Isabel took a sharp angry breath. ‘Men! You’re all the same; never there for you when you’re needed. If anyone could have persuaded her, you could have. But, on top of being unreliable, most men are as thick as planks!’ And she stormed past Damien and out into the night.
Harriet closed her mouth and blinked several times.
‘Ditto,’ Damien murmured. ‘You wouldn’t change your mind and come, would you, Harriet? If for no other reason than for me to regain some credibility in my aunt’s eyes.’
Harriet hesitated then sighed. ‘I might just put in an appearance. But that’s all,’ she warned.
‘Far be it from me to urge you otherwise,’ he said gravely. ‘No, I wouldn’t dream of persuading you to take part in what you might see as mindless revelry in some way beneath you—or whatever. So, goodnight, Miss Livingstone,’ he added reverently and he too stepped out into the night. He also closed the door.
Harriet discovered herself to be possessed of a burst of anger and she picked up an object to hurl it at the door, only to realise it was the ivory dolphin.
She lowered it to the table, breathing heavily, and she said to Tottie, ‘That was a close call.’
Tottie wagged her tail and went back to sleep.
* * *
By eight o’clock the next evening, Charlie’s party was starting to hum. The lounge had been cleared for dancing, a disco had been set up and the dining room hosted a magnificent buffet and a bar.
Guests from all over the Northern Rivers had descended on Heathcote, some from further afield like the Gold Coast.
Harriet got to know this because Charlie personally came to escort her to the party.
She looked down at herself just before Charlie climbed the stairs to the flat—not that she’d known he was coming. In fact she was grappling with nerves and the desire to find a hole to fall into. She was also hoping she wasn’t over-or underdressed.
She wore a black dress with a loose skirt to just above her knees with white elbow-length sleeves and white panels in the bodice. It was a dress that emphasised the slenderness of her waist. With it she had on a ruby-red chunky necklace, her legs were golden and long and bare and she wore black suede high heels with ankle ties.
Her hair was pulled back into a knot but she’d coaxed some tendrils to frame her face. Her lips were painted a delicious shimmering pink and her eyes were made up with smoky shadow, her lashes just touched with mascara to emphasise their length.
‘Holy Mackerel!’
Charlie stopped dead as he stepped into the flat and took in every detail about Harriet.
‘Oh, boy!’ he said then.
Harriet twisted her hands together. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s not that, it’s the opposite. Poor old Damien; is he in for...well. I hope you know what you’re doing, Harriet.’
‘Doing?’
Charlie blinked and frowned. ‘You didn’t set out to drive him wild?’ He gestured to take her in from the tip of her head to her toes.
Harriet opened her mouth to deny this accusation but she closed it and coloured slightly. ‘I haven’t actually worn it before. Is it too...?’ She didn’t complete the sentence. ‘I can change.’