They packed up at two o’clock, an hour later than they’d planned. As they were leaving the ballroom, she felt a tap on her shoulder and looked up into the eyes of Rafael Sanderson, CEO of Sanderson Minerals.

‘Can I buy you a drink?’ he murmured.

Her throat worked and she closed her eyes briefly. ‘That’s not funny.’

He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘That’s what he said-so it was you,’ she added. ‘I thought for a moment, I wasn’t sure-uh, no, thanks. I-’

‘Perhaps I should have specified an orange juice and no seductive ulterior motives. Come.’

‘Hang on, I was leaving with the band, otherwise I’ll have to take a taxi and it’s late anyway!’

‘I’ll drop you home.’

‘Is-is there any news?’ she asked with her eyes widening.

‘No, but I need to ask you a few more things. It won’t take long.’

‘Maisie!’ Jim called.

‘Uh-Jim, it’s OK, I’ve met a-a friend and he’s going to drive me home.’

But Jim came back to be reassured and Rafe introduced himself.

‘Well, I like to keep an eye on her at this time of night but if you’re sure?’

‘I’m sure, Jim,’ Maisie said quietly. ‘I probably couldn’t be safer than with-Rafe.’

They found a quiet corner of the Cumberland’s lounge still serving beverages and he ordered coffee, she ordered hot chocolate.

‘Have you been here all night?’ she queried.

‘No, I came late.’

‘Still, it’s a bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?’

‘No, I knew you were playing here tonight-you’re very good.’

‘Thank you. I started piano lessons when I was six. Does that mean you’re checking up on me in some way?’

He studied her comprehensively, the expert make-up she’d touched up only an hour ago, her hair, her lovely, rather provocative dress-and, with a twist of his lips, remembered the Maisie Wallis he’d fished out of Moreton Bay.

And he recalled with some astonishment that if it hadn’t been for her hair, he mightn’t have recognised her immediately tonight.

There was also her command of the piano, he thought, and the sense of rhythm that seemed to flow from her fingertips. That led him to consider her mental make-up. Of course there had to be natural talent but there must have been a lot of dedication and hard work expended to achieve her musical fluency.

Did she dance with the same fluency? he caught himself wondering out of the blue. And what would it be like to have that lovely little body in his arms, all that vitality under his direction right up close and personal? She’d been nice enough to hold fast asleep…

He grimaced and conceded that he’d proved one thing in the rather tiresome exercise he’d undertaken tonight. Most men could be forgiven for thinking Mairead Wallis, as opposed to Maisie, was sophisticated and worldly, a girl who might know the score until you got to know her better.

Then he noticed the faint blue shadows of tiredness beneath her eyes. ‘I suppose so. There is quite a difference between Mairead and Maisie Wallis. But should you still be doing this?’

‘I’m fine.’ Maisie moved restlessly. ‘There’s going to be even more of a difference shortly.’

‘Is that a suggestion that we get down to business?’ he asked wryly.

Maisie waited as their beverages were served and she took a fortifying sip of hot chocolate. ‘What is it you want to know?’

‘I want to know everything he told you.’

‘I can’t possibly remember everything,’ she protested.

‘Let’s start with anything to do with Karoo or the Dixon family.’

‘He never mentioned the Dixon family. I-I’m not sure if he grew up on Karoo Downs, but it sounded as if he spent a lot of time there one way or another, holidays and so on. Did you? Grow up there?’

‘No, but I spent a lot of time there one way or another. Could he have worked there?’

Maisie opened her mouth and closed it. ‘That wasn’t the impression I got, although, now that I come to think of it, there was the odd nuance of…of something…odd, something-I got the feeling there might be something uneasy…’ She broke off and shook her head. ‘I don’t really know what it was.’

Rafe Sanderson gazed at her for a long moment in a way that was rather unnerving-as if he was looking right through her.

‘So you think it could have been someone who worked there who bears you a grudge?’ she asked then with her eyes widening. ‘But-how does that explain the resemblance?’

He looked away at last. ‘Maybe coincidence. Uh-the wedding you played at, where you first met him…can I have the details?’

She gave them to him, the date and the venue, then put a hand to her mouth. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

‘You didn’t realise you were dealing with an impersonator at the time?’ he suggested.

‘True,’ she nodded, ‘but now, well, he could be anyone, couldn’t he?’

