A Case For Trust (2 page)

They had met after work on half a dozen evenings since Justin agreed to her conditions, and Pippa was proud that he'd stuck to her advice. He was taking time out from the hurly-burly of dating and social functions he'd typically engaged in, both before and after his engagement to Lucy. In just a few weeks, Pippa had noticed him becoming more thoughtful, more aware of his impact on other people. When they'd got together for a drink only last week, he'd surprised her by bashfully admitting he'd signed himself up for a weekend nature photography class. The image of debonair man-about-town Justin Mason loitering behind bushes to catch nesting birds on film had made them both laugh out loud. He was developing a sense of humour about himself that Pippa thought quite endearing.

He'd admitted to missing Lucy, and Pippa had cautioned him against acting on his impulse to see her again. Pippa suspected it was the celibacy that was giving him most trouble; by his own admission he and Lucy had had a steamy love-life. But in Pippa's view it was too soon; Justin still had work to do in learning more about himself, becoming a good life partner to himself before he could be a good life partner to anyone else. He had to be 110% sure of what he wanted before he risked Lucy's heart again. But he was well on his way, and they had agreed there was no longer any need for regular counselling sessions. From now on, Pippa and Justin could just be friends.

Watching Brad and Alice now as they received the warm wishes of their wedding guests for a happy future together, Pippa knew she had given Lucy and Justin the right advice, the only advice that would have seen her fulfilling her own responsibility to her clients. Marriage was tough enough without starting with anything less than full commitment from both parties. If only her own parents had had the benefit of good advice before they married. If only her mother had been strong enough, independent enough, to leave her husband when his casual drinking became serious, then dangerous. If only Pippa had been in the car with her mother that night, the night she escaped her misery forever …

If
only
that man down the back would stop staring at her! Pippa had been conscious of the piercing gaze that had pinned her from the time she stepped up to the platform and that, even now, burned a bullet-sized hole in her averted face. She was under no illusions he was admiring her. From the very back row where he'd stood throughout the ceremony, the waves of hostility had rolled over the heads of the congregated guests and lashed her unremittingly. It had taken every ounce of concentration she owned to focus on the ceremony, on Brad and Alice, on the privileged role she had in guiding their first marital commitment to one another, and not on the tall, dark and brooding cliché sending her hate vibes from the back of the crowd.

If she was a psychologist—and thank god she
hadn't
pursued that career to its conclusion—she'd have suspected in him some personality disorder. How else to explain his unaccountable hostility to a perfect stranger who was just there to do her job?

A light touch on her forearm drew Pippa's attention from the register she had been pretending to study to avoid that hateful glare. Lucy looked composed, a little strained around the mouth, a little pink around the eyes, but nothing that couldn't be explained away as happy tears for her newly married best friend. Pippa took her by the hand and squeezed gently.

‘Okay?'

‘Yep.'

‘Good girl. Let's get this party started.' And with consummate ease, Pippa drew the wedding party back together to finish the formalities.

The register signed, the marriage officiated, the photos posed and snapped and re-posed and re-snapped, Pippa was glad to be able to pack her briefcase at last. She had declined an invitation to join the wedding dinner. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy weddings—she loved them, of course she did—but while she invariably developed a warm relationship with the couples she married leading up to their big event, she had no place in their lives once the paperwork was signed, sealed and delivered to the registry office. She had felt like a shag on a rock at the first wedding party she'd attended as a celebrant, had quickly grown tired of explaining to strangers that being single herself was no impediment to being a fully qualified and highly skilled marriage celebrant. Best to excuse herself professionally and leave the happy couple to enjoy the start of their new life together.

‘Leaving already?'

