she’d made for him. He wanted to give her everything she’d never had.
Olivia had never actually met Lewis’s mother, but had spoken to her often on the phone. Mrs Altman senior didn’t live with her son, even now that he’d separated from his wife. She had her own address in Drummoyne, an inner-city suburb which hugged the harbour.
Olivia had always sensed that Mrs Altman hadn’t liked her son’s choice of wife. Given the closeness of their relationship, maybe Lewis’s mother would not have liked any woman Lewis married. The article had only briefly mentioned Lewis’s marriage of two years, saying his estranged wife was ‘in fashion’ and their separation was amicable.
Olivia had laughed over that at the time. Amicable, my foot!
She didn’t feel like laughing this Friday morning. Only now could she fully understand Lewis’s devastation when Dinah left him. Olivia had never felt so low in her whole life. The thought of attending the Christmas party was unpalatable. How could she possibly enjoy herself? All that eating and drinking, not to mention dancing. The only dancing Olivia cared for was the old-fashioned kind.
If last year’s Christmas party was anything to go by, that was not the kind of dancing with which the factory floor would resonate. Discoing would be the order of the day. Olivia didn’t like gyrating around virtually on her own. She wasn’t uninhibited enough to enjoy making a public exhibition of herself.
She wasn’t uninhibited enough to make a private exhibition of herself, either. Nicholas’s parting barb about being bored with always having sex in a bed had been haunting her. Because he was so right. She’d never made love with him anywhere else but in bed. She’d never even made love on top of the bed!
Being on top in any shape or form was not in her limited résumé of sexual experiences. Neither were any of the other more exotic foreplays and positions. When she’d met Nicholas at twenty-five, she’d still been a virgin. Nicholas was too, surprisingly, although he had only been twenty-two at the time. They’d muddled along together and sex hadn’t been a great success for a while. But they’d finally mastered the basics, and she’d honestly thought Nicholas was happy in bed. She’d never refused him and he’d always come, even when she hadn’t. It seemed now she’d overestimated his pleasure and satisfaction in her body, not to mention her less than adventurous technique.
The telephone ringing snapped her out of her broodingly introspective mood for a moment.
‘Mr Altman’s office,’ came her automatic response. ‘Olivia Johnson speaking. May I help you?’
‘You certainly may, my dear. I’d like to speak to that son of mine, if he’s not too busy. I realise it’s party day.’
‘He’s still in his laboratory, Mrs Altman. I’ll put you through.’
‘Before you do, my dear, I just wanted to wish you a happy Christmas and to thank you for always being so nice to me on the phone.’
‘Why, thank you, Mrs Altman. And a happy Christmas to you too.’
‘What are you doing for Christmas?’
‘I’m going home to my parents’ place.’
‘And where’s that?’
‘They live near Morisset.’
‘Morisset? That’s up on the central coast, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, between Gosford and Newcastle. It’s about a two-hour train trip from Sydney. Less from Hornsby where I catch it.’
‘I see. Well, we’ll have to go to lunch together one day next year, dear. I’d love to put a face and figure to the voice. I asked Lewis once what you looked like and all he said was you were a brunette with intelligent brown eyes. When I asked what kind of figure you had, he looked perplexed for a moment, and then said, “short of medium.”’
Although piqued, Olivia couldn’t really blame Lewis. The tailored black suits she favoured in the office were not designed to stand out, or display her body. Her skirts were never too short or too tight. Any deep Vs in her jackets were always filled in with a simple top or shirt-style blouse. Today’s outfit was no exception. If she’d remembered the Christmas party Olivia might have worn something a little brighter. But she hadn’t and that was that!
‘You know, I haven’t been into the office since that other awful girl was ensconced behind your desk,’ Mrs Altman senior was saying. ‘The last time I visited, she was wearing a dress cut down to her navel. Not to mention very little underwear. As for perfume... I think she must have bathed in it. Poor Lewis. I finally understood why his ex-wife used to complain he smelt like the cosmetics counter in David Jones every time he came home at night.’
Olivia didn’t go perfumeless. But the small spray of Eternity she allowed herself every morning was very discreet.
‘Unfortunately, it’s very difficult to get rid of employees these days,’ the boss’s mother rattled on. ‘If Lewis had sacked the infernal girl, he’d have found himself in court before he knew it, trying to explain to a judge why he’d fired this suddenly prim and proper creature dressed in pin-tucks and a Peter Pan collar.’
Olivia felt the corners of her mouth crinkling with amusement. ‘I gathered Lewis was very relieved when she left to go overseas.’
‘More than relieved, I can tell you. But he’s been very happy with you, dear. You haven’t given him a moment’s worry or trouble!’
Olivia wasn’t sure if she liked the sound of that, or not.
‘Although he did express some concern the other night about your having had a lovers’ tiff with your boyfriend. He said you were very down in the mouth about it.’
‘Yes, well...’ Her voice trailed off. She really didn’t want to discuss Nicholas with Mrs Altman any more than Lewis.
‘Don’t let pride get in your way, dear,’ came the unwanted advice. ‘Call him. Say you’re sorry, even if it was his fault. After all, what’s a bit of grovelling when all’s said and done?’
Olivia’s eyebrows shot up. She’d never grovelled to anyone in her life and she wasn’t about to start now. Still... Mrs Altman did have a point. Pride did sometimes get in the way of reconciliations. She reasoned there was a huge difference between grovelling and giving Nicholas a call. She could use the excuse of wishing him a happy Christmas. He would be in his office right now. She could be talking to him in seconds. Her heart raced as hope reformed.
As soon as Olivia put Mrs Altman through to Lewis she dialled before she could think better of it. Nicholas’s telephone rang several times before being picked up.
‘Nickie’s desk,’ breathed a female voice.
Olivia was taken aback. ‘Renee?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘Is that you?’ Renee was a colleague of Nicholas who sometimes answered his phone when he was away from his desk.
‘Renee resigned some time back,’ came the husky reply. ‘I’m Yvette. Her replacement.’
Renee’s replacement. Named Yvette. And she called Nicholas Nickie.
Olivia began to feel sick. ‘Could I speak to Nicholas, please?’
There
