'Indeed?' Luke's eyebrow rose sardonically, then he took Sally's arm. 'Excuse us, Mannering.'
'I imagine you could do with a drink?' Luke said coolly as they neared their table.
'A large one,' Sally agreed shakily as she followed him through the mingling crowd of diners. To be confronted first by Chantrelle, and then Philip, had been an unnerving experience. That Philip, of all people, should have revealed such nastiness was beyond her.
As much as she tried, Sally found it difficult to join, in the lighthearted chatter exchanged by the occupants at their table for the remainder of the evening. She danced with each of the three men, and more than once with Luke, but she couldn't help feeling relieved when they made a move to leave.
It was shortly after one o'clock when the car drew to a halt in the garage, and she followed Luke into the house in silence. There wasn't a thing she could think of to say, any pleasantries with regard to enjoying the evening would verge on the banal.
'How well do you know Mannering?'
Sally started with surprise and almost missed her footing on the stairs. 'I didn't realise you knew Philip.'
'I am acquainted with his father,' Luke informed her dryly. 'And you did not answer my question.'
'I dated him for almost two years,' she revealed with a sigh of resignation.
'He seemed to think he had some prior claim.'
'Oh, for heaven's sake!' she cried in sudden anguish. 'What is this—some sort of inquisition? What do you want from me?' She rounded on him, her eyes brilliant with anger. 'He wanted to marry me. Is that enough?'
His eyes held a brooding indolence that was disquieting. 'I take it you did not want to marry him?'
'No!' Sally blazed. 'Damn your arrogance! What would you do if I demanded to know of your innumerable affairs? Carmela appears to be one of them! And Chantrelle made it quite plain she expects you to seek her favours when you become bored with me.' She turned away and began walking quickly down the hall towards their room. 'I'm "too much of a child to handle you"!' she flung over her shoulder as she opened the bedroom door, then in a fit of pique, she slammed it shut with a resounding clunk.
Without stopping, she crossed to the bed and flung off her shawl, feeling sick and disillusioned. She gave an inelegant sniff and tried to blink back the self- pitying tears that threatened to spill over and run down her cheeks.
'You seem to have taken particular exception to Chantrelle's remarks,' Luke declared ruminatively, coming into the room and closing the door behind him.
'How do you expect me to feel?' she uttered with hurt indignation. 'First Chantrelle, then Philip. And
as if that isn't enough, you—you—— Oh! I hate men
who fight over a woman,' she choked, 'like—like a pair of roosters fighting over a prized hen!'
His soft chuckle was her undoing, and she spun round to rail furiously.
'What kind of person are you?'
'A mere man, piccina,' he mocked lightly. 'What other label would you hang around my neck?'
'That of an inveterate rake!'
'With scores of women at my beck and call?'
'You're no monk,' Sally snapped, sorely tried, and caught his twisted smile.
'Would you prefer it if I were?'
'I couldn't imagine you ever taking vows of celibacy,' she observed with marked sarcasm.
'That observation conjures up a long line of women, when there really have not been all that many.'
'I find that difficult to believe.'
Suddenly he was standing direcdy in front of her and there was little she could do about the erratic thudding of her heart. 'You bear my name, Sally,' he remonstrated gently as his hands curved over her shoulders.
'You say it as if it's a medal I should wear with honour.'
'Poor nina.' He pulled her towards him, and she struggled to escape his hold. .
'Please,' she protested. 'I want to go to bed.'
'So you shall,' he accorded wickedly, and a blush stole over her cheeks.
'Luke—please, don't——'
'Do not—what, cara,' he teased as his lips trailed her brow, then travelled with studied slowness down to seek the throbbing pulse at the base of her throat.
'Stop it,' she begged, a husky note entering her voice. In another minute she wouldn't be able to prevent her arms from sliding up around his neck.
'You feel it, too—this strange magical chemistry. Like the pull of a magnet drawing us together. Yet you ask me to stop?' he mocked, and his lips traced a fiery path up to the edge of her mouth to linger disturbingly until she ached for more, than that light tantalising touch.
