Jim’s concern to increase as she desperately tried to find an excuse to escape.
‘Business? Well, feel free to use the phone in the study. You know where it is.’
Her face burning with a mixture of guilt and anxiety, Rosie headed for the house. If she were lucky, she would be able to make her escape without anyone even noticing she had gone. She would have to phone Louise later, of course, and apologise for leaving without saying goodbye to her.
Feverishly planning what she must do, Rosie opened the French window and stepped into the cool darkness of the house.
The noise of the party receded, muted by the glass doors.
Thank goodness she had arrived a little late and had not parked on the drive, where she might have been blocked in by other cars.
She could hear voices in the kitchen, where Louise and her helpers were preparing to serve the buffet.
Feeling almost like a criminal, she held her breath and waited, hoping that no one would come into the sitting-room or see her leaving.
Her heart was beating too fast and unevenly—her body’s physical reaction to her mental panic.
She started to walk across the room to the door which led into the hall. It would have been easier to go back outside and walk round the side of the house to the front, where her car was parked, but she was terrified of doing so in case she saw the Lucases again.
She was halfway across the room when she heard the French window open. Immediately she froze.
‘Rosie... Not going yet, are you?’
Her heart lurched with fear. Ritchie Lucas. Had he seen her come inside and deliberately followed her, or was it simply a coincidence?
She heard him laugh. She had always disliked his laugh. He had laughed that night when she had tried to make him stop.
‘Well, now, you sure have turned out fair dinkum, haven’t you? A real beaut... I always did have a yen for you, you know, Rosie...’
He was, if not drunk, then certainly very close to it, Rosie recognised fastidiously as she watched him swaying slightly on his feet. He was sweating heavily, and she could smell the sour, rank scent of his body.
She wanted to turn away from him, to open the door and run, and yet at the same time she was terrified of taking her eyes off him, terrified of breaking that visual contact, clinging to it as though in doing so she was actually somehow physically keeping him at bay.
She was paralysed with fear, she recognised numbly; like an animal trapped in the beam of a car’s headlights, she simply could not move, was too afraid to move in case in doing so she somehow brought about the very thing she most dreaded.
‘Little Rosie... Who knows what might have happened between us if I’d stayed around?’
Sickly Rosie watched as he lurched towards her.
Run...run, a voice inside her screamed frantically, but she was incapable of obeying it.
He had reached her now, was stretching out his hand to touch her, the same hand which had once torn at her clothes, clawed at her skin, forced her hands behind her back while he had laughed at her efforts to escape.
She felt the panic building up inside her, and knew that everything she was feeling was clearly written on her face: the fear, the anxiety, the revulsion...
‘You’re not wearing a wedding ring... Good on you. Marriage is a mug’s game. Gets you landed with a nagging wife and a parcel of brats. You and I could have fun together, Rosie...’
Fun... Rosie felt herself gag as her stomach heaved. He was so close to her now that she couldn’t understand how he couldn’t see the revulsion on her face.
‘Rosie...there you are, darling...’
Her head snapped back in shock as Jake walked into the room.
Darling... Jake had called her darling... What...?
At any other time she might almost have been cynically amused by the way Ritchie gave way to his cousin, stepping back from her as Jake stepped forward, moving aside so that Jake could stand next to her.
‘I just came inside to cool down,’ she heard Ritchie
‘Business? Well, feel free to use the phone in the study. You know where it is.’
Her face burning with a mixture of guilt and anxiety, Rosie headed for the house. If she were lucky, she would be able to make her escape without anyone even noticing she had gone. She would have to phone Louise later, of course, and apologise for leaving without saying goodbye to her.
Feverishly planning what she must do, Rosie opened the French window and stepped into the cool darkness of the house.
The noise of the party receded, muted by the glass doors.
Thank goodness she had arrived a little late and had not parked on the drive, where she might have been blocked in by other cars.
She could hear voices in the kitchen, where Louise and her helpers were preparing to serve the buffet.
Feeling almost like a criminal, she held her breath and waited, hoping that no one would come into the sitting-room or see her leaving.
Her heart was beating too fast and unevenly—her body’s physical reaction to her mental panic.
She started to walk across the room to the door which led into the hall. It would have been easier to go back outside and walk round the side of the house to the front, where her car was parked, but she was terrified of doing so in case she saw the Lucases again.
She was halfway across the room when she heard the French window open. Immediately she froze.
‘Rosie... Not going yet, are you?’
Her heart lurched with fear. Ritchie Lucas. Had he seen her come inside and deliberately followed her, or was it simply a coincidence?
She heard him laugh. She had always disliked his laugh. He had laughed that night when she had tried to make him stop.
‘Well, now, you sure have turned out fair dinkum, haven’t you? A real beaut... I always did have a yen for you, you know, Rosie...’
He was, if not drunk, then certainly very close to it, Rosie recognised fastidiously as she watched him swaying slightly on his feet. He was sweating heavily, and she could smell the sour, rank scent of his body.
She wanted to turn away from him, to open the door and run, and yet at the same time she was terrified of taking her eyes off him, terrified of breaking that visual contact, clinging to it as though in doing so she was actually somehow physically keeping him at bay.
She was paralysed with fear, she recognised numbly; like an animal trapped in the beam of a car’s headlights, she simply could not move, was too afraid to move in case in doing so she somehow brought about the very thing she most dreaded.
‘Little Rosie... Who knows what might have happened between us if I’d stayed around?’
Sickly Rosie watched as he lurched towards her.
Run...run, a voice inside her screamed frantically, but she was incapable of obeying it.
He had reached her now, was stretching out his hand to touch her, the same hand which had once torn at her clothes, clawed at her skin, forced her hands behind her back while he had laughed at her efforts to escape.
She felt the panic building up inside her, and knew that everything she was feeling was clearly written on her face: the fear, the anxiety, the revulsion...
‘You’re not wearing a wedding ring... Good on you. Marriage is a mug’s game. Gets you landed with a nagging wife and a parcel of brats. You and I could have fun together, Rosie...’
Fun... Rosie felt herself gag as her stomach heaved. He was so close to her now that she couldn’t understand how he couldn’t see the revulsion on her face.
‘Rosie...there you are, darling...’
Her head snapped back in shock as Jake walked into the room.
Darling... Jake had called her darling... What...?
At any other time she might almost have been cynically amused by the way Ritchie gave way to his cousin, stepping back from her as Jake stepped forward, moving aside so that Jake could stand next to her.
‘I just came inside to cool down,’ she heard Ritchie
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