‘Yes, but now you can leave it to me, Maisie,’ he murmured. ‘All right, when you’ve finished your chocolate, I’ll take you home.’ He signalled a waiter and asked for his car to be delivered to the entrance.

She drank her chocolate then looked around suddenly. ‘Are you on your own?’

‘Entirely.’ He stood up.

‘Do you usually come to balls alone?’ she asked with a surprised expression.

‘No, I usually do not.’ He shrugged and looked bored and irritable for a moment. ‘This was different, just business you could say.’ He held down his hand to her.

Maisie chose to rise without his assistance, her annoyance showing clearly in the tilt of her chin and that certain glint in her eyes.

‘Well, don’t let me delay you any longer, Mr Sanderson,’ she said evenly. ‘I’m quite happy to take a taxi home; in fact, I’d rather.’

And she drew her velvet cloak around her with a flourish and picked up her music case.

‘Don’t be silly, Maisie,’ he drawled. ‘It’s nearly three o’clock in the morning.’

‘Oh, I’m not being silly. I’ll ask the concierge to call me one and I’ll only step outside when it arrives. I’ll be perfectly safe.’

‘What, exactly,’ he said with exaggerated patience, although he shoved his hands into his pockets less than patiently, ‘are you mad about now?’

‘I’ll tell you. You make me feel like a statistic-perhaps I am in one sense, I certainly made my mistakes-but I’m also flesh and blood and I’m dealing with…with life the best way I can. So you can write me off as an irritating, boring bit of “just business”, it’s up to you, but don’t expect me to agree.’

‘Who said anything about-?’

‘You looked bored and irritated,’ she stated.

‘I got stuck at a table that was both and I’d already endured a formal dinner party,’ he answered. ‘It doesn’t usually happen to me and I probably should have sent Jack Huston along to check out Mairead Wallis-I didn’t for some reason. But you, as a matter of fact, were neither boring nor irritating.’

Maisie started to speak several times but she’d effectively had the ground cut away from her feet.

‘Let’s go,’ he added.

The Ferrari was waiting for them.

They said little on the way home and he got out and escorted her to her door.

When she’d turned some lights on, he said, ‘Take care again. I’ll be in touch.’

She said nothing, but she watched him stride down the path, so tall and devastatingly attractive in his dinner suit.

Then she whirled herself inside, closed the door and leant back against it with her heart banging in her breast.

What had he meant? Nothing, probably. Well, as a musician, she was neither boring nor irritating-that must have been it. Unless-no, Maisie, she chided herself, you’ve been down this path before, no…

She got a call from Rafe on Sunday morning, asking her to meet him at his apartment.

‘I do have some news this time,’ he said. ‘Can you make it at ten o’clock?’

She started to say yes then changed her mind and told him she had a standing date on Sunday mornings to play the piano at their happy hour for a retirement home. But, she said, she could meet him at twelve-thirty.

He agreed.

At twelve forty-five, Maisie buzzed his riverside apartment.

As always, her retirees had loved her Sunday happy-hour session, and as always she came away with little gifts-she had a whole collection of crochet-covered hangers and soaps and embroidered, sweet-smelling herb sachets.

She left those in her car, but carried his sister Sonia’s clothes, all carefully laundered, in a holdall.

This time it was Rafe who answered the buzzer and he directed her to the penthouse suite.

As the lift bore her upwards, she did a couple of mental checks. No loss of temper was even to be entertained.

Neither was any insidious response to Rafe Sanderson’s dynamic masculinity or any crazy little flutters of hope.

She stepped out right into the penthouse and took an unexpected breath. The panorama that met her eyes was breath-taking. A wide blue sky, the city and the Brisbane River wending its way around leafy Kangaroo Point and beneath the Storey Bridge.

There was a sumptuous coral-pink lounge suite that dominated the room. The walls were a darker coral and the carpet was cream. More lovely New Guinea rosewood featured in cabinets and occasional tables and some eye-catching art hung on the walls.

‘Maisie,’ Rafe greeted her as he rose from a settee.

But he frowned faintly because it was Mairead who’d come when he’d been expecting Maisie Wallis.

She wore a suede, amber, tulip-shaped skirt and a figure-hugging cinnamon long-sleeved knit top. Her hair was teased out and gold hoop earrings glinted through it. Her make-up was lighter than it had been a few nights ago, but subtly emphasised her eyes, the shape of her face and her mouth.

Her legs took on a new meaning in pale tights and high, slingback cream shoes. They were slender and lovely.