Читать книгу The Girl He Never Noticed - Lindsay Armstrong, Lindsay Armstrong - Страница 6

‘WHO IS HE?’

The question hung in the air as Liz looked around.

She was ensconced on a comfortable cinnamon velvet-covered settee. Across a broad wooden coffee table with a priceless-looking jade bonsai tree on it was a fireplace flanked by wooden-framed French doors. Above the fireplace hung what she suspected was an original Heidelberg School painting, a lovely impressionist pastoral scene that was unmistakably Australian. Tom Roberts? she wondered.

There were two matching armchairs, and some lovely pieces of furniture scattered on the polished wooden floors. The windows looked out over a floodlit scene—an elegant pool with a fountain, tall cypress pines, and beyond the lights of Sydney Harbour.

Not as spectacular as his great-aunt’s residence, Cam Hillier’s house was nevertheless stylish and very expensive—worth how many millions Liz couldn’t even begin to think.

Its owner was seated in an armchair across from her.

He’d shrugged off his jacket, pulled off his tie and opened the top buttons of his shirt. He’d also poured them each a brandy.

As for Liz, she’d cleaned herself up as best she could in a guest bathroom. She’d removed her torn tights, bathed her knee and applied a plaster to it. She’d washed her face and hands but not reapplied any make-up. It had hardly seemed appropriate when she had a rip in her dress, a streak of dirt on her jacket and was shoeless.

She’d been unable to find one shoe in the driveway—until they’d discovered it in a tub of water the gardener was apparently soaking a root-bound plant in.

So far, the only explanation she’d offered was that she’d seen someone at the party she’d had no desire to meet, so she’d tried to make a quick getaway that had gone horribly wrong.

She took a sip of her brandy, and felt a little better as its warmth slipped down.

She eyed Cameron Hillier and had to acknowledge that he was equally impressive lying back in an armchair, in his shirtsleeves and with his thick dark hair ruffled, as he’d been at his great-aunt’s party. On top of that those fascinating, brooding blue eyes appeared to be looking right through her…

‘He?’ she answered at last. ‘What makes you think—?’

‘Come on, Liz,’ he said roughly. ‘If this story is true at all, I can’t imagine a woman provoking that kind of reaction! Anyway, I saw you fix your gaze on some guy, then go quite pale and still before you…decamped. Causing me no little discomfort, incidentally,’ he added dryly.

Her eyes widened. ‘Did you get mobbed?’

He looked daggers at her for a moment. ‘No. But I did get Narelle to search the powder rooms when I realised how long you’d been gone. She was,’ he said bitterly, ‘riveted.’

‘And then?’

He shrugged. ‘There seemed to be no sign of you, so we finally assumed you’d called a taxi and left.’

‘Meanwhile I was lurking around in the service courtyard,’ Liz said with a sigh. ‘All right, it was a he. We…we were an item once, but it didn’t work out and I just—I just didn’t want to have to—to face him,’ she said rather jaggedly.

Cam Hillier frowned. ‘Fair enough,’ he said slowly. ‘But why not tell me and simply walk out through the front door?’

Liz bit her lip and took another sip of brandy. ‘I got a bit of a shock—I felt a little overwrought,’ she confessed.

‘A little?’ he marvelled. ‘I would say more like hysterical—and that doesn’t make sense. You laid yourself open to Narelle suspecting you of casing the joint. So could I, come to that. One or the other or both of us might have called the police. Plus,’ he added pithily, ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for a hysterical type.’

Ah, but you don’t know the circumstances, Liz thought, and took another fortifying sip of brandy.

‘Affairs of the heart are…can be different,’ she said quietly. ‘You can be the essence of calm at other times, but—’ She stopped and gestured, but she didn’t look at him because she sounded lame even to her own ears.

He surprised her. ‘So,’ he said slowly, and with a considering look, ‘not such an Ice Queen after all, Ms Montrose?’

Liz didn’t reply.

He frowned. ‘I’ve just remembered something. You’re a single mother, aren’t you?’

Liz looked up at that, her eyes suddenly as cool as ice.

He waved an impatient hand. ‘I’m not being critical, but it’s just occurred to me that’s why you’re temping.’

‘Yes,’ she said, and relaxed a little.

‘Tell me about it.’

She cradled her glass in both hands for a moment, and, as always happened to her when she thought of the miracle in her life, some warmth flowed through her. ‘She’s nearly four, her name’s Scout, and she’s a—a living doll.’ She couldn’t help the smile in her voice.

‘Who looks after her when you’re working?’

‘My mother. We live together. My father’s dead.’

