by Maggie Brown
“Because I like variety. Because you’re married to your fucking work. You never—”
“Enough. Don’t make this about me,” interrupted Winter, feeling bone weary. “Now for shit sake get into the bathroom and clean yourself up. You stink of him.”
Unable to control the tremors, she turned her back on the bed. The room was so claustrophobic with the smells of perfume and sex that Winter barely made it out the front door. When she hit the fresh air, her stomach began to heave. A few seconds later, she succumbed to the turmoil and vomited into the bed of azaleas. Thunder rumbled in sympathy as raindrops began to mingle with the tears on her face.
* * *
Winter brought her mind back to the present as, with precise strokes, Christine signed her name. After her lawyer added her signature as a witness, she pushed the papers back across the table. “There. We’re finished with each other now. I hoped you’d show more compassion, more gratitude. But you always were a self-serving businesswoman.”
Winter’s mouth thinned and her eyes hardened. Christine knew how to hit her buttons. “Get over it, Chris. You’ve done very well out of me.”
“Whatever.” She glanced at her solicitor. “If that’s all, I’ll be off. I have an appointment at twelve.”
Her legal representative, a brash fiery redhead with the tenacity of a bulldog, gave a nod. “That wraps up everything.” She glanced across at Lionel Miles. “My office will be in touch to finalise payment.”
Christine rose to follow her out the door, but on the threshold turned to look back. “We can all point fingers, Winter, but you do have to take some responsibility in all this. You were never invested in our relationship. There were always three of us in it: you, me and your work. And quite frankly, I was very tired of coming in a distant third. You have no idea what passion means. The only thing you’re really good at is making money, because you certainly were a disappointment in bed.”
Feeling as though she’d been kicked in the stomach, Winter gulped. This could easily be her most humiliating moment. After Lionel finished shuffling the documents into his briefcase, she avoided his eye when he looked up. Instead, she concentrated on a small brown stain on the desk, trying to think of something to say. Nothing came. The settlement had been negotiated through their lawyers. This meeting to sign the papers was the first time she and Chris had been face-to-face in two years. All very civilized, but that façade had flown out the door.
She cleared her throat and raised her eyes. When she saw he was looking at her with compassion, involuntary tears welled up. She blinked them away hastily.
“Don’t take her words to heart, Winter. Breakups are never pleasant. She’s just venting her anger,” he said with a shake of his head.
She fought for restraint and calm. Above all, she admonished herself, keep away from self-pity. But, how could she? Her personal life was a train wreck. Even though she hated to admit it, she knew Christine was partly right. From the beginning, she had never felt that fierce longing depicted in love stories. She had liked her, been charmed by her, but the first sexual pull hadn’t blossomed into something deeper. She should have realized after dating for a year that they should never have moved in together. But Winter had become comfortable with the status quo—it was very pleasant having an attractive, bright woman share her life.
She pushed aside the embarrassment and held out her hand. “Thanks, Lionel, for all you’ve done. It’s time to get on with my life.”
As she spoke, she wondered if it were indeed completely over.
No one broke free from Christine without some scars.
Chapter Two
Seven months later
A shade of uneasiness fluttered through Winter as she rang the doorbell of her aunt’s house. The lunch invitation had sounded more like an SOS than a social visit. When her eighteen-year-old cousin, Tracey, answered the door and announced, “She’s in a fluster. Go on through…she’s waiting in the lounge,” she knew something was definitely wrong. Except for advice on financial matters, Augustina Hamilton was usually unflappable and handled her own problems.
Winter bent over to give her a kiss on the cheek before she took a seat opposite. “Hi, Aunt. You wanted to see me?”
“I did, Winter. I’ve just brought the tray out so the coffee’s hot. You’ll have a cup?”
Winter nodded and watched as she added milk and sugar. Gussie, as she was known to friends, looked the epitome of everyone’s favourite aunt: pleasantly plump, with a soft pretty face and a jolly disposition. Her blond curls were stylishly cut, the grey kept at bay by regular touch-ups at her hairdresser’s. Underneath her cheery exterior though, like all her four sisters she had a stubborn streak.
