Authors: Vicki Tyley
“They’re not all desperadoes,” Brenda said, drawing out the word
“all.”
Megan fished around in her handbag, hunting for the lipstick she’d
tossed in there earlier in the night. “I assume you’re referring to Lawson.”
She continued searching for the elusive lipstick, expecting to hear the usual
smart-alec retort.
When Brenda didn’t respond, she looked up. Brenda grinned at her and
nodded.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Megan retorted. “Sure, he’s good
looking, but I don’t think he’s really my type. He’s too quiet.”
Brenda tilted her head and cocked an eyebrow, but remained silent.
Megan snapped her fingers and pointed at Brenda. “Oh, now I get it.
You fancy young Lawson.”
Still grinning, Brenda raised her eyebrows.
“But, Brenda, he’s so timid. It would be like pairing up a lion and
a rabbit. And he’s no lion.”
Brenda threw her head back and roared with laughter. “Don’t you know
it’s the quiet ones you have to watch?”
“Maybe so. Can I also remind you that you’re not the only one
lusting after the delectable Lawson.”
“Ha! Pouty-lipped Linda is so not his type.”
Lipstick found, Megan refreshed her lip color. “If you say so. What
about Pauline Meyer?” She bared her teeth at the mirror, checking there was no
Perfect Plum adorning them.
“Does she think she’s his mother or something?”
“Or something, I reckon.”
They exchanged looks, pulling exaggerated faces of incredulity,
before shoving the door open and making their way back out into the dining
area. As they crossed the open space in the middle of the floor, Mata Hari, aka
Linda, sailed past them with her shoulders back and her breasts thrust forward.
Brenda’s stride lengthened, leaving Megan trying to keep up on heels
that threatened to pitch her face first onto the floor. Megan soon saw the
reason for her friend’s haste. With Linda on her way to the toilets and Pauline
nowhere to be seen, Lawson was a sitting duck, defenseless to predatory
females.
Lawson’s surface vulnerability somehow brought out the protective
instinct in Megan. She felt like mothering him. Almost. However, she was quite
sure that it wasn’t this same instinct driving Brenda in an unswerving course
towards Pauline’s vacated seat.
By the time Megan reached her seat, Brenda was well and truly
ensconced at the head of the table. With her forearms resting on the tabletop,
she perched on her seat edge and leaned in towards Lawson as if she had a
secret to share with him.
Megan dropped into her chair and reached for her wineglass. Too busy
giving the woman on his right the same spiel he’d given Megan, Wayne hadn’t
noticed her return.
Whilst not able to hear the conversation further up the table, she
observed Lawson visibly relaxing. His face no longer seemed as tense and his
eyes had stopped darting all over the place. He even managed a small smile.
Once again Brenda had woven her magic.
The magic was short-lived. As the first courses arrived, Linda
flounced back to her chair on Lawson’s left, trailing her hand across his
shoulders as she did so. Linda threw a dismissive look at Brenda, and turned
her attention to Lawson. He in turn gave her what appeared to be a sly wink.
Megan couldn’t believe it. Her initial maternal instincts evaporated in a
flash.
From where she sat, Brenda wouldn’t have seen the wink. Besides, she
was too busy glaring at Linda to have noticed. Megan herself was starting to
doubt what she’d seen, or at least thought she had seen. Were her eyes playing
tricks on her? It didn’t make any sense.
The music stopped and a few seconds later Pauline Meyer’s
artificially posh voice filtered through the sound system. Megan turned in her
seat, watched and listened as Pauline, microphone in hand, welcomed everyone to
the dinner. It was the first opportunity Megan had really had to study the
statuesque blonde without appearing to be rude. Megan wasn’t good at estimating
ages – especially women’s – but she guessed Pauline had to be nudging her mid
forties, if not her early fifties. Even though the other woman’s complexion
appeared smooth and flawless, Megan wondered how much of it could be attributed
to cosmetic intervention. Earlier she’d noticed the backs of Pauline’s hands,
the slight crinkling of the skin telling a different story to that of her face.
Her figure, on the other hand, would be the envy of any woman half
her age. Megan herself certainly envied the lean, verging on sinewy, lines of
her body. She, too, could look like that. She only had to cut out the
chocolates and the wine, swim ten kilometers each day and spend a minimum of
two hours every morning at the gym. Simple. That and a stretching rack. Pauline
had a good twenty centimeters in height on her.
