eyes flashing fury at his stubborn resistance to her plan. ‘I’m not spending another night with that damned dog yapping its head off.’
‘Then I suggest you pack up and leave, Justine, because the dog will be staying. With me.’
She looked gob-smacked.
He set the empty glass down on the kitchen bench. ‘Best be gone before one o’clock,’ he advised coldly. ‘Please excuse me while I clean up the mess in the laundry which doesn’t happen to have a doggy door for Cleo to go outside.’
He was at the doorway to the mud room before Justine caught her breath. ‘You want me to go?’ It was an incredulous squawk.
He paused to look back at her, feeling not one whit of warmth to soften his decision. ‘What we have here, Justine, is an incompatible situation.’
‘You’d put that miserable little dog ahead of me?’
‘Perhaps the dog will be less miserable with you gone.’
‘Oh!’ She stamped her foot.
Nic sensed a wild tantrum teetering on the edge of exploding from her. He didn’t wait for it. If she followed him to the laundry, he’d hand her a bucket and suggest she clean up the result of her action in carelessly shutting Cleo in an inescapable place. That would undoubtedly send her packing in no time flat.
The pet groomer would have no problem with it but Justine…no way would she get down on her knees for a dog. Nor get her hands dirty. In fact, she obviously wanted to be treated like a pampered pet herself. Nic decided he didn’t really care for that in a woman, certainly not in any long-term sense.
He wasn’t followed.
By the time he had the laundry back in a tidy and pristine state, Justine had dressed, packed, and gone without favouring him with a farewell. The front door had been slammed shut on her way out, transmitting her pique at coming off second best to Cleo, and the engine of her SAAB convertible had roared down the driveway, punctuating her departure and displeasure.
Nic poured himself a coffee from the brew that had been left simmering and reflected that he could have appealed for understanding, maybe shifted Justine’s attitude a little. Cleo wasn’t just a pet to Angelina, more a surrogate child on whom she poured out all the frustrated love she couldn’t give to a baby.
After years of trying to get pregnant, it had been a terrible grief to her when medical tests had revealed her husband’s sperm count was so low it would be a miracle if she ever conceived. Poor Ward had been devastated, too, even going so far as to offer Angelina a divorce, knowing how set she was on having a family.
That wasn’t an option to his sister. She and Ward really did love each other. Their marriage seemed to have grown even stronger since the pressure to have a child had been erased. Ward had brought home the puppy for Angelina, a loveable little bundle of silky fur, and they both treated it like the queen of Egypt, nothing too good for their adored Cleo.
To put it in an impersonal boarding kennel… Nic shook his head. Angelina would never forgive him. And she’d know about it. Cleo was booked into the pet grooming salon every Monday morning. He’d forgotten about that earlier today but he knew it was written on Angelina’s list of instructions. If the appointments weren’t kept, no doubt Michelle would reveal that fact to his sister on her return.
Besides, as he’d told Justine, a promise was a promise. If she couldn’t respect that, he was definitely better off having no further involvement with her, even if it meant being celibate for a couple of months. He couldn’t overlook the cruel streak in her, either. The thought of it dampened any desire for more of Justine Knox. Good riddance, he thought, downing the last of the coffee.
A shower, a shave, a couple of hours’ work in the room he’d designated as his office for the duration of his stay here, and he’d feel much more on top of everything when the pet groomer returned with Cleo at one o’clock.
‘Aren’t you beautiful now!’ Michelle crowed indulgently as she ruffled Cleo’s silver-grey silky hair with her fingers while giving it a last blast from the dryer. ‘You look good, you smell good and you feel good.’
The dog’s big brown eyes clung soulfully to Michelle who invariably talked nonstop to each pet as she gave them whatever treatment was scheduled. Cleo had been given the lot this morning; nail trim, hair-clip, ears and eyes cleaned, shampoo, conditioner and blow-dry.
Serena reflected this was very little different to a hairdressing salon. Michelle even played background music, always soft romantic tracks to soothe any savage hearts, and she charged similar fees. Of course, it wasn’t as upmarket, no stylish fittings or decorator items, just plain workbenches, open shelves, and a tiled floor that made cleaning easy.
The best thing about it, Serena decided, was the pets didn’t talk back, dumping all their problems or complaints on the stylist who was expected to dish out unlimited sympathy even when it was obvious there were two sides to be considered. Not that that was the case with Cleo who was clearly an innocent victim, yet the darling little silky terrier hadn’t even raised a bark since Serena had rescued her from the dark brute and his evil witch-woman.
‘You can put on her pink ribbon, Serena,’ Michelle instructed, having finished with Cleo and about to pick up another dog waiting for his turn to be pampered, a Maltese terrier who’d sat tamely in line like all the other pets in the salon, content to watch Michelle do her thing.
‘I’m not sure Nic Moretti is going to appreciate the pink ribbon,’ Serena dryly commented as she cut off an appropriate length from the roll Michelle kept on a shelf.
It earned the look of unshakeable authority. ‘No pet leaves this salon without wearing a ribbon. It’s the finishing touch. Cleo knows it and expects it. She’ll be upset if you don’t give it to her. You can tell Angelina’s brother that from me. He has to consider the dog’s sense of rightness or he’s going to have a traumatised pet on his hands.’
When it came to dog handling her sister was a genius. Serena accepted her advice without question. But would Nic Moretti? Confronting him again stirred mixed feelings. The fear of being recognised as Lyall Duncan’s belittling choice of wife had been somewhat allayed. It seemed unlikely that he would make the connection now, given the distraction of her current job. Besides, it would be interesting to see if he had got rid of his penthouse pet in the interests of properly safeguarding his sister’s.
Smiling at Cleo as she tied the ribbon around her neck, she softly crooned, ‘Pretty pink bow.’
The dog sprang up from the bench top and licked her chin. Starved for praise and affection, Serena concluded, and decided to add a bit more advice to her sister’s when she spoke to Nic Moretti again. Her smile widened to a grin. Teach the brute a few lessons that would hopefully stick in his arrogant craw.
‘I’m off now,’ she called out to Michelle.
‘Okay. Don’t forget to pick up Muffy at Erina on the way back.’
‘Will do.’
It was twenty minutes to one o’clock. As Serena took Cleo out to the van, she thought how good it was to be out of the city. Although Michelle’s five acre property at Holgate wasn’t exactly country, it was big enough to give a sense of real space and freedom while still being located close to the large populated areas of Gosford, Erina, Wamberal and Terrigal.
The
