by Miranda Lee
She could not bear to talk about the past any more. She could not bear to look at him and think of all those wonderful times they’d spent together.
She was, indeed, neurotic and needy. Maybe she always had been.
‘Have you chosen your best man?’ she said abruptly into the awkward silence which had descended on their table.
Philip stiffened in his chair. ‘Why?’
‘I’ll need to take both of you along to the formal wear place and order your suits soon. In fact, best we do that one day next week. There’s this place in town I always recommend because they have the biggest and widest range of clothes, but they might still have to order something in your sizes. Do you want to hire or buy?’
Philip’s expression was worrying.
‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘My best man,’ he said. ‘It’s Steve.’
‘Steve from university?’
‘Uh-huh.’
Steve had been a regular at the fish and chip shop in Newtown where she’d worked ten years ago. It was popular with students because it was close to the campus and the food was cheap and filling. It had been Steve who’d brought Philip into the shop, telling his friend that the girl behind the counter was a real honey.
When Philip had left the shop with a date with Noni for that night, Steve had been a bit jealous. He’d fancied her as well.
Fiona sighed. This was getting far too complicated. ‘Does he have to be your best man?’
‘He’s my best friend. And I’ve already asked him.’
Fiona picked up her wine and took a deep swallow.
‘He probably won’t recognise you,’ Philip went on. ‘But if he does, I’ll tell him the truth. He won’t let on to anyone if I ask him not to.’
‘He doesn’t fancy Corinne, or anything, does he?’
‘Good God, no! Why do you say that?’
‘Because he once fancied me, that’s why?’
‘Ahh, I see. Well, he doesn’t fancy Corinne. Fact is, I don’t think he cares for Corinne at all.’
Fiona was surprised. ‘Why’s that?’ she asked.
‘I’m not sure. Neither was Steve when I questioned him. But Steve has a narrow view of the opposite sex. He likes his women on the obvious side.’
‘Well, thank you very much for the compliment!’
‘Come now, Fiona, you have to admit you were once a very sexy piece of goods.’
‘Not any more.’
He wiggled his hand as though that was a fifty-fifty proposition. ‘Wear what you wore on Sunday for the clothes fitting next week and Steve won’t take too much notice. Wear the little number you’ve got on today and his tongue will be on the floor.’
Fiona tried to take offence, but she couldn’t. The image was too funny and she laughed. ‘Maybe I will, then, if Steve’s as handsome as he once was. But what about your tongue? I didn’t notice it on the floor today.’
‘It’s not my tongue I’m worried about.’
Fiona’s eyes widened. ‘I thought you said you didn’t find me attractive any more.’
‘Don’t start flirting with me, Fiona,’ he warned sharply. ‘Keep that side of yourself for the Marks of this world. And don’t go making eyes at Steve, either. He’s on the look-out for a wife, and I don’t think you quite fill the bill, do you?’
‘I’ll try to control myself,’ she said tartly.
‘Do that.’
The entrée arrived, and Fiona set about spooning the spicy stir-fry concoction into her mouth and washing the dish down with great gulps of the wine. When her head started spinning, she stopped both the eating and drinking.
Philip looked up from where he’d been devouring a dozen oysters. ‘Something wrong with your entrée?’
‘No. I’m just not used to eating much lunch. And you make one crack about my weight and you’re a dead man!’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it. I can see today you’re not quite as thin as I thought. Maybe it’s the lack of underwear.’
Fiona glanced down, horrified to see that her jacket had parted and the black satin camisole had pulled tight across her bustline, outlining her braless breasts. Gritting her teeth, she yanked the jacket closed and did the button up at the waist.
‘Don’t do that on my account,’ Philip said drily. ‘I was enjoying the view.’
‘You men are all the same,’ Fiona accused.
‘Mark likes you without underwear, too?’
‘I am not without underwear,’ she snapped, her face flaming at this reminder of the times she hadn’t worn any for him. ‘Stop embarrassing me.’