A tiny moan escaped her throat as she gave up trying to remain passive in his arms. Without conscious thought her mouth moved fractionally so her lips met his, and she was uncaring of the fervour with which she returned his kisses.
The following days passed without mishap, and scarcely an argument. Not that there was much opportunity to argue, Sally determined with a certain wryness, for Luke left early each morning for the city and returned in the evening. After a leisurely dinner he inevitably retired to the study, and she was left to view television or read.
On reflection, the days were enjoyably spent. Midweek saw most of the Christmas shopping completed, and she took pleasure in wrapping all the presents, especially those for Luke's two nephews and tiny niece. Added to which, she had shopping of her own, presents for her father, and for Luke. There were endless cards to write, so that the hours were never enough before she needed to begin preparations for the evening meal. Carlo had gracefully acceded to her suggestion that she prepare dinner each evening, for they had struck up an easy friendship, exchanging recipes and discussing food as if they'd known each other for years instead of mere weeks.
Thursday's evening meal was especially planned— not for any particular reason other than that Sally felt inclined to exercise her culinary talent to its fullest extent. Pasta, homemade that morning for the spaghetti alla bolognese, to be followed by polio sorpresa, with a raspberry bombe for dessert. The preparations took most of the afternoon, and she was well pleased with the way things were progressing when Carlo entered the kitchen.
'Luke has just telephoned,' he began regretfully, 'and he wishes me to explain that something has come up which requires his personal attention, and therefore he will not be home for dinner. He sends his apologies.'
Sally couldn't explain the inexplicable disappointment she felt. She'd been looking forward to their shared evening meal, hopeful that it would follow the pattern of the previous three evenings when Luke had expressed pleasure with the food and exchanged light conversation.
'I guess we'll have a feast all to ourselves,' she managed with a smile, only to see him shake his head.
'You have forgotten, of course, but I have tonight off. It is the reunion I mentioned, if you remember? However, if you wish, I will stay.'
'I wouldn't hear of it,' Sally refused at once. 'I'll simply finish cooking, then when it's cooled I'll put it in the refrigerator. We'll reheat it tomorrow evening.'
Carlo frowned, his pleasant features creasing in contemplation. 'Are you not dining out?'
How could she forget? Tomorrow evening was her father's dinner party, and she was preparing the food. 'Never mind,' she shrugged lighdy. 'I'll freeze it all, and no harm done.'
Carlo departed shortly after five, and at five-thirty the telephone rang. Sally answered it, hoping Luke had had a change in plan, only to discover that it was Carmela Ortega on the line. She had, she explained, missed Luke at the office, and was anxious to contact him. Sally politely informed her that Luke would not be home until late, but a message could be left. Carmela refused, explaining with immense pleasure, Sally felt sure, that it could wait until they met later that evening.
Sally replaced the receiver with controlled fury. So much for Luke's explanation—something personal requiring his attention, indeed!
Without further thought Sally dialled her father's apartment.
>
'Daddy, you're home,' she greeted without preamble, giving him no time to speak as soon as he answered. 'I have the most delicious dinner all ready to serve and no one to share it with. Set the table, and before you know it, I'll be there.' She replaced the receiver, then set about transferring the contents of saucepans into containers that could easily be carried to the car.
Fifteen minutes later she set the carton down on to the table in her father's dining-room, and began unloading its contents.
'To what do I owe this honour?' Joe Ballinger teased gendy. 'It isn't my birthday, and Christmas isn't until next week.'
Sally cast him a wry smile. 'Don't ask me why—just sit down and enjoy it.'
'Let me guess. Luke rang at the last moment and said he wouldn't be home for dinner?'
'Right first time,' she answered lighdy. 'So here I am. I even brought the wine.' She held a bottle aloft, then placed it on the table. 'Open it, Daddy. It's a particularly good claret, and will go rather well with the spaghetti.'
'Had your first quarrel, my dear?' Joe probed quiedy, shooting her a particularly searching glance, and Sally managed a convincing smile as she shook her head.