The youngest of the sisters, Gussie had been widowed at forty-seven when her husband died in a motorbike accident. Left with two children, the eldest just turned twelve, with a determined attitude she took whatever life threw at her. The sale of their large cattle property left her a wealthy woman, and she moved to Brisbane to raise her children.
Today she looked out of sorts. Her usual bright smile was missing and dark shadows smudged the pale skin beneath her eyes. Winter sipped her coffee, content to wait rather than ask what was wrong. Gussie never liked to be rushed. Once she had inquired briefly after Winter’s mother, her eldest sister, Gussie came to the point. “I asked you over because I want you to do something for me.”
Winter studied her. By the way her aunt was nervously fiddling with her cup on the saucer, it must be something serious—or delicate. Intrigued, she replied with a lift of her eyebrows, “Oh?”
“It’s about Michael.”
Now Winter was surprised. Tracey was the wild child of the family. Michael was a nerdish boy, and the apple of his mother’s eye. “Is he in trouble?” she asked, then added with a wave of concern. “Not sick, is he?”
Gussie’s soft chin quivered as a look of unease crossed her face. “No, it’s nothing like that. But…well…I’m very worried about him.”
“What’s he up to? Knowing him it wouldn’t be too much.”
“He’s taken up with a most unsuitable girlfriend. Let me rephrase that—not a girl but a woman well into her thirties.”
“So?” Winter drawled. “He’s twenty-one. Guys that age are obsessed with girls…or women. And we both know Michael’s no different. He was dating Nanette when he was nineteen.”
“I’m well aware of that, but he’s so fragile emotionally,” groaned Gussie. “You know how dreadfully depressed he got after breaking up with her, and this is far more serious. He’s obsessed with this woman and claims he’s in love with her.”
Winter nearly rolled her eyes. In her opinion, Michael wasn’t fragile just spoilt rotten. “Let him alone. Even if she’s a lot older, there’s nothing you or I can do about it. I wouldn’t fuss. At his age, it won’t last. Besides,” she added with a shrug, “he might learn a thing or two from an older woman.”
“I’m going to ignore that last remark,” said Gussie solemnly. “It is not funny. This has been going on for months. He’s talking about marrying her and he’s still got two years left at uni. He’ll be lucky to pass.”
Winter was suddenly struck with a feeling of déjà vu. Was the woman another Christine, wanting a toy boy? “I’m hardly an expert on the subject,” she said with a bitter edge.
“Of course you are. Christine had an affair with a young man. That’s why I’m asking you to help.”
Winter grimaced at the words. She had only discussed her breakup with her mother and in private, but given Christine’s high profile in the media, their failed relationship had become public gossip. Somehow, her extended family had found out there was a young man involved. Her broken life had been painful enough without having to face that humiliation as well. She pushed aside the feeling of hurt and said in a disapproving voice, “You’re not seriously asking me to interfere in your son’s love life?”
“Well…not interfere exactly. Just get him to see it will never do.”
“And how do I go about doing that? He’ll probably tell me to get lost and I wouldn’t blame him,” Winter sharply replied. What did her aunt think she was…a sex counsellor?
“Nonsense! He thinks the world of you, Winter.”
“Huh! So…what does this cougar do?”
Gussie flinched at the word. “She’s a singer at a nightclub.”
“What’s the problem? She probably has more talent in her little finger than that giggly airhead, Nanette.”
“Her occupation is not the biggest problem—it’s the club where she works. I have on good authority that it’s something to do with the Russian mafia. And apparently, Michael haunts the place.”
“How do you know where he hangs out?” Winter asked, narrowing her eyes.
“I have my sources.”
Winter stared at her aunt. It was about time she cut the apron strings. Gussie was such an indulgent and clinging mother. Tracey was already rebelling and if she continued with this, Michael would do the same. “What’s the name of the nightclub?”
