Salome sighed and straightened, feeling better with her resolves. She had never been a physical coward, and she wasn’t about to start now.
Less than an hour later the bedroom was tidied, the stale coffee in the percolator poured away, the towel around her replaced by a tailored pair of khaki trousers and a cowl-necked lemon mohair jumper, her hair tied back with a lemon ribbon. Her make-up was at a minimum. Grey-green eye-shadow, mascara and coral lipstick. No foundation or blusher. The lengthy bath had put a healthy glow in her normally pale cheeks.
With tan loafers on her feet and a matching bag slung over her shoulder, she fairly dashed along the corridor, then started the long trek down the fire-stairs, determined not to go in that lift again till she’d been assured it wouldn’t break down. Hopefully, this would be by the time she needed to go back up!
The first thing she saw when she stepped out into the basement car park was Mike, standing behind her Ferrari with his hands on his hips. If she hadn’t been so taken aback by his clothing she might have noticed that he was staring down at something, his face grim. As it was, all her attention was riveted to his tight, stone-washed grey jeans, white T-shirt and black leather flying-jacket.
She smothered a groan. Wasn’t he sexy enough, without dressing like Marlon Brando in The Wild One? And what in heaven was he doing down here anyway?
He glanced up at her as she approached, his expression turning to one of open admiration as it flicked over this more softly casual though still stylish version of herself. It was when his dark brows suddenly bunched together in a black frown and he glared back down at the car that she realised something was wrong.
‘What is it?’ she said, hurrying forward. She followed his downward glance with her own. The Ferrari was low on the cement, all four tyres viciously slashed. ‘Oh, no...’
‘It’s easily fixable,’ he assured her.
She grimaced, then frowned up at him. ‘Charles, do you think?’
‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. It could have been the gang of kids who apparently sabotaged the main fuse-box with fire-crackers last night. Hence the blackout.’
‘Oh...’ Salome hoped it was. The image of Charles doing anything as vindictive as this was frightening. Mike wasn’t looking too happy about it either.
‘I think, Salome,’ he began firmly, ‘that we should drop in on your ex-husband and tell him what his lawyer’s been up to.’
She panicked at the idea. She no longer wanted to see Ralph. She certainly wasn’t up to facing him today. ‘That’s impossible,’ she said hastily. ‘He...he won’t see anyone.’
‘He’ll see me.’
Salome stared at his supremely confident face, and didn’t doubt it. There was a force in Mike that could be quite unstoppable once on the move.
‘He...he has cameras on top of the gates,’ she went on nervously. ‘If he sees me with you, he won’t let you in, believe me.’
‘Then he won’t see you with me,’ he stated unequivocally. ‘You can duck down.’
What could she say? She had gone on and on to Mike just yesterday about all the times she had tried to see Ralph. Now here he was, giving her the perfect opportunity to confront her ex-husband with moral support at her side, and she didn’t want to take it. What was she so frightened of finding out? She already knew about the other woman.
She shook her head in frustrated resignation. ‘Oh, all right. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Once Ralph finds out we’ve tricked him, he’ll throw us out.’
‘He wouldn’t want to try,’ Mike said darkly.
Salome shivered. There was something about Mike that frightened her at times, an air of suppressed violence. Was it this quality that had cowered Charles so devastatingly? Or had she been right when she’d wondered if Mike had an unsavoury background?
‘Mike...’ she began gingerly.
He glanced up from where he’d been looking at the tyres again. ‘What?’
She swallowed. ‘What did you do to Charles last night? What did you say to make him back down? I couldn’t believe it when he came out looking so...so defeated.’
A wry smile lifted the corner of his mouth. ‘There’s no great secret. I merely pointed out what might happen if he chose to do certain things.’
‘You mean you physically threatened him?’
‘I suppose one could put it that way.’
‘What exactly did you threaten to do?’
His glance was blackly amused. ‘You really want to know?’
She took a deep breath. ‘I really want to know.’
He leaned back on the car behind him and folded his arms. ‘Just the usual. That he might wake up one night to find his kneecaps nailed to the floor and certain parts of his anatomy missing.’
‘You didn’t!’ she gasped. ‘You wouldn’t!’
He laughed. ‘Yes, I did, and no, I wouldn’t. But he doesn’t know that,’ he added drily. ‘Look, Salome...’ He straightened, black eyes flashing. ‘When your parents are Italian immigrants, and you grow up in the western suburbs of Sydney, you learn three things. One—not to react to racial abuse. Two—how to fight. And three—how to handle a bully. Your Charles is a typical bully—physically big, but with no real courage or tolerance of pain. All you have to do to get the upper hand is hurt the bastards once. After that they will heartily believe whatever physical threat you make. Of course, with a man like Charles, who does have a degree of intelligence, it doesn’t hurt to have a second string to your bow, such as the threat of losing his very comfortable lifestyle. After all, I’m sure your ex-husband, if he is any sort of a man, won’t appreciate his lawyer trying to assault his ex-wife. Some pressure applied from that quarter can only help. It’s amazing, too, how often the pain of losing one’s money can sometimes be more persuasive than the pain of losing—er—other things.’
He smiled down at her wide-eyed face, taking her elbow and leading her somewhat stunned self over to his Jaguar. What kind of man was this? she thought dazedly. So tough, so forceful, so ruthless!
‘We’ll go to your mother’s first,’ he went on in that deceptively mild tone he could adopt when he chose to play the gentleman, ‘and pick up your things. I’ll need to make a call from there as well. I was supposed to be at my parents’ place for lunch, but there might not be time for that.’
‘Your parents?’ she repeated blankly.
His eyes gleamed with a sardonic light. ‘Yes, I do have parents, Salome. I didn’t ooze out of a man-hole up at the Cross. There’s even an older brother, Angelo, as well as three younger sisters—Gina, Antonia and Therese. All respectably married. I’m the only black sheep.’
Very black, came the automatic thought.
Her mind suddenly clicked into gear. Here was her escape from going to see Ralph. ‘Oh, well, then, please don’t put yourself out for me. Just drop me off at Molly’s and go on. You could always ring Ralph about Charles later. You shouldn’t miss an important lunch-date with your parents.’
They had reached his car, and Mike inserted the key in the passenger-door. ‘Hardly all that important,’ he threw over his shoulder. He wrenched open the door, and stepped back to wave her inside. ‘I go out to see them every Friday for lunch. They won’t die of disappointment if I miss one time.’
The image of Mike as a dutiful son distracted Salome for a moment, and she just stood there. She hadn’t thought of him with parents at all before now, let alone having the capacity to love and care about them, as he so obviously did. ‘Where do they live?’ she asked. ‘Your parents...’