An Exception to His Rule by Lindsay Armstrong Page A

though,’ Harriet objected.
    Damien sat up. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. Periodically, Arthur sends our paintings away to be cleaned. It’s about that time now, so why don’t you do it? Here.’
    Harriet’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open.
    ‘Isn’t that what your father did?’
    Her jaw clicked as she closed her mouth. ‘Yes. Well, he restored paintings too.’ She stopped abruptly and bit her lip.
    ‘Then?’
    ‘I couldn’t.’ She clasped her hands on the table. ‘I’d feel like a charitable institution.’
    ‘Nonsense.’ His tone was biting. ‘It’s a good business proposition. Arthur agrees.’
    Harriet frowned. ‘When have you had time to consult Arthur?’
    ‘In this day and age of mobile phones it only took a few minutes. Did you think I had to rely on carrier pigeons or the bush telegraph?’
    Harriet compressed her lips and looked at him mutinously.
    ‘For crying out loud, just say yes, Harriet Livingstone.’ He shoved his hand through his hair wearily. ‘Thanks to you, I’ve been up since the crack of dawn, I’ve had to fly to Sydney and back again, not to mention loitering around Sydney Airport waiting for bloody flights.’
    ‘I didn’t ask you to do any of that!’ she protested.
    ‘Nevertheless, it was all due to you. Look, I won’t be here, if that’s what’s worrying you. No coming home early this time.’ He gazed at her ironically.
    ‘But it could take me...a month!’ She tried to visualise every painting in the house. ‘It’s very painstaking, careful work done properly.’
    He pushed his wine glass away. ‘I’ll go on a safari,’ he said flippantly. ‘There’s a lot of wildlife in Africa as well as mining.’
    Harriet got up and put her hands on her hips. ‘You’re impossible.’
    ‘That’s what my wife used to tell me,’ he drawled.
    Harriet flinched then shrugged. ‘She may have been right.’
    ‘No doubt.’ He watched her as she paced around the table. She’d changed into white pedal pushers and a loose apricot blouse with a distinctive pattern and a round neck. Her hair was tied back simply. ‘Are you going to do it?’
    ‘I don’t know. I can’t think straight!’
    ‘Why don’t you sit down and let me make you a cup of coffee? You could be more rational about things then.’
    ‘I’m not being irrational ,’ Harriet said with extreme frustration. But she sat down and she didn’t raise any obstacles when he got up to make the coffee.
    And the wheels of her mind started to turn slowly rather than racing around uselessly.
    It would be a solution.
    It would provide not only the financial support she needed but, come to think of it, the moral support. She and Isabel had grown close. She also loved Heathcote. She was comfortable and secure here—and there were some marvellous paintings to work on when she finished her present job. Could she ask for more?
    Despite her financial affairs being in much better repair thanks to Damien Wyatt’s mother’s treasures, once she wasn’t earning, once she wasn’t living rent free, living off her capital so to speak, she had a fair idea of how fast it would shrink.
    But...
    She looked across at his tall figure as he rounded up the coffee accoutrements, and had to marvel suddenly at how things had changed. How she’d hated him for his arrogance; how she’d hated the way he could kiss her without so much as a by-your-leave and leave her deeply moved. How she’d been so determined not to allow his effect on her to take root—only to discover that it had anyway.
    But to discover at the same time why Damien Wyatt was so opposed to the concept of love ever after and the institution of marriage... A story that was painful even to think about.
    She shivered suddenly and forced her mind away. And she asked herself if the wisest course of action for her peace of mind, if nothing else, was to go away from Heathcote as soon as she’d finished the first job.
    But Brett! Brett—his name hammered in her