Master of her Virtue

Soon, the Wolfe Literary Agency had become the literary agency to belong to if you were a thriller writer. And, whilst Henry wasn’t interested in expanding his agency at his age, his father had had the nous to hire this Violet as his assistant once she’d graduated from university. He’d also had the nous to buy this apartment—fully furnished—when it had come on the somewhat depressed market just over two years ago.

Leo had to admit that he was impressed with the place. He was impressed with Sydney, too. It was a glorious-looking city, with a superb climate and a wealth of things to see and do. Okay, so there weren’t as many theatres and museums as London boasted, but the restaurants were top class, the shopping perfectly adequate and the beaches to die for.

Not to mention the harbour. He’d only been here a week but already he could see the attraction for people from gloomy old England. There was something uplifting in seeing a clear blue sky in which the sun shone brightly.

It had certainly uplifted him. Leo had been feeling a bit low of late, what with his last movie having been a box-office flop. Entirely his fault, of course. He should never have attempted to make a two-hour film out of a thousand-page novel which was character- rather than plot-based. Failure had been inevitable.

Still, it had been a bitter pill to swallow after producing a string of hits over the past decade. One of the reasons he’d accepted his father’s invitation to spend Christmas and the New Year with him here in Sydney was to get away from the media—not to mention his so-called friends, the ones who seemed to enjoy saying that his Midas touch with movies might be on the wane. By the time he went back to England, he hoped the critics would have found someone else to slam with their poisonous reviews. For pity’s sake, the movie hadn’t been that bad!

Leo was just finishing off his glass of Shiraz when the glass door to his immediate left slid back and his father stepped out onto the huge curving balcony which fronted the entire apartment. Leo was glad to see that he’d brought the bottle with him, as well as a glass for himself.

‘Well, that’s a turn-up for the books,’ Henry said enigmatically as he made his way past Leo’s outstretched legs, sat down and filled his own glass from the bottle.

It was an irritating habit of Henry’s, starting a conversation with a statement like that, then offering no explanation till questioned further. He enjoyed piquing people’s curiosity. Henry called it his cliff-hanger tactic.

‘What is?’ Leo asked as he placed his own now-empty glass on the circular table which separated them.

Henry refilled Leo’s glass before he lifted his eyes to his son. ‘That was Violet on the phone. You know? My assistant. You’ll never guess what—she’s actually coming to my New Year’s Eve party!’

Leo appreciated Henry’s surprise. He knew quite a bit about his father’s assistant. He knew that Violet, whilst extremely intelligent, was also extremely antisocial. Henry said that, although not plain, she was a dreadful dresser with no sense of style and no confidence in herself as a woman. Which Henry considered a shame, since he said she had a lot to offer, if only she’d come out of her shell and make the most of herself. She didn’t mind going out to lunch or coffee with Henry alone, but she never, ever accompanied him to any of his client luncheons, or accepted any of Henry’s other invitations, which were many and varied.

Henry had always been a social animal, loving opening nights and parties of any kind. When he’d lived in London, his New Year’s Eve parties had been legendary, the food and wine top draw, the guest lists full of fascinating people. He’d continued that tradition out here.

Violet, however, had not attended even one of Henry’s New Year’s Eve parties, not even when he’d moved in to this apartment, despite it overlooking the harbour and the bridge where all the guests would have an uninterrupted view of the famous fireworks which went off over Sydney Harbour each New Year’s Eve at midnight. One would have thought she’d have made the effort to come just to see them. But apparently not.

According to Henry, she boarded with an elderly widow and had never had a boyfriend. Or, she hadn’t since she’d started working full-time for Henry. Which didn’t mean she’d never had one, Leo conceded. Hell, she’d been to university, hadn’t she? Not even the plainest, dullest girls got through uni without being hit upon. And this Violet wasn’t plain or dull.

Maybe she’d had a bad sexual experience at some stage which had made her anti-men.

‘Did you remind her that it was fancy dress?’ Leo asked. Henry had stipulated on his invitations that guests were to come dressed as a character from a movie.

‘Yes. And it didn’t seem to worry her.’

‘Even more surprising,’ was Leo’s comment. Shy people tended not to like fancy dress. Maybe Henry was wrong in his assessment of his assistant’s personality. Maybe she had a secret love life. A married man, perhaps?

