to match a glorious reproduction of Van Gogh’s Irises that dominated one wall.
Normally her home soothed her, but that evening she was still unsettled by her encounter with Damien Moore as she ate her dinner: salad and an omelette. Not, she mused as she ate, that it was entirely surprising to imagine him being subjected to double entendres from women with more than business on their minds. Those dark good looks, the fact that he was obviously a man of considerable substance and his physique all added up to a dangerously attractive man.
What was more, he knew it—and not only that, he was perfectly capable of summing you up. And in her case, she thought a little gloomily, discarding you on a scale of one to ten of female attractiveness—to him anyway.
Then she had to grimace, because she couldn’t believe this nettled her somewhat. Yet she was forced to acknowledge it did.
She offered herself some internal advice. If I were you, I would put Damien Moore as a man right out of your calculations, Lee. And if he doesn’t come up with something soon—well, he’ll hear from you, won’t he?
She pushed her plate away and sighed. The nest egg she’d spoken of was small, and lawyer’s fees would eat it away like a plague of locusts, she had no doubt. But she adored her grandparents, and the prospect of seeing them forced out of the home they’d lived in ever since she could remember was more than she could bear. It was also that home, in a country village three hours south of Brisbane, that had seen her green fingers come to light. Her grandmother was a passionate gardener and Lee had followed in her footsteps.
After leaving school she’d done a course in horticulture at the Southern Cross University in Lismore, not far from home, but then she’d had to move to Brisbane to find work. Her present job was with the city council’s parks department, and she enjoyed it, but there was always at the back of her mind the prospect of owning her own business. As an adjunct to landscape gardening she was also interested in interior decorating; she’d done several night school courses in it. Her grandmother claimed that Lee was artistic, and could turn her hand to anything in that line.
Now, however, she thought a little sadly, until she got her grandparents out of this mess her dreams were receding a bit—unless Damien Moore fulfilled her expectations of being the cleverest lawyer in town. But, she reflected, even if he was, had she succeeded in getting him to take her seriously?
She got up to wash the dishes and decided she would give him a week.
Two weeks later, Damien Moore got out of his metallic blue Porsche at his favourite lunchtime restaurant to find his way barred by a slim girl wearing khaki overalls and with her hair crammed into a black crocheted hat. It was only when she took off the hat and a cloud of auburn hair settled to her shoulders that he recognised Lee Westwood.
He stopped and sighed. ‘What are you? A one-woman SWAT team?’
‘If you’re referring to my clothes,’ Lee said with dignity, ‘they’re my working clothes—I’m a gardener, remember? If you’re referring to my presence here—’ she looked around the Milton precinct, a trendy inner suburb of Brisbane ‘—I cannot get to you on the phone so I decided to do a bit of research. I knew you were coming here today.’
‘How the hell did you know that?’
She smiled. ‘Simple. On the phone I masqueraded as a legal secretary from another firm, desirous of getting in touch with you urgently on behalf of my boss. Your receptionist told me your movements just in case you’d switched off your mobile phone.’
Damien Moore swore. ‘The reason you couldn’t get hold of me was because I have no news for you. As my secretary would have informed you.’
‘It’s been two weeks!’ Lee protested. ‘If he was going to reply he’d have replied by now, surely?’
‘Look—’
‘No, you look, Mr Moore,’ she interrupted, ‘my grandparents had to take out a mortgage on their home to augment their pension and they’re having trouble keeping up the repayments. If I don’t get something done soon they’ll lose their home as well—while you lunch out at expensive restaurants on my fees with not a care in the world!’
‘Hardly,’ he said, with a mixture of impatience and reluctant amusement. He seemed to come to a sudden decision. ‘All right. Come and have lunch with me.’
Lee glanced behind her at the scarlet door beneath a straw-coloured awning flanked by tubs of flowering pelargoniums. It simply shouted luxury and expense. ‘In there?’ she queried cautiously.
‘In there,’ he agreed. ‘I have a booking.’
‘But I don’t think I’m suitably dressed—there’s a fast-food restaurant down the road—’
‘Not on your life, Miss Westwood. Either in there or not at all.’
Lee chewed her lip. This time Damien Moore’s exquisitely tailored suit was pale grey, and he wore a white and blue striped shirt with it, and a navy tie. His black shoes shone—handmade, no doubt—there was a navy linen handkerchief in his breast pocket and his thick dark hair was neat. There was also, she divined, the hint of a challenge in his clever dark eyes…
‘OK.’ She squared her shoulders. ‘On one condition. That I pay for my lunch.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t wish to be beholden to you in any way, Mr Moore.’
He grinned. ‘We’ll see.’
Lee hesitated, but got the strong impression she might be left standing on the pavement if she crossed swords with him any further. So with a muttered, ‘You’re a hard man to deal with!’ she took a deep breath and preceded him through the scarlet door.
Five minutes later she had a glass of wine in front of her and had ordered a slice of quiche Lorraine with salad—the cheapest item she could find on the menu.
‘Are you sure?’ he’d asked. ‘You don’t have to starve—’
‘Quite sure,’ she’d told him firmly. ‘I happen to like quiche, and I adore salad.’
He’d shrugged and ordered the roast pork.
‘This is very nice,’ Lee remarked now, looking round. And I’m not sure whether it’s because I’m with you, but no one seems to have taken exception to my overalls.’
He looked wry. ‘I’m a fairly frequent customer.’
‘So if I’d come in on my own it might have been a different matter.’ She looked amused.
‘As a matter of fact,’ Damien Moore commented, ‘you came in like the Queen of Sheba. It was quite an impressive performance.’
Lee laughed. ‘Not the Queen of Sheba. A movie star.’
‘Really?’ He studied her quizzically. ‘You were imagining yourself like that?’
‘Yes.’ Lee looked rueful. ‘I don’t usually have that problem, but you’ve got to admit I’m at a disadvantage today for this kind of place.’ She glanced down at herself. ‘Can I ask you a question?’ she continued. ‘Do you always lunch in such solitary splendour?’
