href="#ulink_d3932f6d-3b68-5d2c-a51a-f448b2f503c4">CHAPTER NINE
KERRY usually looked forward to the new client dinners. But tonight she would much rather have been out with Ben.
Running into him last Friday night—and finding out he was still single—had been a very pleasant surprise. He was her one ex that she truly regretted having broken up with. They hadn’t argued or anything. Ben had simply had the urge to travel.
Now he was back in Australia, and obviously wanted to take up with her where they’d left off. They’d spent most of the weekend together, and a few evenings this week, with Ben eager to take her to a concert tonight.
But, as Frank’s PA, Kerry was obliged not only to attend this dinner, but to help hostess the event. Frank was a widower, with no new partner, and he had no idea how to organise anything. It was always left to her to do the place settings, hire a caterer, buy the wine, choose the menu, and then make sure everything went off without a hiccup.
This month she’d chosen a new caterer, who was expensive but who came highly recommended. They’d also provided everything, right down to fresh flowers for the table. The chef was top drawer, having worked in several five-star hotels. The waiters were also experienced professionals, not fly-by-night casuals like some catering firms used.
Kerry still thought it would have been less trouble to go to a restaurant. But Stedley & Parkinson preferred the intimacy and the privacy of their boardroom.
Admittedly the boardroom was well equipped for such a function, having an excellent kitchen attached, plus two powder rooms just outside in the hallway. The boardroom itself was a very spacious and impressive room, with a huge mahogany table which comfortably seated twenty-four. The floors were polished wood and the walls white, a perfect backdrop for the colourful Australian artwork which decorated them. All originals, they were landscapes from famous artists such as Pro Hart and Albert Namatjira.
Kerry could understand why Frank chose to host these dinners here. She just resented the added workload, which was why she’d found this new catering firm, leaving her little to do except work out who would sit where.
Of course that wasn’t always as easy as it looked. Certain tensions among the staff at Stedley & Parkinson had to be addressed, with rival lawyers kept well apart. And there was always a surfeit of men, too, even amongst the new clients. Kerry was relieved that Jordan was coming. She’d put her between Mr Bortelli—who wasn’t bringing a partner—and Mr McKee, Jordan’s client, who also wasn’t bringing a partner.
All up, eighteen people would be at the dinner: six lawyers, their six most important new clients—four of whom had brought partners—and Frank and herself.
Of course not every new client the practice took on was invited. Only the ones who had serious money, or whose cases might provide the most publicity. Jordan’s new clients were always invited, because she took on cases which the press—and the public—found interesting.
As Kerry walked around the boardroom, making sure all the place-names were right, she wondered if Jordan would wear something different this month. Last month she’d turned up in the same outfit she’d worn the month before—a classic, but boring little black dress, with a high scooped neckline, long sleeves and a straight, not-too-tight skirt which covered up far too much of her excellent legs. The double-strand pearl necklace she always wore with it was just as prim and proper, though her shoes were not too bad: black, strappy and high.
Nevertheless, now that Jordan was engaged to Prince Charming she would definitely have to upgrade her wardrobe from off-the-peg-working-girl clothes to designer gear.
Men like Chad Stedley expected their wives to outshine everyone else. Jordan might not realise it yet, but she was about to enter a totally new world, where fashion and appearances would be critical to her success as Mrs Chad Stedley.
No longer could she get away with dressing the way she did. Some serious shopping was called for before Chad came back from the States. And Kerry was just the girl to go with her and give her advice.
‘Oh, doesn’t everything look lovely!’
Kerry glanced up with a smile already forming on her face.
‘Speak of the devil,’ she said, on seeing Jordan. ‘I like your hair.’ Too bad about the dress, Kerry thought ruefully.
‘Everyone’s still up in Frank’s office, having predinner drinks,’ Jordan said.
‘Yes—so why aren’t you?’
‘I walked by the door and simply couldn’t bear to go in and make meaningless chit-chat. So I dropped my purse off in my office and came straight down here to talk to you.’
Kerry grinned. ‘Coward. You just don’t want to—Oh, my God! You’re wearing the engagement ring. Here, give me a good look at it. Oh, my, it’s fabulous! Chad must have picked it out. I know you, Jordan. You would have chosen a single diamond solitaire, half that size, set in a simple claw setting.’
Jordan shook her head wryly at her friend. ‘And you’d be right. This is actually a family heirloom.’
‘How did he get it to you? By international courier?’
‘No. He left it with me before he went overseas.’
‘Because he knew you’d eventually say yes.’
‘How could he have known?’
Kerry rolled her eyes at her friend. ‘Because multimillionaires like him don’t get turned down.’
‘I’m not marrying him for his money, Kerry.’
‘I know that. You’re marrying him because you love him, and because you’ve finally got over that Italian fellow. Speaking of Italians—I hope you don’t have anything against Italian men in general, because I’ve seated you next to one tonight.’
‘Oh?’
‘He’s Henry’s new client. Contracts and mergers. I didn’t expect him to accept the invitation, since he lives in Melbourne. But, lo and behold, he did.’
Jordan’s heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t possibly be Gino, could it? Would fate be that cruel?
‘I hear he’s quite a hunk,’ Kerry added. ‘And filthy rich. He’s a builder. Of seriously big buildings.’
Jordan’s chest tightened. Oh, no, she thought with a mixture of disbelief and despair. It had to be Gino.
Fortunately, Kerry was in the process of checking the name cards and wasn’t looking at her. Jordan didn’t want her friend putting two and two together. And she just might if she saw the near panic which was bubbling up inside Jordan.
‘Does he have a name, this Italian?’ she asked, using her extra-cool court voice—the one she could conjure up no matter how she felt inside.
‘What? Oh—Bortelli. Gino Bortelli. Look, I’ll have to love you and leave you, Jordan. I can hear voices coming down the hallway. I need to let the caterer know that everyone’s arriving.’
She bustled off without giving Jordan a second glance, which was just as well.
For