‘Sorry.’
‘No, you’re not! You’re not at all! Which just shows how wrong I was about you yesterday.’
‘Concerning what?’
‘I thought you hadn’t changed much, except that you were even better-looking. But I see now that you have changed. And not for the better! You’ve grown hard, Philip. Hard and cynical.’
‘Have I indeed? Well, people do change, Fiona. You only have to look in the mirror to know that.’
‘That’s the kind of remark I’m beginning to expect from you.’
‘Really?’ He dabbed at his mouth with the white serviette and pushed away his plate. ‘Then I’ll try to curb my cynical tongue and be more polite in future.’
‘Do that.’
One waiter arrived to whisk away their plates while another refilled their glasses.
‘Shall we drink to a truce?’ Philip suggested, and raised his glass towards her.
‘Only if you mean to honour it. And only if it covers all my requirements of behaviour.’
He returned his glass to the table. ‘Perhaps you could outline what kind of behaviour you require.’
‘Very well. We will be polite to each other at all times, even when alone. We will not bring up the past again. We will not say anything sarcastic or do anything to cause each other embarrassment from this moment till you leave on your honeymoon.’
‘Mmm. A tall order.’
‘Pretend we’ve only just met!’
He laughed. ‘Now that’s downright impossible.’
‘Try. Think of it as a personal challenge.’
‘A challenge, Fiona? More like a test of human endurance.’ He raised his glass, his sardonic smile sending a strangely erotic shiver down her spine.
‘Very well. To Fiona’s truce,’ he toasted.
Fiona almost reluctantly raised her glass and clinked it against his. Philip stared at her hard, put the glass to his lips and tipped the rest of the wine down his throat.
CHAPTER TEN
OWEN must have been listening for her return, because the moment Fiona walked in—alone—shortly after three, he made an appearance, his face showing some concern.
‘So how did it go?’ he asked anxiously as he followed her down the corridor and into her office. ‘Do we still have the job?’
Fiona placed her handbag on her desk, extracted a cheque from its depths and handed it to him. ‘Take a gander at that!’
Owen did, gaping. ‘But that’s more than twice what we’ve ever charged for a wedding before!’ he exclaimed.
‘Natch. This will be our most lavish wedding so far. And we’re being paid double the fee, remember?’
Owen was still staring down at the cheque. ‘But he’s paid the lot, up front. Is the man mad? I thought he was a lawyer.’
‘I don’t think this money means much to him. It’s probably inherited.’
‘What’s the difference? Money’s money, isn’t it?’ Owen said, and kissed the cheque. ‘I’m going to run down and put this in the bank straight away. You’re brilliant, Fiona! Bloody brilliant!’ And he raced out.
Fiona sighed deeply and walked over to close the door. Briefly, she leant against it, her eyes closing, her heart sinking.
Brilliant, was she?
More like stupid.
After the truce had been toasted to, things had relaxed a bit between them. They’d managed to chat ove
r the main course without argument, though they’d kept to innocuous subjects like Sydney’s recent water supply problems, plus the coming election.
Still, it had not been unpleasant. And quite satisfying in a way to show that she was now a well-informed woman with intelligent opinions of her own.
Of course, the absence of any sarcasm on Philip’s part had helped, plus the four glasses of wine she’d downed by then. When it had come time for dessert Fiona had felt quite mellow, and she’d given in to Philip’s cajolery to try the soufflé of the day, which had turned out to be butterscotch.
Fiona had always adored anything which smacked of caramel or butterscotch flavour.
The soufflé had been mouthwateringly scrumptious, Philip laughing when she’d oohed and ahhed her way all through it. The relaxed warmth of his laughter had been disarming, and charming.
By the time coffee had come Fiona had let down her guard so much that when Philip had started telling her about a murder case he’d been recently hired to defend, she’d been powerless to resist what she’d always found his most irresistible attraction.
