The Girl he Never Noticed (4 page)

‘Koalas,’ Scout said. She was as fair as Liz, with round blue eyes. Her hair was a cloud of curls and she glowed with health.

Liz pretended surprise. ‘You’re going to buy a koala?’

‘No, Mummy,’ Scout corrected lovingly. ‘We’re going to see them at the zoo! Aren’t we, Nanna?’

‘As well as all sorts of other animals, sweetheart,’ her grandmother confirmed fondly. ‘I’m looking forward to it myself!’

Liz took a breath as she thought of the sunny day outside, the ferry-ride across the harbour to Taronga Zoo, and how she’d love to be going with them. She bit her lip, then glanced gratefully at her mother. ‘There are times when I don’t know how to thank you,’ she murmured.

‘You don’t have to,’ Mary answered. ‘You know that.’

Liz blinked, then got up to get ready for work.

The flat she and Scout shared with her mother was in an inner Sydney suburb. It was comfortable—her mother had seen to that—but the neighbourhood couldn’t be described as classy…something Mary often lamented. But it was handy for the suburb of Paddington, for Oxford
Street and its trendy shopping and vibrant cafés. There were also markets, and history that included the Victoria Army Barracks and fine old terrace houses. If you were a sports fan, the iconic Sydney Cricket Ground was handy, as well as Centennial and Moore Parks. They often took picnics to the park.

The flat had three bedrooms and a small study. They’d converted the study into a bedroom for Scout, and the third bedroom into a workroom for Mary. It resembled an Aladdin’s cave, Liz sometimes thought. There were racks of clothes in a mouth-watering selection of colours and fabrics. There was a rainbow selection of buttons, beads, sequins, the feathers Mary fashioned into fascinators, ribbons and motifs.

Mary had a small band of customers she ‘created’ for, as she preferred to put it. Gone were the heady days after Liz’s father’s death, when Mary had followed a lifelong dream and invested in her own boutique. It hadn’t prospered—not because the clothes weren’t exquisite, but because, as her father had known, Mary had no business sense at all. Not only hadn’t it prospered, it had all but destroyed Mary’s resources.

But the two people Mary Montrose loved creating for above all were her daughter and granddaughter.

So it was that, although Liz operated on a fairly tight budget, no one would have guessed it from her clothes. And she went to work the day after the distressing scenario that had played out between two harbourside mansions looking the essence of chic, having decided it was a bit foolish to play down the originality of her clothes now.

She wore slim black pants to hide the graze on her knee, and a black and white blouson top with three-quarter sleeves, belted at the waist. Her shoes were black patent wedges with high cork soles—shoes she adored—and she wore a black and white, silver and bead Pandora-style bracelet.

As she finished dressing, she went to pin back her hair—then thought better of that too. There seemed to be no point now. She also put in her contact lenses.

But as she rode the bus to work she was thinking not of how she looked but other things. Cam Hillier in particular.

She’d tossed and turned quite a lot last night, as her overburdened mind had replayed the whole dismal event several times.

She had to acknowledge that he’d been… He hadn’t been critical, had he? She couldn’t deny she’d got herself into a mess—not only last night, of course, but in her life, and Scout’s—which could easily invite criticism…

What did he really think? she wondered, and immediately wondered why it should concern her. After her disastrous liaison with Scout’s father she’d not only been too preoccupied with her first priority—Scout, and building a life for both of them—but she’d had no interest in men. Once bitten twice shy, had been her motto. She’d even perfected a technique that had become, without her realising it until yesterday, she thought ironically, patently successful—Ice Queen armour.

It had all taken its toll, however, despite her joy in Scout. Not only in the battle to keep afloat economically,
but also with her guilt at having to rely on her mother for help, therefore restricting her mother’s life too. She had the feeling that she was growing old before her time, that she would never be able to let her hair down and enjoy herself in mixed company because of the cloud of bitterness that lay on her soul towards men.

So why was she now thinking about a man as she hadn’t for years?

Why was she now suddenly physically vulnerable to a man she didn’t really approve of, to make matters worse?

