by Alicia Hope
* * *
And now it was the evening of her ‘welcome to the mews’ cocktail party. Although Rosie had arranged for the complex’s central square to be the venue, Claire had pressed Verity to have everyone at her villa first, for pre-party drinks and nibbles.
‘I’ll come early in the day so we can get everything ready, and afterwards I’ll help with the clean-up. Hey, maybe I should stay over, as your first official house guest? And it won’t be the last time I stay in “Plush Mews”, I’ll give you the tip!’
Verity grinned. ‘And you’ll always be welcome, you budding snob, even if you are a pushy so-n-so.’
Claire brushed off the teasing dig with a snort, and carried on with unrestrained enthusiasm, ‘As guest of honour, you’ll need to work the room, so I’ll take care of the drinks—might have one or two myself while I’m at it.’ She smirked, ‘Knowing you, you’ll want to offer your house guests nibbles ... er ... hors d’oeuvres,’ she said, plum-in-mouth, ‘with their drinks, to show off your skills in that to-die-for-kitchen.’ When Verity didn’t object, Claire raised one eyebrow and said loftily, ‘Yeah, I thought so. Well, we’ll apply the KISS principle to the food and keep it simple, stupid.’ At the sight of her friend’s expression, she giggled, ‘We’ll serve finger food with napkins, and not bother with crockery or cutlery. Agreed?’
Doubt still hovered on Verity’s face, so Claire wheedled, ‘Oh, come on, it’ll be a cinch. Hey, it can double as your house-warming! I’ll bring a plant and all. The place is looking so good, it’s a great time to show it off. What d’ya say?’
Verity had never been able to resist a serious assault by Claire in full, effervescent form, so she eventually agreed, although with some misgivings. How many people would come, and would Royce be among them?
Not that it matters, she scolded herself, he’s only another complex dweller, that’s all.
She did get a bit excited though, at the prospect of making some tasty morsels to tempt her guests. After scanning her favourite recipe books for ideas, she finally settled on a range of Nigella Lawson’s delicacies, choosing some that were simple, but succulent. She also decided to buy a new outfit for the occasion, so she could feel at the top of her game. It was another good excuse for retail therapy, with her enthusiastic co-shopper and fashion critique partner, Claire, in tow. After much trying-on of numerous outfits, Verity chose a Black Label shell dress, of luxurious black lace over elegant navy satin. As soon as she stepped out of the change room with it on, she was awarded with an eager, if hard-won, thumbs-up from Claire.
It now graced her trim figure. She glanced at her watch; there was still time before everyone arrived to have one more careful preen in front of the cheval mirror. She was pleased at how well the dress suited her. Its figure-hugging, sleeveless bodice tapered smoothly into a black silk waistband, and its wide neckline showed off the smooth, creamy skin on her throat and neck. A scalloped lace hem rested above her shapely knees, encouraging the eye to travel down slender legs under barely-there black stockings, to a stylish pair of black high heels with dainty ankle straps. Her hair was piled high on her head, tied with a black satin ribbon and held in place by combs sparingly dotted with diamantes, which glinted in the light. She’d taken particular care with her makeup which looked flawless, even to her own judgemental eyes.
Well, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, she sighed to herself. It’s been ages since I hosted a ‘do’ like this. The last time was that surprise birthday party for David, which was a bit of a disaster. Although everyone else had a great time, the guest of honour wasn’t impressed when he realised that instead of the AFL season tickets he was expecting, I was throwing him a cocktail party so all his family and friends could help him celebrate his special day. How was I to know he’d want the same present again, for about the third year running? He hadn’t dropped the usual hints, or maybe I hadn’t picked up on them because I wanted to do something different. But I guess I should’ve known, he was never one for trying new things, and he made no secret of his obsession with Aussie Rules football. She sighed again. Well, I hope this evening is more successful than that one was.
‘Wow!’ Claire stood in the doorway, gazing at her. ‘That dress looks even better on you here than it did in the boutique. And look at your tiny waist! Oh, I’m so jealous....’ She came further into the room. ‘Was that you in the kitchen earlier, in torn, garlic-splattered jeans, up to your elbows in flour, and sweating all over the baked ricotta?’ she teased, ‘’cos this image in front of me sure doesn’t look, or,’ and she sniffed, ‘smell like her!’
