Rendezvous With Revenge

‘Yes, boss.’

‘Don’t be cheeky.’

She’d be more than cheeky if she went swimming wearing the bikini Dillon had picked out for her five years ago. Abby had gone up a size since then, especially in her bust. It must have been all that lovely fatty prison food. Or the free doughnuts and cappuccinos she’d been stuffing herself with every weekend at the café, so that she didn’t have to spend so much money on food.

She would literally have to starve herself between now and Friday if she wanted her old clothes to fit her properly, but at least she’d already made a good start. She hadn’t eaten a darned thing all day!

‘Abigail?’

‘Yes?’

‘Oh, nothing. Is there anything else you want to ask?’

‘Do you have my address to send the money to tomorrow?’

His sigh sounded irritable. ‘I’m glad you’ve still got your priorities right. Yes, I have your address. You’ll have the money, in cash, by three at the latest. Is that satisfactory?’

‘Quite.’

‘And I’ll expect my money’s worth in return.’

‘You’ll get what you paid for. And nothing more.’

‘I’m glad to hear that, Abigail,’ he drawled. ‘Because that’s exactly what I am paying for. Nothing more. No complications and no consequences. See you Friday. And don’t be late!’ he snapped, then hung up.

Abby glared down into the dead receiver, her heart thudding angrily. At least, she hoped that it was with anger. Friday seemed a long way off, but it would come round all too quickly, she feared.

It did, dawning cool and sunny, a beautiful autumn day. The week, which usually dragged when she spent it searching fruitlessly for a full-time job, had simply flown. Any spare minute had been taken up with alterations to her clothes. Hems had been taken up or down, and seams let out where possible.

‘Tell me again the name of the place you’re off to, dear?’ Miss Blanchford asked as she watched Abby packing the freshly washed and pressed garments.

‘Bungarla,’ she replied, smiling as the old lady manoeuvred the chair closer with a small movement of the joy-stick-style steering. In just two short days she’d become a real expert, whizzing up and down the hallway and rarely bumping into anyone any more. Seeing her so happy made the sacrifice of the coming weekend worthwhile. ‘It’s a private hotel just outside of Bowral.’

‘And what exactly is it you have to do there?’

Abby swallowed. ‘Just secretarial work. Dr Grant wants me to take notes on all the lectures he’ll be attending.’ No way could she tell the old darling the truth. She would simply die, then demand that Abby give Ethan back the money and not go. Which would be a little difficult when it was already in the wheelchair company’s bank account.

‘And you need all these lovely clothes just for that?’ came her frowning enquiry.

Abby tried not to look guilty. She laughed, and hoped that it didn’t sound too false. ‘No, of course not. There will be some socialising in the evenings. You wouldn’t want me to look dowdy in front of all those high-flying doctors and their wives, would you?’

‘You could never look dowdy, Abby.’ Sharp grey eyes latched on to the heightened colour gathering in Abby’s cheeks. ‘This is all on the up and up, dear, isn’t it? I mean... this boss of yours... he’s not the type to expect you to be anything more than his secretary, is he?’

‘Good heavens, no! Dr Grant’s not like that at all.’

‘I thought you told me he was very handsome. And quite young.’

‘Well, yes, he is.’

‘In that case he’s like that, believe me, dear. I’ve been around long enough to know that all handsome young men are like that. Unless he’s queer, of course. He’s not queer, is he?’

‘No,’ Abby choked out. ‘No, I’m sure he’s not. But there’s no need for you to worry. He doesn’t fancy me at all. Certainly not in that way.’ Which was just as well, given her unbidden excitement over the coming weekend.

‘What makes you say that? Why wouldn’t he fancy you? You’re a very fanciable girl. And you’re going to look stunning in that dress you have there.’

Abby stared down at the coffee-coloured lace gown that she was carefully folding into the case. ‘I might not wear this one. It’s a little tight.’

Actually, most of the clothes she’d collected from home last Monday had been a little tight to begin with. She’d been largely able to correct this problem by letting out seams, but that had been impossible with the lace dress—all the seams being overlocked, with not a centimetre left to spare. She was only bringing the dress because she thought she might fit into it by the last evening—if she swam up and down the pool Ethan had mentioned for a hundred or so laps every day. The colour did look well on her, and it was a dress she’d always felt good in.

Good?

Her conscience pricked and Abby had to admit that that particular dress had never exactly made her feel good. Sexy was closer to the mark. On the one occasion she’d worn it for Dillon he hadn’t been able to wait to tear it off her at the end of the night.

She wondered what Ethan would say if and when he saw her in that particular dress, with her hair done up, full make-up on and her diamond and pearl choker around her throat. Seducing her might not be part of his original plan, but it might just come into his mind...if she put it there.

‘Abby...’

Abby started, then glanced up from her suitcase, aware that her pulse was racing uncomfortably. What wicked thoughts that man put into her mind! ‘Yes?’ she said a little shakily.

‘You’re not in love with Dr Grant, are you?’ Miss Blanchford asked worriedly.

‘Lord, no!’ Maybe a little in lust, she conceded with considerable understatement. But not in love. No way. The very idea was appalling!

‘Telephone for you, Abby!’ someone called along the hallway. ‘Hop to it. Chap says he’s only got a minute.’

Abby couldn’t think who it could possibly be. No one ever rang her here. She didn’t think she’d ever given the number to anyone. Her only friends since getting out of prison were Miss Blanchford and the other boarders.

She was hurrying along to where the ‘in only’ telephone sat on a solid table near the front door when she realised that she’d given Sylvia this number, which meant that Ethan would know it as well.

Her stomach tightened as she picked up the receiver, and her hello was taut.

‘Ethan here, Abigail. I’m in between operations, so can’t spare long.’

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ Her heart was already sinking at the thought that he was calling the whole thing off. Abby found her dismay highly disturbing, because it wasn’t the money she was worrying about all of a sudden but the thought that she would not, after all, get the opportunity to display herself for Ethan in that damned dress!

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he returned crisply. ‘But I was concerned over how you were going to get into town carrying luggage. I know you usually take the train and walk the couple of blocks from Martin Place when coming to work.’

‘How on earth do you know that?’ she asked, taken back.

His laugh was droll. ‘You’ve no idea the amount of useless information Sylvia relays to me about her precious Miss Richmond. I assume your cash fee arrived without any mishap last Monday?’

‘What? Oh, yes, thank you.’

‘Then use some of it to take a taxi.’

‘But I can’t!’

‘What do you mean, you can’t?’ he demanded impatiently. ‘Good God, don’t tell me you’ve already spent it all? The whole three thousand?’