The Trouble With Playboys Page 3

  He strode towards Kitty's smart little dress shop. “Are you there, darling?” he called out on arrival.

  Kitty's blonde head came out from behind a curtain. “I'll be with you in a moment. Got a customer.” She mouthed the last three words.

  He lit a cigarette, noticing for the first time that the gowns on display came from Paris. All Kitty's clients were rich society women who could afford to pay the exorbitant prices she demanded. He waited until the middle-aged customer left before turning the Closed For Lunch sign out.

  "Paul. Darling.” Kitty glided into his arms and turned her painted mouth up for a kiss.

  For some strange, inexplicable reason the strong perfume she always favoured seemed rather cloying today, and after a perfunctory peck on the cheek he stepped away.

  "What's the matter, Paul?"

  "Nothing."

  "Our table isn't booked until one. We've plenty of time for...” She ran her tongue provocatively across even white teeth. “Other things."

  "I'm not in the mood,” he admitted, surprising himself as much as her.

  "Darling.” She hooted with laughter. Gliding up to him again, she started unbuttoning his shirt, all the while moving her body against his in the slow, sensuous way that normally excited him. Today he felt nothing but annoyance.

  "Look, Kitty, are we going to have lunch or not?"

  "My, we are grouchy today. Get up on the wrong side of the bed?” she asked with a chortle. “You should have stayed the night with me."

  "Kitty!"

  "All right.” She threw her hands up in the air.

  It was not a successful meal. Paul didn't know why, but he found the food tasteless, although they were eating in one of Melbourne's best restaurants.

  "Let's go down to my holiday house in Frankston for the weekend,” Kitty suggested.

  "No, thanks."

  "But why, Paul?

  "I'm sorry, but I've got commitments in Melbourne.” He ignored Kitty's pout and pulled his hand away from hers.

  Roses, that's what his mystery girl smelt of. Her lips, though pink, were unpainted, and the peaches-and-cream complexion needed no cosmetics to enhance its beauty.

  * * * *

  For three days Paul waited unsuccessfully outside the hospital for a glimpse of the pretty girl who intruded on his thoughts during the day and disturbed his sleep at night. He became so obsessed with her he gave her a pet name, ‘Sunshine,’ because she seemed so happy and bright. Suddenly she appeared, laughing and chattering to Ian's girlfriend, Jean. What a stroke of luck. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

  As he strode over to them his heart slammed against his ribcage. Excitement swirled in the pit of his stomach. “Hello, Jean. So we meet again."

  "Hello, Paul. Do you know Daphne?"

  "Sort of.” He gave a lazy grin, hoping it would mask his exhilaration. “I nearly bowled her over in the street the other day."

  "You just about sent me sprawling. How did you find me?"

  "I followed you in a taxi, Sunshine."

  "Sunshine!” Daphne started laughing.

  "I was desperate to call you something, and you wouldn't give me your name."

  "I suppose I should formally introduce you to each other after a statement like that.” Jean smiled. “Sunshine, indeed. Paul Thomas, meet Daphne Clarke."

  Paul felt a twinge of annoyance. For some reason he could not even explain to himself, he wanted to tell Daphne his correct name. There was the matter of his birth, too. He didn't want to have any secrets between them. What would she say if she knew he was illegitimate? Fear clutched at his stomach like a giant fist opening and closing, pounding against the wall of his gut.

  "How do you know Jean?” Daphne asked in a sweet melodious voice that drove all coherent thought from his head.

  "Um, through a mutual friend,” was the best he could come up with. “I ... I'm staying with him.” He had never felt this nervous in his life before.

  "Paul belongs to the class known as the idle rich,” Jean said with a grimace. “Doesn't need to work like us mere mortals."

  He watched with a feeling of dread as the light died in Daphne's eyes, like a night lamp being switched off.

  "Here's my bus. Goodbye, Paul. See you Monday, Jean."

  He made to follow, but Jean's hand restrained him. “She's a good kid, Paul. Do yourself and her a favour—stick with the Kittys of this world. You'd only break her heart."