It was Justin's voice but deeper, and without the usual teasing note. Pippa spun around and found herself face to chest with Mr Hostile. She craned her neck to see his face, had to step back a little to take him all in. Up close, and he was standing
very
close, his height was as intimidating as his glare had been. Pippa was used to feeling tiny around most people—five foot two, eyes of blue, as the song went—but this guy had to have at least a foot on her, even in her grey suede heels. And those penetrating eyes were as blue as her own; she'd convinced herself they would be black as the devil's, but their cold-as-charity irises were navy, and framed with ridiculously long lashes that were all too human. There were attractive crinkles in the corners that might have been laugh lines, but right now, Pippa couldn't imagine this man laughing at anything. The heat crackling off his body, though—the musky, masculine aroma of muscle constrained by the lightweight tuxedo—that certainly suggested temptation leading straight to hell.

She realised she'd been staring almost as rudely as he had been, although hostility was the last thing she'd been feeling. He'd asked her if she was leaving, she remembered, although she suspected that was simply an opening gambit; surely the answer was obvious. Perhaps she should challenge him on his overt antagonism. She didn't fool herself anymore that bullies should be tolerated, or avoided. But what the hell; she'd probably never see him again, and she had a long drive back to Brisbane. She forced a courteous, aloof smile as she answered. ‘Yes. My work here is done. I hope you enjoy the party.'

‘I'll walk you to your car.'

His cool authority brought her up short. ‘Thank you, but there's really no need, Mr …'

‘It's getting dark. I'll walk you to your car.'

Pippa wondered fleetingly if she was supposed to feel reassured by his insistence. She tried again. ‘It's not far. I wouldn't want to keep you from the celebrations …'

‘How far?'

Pippa damned herself for all sorts of fool. She'd done the right thing and parked her car at the bottom of the hill below the lighthouse, rather than take one of the limited number of parking spots near the reception venue. She'd expected to sneak away quietly, to be able to change her high heels for the ballet flats in her briefcase before making her way down the treacherous, winding, long—and yes, dark—road to her car. But she wasn't about to tell Mr Hostile that. She waved vaguely in the direction of the cars behind them. ‘Just over there. I'll be a few minutes yet, I need to pack up a couple more things. Please, don't let me keep you from the reception …'

‘You're not keeping me. I'll help you pack up.'

Pippa almost stomped her foot in frustration. ‘Look, I don't mean to be rude, but I don't know you from Adam. It's kind of you to offer, thank you, but I don't need your help packing up and I'll be fine getting myself to my car.'

‘I'm Matt Mason. And I'm walking you to your car because I want to tell you some things you're not going to want anybody else hearing.'

‘Matt
Mason
? Justin's brother Matt?'

Pippa's surprise at Mr Hostile's identity temporarily distracted her from the rest of his statement. She'd heard of Matt, of course she had. He was the eldest of five siblings, the heir to the Mason legal dynasty, a formidable commercial lawyer and … The rest of his words, their implied meaning, caught up with her, and her delighted smile slackened. She looked at him uncertainly. ‘I can't imagine what you want to talk to me about, Mr Mason, but I'm afraid I can't discuss my clients with anyone, not even their brothers. It would be unethical—'

‘What would you know about unethical?' The savage snap confirmed Pippa hadn't imagined his earlier hostility. ‘You call yourself an accredited marriage celebrant, you purport to have some training in psychology and relationship counselling—oh yes, I've seen your website, Ms Lloyd—but you have a curious interpretation of ethical conduct when you commence affairs with your clients and
destroy
their relationships.'

Alternately bewildered and horrified by his accusation, frightened by the barely suppressed violence of his anger, all the more threatening in its quiet, assured delivery, Pippa fought a lifetime's habit to placate and appease. Instead she lifted her chin a little higher, met his glare with her own.

‘I will not discuss my clients with you, Mr Mason. My affairs, and theirs, are none of your business.'

‘You don't deny it, then? You don't deny your role in ending my brother's engagement to Lucy? For god's sake, they were going to be
married
, they came to you—'

‘I
will not
discuss my clients with you. Goodnight, Mr Mason.'

Pippa was proud of the way she controlled her breath and her tone. She could do nothing about her hands, trembling as she snapped shut the lock on her briefcase, but she trusted the darkness to hide their tremors. He grabbed her elbow as she turned away, and she almost stumbled in her stilettoes as she wrenched her arm out of his grip, her skin burning from the brief contact. ‘Do
not
manhandle me!'