‘It works well?’ He raised an eyebrow.

‘It works well,’ Liz agreed. ‘Scout loves my mother, and Mum…’ She looked rueful. ‘Well, she sometimes needs looking after, too. She can be a touch eccentric.’ She sobered. ‘It can be a bit of a battle at times, but we get by.’

‘And Scout’s father?’

Liz was jolted out of her warm place. Her expression tightened as she swallowed and took hold of herself. ‘Mr Hillier, that’s really none of your business.’

He studied her thoughtfully, thinking that the change in her was quite remarkable. Obviously Scout’s father was a sore point.

He grimaced, but said, ‘Miss Montrose, the way you were climbing over my wall, the way you apparently roamed around my great-aunt’s house is my business. There are a lot of valuables in both.’ His blue eyes were narrowed and sharp as he stared at her. ‘And I don’t think I’m getting a good enough explanation for it.’

‘I—I don’t understand what you mean. I had no idea this was your house. I had no idea I’d be going to your great-aunt’s house this evening,’ she said with growing passion. ‘Only an idiot would on the spur of the moment decide to rob you both!’

‘Or a single mother in financial difficulties?’

He waited, then said when she didn’t seem able to frame a response, ‘A single mother with a very expensive taste in clothes, by the look of it.’

Liz closed her eyes and berated herself inwardly for having been such a fool. ‘They aren’t expensive. My mother makes them. All right!’ she said suddenly, and tossed her head as she saw the disbelief in his eyes. ‘It was Scout’s father I saw at the party. That’s what threw me into such a state. I haven’t spoken to him or laid eyes on him for years.’

‘Have you tried to?’

She shook her head. ‘I knew it was well and truly finished between us. I came to see he’d been on the rebound and—’ her voice shook a little ‘—it was only a fling for him. I had no choice but to—’ She broke off to smile bleakly. ‘No choice but take it on the chin and retire. The only thing was—’

‘You didn’t know you were pregnant?’ Cam Hillier said with some cynicism.

She ignored the cynicism. ‘Oh, yes, I did.’ She took a sip of brandy and prayed she wouldn’t cry. She sniffed and patted her face to deflect any tears.

‘You didn’t tell him?’ Cam queried with a frown.

‘I did tell him. He said the only thing to do in the circumstances was have an abortion. He—he did offer to help me through it, but he also revealed that he was not only making a fresh start with this other woman, he was moving interstate and taking up a new position. He—I got the impression he even thought I may have tried to trap him into marriage. So…’ She shrugged. ‘I refused. I said, Don’t worry! I can cope! And I walked out. That was the last time I saw him.’

Cam Hillier was silent.

‘Although,’ Liz said, ‘I did go away for a month, and then I changed campuses and became an external student, so I have no idea if he tried to contact me again before he moved.’

‘He still doesn’t know you had the baby?’

‘No.’

‘Do you want to keep it from him for ever?’

‘Yes!’ Liz moved restlessly and stared down at her glass, then put it on the coffee table. ‘When Scout was born all I could think was that she was mine. He’d never even wanted her to see the light of day, so why should he share her?’ She gestured. ‘I still feel that way, but…’ She paused painfully. ‘One day I’m going to have to think of it from Scout’s point of view. When she’s older and can understand things, she may want to know about her father.’

‘But you don’t want him to know in the meantime? That’s why you took such astonishingly evasive measures tonight.’ Cam Hillier rested his jaw on his fist. ‘Do you think he’d react any differently?’

Liz heaved a sigh. ‘I don’t know, but it’s hard to imagine anyone resisting Scout. She—she looks like him sometimes. And I did read an article about him fairly recently. He’s beginning to make a name for himself in his chosen field. He and his wife have been married for four years. They have no children. There may be a dozen reasons for that, and I may be paranoid, but I can’t help it—I’m scared stiff they’ll somehow lure Scout away from me.’

‘Liz.’ He sat forward. ‘You’re her mother. They can’t—unless you can’t provide for her.’

‘Maybe not legally, but there could be other ways. As she grows up she might find she prefers what they have to offer. They have a settled home. He has growing prestige. Whereas I am…I’m just getting by.’ The raw, stark emotion was plain to see in her eyes.

‘Have you got over him, Liz?’

A complete silence blanketed the room until the hoot from a harbour ferry broke it.

‘I haven’t forgotten or forgiven.’ She stared out at the pool. ‘Not that I was—not that I wasn’t incredibly naïve and foolish. I haven’t forgiven myself for that.’

