by Huston, Judy
“I don’t believe it.”
“Neither do I. Maybe your inner self shone through.”
“Yeah, right.”
“They want you to confirm you’ll start on Monday. Why are they so desperate? They must have made the decision almost the minute the interview finished.”
“They’re short of staff. One of the marketing department PA’s walked out without giving notice. They’re getting someone permanent but I’ll be there for four weeks. Assuming all goes well.”
“Assuming,” translated Sandra, “you don’t forget to pass on vital phone messages, don’t spill coffee over your computer keyboard–”
“If you jinx me, I’ll put the evil eye on you!” Dimity shook her fist in a mock threatening gesture. “So I’ve made a few human errors in twenty six years. Nobody’s perfect.”
“Well, at least your black eyes mustn’t have been a turn-off.”
“For once I was lucky.” Dimity gave in and took a biscuit. “The marketing manager was at a function so the deputy manager, Melissa, interviewed me. She said the same thing happened to her in a car accident a couple of years ago.”
“Must be your day for bonding with people. Tell me about the Man in the Corridor. Tall or short?”
“Tall. Even wearing those stilts of yours I had to look up to him.”
“Age?”
“Early thirties.”
“Perfect. Eyes?”
“Brown.”
A beautiful match for his light olive skin.
“Hair?”
“Dark.”
Sandra was smirking. Dimity scowled.
“I only noticed because the glasses fell off when we collided. I’d probably have fallen over if he hadn’t caught me.”
“So we give him a smiley for reflexes. How’s the bod?”
“I was too busy hiding my own bod to notice.”
“Did you get his name?”
“He told me but I wasn’t thinking straight. He gave me a card.” She delved into the bag on the floor beside her.
“Damn!” she said finally.
“Now what?”
“I can’t find it.” She dug deeper.
“How could you lose it between the hotel and here?”
“How could anything that’s happened to me today have happened? I dropped my bag on the way and everything fell out. You try picking things up from the pavement and holding a sheet around you at the same time. I must have missed the card.” Dimity looked at her friend despairingly. “What am I going to do? Reception probably has his mobile number but that’s no use if I don’t know his name.”
“Go in and find him. He shouldn’t be hard to spot. Tall, dark, resourceful, simpatico – dare I say gorgeous?”
“Of course he’s gorgeous!” snapped Dimity. “What other type of man would I meet when I’m bumbling around a five-star hotel with my bottom bursting out of my skirt? But forget it, Sandy. Romance is at least third on my priority list. I’ve made a good job of keeping it there and I’m not going to weaken now.”
Sandra gave her a pitying look.
“Angel cake, it’s no credit to you. Romance simply hasn’t come your way yet. Or should I make that ‘hadn’t’ after today’s encounter?”
“Wishful thinking.” Dimity gave the humming washing machine an irritated look. “Once I’ve returned the sheet I’m going to remove this day from the calendar and pretend it never happened. And after Shane settles down I’m finally going to get my gallery under way. I don’t need distractions. Been there. Doing that.”
“Sometimes I wonder why I waste my time trying to find a quality guy for you.” Sandra’s voice was snappish as she gathered up the coffee mugs. “I’ve a good mind to give up.”
“Please do.” Dimity resumed the frantic search.
“Speaking of which,” added Sandra, rinsing the mugs at the sink, “remember when I was using your computer the other night? I forgot to tell you I printed out pictures and bios of some guys for you from one of the dating sites. They’re in a folder on the desk. Did you find them?”
“I’ve hardly been near the computer except to grab Shane’s CV this morning. He asked me to leave it at the hotel for him because he knew I’d be in the area, doing the face painting. I didn’t realise I’d actually be getting a job there myself.”
“Check them out tonight,” coaxed Sandra. “They’re pretty hunky.”
“No thanks. Just because you met someone on the internet doesn’t mean I have to.”
Sandra tried to look offended.
“Still thinking about Tall, Dark and Gorgeous?” she asked.
