A Woman To Remember. Miranda Lee

Things really looked up after that.’

      ‘Mum! I’m shocked,’ he said, then grinned at her. ‘You devil, you.’

      She blushed some more, though she did look rather pleased with herself. He felt inordinately proud of her at that moment. She’d been handed temptation on a plate, when his dad had foolishly been neglecting her, but her essential goodness had come through in the end.

      Luke’s mouth thinned as he accepted that not all women were as strong, or as decent. Some were weak, self-centred creatures, who went out and took what they wanted, and to hell with the people they hurt in the process.

      A waiter appeared by the table and asked Luke if he wanted to order. He declined, giving the excuse that his mouth still felt numb from the injection he’d had—which was true—but the real reason was that he could not stand to sit there any longer. He had places to go. Leads to follow. A woman to find.

      ‘Would you mind if I loved you and left you, Mum?’ he said as soon as the waiter had departed. ‘While I was at the dentist’s I remembered I’d promised Ray to look him up the next time I was home.’

      ‘Ray? Ray who?’

      ‘Ray Holland. He’s a photographer.’ Who I’m hoping and praying still lives and works in Sydney, he thought grimly.

      ‘Never heard of him. There again, the only photographer friend of yours you ever talk about is Theo, and that’s never very complimentary. I remember poor Theo had the hardest job talking you into going to the opening of his photographic exhibition last time you were home, and then the next morning he rang and complained that you’d disappeared ten minutes after you arrived!’

      ‘Yeah, well, over the past few years poor Theo’s work has gone from really good stuff down to the most pretentious crap. I thought if I stayed there any longer that night I might be tempted to tell the truth and offend him.’

      ‘Where did you get to that night? You didn’t come home, if I recall.’

      ‘Come now, Mum! You don’t really expect me to tell you, do you? I gave up reporting in when I turned eighteen.’

      ‘Don’t underestimate yourself, Luke. You were fifteen. The most difficult and rebellious boy God ever put breath into! I can see you haven’t improved much either. You’re still difficult.’

      ‘What about rebellious?’

      “‘Rebellious” is not an adjective suited to a thirty-two-year-old bachelor. Let’s just leave it at difficult.’

      ‘Yes, let’s,’ Luke said, and stood up, sensing that his mother was about to deteriorate into emotional blackmail of some sort. She had that gleam in her eye which heralded that her female curiosity was far from satisfied.

      Women could be quite ruthless when they really wanted to know something, he mused. If cool reason didn’t work, they tried every trick in the book—from Chinese-water-torture-style demands, to sulky silences, to floods of tears.

      Luke could bear just about all those methods except tears. They were the undoing of him every time.

      ‘I must go, Mum. I have a lot to do today. And before you suggest it, no, I don’t want you to drive me. I’m going to rent myself a car.’

      ‘Will you be home for dinner this evening?’ Grace asked archly.

      ‘What are you cooking?’

      She lifted her nose in a disdainful sniff. ‘I have no intention of telling you if that’s all that’s bringing you home.’

      ‘In that case you can surprise me. See you around seven, sweetie,’ he said, distracting her with a peck on the cheek while he scooped the women’s magazine up from the adjoining chair.

      Grace watched her son stalk across the coffeelounge, well aware of the hungry female eyes which turned to follow him. Her sigh held a weary resignation. That boy is up to no good, she thought, her own eyes zeroing in on the magazine curled up in his right hand.

      And it’s all to do with some woman, I’ll warrant. A woman featured in that magazine he’s been trying to hide. A married woman, no doubt, whom he met the last time he was home and whom he’s off to meet again in secret.

      Oh, Luke... Luke...

      Grace shook her head unhappily. When was he going to learn that there was no future with a married woman? No future at all!

      

      Luke paced up and down the living-room of Theo’s apartment, impatiently waiting for his friend to come out of his darkroom.

      He still could not believe his luck—or the ease with which he’d reached his objective! Within an hour of leaving his mother he’d been leaving the. offices of the magazine with the address of Ray Holland in his hot little hands. Half an hour later Luke had been walking into the man’s studio in Randwick, and once again his luck had been in—he’d caught the freelance photographer just before he had to leave. Luke had come to the point immediately.