Serena reflected this was very little different to a hairdressing salon. Michelle even played background music, always soft romantic tracks to soothe any savage hearts, and she charged similar fees. Of course, it wasn’t as upmarket, no stylish fittings or decorator items, just plain workbenches, open shelves, and a tiled floor that made cleaning easy.
The best thing about it, Serena decided, was the pets didn’t talk back, dumping all their problems or complaints on the stylist who was expected to dish out unlimited sympathy even when it was obvious there were two sides to be considered. Not that that was the case with Cleo who was clearly an innocent victim, yet the darling little silky terrier hadn’t even raised a bark since Serena had rescued her from the dark brute and his evil witch-woman.
‘You can put on her pink ribbon, Serena,’ Michelle instructed, having finished with Cleo and about to pick up another dog waiting for his turn to be pampered, a Maltese terrier who’d sat tamely in line like all the other pets in the salon, content to watch Michelle do her thing.
‘I’m not sure Nic Moretti is going to appreciate the pink ribbon,’ Serena dryly commented as she cut off an appropriate length from the roll Michelle kept on a shelf.
It earned the look of unshakeable authority. ‘No pet leaves this salon without wearing a ribbon. It’s the finishing touch. Cleo knows it and expects it. She’ll be upset if you don’t give it to her. You can tell Angelina’s brother that from me. He has to consider the dog’s sense of rightness or he’s going to have a traumatised pet on his hands.’
When it came to dog handling her sister was a genius. Serena accepted her advice without question. But would Nic Moretti? Confronting him again stirred mixed feelings. The fear of being recognised as Lyall Duncan’s belittling choice of wife had been somewhat allayed. It seemed unlikely that he would make the connection now, given the distraction of her current job. Besides, it would be interesting to see if he had got rid of his penthouse pet in the interests of properly safeguarding his sister’s.
Smiling at Cleo as she tied the ribbon around her neck, she softly crooned, ‘Pretty pink bow.’
The dog sprang up from the bench top and licked her chin. Starved for praise and affection, Serena concluded, and decided to add a bit more advice to her sister’s when she spoke to Nic Moretti again. Her smile widened to a grin. Teach the brute a few lessons that would hopefully stick in his arrogant craw.
‘I’m off now,’ she called out to Michelle.
‘Okay. Don’t forget to pick up Muffy at Erina on the way back.’
‘Will do.’
It was twenty minutes to one o’clock. As Serena took Cleo out to the van, she thought how good it was to be out of the city. Although Michelle’s five acre property at Holgate wasn’t exactly country, it was big enough to give a sense of real space and freedom while still being located close to the large populated areas of Gosford, Erina, Wamberal and Terrigal.
The salon was a large two-roomed shed behind the house and the parking area that served it took up quite a bit of room, but there was still plenty of land for Michelle’s seven-year-old daughter to keep a pony which she rode every day after she came home from school. All in all, Serena thought her widowed older sister had done a fantastic job of setting up a business she could run while looking after Erin. Though she did seemed to have settled too much into the life of a single parent. Did the idea of getting involved in another relationship make her feel too vulnerable?
At thirty-two, Michelle was only four years older than herself, still very attractive with lovely glossy brown hair, big hazel eyes, a young pretty face and a whip-lean figure from all the physical work she did. Maybe her manless state was due to not having much opportunity to get out and meet people. Which could certainly be fixed now that Serena was here to mind her niece whenever her sister would like to go out.
On the other hand, not having a man in one’s life was a lot less complicated. Maybe both she and her sister were better off on their own.
Serena pondered this dark thought as she settled Cleo in the van, then took off for the return trip to the Gifford house. Without a doubt she was starting to enjoy this complete change of lifestyle; not having to put on full make-up every day, not having to construct a hairstyle that fitted the out-there image of Ty’s salon, not having to worry about wearing right up-to-date fashionable clothes, nor compete on any social scene. Lyall hadn’t wanted her to compete with him but he’d certainly wanted her to shine amongst other women.
From now on, she simply wanted to be her own person. No putting on a show for anybody. And that included Nic Moretti. Wealth and success and good looks in a man were attractive attributes, but she wasn’t about to let them influence her into not looking for what the man was like inside. Nor was she about to change herself to please him, just because he was attractive.
Well, not exactly attractive.
More loaded with sex appeal.
A woman would have to be dead not to notice.
But snobbery was not sexy at all, Serena strongly reminded herself, so she was not about to be softened up by Nic Moretti’s sex appeal. In fact, it would be fun to get under his skin again, have those dark eyes burning intensely at her, make him see her as a person he couldn’t dismiss out of hand.
Sweet revenge for how he’d spoken about her to Lyall.
Yes.
This was one man who definitely needed to be taught a few lessons.
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS just on one o’clock when Serena rang the doorbell of the Gifford home. Perfect punctuality, she thought, and wondered if Nic Moretti would keep her waiting again. He had been told when she’d return. It was a matter of courtesy and respect to answer her call with reasonable promptness. No excuse not to.
She was constructing a few pertinent remarks about the value of her time when the door opened and there was the man facing her, all polished up and instantly sending a quiver through her heart. His black hair was shiny, his gorgeously fringed chocolate eyes were shiny, his jaw was shiny, even his tanned skin was shiny. The guy was a star in any woman’s language.
He wore sparkling white shorts and a navy and white sports shirt and a smile that was whiter than both of them. Positively dazzling. ‘Hello again,’ he said pleasantly, causing Serena to swallow the bile she’d been building up against him.
‘Hi!’ she croaked, cravenly wishing she had put some effort into her own appearance. Too late now. Frantically regathering her scattered wits, she made the totally unbrilliant statement, ‘Here’s Cleo.’
He smiled down at the dog. ‘And looking very…feminine.’
As opposed to her?
No, no, he was referring to the pink bow.
Get a grip, girl!
‘I take it you’ve clipped her claws?’ he asked.
‘As much as they can be without making her bleed,’ Serena managed to answer sensibly.
Her own blood was tingling as though it had been subjected to an electric charge. It was embarrassing to find herself so taken by him this time around. Hating the feeling of being at a disavantage, she seized on the action of detaching the leash from Cleo’s collar. Retreat was the better part of valour in these tricky circumstances and the dog was now his responsibility, not hers.
Her fingers fumbled over the catch and the little silky terrier wriggled with impatience, anticipating the moment of freedom. Finally the deed was done, release completed, and Serena straightened up from her crouch, feeling flushed and fluttery, making the quite unnecessary declaration, ‘She’s all yours!’
Whereupon Cleo shot into the house, barking like a maniac.
Nic Moretti grimaced a kind of helpless appeal. ‘What’s got into her