The Secret Love-Child. Miranda Lee
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Luke made her feel sick.
‘I must go,’ she said, and bent to pick up her bag, the action forcing his hands to drop away from her face. By the time she’d straightened he’d stepped back a little. But she had to get out of there. And quickly.
‘If I don’t hear from you,’ she added brusquely, ‘then I will expect you to show up at my parents’ home at two precisely, a fortnight from today. Please don’t be late.’
‘I am never late for appointments,’ he returned.
‘Good. Till then, then?’
He nodded and she swept past him, her bag brushing against him as she did so. She didn’t apologise, or look down. She kept going, not drawing breath till she was in her car and on the road home.
Relief was her first emotion once his place was well out of sight. Then anger. At herself; at the Rafe Saint Vincents of this world; and at fate. Why couldn’t Les have recommended a photographer like himself, a happily married middle-aged conservative bloke with three kids and a paunch?
When a glance in the rear-vision mirror reminded her she had bits of hair all over the place, courtesy of her Lord and Master, she pulled over to the kerb and pulled the pins out of her French roll, shaking her head till her hair fell down around her face like a curtain.
‘Maybe you’d like me to wear it like this!’ she stormed as she accelerated away again. ‘Lucky for me it isn’t longer, or you’d be suggesting I do a Lady Godiva act at my wedding. I could be the first bride ever to be photographed in the nude!’
She ranted and raved about him for a while, then at the traffic when it took her nearly twice as long to get home as it had to drive into the city. She was feeling more than a little stressed by the time she turned into her parents’ street, her agitation temporarily giving way to surprise when she spotted Luke’s blue car parked outside the house. She slid her navy car in behind it, frowning at Luke who was still sitting behind the wheel. When she climbed out, so did he, throwing her an odd look at her hair as he did so.
She felt herself colouring with guilt, which really annoyed her. She’d done nothing to be guilty about.
‘Luke!’ she exclaimed, trying not to sound as flustered as she was feeling. ‘What on earth are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting you. Why didn’t you call me?’
‘I tried your mobile phone a while back,’ he said. ‘But you didn’t answer.’
‘What? Oh, I must have left the blasted thing behind at the studio. I took it out to ring Mum and tell her how long I’d be.’
Isabel wanted to scream. How could she have been so stupid as to leave it behind? Now she’d have to go back for it. And she’d have to see that man again, before the wedding.
‘Oh, too bad,’ she muttered, slamming the car door. ‘It can stay there till tomorrow. I’m not going back now.’
She could feel Luke’s puzzled eyes on her and knew she wasn’t acting like her usual calm self. She shook her head and threw him a pained look. ‘You’ve no idea the dreadful day I’ve had. The photographer I booked for the wedding’s had an accident and he made an appointment for me to meet this other man who’s not really suitable at all. Brilliant, but one of those avant-garde types who wants to do everything in black and white. I pointed out that I wouldn’t have selected a wine-red gown for my maid of honour if I’d wanted all the shots done in black and white, but would he listen to me? No! He even told me how he wanted me to wear my hair. As if I don’t know what suits me best. I’ve never met such an insufferably opinionated man.’
Isabel knew she was babbling but she couldn’t seem to stop.
‘Still, what can you expect from someone who fancies himself an artiste. You know the type. Struts around like he’s God’s gift to women. And he wears this earring in the shape of a phantom’s head, of all things. What a show pony! Goodness knows what our photographs are going to turn out like, but it’s simply too late to get someone else decent. His name’s Rafe—did I tell you? Rafe Saint Vincent. It wouldn’t be his real name, of course. Just a career move. Nobody is born with a name like Rafe Saint Vincent. Talk about pretentious!’
Isabel finally ran out of steam, only to realise that Luke was not only staring at her as if she’d lost her mind, but that he wasn’t looking his usual self, either.
Always well-groomed, Luke was the sort of man who kept ‘tall, dark and handsome’ at number one on every woman’s most wanted list.
‘Luke!’ she exclaimed. ‘You look like you’ve slept in your clothes. And you haven’t even shaved. That’s not like you at all.’ Unlike other men she would not mention. ‘What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were going to stay in your father’s old fishing cabin up on Lake Macquarie for the whole weekend.’ And do some proper grieving, Isabel had hoped. The poor darling had to have been through hell this past fortnight since his parents’ tragic deaths. Yet he’d been so brave about it all. And so strong.
‘The cabin wasn’t there any more,’ he said. ‘It had been torn down a few years before.’
‘Oh, what a shame,’ she murmured. But it explained why he was looking so disconsolate. ‘So where did you stay last night? In a motel? Or a tent?’ she added, hoping to jolly him up with a dab of humour.
‘No.’ He didn’t crack even the smallest of smiles. ‘Dad had built a brand-new weekender on the same site. I stayed there.’
‘But…’ Isabel frowned. ‘How did you get in? You didn’t break in, did you?’
‘No. There was a girl staying there for the weekend and she let me in.’
Isabel was taken aback. ‘And she let you sleep the night?’
Luke sighed. ‘It’s a long story, Isabel. I think we’d better go inside and sit down while I tell it to you.’
She tried not to panic. ‘Luke, you’re worrying me.’
When he took her arm and propelled her over to the front gate, she pulled out of his grip and lanced him with alarmed eyes. ‘You’re not going ahead with the wedding, are you?’
Isabel waited in an agony of anxiety for him to speak.
‘No,’ he finally answered, his expression grim. ‘No, I’m not.’
CHAPTER THREE
ISABEL stared at him, aghast. ‘Oh, no. No, Luke, don’t do this to me!’ Bursting into tears, she buried her stricken face in her hands.
‘I’m so sorry, Isabel,’ Luke said softly as he tried to take her into his arms.
‘But why?’ she wailed, gripping the lapels of his suit jacket and shaking them.
His eyes held apology. ‘I’ve fallen in love.’
‘Fallen in love!’ she gasped. ‘In less than a day?’
‘No one is more surprised than me, I can tell you. But it’s true. I came back straight away to tell you, and to call our wedding off.’
‘But love’s no guarantee of happiness, Luke,’ she argued in desperation. ‘I thought we agreed on that. It traps and tricks you. It really is blind. This girl you’ve supposedly fallen in love with—how do you know she’ll be good for you? How do you know she won’t make you miserable? You can’t possibly know her real character, not this quickly. She could be playing a part for you, pretending to be something she’s not. She might be a really bad person. A gold-digger, perhaps. A…a criminal even!’
‘She’s not any of those things,’ he returned, looking shocked by her arguments. ‘She’s a good person. I just know it.’
Isabel shook her head. One day! One miserable day! How could he know anything for sure? ‘I would never have believed you could be so naïve,’ she pronounced angrily. ‘A man like you!’