Her Best Worst Mistake (4 page)

“I wish you wouldn’t call him that. Just
because I’ve decided not to marry him doesn’t mean he’s a bad
person.”

“True. It’s not as though he goes around
literally
boring people to death. Although
he took a fairly good stab at stifling the life out of you.”

“Vi...”

“Sorry. I just think it should be a
punishable offense for someone as young as he is to carry on like a
crusty old bugger. How many thirty-two year olds do you know who
wear cardigans with leather elbow patches?”

“Just because he dresses conservatively
doesn’t mean he’s crusty, Vi. He’s just ... conservative,”
Elizabeth finished lamely.

“
Conservative
? I’m
sorry, E, but that is not the word for a man who refuses to have
sex in anything other than the missionary position. The word you’re
looking for is repressed.”

“You have no idea how much I regret ever
saying anything to you about that, Vi.”

Several months ago Elizabeth had confessed
she’d asked Martin to spice up their sex life a little after
reading a magazine article on being responsible for your own
sexuality. It had been a rare moment of complete frankness from her
friend, who was usually very private with all things pertaining to
the bedroom, and Violet had been appalled when she’d learned that
not only had Martin refused to discuss Elizabeth’s needs, he’d
succeeded in making Elizabeth feel small and dirty and wrong,
too.

“I’m not going to apologize for refusing to
let you sweep that sterling little moment under the rug,” Violet
said. “
Normal
people—note I’m stressing
the word normal, as opposed to
uptight
repressives
—talk to each other about sex and explore their
sexuality and have fun in bed. They don’t pat you on the head and
tell you they respect you too much to objectify you, or whatever
rubbish excuse he came out with after you’d finally got up the
gumption to talk to him. And I love that he tried to make it all
about you, by the way, and not about his hang ups.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this
again.”

Violet heard her friend’s words but she was
off and running, the words welling up from some long-suppressed
place inside her.

“For God’s sake, it wasn’t as though you
asked him to tie you up and go at you with a cheese grater or
something. You wanted to do it doggy style, big bloody deal. There
were no small animals involved, no leatherwear or hot wax.”

“I’ve called off the wedding, Vi. This is
definitely filed under The Past. You need to let it go.”

There was a sharp note to Elizabeth’s voice
and it acted like a bucket of cold water. Violet blinked, then
passed a hand over her face.

“You’re right. Sorry. He just really gets on
my wick,” she muttered, fully aware that she’d stepped over the
line, big time.

“Well, you’ll probably never have to see him
again, since he’s hardly going to want to know me once he’s gotten
over the fact that I’ve dumped him. That should make you feel
better.”

Violet frowned as Elizabeth’s words hit home.
Because E was right, of course—there was absolutely no reason for
Violet to ever have to spend time in Droopy Drawer’s company now
that he and Elizabeth were over. Violet would never again have to
watch his nostrils flare with distaste over something she’d said,
or endure one of his judgmental head to toe visual surveys. She
would never know if he secured the membership to the Savage Club
that he so fervently coveted, or if he made partner. She would
never again have to grind her teeth as he opted for the safe,
buttoned-down option in everything from his choice of drink to his
taste in reading material.

The bell over the door rang sharply as three
women entered the store, jerking her from her thoughts. She smiled
at them distractedly.

“E. Someone’s come into the shop and I have
to go. But you can do this, okay? Just get out of the car and go
introduce yourself. Whatever comes after that, you’ll handle
it.”

“Thanks, coach. And thanks for all the hand
holding and tissue passing and intel gathering over the past few
days,” Elizabeth said.

“Pshaw.”

She ended the call, but didn’t immediately
step out from behind the counter to serve her customers. She didn’t
understand where her rant against Martin had come from. For the
past few days she’d been feeling sorry for him, conscious of the
fact that no matter what was going on in Elizabeth’s life, he must
be feeling let down now that the wedding had been called off.

So where had all that pent-up frustration and
anger come from?

She had no idea.

