‘What? Oh, yes. I…I still have some more to do this afternoon.’

‘Right.’

When he sat back down, he swept his hair back with his hand again, leaving Sharni speechless once more.

He smiled at her across the table. ‘You’d better introduce yourself.’

‘What?’ she said blankly.

‘Your name. Or do you want to remain a mystery woman?’

Sharni gave herself a mental shake. ‘There’s not much mystery about me,’ she said with a small laugh. ‘It’s Sharni. Sharni Johnson.’

‘Sharni,’ he repeated. ‘That’s a most unusual name. But it suits you. Ah, here’s the waiter for our order. Do you know what you want, Sharni, or would you like to take a risk and let me order for you? It’s not too much of a risk, as I’ve eaten here several times before, haven’t I, Roland?’

‘Indeed, you have, Mr Palmer,’ Roland answered.

‘Very well,’ she said, thinking to herself that Adrian Palmer’s confidence bordered on arrogance.

‘You like seafood?’ he asked as he studied the menu.

‘Yes.’

‘What about wine? Do you like white wine?’

‘Yes.’

‘In that case, Roland, we’ll have the steamed bream fillets with side salad, followed by the almond and plum tart. With cream. But first, bring us a bottle of that white I had the other day. You know the one. It’s a Sauvignon Blanc from Margaret River.’

‘Right away, Mr Palmer.’

Sharni had to admire his savoir-faire. It had been a long time since a man had ordered a meal for her with such panache. Ray had been a bit of a waffler when it came to deciding what to order in a restaurant. Making decisions had not been her husband’s forte. That had been her domain.

Or it had once. Sharni’s decision-making capabilities had disintegrated shortly after she’d won the compensation case. It was as though she’d stayed strong whilst she’d sought justice. But the moment the verdict had come down in her favour, she’d gone to mush.

Winning three million dollars compensation had proved to be a hollow victory, because all the money in the world would never make up for the loss of her husband and her beautiful little baby.

Still, life did go on, as Janice kept telling her.

Her sister would have been proud of her for not running away just now. Though she might be suspicious of Sharni’s motives for agreeing to having lunch with Ray’s double. Janice might think she was pretending Ray were still alive, and nothing had changed at all.

That was not the case. This man might look like Ray, but he was nothing like him in personality. The only time she could ever pretend he was Ray was if he didn’t speak. Or if he was asleep.

‘You really designed this building?’ she asked once the waiter departed.

‘I certainly did. Do you like it?’

‘To be honest, I haven’t had a proper look at it. I was walking past on this side of the street, smelt food, realised it was lunch-time and came in for something to eat.’

‘After lunch, I’ll give you the royal tour. I live on one of the upper floors.’

Lord, she thought. What a fast worker!

‘I don’t think so, Mr Palmer.’

‘Adrian,’ he corrected with another of those seductive smiles of his.

Sharni had to confess that she found his attention flattering. She also found him very attractive. Which was only logical. Ray’s looks had been the first thing to attract her. Physically, he’d stood out in a crowd. It wasn’t till she’d talked to him that she’d realised how shy he was.

That had appealed to her at the time. Nowadays, however, she would probably go for a more confident, outgoing kind of man, the kind who would look after her, not the other way around.

But she wasn’t ready yet to leap back into the dating world, especially not with the dead spit of her dead husband. And certainly not with such an accomplished ladies’ man.

Sharni knew a womaniser when she met one.

‘I don’t think so, Adrian,’ she said quite coolly. ‘Lunch is all I agreed to. Take it or leave it.’

He sighed. But it didn’t sound like a defeated sigh. Sharni suspected he was already thinking of another tack to take.

The wine’s arrival brought that confident smile back to his handsome face, reminding her not to drink too much. She’d gone through a stage a year or so back when she’d drunk far too much. Nowadays, she limited her alcoholic intake, having been advised that alcohol was not good for depression, which she fell into every time her thoughts dwelled on all that she had lost.