CHAPTER THREE

      THE night was cold outside. Sydney in August was still nippy, and often windy. Spring was nearly a month away.

      Judith shivered as they hurried down the front path and over to the waiting grey Mercedes. It was all very well for Raymond to dismiss Alexander from his mind. Judith’s mind had never been that kind. She’d tried to dismiss him over the last seven years, but had never really succeeded.

      Now he’d been forcibly thrust to the forefront of her thoughts again but he wasn’t even the same man she remembered. How on earth had he gone from being a small-time farmer to a high-powered real-estate man in only seven years? It seemed impossible. Unless he’d inherited money.

      Or married it...

      The thought of Alexander marrying had never occurred to her before, which was crazy. Why shouldn’t he be married? The man was now thirty-two years old.

      She ached to ask Raymond if he was aware of Alexander’s marital status, but knew it would be too revealing a question. Her own inner churnings over the matter were revealing enough as it was. Why should she care if he was married or not? She hated the man, didn’t she?

      Raymond drove as he always did. In silence. He needed to concentrate, he’d told her the first night he’d taken her out to the ballet—about a year ago. And she always obliged by not indulging in any distracting chatter.

      Normally, she found this quite relaxing, but tonight it gave her too much time to think. What would have happened, she agonised, if Alexander’s sister hadn’t told her the truth? Would she have run after Alexander when he hadn’t shown up as promised? What excuse would he have made not to have any more to do with her? Guilt?

      Perhaps. Probably. And she would have believed him. Her own guilt had been crushing.

      Her head whirled and her thoughts tumbled on. What would have happened, too, if Simon hadn’t followed them that night and caught them in the act? Judith didn’t believe Alexander’s intention had been to cause Simon’s death. She believed he had come to the house that first day intending to have things out with his supposed best friend. She’d witnessed his tension during that first hug.

      But then he’d spied Judith, stupid, smitten Judith, standing there drooling open-mouthed over him, and his plan had immediately changed from open confrontation to devious revenge. He would seduce Simon’s silly fiancée, maybe even make her pregnant, as Simon had Karen. He would destroy Simon’s happiness, uncaring if he destroyed hers at the same time.

      Ruthless, he’d been, in his vengeance. Quite ruthless.

      Admittedly, there’d been evidence of some regret afterwards. He’d seemed genuinely distressed by Simon’s death. But it had been too late then, hadn’t it? Too late for Simon. Too late for herself...

      Judith’s stomach churned as she thought of all she’d suffered at his hands. God, but she hated him, hated him with the same kind of passion which had once filled her with desire. The only desire she had now was to see him in hell—the same hell he’d consigned her to all those years ago!

      ‘We’re ten minutes late,’ Raymond pronounced as he turned the Mercedes into Margaret’s street, a very fashionable address in Hunter’s Hill.

      ‘We’ll still be the first ones here, Raymond,’ she said, knowing from experience that when people said parties started at eight most of the guests turned up at nine, or later.

      The car rolled to a stop in front of the lovely old two-storeyed home Raymond had bought and presented to Margaret as a wedding present, the absence of other cars at the kerb or in the driveway confirming Judith’s opinion that they were the first arrivals.

      ‘Mr Fairchild doesn’t know I’m your fiancée, does he?’ she asked as they made their way up the steep front steps.

      ‘I certainly never told him,’ Raymond replied. ‘And there are no photographs of you on my desk. You know I don’t go in for that kind of sentimentality,’ he said firmly, and rang the doorbell.

      Judith frowned at this last remark as they waited silently for the doorbell to be answered. Were all men as practical and pragmatic as Raymond? Was sentiment a strictly female prerogative?

      Surely not, she decided. Simon had been a very warm and sensitive man. It had been the first thing she’d noticed and loved about him.

      Judith herself felt things very deeply and was quickly moved to sympathy for the plights of others. That was why she’d decided to be a nurse in the first place. Unfortunately, however, sometimes she felt things too deeply.

      After she’d completed her training as a nurse, she’d worked in the Aids ward for a while, but had finally had to request a transfer to a general ward after breaking down once too often. She’d been just too heartbroken at her patients’ suffering and their lack of any real hope.

      Over the years she’d learnt to control her emotions better, especially in public, but she was still a softie underneath, crying copious tears at sad movies. Letters from her mother or her sister could start her off, as did pictures of neglected and abused animals in newspapers. She usually hid her tears, however, turning to her toy friends for comfort rather than real people.

      Raymond would be embarrassed if she ever blubbered all over him. It was as well, Judith decided now, that she was to keep her own bedroom after they were married. At least there she had Peter to blubber all over. He didn’t mind one bit!

      ‘For pity’s sake stop worrying about Fairchild,’ Raymond snapped suddenly, breaking into her thoughts. ‘He might not even turn up. You know how people are about parties these days.’

      Judith’s heart leapt momentarily at the possibility that she still might escape the awful prospect of coming face to face with Alexander again. But somehow she didn’t think fate was going to be that kind.

      ‘He’ll show up,’ she muttered.

      Raymond shot her a sharp look. ‘You promised you wouldn’t make a scene.’

      Judith sighed. ‘I won’t, Raymond. But I’m not going to pretend I’m thrilled about seeing him again.’

      ‘Just don’t do or say anything that might jeopardise my business dealings with him.’

      Judith fell silent, hurt by Raymond’s total insensitivity towards her feelings on this matter. It showed her just where she rated with the man she’d agreed to marry. She would always play second fiddle to his business. She would never come first. Never.

      Judith’s unhappy thoughts were scattered by the opening of the front door and the appearance of Margaret’s sleazily handsome husband. Admittedly, Mario did cut a fine figure of a man in the black silk-blend dinner suit he was wearing, but there was something infinitely repulsive about his oily, slicked-back hair and slightly feminine features, not to mention his overly effusive manner.

      ‘Ray! Judy! Marge will be so pleased you’re finally here.’ His Latin accent was attractive but his penchant for nicknames annoyed Judith to death. ‘It wouldn’t do for the guests of honour to be too late, would it?’

      He babbled on as he ushered them both into the hallway. The central heating, rather stuffy after the crisp air outside, enveloped Judith, causing beads of perspiration to break out on her forehead. She drew a tissue from her purse, dabbing nervously at her face.

      ‘Here, Judy,’ he said, stepping round behind her. ‘Let me take your jacket. You look hot.’

      With one swift movement, deft fingers removed the security of her jacket. Judith glanced apprehensively over her shoulder, only to see two lecherous dark eyes raking over her bosom. She flushed under