'Heavens, no.' If he knew how many arguments they had——! 'You know my penchant for cooking,' she relayed with a negligent shrug. 'It's Carlo's evening off, and here I was with all this beautiful food and no one to share it with. I immediately thought of you,' she finished quizzically, and Joe laughed.
'I'm convinced, Sally. Let's eat.'
The time simply flew as they talked, and it was almost ten by the time the dishes were done and she was ready to leave. True, she did experience a faint feeling of unease that she'd left no note for Luke as to her whereabouts, but the feeling was shortlived as she garaged the car.
The Alfa-Romeo was not in its customary place, and she entered the house feeling vaguely resentful that he was not yet home.
After returning the saucepans and various containers to their rightful place in the kitchen, Sally filled the kettle with the intention of making some coffee, then When it was made she took it through to the salotto and switched on the television.
'Dutifully waiting for my return, mia sposa?' Sally swung her head in the direction of Luke's mocking drawl, and restrained the impulse to burst into angry accusatory speech. 'Good heavens, no,' she managed with contrived indifference, and saw him smile. 'A good programme?'
'Very.'
'You have been watching it for some time?' Something in his tone warned her not to prevaricate. He had no way of knowing she hadn't been home all evening—unless he'd telephoned. She pushed back a stray lock of hair, and met his gaze unwaveringly. 'About twenty minutes. Did you enjoy your dinner?' She tried to make the query sound casual, but obviously didn't succeed, for he quirked an eyebrow and countered smoothly,
'Do I detect a note of censure, piccina?' Sally glanced back towards the television. 'You're imagining things. I couldn't care less where you spend your evenings, or with whom,' she ended coolly, and didn't hear his soft footfalls on the carpet as he crossed the room.
'My "evening" was solely business,' Luke drawled with imperturbable calm from somewhere close behind her, and she gave an undisguised sigh of exasperation.
'Of course! Carmela hinted otherwise when she rang after failing to catch you at the office. However— she paused, adding with deliberate sarcasm,
'She declined to leave a message as she would be able to deliver it personally when she met you for dinner.'
'I could almost imagine you to be jealous. Are you, piccina?'
'No!' she denied emphatically. 'Although next time you decide not to come home for dinner, let me know in advance so that I'll be spared unnecessary time preparing a meal.'
'What gastronomical delight did I forsake?1
Oh, his sardonic amusement was infuriating! 'Nothing special, I assure you!' She stood to her feet in one fluid movement. 'I'm going to bed.'
Luke stepped sideways and effectively blocked her path. 'Not so fast,' he berated softly. 'Carmela, for all that she is a woman, is a highly qualified accountant. We work together on occasion, and when we cannot meet dining conventional business hours, we usually elect to share a dinner table.' He leant out a hand to touch her hair, and Sally jerked away. 'You have no reason to be jealous.'
'I am not jealous! You can have dinner with a hundred different women on a hundred different nights, for all I care. I'd rather not be confronted with them, that's all,' she declared unevenly, and he broke into throaty laughter, querying wickedly,
'I am to be discreet, is that it?' He caught the hand she swung up towards his face. 'Oh no, my little fury,' he murmured softly, pulling her effortlessly forward. 'Now tell me why you were not here when I rang—twice, during the course of the evening?'
Sally tried to pull away without success. She wanted to beat her fists against his broad chest-in sheer frustrated rage. 'It seemed a shame to let the food I'd cooked go to waste, so I rang Daddy and took everything there. Why? Did you think I had an assignation with another man?'
Luke's eyes narrowed fractionally. 'You possess a careless tongue,' he commented dryly. 'Be warned
that if I so much as suspected——' His voice trailed
off silkily, and Sally felt a shiver slide down her spine. For a long moment he looked down at her, then he released her hands. 'Go to bed, Sally. I will be up later.'
Sally escaped, taking the stairs two at a time in places, employing such haste that the devil himself could have been at her heels, and when she reached their room she peeled off her clothes and slipped beneath the shower.
