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‘Hey, watch it!’ Vanessa warned her sharply, when the car drifted dangerously close to a van going the other way.
‘Sorry. I was distracted there for a second.’
‘Yes, I can see myself what caused it. I thought you said he wasn’t due till four-thirty,’ Vanessa finished drily.
‘That... that’s what he told me.’ Angie did her best to control her shaking hands, voice and in-sides, but without much success.
‘Well, it’s only twenty-three minutes past four. He seems keen, Angie.’
‘Yes, but for what?’
Vanessa’s head whipped round, her dark eyebrows arching. ‘My, my—I thought I was the only cynic around here.’
Angie sighed. ‘I’m fast catching up.’
‘Men do that to you. Especially men who look like that.’
Both women watched Lance emerging from his car as they drove down the street towards him. He was casually dressed this time, in blue jeans and a navy short-sleeved golf shirt with a crisp red stripe around the open-necked collar. Despite his everyday clothes, he still managed to look rich and perversely glamorous. Maybe it was that gorgeous hair of his, glinting gold in the sun, or the gleam of real gold on his wrist and fingers. Or maybe it was just the way he carried himself.
Were wealthy men born with that air of lazy arrogance? Angie wondered. Or did it just develop over the years of being treated as superior beings?
Even Vanessa was shaking her head. ‘That is some man, Angie,’ she said with rueful acceptance. ‘I can understand why you flipped over him. If he asked me to be his mistress, I’d say yes like a shot. There again, I’d have agreed to be his wife. I have to admire your strength of character in saying no, there. Still, perhaps it’s your saying no that’s made him so keen. I can’t imagine too many women saying no to him over the years.’
‘Mmm,’ was all Angie could say, her eyes locking with Lance’s as she slid the car into the kerb behind him. ‘Would you mind putting the car in the garage for me, Vanessa?’ she asked her flatmate. ‘I’d like to speak to Lance out here for a minute.’
‘Spoilsport,’ Vanessa grumbled.
‘I’ll bring him up for coffee shortly.’
‘OK. I’ll put the kettle on.’
Lance walked over to hold the car door open for Angie as she swung her legs out, his gaze flicking down then up her body as she did so. She couldn’t tell if he liked the way she looked or not; his expression was quite bland.
Her work image was a far cry from the glammed-up party look Lance had encountered the night of Bud’s birthday, and from the way she’d been dressed the following day. She always wore simple suits and tailored blouses to school, which didn’t stand out among the uniforms and didn’t bring too much attention to her natural good looks. Makeup was kept to a minimum, her long hair brushed straight back and secured at the nape of her neck with a clip or bow.
Today she was wearing a fawn suit with a knife-pleated skirt and a blazer jacket with cream buttons. Her blouse was cream, and a tortoiseshell clip held her hair tidily in place. She never bothered to curl it for work, leaving it quite straight.
‘Hello, Angie,’ he said. ‘Vanessa,’ he added, nodding at her as she too climbed out and began walking around the car towards the driver’s side.
‘Lance,’ Vanessa replied succinctly, smiling a wry smile. ‘Your punctuality is impressive.’
He merely smiled, saying nothing. Angie felt the tension behind his smile, and immediately succumbed to all kinds of doubts and fears.
He’s come to tell me that it’s over between us, she panicked. That he’s decided not to move to Sydney. That I’m more trouble than I’m worth.
Yet if that was the case, logic argued back, why had he come in person? He would surely have chosen to give such bad news over the telephone, or by letter.
‘Did... did you get all your business done?’ Angie asked, once Vanessa had driven off and they were alone on the pavement.
‘As much as was possible,’ he returned cryptically. ‘There are still some loose ends to tie up. But if you mean have I moved to Sydney to live,’ he added, his eyes never leaving her worried face, ‘I have.’
