Idle Lies. Lian Knight
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Paul’s or the pub when I get back.’
‘You bet.’ Lewis gave a parting wave behind him and ambled off.
Jason shrugged and hurried across to the departure gate as the final call for boarding was being made. That had been close. As he approached he looked carefully about and spotted the redhead waiting at the gate counter.
‘Jason!’ Julie called as soon as she saw him. ‘Over here!’ she said excitedly. ‘I’ve got us a seat together! I hope you don’t mind.’
6
Monday, 2 October
INDIO SCOTT SAT ON the balcony of her first floor apartment with her feet up on the outdoor table. The classic nineteen-thirties residential block, located directly on the Harbour’s edge, had been stylishly modernised into a series of contemporary apartments with commanding views. From this position, and with her keen eye, she could see directly across to the Sydney Opera House, with its incredible array of interlocking shells lying side by side, or further up the bay to the Harbour Bridge where its panel arch trusses created the majestic beauty of its steelwork. This truly was a breathtaking spot, and one she had admired from the moment she arrived in Australia.
But not today. Today was crap.
Ryan, her husband, had promised he would be home an hour ago but his promises were about as reliable as an eyewitness under questioning from the mafia. Anything he said, no matter how persuasive or disarming, had to be taken with a grain of salt. He could ring with a last minute change of plans that meant Tuesday, Friday or next week. Or when he was home he would suddenly go out. A change of shifts, the boss was sick, an ex-colleague was visiting, new training – the list of reasons was endless. He could never come out with a straight answer, which was annoying. Initially she had found his rotating shifts almost acceptable – they were generally three weeks on when he stayed in Sydney and three weeks off when he returned to Perth, so she knew more or less where she was at. But now, with the constant interruptions any day could turn upside down. It drove her insane.
She took a sip of her remaining coffee, which was now semi-cold, and debated whether to drink it or toss it and pour another. She lifted one foot, considered the effort involved, and then put it down again. Instead, she rested her head on a back cushion and wriggled it so that the padding shielded the hard bars of the white cast iron chair and soothed her tense muscles. She closed her eyes. The warm afternoon sun did its best to placate her; slowly, almost reluctantly, she allowed it to work its magic.
Sydney, glorious Sydney. On her arrival the vitality had been captivating. Nightlife at The Rocks was always pumping, with no shortage of bars and pubs available to meet people and share a few drinks. Aussie guys were charming and they seemed to love an American girl, especially one with a vivacious personality and an infectious laugh. She was never short of attention but then her eye-catching looks did help – long auburn curls, high cheeks, full lips and a figure she kept tightly in check led to a myriad of prospective suitors vying for her company. Then, eighteen months ago, she had met Ryan, and life couldn’t have been better.
What had happened? Where was that bewitching man she had first met?
As the sun beat down, she drifted to that May afternoon …
7
Monday, 16 May, eighteen months earlier
THE RADIANCE OF THE late autumn sun lit the Harbour and cast a glorious sparkle on the water. The bay was alive with the usual hustle and bustle of boats and ferries, some returning from commercial shipping ventures and others with the usual mass of daily commuters on their way home from a long day at the office. A crowd of small runabouts nipped and tucked their way between the larger vessels, their passengers waving and laughing as they bounced across each other’s wakes. Closer to the pier a large yacht eased its way gracefully between the traffic, heading slowly towards the marina to park in its mooring for the night. The choppy waters twinkled in the sunlight, and a large flock of seagulls, circling in ever increasing arcs, studied them intently for the slightest sign of a meal that might emerge. Several birds, frustrated with the low returns, glided skilfully to the pier and landed on consecutive pillars, glaring at each other to ensure pecking orders were duly respected. Stretching their necks, they called to anyone who would listen; then, once ownership rights were agreed, they straightened and began canvassing the parched pavement for scavenging opportunities.
Opposite the pier, the sound of light voices and the occasional chink of glasses spilled from the grand hotel. Large glass panel doors, folded wide open, granted the observer magnificent uninterrupted views of the Harbour and surrounding shops and eateries, as well as passers-by traversing the wide walkway. Several patrons leaned on the long timber outdoor bar that broadsided the path, sipping their drinks and chatting as they watched the sunny afternoon stretch its way into what looked to be a beautifully warm and charming evening.
A rather large businessman, sweat drops building on his brow, balanced his beers delicately as he squeezed himself away from the inner hotel counter. He swore when, despite his best efforts, precious drops of the golden liquid spilled down his wrists and into his shirt cuffs. ‘Sorry, excuse me, sorry …’ he mumbled as he juggled his prized possessions above the sea of heads. Reaching the outdoors, he hesitated, then stepped carefully over the feet of the last patron who sat outstretched on a wooden stool at the end of a long table. ‘Geez,’ he whispered under his breath, shooting him a sideways glare.
The patron made no effort to apologise or help. Lean and muscular, he sat with a quiet confidence behind mirrored sunglasses that gave little away. He took a sip from a schooner and watched as the businessman crossed the walkway and almost collided with a young woman at the pier. She gave him the barest acknowledgment and returned to her phone which she was studying intently. As the sun’s glare blocked her view she turned away to read, brushing her long hair back and tipping her sunglasses on top of her head. From a distance her tight white lace dress blended against her skin and for a moment it appeared that she was wearing nothing at all. His eyes were transfixed.
She seemed to be so engrossed that he was not surprised when she suddenly stopped reading and stepped forward, breezing straight into the path of an oncoming pram. The woman pushing it spoke crossly to her and she gestured regretfully and hastily retreated. Several passing tradesmen winked and whistled, but she ignored them. She put the phone away and adjusted her sunglasses, then when the path was clear, strode purposefully across the walkway towards the hotel.
His sharp eye watched her approach.
‘Hey,’ he ventured, touching her hand as she drew next to him. ‘That’s a Tissot.’
Immediately she pulled her hand away and turned to look at him. She stared blankly and this time he pointed from a discreet distance at her wrist.
‘That’s a Tissot,’ he repeated, nodding in the same direction. ‘A T-Gold, if I’m not wrong. A very fine gold watch.’ He extended his own hand forward and bent it towards her.
‘Tissot too,’ he said proudly. ‘Bridgeport T-Gold Classic Chronograph, to be precise. Beautifully made with sapphire glass.’
She looked down at the large gold dial that gleamed in the sun.
‘Oh! Yes, I see. Mine is a T-Gold – you’re right.’
‘Some pretty famous people have worn Tissots. Elvis Presley, Grace Kelly. Angelina Jolie wore one in Lara Croft: Tomb Raider.’
‘The girl in the jewellers told me Angelina had one in Mr and Mrs Smith.’
‘Yes, she did wear one, that’s true. Do you remember Rear Window, the Alfred Hitchcock? James Stewart wore one in that too.’ He paused and patted a spare stool beside him. ‘Wanna have a seat? I’ll buy you a drink. I’d like to see the one you’ve got.’
She studied the man more closely. His eyes were hidden behind stylish sunglasses but she could see his face was unmistakably handsome, with slender cheekbones that disappeared into dark tousled hair. He appeared to be slightly older than her, probably early thirties, with a slim, well-built physique. His