She paused her thoughts as a mental image of Cam Hillier came to her, and she had to acknowledge on a suddenly indrawn breath that he fascinated her in a curious sort of love/hate way—although of course it couldn’t be love… But just when she wanted to hurl a brick at him for his sheer bloody-minded arrogance he did something, as he had last night, that changed a person’s opinion of him. He hadn’t been judgemental. He’d even made it possible for her spill her heart to him.

It was more too, she reflected. Not only his compelling looks and physique, but a vigorous mind that worked at the speed of lightning, an intellect you longed to have the freedom to match. Something about him that made you feel alive even if you were furious.

She gazed unseeingly out of the window and thought, what did it matter? She’d shortly be gone from his life. And even if she stayed within his orbit there was always the thorny question of Portia Pengelly—or if not Portia whoever her replacement would be.

She smiled a wintry little smile and shrugged, with not the slightest inkling of what awaited her shortly.

Ten minutes later she buzzed for a lift on the ground floor of the tower that contained the offices of the Hillier Corporation. One came almost immediately from the basement car park, and she stepped into it to find herself alone with her boss as the doors closed smoothly.

‘Miss Montrose,’ he said.

‘Mr Hillier,’ she responded.

He looked her up and down, taking in her stylish outfit, the sheen of her hair and her glossy mouth. And his lips quirked as he said, ‘Hard to connect you with the wall-climbing cat burglar of last night.’

Liz directed him a tart little look before lowering her carefully darkened lashes, and said nothing.

‘So I take it you’re quite restored, Liz?’

‘Yes,’ she said coolly, and wasn’t going to elaborate, but then thought better of it. ‘Thank you. You were…’ She couldn’t think of the right word. ‘Thank you.’

‘That’s all right.’

The lift slid to a stop and the doors opened, revealing the Hillier foyer, but for some strange reason neither of them made a move immediately. Not so strange, though, Liz thought suddenly. In the sense that it had happened to her before, in his car last evening, when she’d been trapped in a bubble of acute awareness of Cameron Hillier.

His suit was different today—slate-grey, worn with a pale blue shirt and a navy and silver tie—but it was just as beautifully tailored and moulded his broad shoulders
just as effectively. There was a narrow black leather belt around his lean waist, and his black shoes shone and looked to be handmade.

But it wasn’t a case of clothes making the man, Liz thought. It was the other way around. Add to that the tingling fresh aura of a man who’d showered and shaved recently, the comb lines in his thick hair, those intriguing blue eyes and his long-fingered hands… Her eyes widened as she realised even his hands impressed her. All of him stirred her senses in a way that made her long to have some physical contact with him—a touch, a mingling of their breath as they kissed…

Then their gazes lifted to each other’s and she could see a nerve flickering in his jaw—a nerve that told her he was battling a similar compulsion. She’d known from the way he’d looked at her last night that he was no longer seeing her as a stick of furniture, but to think that he wanted her as she seemed to want him was electrifying.

It was as the lift doors started to close that they came out of their long moment of immobility. He pressed a button and the doors reversed their motion. He gestured for her to step out ahead of him.

She did so with a murmured thank-you, and headed for her small office. They both greeted Molly Swanson.

‘Uh—give me ten minutes, then bring the diary in, Liz. And coffee, please, Molly.’ He strode through into his office.

‘How did it go? Last night?’ Molly enquired. ‘By the way, I’ve already had three calls from Miss Pengelly!’

‘Oh, dear.’ Liz grimaced. ‘I’m afraid it might be over.’

‘Probably just as well,’ Molly said with a wise little look in her eyes. ‘What he needs is a proper wife, not these film star types—I never thought she could act her way out of a paper bag, anyway!’

Liz blinked, but fortunately Molly was diverted by the discreet buzzing of her phone.

Eight minutes later, Liz gathered herself in readiness to present herself to her employer with the diary.

She’d poured herself a cup of cold water from the cooler, but instead of drinking it she’d dipped her hanky into it and splashed her wrists and patted her forehead.

I must be mad, she’d thought.
He
must be mad even to contemplate getting involved with me. Or is all he has in mind a replacement for Portia? Someone to deflect all the women he attracts—and I refuse to believe it’s only because of his money.

