move on to another shop to check out what they had in stock, when a well-bred but severe-sounding voice hailed her.
“You’re going to the dinner-dance, then, Alana?”
Alana spun to look into Rebecca Radcliffe’s obsidian eyes. Of all the rotten luck! “Oh, hello, Mrs Radcliffe.” Hastily she put a smile on her face. “Dad doesn’t want me to miss out.”
“How is he?” Rebecca asked, with little show of concern.
“Much better, thank you.” Alana moved into the arcade for privacy. Rebecca followed suit. “He’s due to have a bypass on the fourteenth.”
Rebecca smiled thinly. “I know. My son tells me everything. I’m not quite sure what it is you want from my son, Alana. Perhaps, since we’re on our own, you can enlighten me?”
Alana knew a challenge when she heard it. She began a slow count to ten. “Mrs Radcliffe, Simon and I have been friends since we first started carrying school bags. Friends are what we are. I thought that was understood.”
“Oh, please.” Rebecca gave a nasty little jeer. “You know, I can’t figure you out, Alana. You don’t want my son, yet you can’t bear to let him go. You give him no chance to be with other girls, you demand his constant attention, and all the time you have your eye on Guy. No, don’t attempt to deny it. I’m no fool. Guy’s one of your little secrets, isn’t he? You’ve been infatuated with him for years now. I remember as if it were yesterday you looking up at him at your eighteenth birthday. I remember his kissing your cheek. I remember how you touched it afterwards. A dead give-away to anyone watching, as I was. Guy, of course, has an understanding with your cousin, Violette. You know that. But I suppose a girl can dream. You won’t get him, my dear. Though I suppose he can’t help being fascinated. You are beautiful. A heartbreaker, like your mother. But you won’t get Guy, mark my words. There’s bad blood there.”
Alana wasn’t as profoundly shocked as she once would have been. Nevertheless, she felt as though an arrow had pierced her heart. She stared back at Rebecca’s face, with its fine, cold features, for the longest time. “How dare you attempt to defile my mother’s memory?” she said, her voice low and vibrating with emotion. “I’d have a care, if I were you. Someone might start dragging out your secrets, and I bet you’ve got a few. What are you talking about anyway? Bad blood?” The anger that was in her showed in her sparkling eyes.
Rebecca Radcliffe gave another one of her thin, hateful smiles. “You’re such a passionate creature, aren’t you?” She made it sound like a serious character defect. “I know when to keep my mouth shut. There’s plenty that has been kept hidden. Plenty that has been kept within the family. I’m family. You forget, I was married to David Radcliffe’s brother.”
Alana’s Irish temper unfortunately got the better of her. “Who seemed pretty desperate to get away from you,” she shot back, then immediately apologised. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. But I can’t stand here being insulted by you, Mrs Radcliffe. I’ve been through a pretty emotionally worrying time with my father. I won’t let you upset me further, though upsetting people is your specialty. If you’ve got concerns about Simon and me, speak to Simon. Personally, I think Simon’s big problem in life is you!”
That was all wrong, she fumed, as she rushed away. But didn’t Rebecca deserve it? Alana didn’t want to look at dresses any more. She didn’t want to go to the dinner-dance. Thoroughly upset, she kept on walking, past where she had intended to go and on to where she had parked the ute. What a dreadful woman Rebecca was. No wonder Simon lacked backbone, with a mother like that to drive him crazy. Alana was doing Rose a huge disservice, pushing her in Simon’s direction. Razor-tongued Violette was much better suited to dealing with a potential mother-in-law like Rebecca.
She had almost made it back to the ute when Guy, who was driving through town spotted her bright head. It really was a beacon, that mane, he thought—not for the first time. There was a parking spot just behind the utility. He pulled into it, getting out of the car and greeting her across the bonnet. “So—what are you doing in town?”
Her heart did its usual flip. This love of mine, she thought. This secret love of mine. “I haven’t been here for long,” she said, the tremble in her voice betraying her agitation. “I ran into Simon’s mother.”
“Aaah!” Guy expelled a long understanding breath, joining her on the pavement. “That must have been like running into an iceberg. So, what did she say?”
Alana put a hand to her temple. “Let’s see. Where shall I start?”
“Come and have a cup of coffee with me,” he said. “You can tell me then.”
“I should get home to Dad.”
“Coffee will give you a kick. We won’t be long.” He took her arm. “Actually, I wanted to suggest getting a trained nurse in to watch him this weekend. You are coming to the function?”
“I wasn’t.” She allowed herself to be steered towards the town’s newest and by far best bistro, run by an Italian family, newcomers to the district. They had turned an ordinary little café that had been losing money into a thriving business. The coffee was everything coffee should be, the light meals were delicious, and the specialty breads, the luscious little tarts, slices, mouth-watering cheesecakes, were all made on the premises by different members of the family.
“So, what changed your mind? Guy asked.
“Dad persuaded me. That’s what I was doing in town. I was after a dress.”
“Why don’t you let Alex pick a couple out for you in Sydney?” he suggested, as if that was the perfect solution. “She’d know exactly what would suit you.”
“I’m certain she would. Alex has superb taste. But perhaps I should tell you I’m on a budget.” Of course the Radcliffes didn’t know what budgets were. They had millions.
“I’m sure Alex could find you something ridiculously cheap and gorgeous at the same time,” Guy said smoothly. “She’d love to help out. You won’t find what you’re looking for here.”
“Most women aren’t prepared to pay astronomical prices for dresses,” she pointed out. “Anyway, I’m not going.”
“Yes, you are,” he coolly contradicted. “Personally, I’d be shocked if you didn’t win the title of most beautiful girl in the Valley wearing something run up from a hessian bag.”
Guy opened the glass-paned door of the bistro, allowing Alana to step into the relaxed charm of a large open room, decorated very much in the Italian style. The lunchtime wave was over—the bistro had been packed—so there were tables available. The grandfather of the family, Aldo—a big man, slightly overweight, still handsome in his early seventies, with warm, expressive brown eyes and a head of tightly furled white curls—hurried over to greet them, shepherding them happily towards the best table available.
They settled on the same thing. A slice of timballo, a marvellous home made chicken and mushroom pie in a pasta case. “And Mamma has made her famous hazelnut and chocolate cake,” Aldo confided, as though no one could possibly resist.
Alana looked up to smile. “Then I can’t say no.”
Guy gave a relaxed nod. “I won’t say no either, Aldo.” He’d had nothing since seven o’clock that morning. He didn’t normally
