The Marriage Bed: An Ideal Marriage? / The Marriage Campaign / The Bridal Bed. HELEN BIANCHIN

‘I’ll make sandwiches.’

      He put a restraining hand on her arm. ‘We’ll pick up something along the way.’

      The phone rang, and Gabbi froze as Benedict crossed into the house to take the call. The day’s pleasure disappeared as she heard the curt tone of his voice, saw him make notes on paper then fold the sheet into his shirt pocket.

      Nice plans, she thought with wistful regret as she cleared their breakfast dishes onto a tray and carried them through to the kitchen. Pity they had to be abandoned.

      She was determined not to show her disappointment. ‘Shall I take more coffee through to the study?’

      He shot her a sharp look. ‘I need an hour, maybe less. Then we’ll leave.’

      ‘Can I help?’

      He gave a brief nod of assent, and she followed him to the study.

      The fax machine held paper, and Benedict collected it en route to the desk. Within seconds the laptop was up and running.

      They worked together side by side and, when the document was done and checked, it was consigned to the printer then faxed through to the States.

      ‘OK. Let’s get out of here.’

      Five minutes later Benedict reversed the four-wheel drive from the garage and, once clear of suburbia, he headed west, taking the mountain road to Mount Tamborine.

      ‘Thanks.’

      ‘Whatever for?’

      The terrain was lush green after seasonal subtropical rain. Grassed paddocks, bush-clad hills, homes on acreage, working farms.

      They were gaining height as the bitumen road curved round the foothills and began its snaking ascent towards the peak.

      ‘The weekend,’ Gabbi elaborated. ‘Today.’ For the simple pleasures that cost only his time and therefore were infinitely more precious to her than anything money could buy.

      ‘It’s not over yet.’

      No. The sun suddenly appeared much brighter, the sky a magical azure.

      As the road wound higher there was a spectacular view of the hinterland, and in the distance lay the ocean, a sapphire jewel.

      They reached the uppermost peak and travelled the road that traversed its crest, past houses of various ages and designs, an old-English-style hotel, and a quaint café.

      The village was a mixture of shops with broad verandahs clumped together, and they stopped to purchase a large bottle of chilled mineral water, some delicious ham and salad rolls and fruit. Then they walked back to the four-wheel drive and drove to a grassed reserve with magnificent views over the valley.

      It was isolated, picturesque, and Gabbi felt as if they were perched on top of the world, removed from everything and everyone. It was a heady feeling, more intoxicating than wine, breathtaking.

      Benedict unfolded a rug and spread it over the grass beneath the shade of a nearby tree. They ate until they were replete then sprawled comfortably, at ease with the vista and the silence.

      A true picnic, it reminded Gabbi of the many she’d shared with Jacques in the days when laughter had risen readily to her lips and the only cares she had had were studying and excelling in her exams.

      ‘Penny for them.’

      Gabbi turned at the sound of Benedict’s drawling voice, and gave him a slow smile. ‘We should do this more often.’

      ‘That’s it?’

      He sounded mildly amused, but she could play the faintly teasing game as well as he. ‘You want my innermost thoughts?’

      ‘It would be a start.’

      ‘I love you’ was so easy to say, so difficult to retract. Whispered in the deep night hours was one thing—voiced in the early afternoon on a mountaintop was something else.

      ‘I was thinking this is a little piece of heaven,’ she said lightly. ‘Far away from the city, business pressures, people.’

      “The place, or the fact we’re sharing it?”

      She offered him a wide smile that reached her eyes and lit them as vividly as the blue of the ocean in the distance. ‘Why, both, of course. It wouldn’t be nearly as much fun on my own.’

      He curled a hand beneath her nape and brought his mouth down over hers in an evocative kiss that teased, tantalised and stopped just short of total possession.

      ‘Witch,’ he murmured a few moments later against her temple. ‘Do you want to stay here, or explore the mountain further?’

      She pressed a kiss to the hollow at the base of his throat and savoured the faint taste that was his alone—male heat mingled with cleanliness and exclusive cologne.

      ‘We’re close to a public road, it’s a public park, and we wouldn’t want to shock anyone passing by,’ she teased, using the edge of her teeth to nip his skin. ‘Besides, there’s a plane waiting to take us back to the rat race.’

      ‘Tomorrow morning. Dawn.’

      They had the night. ‘We shouldn’t waste a moment,’ Gabbi said with mock reverence, and gave his chest a gentle push. ‘When we reach the coast we’ll get some prawns and Moreton Bay bugs which you can cook on the barbecue while I get a salad together. We’ll open a bottle of wine, eat, and watch the sun go down.’

      He let her go, watched as she rose lithely to her feet, then took her outstretched hand and levered himself upright in one fluid movement.

      It was after five when they entered the house, and by tacit agreement they took a long walk over the damp, packed sand of an outgoing tide, then reluctantly turned and retraced their steps.

      Her hand was held lightly clasped in his, and a faint breeze tugged her blouse and teased loose tendrils free from the careless knot of her hair. Her skin glowed from its exposure to the fresh sea air, and her eyes held a mystic depth that owed much to the pleasure of the day, and the anticipation of the night.

      After preparing the meal there was time to change into swimwear and swim several lengths of the pool before emerging to dry the excess water from their skin.

      The aroma of barbecued seafood heightened their appetite, and, seated out on the terrace, Gabbi reached for a prawn with her fingers, declared it ambrosia, then reached for another as she dug her fork into a delectable portion of salad.

      ‘You’ve got prawn juice on your chin,’ Benedict said lazily, and she directed a dazzling smile at him.