Things were back to thoroughly businesslike as they went through his engagements for the day one by one, and he sipped strong black aromatic coffee from a Lalique glass in a silver holder.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Have you got the briefs for the Fortune conference?’

She nodded.

‘I’ll want you there. There’s quite a bit of paperwork to be passed around and collected, et cetera. And I’ll need you to drive me to and pick me up from the
Bromwich lunch. There’s no damn parking to be found for miles.’

‘Fine,’ she murmured, then hesitated.

He looked up. ‘A problem?’

‘You want me to drive your car?’

‘Why not?’

‘To be honest—’ Liz bit her lip ‘—I’d be petrified of putting a scratch on it.’

He sat back. ‘Hadn’t thought of that. So would I—to be honest.’ He looked wry. ‘Uh—get a car from the car pool.’

Liz relaxed. ‘I think that’s a much better idea.’

His lips twitched, and she thought he was going to say something humorous, but the moment passed and he looked at her in the completely deadpan way he had that had a built-in annoyance factor for anyone on the receiving end of it.

Liz was not immune to the annoyance as she found herself reduced to the status of a slightly troublesome employee. Then, if anything, she got more annoyed—but with herself. She had been distinctly frosty in the lift before they’d found themselves trapped in that curious moment of physical awareness, hadn’t she?

She had told herself they would both be mad even to contemplate anything like a relationship—and she believed that. But some little part of her was obviously hankering to be treated… How? As a friend?

If I were out on a beach I’d believe I’d got a touch of the sun, she thought grimly. This man doesn’t work that way, and there’s no reason why he should.

She cleared her throat and said politely, ‘What time would you like to leave?’

‘Twelve-thirty.’ He turned away.

The Fortune conference was scheduled for nine-thirty, and Liz and Molly worked together to prepare the conference room.

It got underway on time and went relatively smoothly. Liz did her bit, distributing and retrieving documents, providing water and coffee—and coping with the over-effusive thanks she got from the short, dumpy, middle-aged vice-President of the Fortune Seafood Group.

She only smiled coolly in return, but something—some prickling of her nervous system—caused her to look in Cam Hillier’s direction, to find his gaze on her, steadfast and disapproving. Until a faint tide of colour rose in her cheeks, and he looked away at last.

Surely he couldn’t think she was courting masculine approval or something stupid like that?

On the other hand, she reminded herself, she might find it stupid, but it could be an occupational hazard of being a single mother—men wondering if you were promiscuous…

It became further apparent that her boss was not in a good mood when she drove him to the Bromwich lunch in a company Mercedes. The reasons for this were two-fold.

‘Hmm…’ he said. ‘You’re a very cautious driver, Ms Montrose.’

Liz looked left and right and left again, and drove
across an intersection. ‘It’s not my car, your life is in my hands, Mr Hillier, and I have a certain respect for my own.’

‘Undue caution can be its own hazard,’ he commented. ‘Roger is a better driver.’

Liz could feel her temper rising, but she held on to it. She said nothing.

He went on, ‘Come to think of it, I don’t have to worry about Roger receiving indecent proposals from visiting old-enough-to-know-better seafood purveyors either. Uh—you could have driven a bus through that gap, Liz.’

She lost it without any outward sign. She nosed the Mercedes carefully into the kerb, reversed it to a better angle, then switched off and handed him the keys.

She didn’t shout, she didn’t bang anything, but she did say, ‘If you want to get to the Bromwich lunch in one piece,
you
drive. And don’t ever ask me to drive you anywhere again. Furthermore, I can handle indecent proposals—any kind of proposals!—so you don’t have a thing to worry about. As for the aspersions you cast on my driving, I happen to think
you’re
a menace on the road.’

‘Liz—’

But she ignored him as she opened her door and stepped out of the car.

T
WO MINUTES LATER
he was in the driver’s seat, she was in the passenger seat, and she had no idea if he was fighting mad or laughing at her—although she suspected the latter.

‘Right,’ he said as he eased the car back into the traffic. ‘Get onto Bromwich and tell them I’m not coming.’