Dimity sighed.
“Mainly about the fact that if he remembers me at all it will be as an irresponsible flibbertigibbet with black eyes who hangs around sleazy nightclubs and has a total lack of fashion finesse.”
“He’s right on the last point,” commented Sandra. “Come on, I’ll de-green your hair before my next appointment, then we can throw the sheet in the dryer. ”
By the time the sheet was finished, Dimity’s hair was back to normal. She had also made sure her phone was safely back in her handbag, scrubbed off the lipstick and visited a nearby pharmacy to invest in a pair of sunglasses whose lenses concealed her eyes but were light enough to be worn indoors without looking outrageous.
“Nice,” remarked Sandra, taking time out between clients to pack the sheet into a lime green and yellow shopping bag.
Dimity checked the glasses in the mirror. “Not as all-concealing as your Jackie O’s, but more me.”
She pulled on the blue sweater she had left at the salon earlier, zipped her handbag shut and slung it over a shoulder.
“Want a lift home around six?” offered Sandra.
“Thanks. I’ll go back to the face painting until then, unless it rains.” She picked up the shopping bag. “Although I’d rather crawl home and lick my wounds.”
“Maybe Mr Resourceful could do that for you,” chortled Sandra.
“Down, girl!” But Dimity felt a strange, tingly sensation pulsating through her body at the thought.
Clouds had gathered and a heavy shower fell as she crossed the road, sending her scuttling under the Global Home’s ornate canopy to catch her breath.
And, if she were entirely honest, to put off the moment of truth.
She delayed a few minutes more by ringing Melissa to confirm her work arrangements. Finally, another flurry of rain sent her into the hotel’s foyer.
The security guard at a desk near the entrance glanced at her then brightened, as if sensing prey.
Was he still looking for a vision in pink? If so, she wouldn’t match the description. Tilting her chin and adjusting her new sunglasses, Dimity strolled casually across his line of vision, her eyes darting around in search of a sign to the restaurant.
“Can I help you?”
The guard was approaching.
“The restaurant?” Dimity attempted a haughty drawl.
“That way.” He pointed down a hallway to the left. “But it’s closed for a private function.” Pale, fish-like eyes examined the blue sweater, jeans and sneakers, and clearly didn’t like what they saw. The shopping bag received a particularly suspicious stare.
Maybe she should drop the bag and run, leaving the guard to summon the bomb squad. While she hesitated, Malcolm rounded the corner from the lift area, gave her an automatic once-over, and stopped.
“Well! You’re a quick change artist!” He leered at her and nodded dismissively at the guard who shrugged and walked away.
Dimity had no wish to talk to Malcolm but it occurred to her that he could be her salvation.
“Can I ask a favour?” Ignoring the smirk this elicited, she ploughed on. “I need to contact the man I was talking to upstairs. Do you know where he is?”
Malcolm’s eyes sparkled maliciously.
“Follow me.”
He put an officious hand under her elbow, steering her across the foyer. Before Dimity could protest, they were in the lift.
As if determined to prevent her getting a word in, Malcolm talked continually. He seemed to have forgotten their earlier skirmish.
“The lunch was supposed to be alfresco but the rain chased us in, so some of us moved up to the lounge area for coffee afterwards. It’s all been very sedate and boring. I was on my way out for a smoke,” he continued, ushering her out of the lift, along another plush carpeted hallway and towards an open door from which floated the sound of conversation and the clinking of cups.
One dismayed glance was enough to show Dimity everyone in the room was dressed to the nines. For the second time that day she stood out for all the wrong reasons.
“I won’t go in.”
“Why not? You’ll be the belle of the ball.” Positively snickering, Malcolm gripped her arm and piloted her through the crowd. Dimity was aware of more than one startled glance following her. Then her stomach turned an unexpected somersault as she spotted the object of her quest.