She shook her head, sending her long earrings
swinging. The workings of her subconscious were a mystery to her at
the best of times—and perhaps it was preferable to leave them that
way. Some things were better left unacknowledged.

Business was steady for the rest of the day
and she managed to push Elizabeth and Martin’s messy break up from
her mind. Which was just as well. She didn’t want to become one of
those tragic people who lived off the drama of other people’s
lives. While it was true that it had been a while since she’d had a
relationship herself, she wasn’t that sad yet. She hoped.

It was pitch black outside by the time she
cashed out the till at six. She secured the takings in the floor
safe, then flicked off all but one security light and made her way
past clothing racks and hat stands and jewelry displays to the
front door. One day, when the money tree she had yet to plant in
her window box bore fruit, she would knock a hole in the wall and
install an internal doorway through to the stairway to her
apartment. Originally intended to offer autonomy to both the retail
tenant and the upstairs resident, the separate entrance was a right
royal pain in the behind when it was freezing like it was
tonight.

She slipped into the bitter cold and pulled the door
shut behind her, trying to race through the necessary steps so she
could retreat to the warmth and comfort of her apartment.

The man seemed to loom at her out of nowhere, tall
and broad and angry. She squeaked with terror and jumped backwards,
slamming the back of her head against the door.

“
Where is she? Where are you hiding
her?”

She pressed her hands to her chest and glared at her
assailant.

“
Blooming hell, Martin, you almost
made me wet myself. Ever heard of the telephone?”

“
And have you hang up on me? I’m not
stupid, Violet. Tell me where she is.”

She rubbed the back of her head. “If E didn’t tell
you where she’s gone, it’s not my place.”

He moved closer. Despite the fact that she didn’t
believe Martin St Clair would hurt a fly, she felt a twinge of
alarm. She’d never seen him so angry. Or so disheveled, now that
she really looked at him. His hair was ruffled and his face bristly
with five o’clock shadow. He looked positively rakish compared to
his usual anal, meticulous appearance.

“
What’s wrong? Didn’t you get a
chance to iron your underwear this morning?” she asked.

He flicked a gaze down her figure-hugging outfit. She
was wearing a push-up bra beneath a plunging vintage sequined top.
Her black skirt was short - okay, very short - and her stockings
lacy. Her knee boots boasted high, spiky heels. Her bedroom mirror
told her she looked foxy, but Martin’s condemning glance begged to
differ.

“
You’ll excuse me if I’m not
prepared to take fashion advice from someone who dresses from the
Playboy catalogue.”

He sounded so snooty she had to laugh, even though a
small part of her smarted at his open contempt. It seemed the
gloves were well and truly off now that Elizabeth wasn’t standing
between them.

She flicked her hair over her ear, displaying her
multiple piercings. She knew he particularly hated them because
Elizabeth had told her so once.

“
Shouldn’t you be sweet talking me?
Isn’t that what people normally do when they want
something?”

Martin’s breath steamed in the air between them. She
watched as he made a visible effort to rein in his temper.

“
My apologies. My only excuse is
that I haven’t been sleeping well. I want only what’s best for
Elizabeth. Please tell me where she is.”

Every word was torn from him like teeth at the
dentist’s.

“
E is the best judge of what’s best
for her,” Violet said. “You and the Whittakers are always trying to
decide things for her, push her into whatever shape you want her to
be. Let her do her own thing for a change. If you two are meant to
be, she’ll come back.”

She was shivering with cold and she turned to open
the door to her apartment. She assumed Martin’s silence meant she’d
finally gotten through to him but when she tried to slip into the
relative warmth of the stairwell he blocked the door with his
arm.

“
Please, Violet. If you want me to
beg, I will.”

He held her eyes, not even trying to hide his hurt
and pain.

Until this moment she had been convinced that he
merely saw Elizabeth as a trophy, yet another accomplishment he’d
acquired on his climb up the social ranks. But the look in his
eyes...

“
You really love her, don’t you?”
she asked quietly.

“
Of course I do.” He said it as
though it was the most natural and obvious thing in the
world.