Liz gasped. ‘Why not? You can’t—’

‘I can. I never did want to go to their damn lunch anyway.’

‘But you agreed!’ she reminded him.

‘All the same, they’ll be fine without me. It is a lunch for two hundred people. I could quite easily have got lost in the crowd,’ he said broodingly.

Liz thought, with irony, that it was highly unlikely, but she said tautly, ‘And what will I tell them?’

‘Tell them…’ he paused, ‘I’ve had a row with my diary secretary, during which she not only threatened to take me apart but I got told I was a
menace,
and that I’m feeling somewhat diminished and unable to contemplate socialising on a large scale as a result.’

Liz looked at him with extreme frustration. ‘Apart
from anything else, that has
got
to be so untrue!’ she said through her teeth.

He grimaced. ‘You could also tell them,’ he added, ‘that since it’s a nice day I’ve decided the beach is a better place for lunch. We’ll go and have some fish and chips. Like fish and chips?’

She lifted her hands in a gesture of despair. ‘I suppose nothing will persuade you this is a very bad idea?’

‘Nothing,’ he agreed, then grinned that lightning crooked grin. ‘Maybe you should have thought of that before you had a hissy fit and handed over the car.’

‘You were being enough to—you were impossible!’

‘Mmm…’ He said it meditatively, and with a faint frown. ‘I seem to be slightly off-key today. Do you have the same problem? After what happened in the lift?’ he added softly.

Liz studied the road ahead, and wondered what would happen if she admitted to him that she had no idea how to cope with the attraction that had sprung up between them. Yes, it might have happened to her for the first time in a long time, but did that mean she wasn’t scared stiff of it? Of course she was. She knew it. She clenched her hands briefly in her lap. Besides, what could come of it?

An affair at the most, she reasoned. Cameron Hillier was not going to marry a single mother who sometimes struggled to pay her bills. Marry! Dear heaven, what was she thinking? Even with the best intentions and no impediments they had to be a long way from
that.

And, having thought of her bills, she couldn’t stop
herself from thinking of them again—that and the fact that she had no other job lined up yet.

Just get yourself out of this without losing your job if you can, Liz, she recommended to herself.

‘I apologise for losing my temper,’ she said at last. ‘I—I’m probably not a very good driver. I haven’t had a lot of experience, but I was doing my best.’ She looked ruefully heavenwards.

Cam Hillier cast her a swift glance that was laced with mockery. ‘That’s all?’

She swallowed, fully understanding the mockery—she was dodging the issue of what had happened between them in the lift and he knew it.

She twisted her hands together, but said quite evenly, ‘I’m afraid so.’

There was silence in the car until he said, ‘That has a ring of finality to it. In other words we’re never destined to be more than we are, Ms Montrose?’

Liz pushed her hair behind her ears. ‘We’re not,’ she agreed barely audibly. ‘Oh.’ She reached for her purse—anything to break the tension of the moment. ‘I’ll ring Bromwich—although I may not get anyone at this late stage.’

‘So be it,’ he said, and she knew he wasn’t talking about the lunch he was going to miss.

She hesitated, but decided she might as well cement her stance on the matter—in a manner of speaking… ‘You don’t have to take me to lunch, Mr Hillier. I’d quite understand.’

‘Not at all, Ms Montrose,’ he drawled. ‘For one thing, I’m starving. And, since Roger and I often have lunch
when we’re on the road together, you don’t need to view it with any suspicion.’

‘Suspicion?’

This time he looked at her with satirical amusement glinting in his blue eyes. ‘Suspicion that I might try to chat you up or—break down your icy ramparts.’

Liz knew—she could feel what was happening to her—and this time nothing in the world could have stopped her from blushing brightly. She took refuge from the embarrassment of it by contacting the Bromwich lunch venue.

The restaurant he took her to had an open area on a boardwalk above the beach. They found a table shaded by a canvas umbrella, ordered, and looked out over the sparkling waters of Sydney Harbour. They could see the Opera House and the Harbour Bridge.

And he was as good as his word. He didn’t try to chat her up or break her down, but somehow made it possible for them to be companionable as they ate their fish and chips.