While Pauline was still in the throes of her speech, Brenda slipped
back into her own chair, her pursuit of love abandoned for food. For the time
being anyway. Megan had to admit the multicolored herb salad Brenda was already
tucking into looked rather appetizing, even to someone like her who thought
vegetables should be reserved for garnishing.
After a perfunctory toast from Pauline, conversation at the table
quickly came to a standstill as everyone became preoccupied with their entrées.
Megan felt like the odd one out when, with a quick glance around the table, she
realized she was the only one who’d not ordered a first course. Watching other
people eat had never been her idea of fun, but she only had herself to blame.
Thank goodness her dinner companions didn’t dally too long over their meals.
With the plates cleared away, conversations were soon resurrected.
Wayne stood, clearing his throat. “Be back in five.”
Megan nodded, waited for him to leave and breathed out. After a
minute, she sensed rather than heard a movement behind her.
“I hope you don’t mind,” said the spectacled guy from across the
table as he dropped into the vacated seat. “But you looked like you were in
need of rescuing.”
“Was I that obvious?”
He leaned in close. “Not obvious enough in my opinion.” His warm
breath tickled her ear. “Some people just love the sound of their own voice.”
“Nick, isn’t it?” She caught a whiff of cologne.
“Right. And you’re Megan.”
She nodded, shifting in her seat.
“First time?”
“Guilty.”
Propping his elbow on the table, he peered around her. “Your
friend’s first time, too?”
Megan drew a deep breath and lifted her chin. “Actually, she’s only
here to support me.”
“Good friend.”
“The best,” Megan said. “What about you? Are you a Dinner for Twelve
virgin, too?”
He laughed. “I wish. No, I’ve attended a few of these functions.
Call me a sucker for dinner parties with strangers.” Nick’s gaze strayed to the
other side of the table.
“Or new friends.”
“Sorry, what was that?”
“Dinner parties with new friends.”
“Right.”
At that moment, Wayne returned. “Do you mind?”
“Just keeping it warm for you, mate,” Nick said, standing.
Megan reached for her wine. By the time the main courses arrived,
she was famished and more than a little tipsy. Her Cajun chicken could have
been made of cardboard for all she cared as she devoured it with gusto. With
eating as an excuse, she didn’t have to continue feigning interest in Wayne’s
prattle. If she heard negatively-geared or positive cash flow one more time,
she couldn’t be held responsible for her actions.
Brenda, on the other hand, appeared to be in her element. The small
clique that’d formed around her consisted of Pauline on her left and Lawson
directly opposite her. Even the wanton Linda wasn’t impervious to Brenda’s
charms.
However, those charms didn’t extend to Mr Ginger Moustache. His
interests lay elsewhere, and unfortunately for Megan, she chose that instant to
look up. She found to her disgust he was leering openly across the table at her
breasts. And then the sleaze winked at her. She gagged, her appetite promptly
deserting her. Her hand tightened around the stem of her wine glass. She only
just managed to refrain from throwing what was left of her wine over the creep.
PROLOGUE
She stirred, her hand seeking her
husband’s reassuring touch. Cold sheets. Panic fluttered in her chest and then
died. She remembered now. What had happened to them that they could no longer
talk? Her splayed fingers caressed the empty space next to her, as if searching
for some imprint of the man she’d married, the father of her two children. What
or who had come between them?
From downstairs, she heard a thud, followed by what sounded like a
muffled grunt. She gritted her teeth. He daren’t wake the kids. It had taken
all her wiles and half the night to convince little Oliver there were no
three-eyed, boy-eating monsters living under his bed. Kayla hadn’t been much
better, getting up at least once every hour to ask for a glass of water and a
cuddle. Damn Warren. Didn’t he know by now children picked up on every vibe?
Another thud. Closer this time. She held her breath, listening.
Footsteps. She rolled over, feigning sleep when she sensed his presence in the
doorway. Her breathing didn’t falter.
A slight movement of air brushed across her face. She inhaled. Her
breath caught, the sharp smell registering in the same instant the cold metal
kissed her temple…