speciality shops that included a society florist who charged an arm and a leg for a sheaf of long-stemmed roses. Music spilled out from somewhere. A very old favourite, but with a modern twist. Young lovers, interested only in one another, appeared unable to untwine their limbs. A family was coming at them four abreast, the youngsters clearly enjoying themselves and their night out on the town. The party split in two and fell to either side of Boyd and Leona, who smiled and thanked them.
Car lights threw streams of silver foil down the ebony surface of the road. Tail-lights glowed red; a kaleidoscope of colours from neon signs on the buildings. Traffic lights flashed red, amber, green. Busy cosmopolitan Sydney with such general goodwill in the air, Leona thought. They were looking towards Sydney Tower, one of the tallest buildings south of the equator. She had dined countless times at the Tower’s revolving restaurants, which afforded arguably the most splendid panoramic view in the world. Sparkling Sydney Harbour in all its magnificence: the Harbour Bridge, the iconic Opera House with its glistening white sails, surrounded on three sides by deep blue water, the city buildings and, beyond the city central, its famous blue and gold beaches. One could see clear out to the Pacific Ocean on the one side, the mountains of the Great Dividing Range to the other. Loving her home town the way she did, Leona felt a surge of pleasure.
Delicious Italian food further soothed her. Diners sat deep in conversation, some flushed with sexual invitation, reaching across to hold hands. She finished two glasses of an excellent red, then took the unprecedented action of asking Boyd to pour her another. She did enjoy a glass of wine, especially champagne, but she was no drinker. Rather she was discovering the numbing effects the fruity wine was having on her distress. She didn’t have to drive home—was she going to get home? They had finished one bottle. Now they were onto another. Boyd, as ever, looked perfectly sober. She imagined she did too. But mightn’t he be over the limit to drive? It didn’t take much. Blanchards shunned bad publicity and Boyd was ultra responsible. Maybe he planned on sending her home in a taxi, which perversely aggrieved her. There were plenty whizzing up and down outside.
The small, beautifully shaped trees that lined this exclusive little enclave were twined with sparkling white lights. That lifted her spirits as well. She had never been to this restaurant before. She liked it. Trust Boyd to find it. The staff were unobtrusive but she realised they were being waited on hand and foot. No doubt Boyd always left a large tip.
“Feeling better?” Boyd asked. She was aware that he had been studying her right throughout the meal.
“How could I not be? This is a seriously good restaurant.”
“Our secret,” he said, giving her a smile that made her shiver.
She leaned forward to whisper, “It doesn’t just cater to you, Boyd Blanchard. I’m going to bring friends here. They ought to be famous.”
“Your friends?” He lifted a black brow, pleased to see she was looking happier.
“No, the chefs at this restaurant. How precisely am I getting home? Or are you going to suggest I walk?”
“I bet you could do it too.” He finished his short black coffee, then lifted a hand for the bill. “How is it you look like an ethereal dream when you’re so athletic?” He slanted her a mocking smile.
“I aim to be strong,” she said. “I work out.” She watched him add a substantial tip to the bill before handing the plate along with his platinum credit card, back to the waiter, who had appeared like a genie from a bottle.
Back out on the pavement, a good-looking young busker was moving around, violin tucked into his neck, playing the most romantic of solos. He had to be one of the Conservatorium’s best students, Leona thought, because his playing was absolutely top class, thrilling really. One reason perhaps why he hadn’t been moved on. A small crowd was sitting listening, and there were intermittent bursts of applause, while others continued strolling. The scintillating environment drew the crowds, day or night.
“Leave him something,” Leona prompted, in the next breath realising that Boyd had no need of a prompt.
“I usually do,” Boyd told her dryly. “I’m a very generous man. Haven’t you noticed?”
Once she was accidentally bumped by a slightly manic young man wearing huge yellow sunglasses, no matter it was night-time, obviously showing off to his giggling girlfriend. Boyd quickly tucked Leona in to his side. “Real catch, isn’t he?”
“They’re probably both at school. So do we shout for a taxi here?” She tried hard to sound composed, but she wondered if he could feel her trembling.
“My thoughts were that you should stay the night,” he said.
In an instant her blood changed course. It began to whoosh madly up against her artery walls. She didn’t know what was going to happen next.
“Don’t have visions of my trying to seduce you,” Boyd told her smoothly. “It’s not going to happen. I’d just feel a lot happier if I had you in plain sight.”
She felt so foolish, standing there, bereft of words. “I’m not suicidal,” she managed at long last. Not suicidal, just wired inside. Stay the night! He wouldn’t have to try a centimetre to sweep away her every last inhibition. She thought of him, pulling her to him, his hands on her, his mouth on her … Oh, God! Even the godless prayed when they were in trouble, she thought. Not that she was godless. She was definitely a believer. This was the worst thing and the best thing that could happen to her. She should agree right away.
“Staying over is out of the question!” she said, swallowing hard. Another minute and she would lose touch with all reality. It was a huge problem being in love with someone—at the same time making sure they didn’t know it. Soul-destroying really to have to hide one’s feelings from the person you loved most in all the world. But how could she make a clean breast of it when he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—or worst of all, didn’t feel the same as she did. Love was terrible, terrible, terrible and there were many degrees of it.
“How you do go on, Leo,” Boyd gently mocked her. “It seems like a very good idea to me. You’ve had a huge upset. Dad really can be the most callous of men.”
“I have to say he is. There’s such an emptiness in him. And, behind the powerful persona, a strange neediness. Jinty, on her own admission, can’t fulfil his emotional requirements. Probably after we left a huge fight broke out.”
Boyd gave an ironic laugh. “Jinty would have backed down fast. She surprised me when she said she had concerns about Dad’s health. She’s never mentioned it before.”
They had paused at the junction, the traffic humming around them, predominantly luxury cars, waiting for the green light. “I thought Rupert saw Dr Morse on a regular basis?” she queried. She had a mental vision of Rupert’s dusky-cheeked glare. And, behind it, to her mind, a kind of raw, unresolved grief. Rupert at the best of times wasn’t a barrel of laughs, but that didn’t prevent her from feeling compassion for him.
Boyd looked down at her. Her beautiful skin was lustrous as a pearl in the city’s glow, her wind-tossed hair a glittering aureole around her small fine-boned face. She didn’t know how beautiful she was. Her beauty, like her musical speaking voice, was simply a part of her.
“I know Dad has been taking blood pressure medication for years now,” he said. “He’s drinking too much these days, which would probably reduce or wipe out the effect of the medication.” The light changed and they moved off as a couple, her arm linked through his. “People have stopped smoking in droves,