He was so different, Liz thought, from how he could be at other times. Not only had he left the arrogant multi-millionaire of the office behind, but also the moody persona he’d been in the car. He even looked younger, and she found herself catching her breath once or twice—once when an errant breeze lifted his dark hair, and once when he played absently with the salt cellar in his long fingers.

‘Well…’ He consulted his watch finally. ‘Let’s get back to work.’

‘Thanks for that.’ She stood up.

He followed suit, and for one brief moment they looked into each other’s eyes—a searching, perfectly sober exchange—before they both looked away again, and started to walk to the car.

Liz knew she was to suffer the consequences of that pleasant lunch in the form of a yet another restless night.

Not so Scout, though. She was still bubbling with excitement at what she’d seen at the zoo, and she fell asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.

Liz dropped a kiss on her curls and tiptoed out. But when she went to bed she tossed and turned for ages as flashes of what had been an extraordinary day came back to haunt her.

Such as when that light breeze had ruffled his hair and it had affected her so curiously—given her goosebumps, to be precise. Such as when he’d played absently with the salt cellar and she’d suffered a mental flash of having his hands on her naked body.

I’ve got to deal with this, she told herself, going hot and cold again. I don’t think I can get out of this job without affecting my rating with the agency, and without having to take less money—which would play havoc with my budget. I’ve got to think of Scout and what’s best for her. A brief affair with a man who, if you go on his present track record, doesn’t appear to be able to commit? Not to Portia Pengelly, anyway, and that means he was using her—he more or less admitted that.

I’ve got to remember what it felt like to find out
I’d been used, and to be told an abortion was the only course of action in the circumstances…

She stared into the darkness, then closed her eyes on the tears that came.

She resumed her monologue when her tears subsided. So, Liz, even if you are no longer the Ice Queen you were, you’ve got to get through this. Don’t let another man bring you down.

She was helped by the fact that Cam Hillier was away for the next couple of days, but when he came back she still had two weeks left to work for him.

He seemed to be in a different mood, though. Less abrasive—with her, anyway—and there were no
double entendres,
no signs that they’d ever stood in a lift absolutely mesmerised by each other.

Had he made it up with Portia? she wondered. Did that account for his better mood? Or had he found a replacement for Portia?

Whatever it was, Liz relaxed a bit, and she did not take exception when they got caught in a traffic jam on the way to a meeting, and to kill the time he asked her about her earlier life.

It was a dull day and had rained overnight. There was an accident up ahead and the traffic was hopelessly gridlocked. There was a helicopter flying overhead.

‘It must be a serious accident,’ Liz murmured. ‘We could be late.’

He switched off the motor and shrugged. ‘Nothing we can do,’ he said, with uncharacteristic patience. ‘Tell me how you grew up?’

Liz pleated the skirt of the red dress she wore with a light black jacket, and thought, Why not?

‘Uh…let’s see,’ she said reflectively. ‘My father was a teacher and very academic, whilst my mother…’ She paused, because sometimes it was hard to sum up her mother. ‘She’s this intensely creative person—
so
good with her hands but not terribly practical.’

She smiled. ‘You wouldn’t have thought it could work between them, but it did. She could always liven him up, and he could always deflect her from her madder schemes. As a teacher, of course, he was really keen on education, and he coached me a lot. That’s how I came to go to a private school on a scholarship. I also went to uni on scholarships. He—’ She stopped.

‘Go on,’ Cam murmured after a few moments.

She cast him an oblique little glance, wondering at the same time why he was interested in this—why she was even humouring him…

‘I used to think I took more after him—we read together and studied things together—but lately some of Mum has started to shine through. She’s an inspired cook, and I’m interested in it now—although I’ll never be the seamstress she is.’

‘So how did you cope with getting your degree and being a single mum?’ he queried. ‘Simple arithmetic suggests Scout must have intervened somewhere along the line.’

Liz looked at his hands on the steering wheel and switched her gaze away immediately. Was this just plain curiosity, or…? But was there any reason not to give him the bare bones of it anyway?

