Madeline stared incredulously at sensible, level-headed Mary. She was practically flirting with the younger man, her cheeks a delicate pink.
‘You got me.’ He dazzled a brilliant smile at Mary.
Madeline suppressed the sudden urge to scream. ‘Where’s George?’ she asked instead.
‘Here I am,’ he said, joining them, giving his wife a hug from behind. ‘Let’s eat!’
Mary was an excellent cook and Madeline was sure it tasted divine, but she found herself having to force down each mouthful. She was acutely conscious of Marcus and his witty chat especially when she could barely string two words together.
‘So, Marcus,’ Mary said, ‘tell us a bit about yourself.’
Marcus told them a lot about his earlier life growing up in Melbourne and Madeline was interested despite telling herself she didn’t care.
‘I’m surprised a nice young man like you hasn’t been snapped up with a couple of kids by now,’ Mary pressed.
He laughed. ‘Can you call thirty-five young?’
George snorted. ‘You can when you’re sixty.’
Madeline was just thinking how smoothly Marcus had avoided that question when she saw his smiling face grow serious.
‘Actually, I was married once, a long time ago.’
Madeline stopped eating. His cryptic comments in the car the previous night now made some sense.
‘Too young?’ asked Mary.
‘Something like that.’ He gave a quick, dismissive shrug of his shoulders.
‘Do you still see her?’ Mary asked.
‘From time to time.’
They ate a little more without speaking and then Mary said, ‘Have you had much of a chance to do any sightseeing, Marcus?’
‘Not really,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve been so busy since I arrived, setting up the practice, I haven’t really been anywhere. I’ve found South Bank, I swim there most afternoons. Oh, and the local skate park.’
Yes, indeed he had.
Madeline pushed her food around her plate as she remembered seeing him for the first time — had it only been yesterday? — shirtless, riding the concrete curves. His six-pack abs and his perfectly muscled quads returned in full Technicolor detail.
If only she’d known then, sitting in her car at those roadworks, that in less than twenty-four hours she’d actually be acquainted with skater boy, she might just have turned around and flown back to the UK.
Suddenly Madeline became aware that the other occupants of the table were staring at her expectantly and she shook her head to clear it. ‘I’m sorry...what did you say?’
‘I was just telling Marcus what a wonderful tour guide you are,” Mary repeated. ‘You won’t mind showing him some of the local sights on your day off tomorrow, will you?’
Madeline blinked. Of course she minded! Was Mary not listening when she’d told her about the eviction threats? She groped around desperately for a way to wriggle out of it.
‘Ah...well, actually, I was kind of planning on lazing in bed. This jet lag is a killer.’
‘Not all day, surely,’ George interjected. ‘Even half a day would be better than none.’
She looked from one to the other. She knew they prided themselves on making strangers welcome but this was ridiculous. Did they feel badly that Madeline had made a scene with him already and were trying to make amends or did that quick exchange of looks between husband and wife mean something else?
Like they were trying their hand at matchmaking?
Oh Lordy – she hoped not. She’d rather be run over by a bus than spend a moment alone with Marcus.
‘It’s OK, George, Madeline obviously feels uncomfortable with being my tour guide. I’ll see the sights another time.’
Madeline’s back stiffened and she glared at him. He was making her seem spoilt and ungracious and with his eyes twinkling at her, he obviously knew it. The Blakelys placed a lot of value on good manners and hospitality and she owed them in ways she could never repay.
She’d be damned if she’d give Marcus the satisfaction. ‘Okay, sure.’
‘Thank you, dear,’ said Mary, beaming as George shot Madeline a grateful indulgent smile.
‘Why don’t I pick you up?’ suggested Marcus. ‘What time?’
Madeline had no real interest in the details. She shrugged. ‘One?’
‘Looking forward to it,’ he said softly.
Madeline looked into his blue eyes feeling dread and anticipation in equal measure both scaring the bejesus out of her and she wished she’d never met him. Rising, she busied herself with the dishes.
‘We’ll do this, dear,’ Mary said. ‘Why don’t you go home? You still look very tired.’
Normally Madeline would have insisted but the invitation to leave was too tempting. ‘Thanks, Mary.’ She kissed her gratefully on the cheek. ‘I really am bushed.’
‘Will you be all right, driving home?’ asked George.
‘Of course.’
‘I can give you a lift,’ Marcus offered, standing quickly.
Mary clapped her hands. ‘What a good —’
‘No!’ Madeline exclaimed loudly. Perhaps a little too loudly as her hosts blinked at her owl-like.
Madeline shot Marcus a look that told him in no uncertain terms to back off.
‘No,’ Madeline repeated, not so loudly but with definite firmness. ‘I’m not that tired. I’ll be fine.’
But she was excruciatingly aware of Marcus watching her as she gathered her things and kissed the Blakely’s goodbye. ‘Don’t bother to see me out,’ she told George as he stood. ‘Stay with your guest.’
Then she bade Marcus a brief goodbye because it would have been impolite in front of George and Mary to poke her tongue out and kick him in the shins, which was her first instinct. He’d cornered her and he knew it but she didn’t have to like it.
‘Till tomorrow,’ he said.
Madeline stilled momentarily and their gazes locked, a tremor of awareness slithering up her back. How did he make an innocent outing feel so carnal?
‘Tomorrow.’
CHAPTER THREE
THE pounding was like jackhammers drilling into her brain, the noise echoing loudly and ricocheting off the bones of her skull. Madeline groaned and clutched at her temples. The pounding intensified.
Desperately trying to drag herself out of the clutches of sleep, Madeline tentatively opened her eyes. The tablets she had taken the previous afternoon for her approaching headache had left her feeling disorientated, as if there was soup where her brains should be.
The banging began again and Madeline realised that it was coming from the front door, not from the headache that still throbbed at her temples. But the noise jarred through her head, aggravating the thumping within.
Still disorientated, Madeline rolled out of bed, mumbling unintelligibly. The red digits of the alarm clock told her it was five past one. Afternoon or morning? Her deliberately darkened room let in no tell-tale signs of light.
What day was it anyway?
She stumbled through the house, reaching the front door and grabbing desperately at the lock. She had to make the pounding stop.
‘All right, all right,’ she snapped as she wrenched open the door, ‘Quit that awful racket.’ The full glare of the midday sun assaulted her vision and she shielded her eyes as pain lanced her eye sockets.