For a moment - a hundredth of a second - Violet felt
a squeeze of envy in her heart. Would that she had ever inspired so
much heart-felt devotion in a man. Her past boyfriends had all been
out for what they could get, be it sex, free room and board or
endless emotional support. She’d never had anyone - ever - state
their love so unequivocally.

“
She’s gone to find her father. Her
real father,” she said.

He didn’t say anything, just continued to look at her
in mute appeal.

Bloody hell.

“
Okay, all right. She didn’t
expressly tell me not to tell you. Which doesn’t mean she won’t
tear strips off me when she finds out I’ve squealed, but still.
She’s staying at some old pub called the Isle of Wight on Philip
Island, in Australia. She flew out yesterday and I spoke to her
this morning.”

“
Australia?” Martin looked
dazed.

“
That’s right. Now, if you don’t
mind, I’ve got several Playboy catalogues I need to get through
before taking to the streets for the night.”

Martin nodded his head once in brief thanks, then he
was gone. She slipped inside the door and locked it behind her.

Her stomach flipped with nervousness. Elizabeth was
not going to be happy that Violet had blabbed her whereabouts to
her ex-fiancé. And she dreaded to think what Martin would do now -
call Elizabeth and demand she come home and take up her place as
the mother of his future children?

Another thought hit her.

Surely he wouldn’t race to the other side of the
world for Elizabeth?

Inexplicable tears filled her eyes as she thought
about him doing just that. The big idiot.

He really loved Elizabeth. Truly, deeply, maybe even
a bit madly.

And the really sad thing was that she knew her friend
didn’t feel anything close to the same for him.

Blinking away her foolish tears, she let herself into
her apartment. No doubt Martin St Clair would choose to eat glass
rather than know she felt sorry for him, but he couldn’t stop her
from doing so from afar. He might be old before his time and too
stitched up for his own good, but he was a decent man at heart -
sincere, generous, loving, considerate. He didn’t deserve to be
hurt like this.

Her lips twisted into a cynical little smile.

Who of us gets what we deserve in life?

Precious few, as she knew from her own experience.
Heavy of heart and mind, she threw her keys on the hall table and
tried to work out how and when to tell Elizabeth that she should be
on the look-out for an unexpected visitor.

Chapter Three

Martin drove straight home, his pride and everything
else burning after his encounter with Violet. The pity in her eyes.
The sympathy...

She was the last person he wanted feeling sorry for
him. The very last.

And yet it was all he could do to stop himself from
turning the car around to plead with her to tell him what Elizabeth
had said to her over the last five days.

That she’d confided in Violet he had no doubt, just
as he knew that right now Violet had a far better notion of where
he stood with his fiancee - ex-fiancee - than he did. The knowledge
sat like a rock in his belly, as unpalatable as Violet’s pity.

It wouldn’t be the first time Elizabeth had confided
deeply personal matters to do with their relationship to her
friend. It galled him just as much now as it had then. He had
committed to sharing his life with Elizabeth. To having children
and growing old with her. He hated the thought that there were
things she didn’t feel she could discuss with him.

It’s not as though you tell her everything. What’s
good for the goose...

He pushed the errant thought away. This wasn’t about
him. This was about Elizabeth. About what she wanted - which,
apparently, Violet was privy to and he was not.

All his life he’d possessed the ability to
compartmentalize his feelings and thoughts, a survival skill that
had served him well in the Government-owned housing estate where
he’d grown up. As he pulled into the parking spot behind his
apartment, he shook off his doubts and anger and injured pride. His
immediate goal was to find Elizabeth. Everything else could
wait.

Once he was inside and in front of his computer, it
took him five minutes to book the next flight to Melbourne,
Australia. He made a quick call to Elizabeth’s grandfather, Edward
Whittaker, to let him know that he was going after Elizabeth,
listening with increasing impatience to the other man’s advice that
he be patient but uncompromising in his dealings with her.
Elizabeth’s grandfather loved her dearly but there was no getting
away from the fact that his attitude toward her was over-protective
and more than a little Victorian.