of my actions—’
‘Does this involve a woman?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you don’t want her to get the wrong idea. I’m assuming you’ll pay for my expenses, my time away from work…?’
‘Of course.’
‘My company could bear closing its doors for the right price,’ she tittered.
Jake quoted a figure he was sure would fully compensate her for any loss of business. Money wasn’t an issue. Only Meg was, and it was blatantly obvious she felt threatened by him. If he could get her to let her guard down…
‘Are you offering anything extra?’
He racked his brain as to what more she could want. ‘Yes. You get a dress by a designer in Melbourne.’ Women loved clothes. He smiled. He should have the deal sewn up.
‘Not exactly what I was expecting, but why not? When do I start?’
Jake couldn’t help but smile as he dropped the phone into its cradle. That was one problem solved. Now he could focus all his energies in one direction only…
Meg hadn’t counted on the noisy, cluttered restaurant of lunch turning into such a romantic venue at night. The lights were dimmed, candles were lit on each cloth-covered table, and there was soft music. Couples nestled everywhere, leaning close and enjoying the atmosphere.
She held her hands together tightly, kneading them as she approached the tall figure at the bar. He wore a cream cotton shirt and dark Armani trousers, but she knew better than anyone that clothes didn’t make the man. So he dressed well, and exuded a subtle scent of cologne that invaded her nostrils and sent goosebumps all over her skin…She felt like standing there for a while and just drinking in the sight of him, but she’d tortured herself enough for one day. ‘Jake.’
He turned, his eyes running down over her, from her black silk blouse to her black loose-fitting trousers and high-heeled boots. ‘Meg. I was starting to think you weren’t coming.’ His smile widened in approval.
Her stomach fluttered and she was glad she’d resisted the urge to dress to the hilt. Although some part of her wanted to rub his face in what he’d missed out on, the other part was more than content for him to go his way with this Vivian woman and leave her and hers well enough alone. What she needed was love, and Jake wasn’t the one to give her that. Jake was a load she wasn’t willing to bear again. ‘I got caught up at home.’
His eyebrows drew together in a frown. ‘Are you involved with anyone?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
Jake cast her a quick glance. ‘I’m sure the guy would be interested to know you’re still married.’ He paused, but she didn’t respond. ‘Did you tell him you were going out with your husband?’ Jake clenched his fists. ‘He could have come too, you know.’
‘Let’s get a table, shall we?’ Meg didn’t want to get into the details of her personal life with Jake. She wasn’t about to blurt out what she’d gone through in the last three years, or who was waiting for her at home.
‘Fine.’ Jake raised a hand and signalled one of the Italian waiters. They sat down at a much-too-quiet table in a corner. Jake ordered wine and they both ordered their meal. Then he turned to her.
‘So, tell me what happened to us.’
‘Now?’ She lowered her eyes and moved uneasily in her seat. He had never been one for patience or subtlety, but she’d expected to have a chance at indigestion before she tackled that one.
‘Good a time as any.’ Jake leant on the table, reducing the space between them by precious inches. His boldly handsome face smiled warmly at her.
Meg felt her stomach curl. She’d rehearsed her story all afternoon, but it seemed to stick in her throat. She took a gulp of water from her glass. It was one thing lamenting Jake’s actions for years, another to tell him to his face how he’d broken her heart.
The wine arrived, and Meg snatched up the goblet and gulped the deep red vintage. It went down quickly, hitting her stomach with such force that Meg slapped the glass down to cover the unpleasant response. She hadn’t eaten lunch—hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, figuring her poor belly was suffering enough with stress without adding food to it.
‘That good, hey?’ Jake teased, his wide smile sending her senses into a spin.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t know where to start.’ Her mind reeled with confusion. Where was the level-headed woman she knew so well? The one who’d coped despite all the obstacles, trials and tribulations sent her way? She had the perverse urge to run home to see if she’d left her lying out on the bed, where her clothes had been all afternoon, taunting her with what was coming.
‘Tell me anything, then. Tell me about your career.’
She was glad of the reprieve, though cautious at what he was up to with this show of civility. Meg rattled on for what seemed like ages, carefully choosing her words so she didn’t trip herself into revealing more than she wanted to. She told him lightly about how she’d eked out a meagre existence above a garage in Toorak, her main patron being her landlady, who’d believed so much in her designs that she’d advertised by word of mouth.
Meg didn’t want to harp on any of the details. It wouldn’t do her any good to fuel any sense of guilt Jake might have for what had happened in the past. If he knew what she’d been through, and how much she owed, she hated to think what he might do; his over-inflated sense of duty might run rampant, all over her well-ordered life. And the way his eyes never left her face while she talked, the way his hands gripped the edge of the table, suggested he wasn’t as calm as he was pretending to be.
‘Your landlady sounds like Winnie.’
‘Yes,’ Meg answered.
‘You miss her?’
‘Yes.’ Her father’s aunt, Winnie, had died just after Meg had begun college. She hadn’t been like a mother to her—she’d never known a mother. But Winnie had been like a very old big sister. She’d been her friend more than anything, and not afraid to tell her anything that she’d needed to know—although sometimes Meg felt she’d given Winnie more of an education about life than her great-aunt had given her.
Mostly she remembered the fairytales Winnie had told her as a child, of the princess being saved by the handsome prince, and how she was carried off to the castle in the air. Later, when Winnie’s eyesight had started to fail her, Meg would read her stories. She was glad that she’d died peacefully in her sleep; it gave her the hope that her old friend had been dreaming of her own prince when she’d left.
It had been a shock finding her there like that. And of course Dad hadn’t been there. She’d been alone. She’d had to work out all the details herself while Dad wired her the money. He hadn’t even made it to the funeral. But he’d made it to his own, only a year later.
‘How is your mother?’ Meg asked politely. Jake’s mother, Moira, had never liked her. She’d gone out of her way to make sure Meg knew how disappointed she was at Jake’s decision to marry her. Moira had looked daggers at Meg at the wedding, had ignored her totally at the reception, and had made