His passion.
She had soon been engrossed, leaning her elbows on the table whilst she sipped her coffee and listened intently to his rich, male voice.
His defendant was a woman, a housewife in her late forties, who had hit her husband over the head with one of his golf clubs and killed him. Apparently, she wanted to plead guilty, but Philip had discovered a history of emotional and physical abuse which would have driven anyone to strike back eventually. He wanted her to plead temporary insanity but the poor woman had been horrified.
When Fiona had suggested that a self-defence plea might go down better, both with the defendant herself and the jury, Philip had become quite excited.
‘You’re right,’ he’d exclaimed, blue eyes gleaming. ‘Self-defence is much better. Much more real and sympathetic. You’re brilliant, Fiona.’
After that, he’d become very animated, outlining the new strategies he would employ, what witnesses he had, and the arguments he would use. Fiona had just sat there, listening, and almost envying the woman, having Philip as her champion. For she knew he would never let her down.
He hadn’t let her down ten years ago, she’d begun thinking. From the moment she’d told him of her pregnancy he’d been there for her, insisting she not worry, reassuring her that he loved her and that they would be married.
It had hit her forcibly at that moment that maybe she’d been wrong all those years ago to give Philip up. Maybe his father had been wrong.
Maybe her sacrifice had all been for nothing!
She’d suddenly felt very upset, and had had to struggle to hide her feelings, sitting up straight and trying not to look perturbed. Philip must have sensed something, because he’d stopped talking about the case and abruptly called for the bill.
Later, in the car, his voice had been brusque. ‘Sorry for boring you back then. We men do like to talk about ourselves, especially when we think we’ve got an interested audience. I forgot you were only there under sufferance.’
Fiona had hardly been in a position to deny any of his assumptions. What could she have said? I was interested. Too interested.
‘I won’t have time to come up to your office when we get back,’ he’d swept on. ‘I’m meeting Corinne to buy the rings. I’ll write you a cheque for your fee. If you still insist on a contract, then you can bring it with you next week, when we meet to order the suits. Tell me when and where for that, and Steve and I’ll be there.’
She had. She’d also not argued when he’d written that outrageous cheque and given it to her, saying curtly, ‘That should cover everything.’
It surely would, she thought as she levered herself away from the door and walked wearily back to her desk. And a contract was hardly necessary, once the cheque was cleared.
Fiona slumped down behind her desk, too depressed to even cry. Work was impossible.
So was going out with Mark tonight, she finally realised. How could she sit there with him in that restaurant, thinking of Philip? And how could she possibly go to bed with him afterwards, wishing he was Philip?
It wasn’t fair to Mark, for one thing, which was something she hadn’t considered much before now. She’d really become a selfish cow when it came to men. Owen was right. She used them. Not just for the sex, though she could not deny she did have strong needs in that area. Sometimes she went to bed with a man simply for a pair of strong arms to hold her through the night and take away the aching loneliness in her empty heart.
Philip’s return had changed the ball game, however. Suddenly, her heart was full again. To overflowing.
Unfortunately.
Fiona reached for the phone and did what had to be done.
Mark didn’t take the news well, which made her feel even worse. He demanded to know the identity of the man who was going to take his place in her bed. In a warped kind of way, he seemed to want there to be someone else. He could not believe she was simply breaking up with him because she didn’t want to see him any more. He was so insistent that in the end Fiona cracked and gave him what he wanted.
‘Oh, all right,’ she bit out. ‘Yes, I’ve met someone else. An old flame. We ran into each recently and, well...sparks just flew.’
‘I knew it,’ Mark muttered, still sounding very put out.
‘Look, I’m sorry, Mark,’ she said, because she was.
‘I really liked you.’ Once upon a time. ‘But the truth is Philip and I were once married and we—’
‘Married!’ he squawked.
‘Yes, married. We were very young at the time, and things just didn’t work out. But from the moment I saw him again I knew I wasn’t over him.’
