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‘Helen started having affairs?’
‘She’d been having them since shortly after our honeymoon. The private detective I finally hired to investigate her a couple of months ago showed me all the times and dates of her various daytime hotel assignations, dating back nearly four years. She ruthlessly but recklessly signed and paid for them all with the credit card I gave her. Sometimes, when business called me overseas, she gave the house staff time off and actually had her current lover to stay in the house with her. They made love in our marriage bed.’
Angie could only stare at Lance.
‘When I showed her the report, earlier this week, she admitted she’d never loved me but thought that I would make her a very rich divorcee. At which point I left the house before I killed her. While I was gone she packed all her things and moved out.’
‘Oh, my God, Lance, that’s awful! And yet... almost incredible!’
‘I can show you the report,’ he said drily, ‘if you don’t believe me.’
‘It’s not that I don’t believe you. Of course I do. I simply can’t understand any woman marrying any man she doesn’t love—or any woman married to you who would ever want another man.’
Now it was Lance’s turn to stare, his startled eyes slowly melting as he reached over and stroked her cheek. ‘You are so good for me, my darling girl. God, but if only all females were like you. If only—’ He broke off to straighten, a deep frown creasing his high forehead as he appeared to drop deep into thought.
‘Lance?’ she asked softly at long last.
He snapped out of his reverie to smile over at her. It was the saddest smile she had ever seen Lance give anyone, and it made her heart bleed for him. People might think he had everything in life, but in fact he had nothing of real worth, if worth was measured by the values of family love and loyalty. Angie had long known that his parents had little time for him, and he didn’t have any brothers or sisters. Angie suspected that his mother had stopped having children at once when she’d produced a male heir. She’d met the woman at Lance’s wedding and had been struck by her cold snobbery.
Lance’s wife had obviously never really loved him, either. From what Lance had said, it was likely she’d seen dollar signs from the moment she’d met the Sterling son and heir.
Angie had opened her mouth to tell him that she loved him, when something held her back—some last, lingering worry which whispered that to tell him of such an enduring and almost blind love would be to give him great power over her. As much as Angie did admire Lance in many ways, his moral fibre had to have been corrupted by his background, plus that ghastly marriage.
‘Let’s not talk about Helen any more,’ she said instead. ‘Let’s not talk about anything serious today. Let’s just have fun.’
His answering smile was much more like the Lance she remembered. His perfect teeth sparkled, his blue eyes flashed, that cheeky and charming dimple of his dimpled cheekily and with great charm.
‘Best suggestion I’ve had all year!’ he pronounced heartily.
He drove over the bridge into the city, where he turned into the driveway of the Prince Hotel—one of the new boutique establishments springing up all over Sydney. Angie only recognised the place because she’d seen a small spot about it on the television recently. Described as a classic of old-world charm and grace, it was reputed to be scandalously expensive, and patronised only by the very wealthy or the very famous. Strict privacy was what they offered, plus discretion and red carpet service.
‘Er...what are we coming in here for?’ Angie asked hesitantly. ‘Will we be lunching here?’
‘No. I’m staying here.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since I rang and made a booking this morning. It’s supposedly within walking distance of the shops and the theatres, not to mention the quay and Darling Harbour. It should make a perfect base for our activities today.’
Activities?
Angie had heard it called a lot of things but never...’activities’. An insane little giggle threatened to burst from her lips but she smothered it just in time and gave Lance what she hoped was a perfectly unreadable look. She must have succeeded for he frowned at her, the kind of frown a man gave a woman when he didn’t know what was going on in her mind but would dearly have loved to.
