RIC walked into the Radisson Hotel at twelve-fifteen. The entrance to the Osiris Restaurant was at one end of the lounge area in the foyer. He sat in an armchair which gave him a direct view of anyone arriving.
Taxis came and went on the street outside, unloading and picking up passengers. None of them was Lara. He tensed each time a chauffeured car pulled up, only to be disappointed when a stranger emerged from it. Time ticked on…past twelve-thirty, past twelve-thirty-five, past twelve-forty…
He wasn't paged to come to a telephone. No message explaining why she was late. After four months, any normal courtesy would demand punctuality for this meeting, or at least a call informing him of a delay.
Everyone had mobile telephones these days. There was no excuse for leaving him hanging.
Was it deliberate?
A message in itself—You're not important to me?
An even more demeaning thought occurred to Ric. He strode into the restaurant to check if a booking had been made. If not, he'd been kissed goodbye in one of the most contemptible ways imaginable. He'd pushed for some civility from Lara and she hadn't even granted him that.
'A table booked for Chappel?' Ric demanded of the maître d'.
'Mr. Donato?' the man inquired, as though he had a message to deliver.
Ric seethed at the thought that Lara had arranged to pay for his lunch while not appearing herself. 'Yes,' he snapped.
'This way, sir.'
He led off, leaving Ric little choice but to follow him. They were moving toward the far end of the restaurant. Ric quickly scanned the spaciously arranged tables ahead of them, not recognizing any of the diners. His jaw clenched as he spotted an empty table tucked behind a buttress beside one of the picture windows. He was not going to stay here and eat alone.
But the table wasn't unoccupied.
Lara sat in the chair that was hidden from general view by the buttress, her gaze turned to the view of the city beyond the window. Ric barely had time to absorb the shock of seeing her before the maître d' announced his arrival, swinging her attention straight to him.
He'd seen many photographs of Lara since her return to Sydney but none of them had prepared him for seeing her in the flesh—the breathtaking beauty of her undamaged face. Her eyes were a stunning blue. Her skin glowed. Her gleaming fair hair was softly looped up, gathered into a sophisticated top-knot, somehow accentuating the delicate perfection of her features and the graceful length of her neck.
'Ric…' She smiled at him, rose to her feet, offered her hand.
No moving out to give him a kiss of greeting, just a polite smile, more nervous than projecting warmth, and a hand which he took as he nodded and forced himself to return her name.
'Lara…'
He couldn't bring himself to smile. He'd never felt less like smiling in his life. She wore black. The grieving widow? It was a black trouser-suit, undoubtedly designer wear, the jacket fitting snugly around her breasts then flaring out into a feminine A-line, skimming her waist and floating around her hips.
He released her hand after a light squeeze and she promptly resumed her seat. The maître d' held out the chair opposite hers and Ric sat, too, his gaze falling on the pearls Lara wore around her neck, three strands of perfectly graduated pearls. Probably worth a fortune. Booty from Chappel's wealth.
Well, what did he expect? Ric savagely mocked himself. She wouldn't come to this classy restaurant in jeans and cotton shirt. He matched her appearance, anyway, even down to Gucci shoes. He just didn't like her wearing what Chappel money had obviously bought for her, keeping up the image of her high status marriage when both of them knew what that image had hidden.
'I was waiting for you in the hotel foyer,' he stated, looking her straight in the eye again, still resenting the long futile watching for her to show up.
'I'm sorry. I did say the restaurant, Ric. I arrived early and came straight
in.'
'Very early,' he couldn't stop himself from commenting. She had to
have been seated here for over three quarters of an hour by now.
She flushed and tried to shrug it off. 'I didn't want to be late. With traffic the way it is…'
'My mistake,' he quickly granted and tried to relax as a waiter spread the starched white linen table napkin over his lap and handed him menus for food and wine. 'Have you already seen these?' he asked Lara.
She nodded. He quickly made a selection, not caring what he ate or drank, just wanting the waiter to go away and leave them alone. Lara added her order and the business of the meal was done. He sat back and set his mind to taking stock of the situation. She'd come even earlier than he had. What did that mean? Anxious not to miss a minute with him or getting herself settled before having to confront him?
She looked calm, composed, still a touch of warm colour in her cheeks but her eyes were regarding him steadily, taking in every detail of his appearance as though matching it to her memory of him—a one day/one night memory that she'd made no attempt to revisit until he had taken this initiative. So what was she thinking now?
'You look well, Lara,' he said, which was no more than the truth. 'I've been looking after myself,' she returned, instantly striking an
independent stance. She didn't need him to do that for her anymore. 'Good!' he said approvingly, then bluntly asked. 'You don't mind living in the Vaucluse mansion? No bad memories crowding in?'
Again she flushed, her gaze dropping to the cutlery on the table. She moved it aside in an agitated manner, then pulled a glass of water toward her. 'It's a big house,' she said jerkily. 'And all Gary's stuff has been taken away. I only live in part of it.'
Her gaze lifted in a flash of determination. 'It will go on the market soon. An estate agent is already preparing for it to be auctioned. Until it's sold it needs to be maintained.'
'Of course,' he murmured, though he knew money could easily achieve that. The place didn't have to be lived in. His apartments were all regularly serviced while he was away.
She sipped the glass of water. 'Same housekeeper?' he asked.
'Yes.' She looked defiantly at him. 'I managed to hire Mrs. Keith again.
She left the day after I did. I'd told Mitch Tyler she was one of the people who might testify against Gary and that did prove true. She's a good person and needs the employment.'