby. “It’s spectacular; you are very talented. I can see though why Vic dislikes it. So, what have you against her?”

  “She and I clashed badly at the studio. I found her quite rude. Then at the Archibald presentations, she denigrated my work.”

  “But perhaps she didn’t like to be represented that way?”

  Abby spooned some soup into her mouth to avoid answering. The Frenchwoman didn’t continue with the questions, and gave Abby’s hand a comforting squeeze. After the soup plates were taken away, Annabelle draped her arm over the back of Abby’s chair. Chantal must have noticed Abby lean slightly forward to avoid contact, for she whispered in Abby’s ear, “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from her.” Thankfully the main course appeared, which forced Annabelle to take away her arm.

  * * *

  Once the plates were removed, Victoria placed her hands on the table, ready to commence her speech. As every eye in the room centred on her, she felt suddenly nervous, dubious about the whole affair. Quiet interviews at the office would have been better. Competing with each other wouldn’t bring out the best in the women.

  She gazed round the room and kept her voice steady. “I understand you’ve been waiting to hear the nitty-gritty of the position. In a week I leave for a six-month tour to negotiate new contracts for Orianis Minerals. The position for which each of you has applied is a private appointment. My assistant, Fiona, will be accompanying me. However, for my protection in some foreign countries, the board members in their wisdom have decided I need a partner to accompany me on the journey. To be more specific, a partner means a personal mate, not a work employee. The woman will actually be an employee, but to the outside world for all intents and purposes, she will be someone who shares my life.”

  “You mean like a wife?” called out Grace, excitement in her voice.

  “It’ll be for appearances only when we’re overseas. The arrangement will be purely platonic. Your sexual orientation is of no concern. In Australia you will be just another administrative assistant, so you won’t have to suffer embarrassment if you meet people you know.”

  “Do you mean they actually have to pay someone to be with you?” murmured Abby, though loud enough to drift through the room.

  Victoria tingled with anger. “The person chosen has to have particular attributes.”

  “Oh, I bet. The mind boggles,” said Abby.

  Victoria gripped the edge of the table harder. “This…um…partner needs to speak more languages other than English. All of you have that ability.”

  “Any particular ones?” asked Emily.

  “We don’t expect you to be fluent in them all, but suffice to say each one of you can converse in two other languages.”


  The marine biologist nodded. “I speak Arabic and Japanese.”

  “Good for you,” called out Abby in Japanese. “Did you work in Japan?”

  Emily slid with no effort into that native tongue. “Three years in the Okinawa region where we did a study on improving the fishing grounds.”

  Victoria rapped the table and hissed through her teeth. “Please speak English.”

  “What languages do you speak, Karen?” Abby ignored her, on a roll.

  The petite computer analyst looked with hesitation at her host before she replied. “I lived in China until I was twenty-five. My father worked for Travel Company there. I speak Greek too of course—that was my parents’ homeland. I can also manage some Japanese.”

  As Abby rattled off a few phrases in Mandarin, Victoria let out a harsh growl. The woman was making her look like a fool. The presentation was disintegrating into a farce; Malcolm looked uncomfortable and Fiona appeared agitated. Only Annabelle and Chantal seemed to be enjoying themselves. “Let’s get back to business.”

  “What about my turn?” said Grace peevishly.

  Abby raised her glass to peer at her over the rim. “And what are your specialties?”

  “Mandarin and Russian.”

  With some effort, Abby called out a basic Russian greeting. Grace slumped back in her chair and glared sullenly.

  “All right, you’ve proved your point. You’re the best here. How many do you actually speak?” asked Victoria.

  “I can speak Japanese and Mandarin fluently. French too. But rest assured, Victoria, I can manage to say ‘Up yours’ in a few more languages. I work for Legal Aid.”

  * * *

  Victoria reined in her temper. A swift assessment of the situation made her realize that she needed to reassert her authority, but instinct told her it would be better done with charm. “We had to narrow down the field of applicants so we made another requirement: some experience in the martial arts. It was considered a necessity in the event you were called upon to cope in sticky situations.”

  Grace flexed an arm muscle. “No trouble there. You can rely on me.”

  “I bet she can,” murmured Abby.

  Karen looked a little perturbed. “Are you expecting trouble?”

  “Not at all.” Victoria smiled her reassurance.

  “So, you expect us to be an expert in self-defence. How good do we have to be? Like James Bond or just able to kick a bloke in the crown jewels if he comes on to you?” asked Abby.

  “I’m not expecting you to protect me. We’ll simply be happy if you can look after yourselves.”

  Abby shot a fierce look back. “Okay. We have to be GI Jane and speak in many tongues, so what else is necessary for the fabulous job?”

  “You have to be able to conduct yourself with propriety.” The words were shouted out.

  Chantal quickly covered Abby’s hand resting on the table and whispered, “Let it go, chérie.”

  Abby pursed her lips but sank back into her chair without replying.

  “What will be our duties?” asked Emily.

  “It’ll be mostly routine work, helping Fiona with computer data and the organization of bookings, etc. When there’s a function, you will accompany me as my partner,” said Victoria with a grin. “It won’t be all work and no play. I expect there’ll be plenty of time for sightseeing and night entertainment. All at our expense, of course.”

  “You will be paid one hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the time you will be away. Payment in two equal lumps sums, the first at the beginning and the remainder at the end of the contract. Any questions?”

  “I’m sure we all agree that’s an extremely generous wage,” said Karen.

  “Is that tax free?” called out Abby. “The taxation department will take forty-five cents on the dollar if you pay that way.”

