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‘What?’ He was looking at her strangely.
‘Indigestion,’ she said. ‘I think it was something I ate. Probably the clams.’
‘Probably the situation,’ he said. ‘What’s it to be, Hallie? Are you in or out?’
Hallie hesitated, tempted to say ‘yes’. Not for the adventure, the excitement, or the money, but so that she could spend more time with Nick. The same Nick who was prepared to pay her ten thousand pounds so that at the end of the charade she’d leave.
A sensible woman would refuse him now and save herself the heartbreak, the genuine heartbreak, that was bound to come if a woman was careless enough to fall for him. A smart woman would sigh over that Hermès handbag, maybe even spend a minute or two imagining what it would look like on her arm, but in the end she’d turn away. That was what she should do.
What she said was, ‘Do you believe in destiny, Nick? Do you believe in fate?’
‘Only as a last resort. Why?’
‘I think we should let the game decide. Xia and Shang against the Martians. If we win we go to Hong Kong as man and wife. If we lose, you throw yourself on the tender mercies of Mr Tey and spill your guts.’
‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
She was.
‘Deal,’ he said, and the fighting began.
Two murderous hours later it was decided. They were going to Hong Kong.
Hallie’s bedside phone was ringing. She rolled across the bed arm outstretched, groping wildly. Because no way on earth were her eyes going to open at this hour. Her evening with Nick hadn’t been a late one by anyone’s standards, but it wasn’t morning by most people’s standards either. It was still dark, not even dawn. She found the phone, found her ear. ‘Lo,’ she mumbled.
‘Can you get some time off work this afternoon?’
‘Nick?’
‘Yes. Nick.’ He sounded impatient.
‘Couldn’t this have waited till morning?’ she mumbled.
‘It is morning. Were you still in bed?’
Hallie slitted her eyes open to glance at the glowing red numbers of her bedside clock. Five-fifty a.m! Ugh, he was a morning person. The notion was going to take some time to digest. She held the receiver to her breast and took several deep breaths before putting it back to her ear. ‘This is my one day off a week and, I’m warning you, there’d better be a good reason for this call. What do you want?’
‘To let you know we have an appointment at Tiffany’s at two this afternoon to get your rings.’
‘Rings?’ Hallie’s eyes snapped open. ‘Tiffany’s? As in Tiffany and Co. the jewellers?’ She was wide awake.
‘Wedding ring, engagement ring. It’ll be expected. The manager of the store on Old Bond Road’s a friend of mine; he’s going to let me borrow some pieces,’ said Nick. ‘After that we’ll go shopping. You’ll need suitable clothes as well.’
Shopping for clothes? This coming from the lips of a man? ‘You’re gay, aren’t you?’
‘No,’ he said, with a smile in his voice that curled her toes.
‘Cross-dresser?’
‘Nope.’
‘Have you been drinking?’
‘Nor am I drunk.’ Exasperation in his voice this time, giving her toes a chance to relax. ‘The way we present ourselves in Hong Kong is going to be important and I’m guessing there’s nothing in your wardrobe that’s suitable.’
‘Suitable how?’ she snapped as visions of tailored suits and pillbox hats floated through her mind. ‘You’re going to dress me up like Jackie Kennedy, aren’t you? You’re having make-over fantasies!’
‘I wasn’t until now.’ The smile was back in his voice—yep, there went her toes. ‘And I’m not thinking First Lady exactly, but we can’t have you looking like Marilyn Monroe either.’
She should have been insulted. Would have been except that this was a sex goddess he was comparing her to. ‘Who’s paying for these clothes?’
‘I am. Consider it a perk.’
‘I love this job,’ said Hallie. ‘I’m in. Two o’clock sharp at the jeweller’s. Oh, and, Nick?’
‘What?’
He sounded complacent. Indulgent. As if she’d reacted exactly as any good little plaything would. ‘Bring your mother.’
Hallie arrived at the jeweller’s at exactly two o’clock, only to find Nick and Clea waiting for her outside, Clea looking thoughtful, Nick looking just plain smug.
