Fatal Liaison (2 page)

The woman sashaying across the polished wooden floorboards, although
diminutive in stature, would never go unnoticed. She teetered atop high heels,
the muscles in her bare, slender calves elongating in her effort to stay
upright. With every step, the thigh-high split in her black skirt flashed a
provocative patch of naked skin. And if that weren’t enough for the poor
love-starved – or rather sex-starved – men desperate enough to join a dating
agency, there was the plunging neckline that almost reached her navel.

As she neared the table, the newcomer tilted her head and pursed her
ruby-red lips into a coquettish smile, before glancing at Lawson from beneath
her dark eyelashes. Even in the low light the effect was dramatic. Lawson
immediately blushed, a small smile tweaking the corners of his mouth. He
lowered his gaze to the tabletop and twiddled with the stem of his wine glass.

Mata Hari, as Megan mentally christened the raven-haired woman,
skimmed past Pauline to the vacant chair next to Lawson. Before she took her
place at the table, Mata Hari laid her hand on Lawson’s shoulder, bending down
to whisper into his ear. Her lips couldn’t have been any closer to his ear
without touching. If Lawson had been red before, he was now positively glowing.

Megan shook her head. The depths some women would sink to never
ceased to amaze her. But then it suddenly occurred to her that perhaps they
already knew each other, that this wasn’t their first meeting. But if that were
the case, what were they doing at a dinner meant for singles? Her eyes dropped
to the place tag reserving Mata Hari’s spot at the table and read “Linda.”
Quite a letdown after Mata Hari. Linda and Lawson? They say opposites attract.
She lifted her eyes from the place tag only to meet Mata Hari’s, or rather
Linda’s, amused gaze. It was now Megan’s turn to blush.

“Linda. Linda Nichols.”

Megan accepted the hand extended across the table. “Hi Linda. I’m
Megan Brighton.” She extracted her hand, and gestured to her left. “And this is
my friend Brenda.”

At the mention of her name, Brenda immediately snapped out of her
trance and nodded across the table. “Brenda De Luca. Is this your first time?”
Her eyes shifted slightly to the left. “And you, Lawson? Is this your first
time?”

Megan gave a small frown. Her friend was never one to be shy, but
even she was taken aback by Brenda’s bluntness. However, she waited in
anticipation for their answers.

“Sadly, no. Mr Right has yet to sweep me off my feet,” Linda said
with a light tinkly laugh. “But maybe,” she paused, running a long manicured
fingernail down Lawson’s shirtsleeve, “tonight’s my lucky night.”

It was at that moment Pauline interjected. “Lawson, there’s some
people I’d like you to meet.” She tapped his hand, pushed her chair back and
rose to her feet. “Come with me.” With a smug grin, she turned to the table.
“Carry on. We’ll be back shortly.”

Megan sympathized with the clearly bewildered man. How could she
not? Except for ordering his dinner, and that’d been done in not much more than
a whisper, Lawson had not uttered one word. Pulled in all directions, he
appeared powerless to do anything about it.

Pauline had Lawson’s elbow firmly in her grip as she propelled him
in the direction of the foyer. The woman in all her wisdom might have
considered it a rescue mission on her part, but Lawson obviously didn’t see it
that way. He kept glancing over his shoulder back at the table. The drooping
jaw, twisted mouth and wide eyes spoke volumes. He really had no idea what was
happening.

As Pauline and Lawson disappeared from sight, Megan turned to
Brenda. “Poor bugger. When I first saw him, I was mystified why someone with
looks like that would need a dating agency. But he’s just so painfully shy.”
Megan picked up her wine and took a tentative sip, swilling it around her
mouth.

Brenda flicked her eyes in Linda’s direction. “Doesn’t help when you
have women like her digging their claws in,” she hissed under her breath.

Megan nearly choked on her drink. She glanced at Linda who,
oblivious to Brenda’s catty comment, was using all her wiles on Mr Ginger
Moustache. He was lapping up the attention, his eyes focused on her cleavage.
That suited Megan fine. If he was salivating over Mata Hari, he wouldn’t be
bothering her. Taking another mouthful of wine, she wondered again about what
had possessed her to sign up with a dinner dating agency.