  Momentarily, Jean's words shocked him into silence. “What makes you think I'd want to hurt her?” He would gladly lay down his life for Daphne but could hardly say so. He felt vulnerable, afraid of what he was starting to feel, yet terrified of losing her.

  "You're a playboy, out for a good time, no strings attached. When Daphne gives her heart, it will be for keeps. Can I give you a lift? I'm going straight to Ian's."

  "No, thanks. I've got my car."

  "I'll see you at Ian's, then."

  Later that evening, Paul unashamedly grilled Jean about Daphne, and the more he heard about this warm, lovely girl, the more determined he became to see her again. She was the type of girl he had always envisaged spending his life with. He would live in a two-roomed shack if he had someone like Daphne to share it. Because she only worked part time, Jean did not go in to work the next day, but he waited impatiently outside the hospital for Daphne. He had to see her again.

  She walked out on her own this time, and he watched surprised pleasure give way to wariness.

  "I thought I could offer you a lift home."

  "Thank you, but I can catch the bus.” She shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

  "Have I offended you in some way?"

  What lovely clear eyes she had. They were almost green today, probably a reflection of the dress she wore.

  "You haven't offended me. It's just best if I get the bus."

  "Don't you like me? Is that it?” Picking up her hand, he held it firmly as she tried to pull away. “Tell me the truth, Sunshine. Don't you like me?” He held his breath waiting for her reply.

  "I think...” She stared straight into his face. “I might get to like you too much."

  It was his turn to stare now. Her frankness surprised him. He wasn't used to a woman being so honest. “Let me take you out for dinner."

  "No."

  "Why not, if you like me, and I certainly like you?” Jean must have really damned him. “Did Jean tell you things about me?"

  "Yes."

  "What?"

  "Nothing much, except you're rich and you're a..."

  "I'm a playboy, is that it?” He would change his philandering ways for Daphne, would never look at another woman as long as he lived.

  "Yes. I don't want to be hurt, Paul."

  "What makes you think I'd hurt you?"

  "A rich young Englishman betrayed someone very dear to me once. I don't think she ever got over it, and I don't want to run the same risk. You lead a different existence from mine; Jean's told me some of the things you do. A fast life isn't for me. I don't like casual affairs. It all seems rather sordid. I'm old-fashioned, maybe, but that's how it is."

  She turned and walked away, a slim little figure in a green cotton skirt and white, lace-trimmed blouse.

  "Daphne, please.” He strode after her; he couldn't let her get away from him. “We could just be friends. I'm new to Melbourne, and you could show me around,” he went on desperately. “Please?"

  "I don't think so.” She smiled and the day seemed somehow brighter. “I'm new to Melbourne myself."

  "We could explore together.” Still she hesitated, and he cursed the unknown Englishman under his breath. “Just friends, nothing else."

  "All right.” she agreed with obvious reluctance.

  The trouble with playboys was that they toyed with ordinary working girls, who forgot that at their peril. The idea seemed to be quite entrenched in Daphne's mind, Paul thought.

  "Where do you live?” With a hand at her elbow he steered her towards a yellow Buick park
ed in a laneway near the hospital.

  "In Brunswick, at a boarding house. It's cheap, and easy for me to get to work."

  "Oh?"

  "It's quite respectable. My parents checked it out, even though it came highly recommended."

  "Do you work night duty?"

  "Yes, sometimes. When I do, I sleep in at the hospital."

  "Where do your parents live?” he asked.

  "In Wangaratta. My father runs a small accountancy business there."

  "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

  "Two brothers. Tom's older than me, and Robbie's sixteen and doing his final year at school. What about you?"

  He didn't answer until she was settled into the car. “I'm an only child."

  "How sad.” She smoothed down her skirt.

  "Is it?"

  "Oh, yes, my parents would have liked more children, only they weren't lucky enough."

  She directed him to a large, rambling, bungalow of white-painted timber. “Well, this is it."

  "Will you come out to dinner with me tonight? I could ring up and book us a table at the Windsor; they know me there."

