he pointed out.
Her grey eyes narrowed, seeing not his face sitting beside her, but another equally handsome face. The memory was sharp, the pain momentarily strong. And then her gaze cleared. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I was away in another world.’
Matt was still frowning at her. ‘Not a happy one,’ he commented. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘No,’ she said far too sharply. You’d be the last man on earth who could wipe away my pain, Matt Sheffield! She picked up her dessert fork and jabbed at the cheesecake.
Over coffee, Flora stood up and made a blessedly short but simpering speech of gratitude to their guest-ofhonour. Matt’s reply was a witty, obviously off-the-cuff speech which mentioned Bangaratta’s plight in not having a town doctor. A few journalists were there, taking notes, Clare saw, and the photographers were busily snapping away. Who knew? Maybe some good would come of this. When Matt sat down, the applause was deafening.
‘You were marvellous,’ she said when he looked across at her. And she meant it. She wasn’t so prejudiced that she couldn’t give praise when praise was due.
His stare was so intense that Clare imagined he was in fact reading her mind. ‘True praise indeed,’ he said in a low voice, ‘when it comes from a hostile audience.’
She scooped in a sharp breath. ‘Matt, I…’
‘Come now, Clare.’ His smile was sardonic. ‘This man behind the mask is not a sensitive creature.’ He fixed a deadly eye on her. ‘You have it in for me for some reason, but be damned if I know what it is.’
Her face must have confirmed his guess.
‘What? No further apologies?’
For a moment she thought of Flora’s committee and distress flashed into her eyes.
‘Don’t back down. I like honesty. But I must admit I have found your attitude quite intriguing. What have I done, I ask myself, to instil such antagonism in the most desirable woman I have ever met?’
It was a suitably tantalising note to end their conversation on. And he knew it, Clare decided, watching agitatedly as he joined Flora and Co. for the presentation of the débutantes. Clare could only stare after him, her stomach in knots. With that parting shot he had stirred up a hornet’s nest inside her. Oh, Matt, you are a clever, clever man, she realised through her fluster.
‘Clare…’
Clare’s head jerked round at her mother’s voice.
‘Something wrong, dear?’ came the enquiry. ‘You look…flushed.’
Clare drummed up a covering smile. ‘I’m all right. A slight headache. I might go home soon.’
‘But you can’t do that! The debs are about to be presented. And you might be needed later to help entertain the guest-of-honour. Come over and sit down with me and your father.’
Clare sighed and gave in graciously. It was the best way with her mother.
The music started up—it was taped music, the committee unable to afford an orchestra or a band on top of their expensive guest. Clare sat in silence while the five white-gowned girls were presented, listening while her mother raved on about how lovely they looked, how charming their guest was and how wonderful the night had turned out to be. She determined to slip away once the official proceedings were over and the dancing began. Someone else could help ‘entertain’ the guest-ofhonour.
It didn’t prove to be that easy. People kept claiming her attention, all of them eager to tell her how stunning she looked. Still, after her mother’s disappointing silence on the subject, it was some balm to her ego and she couldn’t say she disliked the flattery. Not only that—while she was busy chatting to the townsfolk, she was safe from the enemy’s attentions.
Not that she wasn’t aware of where he was and what he was doing every single moment. One only had to find the largest circle of women and there he would be, holding court in the middle of them. Truly, the man was a menace. He was standing at that moment with a group of elderly women who were all laughing and smiling. Clare felt a reluctantly admiring smile pull at her mouth as she watched him in action.
Suddenly he turned his head and caught her eye. For a moment he just stared and then he turned aside and whispered something to Bill Marshall. Clare knew instinctively that this interchange had something to do with her, and a wave of unease swept through her. She watched, with increasing alarm, as Bill made his way towards her.
‘Care to dance, Clare?’
She blinked her surprise but quickly found herself on the dance floor.
‘Matt said to tell you he’d be leaving shortly, ostensibly to go back to the motel. But he wants to know if he could meet you somewhere private for a drink.’
Clare was dumbfounded. And furious! She’d heard of pop stars sending their henchmen out to collect some groupies for the night, but this…this was outrageous!
‘Tell me, Bill,’ she began with an innocent air, ‘do you always procure Matt’s women for him? Or is it only on these out-of-town jaunts?’
Bill didn’t appear the slightest bit offended. Clearly being unflappable and unoffendable were required qualities in a big-time agent. ‘I see,’ came the cool reply. ‘I presume the answer, then, is no.’
‘Please don’t presume, Bill,’ she swept on, her voice cool but her heart pounding with anger. ‘I wouldn’t dream of turning down such a prize. I just hope he realises that a drink will be all he’ll be getting!’
‘Matt is a gentleman,’ he stated, then added with what Clare thought considerable irony, ‘Where can he meet you?’
Clare could hardly believe this was happening. Two years of dealing with country men had made her forget how daring and aggressive some city men could be. They did what others only thought about. Her temper rose, her vow earlier in the night to see this man in hell catapulting back into her brain. She couldn’t deliver hell exactly, but she sure as heck would teach him a lesson or two!
‘I live in a flat above the pharmacy in the main street,’ she said, smiling. ‘There’s access from the back lane. I’ll leave the porch light on. Tell him to just walk up the steps and knock.’
‘You leave first,’ Bill said, projecting a secrecy Clare found disgusting, though predictable. ‘Matt will be with you as soon as he can.’ He strode briskly away, a hint of smugness playing on his lips.
She stared after him, still disbelieving. She watched him go up to Matt, held her breath as he whispered in his ear. Matt was frowning and then his head was turning. Those incredible blue eyes locked with hers. Her heart stopped, then seemed to tremble.
My God, what had she just done?
For the second time that night, Clare fled.
CHAPTER THREE
CLARE paced nervously around her flat. Every now and then she would stop and rearrange the pillows on her oversized sofa, unaware that such an action might have Freudian overtones. She kept going to the back window and looking out into the lane, one moment hoping
