Marriage On Command. Lindsay Armstrong
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been invited to a party tonight, and I’m going to have to work late anyway, so—’
‘Excellent!’ Lee broke in. ‘I’ll come to the party with you—if you’re not taking someone else?’
There was dead silence down the line, then, ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I said I’ll come with you if—are you taking someone else?’
‘No, but…’
‘Could this party stand an extra guest at short notice?’ she queried.
‘Uh…well it’s not a sit-down dinner, it’s an al fresco buffet with dancing, so—’
‘Even better!’ Lee pronounced. ‘Sounds like my kind of party. The only thing is I need somewhere to park myself in the meantime. Any chance of using your apartment?’
Another silence.
‘Damien?’
‘You want to get into my apartment?’
‘It beats pounding pavements all afternoon. Besides, I need somewhere to get into my party gear.’
‘I—’
‘Damien, if you don’t let me do this I’ll come and picket your office,’ she warned. ‘This is urgent.’
‘All right. I’ll phone the building manager and tell him to let you in. Uh—do you have party gear with you?’
She thought there was a certain amount of caution with which he asked this, and smiled to herself. ‘No. But I have a credit card—and I’ll endeavour not to embarrass you.’
The beautician in the department store beauty salon was talkative as she did Lee’s nails and gave her a mini-facial. She was also drop-dead gorgeous, with inch-long fake eyelashes and a streak of pink through her hair. She went by the name of Sally.
‘Got to be a guy involved?’ she hazarded. ‘Planning on doing a Cinderella?’
Lee grimaced mentally; she was unable to do so physically because of the mask on her face. ‘You could say so,’ she mumbled. ‘I know I look a bit strange to be in a beauty parlour.’
Sally shrugged. ‘I take it he’s quite some guy?’
‘Well, yes,’ Lee confessed. ‘He’s one of those dark, damn you kind of men. I mean, he’s all proper and correct most of the time, but you get the feeling that underneath he could be quite different.’
‘The kind to drive women wild?’ Sally suggested.
‘Exactly. I must be mad,’ Lee added.
‘No. I always say go for it. Give ’em a bit of their own medicine. You only live once, you’re only young once, and you sure have the hair and the eyes to do it.’
‘Thanks, but I thought there was more to it.’
Sally glanced down the length of Lee. ‘They say you can never be too rich or too thin.’
This time Lee had to laugh, and cracked the mask.
‘Never mind, it’s ready to come off. Have you got a dress in mind?’ Sally enquired.
‘That’s next on my agenda.’
‘Go for black, and go mini, so you can dazzle him with your legs—there’s a dress right here in this store that would be divine on you. I’m due for a break when I finish you—like me to show you it? I’d almost set my heart on it myself, but I can tell this is a worthy cause so I’ll pass.’
‘That’s—I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, but that’s very noble of you!’
‘Wait until you see yourself in it,’ Sally advised. ‘Might just change your mind about yourself. And it might just get him grovelling.’
An hour later, Lee emerged from a cubicle in the dress department of the store and examined herself in the mirror from all angles.
‘What did I tell you?’ Sally said, at the slightly stunned look in Lee’s eyes.
‘You don’t think it’s too—?’
‘No way! Go to it, honey! But I’d put your hair up.’
A couple of hours later she was being ushered into a luxury high-rise apartment at Kangaroo Point, with sweeping views of the Brisbane River and the city centre on the opposite bank.
She thanked the building manager, and as he left dropped several elegant shopping bags onto a claret-coloured settee.
She’d only been in his apartment once before, when he’d asked her to breakfast, but it was equally as impressive today. Acres of off-white carpet, lovely paintings and objets d’art, with touches of hyacinth-pink and blue to complement the claret in the soft furnishings. There was even a bowl of fresh creamy pink carnations on the coffee table.
She looked at her watch and discovered she still had a few hours to kill. Time enough to relax for a bit, so she wandered into the den, turned the television on and lay down on the broad leather couch to watch a movie. In fact, she fell asleep, and it was dark when she woke, although she still had over an hour to prepare herself for the party.
Then she realised her tummy was rumbling so she raided her lawyer’s kitchen, which proved to be a fairly barren experience, but she did find some cheese and crackers, an apple and some grapes. Damien obviously rarely ate at home, although she did notice several bottles of champagne in the fridge. Then she went to look for the spare bedroom. On the way to it she passed the main bedroom, and it crossed her mind to wonder whether her future husband-in-name-only entertained any lovers in it.
She hesitated at the doorway. Common sense told her that Damien would not live like a monk, and ethics persuaded her she should not snoop, so she bypassed the room resolutely. But that spark of curiosity remained.
The spare bedroom had its own en-suite bathroom, she discovered, and, paradoxically, it held all the answers her spark of curiosity cried out to know. Not only was there a full set of a famous brand of luxury cosmetics set out on the marble vanity stand, but there was a robe and matching nightgown hanging from a hook on the wall. A very sensuous robe and nightgown, at that, being fashioned of sheer coffee silk with fine ecru lace inserts.
She raised her eyebrows and tried to picture the girl who owned these telltale items. Tall, she found as she measured the robe against herself. Taller than her five feet four, and a glance at the size on the label told her that this girl was more generously curved, for it was a size larger than the size she took. So, tall and shapely, she decided. Dark or fair? She picked up the brush on the vanity and discovered a couple of long dark strands of hair in it. Definitely a brunette, then. She picked up a tube of lipstick, a deep berry-red, and found a bottle of nail polish that matched it.
OK, she got the picture, she mused. Tall, dark and dramatically attractive—that went without saying when you thought of Damien’s good looks. Not your shrinking violet kind of girl either. Possibly a career girl? Possibly another lawyer?
Then it occurred to her that there might be clothes in the closet owned by this girl—and indeed there were. Not many, but enough to confirm her impressions that this girl was striking and probably a professional career woman. For despite their lovely colours they were severely tailored and very formal.
She looked down at her jeans and boots with a grimace, but then remembered her shopping bags and ran through to the lounge to retrieve them.
The dress she’d bought was uncrushable, which was fortunate because she’d forgotten to hang it up. And as she carried it through to the spare bedroom, along with the shoes, make-up and underwear she’d purchased, she decided that in this dress there was no reason for her not to give any number of striking, professional women a run for their money—despite her chosen career being that of a landscape gardener.
She paused at the thought of her career and swallowed suddenly as Cosmo Delaney swam