care. My boss’s private life is his own business.’
‘But you said he was good-looking. And only in his mid-thirties. Are you saying you’re not attracted to him, just a little?’
‘Not at all. No,’ Rachel repeated firmly when Isabel gave her a long, narrowed-eyed look.
‘I don’t believe you. You told me a little while back that you were so lonely you’d sleep with anything in trousers. Now here you are, working very closely with a handsome hunk of possibly heterosexual flesh and you’re telling me you don’t have the occasional sexual fantasy about him? You might be a bit depressed, Rach, but you’re not dead. This is me you’re talking to, remember? Your best friend. Your confidante in matters up close and personal over the years. I haven’t forgotten that you lost your virginity at the tender age of sixteen, and you were never without a boyfriend after that till Eric dumped you. You might not like men much any more, given what that bastard did, but—’
‘Oh, I still like some men,’ Rachel broke in. ‘I like Rafe,’ she added with a cheeky little grin.
‘Yes, well, all females like Rafe,’ Isabel returned drily, ‘even my mother. But since darling Rafe is already the father of my babe-to-be, and about to become my husband tomorrow, then you can’t have him, not even on loan. You’ll have to find some other hunk to see to your sexual needs.’
‘Who said I had sexual needs?’
‘Don’t you?’ Isabel was startled. She must have after four years of celibacy!
‘I don’t seem to. I rarely think about sex any more, let alone need it.’
Yes, that was patently obvious, now that Isabel came to think about it. If Rachel felt like sex occasionally, she’d do herself up a bit, and to hell with her paranoid boss. There were plenty of other secretarial jobs in the world, and plenty of other men to go with them. The business district of Sydney was full of very attractive men of all ages. Of course, with her looks on the wane, Rachel might not be able to catch herself a seriously gorgeous hunk like Rafe, but there was no reason for her to be lonely, or celibate.
‘Actually, I’m not sure I ever did need it, as such,’ Rachel went on thoughtfully. ‘Sex was just another facet of my being in love. Losing my virginity at sixteen wasn’t a sexual urge so much as an emotional one. I’d fallen in love for the first time and I wanted to give myself to Josh.’
‘But you enjoyed it. You told me so.’
‘Yes, I certainly did. But it wasn’t just sex I was after. It was that lovely feeling of being loved.’
Isabel smiled. ‘You know, it’s possible to have very good sex without love, Rach.’
‘Maybe for you, but not for me. When I said I’d sleep with anyone after Lettie died, that was just my grief and loneliness talking. I can’t just sleep with anyone. I have to be in love and, quite frankly, since my experience with Eric I don’t think I’m capable of falling in love any more. I just don’t have the heart for it. Or the courage. Eric hurt me more than I could ever explain. I honestly thought he loved me as much as I loved him. But, looking back, I don’t think he loved me at all.’
‘He didn’t, the selfish rat. But that doesn’t mean that one day you won’t meet a man who will love you the way you deserve to be loved.’
‘You’re only saying that because you were lucky enough to find Rafe. Not so long ago, you didn’t have such a high opinion of the male sex.’
‘True.’ Isabel couldn’t deny that she’d been a classic cynic for ages where men were concerned. She’d spent most of her adult female life falling in love with Mr Wrong. She knew where Rachel was coming from and, honestly, she couldn’t blame her for feeling the way she did. Eric had treated her shamefully, dumping her after he found out Rachel was quitting her job to look after Lettie. That, coming on top of Lettie’s own husband heartlessly abandoning his increasingly vague wife, must have been the final straw. It was no wonder Rachel’s faith in the male sex had been seriously dented.
‘I’m quite happy as I am, Isabel,’ Rachel went on, ‘without a man in my personal life. I’m really enjoying my job. It’s very interesting working for an investment consultant. I’m learning a lot about the stock market, and money matters, which hasn’t exactly been my forte till now, as you know. I’m thinking of going to university at night next year and doing a business degree, part-time. I have plans for my life, Isabel, so don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine.’
Isabel sighed. That’s what she always said. Rachel was one brave girl. But a rather unlucky one. When Lettie died they’d both thought she’d at least have some financial equity in Lettie’s house, despite it being mortgaged. Rachel was the sole beneficiary in Lettie’s will, made after Lettie’s husband had deserted her. Rachel had been going to sell the house and put a deposit on an inner-city apartment with the money left over after the loan had been repaid. So she’d been shattered to find out the house was still in Lettie’s husband’s name.
When Rachel went to the solicitor who was looking after Lettie’s estate and explained that she’d personally paid the mortgage for the past four and a half years with money she’d earned doing clothes alterations at home, the solicitor had countered that Lettie’s ex had paid the mortgage for fifteen years before that and had no intention of giving her a cent.
She was also informed that Lettie’s ex was thinking of contesting Lettie’s last will as well, since it was made after she was diagnosed with a mentally debilitating illness. Rachel was advised she could go to court to fight for a share of the house and contents if she wished, but her case was shaky. Even if she won, the amount of money she’d be awarded would undoubtedly be exceeded by her court costs.
So Rachel had walked away with nothing but a few personal possessions, her clothes and a second-hand sewing machine.
She’d temporarily been living with Isabel in her town house at Turramurra, and had agreed to house-sit whilst Isabel and Rafe were away on their honeymoon. Isabel had offered her the use of her place on a permanent basis for a nominal rent, since she was moving into Rafe’s inner-city terraced house on their return, but Rachel had refused, saying she would look for a small place of her own closer to the city.
Silly, really, Isabel thought. She should let her friends help her in her hour of need. But that was Rachel for you. Independent and proud. Too proud.
But the nicest person in the world.
Isabel hoped that one day a man might come along worthy of her. A man of character and sensitivity. A man with a lot of love to give.
Because of course that was what Rachel needed. To be loved. Truly. Madly. Deeply.
Just as Rafe loves me, Isabel thought dreamily.
God, she was so lucky.
Poor Rachel. She did feel terribly sorry for her.
RACHEL hurried down the city street the following Monday morning, anxious not to be late for work. She’d caught a slightly later train than usual, courtesy of the longer time it had taken her to get ready for work that morning. Now she was trying to make up for lost time, her sensibly shod feet working hard.
