A Man Without Mercy

‘It’s not too late to change your mind,’ Jack said quietly by her side, even as he reached to ring the doorbell.

But it was already too late; both doors flung open before his finger connected with the buzzer.

And there stood Frank Ellison, as huge as his house. Around sixty, he had a large, florid face, and an even larger stomach.

‘I told them to keep these damned things open,’ he boomed before noticing his new arrivals. ‘Jack! You came. I’m so glad you did. And who’s this stunning creature by your side?’

He hadn’t recognised Vivienne, Jack realised. Of course, she did look different from how she did in her work wardrobe.

But still...

Vivienne thought it was typical of the man that he didn’t recognise her. He’d rarely spoken to her during the months she’d worked on this house. They’d only ever had one decent conversation when he’d actually looked at her, and that was the day he’d come to Classic Design to hire their services.

‘Money’s no object,’ he’d said. ‘Just make sure everyone else knows that. I want the place to look like it’s owned by royalty. Or a filthy-rich sheikh. You got that, girlie?’

She’d got it. And she’d delivered. The place was seriously palatial, from the Italian marble floors to the exquisite furniture—all genuine antiques—the air of opulence enhanced by the seriously expensive artwork hanging on every single wall.

‘It’s Vivienne, Mr Ellison,’ she said with a cool smile. ‘Vivienne Swan. I was the interior decorator for this house. Don’t you remember me?’

He didn’t look embarrassed in the slightest. ‘Yes, of course I remember you. I just didn’t recognise you in that smashing red dress. So, you and Jack are dating, are you? I didn’t realise that when he told me you were the best interior decorator in Sydney. A somewhat biased recommendation, eh, Jack?’ he said, with a ‘nod nod, wink wink’ grin. ‘Not that you didn’t do a fabulous job, girlie. Actually, both of you did a fabulous job. I couldn’t be happier with the finished product. Couldn’t be happier tonight all round, with my daughter finally finding herself a bloke man enough to put a bun in her oven. And then to actually agree to marry her!’

Vivienne realised in that instant that Frank Ellison had no idea she’d once been engaged to his daughter’s fiancé. He obviously didn’t recall her being with Daryl at their house-warming party. He’d probably been too busy impressing his other celebrity guests that night to notice her, or who she was with.

Which was fine by her. She hadn’t come here to have a go at Frank Ellison.

The arrival of other guests at that moment had Frank telling Jack and Vivienne to go inside and mingle whilst he turned his attention elsewhere.

‘He doesn’t know you were engaged to Daryl,’ Jack muttered to her as they walked under the huge chandelier which hung from the ceiling of the massive marble-floored atrium.

‘No,’ she agreed. ‘Maybe Courtney doesn’t know, either. Come to think of it, I wasn’t wearing an engagement ring when we came to Frank’s house-warming party. Daryl had asked me to marry him but I...er...he...um...hadn’t bought the ring yet.’ No way was she going to admit in front of Jack that she’d eventually bought her own engagement ring. That would be just too humiliating for words. ‘She probably only knows what Daryl told her, which would be a pack of lies.’

Jack’s laugh was dry. ‘Courtney knew about you, Vivienne. I’d put my money on it.’

As if on cue, the girl herself, resplendent in a cocktail dress which made Vivienne’s gown look demure, came undulating up the three steps which separated the foyer from the huge sunken living room. Her dress—obviously a one-off made for her—was black and strapless, the beaded bodice cut so low across and between Courtney’s impressive and possibly enhanced breasts that it only just covered her nipples. The skirt was black chiffon, flaring out from just under her bust, effectively hiding her baby bump, and ending with a handkerchief hemline which flowed around the girl’s ankles, their slender shape shown off by the highest, slinkiest, sparkliest shoes Vivienne had ever seen. Even more sparkly were the exquisite diamond earrings hanging from Courtney’s lobes.

Much as she tried, she could not fault the girl’s face, with its perfect skin, cutely turned-up nose and pouty mouth, though Vivienne did wonder how much was natural and how much was owed to the skills of a top plastic surgeon. After all, her father wasn’t even remotely handsome, so she hadn’t got any beauty genes from him. Obviously they came from her mother, whoever she was. Frank Ellison had had lots of wives, and they’d all been good-looking. Men like that didn’t marry plain women. Even so, Courtney’s long mane of creamy blonde hair definitely wasn’t real—those dark roots were a dead giveaway—though it did suit her. One could not deny that Courtney Ellison was a very sexy creature all round; Vivienne’s admiration for Jack went up a few notches at his having resisted her advances.