Pursuing Pandora

by Maggie Brown

  Ignoring the remark, Christine looked directly at Winter. “How long have you two been an item?”

  “Long enough to know what a treasure I have,” Pandora cut in.

  “Really?” Christine stared at her with dislike and said with a tinkling laugh. “I would never have described Winter quite like that. But then again, taken literally…”

  Winter bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Your greatest attribute has always been your ability to make money. A veritable treasure trove.”

  “You should know. You spent enough of it.”

  Another brittle laugh came. “And you were certainly counting.”

  “Go to hell,” Winter said quietly.

  Pandora abruptly rose from the bench and stretched out her hand for Winter. “Shall we? The others are waiting.”

  Winter looked up at her, a lump in her throat. She took the proffered hand, feeling the warmth against her palm. Firm, safe. Quickly she ducked her head, desperate to hide welling tears. Pandora gave her hand a comforting squeeze and moved off. Before she followed, Winter took a deep breath and turned to look down with dislike, and a smidgeon of pity, at the woman who once shared her life. “Goodbye, Chris. I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she muttered, then hurried off quickly before she could reply. She had no wish to prolong the contact or see the woman again.

  Instead of going straight back to the table, Pandora led her to the back of a large bush on the perimeter of the lawn. “I think we should have a quick word before we go back.”

  “I know that was gross for you, and I’m sorry. But I’m eternally grateful you came over.”

  “No…no. That’s not what I wanted to talk about. I intervened because I could see you needed support.”

  “She wanted me to go on a date with her. Can you believe it?”

  Pandora narrowed her eyes. “She wanted to get together with you again?”

  “Yes, and I have no idea why. But what Christine wants, she expects to have. She can turn nasty if she doesn’t get her own way,” Winter said, shivering with misery as she remembered.

  “She bullied you?”

  “She likes to manipulate people. I was constantly criticized, particularly when I tried to curb her spending. I’m not mean, but she was going through my money like water. I was never much good at handling her mood swings…I hate confrontation which makes me weak I guess.”

  “Don’t make excuses for her. You were a victim. Plain and simple. You’re well rid of her.”

  “I know,” she replied, but couldn’t help wondering what Pandora’s real views were on her failed relationship. Underneath, she probably thought she lacked guts. She couldn’t imagine Pandora taking shit from anyone—she seemed so in control. With an effort, Winter pulled herself together and asked, “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

  Pandora rubbed the back of her neck and cleared her throat. “Well…I presume some of the people here will be invited to your party.”

  Winter nodded, silently waiting.

  “Then it probably would be wise if I pretended to like Jessie, considering our plan is for us to be a couple when we come next Sunday. It’s going to look strange if you and I go home together, then I turn up holding her hand.”

  Ouch! So much for her date.

  It made sense of course—she hadn’t thought it through. She had forgotten all about Michael and his damn obsession. It was a pity his mother had spoilt him rotten, she snarled to herself. But venting her anger did nothing to erase the sinking feeling that Pandora had lost interest in her. Her drama with Christine would frighten anyone off, and Jessie had had all afternoon to weave her charms. Winter swallowed hard, suddenly finding it difficult to speak. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking when I asked you today. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing…a brain hiccup.” Then added after a pause. “Maybe I should pay more attention to Veronica as well.”

  “If you want to, but it won’t be necessary,” Pandora said with a stiff shrug.

  Winter forced out a chuckle. “It wouldn’t be a hardship. She’s actually good value, loads of fun and really nice. Jessie said she’s not dating anyone at the moment.”

  “Let’s get back then,” Pandora said gruffly.

  Winter followed her to the table and took her seat without a word. Fay handed her a glass of wine. “Here. You look like you need this.”

  “Thanks,” she said gratefully, though didn’t elaborate.

  A phone ringing suddenly pierced the air. Fay rose quickly. “Excuse me for a second. I’ve been expecting a call.”

  Winter took a gulp of wine as she watched her go. Then turned around when Veronica asked with concern, “Is everything all right?”

