They had become an established couple at these outings, and the speculative gossip their appearance together had initially raised was no longer a hot item on anyone’s lips. The two of them being publicly linked didn’t stop other women from vying for Jack’s attention, but they were invariably disappointed in their efforts to detach him from Sally. It made her feel they had a solid relationship, though Jack never spoke of marriage, never seemed to look to the future except for deciding on the next time he could be with her. He’d never said he loved her, either. For the most part, he lived his life in Sydney and she lived hers at Yarramalong.
All too often she wished for more of him. Then she told herself that what they had together was great and she was lucky to have what he gave of himself. She couldn’t imagine being with any other man, anyway. Even Jane had come around to accepting them as a couple, though she occasionally muttered it was too much a one-sided relationship with Sally always being there for him—virtually on call—while he just fitted her into his life when it suited him.
True enough, but to Sally’s mind, there was no point in arguing over the arrangement. Jack had spelled out the terms of any relationship with him right at the beginning and she had accepted them. If there was to be a change, it had to come from him.
She would have to speak to him soon about the future of the property, though. The contracted year of her management would be over in another ten weeks. She had to know what would happen then, not only to settle her own sense of insecurity but that of the staff, as well.
Today, however, was too festive a day to be worrying about things she had no control over. It was fun watching all the people on parade, discussing with Jack and the other guests what horses might have the best chance of winning, eating oysters, drinking champagne, feeling great in the very stylish black-and-white outfit she’d bought for this event.
She was having a brilliant time until her mother entered the marquee on the arm of her new billionaire husband, Clifford Byrne, a seventy-two-year-old New Zealander whom she’d recently married in Las Vegas, a quickie wedding with no family invited on either side, which had undoubtedly suited Sir Leonard Maguire’s widow, not having to produce her own children nor face any criticism from his—a fait accompli.
They both looked very pleased with themselves, the showcase wife decked out in new diamonds and a beautiful wheat-coloured ensemble, the rather elderly gentleman in a formal morning suit and top hat, beaming with his new lease on life. Sally heartily wished they had graced some other marquee with their presence.
Her nerves were instantly on edge. Once her mother spotted Jack, she wouldn’t be able to resist flouting her victory over the bankruptcy he’d meant her to suffer. And seeing her disloyal daughter at his side…she was bound to make something nasty of that, too.
As it turned out, she did not confront Jack, waiting until he left Sally’s side to place some bets at the TAB desk before making her move. Having whispered something to her husband, who immediately gave her an indulgent smile and a nod of assent, she slid away from him and made a beeline for Sally, bestowing fleeting smiles of acknowledgement to the party guests who called for her attention, not pausing to engage in conversation.
The eyes she trained on Sally were glittering with malicious purpose. This was not going to be a forgive-all, make peace, let bygones be bygones meeting, though neither of her adopted daughters had made any bad waves for her this past year and there was no reason for her to be vicious now, particularly since she’d managed to re-feather her bed with such spectacular success. Sally steeled herself to be gracious, hoping that might deflect whatever nastiness was on her mother’s mind.
“Good to see you looking so splendid, Mother,” she said before an opening salvo was shot at her. “And congratulations on your marriage. It obviously suits you very well.”
“Yes.” She visibly preened. “And I’ve made sure I won’t be left destitute this time. I got Clifford to give me a marriage settlement up front.”
Hardly “destitute” last time, Sally thought.
“Much more than a piddling one hundred thousand dollars a year,” she added with pointed mockery. “Which will very shortly end for you, you stupid girl.”
A hot rush of blood instantly scorched Sally’s cheeks at the reference to her contract with Jack. More than three-quarters of the stipulated year had gone.
“And don’t tell me Jack Maguire isn’t getting what he paid for,” her mother ran on, expressing her contempt for the situation her daughter had accepted. “You’ve even given him the satisfaction of flaunting the fact in public that you’re his callgirl and nothing more, coming here to the Melbourne Cup on his arm.”
“It’s not like that,” Sally protested, though it was in a way, enough to make her feel horribly belittled.
She was subjected to a blast of derision. “You’ve been putty in his hands from the start, without enough sense to turn his game to your advantage. Blackjack Maguire wins again and you’re the big loser, Sally. He’ll hammer that home very shortly unless you take my advice and get yourself pregnant to him. There’s still time for you to play that trump card.”
“No.” Sally shook her head, vehemently negating the suggestion. “I won’t.”
“Then you’ll end up with nothing when he kicks you out at the end of the year,” her mother jeered.
“You don’t know him,” Sally fiercely retaliated. “Jack won’t do that.”
One eyebrow arched in sceptical challenge. “Has he given his word that he won’t?”
“We haven’t talked about it.”
The admission provoked an ugly laugh. “Don’t want to know. Hiding your head in the sand. You are such a patsy. He’s sucked you in and he’ll spit you out.”
Sally’s jaw clenched. She hated the spin her mother was putting on the situation and saying anything more would only feed the nastiness, prolonging it. Besides, she didn’t believe—wouldn’t believe—Jack was the callous monster her mother was making him out to be. She glared back her disbelief, which seemed to amuse her mother even more.
“Remember Leonard’s solicitor, Victor Newell?” she drawled provocatively. “He now handles all my legal business. As well as Jack Maguire’s.”
Sally frowned over the reference to the man who had drawn up her contract with Jack. Surely all his clients’ legal business carried a confidentiality that forbade discussion of them to anyone else. She didn’t understand the point of the connection her mother was making.