‘I wasn’t being sarcastic. I was just saying it as it was.’
Fiona bristled. ‘You don’t like the way I look?’
‘Does it matter what I like? My mother thinks you’re the ant’s pants. That must give you great satisfaction.’
‘It does, actually.’
‘Then that’s all that matters. She’s the one you’ll be working with most of the time. The groom has very little to do with wedding preparations.’
‘True.’ She’d never agree otherwise.
‘Of course I am a little curious as to how you achieved this stunning transformation, and how you came to be a partner in a highly successful business. The last I heard of you, you were married to some truck driver.’
Fiona’s mouth dropped open. ‘How...how did you know about that?’
His mouth smiled, but his eyes remained a mystery behind those increasingly irritating sunglasses. Yet, at the same time, she was grateful for her own.
‘Curiosity sent me looking for you after I finished university,’ he explained. ‘I didn’t find you but I did find your father. He seemed happy to tell me about your marriage to a trucking mate of his, a man named Kevin Kirby. That’s why I called you Mrs Kirby when we were introduced just now. But you soon put me straight about that! Since you’re a little young to be a widow, I gather there was a divorce?’
‘You gather right.’
‘Your decision again, Fiona?’
‘It was, actually.’
‘What went wrong?’ he asked. ‘You certainly couldn’t say you were from two different worlds on that occasion.’
‘No. I certainly couldn’t,’ she returned, her voice as hard as her heart. ‘The bare truth is that Kevin wanted me to stay home and have children, and I didn’t. Our divorce was quite amicable. He’s now married again with a couple of kids.’
‘And you’re on your way to your first million,’ he mocked.
‘And what’s wrong with that?’ she snapped.
‘Nothing, I guess. If that’s all you want out of life. Is that all you want nowadays, Fiona? Money?’
‘A little respect goes down well. But money’s good. The money I earn for myself, that is.’
‘Ahh. A truly independent woman. Very admirable. I dare say you live alone these days?’
‘I do.’
‘But you date, of course. Celibacy would not be your strong point.’
‘Nor yours, Philip,’ she shot back at him.
He laughed. ‘Touché. So, are you sleeping with this business partner of yours? What was his name? Owen something or other?’
‘I have no intention of answering any questions about my personal life,’ came her cool reply.
‘You’re not asking Fiona impertinent questions, are you, son?’ Kathryn said wearily as she seemed to materialise beside Fiona’s shoulder, bending to slide a tray onto the table. It held an elegant white coffee pot with three equally elegant white coffee mugs surrounding it. A matching jug held cream, no doubt, and the crystal sugar bowl sparkled in the sun.
‘Don’t take any notice of him, dear,’ Kathryn went on as she sat down between them. ‘Once a lawyer, always a lawyer. They like giving people the third degree, even innocent ones. I sometimes feel sorry for the witnesses Philip cross-examines.’
‘You’re a criminal lawyer?’ Fiona exclaimed, taken aback. She’d presumed he’d gone into corporate law, in his father’s company. That had certainly been his father’s plan for him.
‘Philip’s beginning to make a name for himself in court, aren’t you, dear?’ his mother said proudly.
‘I’ve had some modest successes recently.’
Kathryn laughed softly. ‘Now who’s being modest? How do you take your coffee, Fiona?’
‘Oh... um... white, with one sugar, please,’ she answered, a little distractedly, almost adding ‘the same as Philip.’ Goodness, she was a mess!
‘Just to put your mind at rest, Mother,’ Philip said casually while Kathryn was pouring the coffee. ‘It’s perfectly all right by me for Fiona to do the wedding. Now that I’ve had a chance to talk to her, I’m more than impressed with her credentials, but especially her professional attitude. I recognise a high achiever when I hear one. I’m sure she’ll do a top job. As for her fee, and the contract, I’ll take care of that personally. You live too far out of town to be bothered with that. I presume you have an office somewhere in the city, Fiona? Perhaps a business card as well?’
Fiona hated the thought of him dropping in to the office, but what could she do? She could hardly say as much in front of his mother. ‘Not in the city exactly,’ she told him, ‘but not far out. We rent a suite of rooms above a couple of shops at St Leonard’s, along the Pacific Highway. And, yes, of course I have a business card.’
‘Of course,’ he murmured, and she shot him a savage glance, which, unfortunately, he couldn’t really see. But she was about to remedy that!
Taking off her sunglasses, she scooped up her handbag from where she’d dropped it beside her chair, snapped it open and dropped the glasses inside. Then she opened the side pocket where she kept her business cards and took out three, handing one to Kathryn and two to Philip.
‘Perhaps you could give one to your fiancée,’ she suggested with a sickly-sweet smile. ‘Which reminds me, Kathryn, you said something earlier about the wedding date only being ten weeks away, and the bride going to be absent overseas for a lot of that time? Is that right?’
‘Yes, Corinne does voluntary work for one of those world charities for children. Her best friend is employed by them as a nurse. Unfortunately, Corinne organised this trip to Indonesia before Philip asked her to marry him, and she doesn’t want to let her friend down.’
‘How very commendable,’ Fiona remarked, while privately thinking it was still an odd time to be going away. ‘Well, if that’s the case, then there’s no time to waste, is there? I should meet with the bride very soon and find out exactly what she wants. It doesn’t give us much time.’
‘I’ll get Corinne to ring you tonight,’ Philip offered. ‘On which number? Your mobile?’
‘No. I have a firm rule never to use my mobile on a Sunday unless I have a wedding on. Otherwise I never have any peace. Here, give me the card back and I’ll jot down my home number.’ She extracted a pen from her bag and added her personal number to the two already on the card.
‘What time would be best for you?’ Philip asked after she’d handed the card back to him.
‘Any time before eight-thirty.’
‘Going out, are you?’
Actually, Fiona rarely went out on a Sunday night. She liked to curl up on front of the telly and watch one of the Sunday night movies which always started at eight-thirty. During the ads she did her nails and got her clothes ready for the working week ahead. Today she’d already done her manicure, and tonight they were re-running one of her all-time favourite films.
The slightly mocking tone in Philip’s voice, however, stung her into lying.
‘Yes, I am, actually,’ she said, and found another of those sweet smiles for him.
‘Anywhere special?’
‘Not really. Just visiting a friend.’
‘Boyfriend?’
‘I think Mark’s a little old to be called a boyfriend.’
‘How