He was sitting in a corner lounge area, left ankle resting casually on right knee, looking twice as dishy as she remembered, now that she could see properly. Beside him on the two-seater lounge was the thin woman she had seen upstairs.
“I’m trying to talk Josh into basing himself here for the convention,” Dimity heard her say to a grey-haired man on the adjacent lounge. He looked familiar but before she could remember where she had seen him, Malcolm’s voice rang out.
“Josh! You’ve got a visitor!”
Josh. That was it.
They all looked up. The thin woman was clearly irked at the interruption. The grey-haired man and a woman sitting next to him stared at Dimity. Josh also stared, frowning slightly.
Probably annoyed with her for barging in. Too bad. She’d had enough of feeling substandard.
“Sorry to interrupt.” She addressed Josh coolly. “I would have called but I lost your card.”
His face cleared as she spoke. He put his coffee cup on a table between the lounges and stood quickly.
“I’ll leave this downstairs.” She nodded as discreetly as she could at the psychedelic shopping bag.
“No rush.” Moving between her and Malcolm, Josh turned to the seated group. “This is Dimity Forbes.” He gestured towards the middle-aged couple. “The Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress, Councillor and Mrs Simpson.”
How on earth had he remembered her name? He said it as if he’d been saying it for years.
“I thought you looked familiar.” The Mayor rose and shook hands. “I met Dimity a couple of times when she worked at the city art gallery.”
“Really?” Josh looked surprised but pleased.
Befuddled by the fact that the man who had gone galloping around corridors to save her decency seemed to be part of the hotel’s bigwig contingent, Dimity murmured something non-committal.
“Global Regional Marketing Manager, Gail Addison,” Josh went on.
The woman had recognised her, of course. Those gimlet eyes would miss nothing. She gave Dimity a cold nod.
“And you’ve already met the functions manager.” Josh nodded towards Malcolm.
It was far too much information. This harpy was going to be her boss next week? The unpleasant Malcolm, the man she had virtually threatened to emasculate, was the functions manager she’d hoped would give her brother a job?
“Can I get you some coffee?” As if to guide her into the seat he had vacated, Josh put a hand lightly on her upper arm. About a million nerve ends she hadn’t known she possessed suddenly sizzled a path from her shoulder to her elbow and all points in between.
Moving back abruptly, she felt her bag slip from her shoulder. She and Josh bent to retrieve it. He backed off and she picked it up, thankful that for once she had zipped it shut and didn’t have to chase her goods and chattels all over the floor.
She knew her face was flushed. Hopefully they would think the act of bending over had brought the blood to her head.
“Thanks,” she said to Josh, “but I have to get back to work.”
Desperate as she was to leave, she was slightly miffed when he didn’t argue.
“I’ll see you out and get rid of that.” He nodded at the bag, giving her a quick, conspiratorial smile that did strange things to her heartbeat.
Malcolm was looking at her with his head titled to one side. As she turned to escape, he clicked his fingers.
“Dimity! I thought the name rang a bell. Did you leave a folder in my office? A blue folder? I found it when I went up to check my phone messages.”
As if she would ever forget. She began to nod, then paused.
“I left my brother’s CV in a blue folder. He’s looking for a chef’s job. But the folder didn’t have my name on it.”
Malcolm gave a great guffaw.
“You’ve got your folders mixed up, sweetheart. It was full of beefcake.”
“Beefcake?”
“Hunks. Spunks. Whatever you girls call 'em. Showing their muscles and almost anything else you like to name. It had ‘Dimity’s Dreamboats’ on the front page. Most interesting CV I’ve ever seen. Tell your brother I can’t wait to meet him.”
He laughed uproariously.
The Mayor and his wife smiled politely and uncomprehendingly. Gail stood, excused herself and walked off to join another group.
If Dimity’s face had been hot before, it was now on fire. She could have cheerfully throttled Sandra.
“I must have picked it up by mistake.” Deciding explanations would only make matters worse, she glanced at Josh. His mouth was twitching the way it had when she told him about her skirt. She couldn’t have provided him with more free entertainment if she’d tried.
