Tamara Rayne's high heels clacked impatiently against the cobblestones as she strode towards Ambrosia, Melbourne's hippest restaurant, a gourmet's delight and the place where she was trying to get her life back on track.
Her favourite butterscotch boots, patent leather with a towering heel-impractical yet gorgeous-never failed to invoke the stuff of her surname as plump drops splashed down from the heavens and lashed her in a stinging sheet.
With her laden arms and no umbrella, she needed a mythical knight in shining armour. She thought she'd had him once in Richard. How wrong she'd been.
Blinking back futile tears, wasted tears, angry tears, she pushed Ambrosia's door with her behind, staggering with her load, almost