reputation for keeping its famous and wealthy clientele very safe indeed.
‘By the way, I managed to fill my table at last,’ she told Charmaine. ‘Another of my card-playing friends agreed to come. Did I mention to you I play poker with a high-rolling crowd every Friday night, in the presidential suite at the Regency Hotel no less?’
‘No, you’ve never mentioned that. How interesting. You own racehorses as well, don’t you?’
‘Yes. Racing is a passion with me, I admit. So is poker. I’m a mad gambler. Anyway, you’ll also be pleased to know that these other mad gamblers I play poker with are all filthy rich. Charles Brandon is one of them. You know, the brewery magnate?’
‘Oh, yes, I met him at a recent première party at Fox Studios. He has a stunner of a wife, doesn’t he?’
‘That’s the one. Dominique’s her name. They’re good for a few grand at the auction. Both have hearts of gold. Can’t say quite the same about my number-four poker-playing partner, but he can be generous on occasion. He’s—’
‘Are you ready to order, ladies?’ the waitress interrupted.
‘Just give us a moment,’ Charmaine said, and the waitress hurried off to attend to another table. The restaurant they were having lunch at was situated on one of the renovated wharves at Wooloomooloo, right on the harbour. Only a stone’s throw from the city centre, it was very trendy and very popular, particularly at lunch time on a splendid spring day.
‘Enough about the auction, Renée,’ Charmaine said firmly. ‘Back to the business at hand. Food. Shall we be bad and order something fattening for once?’ She picked up the menu and started perusing it avidly. ‘Gosh, this is all so tempting! It’s been months since I had a hamburger. I hear the designer hamburgers here are out of this world. Ooh, and look, there’s mango cheesecake on the dessert list. I have a penchant for cheesecake. Damn it, I’m definitely ordering that. With cream,’ she finished up defiantly.
Renée laughed. She knew first-hand that models rarely ate anything really fattening, not even the naturally curvy variety like Charmaine. ‘You can, if you like,’ she said, ‘but not me. I’ve already put on eight kilos with this pregnancy, and I’m told I could double that if I go full term.’
‘Do you know what sex the babies are?’ Charmaine asked.
Renée beamed as she always did when asked about her precious twins. ‘I do indeed. A boy and a girl. Aren’t I just the luckiest woman in the world?’
Till she’d married Rico, Renée had thought she’d never have children. But with her husband’s love and support and the best IVF team in Australia, she was now, at the ripe old age of thirty-six, expecting not just one baby, but two! Rico was over the moon and Renée was ecstatic. Everything had gone very well so far and, other than the occasional spot of heartburn and backache, she felt as fit as a fiddle.
Charmaine smiled at her. ‘I imagine you just might be. Although my mum is a pretty lucky lady. There again, she’s married to my dad, so perhaps I’m biased.’
Renée absorbed this piece of information with some surprise. Charmaine never talked about her family. For some reason, Renée had assumed she was estranged from them these days. Clearly, she was mistaken. Maybe they’d just lost touch a bit. Charmaine’s life was a hectic one, what with the demands on her time for her career, and now her charity work.
Renée knew from earlier Press articles about Charmaine that her parents were country folk who ran a cotton farm out west of the Great Divide, pretty well in the middle of nowhere. Their nearest town only had one garage, one hotel and one general store. From the time she was fifteen, Charmaine had used to work behind the counter of that store at the weekend, and during lulls—which was probably most of the time—filled in her time reading magazines about models and dreaming of one day being one herself. At fifteen and a half, she’d entered her photograph into a teen magazine’s cover-girl competition, and won. By sixteen she was strutting her stuff on the catwalk in Sydney during Australia’s fashion week.
Renée had been a model herself back then and recalled how peeved all the other older models were when this inexperienced teenage upstart carrying far too many curves had upstaged them. But she’d been an instant hit, especially with the designers. On Charmaine’s tall yet shapely figure, all clothes looked fabulous, and so sexy. When Charmaine had to go home for a while with a nasty case of glandular fever the other models had breathed a sigh of relief. But she’d returned to Sydney the following year and taken up right where she left off.
By then eighteen, a slightly slimmer but more mature-looking Charmaine had been simply stunning. Ravishing was how she was described by the fashion Press. Ravishing and ready to rule the modelling world. She hadn’t quite done that, but she was soon right up there with the best of them, and Renée’s agency now had a piece of that success.
‘Do you take after your mother or your father?’ Renée asked, her curiosity aroused.
‘Both, in looks. But neither in character. Mum’s a sweetie and Dad’s an old softie. I might act soft and sweet, but underneath I’m a total bitch,’ she said, then laughed. ‘But then, you already know that, don’t you?’
‘Not at all,’ Renée replied, astounded. ‘You play hardball in business matters but that’s not the same. I’ve met plenty of total bitches in my life and trust me, Charmaine, you are certainly not one of them. A total bitch wouldn’t work so hard for charity for starters, I can tell you.’
‘Aah, but that’s my only Achilles heel,’ Charmaine said, looking sad and wistful for a moment. ‘Kids with cancer. Poor little mites. I can bear it when life is unspeakably cruel and unfair to adults. But not children. They do not deserve that fate. Not when they’ve done nothing to cause it.’
She swallowed, then gritted her teeth.
You’re not going to cry, are you? Crying never achieves a thing. Crying is for babies, and the broken-hearted. You’re hardly a baby, and your heart isn’t broken any more, Charmaine. It’s been super-glued back together and nothing will ever break it again.
She reached for the complimentary glass of water that sat on the café table and sipped it till she had herself totally under control. Then she put the glass down and smiled at the woman opposite her, who had a worried frown on her lovely face.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I get emotional when I talk about kids with cancer.’
‘There’s no need to be sorry. I think what you feel is very admirable. I can understand it entirely.’
Charmaine refrained from laughing at this statement. How could Renée possibly understand? No one could understand who hadn’t been through it themselves. Watched a child suffer and die. A sweet, innocent little child.
But she probably meant well.
How old was Renée? Charmaine wondered. Early thirties? Older? Must be a bit older, though she still looked marvellous. Some women glowed when they were pregnant. Others looked drawn and dreary. Renée was clearly the glowing kind.
The waitress materialised at their table again.
‘Ready to order yet, ladies?’ she asked chirpily.
‘Absolutely,’ Charmaine replied and ordered the Caribbean-style beef-burger with fries and salad, mango cheesecake with cream, and a cappuccino.
When Renée stared at her, she laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t eat any dinner tonight and I’ll punish myself in the gym tomorrow.’ As she always did. Every single day.
But then her whole life was now a punishment, wasn’t it? For her sins, especially that one really wicked sin, the one she could never forgive herself for, the one she would never forget.
‘You’ll have to if you hope to fit into that dress you’re planning to wear on Saturday night,’ Renée pointed out. ‘As it is, it looks as if you’ve been sewn into it.’
‘Oh, darn, you’re right.