Sleep wasn't an easy captive, and she lay awake for what seemed an age before she began to feel pleasantly drowsy. It was almost an anti-climax when Luke entered the room, and she lay still, tensing for the moment when he would join her. When his even breathing indicated that he had fallen asleep, she told herself she was glad—yes, glad, that he hadn't reached out to claim her, but her traitorous body had a will of its own, and she lay awake for a long time before tiredness finally claimed her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHEN Sally woke next morning it was late, and Luke had already left for the city. Not that she would have wished to face him, for she wasn't sure she was capable of uttering a civil word.
As the day progressed, she became entirely caught up with preparations for her father's dinner party. Firstly, there was the shopping, which look most of the morning, then she had a hurried lunch and drove to her father's Rose Bay apartment
It was almost like old times being in the familiar kitchen, and alone, she could almost forget she was Sally Andretti, and imagine that her marriage, and even Luke himself, were part of a fantasy.
The menu she had chosen was elaborate, and the preparations took unlimited time, so that it was almost four o'clock before she realised Luke was unaware of her whereabouts. A cold hand momentarily clutched at her stomach as she envisaged his reaction. He had been adamant a week ago that she was to have nothing to do with the preparations, and the subject hadn't arisen since then. Quite what he would do when he discovered she had defied him didn't bear thinking about.
Her brain whirled. She'd ring home, and leave a message with Carlo. Yes, that was by far the better idea. To contemplate telephoning Luke at his office was definitely inadvisable, and she didn't even consider it.
At five-thirty the shrimp cocktail was arranged in individual glass dishes, the fillet of beef en cochonailles was browning in the oven, the bearnaise sauce, prepared and ready, and the lemon meringue pie for dessert was cooling on the bench.
She had time for a quick shower, then she'd change into the clothes she'd brought to wear this evening. Quickly she effected her toilette, then donned the flounced skirt in jersey-silk with pale beige flowers printed against a charcoal background. With it she wore a blouse of matching beige, and pinned on a charcoal-coloured artificial rose. Slender-heeled black strappy shoes completed the outfit, and she was well pleased with the effect. Make-up was kept to a
minimum and there was little time to do anything much with her hair. After several hard strokes of the brush she left it loose to fall around her shoulders.
Sally emerged into the lounge just as the front door opened admitting her father, and she crossed to greet him, a smile lighting her features into something quite beautiful.
'My dear, you look ravishing,' Joe complimented sincerely as he gave her an affectionate hug. 'Marriage certainly agrees with you.' He shrugged off his jacket, then sniffed appreciatively. 'Ah—that aroma. Now, let
me guess——' he paused, then ventured tentatively,
'Beef—with bearnaise sauce. Am I right?'
She chuckled and put her head to one side. 'One day I'll confound you with something quite undetectable. Shall I fix you a drink?'
'I'll get you one,' Joe insisted, and she smiled.
'Well, I still have the coffee tray to prepare. Bring your drink and mine into the kitchen so we can talk.'
'What time do you expert Luke to arrive?' Sally considered the question thoughtfully, then managed to convey an answer that was evasive. 'He rarely arrives home before six. He'll want to shower and shave. Around seven, I'd say.'
Joe Ballinger smiled his approval. 'The others are coming just after seven. I thought we'd eat at seven- thirty.'
'Whenever you say,' she returned easily, moving in the direction of the kitchen, and after a few minutes he entered with a glass of sherry held in each hand.
'You didn't tell me who the guests are to be,' she queried, and saw him shake his head.
'My dear—how remiss of me! The Nordesteins, of course. The Bakersfields, Chantrelle and some young man. Andrea swore her daughter would be devastated not to be included,' he twinkled amusingly. 'Then there are the Engels, and—let me see, yes, the Burts. That's it.'
Chantrelle—she would have to come, wouldn't she? Sally fretted silently. She wouldn't bring Philip, surely? Sally dismissed that idea almost as soon as it came to mind as being quite improbable.
At precisely seven o'clock the doorbell chimed, and Joe went to answer it, ushering in the Nordesteins, who were quickly followed by the Burts, then the Engels. Charles and Andrea Bakersfield brought up the rear, and soon the lounge was nicely crowded. There was only Chantrelle and her partner to arrive —and Luke.
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