The Girl he Never Noticed (2 page)

‘It’s not a problem,’ he murmured.

‘But what if the owner wants to get in or out?’ she queried.

‘The owner is out,’ he replied.

Liz shrugged and surveyed the scene again.

She knew they were in Bellevue Hill, one of Sydney’s classiest suburbs, and she knew she was in for a classy event. None of it appealed to her in the slightest.

‘All right.’ She reached for the door handle. ‘Shall we get this over and done with?’

‘Just a moment,’ Cam Hillier said dryly. ‘I’ve acknowledged that I may have offended you—I’ve apologised. And you, with this stunning metamorphosis, have clearly had the last laugh. Is there any reason, therefore, for you to look so disapproving? Like a minder—or a governess.’

Liz flushed faintly and was struck speechless.

‘What exactly do you disapprove of?’ he queried.

Liz found her tongue. ‘If you really want to know—’

‘I do,’ he broke in to assure her.

She opened her mouth, then bit her lip. ‘Nothing. It’s not my place to approve or otherwise. There.’ She widened her eyes, straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, slipping her hair delicately behind her
ears. Lastly she did some facial gymnastics, and then turned to him. ‘How’s that?’

Cam Hillier stared at her expressionlessly for a long moment and a curious thing happened. In the close confines of the car it wasn’t disapproval that threaded through the air between them, but an awareness of each other.

Liz found herself conscious again of the width of his shoulders beneath the jacket of his charcoal suit, worn with a green shirt and a darker green tie. She was aware of the little lines beside his mouth and that clever, brooding dark blue gaze.

Not only that, but she seemed to be more sensitive to textures—such as the beautiful quality fabric of his suit and the rich leather of the car’s upholstery.

And she was very aware of the way he was watching her… A physical summing up again, that brought her out in little goosebumps—because they were so close it was impossible, she suddenly found, not to imagine his arms around her, his hand in her hair, his mouth on hers.

She turned away abruptly.

He said nothing but opened his door. Liz did the same and got out without his assistance.

Although Liz had been fully aware she was in for a classy event, what she saw as she stepped through the front door of the Bellevue Hill home almost took her breath away. A broad stone-flagged passage led to the first of three descending terraces and a magnificent view of Sydney Harbour in the last of the daylight. Flaming
braziers lit the terraces, pottery urns were laden with exotic flowering shrubs, and on the third and lowest terrace an aquamarine pool appeared to flow over the edge.

There were a lot of guests already assembled—an animated throng—the women making a bouquet of colours as well. In a corner of the middle terrace an energetic band was making African music with a mesmerising rhythm and the soft but fascinating throb of drums.

A dinner-suited waiter wearing white gloves was at their side immediately, offering champagne.

Liz was about to decline, but Cam simply put a glass in her hand. No sooner had he done so than their hostess descended on them.

She was a tall, striking woman, wearing a rose-pink caftan and a quantity of gold and diamond jewellery. Her silver hair was streaked with pink.

‘My dear Cam,’ she enthused as she came up to them, ‘I thought you weren’t coming!’ She turned to Liz and her eyebrows shot up. ‘But who is this?’

‘This, Narelle, is Liz Montrose. Liz, may I introduce you to Narelle Hastings?’

Liz extended her hand and murmured, ‘How do you do?’

‘Very well, my dear, very well,’ Narelle Hastings replied as she summed Liz up speedily and expertly, taking in not only her fair looks but her stylish outfit. ‘So you’ve supplanted Portia?’

‘Not at all,’ Cam Hillier responded. ‘Portia has had second thoughts about me, and since Liz is replacing
Roger who is off sick at the moment, I press-ganged her into coming rather than being partnerless. That’s all.’

‘Darling,’ Narelle said fondly to him, ‘call it what you will, but don’t expect me to believe it gospel and verse.’ She turned to Liz. ‘You’re far too lovely to be just a secretary, my dear, and in his own way Cam’s not bad either. It is what makes the world go round. But anyway—’ she turned back to Cam ‘—how’s Archie?’

‘A nervous wreck. Wenonah’s puppies are due any day.’

Narelle Hastings chuckled. ‘Give him my love. Oh! Excuse me! Some more latecomers. And don’t forget,’ she said to Liz, ‘life wasn’t meant to be all work and no play, so enjoy yourself with Cam while you can!’ And she wandered off.

