rest before her imagination ran away with her completely! ‘I’ll pass on that lift.’ It was an effort to speak. ‘I’ll grab a taxi. See you.’
It was an even greater effort to turn. And impossible to stem her gasp of shock as she saw him. Cold black eyes watching her.
Just as she remembered him but with breath-snagging changes—a haughty elegance that made him seem older than his twenty-seven years, his dark, perfectly crafted suit adding to the intimidating effect, oozing the cool self-assurance of a man wholly at ease with himself.
The handsome features were arrogantly cold, the black eyes narrowed and intense as they raked the pallor of her face.
‘Diego!’ His name escaped her on a shaky huff of breath and everything inside her descended into chaos as he acknowledged her with a cool, dismissive dip of his dark head, turned on the heels of his immaculate, hand-crafted black leather shoes and walked away from her through the bejewelled, designer-clad chattering masses as if he didn’t care to sully himself by any verbal contact.
Sophie was sprawled out on the sitting room sofa in the shoe box flat they shared near Clapham Common, her attractive face suffused with an enviable inner radiance until she glanced up on Lisa’s arrival. ‘God, you look awful!’ She hauled herself into a sitting position. ‘What happened? Did Neil make another pass at you? Shall I phone Ben and get him to go round and slap him?’
Lisa’s mouth twitched. As usual, Sophie was completely OTT and she needed that to help her get the main event of the evening—seeing the man she had once believed to be the love of her life again—in proper perspective.
‘No, nothing like that, thank heavens!’ She lobbed her handbag to the floor and draped herself on to the armchair with the dodgy springs. ‘These high society charity bashes are a complete pain.’
‘Entirely your own fault,’ Sophie pointed out unsympathetically. ‘You should never have let yourself be talked into joining the staff. They tried to twist my arm too, remember, but I stuck out for my chosen career in physiotherapy.’
Lisa shrugged and kicked off her shoes. It was old history. She’d never got to university. On her return from Spain, joining her father in the service flat near the magazine’s head office, he’d asked her to re-think her future.
The publishing company was in difficulties. They were in the process of downsizing, selling off or closing down the stodgy middle-of-the-road titles, concentrating on the flagship Lifestyle. They all had to tighten their belts. It was all hands on deck and loads of other clichés. It was her duty to join the staff—at peanut wages—and do what she could to help turn things around.
At the time she’d been too emotionally exhausted to stand up for what she wanted, in no state to really know what she did want any more.
‘I expect you’re right.’ Lisa removed the battery of pins that kept her long blonde hair smoothly away from her face and was debating whether to tell her old friend of her sighting of Diego Raffacani when she noticed the champagne bottle and two flutes set out on the low coffee table. An arched brow tilted in Sophie’s direction.
Sophie blushed then giggled. ‘James proposed this evening. And I accepted.’
Lethargy entirely forgotten, Lisa leapt to her feet to give her friend a bear hug, settling beside her on the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her. ‘That’s the best news I’ve heard for longer than I can remember!’ Sophie had been dating the attractive young GP for over a year and was madly in love with him. ‘I’m so happy for you! Tell me more!’
‘He’s joining a practice in the West Country—all lovely and rural.’ She stretched over for the bottle. ‘He got called out, would you believe—so you’re going to have to celebrate with me. I don’t want to get squiffy on my own!’
The cork ricocheted all round the small room. ‘We’re going to have to house hunt down there,’ Sophie confided excitedly. ‘I can just see myself as a country doctor’s wife—I’ll have loads of babies, join the WI, put my name down for the church flower rota and wear tweed skirts and those green quilted waistcoat things. And hats! With pheasant feathers!’
‘An unlikely scenario, if ever I heard one.’ Lisa grinned, accepting a flute of bubbles, firmly dismissing the wish that she could be as excited over her own wedding plans as being well out of order. She and Ben weren’t into high romance and magical, ephemeral flights of excitement. Companionship, mutual support… ‘So when’s the big day?’ She rapidly blanked out another wholly unwelcome pang of envy.
‘Three months. I’ll be a midsummer bride.’ Her eyes opened very wide. ‘We could have a double wedding! That would be fantastic. Ben could move in here with you. It’s time he got his act together and left the parental home.’
It was a possibility, Lisa mused as she listened to Sophie chatter on about wedding dresses, bridesmaids and honeymoon destinations.
Ben had mentioned a wait of a year after the official engagement announcement tomorrow. And he shared the family home in Holland Park for purely practical reasons. The money saved on rent and his keep was accumulating nicely. But when Sophie moved out she, Lisa, would still have to find the rent for this flat, so it would be both practical and sensible for Ben to share it as her husband.
After the second glass of champagne Lisa forgot practicalities and seemingly out of nowhere found herself blurting, ‘He was at the charity bash tonight. Just as I remembered him, yet different.’
‘Who?’ Sophie, in mid flow over guest lists, refilled their glasses.
‘Diego.’
How easily the name she hadn’t mentioned since that dreadful night slipped from her tongue. How easily the sound of it brought it all back—the heartache, the anger, the sheer gut-wrenching misery, all the emotions she’d believed long dead and buried.
Fuelled by Sophie’s blank look and an unaccustomed rapid intake of alcohol, she offered, ‘Spain. You remember. That holiday you and Ben insisted on giving me?’
‘Of course!’ Sophie banged the side of her head with the heel of her hand. ‘The handsome waiter you thought you were madly in love with, the one who dumped you on that last night—the snake! What a small world—and what was he doing mixing with that lot?’
‘I’ve absolutely no idea.’ Lisa put her glass down on the table, not really knowing why she’d started this, struggling to work out why she needed to talk about him. A catharsis maybe? An emotional release, setting her free from the pain of betrayal that had been buried deep within her psyche.
‘He looked a million dollars—well, let’s say he looked as if he’d regard that amount as small change. I guess his social-climbing career must have taken off in a big way.’
She had to say it, punch what he was firmly into her brain, paint him black so that never again would she—would she what? Still remember, still yearn, still dream about him?
‘Blooming gigolo!’ Sophie snorted. ‘I hope you gave him an earful!’
‘We didn’t speak.’ Just a single word. His name spilling from her lips.
‘Probably just as well,’ Sophie conceded. ‘In your place I’d have probably walloped him and caused huge embarrassment all round. Now, let’s forget about the wretch and talk about something nice—what are you planning on wearing for your