  Malcolm intervened quickly. “Let me answer that one. I’m sure we can manage some creative accounting to reduce the tax, although some will have to be paid. We will be notifying the successful applicant on Sunday. Now I believe dessert will be here in a moment.”

  * * *

  Abby pushed back her chair; claustrophobia weighed heavily on her heightened emotions. She needed to get out of the room to get herself under control. Victoria brought out the worst of her. She turned to Annabelle. “Which way’s the powder room?”

  “It’s down the hallway to the left. Come on, I’ll take you.”

  “There’s no need. I can…”

  Annabelle took her arm with a firm grasp. “Nonsense. I have to go too.”

  Abby stiffened. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with the woman, though she was reluctant to make a scene as she was propelled from the room. Out of sight from the others, she tried to maintain a facade of nonchalance as the redhead’s hand moved from her arm to stroke her back.

  “I was captivated by you at the gallery,” Annabelle whispered.

  Abby swallowed and didn’t answer. The hands slid downwards to her backside and she jerked away. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t touch me.”

  Breathy words whispered in her ear. “But I think you’re really hot. Your bickering with Vic turned me on. Would you like to go out next week?”

  “Sorry. I’m too busy,” said Abby, taking a step backwards.

  “Come on. I can promise you’ll have a very good time.”

  “What don’t you understand? I’m not interested—full stop!” Abby let her dislike show as she stared her in the eye.

  Annabelle, her displeasure visible on her face at the rebuff, snapped. “You think you’re going to get a better offer? In your dreams. Vic’s never…” Abby’s ears pricked at the mention of Victoria’s name and she waited for her finish the sentence. But Annabelle abruptly pivoted on her heels and stalked back down the corridor.

  * * *

  Victoria drummed her fingers on the table as she tried to concentrate on her conversation with Emily. Try as she might, she couldn’t help her eyes from drifting to the door to the hallway. Abby and Annabelle should have come back by now. She’d recognized what reflected in her friend’s eye as they passed. She’d seen it too many times before. Lust. Conceit. Triumph. With an effort to keep her voice even, Victoria answered a question while she cast another furtive glance towards the door. She caught Chantal staring at her intently, concern on her face.

  The door burst open and Annabelle hurried over. “I’m heading home, Vic. I’m not feeling well. Give my apologies to Malcolm and Jan, will you? Don’t get up, I’ll just slip out and get the butler to call me a cab.” And without another word she was gone.

  Victoria sat back, stunned. If Annabelle’s body language was any indication, she wasn’t sick—more like furious. She watched the door but Abby didn’t appear. A chair scraped and Chantal disappeared into the corridor.

  * * *

  Abby was staring into space as Chantal approached. “Are you all right, chérie?”

  Abby turned at the sound of her voice. “I guess.”

  The Frenchwoman took her hands and stroked the knuckles. “Did she hurt you?”

  “No.”

  “What then, my dear?”

  Abby pulled her gaze away; again she stared into the distance. “It was…oh, I don’t know…I guess I’ve never met anyone quite so…well…so predatory. I made it quite clear that I wasn’t interested, yet she persisted. And she certainly didn’t take too kindly to the knock-back.”

  “She wouldn’t have,” said Chantal with a wry smile. “She’s used to getting everything she wants. A typical spoiled socialite. I’ve met plenty like her in my profession.”

  “The only thing was, though, I had the impression it wasn’t really about me at all. I’ve had plenty of experience at Legal Aid to recognize when someone is fabricating a lie. It was as if she was playing out some sort of power role. I’ve no idea why she’d do that.” Then Abby blinked as a thought popped into her head. “Maybe…maybe she’s…”

  “In love with Victoria?”

  “That c
ould be the reason. I’ve seen the way Annabelle looks at her. Not the average just friends regard.”

  “Oui, I’ve noticed it too. Annabelle wants Vic and I suspect she’s been seducing any woman she thinks might be a threat for years. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, as they say.”

  “But why would Annabelle hassle me? Victoria and I don’t get on.”

  Chantal twined their fingers together. “But you still have a relationship with her, even if it’s a fighting one. No one likes to share a sparring partner. Come, let us go back. We have been away too long. They might think we’ve indulged in—what do you say here—some hanky-panky.”

  Jan announced coffee was being served in the drawing room. Annabelle was nowhere in sight. As the guests rose to vacate the dining table, Jan came over to Abby and linked her arm through hers. “Can I interest you in a walk round the back garden, my dear?”

  Abby looked at her in surprise. “I’d be delighted. I was admiring the flowers earlier. A gorgeous array of blooms.”

  Chantal waved an elegant hand at them. “I will leave you and talk with my good friend, Victoria. We haven’t had a chance to catch up yet.”

  They reached the patio; Abby cleared her throat. “I owe you an apology for my behaviour earlier, Mrs Hardy. I’m afraid I was rather rude during Victoria’s presentation.”

  “We don’t stand on ceremony here so please call me Jan.” She nodded her head. “I think perhaps you do, though knowing the history between the two of you, it was probably a fait accompli you two would clash. You both have such strong personalities. I haven’t seen Vic so rattled—ever. Poor Fiona’s been like a cat on hot bricks and I fear Malcolm has gained more grey hairs, though it’s entirely his own fault for not checking the list. Fiona obviously never listens to gossip.” Her hostess chuckled. “Actually, and don’t tell them I said this, I haven’t been so entertained in years. Our dinner parties are usually so dreadfully boring.”