“The Silver Fox. Have you heard of it?”
“I was taken there once by clients, but that was a few years ago. It seemed respectable, very nice actually…certainly not a dive. It wasn’t one of those gaudy loud nightclubs but catered for a classier set. The drinks were expensive enough. Who told you it had something to do with Russian gangsters?”
“I play bridge with a friend whose husband is a judge. Apparently, the place is known to be pedalling drugs and laundering money,” answered Gussie.
Winter shook her head in disbelief. All this drama came from the damn Bridge Club gossip vine. “What do you expect me to do? Drugs are everywhere and I know nothing about organized crime.”
“I want you to go there and have a look at what kind of woman my son is mixed up with,” said her aunt.
“You want me to go to the club?” Winter asked incredulously. But then gave a resigned sigh, knowing she didn’t have a choice. She loved her aunt dearly and hated refusing her anything.
“Well, I can’t very well go. Please, Winter. For me. Michael will listen to you.”
“Whoa there. I’ll go there for a night out with a couple of my friends and have a look but that’s all. I’m not interfering in Michael’s love life.”
Gussie relaxed back in her chair with a smile. “Thank you, dear. Now come and I’ll show you the sculpture I bought at that auction last Saturday.”
Winter followed her out the door, aware she had been adroitly manoeuvred into agreeing. And it was just as obvious that the Russian mafia was fabricated rubbish. Her aunt had no intention of letting her son marry a penniless lounge singer from a bar. It all sounded ridiculous. Besides the fact he was far too young.
* * *
As soon as Winter opened her front door, a black furry body twined around her ankles. When she reached down and tickled the cat under the ear, she was rewarded with a satisfied purr. “Miss me, Jinx sweetie, did you? Come on and I’ll get you something to eat.”
She chuckled as he immediately padded off to the kitchen—she swore he knew what she was saying. A friend had given her a kitten after her breakup and she had accepted him gratefully. Mainly because, although she loved cats, it was the first step in claiming back her life. Christine hated cats. Winter could never understand why she disliked them so much, she thought them ideal pets: cute and cuddly with a mind of their own, loyal but not cloying and could look after themselves. Jinx proved a godsend. It had been difficult to remain too depressed when listening to the soothing purr of a contented kitten curled up in her lap.
Winter filled his bowl with Meow Mix, then kicked off her shoes and rummaged in the fridge for the open bottle of sauvignon blanc. After pouring herself a glass, she headed for her study to her laptop. When she typed The Silver Fox into the search bar, up appeared a number of sites. She settled herself more comfortably in the chair, logged on to their main web page and began to scroll through the images.
The club appeared as she remembered: a long silver bar curved in a semicircle, surrounded by a troop of silver stools with thick black leather cushions, a shiny ceiling covered with myriads of small LED lights, solid rectangular tables on pedestals that rose up from a stone-grey floor and a row of booths nestled against the back wall. All the furnishings were black and silver, with touches of rusty red trimmings to set off the fox colour scheme.
It looked smart and edgy, a very classy lounge bar for higher-end clients with more disposable income than the average sports-bar patrons.
The blurb contained the usual enticing tropes. It also boasted of its unique range of cocktails for “serious drink connoisseurs.” Winter smiled at that. In layman’s language, it meant that a night out on the town was going to cost. She clicked on the entertainment section and a small stage with a piano appeared, along with the name of the main artist: Pandora. Excited now that she had reached her goal, she shifted the cursor down to the name.
The image caused her to take in a sharp breath. The woman sitting on the stool next to the baby grand was above stunning. A modern version of a vintage 1940s femme fatale: sexy, mysterious and darkly dangerous. She wore a body-hugging low-cut gown, gloves, and high stilettos. Her shoulder-length hair was glossy black, her lips ruby-red and her eyes long-lashed and hooded. As she sang into the microphone, a flash of fine black mesh fishnet stockings peeped out from the long split in the side of the dress.