‘You should. These things happen. Not always with such consequences, but life has its lessons along the way.’

And, to her surprise, there was something like understanding in his eyes.

She moistened her lips and took several breaths to steady herself, because his lack of judgement of her was nearly her undoing. She gazed down at her bare feet and fought to control her tears.

Then she bit her lip as where she was, who he was, and how she’d poured all her troubles out to a virtual stranger with the added complication of him being her employer hit her.

Her eyes dilated and she took a ragged breath and straightened. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said huskily. ‘If you want to sack me I’d understand, but do you believe me now?’

‘Yes.’ Cam Hillier didn’t hesitate. ‘Uh—no, I don’t want to sack you. But I’ll take you home now.’ He drained the last of his brandy and stood up.

‘Oh, I can get a taxi,’ she assured him hastily, and followed suit.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘With only one shoe? Your other one is ruined.’

‘I—’

‘Don’t argue,’ he recommended. He shrugged into his jacket, but didn’t bother with his tie. Then he glanced at his watch. At the same time his mobile rang. He got it out of his pocket and looked at the screen.

‘Ah, Portia,’ he murmured. ‘Wanting to berate me or make disparaging comparisons, do you think?’ He clicked the phone off and shoved it into his pocket.

Liz took a guilty breath. ‘I shouldn’t have told you that. And—and she might want to explain. I think you should talk to her.’

He looked down at her, his deep blue eyes alight with mocking amusement. ‘Your concern for my love-life is touching, Miss Montrose, but Portia and I have come to the end of the road. After you.’ He gestured for her to precede him.

Liz clicked her tongue exasperatedly and tried to walk out as regally as was possible with no shoes on.

* * *

Cam Hillier dropped her off at her apartment building, and waited and watched as she crossed the pavement towards the entrance.

She’d insisted on putting on both shoes, although one still squelched a bit. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as it occurred to him that her long legs were just as good as Portia’s. In fact, he thought, her figure might not be as voluptuous as Portia’s but she was quite tall, with straight shoulders, a long, narrow waist. And the whole was slim and elegant—how had he not noticed it before?

Because he’d been put off by her glasses, her scraped-back hair, an unspoken but slightly militant air—or all three?

He grimaced, because he couldn’t doubt now that under that composed, touch-me-not Ice Queen there existed real heartbreak. He’d seen that kind of heartbreak before. The other thing he couldn’t doubt was that she’d sparked his interest. Was it the challenge, though? Of breaking through the ice until he created a warm, loving woman? Was it because he sensed a response in her whether she liked it or not?

Whatever, he reflected, in a little over two weeks she was destined to walk out of his life. Unless…

He didn’t articulate the thought as he finally drove off.

* * *

The next morning Liz placed a boiled egg with a face drawn on it in front of her daughter. Scout clapped her hands delightedly.

At the same time Mary Montrose said, ‘You must have been late last night, Liz? I didn’t even hear you come in.’

Yes, thank heavens, Liz thought. She’d been curiously unwilling to share the events of the evening with her mother—not to mention to expose the mess she’d been in, ripped, torn and with one soaked shoe.

Now, though, she gave Mary a much abridged version of the evening.

Mary sat up excitedly. ‘I once designed an outfit for Narelle Hastings. Did you say she’s Cameron Hillier’s great-aunt?’

‘So he said.’ Liz smiled inwardly as she decapitated Scout’s egg and spread the contents on toast soldiers. Her mother was an avid follower of the social scene.

‘Let’s see…’ Mary meditated for a moment. ‘I believe Narelle was his mother’s aunt—that would make her his great-aunt. Well! There you go! Of course there’ve been a couple of tragedies for the Hastings/Hillier clan.’

Liz wiped some egg from Scout’s little face and dropped a kiss on her nose. ‘Good girl, you made short work of that! Like what?’ she asked her mother.

‘Cameron’s parents were killed in an aircraft accident, and his sister in an avalanche of all things. What’s he like?’

Liz hesitated as she realised she wasn’t at all sure what to make of Cameron Hillier. ‘He’s OK,’ she said slowly, and looked at her watch. ‘I’ll have to make tracks shortly. So! What have you two girls got on today?’

‘Koalas,’ Scout said. She was as fair as Liz, with round blue eyes. Her hair was a cloud of curls and she glowed with health.

Liz pretended surprise. ‘You’re going to buy a koala?’

‘No, Mummy,’ Scout corrected lovingly. ‘We’re going to see them at the zoo! Aren’t we, Nanna?’

‘As well as all sorts of other animals, sweetheart,’ her grandmother confirmed fondly. ‘I’m looking forward to it myself!’