  He had made a monumental mistake. The moment the words left his mouth he inwardly cursed himself for choosing one of Melbourne's most exclusive hotels.

  "I don't think so, thanks."

  "Somewhere else? You choose. Please, Daphne? We could eat fish and chips out of a paper bag in the park, if you prefer."

  She laughed, a happy lilting sound that gave him a feeling of well-being.

  "You're sweet. Did anyone ever tell you that before?"

  "No."

  "You are.” He desperately wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her, but forced himself not to. “Have you ever had a boyfriend?"

  "No, but you've got lots of girlfriends."

  "Well..."

  "Don't ever lie to me, Paul. I couldn't stand it."

  "Daphne, there's something I should tell you."

  "Ooh, look at the time, I'll have to change. When will you pick me up?"

  "About seven.” He bit back the confession hovering on his lips. Later on tonight he would tell her his full name, would tell her everything and anything she wanted to know about him. This was the girl of his dreams, the one he had waited all his life to meet.

  * * * *

  They sat on a park bench to eat their fish and chips. While he found them just palatable, Daphne ate with youthful enthusiasm.

  "Next to Mum's cooking, this is my favourite food,” she said, licking the salty residue from her fingers.

  He laughed, flicking a stray tendril of hair away from her face. “Will you come out with me tomorrow? We could go for a picnic. I understand Frankston is quite pleasant."

  "Frankston!” She recoiled as if he had struck her. Jean had once mentioned that Kitty, a divorcée with a reputation, owned a holiday shack there. Daphne shivered. Had Paul stayed down there with her?

  The changing expressions on her face obviously puzzled Paul. “Daphne, what is it?"

  She edged away from him. “I'd like to go home now, please."

  "We were going to walk through the gardens."

  "So we were.” Her forced laugh sounded brittle, but she couldn't help it.

  The mention of Frankston did it, he realised. How much had Jean revealed about him and Kitty? “You're jumping to conclusions, you know. I've never been to Frankston."

  "Haven't you?"

  "No, I just heard of it."

  "From a friend?” she queried.

  "No, I wouldn't call Kitty a friend, exactly, she's um..."

  "Your mistress?"

  "My, the little kitten has got sharp claws."

  When she stood up, he noticed tears shimmering in her eyes. “Thank you for the chips.” She walked away with a quiet dignity.

  Anger turned to remorse, and he started after her. “Daphne, come back."

  Paul saw the car first, speeding around the corner, then the child toddling out from the park straight into its path. He sprang forward and started sprinting, but Daphne was yards ahead of him.

  As she charged after the child, he knew he would never catch her in time. Dear God, no way could he make her stop before she sacrificed herself under the wheels of the car! In that split second, with his heart pounding like it would burst, he knew for certain he had found the girl of his dreams, but she might be cruelly snatched away from him before their relationship even started.

  She brought the toddler to the ground with a flying tackle any footballer would be proud of. The immediate screams of the child were drowned out as the car roared past, only inches from where they both lay on the road.

  Daphne climbed unsteadily to her feet just as Paul arrived on the scene, with a white-faced young woman only a few paces behind him.

  "You saved my baby! I'll be indebted to you for life!"

  "I didn't do anything much,” Daphne replied shakily.

  "I just took my eyes off him for a moment, he was so quick."

  "Don't distress yourself any further.” Paul picked up the child and handed him to his mother. “Hey, don't cry, little man, it's all over now.” He ruffled the child's hair. “Could we see you home?"

  "No, thank you, I only live around the corner. God bless both of you."

  For a moment Paul watched the woman walk away before he turned towards Daphne, who had gone as white as death.

  "My God, Daphne. Are you all right?"

  "Yes. At least the little fellow hasn't got a scratch.” She ruefully surveyed her bleeding knees.

  "It was a plucky thing you did. You might have been killed."

  Daphne forced a smile even though her knees stung, because Paul looked so anxious.

  "You'll have to let me drive you home now,” he said.

  "I suppose you think I did it on purpose to cadge a lift,” she teased.

  "I don't care why, but it was the bravest act I've ever witnessed. I say, you look awful."

