ago.
Leo had to admit that he was impressed with the place. He was impressed with Sydney, too. It was a glorious-looking city, with a superb climate and a wealth of things to see and do. Okay, so there weren’t as many theatres and museums as London boasted, but the restaurants were top class, the shopping perfectly adequate and the beaches to die for.
Not to mention the harbour. He’d only been here a week but already he could see the attraction for people from gloomy old England. There was something uplifting in seeing a clear blue sky in which the sun shone brightly.
It had certainly uplifted him. Leo had been feeling a bit low of late, what with his last movie having been a box-office flop. Entirely his fault, of course. He should never have attempted to make a two-hour film out of a thousand-page novel which was character- rather than plot-based. Failure had been inevitable.
Still, it had been a bitter pill to swallow after producing a string of hits over the past decade. One of the reasons he’d accepted his father’s invitation to spend Christmas and the New Year with him here in Sydney was to get away from the media—not to mention his so-called friends, the ones who seemed to enjoy saying that his Midas touch with movies might be on the wane. By the time he went back to England, he hoped the critics would have found someone else to slam with their poisonous reviews. For pity’s sake, the movie hadn’t been that bad!
Leo was just finishing off his glass of Shiraz when the glass door to his immediate left slid back and his father stepped out onto the huge curving balcony which fronted the entire apartment. Leo was glad to see that he’d brought the bottle with him, as well as a glass for himself.
‘Well, that’s a turn-up for the books,’ Henry said enigmatically as he made his way past Leo’s outstretched legs, sat down and filled his own glass from the bottle.
It was an irritating habit of Henry’s, starting a conversation with a statement like that, then offering no explanation till questioned further. He enjoyed piquing people’s curiosity. Henry called it his cliff-hanger tactic.
‘What is?’ Leo asked as he placed his own now-empty glass on the circular table which separated them.
Henry refilled Leo’s glass before he lifted his eyes to his son. ‘That was Violet on the phone. You know? My assistant. You’ll never guess what—she’s actually coming to my New Year’s Eve party!’
Leo appreciated Henry’s surprise. He knew quite a bit about his father’s assistant. He knew that Violet, whilst extremely intelligent, was also extremely antisocial. Henry said that, although not plain, she was a dreadful dresser with no sense of style and no confidence in herself as a woman. Which Henry considered a shame, since he said she had a lot to offer, if only she’d come out of her shell and make the most of herself. She didn’t mind going out to lunch or coffee with Henry alone, but she never, ever accompanied him to any of his client luncheons, or accepted any of Henry’s other invitations, which were many and varied.
Henry had always been a social animal, loving opening nights and parties of any kind. When he’d lived in London, his New Year’s Eve parties had been legendary, the food and wine top draw, the guest lists full of fascinating people. He’d continued that tradition out here.
Violet, however, had not attended even one of Henry’s New Year’s Eve parties, not even when he’d moved in to this apartment, despite it overlooking the harbour and the bridge where all the guests would have an uninterrupted view of the famous fireworks which went off over Sydney Harbour each New Year’s Eve at midnight. One would have thought she’d have made the effort to come just to see them. But apparently not.
According to Henry, she boarded with an elderly widow and had never had a boyfriend. Or, she hadn’t since she’d started working full-time for Henry. Which didn’t mean she’d never had one, Leo conceded. Hell, she’d been to university, hadn’t she? Not even the plainest, dullest girls got through uni without being hit upon. And this Violet wasn’t plain or dull.
Maybe she’d had a bad sexual experience at some stage which had made her anti-men.
‘Did you remind her that it was fancy dress?’ Leo asked. Henry had stipulated on his invitations that guests were to come dressed as a character from a movie.
‘Yes. And it didn’t seem to worry her.’
‘Even more surprising,’ was Leo’s comment. Shy people tended not to like fancy dress. Maybe Henry was wrong in his assessment of his assistant’s personality. Maybe she had a secret love life. A married man, perhaps?
‘I wonder what character your obviously-not-so-shrinking Violet will choose?’ he said, his curiosity piqued.
Henry shrugged. ‘Lord knows. Something a little more imaginative than yours, I hope.’
‘Come now, Henry, you didn’t honestly expect me to ponce around all night in green tights and a feathered hat?’
‘But you’d make a fantastic Robin Hood, with your athletic body.’
Leo did keep himself lean and fit, but he was forty now, not twenty-five. Time for a more grown-up costume. ‘I think the character I’ve chosen suits me better.’
‘Why?’ Henry said as he poured himself another glass of wine. ‘Because you’re a fellow womaniser?’
Leo was taken aback by his father’s remark. He had never considered himself a womaniser. Possibly it looked like he was to people who didn’t really know him. He did have two marriages behind him and, yes, he was rarely without an attractive young actress to grace his arm when at the many public events he was obliged to attend these days.
But what the media didn’t know was that he didn’t sleep with any of them. Well … not any more he didn’t. He’d learned by his mistakes. The only woman Leo had sex with these days was Mandy, a fortyish divorced workaholic who ran a casting agency in London and who was the soul of discretion about their strictly sexual relationship.
Mandy liked Leo, and she liked sex. What she wouldn’t like was being featured in the gossip columns of London’s tabloids as Leo Wolfe’s latest squeeze. She had two teenage sons at boarding school whom she adored and an ex-husband whom she detested. She didn’t want to get married again. She just wanted some company in bed occasionally. They met at her Kensington town house once or twice a week when Leo was in town.
‘I’m not a womaniser,’ Leo denied, annoyed with his father for even thinking that he was.
‘Of course you are, Leo,’ Henry refuted coolly. ‘It’s in your blood. You’re just like me. I loved your mother dearly, but I sometimes think it was a blessing that she passed away when she did. I wouldn’t have stayed faithful to her. I would have made her miserable, the way you made Grace miserable,’ he pronounced as he swept the wine glass to his lips.
‘I was not unfaithful to Grace,’ Leo bit out through clenched teeth. ‘And I did not make her miserable.’ Not till after he had asked her for a divorce, that was. Till then, Grace had been totally unaware of the fact that he didn’t love her. And that he had never loved her—although Leo had thought he had when he had asked her to marry him. But he’d been only twenty, for pity’s sake, and she’d been pregnant with his child. Lust had tricked him into believing he was in love.
The lust lasted till Liam had been born, which was when Leo had really fallen in love—with his son. He’d tried desperately to make the marriage work for the baby’s sake. He’d pretended and pretended till it had nearly driven him mad. In the end, just before their ninth wedding anniversary, he’d admitted defeat and asked Grace for a divorce. He’d just started getting interested in the movie-making business and had realised he wanted to change more than just his profession. He’d never enjoyed being a lawyer, and he could no longer stand making love to a woman whom he didn’t love.
He was fortunate that Grace had been nice enough not to punish him for not loving her. She’d given him joint custody of Liam and they were still good friends today. She’d eventually found someone else to marry and seemed happy.
But