he cautionary voice inside his head had warned Philip to go slow with Madelana. But on this Wednesday night, ten days after meeting her at Dunoon, he was asking himself if he had perhaps gone too slowly.

He walked across the living room of his penthouse atop the McGill Tower and stood looking out of the window absently, for once not seeing the magnificent view of the harbour which he so loved. He was thoroughly preoccupied with his interior meanderings.

Instinctively, he had known not to rush Madelana, had recognized that he had his reputation as a womanizer to overcome with her. If she had thought she was merely going to be another notch on his belt, she would have undoubtedly fled from him. But she was rarely if ever out of his thoughts. He was obsessed with her, and his longing to know her more intimately had created the most enormous tension within him; there had been times lately when he had felt as though he was about to explode.

I should have made my moves before, he thought dismally, regretting the way he had delayed, acknowledging that time was running out on him. She would be leaving soon for the States. On the other hand, even if he had decided to go more quickly with her, it would have been difficult to do so with Paula around.

His sister had become Madelana’s self-appointed chaperone during the weekend at Dunoon. She had not left them alone for one minute on the Sunday. Wherever they went, she went too, and then she had spirited Madelana off to Melbourne and Adelaide for most of the following week, and the two of them had not returned to Sydney until Friday evening.

In their absence, he had hit on the idea of showing Madelana the sights of Sydney, thinking that at least he would get to know her better, if not more intimately. But Paula had accompanied them on their jaunts around the city, and, whilst it had been fun, it had not been what he had originally planned. Although seduction had not been his intent, he had thought a bit of mild flirting would enable him to test the waters. But once they were a threesome this was impossible.

A wry smile touched Philip’s mouth as he reflected on the past few days. Just as Paula had striven hard never to leave them alone together, so his mother had done everything in her power to push him towards Madelana. Without appearing to do so, of course. But he had seen through Daisy’s discreet little ploys. Sadly, none of them had worked, because of Paula’s vigilance.

Finally, his sister had left this morning for Hong Kong.

He had driven her to the airport himself, and on the way there he had told her that he intended to invite Madelana out for dinner that evening.

‘Yes, I suspected you would,’ Paula had said. There had been a small silence between them, before he had exclaimed, ‘She’s twenty-seven, Paula, and a grown woman. Not to mention extremely intelligent, and quite capable of making her own decisions. You shouldn’t have done her thinking for her, nor should you have interfered…you haven’t been fair to me, or to her. And that’s so unlike you, darling.’

At once, his sister had apologized, had admitted that he was absolutely right, and she had tried to explain her protectiveness. ‘I care about Madelana,’ Paula had said. ‘She’s one of the most special women I’ve ever met, and I couldn’t bear it if you, of all people, did anything to cause her grief.’ She had then gone on to tell him something about Madelana’s past, the tragedies that had befallen her family, her dreadful losses, and he had been profoundly touched. He had promised Paula he would do nothing to hurt her assistant, and he intended to keep his promise.

Philip glanced down at his watch. It was seven-forty and time to go. Turning away from the floor-to-ceiling window, he hurried across the huge, modern living room decorated entirely in shades of white and cream, and went on through the marble foyer at the same rapid pace. He was going to be alone with Madelana at last and he could not wait to get to her.

As he rode down in his private elevator, it suddenly struck him that he had no idea whether Madelana was interested in him or not. Her behaviour had not revealed her thoughts or her feelings; her calm grey eyes had told him nothing. In fact, the only certain thing was the way he felt about her. It was quite possible that she would consider his overtures repugnant and so reject him.

The same wry smile flickered in the cool blue eyes. He would soon find out exactly where he stood with her…if anywhere at all.

Madelana’s suite at the Sydney-O’Neill was on the thirtieth floor of the hotel. It covered a corner of the building, and the L-shaped expanse of windows in the sitting room offered panoramic vistas.

She stood at one of the windows, looking out towards the Opera House on Bennelong Point and the Sydney Harbour Bridge beyond. It was almost eight o’clock, and the night sky was aglow with stars and the myriad lights of the city.

The spectacular view was familiar to her by now, and she was beginning to feel at home here, had become enamoured of Sydney and its people. She had quickly discovered she liked the Australians, who were down to earth, open, friendly, and she had come to understand, through Philip, that their sardonic humour was simply an insurance against pomposity and pretentiousness. ‘It goes way back, to the early settlers, the Cockneys in particular,’ he had explained.