‘We got here a little early so we’ve already been in,’ said Nick. ‘Stuart’s given me some pieces on loan. I’m sure you’ll like them.’
‘What do you mean you’re sure I’ll like them? You mean I don’t even get to go into the shop and ogle the pieces for myself?’ Hallie stared at him, aghast. Surely he was kidding. ‘Don’t you need to measure my ring size or something? I mean, what if the rings you’ve chosen don’t fit?’
‘Here, dear, try this on.’ Clea handed her one of her own rings, a wide band of square-cut diamonds set in platinum. ‘We used this one for size. I usually have a good eye for these things.’
Hallie slipped the band on her wedding-ring finger and stared at it in dismay. It was a perfect fit.
‘Does it fit?’ asked Nick, all solicitousness. ‘It looks like it fits.’
‘Sadist,’ she retaliated, handing the ring back to Clea, and, with one last lingering glance through the doors of one of London’s landmark jewellery stores, she turned away.
‘Did you get the week off work?’ Nick asked her.
‘Yes. The owner’s niece is going to fill in for me,’ said Hallie, recalling the conversation she’d had with her employer earlier that morning. No need to tell Nick that if the niece liked the job, she was out of one. If everything went to plan she wouldn’t need the job anyway.
‘What about your brother? The one you’re staying with. Does he know you’re going to Hong Kong?’
‘Not yet. It turns out he’s also going to be away next week. I’ll leave him a note.’
‘That’ll go down well,’ muttered Nick.
‘It’ll be fine.’ Hallie smiled brightly. ‘So where to now?’
Ten minutes later they were standing outside one of the most exclusive clothing boutiques in Knightsbridge. ‘Are we sure about this?’ said Hallie hesitantly. Buying an outfit or two from a mid-range clothing store was one thing; dropping a bundle on a week’s worth of designer clothes was quite another. ‘I’m all for being well dressed, but do we really need to shop somewhere quite this exclusive?’
‘Don’t worry, dear,’ said Clea. ‘I get a very good discount here.’
‘You want to hope so,’ Hallie muttered to Nick as she stared at the sophisticated power suit in the display window. ‘I think it only fair to warn you that I still have nightmares about the first time my brothers took me shopping for clothes. Pinafore dresses that came to my ankles. Sweaters up to my chin. Wide-brimmed straw hats…’
‘And very sensible too, dear, those hats, what with the harsh Australian sun and your skin type,’ said Clea.
Hallie groaned. And here she’d been hoping that Clea would be an ally when it came to clothes. ‘My point is I battled for years for the right to choose my own clothes, and I’m not about to relinquish it now.’ She pointed a stern finger at Nick. ‘You can tell me what kind of look you’re after, but I won’t have you choosing clothes for me. Are we clear on that?’
‘Well, I—’
‘Having said that, I will of course ask your opinion on the things I’ve chosen. I’m not an unreasonable woman. You can tell me if you like something.’
‘And if I don’t?’
Hallie considered the question. She could be a bit contrary at times. ‘Probably best not to say anything,’ she said, and, squaring her shoulders, sailed on into the shop.
The boutique was streamlined and classy, the coiffed and polished saleswoman just that little bit daunting, never mind that she greeted Clea with friendly familiarity.
‘Size eight, I think,’ said the saleswoman after turning an assessing eye on Hallie.
‘Ten,’ said Hallie.
‘In this shop, darling, you’re an eight.’
Hallie liked the woman better already.
‘Do you have any colour preferences?’ the woman asked.
‘I like them all.’
The saleswoman barely suppressed a shudder. ‘Yes, dear. But do they all like you? Let’s start with grey.’
Hallie opened her mouth to protest, but the woman was having none of it. She pulled a matching skirt and jacket from the rack and held them out commandingly. ‘Of course, it relies on the wearer for colour and life, but I think you’ve got that covered.’
‘Umm…’ Hallie took the suit from the woman and held it up for Nick’s inspection. ‘What do you think?’
