Margaret Way - Australia's Most Eligible Bachelor / The Bridesmaid's Secret - Australia's Most Eligible Bachelor

“Of course!” Peter nodded. His best feature, his mane of thick golden-brown hair, gleamed in the sun. He was growing it artistically long, as Miranda had suggested. The look suited him and added a certain panache. “Dad’s a big-time lawyer turned property developer?”

“That’s the one.”

“Think they’ll make a go of it?” Peter asked, sensitive to how Miranda might feel about that.

“Corin has never come close to telling me about his love life,” Miranda returned very dryly.

“What about your love life?” He turned questioning blue eyes on her. Corin’s sister, who was a really lovely person and a great beauty in the classic style, was making it her business to introduce Miri to a lot of high-flying guys.

But Miranda smiled as though she didn’t have a care in the world. “I have a powerful reason to stay on course, Peter. So do you. We have careers lined up.”

“That we do. I’ve often wondered where your driving interest in medicine and medical research came from, Miri. Your background isn’t like mine, with so many doctors in it. They say genius is random. Dad says it has to be in your genes.”

“Then it must be a very long way back.” She laughed. “I come from a line of small farmers.”

“So it’s just as they say. Genius is random.”

“And we’re both geniuses!” She lightly punched his arm. “Better get going. Haven’t you got a master class at three-thirty?”

Peter started. “Hell, I almost forget. It’s so lovely being with you, Miri.” He stood up, all of six-four, dusting his jeans off. “So, what are you going to do about your birthday? It’s coming up. I suppose Zara will have something arranged?”

“No, no!” She shook her head vigorously. “Zara doesn’t know anything about it. And you are not to tell her. I don’t want any fuss. No presents, except a little one from my best mate—and that’s you!”

“But you should celebrate!” he insisted. “You’re only twenty-one once.”

“It’s no big deal.”

“Of course it is! What say we get dressed up and have dinner at some posh hotel? I have money. The parents are very generous these days.”

Miranda handed over the picnic basket, then took his arm. “That will suit me just fine.”

Peter felt so happy he could have shouted with joy.

The best laid plans could always go awry, and circumstance forced them to move her birthday date forward to mid-week. Peter had been selected at short notice to replace the cellist in a highly regarded quartet, who had fallen ill. With a new member on board, intensive rehearsals would have to take place all over the weekend.

“No worries, Peter,” she reassured him, thrilled he was getting such a lucky break. “New horizons are opening up for you. Wednesday evening will be fine.”

And so it eventually turned out that Miranda’s early twenty-first birthday dinner with the young man who would become her life-long friend proved a special treat.

The following day Zara and three of her colleagues, all foreign-exchange traders, led by her boss, Sir Marcus Boyle, were to fly off to Berlin for a series of top-level business meetings.

Zara eased her tall, elegant body into the jacket of her Armani suit, picked up her briefcase, then walked to the front door that led onto its own private patch of emerald-green lawn and blossoming flowerbeds. Miranda was holding the door open for her, waving acknowledgement to the London taxi driver who had just arrived to take Zara to Heathrow. At twenty-six, Zara was very good indeed at her job. Miranda had learned that from one of her colleagues at a recent party.

“Tremendous flair. Not afraid of taking risks. She’s a star turn. In the genes, I suppose, as a Rylance. Rival banks regularly try to lure our Zara away. So far no luck!”

“I’ll be back Tuesday.” Zara smiled at the girl she had come to regard as the nearest thing she would ever have to a younger sister. “Be good. Don’t accept any solo invitations from Eddie Walton. He’s really keen on you, but he’s too old and too much the playboy. As I told you, he was involved in a rather high-profile scandal not all that long back. Likes the ladies, does our Viscount Edward.”

“Don’t worry, I can look after myself,” Miranda assured her. “Besides, I’m immune to Eddie’s mature charms. Though he does have them.”

“That he does,” Zara agreed wryly. “Well, look after yourself, Miri.” Zara bent to give the petite Miranda a real kiss on the cheek. “You don’t mind watering the plants, do you? There are rather a lot of them.”

“It’ll be a pleasure.”

“Thank you,” Zara said gratefully. “Oh, yes, that reminds me. You’re set for the charity do Wednesday evening?”

“Looking forward to it.” Miranda gave Zara a final hug. “Go on, now. The taxi is waiting. Have a safe trip and wow them in Berlin.”

Zara’s answer came in a fluent flow of German that sounded perfect to Miranda’s ears. She continued to stand on the doorstep of the handsome pristine white terrace house, watching until the taxi had disappeared.

You’ll be alone, all alone, on your twenty-first birthday, girl.

Not that she minded being alone—she was fully aware how blessed she was being taken on by Corin and Zara—but it was her twenty-first birthday after all. She hadn’t dared tell Zara about it. Zara would have done her utmost to organise something—even try to get out of the scheduled Berlin meetings.

With a little sigh, she shut the glass door of the big beautiful house and leaned against it.

Be happy, Miranda. It’s not so terrible, is it, to be alone on your birthday?

Of a sudden her eyes filled with emotional tears. She blinked them back, feeling ashamed of herself. She had been handed a marvellous London sojourn on a plate. Trips to Paris. A luxurious lifestyle. The ease and affection of Zara’s company. Most young women could only dream of being offered such an experience.

Buck up!

She breathed deeply. Corin knew it was her birthday tomorrow. No card had arrived. Maybe he thought a card might have alerted Zara? Flowers perhaps tomorrow? A possibility. She made a real effort to brighten up, wondering if she would ever find anyone in the world to fall in love with after Corin Rylance.

It was after midnight before she finished reading the latest novel by a writer she always enjoyed, Laura Lippman. She set the book down on the bedside table before turning off the light. The beautifully laundered sheets and pillowcases had a lovely fragrance of mimosa. Zara would have asked for it especially, as a reminder of home. Mimosa, or wattle to Australians, the national flower.

With practice Miranda had mastered the knack of putting herself into some lovely serene place to enable her to drift off to sleep. These places were always near water—the ocean, a lake, a river—with lots of blue and gold, a background of leafy trees, spring green…

She didn’t know how long she had been asleep, but she awoke with a great start and a swiftly muffled cry of fright in her throat. There were movements—soft, muted sounds—coming from upstairs in the house. She sat up, straining her ears, while the atmosphere in the apartment settled like a heavy blanket around her. She knew perfectly well she had set the state-of-the-art security system just as Zara had shown her. Who or what could have de-activated it? Should she ring the security people? Hastily she turned on a bedside lamp, checking the time: 1:30 a.m. She had never been more aware of how exposed a lone woman could be. She said a quick prayer—not at all convinced there was really someone up there to hear her, but prepared to give it a shot.