‘I see. So you’re telling me you’re still in love with this man. You have been all along?’
‘I’m not sure I would go that far,’ Fiona had to concede. ‘But I could easily fall in love with him again.’
‘I see,’ Mark said sourly. ‘I wish you’d been more honest with me sooner.’
Fiona only just refrained from telling him she’d always been honest with him. She’d never led him on to believe she loved him, or would ever marry him. But she apologised again, in deference to his obviously battered ego.
‘I doubt you’re sorry at all!’ Mark snapped back. ‘But I don’t intend losing any sleep over you. If I’m brutally honest, you’re not quite what I’m looking for in a wife, anyway. You’re far too ambitious, Fiona. And far too selfish. A doctor’s wife needs to be able to put her husband first. I can’t see you ever putting any man’s wishes above your own.’
Not yours anyway, she thought, without a shred of sympathy left for the man.
‘So this is a permanent goodbye, I take it?’ he actually had the stupidity to ask.
‘Yes.’ The word had a razor’s edge.
‘We could continue on a strictly sexual basis, if you like.’
He was lucky she didn’t laugh. ‘I don’t think so, Mark.’
‘No point in my hanging around waiting for you to change your mind, then. If nothing else, you’re a decisive woman, Fiona. Maybe too decisive. You don’t leave a man much room to move sometimes. And you don’t leave him much damned pride.’ And he slammed the phone down in her ear.
Fiona stared at the dead phone in her hand before slamming the phone down herself. How she’d gone out with such an overblown over-opinionated person in the first place she had no idea!
It was because you were lonely, you idiot, came back the brutal answer. And now you’re going to be even lonelier. In fact, if you keep this up, you’ll be right back to where you started ten years ago, with your heart breaking over Philip and your life in tatters.
Fiona straightened suddenly and gritted her teeth. No way, she resolved bitterly. Not again!
She wasn’t in love with Philip yet, she told herself firmly. It was a sexual attraction, that was all. And admiration. The man was worth admiring.
Love, however, was some
thing quite different. It was a huge investment of one’s emotions. It wasn’t something which happened overnight, or over one miserable lunch. It took much more time and much more intimacy, neither of which, thankfully, she would be investing with Philip this time.
She would only see him a couple more times before the wedding, for starters. To help with his clothes, and then for the final rehearsal. The wedding didn’t count, because even though she would physically see him on that day she wouldn’t be talking to him. Certainly not alone, anyway.
And then he’d be off on his honeymoon with Corinne and she could go back to living her own life as it had been before Owen forced her into this ghastly position. She would eventually find herself another man to date. One who wasn’t so taken up with himself, and one who wouldn’t remind her in any way whatsoever of Philip. Another truck driver perhaps!
The telephone ringing stopped her slightly hysterical self-lecture. She hadn’t realised how crazy she was sounding. How darned infantile!
Because of course she only ever dated men who reminded her in some way of Philip. Sometimes it was a pair of intelligent blue eyes, or a way of walking, or talking, or dressing. Damn Philip, she thought savagely. He’d ruined her for any other man!
The phone kept on jangling, demanding an answer. She swept the darned thing up, punching out her name in a crisp businesslike fashion.
‘Hi, there, Fiona,’ came the very breezy reply. ‘It’s Corinne here. Philip’s just been telling me you had such a lovely lunch together, and I’m simply frightfully jealous. All that scrummy food!’
Fiona pressed her lips firmly together and breathed in and out deeply behind them. She wasn’t in the mood for sweetness at that moment, or for Corinne at all!
‘Yes, it was very nice,’ she only just managed.
‘I’m going to make him take me down to that restaurant very, very soon. He’s always talking about it but we never seem to get there together.’
Fiona could not help feeling perversely glad about that. Another futile feeling, but there you are!
‘He also said you’d lined up a date to fix him and Stevie up with suits for the wedding.’