‘I’m confused,’ he said. ‘If I tell you I like it you may or may not decide to buy it, depending on whether you like it. However, if I say I don’t like it you’ll feel compelled to buy it whether you like it or not. Am I right?’
‘Yes.’ Hallie felt a smile coming on. ‘So what do you think?’
‘Try it on.’
And then when she did and his eyes narrowed and his face grew carefully impassive. ‘No?’ she asked. ‘It’s probably not the look you were after.’
‘Yes,’ he said firmly. ‘It is.’
Still she hesitated. ‘It’s very—’
‘Elegant,’ he said. ‘Understated. Just what we’re looking for.’
Elegant, eh? Not a term she’d normally use to describe herself. She’d won the right to choose her own clothes in her late teens and in typical teenager fashion she’d headed straight for the shortest skirts and the brightest, tightest tops. Okay, so she’d matured a little since then—she did have some loose-fitting clothes somewhere in her wardrobe, but truth was they didn’t often see daylight. She had never, ever, worn anything as classy as this. The suit clung to her every curve, the material was soft and luxurious beneath her hands, like cashmere only not. Even the colour wasn’t so bad once you got used to it. And yet…
‘It’s not really me, though, is it?’ she said.
‘Think of it as a costume,’ said Nick. ‘Think corporate wife.’
‘I don’t know any corporate wives.’ Hallie turned to Clea, who was busily browsing a rack of clothes. ‘Unless you’re one?’
‘No!’ said Nick hastily. ‘She’s not!’
‘It’s very grey, isn’t it, dear?’ said Clea, who glittered like a Vegas slot machine in her gold trousers and blood-red chiffon shirt with its strategically placed psychedelic gold swirls.
‘Greyer than a Chinese funeral vase,’ agreed Hallie glumly. ‘Do you have anything a bit more cheerful?’ she asked the saleswoman.
‘What about this?’ said Clea, holding up a boldly flowered silk sundress in fuchsia, lime and ivory. ‘This is pretty.’
‘Why my mother?’ muttered Nick. ‘Why couldn’t we have brought along your mother?’
‘She died when I was six,’ said Hallie, and then to Clea, ‘I like that.’ She held it up to her body, twirled around, and looked up to find Nick regarding her intently.
‘Sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘You said you’d been raised by your father and brothers but I didn’t make the connection. Try it on.’
And when she did…
‘She’ll take it,’ he told the saleswoman, and to Hallie, ‘That’s non-negotiable.’
‘Lucky for you I happen to agree,’ said Hallie.
‘His father had excellent taste in clothes as well,’ said Clea. ‘Bless his soul.’
But Hallie wasn’t listening. She was looking at herself in the mirror and her reflection was frowning right back at her as she turned and twirled, first one way and then the other. Finally, hands on hips, she turned to Nick.
‘Does this dress make me look fat?’
Two hours later, Hallie and Clea had purchased enough clothes for a six-month stint on the QEII, and as far as Nick was concerned he was neither the sadist Hallie had accused him of being, nor the skinflint his mother claimed. No, for a man to endure so much and complain so little, he was quite simply a saint.
‘So where to now? Are we done?’ said Hallie after they’d seen Clea to her Mercedes and watched her drive away. ‘Is there anything you need?’
‘A bar,’ he muttered with heartfelt sincerity.
‘Good call,’ said Hallie. ‘I’ll come too. I never realized boutique shopping was such thirsty work. Mind you, I’ve never bought more than a couple of items of clothes at any one time before either. Who knew?’
‘You’re not going to rehash every dress decision you just made, are you?’
‘Who, me?’ She was grinning from ear to ear. ‘Only if you insist.’
Nick shuddered, spotted a sports bar a few doors up and practically bolted for the door. He needed a drink, somewhere to sit. Somewhere with dark wood, dark carpet, dim lighting, good Scotch and no mirrors. He needed it bad.
‘Ah-h-h,’ said Hallie as she slid into the booth beside him. ‘Very nice.’
‘You don’t find it a little too…masculine?’