‘I wasn't manhandling you.' He shoved his hands in his pockets and glared at her. ‘We're not done yet.'

‘Oh yes, Mr Mason, we are very much done.' Pippa snatched up her briefcase, spun on her spindly heels and strode away. Her confident exit was spoiled a little when she realised she would have to pretend to walk to the car park. She was sure those laser-like eyes were burning another hole in her back. Damn the man, why didn't he take himself inside the reception hall so she could escape in peace? She stopped at the first row of parked cars, fiddled with her handbag as if looking for keys, covertly glanced under her lashes to see if he was still watching her …

‘Which is your car?'

He was right there behind her again, and she almost yelped in alarm. ‘
Don't
sneak up on me like that! Will you leave me alone, or do I have to scream for help?'

Right on cue, Pippa saw Justin Mason's familiar figure appear, backlit, in the doorway of the venue behind them. Thank god! Relief coloured her voice as she called out to him, falsely cheerful, determinedly enthusiastic. ‘Justin! Over here!'

Justin sauntered towards them, his hands buried in his pockets mirroring his older brother's stance, and Pippa berated herself for not noticing the family resemblance earlier. If she had realised Mr Hostile was Justin's brother, she might have avoided this whole unpleasant scene. Although, for the life of her, she'd never imagined she would come under such an attack simply for doing her job. Where had Matt Mason got the idea she was having an affair with Justin?

‘Matt, is that you? Been looking for you everywhere. And Pippa? I thought you left a while ago, or I'd have had you on the dance floor.'

Pippa ignored the muffled, humourless snort that came from behind her. ‘I was just leaving. I'll let you both return to the party.'

‘You sure? There's champagne going begging …'

‘Thanks, but no. Can't be drinking and driving.'

‘Shame. We should have planned this better. A few of us are staying over at Brad's parents' place. You could have bunked down with us. In fact, why don't you stay over anyway, go back tomorrow …'

Pippa shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I need to get home. Big day tomorrow, early start.'

‘Fair enough. I'll walk you to your car then. Where is it?'

Justin's eyes were scanning the parked cars and, predictably, not spotting hers among them. Aware of the intense, silent scrutiny of Justin's disapproving brother, Pippa wished, not for the first time that hour, the ground would open up and swallow her. Chivalry clearly ran through the Mason family veins. If she'd been smarter, she would have agreed to one soft drink and escaped both brothers at the earliest opportunity.

‘Pippa? I don't see your car?'

‘It's okay, it's down the hill.' She forced the admission through a politely tight smile and ignored the unpleasant, knowing smirk that distorted Matt Mason's handsome face. Fine, so she'd been caught out in a lie. He could add it to the repertoire of sins, real and imagined, he seemed to attribute to her.

‘I was just offering to escort Ms Lloyd to her car when you appeared, Justin. There's no need for us both to go. Why don't you head back into the party?'

Whether it was Matt's words or his tone, that trace of condescension, that raised Justin's hackles, Pippa couldn't say, but she saw a sudden provocation, a defiant, proprietorial bristling in his face. Justin rocked back on his heels a little, considering them both. Pippa thought she imagined some electric charge passing between the brothers that suggested a couple of stallions in a corral. Surely,
surely
they weren't going to fight over her? It was laughable. She wasn't the kind of woman men fought over. But there was a tension between the two that was palpable. She put a gentling hand on Justin's arm.

‘I really don't need an escort, but while we're arguing about it you're missing the celebrations. Perhaps it would be quicker, easier for everyone, if you just drove me down to my car, Justin? It will only take a minute, and then nobody will have the long walk back up the hill.'

‘Justin's car is parked in. But mine is right here. I'll run you down.'

Pippa didn't bother to look where Matt gestured. Justin was already arguing. ‘No need for you to do it, Matt, just lend me your keys. I'll take her, and be back in a few minutes.'