Hearts Of Gold. Meredith Webber

she’d left Drake for whatever reason and had reverted to her own name. And her real first name could well be Rowena, with Annie a family nickname, and she’d reverted to that as well.

      And he’d had her with serial marriages!

      Then the name she’d said sparked recognition in his brain.

      ‘But I’ve read his books! Or some of them. They’re set right here in Sydney, aren’t they? A friend, knowing I was coming here, lent me a couple, then while I was in Melbourne I tracked down a few more.’

      He was genuinely excited, having enjoyed the fast, racy read Rod Talbot provided. And to think he was Annie’s father!

      She was unpacking her trolley onto the checkout counter at this stage and he wondered if he should ask her father to dinner as well. There was obviously no Mrs Talbot in the picture, and if this was just a neighbourly, colleague type dinner, then asking her father would be the right thing to do.

      But in some uncharted territory of his heart, he was aware that this wasn’t just a neighbourly dinner—or a colleague-with-colleague one. He wasn’t sure what it was, maybe a first small step towards something, but, whatever, he wasn’t going to invite a third party to partake of his curry. Not tonight.

      Annie, refusing his offer of help to unload her groceries from the car, dropped Alex and his shopping off at his front gate, then drove around the block and down the lane behind the row of houses, into the garage behind her house.

      She turned off the engine, opened the door but didn’t get out. Instead, she slumped across the steering wheel in relief. Shopping with Alex had been far too intimate an experience for her to ever want to repeat it.

      ‘Intimate?’ she muttered to herself, as the thought registered in her brain. ‘Shopping?’

      But she couldn’t find another word for the confusion of symptoms she’d displayed as they’d pushed their respective trolleys up and down the aisles. No premature menopause this time, for which, she supposed, she should be grateful.

      But empathy, togetherness, bonding stuff had happened, and when they’d both reached for Aunt Jemima’s pancake mix at the same time, and they’d turned towards each other and laughed, a heap of other emotions had fluttered in her heart. Emotions she didn’t want to think about.

      ‘It was pancake mix, for Pete’s sake,’ she said to Henry, who’d come out to the garage to see why she was so slow at bringing in his food supplies. ‘You can’t get all squishy and romantic over pancake mix. Especially when the other pancake-mix purchaser would have been considering his stomach, not his heart.’

      Henry gave her his ‘don’t take it out on me’ look and sat, willing, if necessary, to wait by the open car door for ever.

      ‘I’m coming,’ Annie told him, reaching over the back of the seat to pick up her first load of supplies. ‘At least now he knows where the shops are, so there’ll be no excuse for the two of us to ever shop together again.’

      She hauled the bags out and started towards the house, arms getting longer by the second as innumerable cans of dog food weighed them down.

      ‘Which reminds me, Henry. That dog of Alex’s eats about one hundredth of what you do. Shopping would have been a lot easier if I’d got a spoodle.’

      Henry was unperturbed by her rant, even helping out by nudging the back door open for her.

      But Henry was no help at all as she dressed for a curry dinner with a colleague. Her black jeans were fine, but what top? The T-shirt with a pattern and a few sequins to make it sparkle wasn’t dressy but might be considered so for a casual dinner, yet a plain T looked too plain, and her white shirt looked like work, while the green one—a favourite—had developed a nasty habit of popping the top button, revealing too much cleavage for a curry with the boss.

      ‘If he hadn’t been with me, I could have ducked into that new shop at the mall,’ she grumbled at Henry, who was watching her fling tops on and off with a tolerant expression on his face.

      In the end she settled on the white shirt, but tied a lacy, emerald green scarf around her neck.

      ‘Life’s all about compromise,’ she told the dog. ‘And, no, you weren’t invited. Which is just as well because if Minnie saw you drooling near a dinner table she’d go right off you.’

      Her father was out, so she said goodbye to Henry and walked up the road, with each step regretting her decision a little more.

      It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see Alex, or try his curry, just that the thought of an evening alone with him—any time alone with him—filled her with a cocktail of contradictory emotions.

      So she was enormously relieved when it was Phil, not Alex, who opened the door to her.

      ‘I never disturb the chef when he’s creating,’ he told her, welcoming her with a huge smile and an only slightly less huge hug. ‘Come on in. See our place. Is it very different to yours?’

      Annie looked around. It was furnished very differently—a man’s abode—but the house plan was the same and a sense of familiarity made her feel instantly at home.

      Phil was explaining how his date had stood him up, and was ushering Annie in, arm around her waist, when Minnie came hurtling from the kitchen to greet the new arrival.

      Annie scooped up the little dog, using the movement to move away a little from Phil. She held the black bundle of delight close to her chest and pressed kisses on its soft, curly head, then glanced up to see Alex watching from the kitchen door.

      Watching and frowning.

      ‘What? I’m not allowed to kiss her? But she’s adorable!’

      The frown disappeared, replaced by a smile.

      ‘Kiss away,’ he said easily, but Annie had to wonder what he’d been thinking to prompt the frown. ‘Phil’s told you he’s joining us?’

      Annie nodded, still cuddling the dog.

      ‘I did offer to go out rather than play gooseberry,’ Phil said. ‘But Alex assured me it was only a neighbourly, colleague type dinner and I didn’t feel so bad.’

      Annie had been thinking of saying much the same thing to him—hadn’t she spent the short walk convincing herself that was all it was?—yet she felt put out that Alex had been so quick to label it that way.

      That’s all it is, she reminded herself as she set Minnie back on the floor, but as she straightened she saw Alex give a little shrug, and wondered if he’d felt the same disappointment.

      ‘You might offer our guest a drink,’ Alex said, then he disappeared back into the kitchen.

      ‘Is he the kind of chef who hates having an audience as he works, or could we join him in the kitchen?’ Annie said, holding the light beer Phil had poured her. ‘It seems kind of antisocial to be drinking out here while he’s slaving in the kitchen.’

      ‘I wouldn’t venture in there,’ Phil said. ‘You’ve heard him swear when things go wrong in Theatre. Well, he’s twice as bad in the kitchen.’

      But if you weren’t here, surely I’d have been invited to join him, Annie thought, but she didn’t say it, wondering if Alex had regretted his decision to ask her to dinner and persuaded Phil to stay.

      Then Alex announced the meal was ready, and Phil escorted Annie into the big kitchen where the table was set with an array of condiments and sambals, and the tantalising scent of curry spices filled the air.

      ‘After living with him in Melbourne, I know the deal with the little dishes. These are all cooling ones,’ Phil said, pointing to cucumber in yoghurt, and sliced fruits, ‘while the chutneys will make it hotter. Don’t touch this one, potent chilli, unless you like eating fire.’

      Annie glanced at Alex, wondering if he minded Phil taking over the host’s role, and saw the