They both giggled.
‘Hey, you look great too,’ Verity said. ‘Those new linen trousers are very slimming, and go so well with that blouse. I love its sheer collar and puffed sleeves.’ She glanced at Claire’s feet. ‘And you decided to brave the high-heeled black sandals? They look terrific, but they’re so new, I hope they don’t give you blisters! Oh, and I love what you’ve done with your hair. Having it up really suits you.’
Claire beamed and tweaked the strands of hair she’d carefully curled to frame her heart-shaped face. ‘C’mon,’ she announced, ‘there’s a couple of chilled champagne flutes downstairs, having a dry argument that can only be settled by adding bubbles. I don’t know about you, but this gal’s ready to par-tay!’
The evening was a success despite an early hiccup, and a quite literal one. Verity and Claire had each partaken of at least two glasses of bubbly before the guests arrived, which was foolhardy considering their empty stomachs. Under Claire’s instructions, they’d only snacked lightly during the day. She wanted her tummy as flat as possible for the evening, stating matter-of-factly, ‘I’m on the prowl again, so I need to look my best.’ Unfortunately, the wine had promptly gone to Verity’s head, and made her greetings to colleagues, acquaintances and perfect strangers, a little more warm and welcoming than usual.
Worse still, she was sure she had actually hiccuped in someone’s face. Recalling it later, she shuddered.
Should I try to remember who it was, or pretend it never happened? She grimaced, and her inner voice yelled, choose the second box!
After the hiccup incident, Verity had firmly resisted Claire’s proffered ‘top-ups’ of champers and opted for the safer spritzig of soda water. But Claire cheerfully sailed along on a sea of alcoholic bubbles, making good on her promise to keep the drinks flowing into every empty glass she spied, including her own.
And when Royce arrived, a number of refills after everyone else, he received a warmer than expected welcome. He’d been debating whether to go at all, and had finally decided to make a brief appearance. Rosie had been so determined he be there, and he hadn’t come up with a good enough reason to avoid it. He wasn’t anticipating an enjoyable time, though. Nor did he expect the rush he felt at the sight of Verity, backlit by soft lighting, waiting in the doorway to greet him with a pretty smile. She looked alluringly feminine in an outfit very different from her corporate wear. Until that moment, he hadn’t realised what an attractive woman she was. He’d always regarded her as merely another ‘suit’.
As Verity graciously extended him a hand in welcome, an arm suddenly materialised over her shoulder. Royce caught a glimpse of a flushed face as Claire bellowed, ‘Heeshadrink, Royce!’
He gave a smiling frown as he shook Verity’s extended hand, and accepted the over-filled glass Claire was handing him none too steadily.
Verity cringed a little, brushing drops of bubbly off her shoulder and gently pushing Claire’s arm away. ‘Welcome, Royce. Come on in. Do you know everyone?’
His eyes skimmed over the other guests as he stepped into the room. He turned to Verity and said in his deep voice, ‘I think I recognise most of them.’
Surprised by the look—of reluctant admiration?—in his eyes, Verity stared wordlessly at him. And that’s when Claire noticed an empty glass in someone’s hand. She swiftly turned on her heel, intent on righting the wrong. But in her sozzled state she stumbled against Veri
ty, who gave a startled gasp, tipped forward, and fell against Royce.
He reached out to catch her, and growled, ‘Look out!’
‘Oopsh, m’bad, shorry,’ Claire slurred as she wobbled off, still intent on her wine-waiter task.
But Royce was gazing down at the woman in his arms. No, not a woman. His boss. He couldn't see her face, only the top of her head. Just as a subtle hint of her perfume floated up to caress his nose, Verity straightened and pulled away. He quickly let her go, but kept one hand at her elbow until he was sure she was steady.
She took another step back, absently rubbing her arm. She raised her eyes to his for the briefest instant, face aflame, before giving an embarrassed frown and mumbling, ‘Um, thanks. For the ... you know, save.’