  She mustered a smile. “I’m fine. Just a bit shaken. The woman I was talking to was my ex and we parted under not so pleasant circumstances.”

  “You were with Christine Dumont?”

  “For five years. We parted nearly three years ago.”

  Veronica patted her arm. “I know what it’s like. My breakup was different…not acrimonious…but it hurt badly when it was over. Joanne was a violinist in the London Symphony Orchestra and we met when I was doing my post grad in the UK. I stayed for two more years after I graduated to be with her, but I was committed to come back to Australia. Her career would have stalled over here, so she wouldn’t come with me. What we had together gradually fell to pieces when I returned. It was impossible with the distance to maintain the connection.”

  Winter’s heart went out to the woman. It was one thing for a dysfunctional relationship to break up, but infinitely more tragic if circumstances forced you apart. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

  “Don’t be. It was, like you, around three years ago when we called it quits. Time does heal wounds. I’m ready to move forward now.” She looked pensive for a moment, then added with a sad smile, “In retrospect, I have come to realize we both didn’t try hard enough. Neither Joanne nor I were prepared to put our careers second.”

  “You’ll never rekindle your romance?”

  “No. She’s found someone else. Someone more suited to her lifestyle…a musician.”

  There was a moment’s awkwardness before Winter spoke. “Looking back, although Chris and I had bigger problems, I was guilty of putting my work first as well.”

  “I won’t be making that mistake again. Now enough of being maudlin,” said Veronica. “I have a question, which I’d very much like an answer to. Are you dating Pandora?”

  Winter cleared her throat, feeling slightly sick at the dilemma she faced. How she hated being put on the spot. But there was only one way she could reply. “No. She’s just a good friend. Jessie is probably more her style.” She took a gulp of her wine at the pleased expression on Veronica’s face. Christ, she felt like a Judas.

  “I’m very happy to hear that. Would you care to join me for lunch on Thursday? I’ve only patients booked in the morning.”

  “I’d like that.” She looked at Veronica curiously. “You and Jessie must see each other all the time. You’ve never been interested?”

  Fay, just back from her phone call, answered her query with a chuckle. “No one in their right mind at the hospital would get tangled up with her. She has no idea what fidelity means. I doubt if she can even spell the word.”

  Winter suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to defend Jessie. Though what was said was true, it was also incredibly sad that her reputation had reached this level. “She just likes a good time, Fay. Prefers to keep her life uncomplicated and she’s a kind, caring person. In fact, truth be known, she’s probably the happiest of the lot of us.”

  “Sorry. I forgot you were great friends. That remark was out of line,” Fay said with a wry smile.

  “No,” said Winter with a sigh. “It’s me who should apologise. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just worry about Jessie sometimes. She really needs someone in her life.”

  Fay looked over to the other end of the table thoughtfull
y. “Maybe Pandora might be the one. Jessie’s different with her, more…I don’t know…more attentive than usual. Not so full of herself. What do you think?”

  Although it was the last thing she wanted to comment on, Winter pretended to study the two interacting. It tore at her insides watching them laughing together. Then as soon as she could, she averted her gaze. “Perhaps. We’ll just have to wait and see. Now I think the speeches are about due to start.”

  “Who are the speakers?” asked Veronica.

  “The CEO will outline the planned new wing, and then the Chairman is saying a few words,” replied Winter.

  Fay let out a snort. “Only a few? That’ll be a first.”

  Winter chuckled. “No doubt he will be riveting.”

  The last word was soon out of her mouth when the PA system blasted over the grounds, introducing official party. Three quarters of an hour later with the formal part of the afternoon over, Christine and her cameraman could be seen interviewing Terrance. Winter hoped he’d bore her to death.

  The crowd began to drift off home and Winter issued an invitation to everyone at the table to her party as they rose to go. Only then did Pandora appear at her side. “Will you be all right finding a cab?” she asked. “I’m going to head off with Jessie.”

  “Alan’s picking me up. He’ll drive Winter and Veronica home,” Fay called out.