Walking over to the sofa, Madelana sat down. Spread out on the coffee table were the photographs which had been taken last weekend on their sightseeing tour of the city. She began to sort through them, selecting the best for the album she had bought that afternoon.

Memories of the weekend brought a smile to her face. Here was one of Paula and herself at Taronga Park Zoo. They were standing next to a kangaroo with a joey in its pouch, and again it struck her how much the roo reminded her of a deer with its narrow, sensitive face and tender, soulful eyes. She had not realized they were such gentle animals until her visit to the zoo on Saturday morning. The photo was good and she put it on one side to include in the album later.

Picking up a shot of Philip and Paula, which she had taken in the rainforest aviary at Taronga, she marvelled again at the jewel-coloured parrots and other brilliant, exotic birds shown in the background. This was another must for the album. Next she reached for the small stack of pictures taken on Philip’s boat, the Saraband. He owned two yachts. The one called Dunoon, after the sheep station, was used solely for racing; the Saraband was for cruising and entertaining. Magnificently decorated and appointed, it slept six, and had a permanent crew.

To Madelana, Sunday had been the best day of the weekend. Certainly she had revelled in their jaunt up the coastline, past Philip’s house at Point Piper, and Daisy’s and Jason’s at Rose Bay. Loving the sea as much as she did, the excursion on the water had been wonderful for her. Deciding that the yachting trip should take pride of place in the album, she selected a handful of snaps of the three of them on board the Saraband, and fanned them out in front of her.

A shot of Philip caught her eye, and she picked it up, studied it for a moment.

Paula had not told her very much about him before they had left New York, and what little she did know had been gleaned from various magazines, where she had also seen pictures of him from time to time. Now, staring at the snap in her hand, she realized that nothing could have prepared her for Philip McGill Amory. His presence overwhelmed her. There was something about him, something within him, that reached out to her, moved her in a way she had never been moved before by any other human being. Her reaction to him had been intense from the first moment she had set eyes on him at Dunoon. She felt unsteady when she was with him, and breathless, almost as if she had been punched in the stomach.

Peering closer at the picture, she could not help thinking how debonair and dashing he looked, standing there on the deck of the beautiful Saraband. His sailing whites emphasized his tan, his vivid colouring. It had been windy on Sunday, and his black hair was ruffled, his laughing blue eyes screwed up against the glare of brilliant sunlight and glittering sea. How irresistible he seemed.

She was most powerfully drawn to him, and this disturbed and worried her for a number of reasons. He was her boss’s brother, but quite aside from this, he was hardly likely to be interested in her. He was immensely powerful, immensely rich, and devastatingly attractive, and therefore he could have any woman in the world he wanted. His reputation as a playboy only verified this as a fact. A career girl like herself, who was not a member of the international social circles he moved in, was hardly a candidate for one of his romantic interludes. Nor did she care to be. The last thing she wanted was a quick fling. She was not cut out for one-night stands or brief encounters. No, Philip McGill Amory was not the kind of man a woman like her should ever become involved with. He was too dangerous, guaranteed to wreak havoc and heartbreak.

I don’t need any more problems with beautiful, difficult men, she thought, remembering her recent experiences with Jack Miller. Her career was her priority now. And in any case, she would be leaving Sydney in ten days, and that would be that. She and Paula had fortunately found a manager for the boutique yesterday. The young woman met all of Paula’s requirements, and had already started working on a week’s trial. Providing all went well, she would soon be winging her way back to New York…far, far away from Mr Amory.

The telephone on the writing desk shrilled and she went to answer it. ‘Hello?’

‘It’s Philip,’ he said, ‘I’m in the lobby.’

‘I’ll be right down,’ she said, and replaced the receiver. Picking up her bag, her silk shawl, and the doorkey, she left the suite.

Going down in the elevator, she wondered what the evening would be like. She had accepted his invitation against her better judgement, and only because he had been so charming and gracious, just a little bit insistent on the phone that morning. Also, being who he was, she had not wanted to offend him. But this was the first time she was going to be alone with him since they had gone riding at the sheep station, and sudden nervousness invaded her.

She saw him the moment she stepped out of the elevator.

He wore a dark-blue blazer, a pale-blue shirt and tie, and grey slacks. He dominated the lobby with his height and his arresting looks, his inbred self-confidence, and his commanding air of authority.

When he saw her he raised a hand in greeting, and strode towards her.

She instantly tensed up in the way she had when she had met him in the portrait gallery, and she almost missed a step as she walked across the marble floor. Then she took hold of herself, and pushed a bright smile onto her face, and as they came together in the middle of the lobby, she extended her hand, still smiling.

