By Request Collection 1. Jackie Braun

back does the Wyndham association with Far North Queensland go…?’

      An hour later, Brett glanced at his watch and Holly took the hint. She put her pen and notebook back into her tote, but she was satisfied with their progress. Brett had given her an insight into how the Wyndham fortune had been built, as well as a fascinating insight into life on cattle stations in the Cape York area in the early part of the twentieth century—gleaned, he told her, from his grandmother’s stories and diaries. And he’d included a few immediate-family anecdotes.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said warmly. ‘That was a really good beginning. It’s always important to be able to set the scene.’ She drained her brandy. ‘And I’ll try not to require any more medicinal brandy for our next session.’

      He stood up and reached for his jacket. ‘I’m sorry; I have a dinner to attend, but you’re welcome to use the resort dining-room on us.’

      Holly slung her bag on her shoulder. ‘Oh no, but thank you. I was planning to wander down the water-front and indulge in a thoroughly decadent hamburger at one of the cafés, then an early night. We are still flying to Haywire early tomorrow, I take it?’

      ‘Yes. I plan to leave here at nine sharp. I’ll pick you up at Reception.’ He hesitated and frowned.

      Holly studied him. ‘Are you having second thoughts?’ she queried.

      ‘No. But you’re good,’ he said slowly. ‘Especially for one so young.’

      ‘Good?’ She looked puzzled.

      ‘You seem to have the art of putting a person at ease down to a fine art.’

      ‘Thank you,’ Holly murmured. ‘Why do I get the feeling you don’t altogether approve, though?’ she added.

      ‘Could you be imagining it?’ he suggested with a sudden grin, and went on immediately, ‘I am running late now; I’m sorry…’

      ‘Going; I’m going!’ Holly assured him and turned towards the door. ‘See you tomorrow.’

      But, even though he was running late, Brett Wyndham watched her retreating back until she disappeared. Then he walked out on to the terrace and stared at the moon and the river of silver light it was pouring onto the waters of the cove.

      She’d been right, he reflected. He wasn’t entirely approving of her skills as an interviewer. She did have an engaging, relaxing way with her. She did also have an undoubted enthusiasm for, and a lively curiosity about, his story and that of his family and its history. Not that he’d told her anything he hadn’t wanted to tell her, nor did he have any intention of exposing the dark secret that lay behind him.

      But was she capable of digging it out somehow?

      Or, in other words, had he unwittingly put himself into a rather vulnerable situation because he’d underestimated a leggy twenty-four-year old who intrigued him?

      For some reason his thoughts moved on to the little scene that had played out when she’d first arrived in his suite, and how she’d reacted when he’d stopped her walking out. She’d been genuinely frightened and angry at the same time. She had told him she’d got her fingers burnt once and it was still with her. He had to believe that now. He also had to believe it had pulled him up short, the fact that he’d frightened her.

      All the same—call it all off and send her home? Or deliberately shift the focus to the project he really wanted to publicize, as had been his original intention?

      He shrugged and went out to dinner with his brother, his sister, his sister-in-law-to-be and several others. He was unaware that his ex-fiancée would be one of the party.

      Holly had her hamburger, and was strolling along the beach side of the road opposite the fabulous restaurants of Palm Cove, when she stopped as Brett Wyndham caught her attention.

      He was with a party of diners at an upmarket restaurant that opened onto the pavement and had an amazing old melaleuca tree growing in the middle of it. It was not only an upmarket restaurant, it was a pretty upmarket party of diners, she decided. One of the women was his sister, Sue Murray, looking lovely in turquoise silk with pearls in her ears and around her neck. Two of the other women were exceptionally sleek and gorgeously dressed, one a stunning redhead, the other with a river of smooth, straight blonde hair that Holly would have given her eye teeth for.

      It looked to be a lively party as wine glasses glinted beneath the lights and a small army of waiters delivered a course.

      After her initial summing-up of the party, Holly turned her attention back to Brett and felt that not so unexpected frisson run through her. She frowned. Was she getting used to the effect his dark good looks and tall physique had on her? She certainly wasn’t as annoyed about it as she’d been only a few days ago.

      But there was something else to worry about now, she acknowledged. Ever since she’d left his suite she’d been conscious of a sense of unease. Was she imagining it, or had he rather suddenly developed reservations about the interview?

      No, it wasn’t her imagination, she decided. Something had changed. Had she asked too many questions?

      She shook her head and went back to watching Brett Wyndham, only to be troubled by yet another set of thoughts. How would she feel if he pulled out of the interview? How would she feel if she never saw him again?

      Her eyes widened at the chill little pang that ran through her at the thought, leaving her in no doubt she would suffer a sense of loss, a sense of regret. If that was the case for her now, after only a few brief encounters, how dangerous could it be to get to know Brett Wyndham better?

       Chapter Four

      HOLLY decided to go for a swim as dawn broke over Palm Cove the next morning.

      She put on her swimsuit, a pretty peasant blouse and a skimpy pair of shorts. She laid out the clothes she would wear after her swim and looked at her luggage, all neatly packed. The only thing that wasn’t quite neat and tidy in her mind was, which way would she go when she left Palm Cove? Out to Haywire, or back to Brisbane?

      She collected a towel from the pool area and walked through the quiet resort to the beach.

      There was a sprinkling of early-morning walkers and swimmers and, even so early, a feel of the coming heat of the day on the air.

      She hesitated then opted to go for a walk first.

      Palm Cove—most of Far North Queensland, for that matter—didn’t offer blinding white sand on its beaches, although its off-shore islands might. What you got instead was sand that resembled raw sugar but it was clean, and towards the waterline, firm.

      What also impressed her was that from further down the beach you would not have known Palm Cove was there, thanks to the height limitations put on the buildings and the trees that lined the beach.

      She strode out and reviewed her dilemma as she did so. If she did go back to Brisbane off her own bat—assuming she wasn’t sent back, and she had the feeling it wasn’t impossible for that to be on the cards—how would she handle it? She would have to confess to Glenn and her mother that she’d been unable to handle the Wyndham interview, and she would go back to travel reporting with a sense of relief.

      If she did get sent back, though, she’d have to confess that she must have pressed some wrong buttons with Brett Wyndham.

      In either case, she would not even contemplate the fact that at times Brett Wyndham fascinated her mentally and stirred her physically, probably more than any man had done. Well, she could tell herself that, anyway.

      It would be true to say she was still on the horns of a dilemma when she got back to her towel. She shrugged frustratedly, dropped her top and shorts on it and waded into the water. It was heavenly, refreshing but not cold, calm, buoyant; when it was up to her knees, she dived in and swam out energetically.

      After