The time between ordering dinner and the first courses coming out
was taking forever. Megan had drunk more wine than she should’ve on an empty
stomach and now started to feel a little light-headed. And besides, she really
needed to pee. Wayne was still talking flat out, plainly unaware he’d lost her
attention way back. She doubted he had stopped long enough to take a breath.

“…bridging finance. Turned it over in three months and invested the
proceeds—”

“Sorry, Wayne…” Megan gathered up her handbag and pushed her chair
back. “You’ll have to excuse me.” Not waiting for a response, she bolted for
the ladies’ toilets.

She’d just stepped into the quiet and still of the white-tiled
restroom when Brenda came barreling after her, swinging the door so hard it
connected with the doorstop with an almighty crash.

Megan made a beeline for the nearest cubicle without a second
thought for her friend’s dramatic entrance. It didn’t surprise her; Brenda
swept through life like a hurricane. Just watching her was enough to exhaust
Megan. Keeping up with her was certainly out of the question.

“Thought you could make a quick getaway without me noticing, eh?”
Brenda’s cheeky laughter reverberated around the room. “No such luck,
girlfriend.”

“How did I let you talk me into this again?” Not waiting for a
reply, Megan stepped into the cubicle and snibbed the door behind her.

“It was easy.” More laughter followed.

“Yeah, I know. I’m a real sucker for a sob story. You’d have thought
I’d have learnt by now.”

Brenda continued, making no effort to conceal her mirth. “It wasn’t
a sob story. I don’t want to be single all my life, and I really do need my
best friend for moral support.”

“Yeah, right. I’ll believe you but thousands wouldn’t.” Megan
pressed her lips together in a flimsy attempt to stop herself laughing.

As she emerged from the cubicle, Brenda looked at her with an
overacted innocence, her eyes wide.

Megan shook her head and laughed. “Well, at least life is never
boring with you around.” She rinsed the soap from her hands under the tap, and
flicked the excess water off before turning to Brenda. “But that doesn’t mean
I’m going to let you hook me up with any of those desperadoes.”

“They’re not all desperadoes,” Brenda said, drawing out the word
“all.”

Megan fished around in her handbag, hunting for the lipstick she’d
tossed in there earlier in the night. “I assume you’re referring to Lawson.”
She continued searching for the elusive lipstick, expecting to hear the usual
smart-alec retort.

When Brenda didn’t respond, she looked up. Brenda grinned at her and
nodded.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Megan retorted. “Sure, he’s good
looking, but I don’t think he’s really my type. He’s too quiet.”

Brenda tilted her head and cocked an eyebrow, but remained silent.

Megan snapped her fingers and pointed at Brenda. “Oh, now I get it.
You fancy young Lawson.”

Still grinning, Brenda raised her eyebrows.

“But, Brenda, he’s so timid. It would be like pairing up a lion and
a rabbit. And he’s no lion.”

Brenda threw her head back and roared with laughter. “Don’t you know
it’s the quiet ones you have to watch?”

“Maybe so. Can I also remind you that you’re not the only one
lusting after the delectable Lawson.”

“Ha! Pouty-lipped Linda is so not
his
type.”

Lipstick found, Megan refreshed her lip color. “If you say so. What
about Pauline Meyer?” She bared her teeth at the mirror, checking there was no
Perfect Plum adorning them.

“Does she think she’s his mother or something?”

“Or something, I reckon.”

They exchanged looks, pulling exaggerated faces of incredulity,
before shoving the door open and making their way back out into the dining
area. As they crossed the open space in the middle of the floor, Mata Hari, aka
Linda, sailed past them with her shoulders back and her breasts thrust forward.

Brenda’s stride lengthened, leaving Megan trying to keep up on heels
that threatened to pitch her face first onto the floor. Megan soon saw the
reason for her friend’s haste. With Linda on her way to the toilets and Pauline
nowhere to be seen, Lawson was a sitting duck, defenseless to predatory
females.

