you very busy?”
“It does. I don’t have a lot of time. I should fly back tomorrow. Sunday by the latest.”
“So go along to the party,” the woman suggested, sensing his urgency.
“What, in this?” He pulled at the sleeve of his leather bomber jacket.
“My dear, you look marvellous,” the woman breathed and gave him the address.
The Drysdale mansion was right on Sydney harbour, which was to say on one of the most beautiful sites in the world. The imposing Italianate-style house with matching landscape grounds was ablaze with lights. There again he had no difficulty in gaining entrance. Like a gift from heaven, Sara Lambert, Storm’s friend, had been invited to the party. They caught sight of each other as they approached the massive wrought-iron gates, open but flanked either side by attendants to vet the guests.
No male was dressed casually as he was. They either wore dinner jackets or well-tailored suits. Sara didn’t appear to take much note of that. She rushed to his side, grabbing hold of his arm.
“Why Luke!” she carolled. “How lovely to see you! It’s been ages and ages.”
“Sara.” He bent to brush her flushed cheek. “Your big day tomorrow. I wish you every happiness.”
She beamed up at him, a very attractive blonde with sky-blue eyes. “I’d have sent you an invitation only you might have put me off going through with it,” she said roguishly. “Only fooling. I love my Michael.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Storm didn’t tell me you were coming tonight?” She took his arm affectionately, as though they were the greatest of friends.
“Actually, Sara, she doesn’t know.”
The blue eyes rounded. “You can’t be serious?”
“I’m absolutely serious. I’m here on behalf of her father. Literally a flying visit. The Major’s not well.”
“Oh!” Sara kept moving toward the gates where an attendant smiled and nodded to her then let them through. Easy as that! “I’m so sorry. I do know the Major has ongoing problems with his leg. Storm keeps me informed. A lovely man, the Major.”
“I think so.”
“And he thinks the world of you,” Sara told him warmly.
“Unlike Storm,” he said in an easy, languid drawl that masked a lot of hurt.
Sara laughed. “Maybe she’s in denial. You two go back a long way.”
“That we do.” He left it at that.
Moving in line, they were almost at the front door: Luke without an invitation, Sara waving to other couples who had not yet worked their way into the house.
“I really don’t think I should go in, Sara,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind telling Storm I’m here? I’d like to speak to her for a few moments, then I’ll be off.”
“Oh for God’s sake, stay!” Sara turned up her face to him, tightening her hold on his arm. “You’re going to have to tell me what’s been happening in your life. How’s your girlfriend, Carla?”
“She’s fine. I won’t go in, Sara,” he said firmly. “Apart from the fact I wasn’t invited, I don’t look the part.” Not that he cared but he was old-fashioned enough not to want to gate-crash.
For an instant there was the same old hero worship in Sara’s tone. “You look terrific! Like an ad for Calvin Klein. Great jeans and a cool leather jacket go anywhere.”
Despite his wishes they were somehow through the grand double doors urged on by the press of guests to the rear. The entrance hall to his eyes was overly resplendent, more like the foyer of some sumptuous European hotel. Huge, even allowing for the swirl of laughing, chattering guests, all beautifully dressed, the women flashing spectacular jewellery. He presumed the handsome middle-aged couple in the centre were the Drysdales; something Sara immediately confirmed.
He moved back, to one side, taking Sara with him. “If you could just find Storm. I’d appreciate it.”
Sara all but ignored him. “Don’t you want to meet Stephanie and Gill?” she asked.
“Oh God! I think I’m about to,” he said, watching the hosts break away from their other guests and walk towards them, looking highly interested.
“Sara, darling!” Stephanie Drysdale cried.
Lots of Euro kisses.
“This is Luke,” Sara offered brightly. “Luke Branagan. He’s Athol McFarlane’s right hand man. Storm’s father.”
“Of course!” The hosts, husband and wife started to beam. Handshakes all round.
“Forgive me for gate-crashing your party,” Luke smiled, “if only momentarily. I’m in Sydney to see Storm. I have a message for her from her father. It won’t take long but it’s important. Hence the flying visit. I’m needed back on the station. The Major hasn’t been well.”
“Nothing serious I hope?” Stephanie Drysdale asked, waiting on the answer.
“His health is a matter of concern, Mrs. Drysdale,” he said.
“Well we must get Storm for you.” Stephanie Drysdale turned to her husband. “Gill, why don’t you show Mr. Branagan into the study while I find Storm. You’ll want to be private.” She hesitated a moment. “Are you going on anywhere else this evening, Mr. Branagan?” she asked.
“Luke, please.” He gave her a smile. “I might catch a movie while I’m in town.”
“Goodness! In that case we’d love you to stay.” She flashed a glance at her husband, who nodded his handsome head in agreement. Sara, too, smiled excitedly.
“I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion,” he pointed out amusedly, glancing down at his jeans and high boots.
“Don’t worry about that. You look fine.” Actually Stephanie Drysdale was thinking she had never seen a man looking so utterly divine.
Gilbert Drysdale led him off to the study while his wife and Sara went in search of Storm. Guests were wandering around everywhere, champagne glasses in hand, laughing, talking, relaxed. They continued through one of the opulent reception rooms along a corridor until they came to the darkened study.
Drysdale switched on the lights, illuminating a very functional, very masculine room in complete contrast to the rest of the house. Gracious like his wife, Drysdale stayed on for a moment to ask more of Athol McFarlane’s health then he excused himself saying he had better get back to his guests. Luke took an armchair, upholstered in a rich dark green leather, allowing his eyes to wander casually around the room, his mind preoccupied with this coming meeting. Four long months since he’d seen Storm. It felt like years. Sick of her, sick with her. Hell it was like a disease!
He heard the tap of her high heels along the corridor, an excitement in itself as he forcefully inhaled
