‘Quite a lot. It was a busy morning. I’m not thrilled about it, but it won’t put me out of business.’
Sholto moved further into the now well-lighted room, looked quickly at the two roomy, comfortable sofas, the faded oriental rug, the old heavily framed pictures, the antique bureau in one corner, the exotic wall hangings, and then returned his gaze to Tara’s face. ‘You were upset when I phoned.’
‘Reaction. You were the first person, apart from the police and the doctor, that I’d spoken to since it happened.’
‘How are you feeling now?’
‘I’ll be all right. It was kind of you to enquire, but unnecessary.’
He glanced again about the room. ‘You live alone?’
‘Yes. What about you? I mean,’ she added hastily, ‘where did you come from, tonight?’ Was Averil waiting impatiently somewhere for him? She couldn’t quite bring herself to ask.
‘I’m staying in a hotel in the city. Averil’s parents live in a small flat.’
And was she staying with them, or with him at the hotel? ‘Chantelle said Averil’s away a lot. What does she do?’
‘She’s a flight attendant.’
‘The Hong Kong route? Is that how you met?’
‘Yes. Aren’t you going to ask me to sit down?’
She hadn’t expected him to stay. Tara shrugged. ‘Do you need an invitation? Please sit down, if you want to.’
‘And you?’ He indicated politely.
She sank onto the nearest sofa, and he sat on the other one, at right angles to hers, his arm resting on the back as he twisted to face her.
‘So...how have you been?’ he asked her.
The deep, quiet voice sounded caring, sincere. She thought she’d probably fallen in love with Sholto’s voice before she’d fallen for the man. Marginally. Her almost instant emotional involvement had been cataclysmic—she’d scarcely had time to draw breath before she was in over her head.
And floundered for nearly three years, until the next cataclysm had propelled her out of his life, leaving her alone and struggling to stay alive.
Not in material terms, of course. He’d made sure she was financially amply provided for—conscience money, she had told herself bitterly. But emotionally she’d been annihilated, and it had taken her years just to regain some kind of equilibrium.
Last evening she’d discovered how fragile that equilibrium was. The news of Sholto’s engagement had sent her spinning. All night she’d been reliving in her mind every detail of their ultimately disastrous relationship, besieged by grief and despair. She wondered if Sholto had ever experienced even a twinge of regret.
‘I’ve been fine,’ she told him. ‘I have a very nice life.’
It was true, if one went by the surface things. She had a small but adequate circle of friends, a thriving if modest business, a delightful little home in a fashionable and pleasant suburb. Epsom was an area of desirable real estate, well-established and only minutes from the centre of Auckland city, but tranquil and almost crime-free, with tree-lined streets and a high proportion of gracious older homes among newer, architect-designed dwellings.
She didn’t have a lover. Didn’t want one, she reminded herself firmly. She preferred her life as it was—conventional and uncomplicated.
‘And you,’ she said, ‘are obviously thriving.’ He looked more confident, more handsome than ever. And he’d just got engaged to a woman who was pretty and presentable in every way, even if, in Tara’s possibly biased opinion, a trifle colourless. ‘I suppose business is booming?’
A small shrug. ‘It’s doing well,’ Sholto conceded. He looked down at his polished shoes for an instant, and then up, with an air of deliberation. ‘I’m going to be running it from Auckland again. Averil wants to settle here. She comes from a close-knit family.’
‘Is she giving up her work?’
‘Giving up flying, anyway.’
‘Had enough of the high life?’ Mentally Tara slapped herself. Bad puns weren’t any way to conduct a sophisticated conversation.
Sholto’s eyes sharpened for a second. ‘She wants children.’
Did he know how much that hurt? Probably not, but he’d been defending Averil, all the same. Driven by some obscure demon, Tara said flippantly, ‘And you’ll be happy to keep her barefoot and pregnant, I suppose.’
He moved abruptly, dropping his arm from the sofa back and linking his fingers on one long, impeccably trousered thigh. ‘I’ll be happy to keep her happy,’ he said softly.
She’d asked for that. With an effort she refrained from closing her eyes, staring unblinkingly into his until hers stung.
‘Well,’ she said then, ‘you’ve assured yourself I’m still in one piece, and I expect Averil will be waiting for you. Thanks for your concern—’ She stood up rather quickly and then gasped as the room spun before her surprised eyes. ‘Oh!’
A hand gripped her arm. ‘Sit down,’ Sholto ordered, and pushed her back onto the sofa. ‘Are you sure that doctor examined you properly?’
‘Yes. I’m not concussed or anything. Just a bit of delayed shock, I expect. I shouldn’t have got up so fast.’ Experimentally, she moved her feet, ready to try again.
Sholto bent and scooped them onto the sofa. ‘Don’t move! When did you last eat?’
‘Um—I had a cracker when I came home, with coffee.’
‘A cracker!’ he said with disgust.
‘I wasn’t hungry. At lunchtime I ate a filled roll.’
‘One roll?’
‘It was quite substantial,’ she protested.
‘Do you have any brandy?’
‘You know I hate it.’
‘I’ll make you some more coffee. Where’s the kitchen?’
‘You can’t—’
‘Where’s the kitchen? Never mind, I’ll find it.’
‘I’m really all right, now—’
He was already walking out of the room. At the door he looked back at her and said, ‘Stay there.’
Tara subsided. Humiliatingly, she felt tears gathering again. It was such a long time since anyone had looked after her, and tonight she was feeling vulnerable. The afternoon’s experience had affected her more than she’d realised.
When Sholto returned with a steaming cup she took it from him gratefully.