He gave a gravelly chuckle. ‘No problem. Makes a change, playing the hero.’ A burst of loud laughter nearby made them both glance away, and Royce said quietly, ‘By the looks of it, I’m about a bottle and a half behind everyone else. But I guess that’s the hero’s fate, to be sober enough to save the damsel.’
His grin widened when Verity said with mock gravity, ‘Yes, with late arrival comes great responsibility.’ They laughed together until Royce felt his arm abruptly grabbed from behind. He turned to see Rosie beaming at him.
From across the room she’d watched him catch Verity in his arms, thinking to herself that he had the makings of a fine lady’s champion. She wondered how he remained unattached. Tall and well-built, he looked stylish in a fitted short-sleeved shirt, and black jeans that hugged his lean hips and legs. Although his leather boots were low-heeled, he was still taller than everyone else in the room. The colours of his clothes accentuated the darkness of his hair and eyes and the shadow of a moustache developing nicely above his lips.
A happily married woman herself, Rosie could still appreciate the company of good-looking men. ‘Glad you could make it, Royce,’ she crooned, raising an eyebrow and smirking up at him cheekily, ‘I wasn’t sure you would.’
Royce’s firm mouth tipped into a half smile. ‘Good to see you, Rosie.’
‘We don’t have many of these little gatherings, so it’s great to see everyone’s made the effort.’ She grasped his arm more firmly, noting the dense muscles beneath her fingers. This was no paper-pushing, office-bound weakling, of that she was certain. Rosie threw Verity a smile as she led Royce away. ‘Come on, I want you to meet my husband. He’s just returned from his latest overseas trip. And then we’re all heading over to the party proper. So nice of Verity to have us here for pre-do drinks, and hasn’t she done a fabulous job with the place....’ As they moved off, Royce looked back at Verity, but she was again mingling. She did glance his way once though, and he gave her a smiling nod, which she returned after the briefest of hesitations.
Royce only had time for a quick chat to Rosie’s other half, while casting his admiring eyes over Verity’s home, before Rosie took his arm again, calling to everyone, ‘Come on, it’s time to head to the palazzo, party central!’ She looped her other arm through her husband’s and began leading the crowd out of Verity’s villa, and along the path to the central square.
Verity looked around for Claire and saw her standing in the kitchen. She held an open wine bottle in each hand, and had a mouthful of pastry and a ‘chinful’ of golden crumbs. She was staring a little blurrily after the crowd.
‘C’mon, bubble girl,’ Verity said fondly, taking her arm, ‘there’s a nice, big bottle of soda water with your name on it, at the party.’
In the square, Royce found himself looking over at Verity from time to time. He couldn’t help admiring her grace and poise as she socialised, all the while keeping a close eye on her inebriated friend. Stopping Claire from re-filling her own glass and everyone else’s looked to be an ongoing battle, but Verity managed it with aplomb, and a sense of humour.
Royce’s mouth tightened. Was this caring person the same cold-hearted adversary who’d stolen his promotion? She, who had slithered in to blithely snatch from his grasp the job that was rightfully his? and who would no doubt lead the company—his company—into ruin.
But the enchanting woman who’d greeted him like a friend, laughed with him, who felt soft but lithe in his arms and warm against his chest ... where did she fit in?
Chapter Seven
‘Royce James is here for his appointment.’ Kerry ushered him into the office and closed the door.
Verity watched Royce approach her desk. The well-cut navy suit he wore emphasised his height, and the darkness of his collar-length hair. She took a deep breath. The time had come for their first one-to-one meeting at work, and she wondered what it would bring.
‘Morning, Royce.’
‘Verity,’ he nodded. Although he didn’t smile, his eyes were amiable enough.
She didn’t expect him to behave with the same easy manner as at the recent cocktail party, and he didn’t disappoint. But it was a relief to see him more composed and less aggressive than when he’d stormed out of this same office just weeks ago.
Still, she mused, it can’t be easy for him, consigned to what must feel like the wrong side of this desk.
‘Please, take a seat.’ Her eyes followed his movements.