  “Then I’ll see you all next Sunday.”

  “Bye,” Winter said with a fixed smile. She watched her walk back to Jessie, wondering how the afternoon could go so ass-up so quickly.

  And why, amongst friends, did she feel so very alone?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Her boxing gloves curled into fists, Pandora pounded the heavy cylindrical punching bag that dangled from the ceiling by three chains. The black leather had seen better days, battered shiny and thin by the constant abuse.

  Jab, hook, uppercut—pause—jab, hook, uppercut—

  She had done this routinely for years. Today it meant something. Too many damn thoughts, too many damn feelings. Whenever they crept back into her head, she hit harder.

  Whack—Destroy—Whack—Defeat.

  Simple and repetitive—no time to think, to dwell. Her bunched muscles began to burn as she continued to punch with methodical blows. She embraced the pain as the jolting impacts shocked up her arms and down her legs. It seared everything out of her brain. Perspiration trickled over her face, dribbled down her neck, stained the tank top under her arms. She paused only to swipe her forearm over her face before moving on to the speed bag. After a long flurry of punches, she finally took notice of her aching body and eased back.

  Exhausted, she slid down onto the hard floor against the wall and pulled off the gloves. As she took a long drink of water, she took stock of the room. It was filled with basic equipment: punching bags, free-weight benches, dumbbells, floor mats for the kickboxers and martial arts and a small boxing spar ring in the far corner. Built down by the docks in the 1930s, O’Hara’s was one of the few genuine historic gyms left in the city. It had produced three welterweight and two featherweight Australian champions, but those days had long gone. For years now, any boxer with potential was snaffled up by more modern, wealthier clubs.

  Ten in the morning, the place was nearly full, noisy with the thud of fists on punching bags. She could feel the testosterone bouncing off the walls. The air smelt musty, tinged with the acrid odours of stale sweat, menthol and seawater. Three women in Ts and shorts were on the free-weight benches against the wall—toned tough women who knew how to take care of themselves. The rest were male, most heavily muscled, some shirtless. Though it was a far cry from the trendy health and fitness clubs popular in the city, the gym was exactly what she wanted. Private, safe, and anonymous.

  She had registered herself simply as Dora. No one asked questions here.

  “You practising to fight some bastard, slugger?”

  She looked up at the man above her and gave a noncommittal shrug. “Nah, Ray, just working off a few frustrations.”

  “Right. Take ten minutes, then I’ll put you through your kick-boxing paces. Half speed, no full blows today. The mood you’re in, I prefer all my parts to be intact when we finish. We’ll work on your technique.”

  “Okay,” Pandora said with a wry chuckle. As if she’d be able to get anywhere near him. Ray was owner and chief instructor of the gym, a very fit bear of a man who had nearly made it to the heavyweight titles in ’95. His father had owned the gym before him, and his father before that.

  She finished off the water bottle, then flexed her fingers. They were sore and a little bruised. Serve her right for letting her emotions to override her good sense. To allow her personal feelings distract her from her work was serious. Once undercover, she needed all her wits about her—the people she was dealing with were dangerous.

  But she couldn’t get Winter out of her mind. She should never have accepted the date to the garden party—neither of them had thought it through. It had only made the simmering attraction worse. First, she had to fight back the urge to give Christine Dumont a tongue lashing, then had no option but to sit with Jessie, while Veronica chatted up her date all afternoon. And then they had gone home together in the same car.

  But what really hurt—and completely ticked her off—was when she texted Winter asking her to lunch, she had replied that she already had a luncheon date with Veronica.

  A booming voice interrupted and she filed the thoughts away for later. “I’m ready when you are, Dora.”

  She looked over at Ray who stood waiting with crossed arms at the kickboxing square. “Right,” she said, and with a heave, climbed to her feet.

