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Angie still hugged that secret dream to her heart, and tonight—tonight, a small part of that dream would come true.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ANGIE’S flat was on the second and top floor of a rather old building in North Sydney, in a handy street tucked away behind the main business district. It was not far from the station, but unfortunately without any view of the nearby harbour or bridge.
The block had twelve flats in all, four on each floor. Angie’s was number eleven. Its living-room window overlooked the street below, which proved to be an asset if one wanted to spy on people arriving or leaving.
At five to eleven Vanessa took up her position behind the half-closed Venetian blind.
‘What kind of car does he drive?’ she called out to Angie, who was still in the bathroom, deciding if she should wear her hair up or down.
‘Black,’ came back the answer.
‘Yes, but what kind?’
‘I have no idea. It’s not a sports car, but it’s sleek and foreign-looking.’
‘With roomy bucket seats in the front,’ Vanessa added drily.
‘And tinted windows.’
‘It’s just pulled up outside.’
‘It has?’ Angie squawked, dashing out of the bathroom, holding her hair on top of her head.
Vanessa looked her up and down. ‘I just hate people who can wear any old thing and still look fantastic.’
‘This dress is not any old thing!’ Angie protested. Made of a bright orange linen, it was halter-necked and very fitted, hugging her figure down to just above her knee. ‘It cost two hundred dollars new.’
Admittedly, she had bought it a couple of years ago, and worn it to death. But it always made her feel good, and was the least prim and proper thing she owned, other than the green silk party number she’d worn the previous night. Angie was only human, and had decided in the end that she wanted to look sexy for Lance.
‘Should I wear my hair up or down?’ she asked in desperation.
‘Up. With little wispy bits hanging around your face and neck. Not too tidy or tight, either. Loose is sexy. And earrings are a must. I’ve got just the thing. Oo-ee. Lover-boy just got out of the car— which is an Audi, by the way—and you’re right. He’s scrumptious!’
‘What’s he wearing?’
‘A bluey grey suit. Wow, Angie, I’ve got the hots for him already.’
‘Hands off, Vanessa. He’s mine.’
Vanessa laughed. ‘Do you honestly think he’d look twice at me with you in the same universe? I’ll just go get those earrings—and those other things I promised. You whack some pins in your hair. Then when lover-boy arrives don’t come out for a full five minutes.’
‘Stop calling him “lover-boy”,’ Angie groaned. ‘His name’s Lance.’
‘OK. Lance what?’
‘Sterling.’
‘It would be. Here’s the earrings.’ And she held out a pair of amber and gold creations which would hang to her shoulderblades.
Angie shook her head at them. ‘No, Vanessa. They’re too much. I’ll just wear these simple gold drops, if you don’t mind.’
‘I don’t mind, but just remember whose earrings you were wearing when you snaffled his attention last night.’
Angie declined telling Vanessa that Lance had also thought her a tramp of the first order last night, and that maybe the saucy earrings had contributed to that first impression. ‘Maybe, but that was a party. This is daytime. Oh, God, there’s the doorbell.’
Vanessa swanned off towards the door while Angie fled back into the bathroom.
Her hands shook as she pinned up her hair, resulting in the haphazard style Vanessa had suggested more by accident than design. Still, she felt surprisingly satisfied with the final result. She looked classy but sexy. Cool, yet subtly sensual.
Grace Kelly, with auburn hair.
Collecting herself with several deep steadying breaths, Angie finally found the courage to leave the sanctuary of the bathroom and face her destiny.
He looked as gorgeous as Vanessa had said, his almost dazzling glamour seeming out of place in their small and cheaply furnished lounge-room. He was standing with his back to the half-open Venetian blind when she entered the room, his suit jacket open, his hands slung lazily into the depths of his trouser pockets.
