A Woman To Remember

‘I would have thought Andy and Mark had more than adequately fulfilled your grandmothering needs, Mum,’ he pointed out drily. ‘They have five very nice children between them—three boys and two girls—plus two perfect daughters-in-law for wives. You really don’t need me to add to the St Clair brood, or the St Clair wives. Two out of three ain’t bad, you know. Don’t become one of those meddling matchmaking mums, or I might be forced to stay in LA in future.’

Her hurt look made him feel instantly guilty, and he sighed his regret. ‘Just kidding, Mum. You know you’re my best girl. I could never stay away from you for too long.’

‘Flatterer,’ she said, but he could see that she was pleased.

His mother mollified, Luke sat back silently and tried to distract his wretched mind by focusing on the familiar but still beautiful surroundings. He stared out at the blue waters of Botany Bay on their right, then up at the clear blue sky. Nowhere in the world had he ever found skies such as in Australia. Their clearness and brightness was unique, but it made for harsh light—not the easiest background for good photography.

It took special skills and equipment to photograph Australian scenery really well—unless one captured the shots at dawn or dusk—skills which he had never honed, but which could present an interesting challenge, Luke decided unexpectedly.

His passion had always been photographing people, right from his boyhood days. He’d perfected portraiture, especially in black and white, and had made a small fortune out of it.

There’d been a time when he’d got a kick out of surprising people with his flattering photographs of them. Models and actresses with a portfolio by Luke St Clair had a definite edge in the cut-throat world of auditions in the US. He was sought-after and paid handsomely for his work. He could command huge fees.

But, quite frankly, it had all become somewhat of a bore.

Besides, he no longer needed to do things for money. An inspired investment in a small independent movie which had taken the world by storm a couple of years back had ensured he never had to work again if he didn’t want to. So perhaps it was time to spread his photographic wings, so to speak. To find a new direction to satisfy his creative eye.

Maybe his mother was right, he began to muse. Maybe it was time to come home—if not to marry then to find a new life-path. He could not go on as he had this past year. It was slowly destroying him.

‘I’ll let you out here,’ his mother suggested, pulling over to the kerb. ‘The dentist is just in that small arcade over there. There’s a narrow staircase which leads up to a corridor, and his surgery is the second door on the left upstairs. I’ll meet you in that coffee-shop on the corner. Whichever one of us gets there first can wait for the other.’

Butterflies gathered in the pit of his stomach as he mounted the stairs and pushed open the glass door. A very attractive brunette looked up from behind the reception desk, saw the cut of the man standing there and smiled a smile as old as time itself.

‘Yes, can I help you?’ she asked hopefully.

Luke did his best to ignore the silent invitation in her pretty blue eyes, despite his own gaze automatically shifting to her left hand. He was almost relieved to see a diamond engagement ring twinkling there, for in all truth he’d become horribly addicted to picking up pretty women during the last year or so, taking them out, then home to bed, then never contacting them again.

He wasn’t proud of his behaviour, but he understood it. He was punishing them for her.

He excused himself by saying that he only picked up the really eager ones—the ones who made it perfectly obvious what they wanted from him. Like she had. He always hoped to gain some darkly twisted satisfaction from being the one who did the seducing and the dumping. Instead he always felt like a rat in the morning, hating himself more and more with each episode.

The women involved didn’t know it, but they were better off without him. He’d become a right bastard—sexually speaking—since that night, his only concession to his conscience being that he steered clear of married and engaged women. He took some small comfort from that, soothing his escalating qualms with the thought that he hadn’t descended to being a complete scoundrel yet.

‘My name’s St Clair,’ he announced, deliberately leaving off the Luke. ‘I have an appointment for ten-thirty.’

‘Oh, yes, Mr St Clair. I’m afraid Dr Evans is running a little late. Maybe fifteen minutes or so. Would you like some tea or coffee while you wait?’

Tea or coffee on his churning stomach? A whisky, perhaps, but he didn’t think she’d offer him that. ‘No thanks,’ came his brusque reply. ‘I’ll just wait.’

‘There are plenty of magazines,’ she told him as he walked over to settle himself into one of the black leather two-seaters which lined the starkly white walls.

Luke did his best to relax, resting his right ankle on his left knee and spreading his arms along the back of the seat. But he soon found his fingers tapping impatiently on the leather. In the end he picked up one of the dog-eared women’s weeklies lying on the table next to him, smiling wryly when he saw that it was dated four years previously.

He began idly flicking through it, just to pass the time, and might have missed her picture altogether if his attention hadn’t been attracted by the headline above it: MODEL GIVES UP BLOSSOMING CAREER TO MARRY NOTED SCIENTIST.

It had been years since Luke had made his living doing fashion magazine layouts, but during that time many of his friends had been models—and some had been more than friends—so curiosity had him open the double page in his lap and look to see if this particular model was anyone he knew.

His eyes skimmed the kissing couple to see if he recognised them, but it was impossible with their faces obscured—though he noted that the bridegroom had greying hair. So he scanned the words beneath, looking for names.

No bells rang in his brain when he read that a twenty-two-year-old model named Rachel Manning had married noted geneticist Patrick Cleary at St Mary’s Cathedral, Sydney, that Saturday afternoon four years previously. It was only when his gaze dropped further, to another smaller photograph of the bride alone, that he recognised her.

Had he gone as white as a sheet?

Luke fancied that he had.

His knuckles certainly went white as his fingers tightened around the pages, his eyes wide upon the photograph of the smiling bride—the gloriously golden-haired and exquisitely beautiful bride.

How innocent she looked in her white bridal gown, he thought savagely. The picture of perfect purity. The very essence of untouched womanhood.

A rage began to grow inside him as his shock gave way to anger. She’d been married! The bitch had been married!

My God, it explained so much. So damned much!

There had been so many elements of that night which had stayed to haunt him. So many unanswered questions.

Now he had the answers.

Or did he?

Just because she’d been married four years ago it didn’t mean that she’d still been married eighteen months ago. There was such a thing as divorce, wasn’t there? Maybe she wasn’t an adulterous little tramp. Maybe there were other reasons why she’d acted the way she had that night—why she’d chosen to disappear while he was asleep, without leaving a trace of her true identity.

And maybe pigs might fly, came the blackly cynical thought.

‘Dr Evans is ready for you now, Mr St Clair.’

Luke schooled his face into what he hoped was a normal expression, snapped the magazine shut and placed it back on the pile in the corner.

Forget her, common sense whispered. She’s bad news.

He stood up and walked over to where the dental nurse was waiting for him in the now open doorway. Her petite prettiness didn’t even register. He no longer felt nervous either. She dominated his mind again, turning his thoughts from the present.

Luke distractedly settled in the dental chair and closed his eyes, his mind whirling with memories. But how could he forget her now? Now that she had a name.

Rachel.

He hadn’t known her name when she’d picked him up at the exhibition that night eighteen months ago. Hadn’t known it the next morning, when he’d woken to find her gone.

Rachel...

It didn’t suit her, he decided viciously.

Oh, it suited the bride in the photograph, but not the sultry feline creature who had undulated into his sight that night. Rachel sounded like a lady—but it had been no lady who’d boldly approached him within seconds of spotting him leaning against a pillar, who’d stolen his drink from his hands and taken a deep swallow, who’d smiled seductively at him over the rim before uttering the most astonishingly forthright proposal he’d ever heard from a woman.

And he’d heard a good few in his time.

The dentist was talking to him as he worked, but Luke didn’t hear a word. He was back at that exhibition, hearing her say those astonishing words again, reliving every moment of that unforgettable but ultimately soul-destroying night.

CHAPTER TWO