‘It was hard work, but in some ways it kept me sane. It was a goal I could still achieve, I guess—although I had to work part-time.’ She paused and looked rueful. ‘At all sorts of crazy jobs at the same time.’

‘Such as?’

‘I was a receptionist in a tattoo parlour once.’ She looked nostalgic for a moment. ‘I actually got a bunch of flowers from a group of bikies I came to know there when Scout was born. Uh—I worked in a bottle shop, a supermarket. I did some nanny work, house cleaning.’

She stopped and gestured. ‘My father had died by then—he never knew Scout—but I was determined to get my degree because I knew how disappointed he would have been if I hadn’t.’

‘How did you get into this kind of work?’

Liz smiled. ‘I had a lucky break. One of my lecturers had contacts with the agency, and a good idea of the kind of replacement staff they supplied. She schooled me on most aspects of a diary secretary’s duties, my mother set me up with a suitable wardrobe, and
voilà
!—as they say.’

‘Helped along by being as bright as a tack.’ He said it almost to himself. ‘I gather you take time off between assignments?’

She nodded. ‘I always try for a couple of weeks—not only to give my mother a break, but to be able to spend more time with Scout myself.’

‘So she still makes your clothes? Your mother?’

‘Yes. She made that jacket.’ Liz explained how she’d come to have it with her on the day of the cocktail party. ‘She actually made it for the part-time weekend job I have as cashier at a very upmarket restaurant.’

‘Your father would be proud of you.’

‘I don’t know about that.’

‘And Scout’s father? Any more sightings?’

Liz shook her head but looked uneasy. ‘I’m wondering if he’s moved back to Sydney and that’s why he was at your great-aunt’s party.’

‘I can find out, if you like. But even if he has Sydney’s a big city.’ He flicked her an interrogative look.

‘No. No, thanks. I think I’ll just let sleeping dogs lie. Oh, look—they’re diverting the traffic. We could be just in time.’

He seemed about to say something, then he shrugged and switched on the motor.

As often happened when something came up out of the blue, things came in pairs, Liz discovered that same evening. She heard a radio interview with Scout’s father in which he talked mainly about the economy—he was an economist—but also about his move back to his hometown from Perth. And the fact that he had no children as yet, but he and his wife were still hoping for some.

She’d flicked the radio off and tried to concentrate on the fact that her only emotion towards Scout’s father was now distaste—tried to concentrate on it in order to disguise the cold little bubble of fear the rest of it had brought her.

The next morning her boss made an unusual request.

She was tidying away the clutter on his desk, prior to a meeting with his chief of Human Resources, when
he took a phone call that didn’t seem to be business-orientated.

‘Broke the window?’ he said down the line, with a surprised lift of his eyebrows. ‘I wouldn’t have thought he was strong enough to—Well, never mind. Tell him not to try it again until I’m there.’ He put down the phone and watched Liz abstractedly for a few minutes, and then with a frown of concentration.

Liz, becoming aware of this, looked down at her exemplary outfit—a summer suit. Matching jacket and A-line skirt. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with it—no buttons undone, no bra strap showing or anything like that. So she looked back at him with a query in her eyes.

He drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘Do you remember a song about a boomerang that wouldn’t come back?’

She blinked and thought for a moment, then shook her head. ‘No.’

‘I seem to,’ he said slowly. ‘See if you can find it, please.’

Liz opened her mouth, but she was forestalled by the arrival of his chief of Human Resources.

Later that day she was able to tell him she’d found the boomerang song, and was rather charmed by it. ‘It’s a golden oldie. Charlie Drake was the artist,’ she said. ‘Not only wouldn’t his boomerang come back, but he hit the Flying Doctor.’

‘Excellent,’ Cam Hillier said. But that was all he said, leaving Liz completely mystified.

Some days later he surprised her again.

She was a bit preoccupied, because just before she’d left for work and had been checking her purse she’d found she’d inadvertently picked up a note meant for her mother. It was from an old friend of her mother’s who ran a dancing school, and it concerned the school’s annual concert. Would Mary be interested in designing the costumes for the concert? It would mean about three months’ work, it said.