‘Don’t tell me how to look,’ Liz warned him.

‘Wouldn’t dream of it. Uh—Narelle can be a little eccentric.’

‘Even so, I knew this wasn’t a good idea,’ she added darkly.

He studied her, then shrugged. ‘I don’t see it as a matter of great importance.’

Liz glanced sideways at him, as if to say
you wouldn’t
! But that was a mistake, because she was suddenly conscious again of just how dangerously attractive Cameron Hillier was. Tall and dark, with that fine-tuned physique, he effortlessly drew the eyes of many of the women around them. Was it so far off the mark to imagine him being mobbed? No, that was ridiculous…

‘It’s not your reputation that’s at stake,’ she retorted finally. ‘That was probably…’ She paused.

‘Ruined years ago?’ he suggested.

Liz grimaced and looked away, thinking again, belatedly, of black marks on her record.
Did not actually come to blows with temporary employer, but did insult him by suggesting he had a questionable reputation…

‘This place is quite amazing,’ she said, switching to a conversational tone, and she took a sip of champagne. ‘Is the party in aid of any special event?’

Cam Hillier raised his eyebrows in some surprise at this change of pace on her part, then looked amused. ‘Uh—probably not. Narelle never needs an excuse to throw a party. She’s a pillar of the social scene.’

‘How…interesting,’ Liz said politely.

‘You don’t agree with holding a party just for the sake of it?’ he queried.

‘Did I say that? If you can afford it—’ She broke off and shrugged.

‘You didn’t say it, but I got the feeling you were thinking it. By the way, she happens to be my great-aunt.’

Liz looked rueful and took another sip of champagne. ‘Thanks.’

He looked a question at her.

‘For telling me that. I #x2026;sometimes I have a problem with…with speaking my mind,’ she admitted. ‘But I would never say anything less than complimentary about someone’s great-aunt.’

This time Cam Hillier did more than flash that crooked grin; he laughed.

‘What’s funny about that?’

‘I’m not sure,’ he returned, still looking amused. ‘Confirmation of what I suspected? That you can be
outspoken to a fault. Or the fact that you regard great-aunts as somehow sacred?’

Liz grimaced. ‘I guess it did sound a bit odd, but you know what I mean. In general I don’t like to get personal.’

He looked sceptical, but chose not to explain why. He said, ‘Narelle can look after herself better than most. But how come you appear to handle a position that requires great diplomacy with ease when you have a problem with outspokenness?’

‘Yes, well, it’s been a bit of a mystery to me at times,’ she conceded. ‘Although I have been told it can be quite refreshing. But of course I do try to rein it in.’

‘Not with me, though?’ he suggested.

Liz studied her glass and took another sip. ‘To be honest, Mr Hillier, I’ve never before been told to pass on the message that my employer’s…um…date would rather consort with a two-timing snake than go to a party with him.’

Cam Hillier whistled softly. ‘She must have been steamed up about something!’

‘Yes—
you.
Then there was your own assertion that to go to a party alone would leave you open to being mobbed by women—I had a bit of difficulty with that—’

‘It’s my money,’ he broke in.

‘Uh-huh? Like your great-aunt, I won’t take that one as gospel and verse either,’ Liz said with considerable irony, and flinched as a flashlight went off. ‘Add to that the distinct possibility that we could be now tagged as an item, and throw into the mix that death-defying drive
through the back streets of Sydney, is it any wonder I’m having trouble holding my tongue?’

‘Probably not,’ he conceded. ‘Would you like to leave the job forthwith?’

‘Ah,’ Liz said, and studied her glass, a little surprised to see that it was half empty, before raising her blue eyes to his. ‘Actually, no. I need the money. So if we could just get back to office hours, and the more usual kind of insanity that goes with a diary secretary’s position, I’d appreciate it.’

He considered for a moment. ‘How old are you, and how did you get this job—with the agency, I mean?’

‘I’m twenty-four, and I have a degree in Business Management. I topped the class, which you may find hard to believe—but it’s true.’

He narrowed his gaze. ‘I don’t. I realised you were as bright as a tack from the way you handled yourself in the first few hours of our relationship—our
working
relationship,’ he said as she looked set to take issue with him.

‘Oh?’ Liz looked surprised. ‘How so?’