‘I wonder what character your obviously-not-so-shrinking Violet will choose?’ he said, his curiosity piqued.

Henry shrugged. ‘Lord knows. Something a little more imaginative than yours, I hope.’

‘Come now, Henry, you didn’t honestly expect me to ponce around all night in green tights and a feathered hat?’

‘But you’d make a fantastic Robin Hood, with your athletic body.’

Leo did keep himself lean and fit, but he was forty now, not twenty-five. Time for a more grown-up costume. ‘I think the character I’ve chosen suits me better.’

‘Why?’ Henry said as he poured himself another glass of wine. ‘Because you’re a fellow womaniser?’

Leo was taken aback by his father’s remark. He had never considered himself a womaniser. Possibly it looked like he was to people who didn’t really know him. He did have two marriages behind him and, yes, he was rarely without an attractive young actress to grace his arm when at the many public events he was obliged to attend these days.

But what the media didn’t know was that he didn’t sleep with any of them. Well … not any more he didn’t. He’d learned by his mistakes. The only woman Leo had sex with these days was Mandy, a fortyish divorced workaholic who ran a casting agency in London and who was the soul of discretion about their strictly sexual relationship.

Mandy liked Leo, and she liked sex. What she wouldn’t like was being featured in the gossip columns of London’s tabloids as Leo Wolfe’s latest squeeze. She had two teenage sons at boarding school whom she adored and an ex-husband whom she detested. She didn’t want to get married again. She just wanted some company in bed occasionally. They met at her Kensington town house once or twice a week when Leo was in town.

‘I’m not a womaniser,’ Leo denied, annoyed with his father for even thinking that he was.

‘Of course you are, Leo,’ Henry refuted coolly. ‘It’s in your blood. You’re just like me. I loved your mother dearly, but I sometimes think it was a blessing that she passed away when she did. I wouldn’t have stayed faithful to her. I would have made her miserable, the way you made Grace miserable,’ he pronounced as he swept the wine glass to his lips.

‘I was not unfaithful to Grace,’ Leo bit out through clenched teeth. ‘And I did not make her miserable.’ Not till after he had asked her for a divorce, that was. Till then, Grace had been totally unaware of the fact that he didn’t love her. And that he had never loved her—although Leo had thought he had when he had asked her to marry him. But he’d been only twenty, for pity’s sake, and she’d been pregnant with his child. Lust had tricked him into believing he was in love.

The lust lasted till Liam had been born, which was when Leo had really fallen in love—with his son. He’d tried desperately to make the marriage work for the baby’s sake. He’d pretended and pretended till it had nearly driven him mad. In the end, just before their ninth wedding anniversary, he’d admitted defeat and asked Grace for a divorce. He’d just started getting interested in the movie-making business and had realised he wanted to change more than just his profession. He’d never enjoyed being a lawyer, and he could no longer stand making love to a woman whom he didn’t love.

He was fortunate that Grace had been nice enough not to punish him for not loving her. She’d given him joint custody of Liam and they were still good friends today. She’d eventually found someone else to marry and seemed happy.

But Leo had never forgotten the pain in her eyes when he’d told her that he’d fallen out of love with her. He hadn’t admitted that he’d never loved her, but she’d been shattered all the same. He’d vowed then and there to not ever hurt another person like that again. And he hadn’t, thank heavens. Not even when he’d got divorced for a second time a few years back.

Henry returned his glass to the table before settling a sceptical gaze on his son. ‘Really, Leo?’ he said. ‘What was the problem, then? You never did fully explain the reasons behind your first divorce. I just presumed there was another woman. After all, you were mixing with a pretty racy crowd by then.’

‘There wasn’t any other woman. I just didn’t love Grace any more.’

‘I see. I’m sorry to have misjudged you. But you could have set me straight before this. Why didn’t you?’

‘I just didn’t like talking about it. I guess I was ashamed of myself.’

‘No need to feel ashamed for being honest. So you weren’t unfaithful; mmm, I am surprised. I presume the same doesn’t hold for your second marriage?’

Leo couldn’t help laughing. But there was a slightly bitter edge to his amusement.

‘Unfaithfulness was certainly a large factor in that divorce,’ he admitted. ‘Just not mine.’