  At the edge of the foam floor mat, she flexed her muscles and prepared to vent more of her anger. They sparred at half speed for several minutes, then she shot a swift kick at his abdomen which he just barely deflected. A follow-up punch and another snapped kick, and he took a more cautious stance. Noting the defensive body position, she began a barrage of attacking moves with a combination of kicks and punches. When he began to puff, she applied more pressure relentlessly. She shoved hard and went for a chin shot. When he countered, she gave an extra burst of speed and tensed her body, ready to launch at his torso.

  The next was a blur. With a swift lunge, he grasped her arm, swept her off her feet and it was all over. She was on the floor, pinned under him with her face pressed hard into the mat.

  Crap! She’d walked into that one.

  “Slap the mat and I’ll let you up,” he ground out into her ear.

  Resigned, she gave it a tap with the palm of her free hand. The other was pinned awkwardly beneath her.

  Surprisingly, he wasn’t angry, more solemn when they got to their feet. “You okay?” he asked.

  She nodded. Her pride was hurt, but that didn’t count in a place like this.

  “Good. You behaved like a bloody amateur today. You fought with your temper, not your brain. Haven’t you been listening to me all these months. Stay in control. If you’re angry, you’ll have to channel it properly or you’ll get yourself killed.” She must have looked as dejected as she felt, because he continued in a kinder voice. “That’s enough for today. Get yourself cleaned up, then buy yourself a long cold beer. Whatever’s got you so frigging worked up will look better in an amber glass than a sparring ring.”

  She laughed, the ball of tension dissolving away. “That’s probably the best advice I’ve had for years.”

  * * *

  For a Saturday night, the Silver Fox was much quieter than normal. The River Fire celebrations and the fireworks extravaganza were the main attractions in the city tonight. Absently, Pandora gazed across the tables, not concentrating much on her songs. She’d performed them so often, she could have sung them in her sleep. Her act had become too routine, too predictable to keep her interest. She’d be so relieved when this assignment was finally over. Quite frankly, she was sick of playing Pandora the Siren. She really didn’t know how women liked the life.
She had wanted to be a singer, but not on these terms. Being a pinup babe didn’t equate to talent.

  But most of all, she was bored with the bar scene. Though most faces changed, the behaviour didn’t. With no dance floor, they either came to the club to drink, to see the floorshow or to meet someone. She had become adept at recognizing those who wanted a fun night out, the serious drinkers, and those who trolled for sex.

  Only a certain clientele were regulars at the Fox: those who could afford to pay for the overpriced drinks. Because of the floor show and its upmarket setting, the club was usually filled with people socializing in a crowd or celebrating an occasion. They were Yuri’s bread-and-butter customers, and she normally stayed with these partygoers for a while after the show. It was all in the “club experience” for them. And they were the ones who spent the most at the bar, usually sloshed by closing time.

  Tonight, there were no loud revellers. The tables were filled with small groups of older patrons who sat and applauded quietly. Lawrence Partridge, sitting with two men, was staring at her while she sang. Pandora ignored his attempts to get her attention. She’d only seen him in the place once after his run-in with Winter, and, thankfully, the flowers had stopped. She’d hoped he’d disappeared for good, but no such luck. Here he was tonight, back like a bad penny.

  Halfway through her last bracket, her gaze fell on a couple sitting in a small shaded table in the far corner. If she hadn’t been so bored, she wouldn’t have paid them any attention. There was nothing unusual about them: he wore a dark grey suit with a white shirt, no tie, while the woman was dressed in a blue dress with a high neckline. Both appeared to be in their fifties. But as her eyes idly passed over them, something stirred in the back of her mind. He looked familiar, though she was sure he hadn’t been at the club before. She snuck another glance a few minutes later and then it came to her. His photo had been in the original pile from Interpol.

  Michael hadn’t appeared. In fact, there weren’t any young people at the tables or bar. Very strange. The hairs twitched at the back of her neck and she snapped into cautious mode. Something was definitely going on. Before she came on, Yuri had appeared in her dressing room, insisting she was due for an early night and to go home straight after her performance. What had seemed like concern for her welfare, now took on a different light. He wanted her gone.