Liz took a breath as she thought of the sunny day outside, the ferry-ride across the harbour to Taronga Zoo, and how she’d love to be going with them. She bit her lip, then glanced gratefully at her mother. ‘There are times when I don’t know how to thank you,’ she murmured.

‘You don’t have to,’ Mary answered. ‘You know that.’

Liz blinked, then got up to get ready for work.

* * *

The flat she and Scout shared with her mother was in an inner Sydney suburb. It was comfortable—her mother had seen to that—but the neighbourhood couldn’t be described as classy…something Mary often lamented. But it was handy for the suburb of Paddington, for Oxford Street and its trendy shopping and vibrant cafés. There were also markets, and history that included the Victoria Army Barracks and fine old terrace houses. If you were a sports fan, the iconic Sydney Cricket Ground was handy, as well as Centennial and Moore Parks. They often took picnics to the park.

The flat had three bedrooms and a small study. They’d converted the study into a bedroom for Scout, and the third bedroom into a workroom for Mary. It resembled an Aladdin’s cave, Liz sometimes thought. There were racks of clothes in a mouth-watering selection of colours and fabrics. There was a rainbow selection of buttons, beads, sequins, the feathers Mary fashioned into fascinators, ribbons and motifs.

Mary had a small band of customers she ‘created’ for, as she preferred to put it. Gone were the heady days after Liz’s father’s death, when Mary had followed a lifelong dream and invested in her own boutique. It hadn’t prospered—not because the clothes weren’t exquisite, but because, as her father had known, Mary had no business sense at all. Not only hadn’t it prospered, it had all but destroyed Mary’s resources.

But the two people Mary Montrose loved creating for above all were her daughter and granddaughter.

So it was that, although Liz operated on a fairly tight budget, no one would have guessed it from her clothes. And she went to work the day after the distressing scenario that had played out between two harbourside mansions looking the essence of chic, having decided it was a bit foolish to play down the originality of her clothes now.

She wore slim black pants to hide the graze on her knee, and a black and white blouson top with three-quarter sleeves, belted at the waist. Her shoes were black patent wedges with high cork soles—shoes she adored—and she wore a black and white, silver and bead Pandora-style bracelet.

As she finished dressing, she went to pin back her hair—then thought better of that too. There seemed to be no point now. She also put in her contact lenses.

But as she rode the bus to work she was thinking not of how she looked but other things. Cam Hillier in particular.

She’d tossed and turned quite a lot last night, as her overburdened mind had replayed the whole dismal event several times.

She had to acknowledge that he’d been…He hadn’t been critical, had he? She couldn’t deny she’d got herself into a mess—not only last night, of course, but in her life, and Scout’s—which could easily invite criticism…

What did he really think? she wondered, and immediately wondered why it should concern her. After her disastrous liaison with Scout’s father she’d not only been too preoccupied with her first priority—Scout, and building a life for both of them—but she’d had no interest in men. Once bitten twice shy, had been her motto. She’d even perfected a technique that had become, without her realising it until yesterday, she thought ironically, patently successful—Ice Queen armour.

It had all taken its toll, however, despite her joy in Scout. Not only in the battle to keep afloat economically, but also with her guilt at having to rely on her mother for help, therefore restricting her mother’s life too. She had the feeling that she was growing old before her time, that she would never be able to let her hair down and enjoy herself in mixed company because of the cloud of bitterness that lay on her soul towards men.

So why was she now thinking about a man as she hadn’t for years?

Why was she now suddenly physically vulnerable to a man she didn’t really approve of, to make matters worse?

She paused her thoughts as a mental image of Cam Hillier came to her, and she had to acknowledge on a suddenly indrawn breath that he fascinated her in a curious sort of love/hate way—although of course it couldn’t be love…But just when she wanted to hurl a brick at him for his sheer bloody-minded arrogance he did something, as he had last night, that changed a person’s opinion of him. He hadn’t been judgemental. He’d even made it possible for her spill her heart to him.

It was more too, she reflected. Not only his compelling looks and physique, but a vigorous mind that worked at the speed of lightning, an intellect you longed to have the freedom to match. Something about him that made you feel alive even if you were furious.

She gazed unseeingly out of the window and thought, what did it matter? She’d shortly be gone from his life. And even if she stayed within his orbit there was always the thorny question of Portia Pengelly—or if not Portia whoever her replacement would be.

She smiled a wintry little smile and shrugged, with not the slightest inkling of what awaited her shortly.

