them.’
‘For pity’s sake, Evelyn,’ Paige pointed out wearily, ‘you can’t expect me to wear the same clothes I wore at seventeen.’
‘Why not? I seem to recall you spent all that year buying and wearing clothes that were way too old for you. On top of that,’ Evelyn added drily, ‘if there’s one thing I’ve learned since working for the rich and famous, it’s that designer clothes don’t date all that much. I’m sure you’ll find something among them that’ll do. It’s not as though you’ve put on any weight. You’re as skinny as ever.’
Evelyn had always made comments about her weight and Paige hated it. She was a tall girl, and naturally slim. But one could hardly call her ‘skinny’.
‘Whatever you say, Evelyn.’ She was too tired of spirit to argue. And what did it really matter?
Evelyn went to leave, then stopped, peering closely at Paige’s face. ‘That’s a nasty bruise you’ve got there, dear,’ she said, with a malicious glint in those beady eyes of hers. ‘Walk into a door?’
‘Something like that.’
‘You should watch where you’re going, or one day you might really get hurt.’ And, with an expression which implied such a prospect would please her no end, Evelyn exited the room, deliberately leaving the door open behind her.
Sighing, Paige rose and closed the door before returning to see what Evelyn had brought her to eat. Two huge club sandwiches, stuffed with mayonnaise. A piece of cream-filled cake big enough to feed an army, and a huge chocolate milkshake.
Paige knew she wouldn’t be able to consume that amount, let alone such rich food. But she didn’t dare leave any behind. Evelyn would report back to her father, who would lecture her on everything from anorexia to ingratitude. Defiance always had its price around Fortune Hall.
If only Blackie were still alive, she thought wistfully as she flushed half of the food down the toilet. That dog had been the perfect garbage disposal.
Paige’s heart turned over as she thought of her long-deceased pet. As dogs went, Blackie had been exceedingly ugly: a flea-bitten mongrel Paige had rescued from the pound after they’d put his photograph in the Sunday papers. Her father had been furious when she’d bought him and brought him home. Blackie had almost been as old as she was. Seven to her nine. Her father had declared him a health hazard because he was recovering from mange. He’d told her that if she returned him he would get her a proper pup, a poodle with a pedigree and papers.
But she’d dug her heels in—the forerunner of future rebellions—and said stubbornly that she wasn’t taking Blackie back to die and that she’d look after him herself, using her weekly allowance. He’d cost her a small fortune in vet bills, but she’d managed. Dog and girl had been inseparable till that dreadful day when she’d had to leave for boarding school. The housekeeper had promised to look after him, but when Paige had come back on her first home weekend, a month later, Evelyn had been installed as the new housekeeper and Blackie was declared dead, supposedly run over by a car. She’d never quite believed this story, but could never prove otherwise.
Paige had vowed to get herself another dog one day. But she never had. It was hard to risk one’s heart a second time after being so badly hurt, she’d found. Very hard.
With half the food flushed away, and the rest reluctantly stuffed down into her fragile-feeling stomach, Paige went along to the next room to review the dresses that had appealed to her seventeen-year-old taste.
She shook her head over most of them. If ever she needed evidence of her schoolgirl obsession with Antonio, it was in the collection of clothes before her. Never had she seen such an array of painfully provocative purchases: all designed to flaunt her body, and all, as Evelyn had pointed out, way too old for a seventeen-year-old.
No wonder Antonio had stared at her across the dinner table when she’d come down dressed in those. Any living, breathing man would have given her a second glance. Paige was not ignorant of her physical attractions. She’d had them thrown in her face often enough in the past few years.
Her hand ran along the hangers, searching for something—anything—which was suitable for a simple dinner with her father. She bypassed everything which was too short, too clingy, or too low-cut.
Her eye finally landed on a cornflower-blue trouser suit which she’d never actually worn at all, come to think of it. She’d bought it at one of those end-of-season sales because the saleslady had raved about her in it. But when she’d got it home Paige had childishly thought it far too simple and plain.
Now, she liked its elegant simplicity very much. And blue always looked good on her, with her fair hair and blue eyes. But it wasn’t a dress, was it? Too bad, she decided mutinously, and tugged the hanger out.
Fortunately, the left-behind shoes didn’t present any choice problem at all. Paige had been five-nine by the time she was fourteen, so she’d never bought too high a heel, not even during her Antonio-mad year.
Selecting a pair of open-toed cream shoes with a lowish heel, she returned to her room, where she stripped down to her undies and tried on the trouser suit. The reflection in the full-length cheval mirror in the corner brought an instant frown. Dear heaven, but she looked terribly busty! Bras did that to her in some clothes. Taking off the cardigan-style top, she removed her bra, then slid the silky cardigan back on, doing up the three small pearl buttons and having another look.
Much, much better. Her breasts looked smaller for having settled lower and wider apart on her chest, and there wasn’t an in-your-face cleavage filling the deep V-neckline. There were no ugly bra lines, either, to mar the way the silky top smoothly outlined her bust before falling loosely to her hips. The trousers had a similar cut, fitting snugly around her hips before falling straight down to her ankles in softer folds. It was a very wearable and comfortable outfit which would fit a wide variety of occasions. She really must remember to take it with her when she next left.
Whenever that would be…
Paige hadn’t just lost the roof over her head last night. She’d lost her clothes as well. Which was a pity. She’d spent quite a bit putting together a decent work wardrobe to go with her new career direction.
If only she’d dared go back into Jed’s bedroom and get her set of keys before sneaking out of the place. If she had, she’d be able to slip into the building—and the apartment—while Jed was at work.
Paige sighed. She could hardly see herself showing up while Jed was home, and politely asking permission to come up and get the rest of her clothes. Better she cut her losses and just disappeared.
Maybe it was time to head interstate. Maybe up north to Queensland, where there were plenty of holiday resorts, and plenty of jobs going for an attractive girl with a wide range of working experience.
A move to Queensland, however, would require money for her fare and some new clothes. She had some savings, but would need every cent to set herself up in a flat. Bond money and such. Her father would give her money if she asked, Paige knew. He might even resume putting that obscene monthly allowance into her bank account, if she begged.
Frankly, she was tempted. All she had to do was eat humble pie and tell her father he was the greatest.
But then she would have nothing left, would she? No self-respect. No independence. No pride.
She had to find some other way out of the hell-hole