‘Remember the Fortune proposal—the seafood marketing one? I virtually tossed it in your lap the first day, because it was incomplete, and told you to fix it?’

Liz nodded. ‘I do,’ she said dryly.

He smiled. ‘Throwing you in at the deep end and not what you were employed for anyway? Possibly. But I saw you study it, and then I happened to hear you on the phone to Fortune with your summation of it and what needed to be done to fix it. I was impressed.’

Liz took another sip of champagne. ‘Well, thanks.’

‘And Molly tells me you’re a bit of an IT whiz.’

‘Not really—but I do like computers and software,’ she responded.

‘It does lead me to wonder why you’re temping rather than carving out a career for yourself,’ he said meditatively.

Liz looked around.

A few couples had started to dance, and she was suddenly consumed by a desire to be free to do what she liked—which at this moment was to surrender herself to the African beat, the call of the drums and the wild. To be free of problems… To have a partner to dance with, to talk to, to share things with. Someone to help her lighten the load she was carrying.

Someone to help her live a bit. It was so long since she’d danced—so long since she’d let her hair down, so to speak—she’d forgotten what it was like…

As if drawn by a magnet her gaze came back to her escort, to find him looking down at her with a faint frown in his eyes and also an unspoken question. For one amazed moment she thought he was going to ask her to dance with him. That was followed by another amazed moment as she pictured herself moving into his arms and letting her body sway to the music.

Had he guessed which way her thoughts were heading? And if so, how? she wondered. Had there been a link forged between them now that he’d noticed her as a woman and not a robot—a mental link as well as a physical one?

She looked away as a tremor of alarm ran through her. She didn’t want to be linked to a man, did she? She
didn’t want to go through that again. She was mad to have allowed Cam Hillier to taunt her into showing him she wasn’t just a stick of office furniture…

She said the first thing that came to mind to break any mental link… ‘Who’s Archie?’

‘My nephew.’

‘He sounds like an animal lover.’

‘He is.’

Liz waited for a moment, but it became obvious Cam Hillier was not prepared to be more forthcoming on the subject of his nephew.

Liz lifted her shoulders and looked out over the crowd.

Then her gaze sharpened, and widened, as she focused on a tall figure across the terrace. A man—a man who had once meant the world to her.

She turned away abruptly and handed her glass to her boss. ‘Forgive me,’ she said hurriedly, ‘but I need—I need to find the powder room.’ And she turned on her heel and walked inside.

How she came to get lost in Narelle Hastings’ mansion she was never quite sure. She did find a powder room, and spent a useless ten minutes trying to calm herself down, but for the rest of it her inner turmoil must have been so great she’d been unable to think straight.

She came out of the powder room determined to make a discreet exit from the house, the party, Cam Hillier, the lot—only to see Narelle farewelling several guests. She did a quick about-turn and went through several doorways to find herself in the kitchen. Fortunately it
was empty of staff, but she knew that could only be a very temporary state of affairs.

Never mind, she told herself. She’d leave by the back door!

The back door at first yielded a promising prospect—a service courtyard, a high wall with a gate in it.

Excellent! Except when she got to it, it was to find the gate locked.

She drew a frustrated, trembling breath as it occurred to her how acutely embarrassing this could turn out to be. How on earth would she explain it to Cameron Hillier—not to mention his great-aunt, whose house she appeared to be wandering through at will?

She gazed at the back door, and as she did so she heard voices coming from within. She doubted she had the nerve to brave the kitchen again. She turned away and studied her options. No good trying to get over the wall that fronted the street—she’d be bound to bump into someone. But the house next door, also behind the wall, was the one whose driveway Cam had parked in—the one whose owner was out, according to him. He must know them and know they were away to make that assertion, she reasoned. It certainly made that wall a better bet.

She dredged her memory and recalled that the driveway had gates that could possibly be locked too—and this adjacent wall was inside those gates. But hang on! Further along the pavement, hadn’t there been a pedestrian gate? No—just a gateway. Yes! So all she had to do was climb over the wall…How the hell was she going to do that, though?

She tensed as the back door opened, and slipped into some shadows as a kitchen hand emerged and deposited a load of garbage into a green wheelie bin and slammed it shut. He didn’t see her and went back inside, closing the door, but his use of the wheelie bin gave her an idea. She could push it against the wall, hoist herself onto it and slip over it to the house next door.