There’s a manly physique beneath that suit....
With a jolt, she realised where her thoughts were heading.
What am I doing, thinking about that? Especially after promising myself I’d forget that embarrassing moment at the cocktail party. What a relief he can’t read my mind!
Royce was regarding her a little curiously, a half smile on his lips. He leaned back and enquired, ‘How’s the settling-in going? I’ve been a bit busy on site, so haven’t been around much to help.’
‘Fine thanks. And what’s been keeping you so busy?’ She’d only been receiving his usual operating reports, which hadn’t mentioned any especially demanding endeavours.
‘There’s a project taking up a fair bit of my time.’
‘Which project is that?’ Verity was aware of a few underway in the various facilities, but hadn’t heard of any Royce was spearheading.
‘One we’ve had in the pipeline for some time.’
‘Oh yes?’ Her interest was piqued, but something in Royce’s manner and enigmatic expression suggested a reluctance to discuss the subject. She felt her radar give a twitch.
Royce sat regarding Verity coolly, giving no evidence of his inner mêlée. On one hand he was a driven professional, resolutely pursuing identified objectives; but on the other he was a man whose conscience was troubling him. And his conscience had a face. Ella’s. He blinked to remove her reproachful features from his vision, and said a little vaguely, ‘We’re investigating an innovative method of adjusting the process to increase overall productivity.’ Before Verity could ask for more information, he added, ‘I won’t bore you with in-depth details now, when you have so much else on your plate,’ and he indicated the papers littering her desk. ‘An initial feasibility report will, of course, be forthcoming.’
Verity sat back and considered him shrewdly, thinking, you're being evasive ... I wonder why? What are you hiding, Royce? That was an obvious deflection, but I’ll play your game and let the subject drop ... for now.
She sat forward again. ‘And I look forward to reading the report, particularly as a project that affects production will require careful consideration, before I approach the board of directors for implementation approval.’
While doubting the sincerity of Royce’s ‘concern’ about her ‘full plate’, Verity had to admit his estimation was right, her workload was continually expanding. Anyone coming into her office could tell that at first glance, by the volume of correspondence, spreadsheets, diagrams and draft reports spilling from her tray and spreading across her desk. She was an ordered person, used to leaving her workspace at the end of the day if not empty, then at least tidy. Chaos didn’t help her productivity, but she had to maintain momentum, otherwise she’d go under.
Royce had noticed what looked lik
e new lines of strain on Verity’s face, and his ears had caught a thread of tension in her voice. When he spoke again, he kept his tone light. ‘I’m flying to Arkansas tomorrow. We have some important research to finalise on the project’s viability.’ He didn’t add that while in the US he was also visiting the home office of their controlling joint venturer, Orix Corp. He’d be a fool to mention that to her, considering his intentions. If she knew what they were, she’d curtail his trip, nothing surer, just as he would in her position.
But Royce wasn't a fool.
He smirked inwardly, but that damn face—no, that beloved face—appeared before him again. And this time there was no doubting the disappointment in Ella’s eyes. He shook his head to clear it, asking himself why her image was harrying him now.
Surely he’d put all the grief and pain behind him?
The cruel, recurring spectre of the accident had finally stopped haunting him; the crushing guilt and the devastation of having his world collapse around him had receded, though not far enough; the regret that Ella had died not knowing.... No, that ache would be with him forever.
Royce swallowed and quickly lowered his head to glare at his hands, absently rubbing his ring finger. He’d hesitated, and lost. And the tragedy of that loss skulked in every corner of his life. His mouth became a thin, hard line. Why were these memories surfacing now? They weren’t helping. He needed to maintain the unflinching—some would say ruthless—focus on his work. It had helped him survive that terrible time in his life.
Therein lay his salvation.
Unaware of her visitor’s inner turbulence, Verity was staring at the latest production report in front of her. ‘Everything seems to be in order, though we’re still not meeting our monthly targets. But I’m aware of the reasons for that. At least the figures are within current expected ranges, and their slight upward movement is encouraging. And we’re still managing to meet our supply arrangements....’