Well, at least she could now turn her back on him with impunity. At the thought, her own mouth quivered.
“Are you sure you can’t stay? You’re not going to work in the rain, are you?”
He had moved closer, so close his sleeve brushed her arm. His jacked was buttoned but she could see the beginning of the pink lipstick stain on his shirt.
Her breathing seemed to have gone astray. She badly needed to inhale, to gulp in a great lungful of air.
Not an option, with him so close and watching her. She would have to risk suffocation.
“No, really. Thanks, anyway.” She stepped back.
“Careful.” She froze as he put a restraining hand on her shoulder while a waitress, hurrying past with a laden tray, did a quick sidestep to avoid a collision. He moved his hand away abruptly.
“I’ll walk you to the door.”
There was suddenly something strained about his manner. Probably couldn’t wait to be rid of such a klutz.
“Call in some time and get your boyfriends back,” Malcolm called jovially after her. Several people stared. Dimity increased her speed.
“I guess you know your way from here,” Josh said as they reached the door. “Leave the sheet. I’ll take it back later.”
“It’s been laundered.” Dimity put the bag down with relief. He stood a couple of steps away, no doubt waiting for her to leave.
“Well.” She attempted a smile. “Thanks for everything.” Even to her, the words sounded inadequate. How would they sound to him?
“Any time.”
Surprising herself, she held out her hand. He looked equally surprised, but was about to take it when Gail appeared behind him.
“The speeches are starting,” she said.
Josh glanced around at her and nodded. By the time he looked back, Dimity had withdrawn her hand. With his own hand half-extended, he changed the gesture to an awkward semi-salute as she turned and hurried down the corridor.
****
By late afternoon the next day, Josh was asking himself why he wasn’t already back in Sydney. He had done his duty at various functions to mark Global’s acquisition and renaming of the Newcastle hotel, said his farewells, packed his car. There was no point hanging around any longer, especially with the weather the way it was.
From a chair on his suite’s sheltered balc
ony, he watched light rain falling on the harbour. The expanse of water, blue when he’d arrived yesterday, was now grey in the overcast conditions.
The weather had certainly put a damper on the regatta. The Saturday sailing events were proceeding, but spectators were few and far between.
Looking along the length of grassy foreshore that stretched towards the city’s east end, Josh could see empty carnival rides, a few remaining stalls and even fewer people. Most of the crowds who had packed the foreshore earlier seemed to have gone home. Also missing were the clowns and actors who had added splashes of colour and music to the scene.
They’d probably given it up as a bad job. Only the brave or desperate would hope for business in such weather.
It was certainly far too wet for face painting.
Josh returned his gaze to the harbour but its grey waters did little to block out the image of the girl with the black eyes. It was the same image that had been intruding on his thoughts randomly during the past twenty four hours.
There was no rhyme or reason to it, no pattern. He liked patterns; they made sense, but this didn’t. When there was absolutely no foundation for thinking about her, nothing to remind him of her, there she was.
It had been an unusual couple of meetings. No wonder the thought of her lingered on. But it was only a distracting after-image. Once he was back to his normal routine he would stop having flashbacks to the quick smile, the soft voice, the electric impulse that had seemed to shoot through his hand when it closed over her shoulder –
He got to his feet abruptly, shoving the chair aside. From the way she’d tensed at his touch and backed away, she clearly wanted nothing to do with him.
So hit the road to Sydney and get over it.
He handed in his key and was walking past reception towards the stairs that led to the basement car park when the hotel’s entrance doors hissed open. Two children in hooded raingear bounced into the foyer, followed by a woman. Josh recognised the children who had cannoned into him yesterday on the third floor.
Once again their faces drew his attention. The girl had been transformed into a butterfly, with magnificent mauve wings fanning across each side of her face, while the boy now wore the stark white features and large black eyes of a ghost.