Henry frowned over the rim of his wine glass which had frozen just before reaching his lips. ‘Are you saying Helene was unfaithful to you?’

Again, Leo had to laugh. ‘Thank you for making it sound like that’s impossible.’

Henry looked hard at his son and saw what he always saw: a very handsome, very successful, very charming man. Women had always found him irresistible, ever since he was a little boy.

His Aunt Victoria had adored him, making sure he didn’t lack for feminine love and attention as he grew up. She’d taken responsibility for that part of his education which no father or school could provide, giving him a love of the things women loved, like movies and music.

Each year, during Leo’s summer holidays from school, she’d taken him abroad, showing him the world’s wonders and teaching him all there was to know about different cultures. She’d also taught him another talent: how to listen. Which was why the female sex found him so appealing. There was nothing more seductive to a woman than a man who listened to them. Of course, it did help that he’d also been blessed with great genes. Good looks did run in the family.

It seemed unbelievable to Henry that any woman would look elsewhere when she had a man like Leo in her life and in her bed.

‘So, who was the silly girl sleeping with?’ he asked. ‘One of her leading men, I suppose?’

‘All of them, it seems,’ Leo admitted drily. ‘Or so I found out later. I only caught her with one of them. She claimed it was only sex; that she did it to relax during a shoot. I didn’t quite see it that way. Now, could we talk about something else? This wine, perhaps?’

‘Do you like it?’

‘It’s as good as any you can buy in Europe.’

‘There’s nothing to compare with a South Australian Shiraz. And there’s nothing to compare with Sydney Harbour on New Year’s Eve.’

‘Let’s hope the good weather holds, then,’ Leo said.

‘It should. I just hope Violet doesn’t do a runner at the last moment.’

‘You think she might?’

Henry frowned. ‘Actually, no, I don’t. Which is odd in itself. She sounded different on the phone just now. More confident. No; I think she’ll turn up. I just hope she doesn’t come as someone boring like Jane Eyre. Or a nun.’

‘Most of the movies I’ve seen with nuns in them aren’t boring.’

‘True. Violet would probably come as the nun in that old movie set during the war on an island in the Pacific. What was it, now?’

‘Heaven Knows, Mr Allison.’

He slanted Leo an admiring glance. ‘Yes, that’s the one. You do know your movies, don’t you?’

‘I should do. It’s my job. Besides, that particular movie was one of Aunt Vicky’s favourites.’

‘Dear Victoria,’ Henry said wistfully. ‘I still miss her terribly, you know.’

‘So do I.’ Leo’s aunt had died a few years back, not long before Leo had married Helene. Perhaps, if she’d been alive, Aunt Vicky would have seen through Helen’s surface beauty to the ugliness which lay beneath. She’d been an excellent judge of character.

‘You know, Henry, Aunt Vicky would have loved this place.’

‘Yes. I do believe she would have. Shall we have a toast to her?’ Henry suggested.

Leo smiled with fond remembrance. ‘Why not? To Aunt Vicky,’ he said as he reached over and clinked his glass against Henry’s. ‘Who, if she were alive today, would definitely not come to your New Year’s Eve party dressed as a nun.’

Henry chuckled. ‘You’d be right there. Nothing shy and retiring about Victoria.’

They each took a deep swallow of their wine, after which both men fell silent.

Leo’s thoughts returned to Henry’s assistant, Violet. She sounded an intriguing sort of girl. He couldn’t wait to meet her. Couldn’t wait to see what she would wear to Henry’s party. He wished that the party was tonight. But it wasn’t; he’d have to wait two more whole days till New Year’s Eve. Darn! Patience was not one of his virtues.

CHAPTER THREE

‘THERE’S NO NEED for you to be nervous,’ Joy said to Violet as they drew nearer to the street where Henry lived. ‘You look beautiful.’

Violet knew that Joy was just saying that to make her feel better. She didn’t look beautiful—she looked petrified. Which was exactly what she was, all her new-found boldness having flown out the window the moment she’d climbed into Joy’s car for the drive over to Point Piper. It seemed that thinking about going to Henry’s party was a lot different from actually going.

‘I don’t think I can do this, Joy,’ she blurted out, her hands turning clammy as they twisted together in her lap.