Philip took it, gave it a small squeeze, instantly released it. Looking down at her, he returned her smile, and said, ‘It’s nice to see you, Madelana, you look lovely, as usual.’ He glanced approvingly at her full, black wool skirt and the tailored, white silk shirt.

‘Thank you. You did say to dress simply.’

‘Yes,’ he murmured, escorting her across the lobby, then explained, ‘I’ve booked a table at Doyle’s…it’s a fish restaurant on the beach. Very casual, lots of fun, and they have the best fish and chips in Sydney, not to mention the most wonderful view of the city skyline from there.’

‘It sounds terrific.’

They went out into the street. His wine-coloured Rolls-Royce was parked immediately in front of the hotel, and after helping her inside, Philip strode around to the driver’s side, got in, turned on the ignition, and pulled away from the kerb.

‘Doyle’s is out at Watson’s Bay,’ he informed her. ‘It’ll take us about half an hour. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the music.’ As he spoke he turned on the tape in the dashboard and the voice of Mel Tormé singing Moonlight in Vermont filled the interior of the car.

Madelana tried to do as he suggested, not even attempting to make conversation. She could think of nothing to say to him. Unexpected panic choked her, made her throat dry. She did not know how she would manage to get through the evening. Sitting here next to him, in such close proximity, she was filled with some awful kind of terror, and she fervently wished she had not accepted his invitation.

‘Relax,’ he said, as if reading her mind.

She looked at him through the corner of her eye, and laughed nervously.

‘I am relaxed.’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

She was silent. She bit her inner lip.

Now it was his turn to laugh, and he sounded as nervous as she had.

Eventually, he murmured in a low voice, ‘We both work too hard, I suspect, and I suppose you’ve had as rough a day as I have. It takes a while to unwind…and I haven’t been very thoughtful. I should have taken you for a drink at the bar in the hotel first.’

‘No, I’m fine,’ she told him, and realized that this was partially true. The feeling of panic was easing somewhat. Anyway, she was being silly, wasn’t she? He had no way of knowing how attracted she was to him. Thank God. She had cultivated a bland face for the past few days, worn an inscrutable expression especially for him. Anyway, he was obviously only being polite, taking care of her for Paula. Undoubtedly, it was her boss who had asked him to take her out. Paula was always so thoughtful, so solicitous of her welfare.

The exterior architecture of Doyle’s had lovely Victorian mannerisms. Made of red brick and beige stone, the building was two storeys high, and its upstairs balconies were decorated with fancy, pierced-wood valances painted white, which were repeated around the edge of the front portico. The rooms inside were bright and cheerful, simply furnished, and without pretension; there was a pub-like atmosphere.

It was busy when they arrived, but Philip was quickly shown to a table in a quiet, windowed corner overlooking the beach and the dark sea curling away to the edge of a dim horizon. He insisted Madelana take the chair facing towards the city, and, just as he had said earlier, the view of Sydney from Watson’s Bay was breathtaking, with the McGill Tower dominating the skyline.

He ordered a bottle of Pouilly Fuissé, dry and cold and refreshing, and as they sipped it he asked her about the new manager, and how the grand sale was going at the boutique. She felt on safe ground, talking about business, and as they chatted she began to relax further, and so did he. He answered her questions about their opal mines at Coober Pedy and Lightning Ridge, told her about opal mining in general, and he talked at length about the various divisions of the giant conglomerate he ran. The McGill Corporation fascinated her, and she gave him her entire attention, as always intrigued by big business. Before either of them realized it almost an hour had passed.

‘I think we’d better order,’ Philip said, when the waitress appeared at their table for the third time.

‘I’ll have the same as you, please,’ Madelana murmured, after a quick glance at the menu.

He grinned. ‘Fried fish and chips…how does that sound?’

‘Just great. Thanks.’

Once he had ordered dinner, he asked her exactly what she did for Paula at Harte’s in New York, and she told him a little about her work, how she had been planning and organizing the special events for the sixtieth anniversary of the stores.

When she finished, he laughed, shook his head. ‘And I thought Paula was a workaholic! My God, you’re as bad as she is!’

‘I guess I am,’ Madelana agreed, also laughing, enjoying being alone with him; her apprehension of earlier had entirely dissipated.

‘And tell me, how do you manage to have a private life, working the way you do? Doesn’t your boyfriend object?’

‘I don’t have one.’

‘Oh.’ A black brow lifted. ‘A girl like you…so beautiful…so bright…’ He did not finish, merely stared at her intently, puzzlement flickering.