  "I think I'm going to faint."

  When Daphne came to, she was sitting on the ground, supported by Paul. “How idiotic of me.” He looked as white and sickly as she felt. “I'm all right now."

  "I better get you home."

  On arrival at the boarding house, he parked the car and followed her inside.

  "My room is at the end of the hall. I'll be fine, thank you. We aren't supposed to have men visitors,” she apologised, giving a nervous giggle. “Hello, Mrs. Rogers."

  Paul found himself confronted by the largest woman he had ever seen. She must have been six feet tall and a couple of axe handles wide.

  "My dear, what have you done?” She glanced at Daphne who was inspecting her battered knees.

  Briefly Paul explained what happened.

  "Well, what a courageous little lass you are."

  "I'm all right, Mrs. Rogers. Honestly, Paul's making too much out of it."

  "Would it be all right if I help Miss Clarke to her room and see she attends to the lacerations on her knees?"

  "Of course. I can see you're a gentleman, and Daphne's a real little lady."

  When they came to her room, at the end of the carpeted hallway, he took the key out of her trembling hand and opened the door. The smallness assaulted him momentarily. It was a bedroom and sitting room combined, but everything appeared fresh and pretty. No stove—obviously she shared a kitchen and prepared her meals elsewhere.

  "It's small, but it suits me.” There was no apology in the statement. Daphne was proud, he realised straight away.

  Daphne bit the inside of her lip. “You shouldn't be in here. I mean, it isn't proper."

  "I'm not about to ravish you, even if I am an Englishman. Some of us are quite civilised."

  Daphne realised he was having a little jibe at her.

  "There's some cold water in the jug and disinfectant in my first aid kit."

  His hands when they bathed her knees were gentle. She liked him so much it terrified her. Love at first sight? She had always scorned such a notion before, but now?
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  His eyes were a warm chocolate brown, his black lashes thick and long. His hair, though cut short, was nevertheless an untidy mop. It was dark, but some of the strands were shot with gold. Heat burned her cheeks when he glanced up and caught her staring.

  "Do you think you might recognise me next time, Sunshine?” The way he lowered his voice when he said the name gave her goose bumps. He smiled, revealing a deep cleft in his chin.

  "You've got a dimple.” She blurted out the first thing she thought of to cover her confusion at the feelings he aroused. Danger, warned a little inner voice.

  "And you're beautiful.” His face moved closer, so she could not avoid his questing lips when they fastened on to her own. His mouth felt warm and firm, his caress sending tingling sensations all the way through her. She had been kissed on a few occasions before, but never like this. When he pulled away, she trembled.

  "This isn't just a line, but I like you more than any woman I've ever met before.” He watched her lips tremble. “I'm twenty-four, unmarried. It wouldn't be reasonable to expect me to, well ... I mean there have been a few Kittys. Are you disappointed in me?"

  "No."

  "Will you let me pick you up tomorrow? About ten? We could go for a drive in the country, maybe see a picture show in the evening."

  "I'd like to, thanks, Paul."

  After he left she sat on the couch gnawing her lip. It was foolish allowing emotion to cloud her better judgement. Nursing had been an all-consuming, driving ambition for years. Not being academically brilliant, she had worked hard to obtain good marks. But she was smart enough to know that this incredible attraction for Paul could prove dangerous, especially when they knew so little about each other.

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  Chapter 3

  Daphne, wearing a navy linen dress piped with white pique, and a matching linen hat, waited for Paul to arrive. She kept twisting the strap on her handbag. What if he decided not to turn up? It was foolish thinking a man like him would be interested in an unsophisticated working girl, regardless of what he said.

  The Buick screamed to a halt, just feet from the front gate, and Paul practically leapt from the car. “Sorry I'm late.” He smiled, but Daphne thought he seemed tired.

  Dressed in a pair of tailored sports pants, with his casual blue shirt open at the throat, he looked what he was, a devastatingly handsome playboy. Her fear escalated until she was almost overwhelmed by it. Paul had the power to destroy her.