Joy sighed, then pulled the car over to the kerbside. But she didn’t turn the small sedan around. She just switched off the engine then faced Violet with stern grey eyes.

‘Do I have to remind you what happened on that plane, Violet? And what you told me you’d decided to do from now on?’

Shame made Violet grimace. She’d been so full of resolve after her near-death experience, so determined to change. Yet here she was, skittering to a halt at the first hurdle.

‘A life lived in fear, Violet, is no life at all,’ Joy quoted from somewhere. ‘But it’s up to you. I’ll take you home if that’s what you really want. But you’ll hate yourself in the morning.’

Violet already hated herself.

Joy reached over and touched her gently on her whitened knuckles. ‘I know it must be hard for you to do this. Bad habits are very difficult to break. But you have to start somewhere. You can’t hide yourself away for the rest of your life. You’re no longer a teenage girl with a face full of pimples and scars. You’re a lovely young woman with clear skin, beautiful eyes and a figure I would have killed for when I was your age.’

‘Really?’

‘God, yes. I had no bust to speak of, even in my twenties. And no hips either. But we’re talking about you, dear, not me. So what’s it to be? Are you going to your boss’s party, or are you going to be a wishy-washy lily-livered little nincompoop and ask me to take you home?’

Violet could not help it. She laughed, her laughter breaking some of the tension which had been gathering inside her chest since she’d got dressed this evening.

‘Of course,’ Joy rattled on, ‘if you ask me to take you home, I’m going to be very annoyed indeed. It took me ages to find that infernal costume amongst all the sentimental stuff I’ve kept over the years, then even longer to alter it to fit you. When Lisa played Snow White in her college review she was skinny and flat-chested like me. Look at all the work I had to do on that bodice alone, cutting it down the middle, then adding facings and putting in eyelets and laces so that we could give your very nice bustline more room.’

Violet glanced down at the bodice of her costume, startled to find that from that angle all she could see were two half-mounds of naked flesh oozing out of the top. She hadn’t realised that so much of her breasts were on display. Standing up, her reflection in Joy’s full-length mirror hadn’t looked quite so daring. Such a sight only added to her nervous state. She wasn’t used to showing off her body.

Lady Gwendaline didn’t mind, however, came the unexpected thought. She flashed her cleavage around with panache, enjoying the effect it had on Captain Strongbow.

‘And don’t forget all the money you’ve spent on everything else,’ Joy continued relentlessly. ‘New shoes. Hair. Make-up. All wasted if you go home now.’

Strangely, it was thinking of Lady Gwendaline’s boldness which made up Violet’s mind more than Joy pointing out the money she’d spent on herself.

Violet scooped in a deep breath before unlocking her twisted fingers then breathing slowly out. ‘All right. I’ll go.’

Joy’s face lit up. ‘That’s marvellous. I’m so proud of you.’

Violet didn’t feel all that proud of herself. Not yet. Underneath, she still felt petrified. But to go back home was unthinkable now.

‘If you don’t mind my making a suggestion…’ Joy said as she started the engine once more. ‘Have a glass or two of wine when you first get there. Nothing like a bit of Dutch courage to settle the nerves.’

‘All right,’ Violet agreed, thinking it was a good idea.

‘When you really think about it, Violet, there’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just a party.’

Violet straightened her shoulders and steeled her resolve. Joy was right. It was just a party; nothing to be afraid of. It wasn’t as though she was going to be left totally alone with a roomful of strangers. Henry would be there and at least one of his authors, whom Violet had met, or at least talked to over the phone.

Unfortunately, however, there would be lots of people there she didn’t know—clever, cultured people, the kind Henry liked to socialise with. People from the artistic world. Playwrights and painters. Musicians and movie people.

‘Oh my goodness, I forgot!’ Violet exclaimed just as Joy pulled into the steep driveway which led down to the guest car park attached to Henry’s apartment block. ‘His son will be there.’

‘The movie producer?’

Henry was always talking to Violet about his son and his successes, information which she had imparted to Joy.

‘Yes. Leo. He came over from London to spend Christmas and New Year with his father.’

‘And that’s a problem?’