Confronted with such unbridled sensuality, Winter’s nether regions tightened into a sudden throb. She swallowed, unsettled by her body’s reaction. Her libido was never this receptive. As she squirmed in her seat to dispel the ache, she put the acute response down to need. Two and a half years was far too long without a special someone. She had to forget Christine’s last scathing words and shrug off the feeling of failure. It was time to get back to the dating scene—her body was wound up like a tightly coiled spring.
With a snap she clicked off the computer. Little wonder that Michael was so enamoured. And she had to agree with her aunt who had obviously done her homework. Pandora wasn’t a suitable girlfriend for her son. She could understand Michael’s crush, but why would a woman who looked like that even give him a second glance? He was so far out of her league it was laughable. Maybe it was all in the boy’s mind. But then Winter was struck with a perturbing thought. Perhaps she did have some ulterior motive for leading him on. He was, after all, very well set up financially by his mother.
Determined now, she reached for the phone. At the second ring, it was answered.
“Dr. Drummond speaking.”
“Hi, Jessie,” she replied, smiling as she heard the familiar deep drawl.
“Hey, Winter. Sorry for answering so abruptly. I’m on call so I thought it was the hospital. What’s up, babe?”
“Well…I was wondering if you’d like a night out.”
A laugh resounded in her ear. “You’re kidding, right? Winter Carlyle never goes out. She works all the time.”
“Very funny. I’m serious. I figured it’s about time I got back into the social scene. Would you be interested in going to the Silver Fox on Saturday night?”
“Shit yes. I’ve been meaning to give it a visit. I heard they’ve a really hot singer there. Dana will be itching to go as well. She’s not with anyone at the moment. Would you mind if Linda came along too?”
Winter bit back the groan. She had met Linda at the party Jessie had put on after her split from Christine was finalised. The following week, she’d asked Winter on a date which proved a disaster. Though the woman was nice enough, they hadn’t clicked at all. She was more interested in trying to get her into bed than getting to know her. “If you want to ask her then go ahead. I think I eventually got across I wasn’t interested.”
“She can be annoying but she grows on you.”
“Yes, like mould. I had to scrape her off at the door.”
“Don’t worry. She got the message,” said Jessie with a chuckle. “You can be intimidating some
times when you’re cranky.”
“Yeah…yeah. What time Saturday?”
“Let’s say we have something at that new Thai restaurant up the road from my place, then go on from there.”
“It’s a date. See you at seven.”
With a satisfied hum Winter tapped off the phone. Even though she had an ulterior motive for the night out, she felt a flush of excitement. Cruising a bar with Jessie would be like old times and she had missed their close friendship. Christine hadn’t liked her, which made socialising together too awkward. Not that Jessie had objected—they were too staid for her. She remained the perennial player, never forming any lasting relationship as she drifted from one woman to another.
They’d been friends for years, beginning as roommates in the on-campus women’s college of the university. That first day, Winter was unpacking when she looked up to see a lanky, wildly handsome girl studying her from the doorway. She wore a clingy shirt, tight faded jeans with a big buckled belt, and black chunky boots. Her short hair was tipped blue to match her eyes, and a row of silver studs ran down the side of one ear. Two more studs winked above her eyebrow and the side of her nose.
The smile she turned on Winter was friendly enough, but there was a measuring gleam in her eye. Then seemingly satisfied, she announced she was a lesbian and if she had a problem with that then she’d better ask for another room. Taken aback, Winter, who still half-hovered in the closet, blurted out she was one too.
Jessie had simply remarked, “Thought so,” and dragged her battered suitcase through the door. From then on, they became fast friends. By the time Winter began work as a corporate lawyer and Jessie as a medical intern, they had formed an enduring friendship.
To this day, Winter never knew how Jessie picked her sexuality so quickly. She was just an ordinary looking fresh-faced girl with freckles, who dressed a little conservatively. Prior to meeting Jessie, she had been too shy to ask anyone out.