Lawson’s surface vulnerability somehow brought out the protective
instinct in Megan. She felt like mothering him. Almost. However, she was quite
sure that it wasn’t this same instinct driving Brenda in an unswerving course
towards Pauline’s vacated seat.

By the time Megan reached her seat, Brenda was well and truly
ensconced at the head of the table. With her forearms resting on the tabletop,
she perched on her seat edge and leaned in towards Lawson as if she had a
secret to share with him.

Megan dropped into her chair and reached for her wineglass. Too busy
giving the woman on his right the same spiel he’d given Megan, Wayne hadn’t
noticed her return.

Whilst not able to hear the conversation further up the table, she
observed Lawson visibly relaxing. His face no longer seemed as tense and his
eyes had stopped darting all over the place. He even managed a small smile.
Once again Brenda had woven her magic.

The magic was short-lived. As the first courses arrived, Linda
flounced back to her chair on Lawson’s left, trailing her hand across his
shoulders as she did so. Linda threw a dismissive look at Brenda, and turned
her attention to Lawson. He in turn gave her what appeared to be a sly wink.
Megan couldn’t believe it. Her initial maternal instincts evaporated in a
flash.

From where she sat, Brenda wouldn’t have seen the wink. Besides, she
was too busy glaring at Linda to have noticed. Megan herself was starting to
doubt what she’d seen, or at least thought she had seen. Were her eyes playing
tricks on her? It didn’t make any sense.

The music stopped and a few seconds later Pauline Meyer’s
artificially posh voice filtered through the sound system. Megan turned in her
seat, watched and listened as Pauline, microphone in hand, welcomed everyone to
the dinner. It was the first opportunity Megan had really had to study the
statuesque blonde without appearing to be rude. Megan wasn’t good at estimating
ages – especially women’s – but she guessed Pauline had to be nudging her mid
forties, if not her early fifties. Even though the other woman’s complexion
appeared smooth and flawless, Megan wondered how much of it could be attributed
to cosmetic intervention. Earlier she’d noticed the backs of Pauline’s hands,
the slight crinkling of the skin telling a different story to that of her face.

Her figure, on the other hand, would be the envy of any woman half
her age. Megan herself certainly envied the lean, verging on sinewy, lines of
her body. She, too, could look like that. She only had to cut out the
chocolates and the wine, swim ten kilometers each day and spend a minimum of two
hours every morning at the gym. Simple. That and a stretching rack. Pauline had
a good twenty centimeters in height on her.

While Pauline was still in the throes of her speech, Brenda slipped
back into her own chair, her pursuit of love abandoned for food. For the time
being anyway. Megan had to admit the multicolored herb salad Brenda was already
tucking into looked rather appetizing, even to someone like her who thought
vegetables should be reserved for garnishing.

After a perfunctory toast from Pauline, conversation at the table
quickly came to a standstill as everyone became preoccupied with their entrées.
Megan felt like the odd one out when, with a quick glance around the table, she
realized she was the only one who’d not ordered a first course. Watching other
people eat had never been her idea of fun, but she only had herself to blame.
Thank goodness her dinner companions didn’t dally too long over their meals.
With the plates cleared away, conversations were soon resurrected.

Wayne stood, clearing his throat. “Be back in five.”

Megan nodded, waited for him to leave and breathed out. After a
minute, she sensed rather than heard a movement behind her.

“I hope you don’t mind,” said the spectacled guy from across the
table as he dropped into the vacated seat. “But you looked like you were in
need of rescuing.”

“Was I that obvious?”

He leaned in close. “Not obvious enough in my opinion.” His warm
breath tickled her ear. “Some people just love the sound of their own voice.”

“Nick, isn’t it?” She caught a whiff of cologne.

“Right. And you’re Megan.”

She nodded, shifting in her seat.

“First time?”

“Guilty.”

Propping his elbow on the table, he peered around her. “Your
friend’s first time, too?”