Ignoring his compliments, she said softly, ‘I just broke up with someone.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You don’t have to be. It was for the best…I’d made an error in judgement.’

Now the black brows drew together in a frown. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mistook personality for character.’

‘Ah, I see,’ he said, liking the shrewdness of this observation. He was suddenly eaten up with curiosity about the man she had so recently been involved with, and he couldn’t help probing. ‘What does he do? You know, for a living?’

‘He’s an actor. A rather brilliant one, too. On the Broadway stage.’

‘Famous? Would I know him?’

‘Possibly…probably. Jack Miller.’

‘Oh sure, I saw him in something a couple of years ago when I was in New York. A Eugene O’Neill play, I think.’

Madelana nodded.

‘What went wrong between the two of you?’

Madelana bit her inner lip, glanced away.

But after a brief moment, she brought her eyes back to his, smiled faintly. ‘Mah daddy used to say there’s nothing worse than the ole moonshine for killin’ a romance and curin’ a woman of fanciful ideas she might be havin’ about a dude. Ah doan know that a truer word has ever been spoken.’

Philip smiled, loving the sudden, Southern intonation in her voice. It was soft, beguiling, very feminine. ‘Now you really sound as though you come from Kentucky,’ he said. ‘And I must admit, I agree with your daddy…about a drinking man.’

‘It wasn’t just the booze,’ she now said in her New York voice. ‘Jack was always a bit odd with me…about my work, I mean. He is a male chauvinist, by his own admission, and he resented my career. Anyway – ’

At this moment the waitress arrived with their food, and Madelana changed the subject by asking him about yacht racing. Since this was Philip’s favourite sport and his only genuine hobby, he was happy to discuss it with her. And when he finally paused, she told him how much she loved the sea, and how she had first gone sailing with the Smiths at Nantucket.

‘I met Patsy Smith the first day I arrived at the residence, and we became friends instantly. And we’re still close, even though she’s gone back to Boston.’

‘What’s the residence?’ Philip asked, between mouthfuls of fish.

‘It’s a place in Manhattan where Catholic girls and young women can live comfortably for very little money. It’s run by the Sisters of Divine Providence, a teaching order of nuns from Kentucky.’ She proceeded to tell him about Sister Bronagh, the other nuns, what life had been like at the residence, and her early days in New York.

Philip listened carefully, nodding from time to time, occasionally laughing at her anecdotes. But he did not interrupt her once. She was opening up to him tonight, revealing a great deal about herself for the first time, and he wanted to encourage this. He needed to know everything there was to know about this woman. She was under his skin.

It was later, over coffee, that Philip suddenly said, ‘I thought you might like to come up to Dunoon this weekend, Madelana. It’ll do you good after all your running around with Paula, all your hard work. And it is your last chance, since you’re leaving at the end of next week. Aren’t you?’

‘Yes, I am.’ She lifted her cup, took a sip of the coffee.

He waited a moment, then pressed her. ‘Say you’ll come, Madelana. I want you to…so very much.’

An odd nuance in his voice made her glance at him more closely, and she saw there was a curious expression in his eyes, one she could not quite fathom. And then intuitively she knew he was interested in her, and she felt a sudden tightening in her chest. She found it impossible to speak. Her throat went tight and dry again. She instantly understood that to go to Dunoon with him would be playing with fire. Therefore she must refuse his invitation. To protect herself. That was the only wise thing to do.

She said, ‘Yes, I’d love to come. Thank you very much, Philip.’ As these words left her mouth, she sat back in the chair, surprised at herself, and at her perversity. You fool, she thought. You’re just asking for trouble.

Philip was beaming at her and saying, ‘We can fly up tomorrow afternoon.’

‘No, no, I can’t go then,’ she exclaimed quickly, staring at him. ‘I’ve got to be at the boutique. I couldn’t possibly come until Saturday.’

‘Friday,’ he insisted, holding her with his eyes. ‘You can come up Friday morning. Everything will be all right at the boutique. Don’t worry so much.’

She swallowed hard, wondering why she had ever accepted. ‘I must go into the boutique for a couple of hours at least,’ she compromised.

‘Okay, if you say so,’ Philip agreed. ‘But Ken will collect you there at eleven, drive you out to the airport. My plane will be waiting, and if you leave Sydney at noon, you’ll get to the station in time for lunch.’ Philip smiled deeply into her eyes, reached out, took her hand, held it in both of his.

Madelana nodded, not trusting herself to speak.