‘Uh—what kind of restaurant are we going to?’ she asked as Dave drove them off.
‘Angelo’s,’ Finn replied.
Sienna clicked her tongue. Angelo’s was one of Brisbane’s most exclusive restaurants.
Finn turned his head towards her. ‘Is that a problem?’
‘I’m not dressed for Angelo’s. I’m dressed,’ Sienna said with precision, ‘for a rather nice restaurant on the river—which to me indicated somewhere casual and pleasant rather than five-star and extremely up-market.’ Her voice had risen a little.
‘I don’t see anything wrong with the way you’re dressed, but, to set your mind at rest, I’ve booked a table on the deck—it is more casual than the main restaurant.’
‘How on earth did you get a table—even on the deck—at such short notice?’
‘They know me.’
‘Silly question,’ Sienna muttered to herself, but any further utterances were forestalled as Dave drew up opposite the striped awning that protected the famous green brass-handled front doors of Angelo’s.
Sienna had never been to the restaurant but she’d heard of it; not only exquisite cuisine but one of the places to be seen in town.
The rumours hadn’t lied, she saw immediately. The décor was fabulous. Burgundy walls, champagne marble floors, soft, concealed lighting and forest-green velvet upholstery upon pale beech chairs. That pale glossy wood was repeated in the grand piano being played softly in the background.
And her eyes nearly popped at the number of celebrities she recognized. Not only that, but it was a glittering throng dressed to the nines, as Finn was greeted with reverence and ushered towards the deck. He was also stopped delightedly several times by other guests, at the same time as she was scanned from top to toe with a few raised eyebrows and the odd frown—but then immediate dismissal.
The analogy that sprang to mind had to do with her earrings. Pretty enough, but how could seed pearls on copper wire compete with the array of South Sea pearls glowing like moons, the diamonds and other gems that were displayed on the necks, ears, wrists and fingers of the female clientele of Angelo’s? Ditto her pretty but relatively inexpensive, definitely not designer outfit.
She set her teeth and raised her chin as they walked through to the deck.
It might be more casual than the main restaurant, but the deck was lovely. There were braziers flaming along the roped-off edge, potted palms swaying slightly in a gentle breeze and the crystal and silverware glinted on snowy white cloths.
When they were finally seated at the best table on the deck, with the river flowing past below their feet with reflected lights bobbing on its surface, she said, ‘Very impressive, Mr McLeod,’ but with an edge to her voice.
He eyed her narrowly. ‘Something tells me you don’t approve?’
‘Oh, I have no doubt I’ll approve of the bugs.’ She gestured. ‘I just feel a little out of place.’
He looked genuinely surprised. ‘Why?’
‘Everyone looks like a millionaire, if not to say a billionaire or a celebrity—’ she glanced around ‘—even on the deck. As for the prices—’ she glanced at the menu she’d been handed ‘—they’re little short of daylight robbery.’
‘Isn’t…’ He paused. ‘Couldn’t you be indulging in an inverted form of snobbery, Sienna?’
‘Well, actually, I’m all for quality, but I’m also a value-for-money girl. I could have taken you to a place where they do divine bugs for half the price, and the ambience isn’t bad either.’
He stared at her.
‘This is not exactly my milieu, Finn,’ she added gently. ‘It’s like another world, your world. It’s—’ she looked around ‘—very glamorous but a little bit false.’
‘I stand corrected,’ he said gravely. ‘Shall we go to your restaurant?’
Sienna’s eyes widened. ‘You mean stand up and walk out?’
He shrugged. ‘Why not?’
She blinked. ‘What will they think?’
‘Does it matter?’
It came to Sienna at that moment that this was the essence of being super-wealthy. Not only paying inflated prices for being surrounded by your peers and being seen on the social scene, but doing precisely as you pleased, and Finn McLeod did it in spades.
‘Er—no,’ she said. ‘I would feel bad, only on behalf of the staff, about doing that.’
‘So you’re happy to grin and bear it?’ he suggested.
‘I—I’ll tell you how I feel after I’ve sampled the bugs.’
She looked at him coolly until he smiled with genuine amusement.
‘You’re quite a character, Miss Torrance,’ he murmured. ‘Tell me this—do you drink?’
‘Of course I drink.’
‘I mean as in wine? Something light and refreshing to go with the seafood, maybe?’
‘Why not? Do I look like a teetotaller?’ she asked wryly.
‘I just thought, having been castigated on the excesses of this place, that might be another of your pet aversions.’
Sienna grimaced. ‘Sorry, perhaps I got a bit carried away—it’s a little demoralizing to feel under-dressed, in case you hadn’t realized.’
‘My apologies. The last thing I wanted to do was embarrass you, but there is no need—you look absolutely fine.’
Sienna chewed her lip. He sounded as if he meant it. Perhaps it simply hadn’t crossed his mind that you needed to give a girl fair warning before you took her to Angelo’s? Maybe the women he normally escorted around expected no less?
‘Thank you, I’ll rise above it then—and I’d love some wine to go with the seafood.’
‘Bravo!’ His eyes lingered on her for a long moment but were entirely enigmatic, before he turned away to order the wine.
A couple of hours later, crispy, garlic-butter-soaked bread and tapas had come and gone as well as melt-in-the-mouth barbecued bugs on a bed of rice with a green salad. And Sienna realized—how had he done it?—they hadn’t talked about his stick at all. If anything, they’d mostly talked about her.
Somehow, maybe the wine had helped, he’d broken through her barriers of resentment and feelings of ill-use and got her to talk about herself. Her university days, her passion for her career, her travels, even her politics!
‘How did you do that?’ she asked him out of the blue.
He raised an eyebrow.
‘Invite me to dinner to talk about your stick, then get me to talk about anything but?’
He shrugged. ‘Most people love talking about themselves.’
‘Yes, but I’m usually—’ She gestured. ‘Things are usually the other way around for me. I’m the one who does the asking.’
‘I’ve noticed that. You’re very good at making light, unimportant conversation.’
‘Just like a hairdresser,’ she said mischievously.
‘What do people tell you?’ he asked curiously.
She raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘The most amazing things sometimes. Quite often things I’d rather not know.’ She smiled ruefully, then sobered. ‘But—why?’
‘I guess—’ he put his napkin on the table ‘—I’m interested, that’s all. As for my stick, if you really