* * *

Ten minutes later she buzzed for a lift on the ground floor of the tower that contained the offices of the Hillier Corporation. One came almost immediately from the basement car park, and she stepped into it to find herself alone with her boss as the doors closed smoothly.

‘Miss Montrose,’ he said.

‘Mr Hillier,’ she responded.

He looked her up and down, taking in her stylish outfit, the sheen of her hair and her glossy mouth. And his lips quirked as he said, ‘Hard to connect you with the wall-climbing cat burglar of last night.’

Liz directed him a tart little look before lowering her carefully darkened lashes, and said nothing.

‘So I take it you’re quite restored, Liz?’

‘Yes,’ she said coolly, and wasn’t going to elaborate, but then thought better of it. ‘Thank you. You were…’ She couldn’t think of the right word. ‘Thank you.’

‘That’s all right.’

The lift slid to a stop and the doors opened, revealing the Hillier foyer, but for some strange reason neither of them made a move immediately. Not so strange, though, Liz thought suddenly. In the sense that it had happened to her before, in his car last evening, when she’d been trapped in a bubble of acute awareness of Cameron Hillier.

His suit was different today—slate-grey, worn with a pale blue shirt and a navy and silver tie—but it was just as beautifully tailored and moulded his broad shoulders just as effectively. There was a narrow black leather belt around his lean waist, and his black shoes shone and looked to be handmade.

But it wasn’t a case of clothes making the man, Liz thought. It was the other way around. Add to that the tingling fresh aura of a man who’d showered and shaved recently, the comb lines in his thick hair, those intriguing blue eyes and his long-fingered hands…Her eyes widened as she realised even his hands impressed her. All of him stirred her senses in a way that made her long to have some physical contact with him—a touch, a mingling of their breath as they kissed…

Then their gazes lifted to each other’s and she could see a nerve flickering in his jaw—a nerve that told her he was battling a similar compulsion. She’d known from the way he’d looked at her last night that he was no longer seeing her as a stick of furniture, but to think that he wanted her as she seemed to want him was electrifying.

It was as the lift doors started to close that they came out of their long moment of immobility. He pressed a button and the doors reversed their motion. He gestured for her to step out ahead of him.

She did so with a murmured thank-you, and headed for her small office. They both greeted Molly Swanson.

‘Uh—give me ten minutes, then bring the diary in, Liz. And coffee, please, Molly.’ He strode through into his office.

‘How did it go? Last night?’ Molly enquired. ‘By the way, I’ve already had three calls from Miss Pengelly!’

‘Oh, dear.’ Liz grimaced. ‘I’m afraid it might be over.’

‘Probably just as well,’ Molly said with a wise little look in her eyes. ‘What he needs is a proper wife, not these film star types—I never thought she could act her way out of a paper bag, anyway!’

Liz blinked, but fortunately Molly was diverted by the discreet buzzing of her phone.

* * *

Eight minutes later, Liz gathered herself in readiness to present herself to her employer with the diary.

She’d poured herself a cup of cold water from the cooler, but instead of drinking it she’d dipped her hanky into it and splashed her wrists and patted her forehead.

I must be mad, she’d thought. He must be mad even to contemplate getting involved with me. Or is all he has in mind a replacement for Portia? Someone to deflect all the women he attracts—and I refuse to believe it’s only because of his money.

Things were back to thoroughly businesslike as they went through his engagements for the day one by one, and he sipped strong black aromatic coffee from a Lalique glass in a silver holder.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Have you got the briefs for the Fortune conference?’

She nodded.

‘I’ll want you there. There’s quite a bit of paperwork to be passed around and collected, et cetera. And I’ll need you to drive me to and pick me up from the Bromwich lunch. There’s no damn parking to be found for miles.’

‘Fine,’ she murmured, then hesitated.

He looked up. ‘A problem?’

‘You want me to drive your car?’

‘Why not?’

‘To be honest—’ Liz bit her lip ‘—I’d be petrified of putting a scratch on it.’

He sat back. ‘Hadn’t thought of that. So would I—to be honest.’ He looked wry. ‘Uh—get a car from the car pool.’

Liz relaxed. ‘I think that’s a much better idea.’

His lips twitched, and she thought he was going to say something humorous, but the moment passed and he looked at her in the completely deadpan way he had that had a built-in annoyance factor for anyone on the receiving end of it.

Liz was not immune to the annoyance as she found herself reduced to the status of a slightly troublesome employee. Then, if anything, she got more annoyed—but with herself. She had been distinctly frosty in the lift before they’d found themselves trapped in that curious moment of physical awareness, hadn’t she?