A Man Without Mercy

Vivienne gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Marion’s a good friend but she talks too much. What else did she tell you about me?’

‘Not much. She did say that you owned rather than rented your apartment. But that was only because I asked her. She didn’t volunteer the information.’

‘I see. And why did you want to know that?’ she asked, thinking to herself that he’d probably been trying to gauge her financial situation. Knowledge was power, after all.

‘No good reason. It surprised me, that’s all, how starkly furnished the place was. It didn’t have your signature warmth and style.’

‘Oh,’ she said, taken aback that he would notice. Her chest tightened as it did whenever she thought of the reasons why her apartment was the way it was. You couldn’t explain something like that. When Marion had asked her the same thing, she’d just said she hated clutter. Of course, it went deeper than that. Much, much deeper.

‘I haven’t long had the apartment renovated,’ she said. ‘The decorating’s not finished yet.’

‘Ah. That explains it, then. I thought maybe the boyfriend had taken some things with him when he left.’

Vivienne rather liked the disdain with which Jack said ‘the boyfriend’ rather than Daryl’s name.

‘Daryl didn’t own anything,’ she bit out. ‘Only his clothes.’ And she’d bought most of them. His salary as a mobile phone salesman didn’t extend to trendy designer wear. God, but she’d been a fool where that man was concerned. Quite unconsciously her right hand went to the fourth finger on her left hand, where her engagement ring had resided until a month ago.

She’d bought that, too, Daryl having promised faithfully that he would pay her back.

But he never had.

Currently, it was languishing in the top drawer of her bedside table, a visual testament to her stupidity.

Vivienne realised suddenly that Courtney Ellison must have paid for the rock she’d been proudly displaying in those photographs published in the gossip section of last Sunday’s paper. No way could Daryl have afforded a diamond that size, not unless it was a fake one. Actually, it wouldn’t surprise her if it was a fake diamond. A fake diamond to go with his fake persona.

The coffee arrived at that point, in a silver pot, along with a jug of cream and a plate full of after-dinner mints. The waiter poured the coffee then left them to do the rest. Vivienne added cream and two cubes of sugar to hers. Jack left his black.

‘He didn’t leave you because of you, Vivienne,’ he said abruptly after taking a sip of his coffee. ‘It was because of the fortune he stands to inherit as Courtney’s husband.’

Vivienne gritted her teeth before looking up. ‘Maybe.’

Marion had said the same thing, and of course the logical part of Vivienne agreed with her. But she still couldn’t get it out of her head that somehow she was at fault as well. Perhaps Daryl had got sick of her obsession with tidiness, not to mention her sexual inhibitions. She wasn’t keen on oral sex, or adventurous positions where she felt exposed and vulnerable. Even being on top bothered her. Daryl had always said that he didn’t need her to do any of that stuff if she didn’t want to; that making love to her was enough for him.

‘No sane man would leave a nice girl like you for a woman like Courtney Ellison,’ Jack said. ‘Not unless the carrot was gold-plated.’

Vivienne might have been flattered, if the thought hadn’t struck her that if Daryl was such a cold-blooded fortune hunter then he’d probably pursued her because of her money. She might not be in Courtney Ellison’s financial league but she wasn’t poor either. She owned her own apartment and car, and still had a substantial bank balance. On top of that, as one of Sydney’s most successful young designers, she earned a six-figure salary.

The conclusion that Daryl had never loved her, that their relationship had been nothing but a con from the start, was even more shattering than his leaving her.

When Jack saw Vivienne’s face go ashen, he decided a quick change of subject was called for.

‘Before I forget,’ he said as he plonked his coffee cup back onto its saucer. ‘The chap I’ve organised to come look at your bathroom door will be at your place the same time as me—seven. Not that he can fix it on the spot. When I told him the door would need replacing, not repairing, he said he’d have to take measurements to make sure he got the right door.’

Vivienne made a scoffing sound. ‘And you trust a tradesman to arrive on time? When I had my apartment renovated I soon discovered that tradies have a totally different time schedule to the rest of the world.’