‘No. No, I guess not. It’s just that … Well, he’s rather famous, isn’t he?’ Not to mention very good-looking. Henry had a photo of him dressed in a tuxedo on his desk. It had been taken at an awards night when one of his movies had won best picture.

‘Did his wife come with him?’

‘His wife?’ Violet echoed blankly.

‘Isn’t he married to Helene Williams? The actress?’

‘He was. They’re divorced now.’

‘Keep well away from him, then,’ Joy warned as she pulled up next to a flashy red sports car. ‘Especially if that’s his car.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Joy, I doubt a man like Leo Wolfe would ever be interested in someone like me. For one thing, he has to be well over forty. He has a twenty-year-old son from his first marriage.’ Violet had actually met the son, Liam, when he’d been down under for a backpacking holiday earlier in the year. He’d stayed with his grandfather for a few days and had come into the office one day. A very good-looking boy. And extremely charming.

‘Older men often like pretty young girls,’ Joy pointed out drily. Especially sweet, innocent ones like you, she didn’t add. But she thought it. Lord, but she hoped she’d done the right thing, encouraging Violet to doll herself up and go to this party. It had seemed the right thing at the time, with Violet wanting so desperately to throw off her hang-ups and lead a more normal life for a twenty-five-year-old girl.

It was obvious by the look of this place, however—harbour-side apartments in Point Piper cost heaps—that Violet’s wealthy boss and his even wealthier son lived and mixed in circles where traditional values and morals were not necessarily adhered to. The rich and the famous lived life by their own rules. Perhaps she shouldn’t have told Violet to have a drink or two.

Still, she could hardly start raising her doubts now. And she wasn’t Violet’s mother, after all.

But she did feel responsible for her. Violet had become more than a boarder in the years they’d lived together. She was a dear friend. But she’d be a babe in the woods in the company she’d be keeping tonight.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ Joy piped up in what she hoped was a casual-sounding voice. ‘You’re going to have the devil of a time getting a taxi home after midnight on New Year’s Eve. What say I come back and pick you up around one o’clock?’

Violet looked taken aback by the offer. ‘I couldn’t ask you to do that, Joy.’

‘Don’t be silly. I won’t be asleep; I’ll be staying up to watch the fireworks, as always. I could leave straight after they’re finished. I’ll give you a ring once I get here. You have your phone with you, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Violet said. ‘In here.’ And she lifted the silver clutch bag she’d bought for the occasion.

‘That’s settled, then. Off you go, now, before you start having second thoughts again.’

Violet opened the car door and got out, after which she bent down to give Joy a shaky smile. ‘Thanks for everything, Joy.’

Joy stifled a groan as she took one last look at Violet’s impressive bosom spilling out over the tightly laced bodice. ‘I, er, might be a bit earlier than one o’clock,’ she said hurriedly. ‘It shouldn’t take me too long to get from Newtown to here at that time of night.’

‘Whenever you can get here will be fine. So what’s the time now? I’m not wearing a watch.’

Joy glanced at the clock on the dashboard. ‘Nearly eight-thirty.’

Violet frowned. The invitation had said any time after eight, but everything seemed very quiet. She would have expected the guest car park to be full by now and people to be arriving every few minutes. She knew Henry had asked around sixty people, because she herself had emailed out the invitations, of which at least fifty had RSVP’d that they were coming.

‘Do you think I’m too early?’

‘Maybe. Do you want to get back in the car and wait a while?’

Violet knew if she did that she might never get out again. Her stomach was beginning to churn again. ‘No. No, best I go inside. Thanks again, Joy, for driving me. And for offering to pick me up.’

‘No trouble.’

‘Off you go, then. I’ll be fine. I know the way.’ She’d been to Henry’s apartment a couple of times, once before he bought it and once a few months after, Henry having wanted her to see what he’d done with it. Despite the place coming fully furnished, he’d added quite a few touches of his own to counter the starkly modern decor. He’d put some turquoise and silver cushions on the white leather sofas and warmed all the white walls with some brightly coloured paintings, mostly seascapes done by local artists.

There was no doubt it was a spectacular looking apartment with a spectacular view of the harbour, but it wasn’t the sort of place Violet would have felt comfortable living in. All the walls facing the harbour were glass without a single curtain or blind to provide privacy. Violet knew she would feel very exposed living there, like a fish in a glass bowl.