skin tingled.
Yes—she stepped out of the shower and started to dry herself—instead of being as haughty about it all as only she could be, instead of being scared to the core of her being, but determined to put a brave but angry face on it, she should have asked some pertinent questions.
She rubbed her hair, then dropped the towel and reached for her underwear, matching bra and tiny panties in apple-green silk. She paused for a moment to consider her day—morning in the garden, afternoon at the Cellar Door, getting ready for the fashion parade—she donned jeans with a fresh pink cotton shirt and sat down at her dressing table.
These days, it often seemed like one of life’s little ironies that she should, as a married woman, still be using the bedroom she’d used as a girl and one that was several doors away from the master bedroom. But in the early days of her marriage it had seemed like an excellent idea to stay put.
Anyway, in the early days, Reith had stayed at Clover Hill. And it was only when she’d explained to him, in casual tones but with her eyes an arctic blue, that if he thought he could bribe her into his bed by allowing her to believe he’d bought Clover Hill specially for her, heshould have another think coming, that he’d retaliated by moving into Saldanha. This had caused her some frustration. Life had been easier the other way around.
But it was no longer a blue room, her bedroom.
Now she had ivory walls and white French colonial furniture on a thyme-green carpet. On one wall hung an intricate silk tapestry of a garden and a beautifully carved sandalwood chest stood at the end of the bed.
All of it couldn’t have been further from her mind, however, as she rested her chin on her hands and voiced the thought she’d been fighting to avoid ever since she’d stepped out of the car the night before under the portico …
‘Who’s he with?’
Was it realistic to imagine that Reith was living like a monk while she held onto her pride? Or, as he himself had said, was that being naïve? But was there one mistress, or several?
What did she look like, if it was one? Did he prefer blondes or brunettes? Redheads weren’t that easy to come by—Oh, stop it! she commanded herself. It’s insane to be thinking these thoughts. It’s crazy to be jealous of some faceless woman, or a dozen of them, for that matter, when for ninety-nine per cent of the time you hate the man.
CHAPTER SIX
T HERE was no sign of Reith and the fashion parade was upon them.
Kim dressed in some of her Chilli George clothes, a gorgeous taupe silk tunic with long sleeves and a ruffled neckline and slim ivory trousers, but she kept her eye on the window as she dressed because it was apparent from the moment she’d woken that the sun wasn’t shining for her …
It was raining, but not gently—it poured. It literally teemed so that just getting people into the Cellar Door from the flooded car park became an exercise in logistics.
Then there was a power failure and candles had to be lit before the backup generator kicked in.
‘Keep the champagne flowing,’ Kim’s mother advised.
Kim grinned but agreed and it was a strategy that worked. The crowd remained good-humoured, despite all the delays and inconveniences.
Good humour was hard to come by behind the scenes, however.
There’d certainly been nothing in any of their meetings that had suggested to Kim that Chilli George would work herself into a state of near hysteria over the weather, the delay in getting the generator going and the non-appearance of her wardrobe co-ordinator and assistant, who’d both been caught on the wrong side of a flooded creek.
‘Look, it doesn’t really matter,’ Kim said soothingly. ‘The girls must know roughly what they have to wear.’
But suddenly she wasn’t so sure as she looked around the colourful behind-the-scenes chaos of the dressing room. There were armfuls of clothes everywhere. There were cosmetics strewn across every
Yes—she stepped out of the shower and started to dry herself—instead of being as haughty about it all as only she could be, instead of being scared to the core of her being, but determined to put a brave but angry face on it, she should have asked some pertinent questions.
She rubbed her hair, then dropped the towel and reached for her underwear, matching bra and tiny panties in apple-green silk. She paused for a moment to consider her day—morning in the garden, afternoon at the Cellar Door, getting ready for the fashion parade—she donned jeans with a fresh pink cotton shirt and sat down at her dressing table.
These days, it often seemed like one of life’s little ironies that she should, as a married woman, still be using the bedroom she’d used as a girl and one that was several doors away from the master bedroom. But in the early days of her marriage it had seemed like an excellent idea to stay put.
Anyway, in the early days, Reith had stayed at Clover Hill. And it was only when she’d explained to him, in casual tones but with her eyes an arctic blue, that if he thought he could bribe her into his bed by allowing her to believe he’d bought Clover Hill specially for her, heshould have another think coming, that he’d retaliated by moving into Saldanha. This had caused her some frustration. Life had been easier the other way around.
But it was no longer a blue room, her bedroom.
Now she had ivory walls and white French colonial furniture on a thyme-green carpet. On one wall hung an intricate silk tapestry of a garden and a beautifully carved sandalwood chest stood at the end of the bed.
All of it couldn’t have been further from her mind, however, as she rested her chin on her hands and voiced the thought she’d been fighting to avoid ever since she’d stepped out of the car the night before under the portico …
‘Who’s he with?’
Was it realistic to imagine that Reith was living like a monk while she held onto her pride? Or, as he himself had said, was that being naïve? But was there one mistress, or several?
What did she look like, if it was one? Did he prefer blondes or brunettes? Redheads weren’t that easy to come by—Oh, stop it! she commanded herself. It’s insane to be thinking these thoughts. It’s crazy to be jealous of some faceless woman, or a dozen of them, for that matter, when for ninety-nine per cent of the time you hate the man.
CHAPTER SIX
T HERE was no sign of Reith and the fashion parade was upon them.
Kim dressed in some of her Chilli George clothes, a gorgeous taupe silk tunic with long sleeves and a ruffled neckline and slim ivory trousers, but she kept her eye on the window as she dressed because it was apparent from the moment she’d woken that the sun wasn’t shining for her …
It was raining, but not gently—it poured. It literally teemed so that just getting people into the Cellar Door from the flooded car park became an exercise in logistics.
Then there was a power failure and candles had to be lit before the backup generator kicked in.
‘Keep the champagne flowing,’ Kim’s mother advised.
Kim grinned but agreed and it was a strategy that worked. The crowd remained good-humoured, despite all the delays and inconveniences.
Good humour was hard to come by behind the scenes, however.
There’d certainly been nothing in any of their meetings that had suggested to Kim that Chilli George would work herself into a state of near hysteria over the weather, the delay in getting the generator going and the non-appearance of her wardrobe co-ordinator and assistant, who’d both been caught on the wrong side of a flooded creek.
‘Look, it doesn’t really matter,’ Kim said soothingly. ‘The girls must know roughly what they have to wear.’
But suddenly she wasn’t so sure as she looked around the colourful behind-the-scenes chaos of the dressing room. There were armfuls of clothes everywhere. There were cosmetics strewn across every
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