Wayward Heart

by Cathryn Hein

  ‘She knows,’ said Digby when he called Jas later from the stables.

  ‘I told you. Doesn’t miss a trick, your grandmother.’ Jas sighed. ‘I’d better talk to Em.’

  ‘If you want, but Gran seems happy to keep it to herself for now. She dropped the subject pretty fast once she had what she wanted.’

  ‘Which can only mean she’s up to something.’

  ‘Probably.’ He paused. ‘I wish I was.’

  Jas laughed. ‘What? You can’t do without it for a night?’

  ‘I can, I just don’t want to.’

  ‘I’ll make up for it tomorrow night, I promise.’

  As it turned out, Digby didn’t have to wait that long. Come eleven-thirty the following day, Camrick was deserted. Granny B was lunching with the mayor and wouldn’t be home for hours, while Adrienne had a hospital auxiliary meeting and Samuel was playing golf. When he realised he had the property to himself, Digby phoned Jas at work, concealing his identity behind a fake name.

  ‘Remember your idea of a lunchtime quickie?’ In the background he could hear the chatter and beeps of the busy building society—Jas must be in the main customer service area. Digby wondered if she was blushing.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Interested?’

  She cleared her throat. Though she was trying to stay cool excitement leaked through to her breathing, shifting it shallow and fast, which only turned Digby on even more. ‘It’s an attractive idea, although perhaps not viable today.’

  ‘No one’s here. They’re all out and won’t be home for ages.’ He dropped his voice. ‘I have a cunning plan.’

  ‘Yes. I’m sure I can make that appointment. Twelve it is. Thank you.’

  The phone went dead, leaving Digby laughing and fizzing with anticipation.

  By ten past twelve she was in his apartment. Ten minutes after that, whatever ghost Felicity had left had been well and truly sent fleeing by the sound of Jasmine’s cries. And Digby had notched another small turn in his cycle of grief.

  CHAPTER

  14

  Jas perched tensely on the end of a timber bench in Civic Park, Mike’s ring in her pocket. All she had to do was hand it over and walk away. The final scene in an act that should have been over a long time ago. A play that should never have even begun.

  She glanced upwards. Scattered showers were forecast but only a few clouds were scudding across the sky, otherwise the day was mild. That didn’t stop her pulling her red work cardigan tighter over her chest.

  Jas hated feeling this way. For the past week her life had been filled with warmth. Endless rounds of either having sex with Digby or thinking about having sex with Digby, punctuated with long beach rides on Ox and a Saturday-afternoon dress fitting with Em, during which Jasmine’s cheeks had burned with the effort of keeping secret what she’d been doing with her best friend’s brother.

  As was befitting for Levenham’s wedding of the year, Em’s gown was spectacular. Three generations of Wallace women had joined forces in its design, and the result reflected their impeccable taste. The dress suited Em perfectly, exposing enough smooth skin to be sexy without sacrificing modesty. Satin had been formed into wide pleats that encircled the tips of her shoulders before crossing over her chest to wrap her ribs and slim waist. From there, the skirt fell in a simple A-line design, with not a flounce, bow or lace trim to be seen. Even her veil was fine organza with plain satin edging.

  Jas had sighed at the gorgeousness of it, and indulged in a ridiculous daydream that one day she might wear a similarly beautiful dress, and appear as flushed and proud as Em did. Somehow, that daydream had included Digby, which—after Em’s nonstop speculation over the identity of her brother’s lover—had left Jas even more flustered and disconcerted.

  It had also left her realising that the Frankenstein’s monster of her love for Mike had been well and truly destroyed. Unlike the previous year, there would be no resurrection.

  Another Sunday spent with Digby had hardened Jas further, and sitting in the staff car park behind the building society early Monday morning, she’d punched out a text. She’d left Digby in bed, ruffled and ridiculously handsome, the sheet rucked down around his hips, exposing his lean belly and the swatch of dark hair that nested above his groin. The look had been so hot, his hooded eyes and satisfied smile so smug, she’d taken her phone from her handbag and snapped a photo. He’d objected, but not much, and she’d saved the photo. Jas had a feeling she’d spend most of the day looking at it.

  Mike had answered at morning-tea time with a terse ‘OK’ that had left her wondering for the thousandth time how she’d ever managed to get suckered in by a cheating arsehole like him.

  Mondays were a good day to get things done. And this chore was long overdue.

  Jasmine checked her watch. He was late. Perhaps he’d chickened out. It wouldn’t have surprised her. In which case, she’d post the ring to his work with no return address and no note. If it ended up chucked out that was his bad luck. She’d done her bit.

  ‘Jas.’ Mike appeared from behind, darting glances around the park as he stepped in front of the seat where she was sitting. At first his face was grim, then it seemed to sag at the sight of her and his eyes turned bright. If Jas wasn’t used to his duplicity she might have been taken in by the show of emotion. ‘You look great. Really great. He suits you.’

  Jas didn’t want to get into a conversation about Digby. She had one thing to accomplish and was determined to see it through. Standing, she drew the ring from her pocket. ‘Hold out your hand.’

  He scanned the surroundings again, this time carefully, as if fearing hidden cameras or that his wife would come leaping from behind a tree yelling ‘Cheat!’. Slowly he did as she asked.

  She pressed the ring into the centre of his palm. ‘I thought you should have it back.’

  He regarded it, puzzled, then his mouth twisted and he laughed in a way that was horrible for its bitter emptiness. ‘What am I meant to do with it?’

  ‘I don’t know. Sell it. Buy your wife a present with the proceeds. God knows, she deserves it.’

  But that only made him laugh even more acidly. ‘Sell it? Jas, it’s worthless.’

  A wave of cold prickles swept over her. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s worthless. Zirconia.’

  Appalled, she could only stare. That ring was the reason she’d taken him back after nearly three months of freedom. It was the promise of a future she’d hungered for, and now he was telling her that for a piece of crap glass she’d given him almost another year? Another year of selling her self-respect, of the agony of longing, of soaring hope that never had wings to fly.

  ‘You fuck,’ she whispered. ‘You absolute fuck.’

  With nothing left to say and her humiliation burning, Jas whirled and marched straight-backed across the park, her jaw set, her eyes wide. Every scrap of self-will was centred on maintaining dignity in the face of Mike’s insult.

  ‘Jas.’ He called again, this time louder. ‘Jas!’

  She walked faster, her stride as long as her fitted skirt would allow, cursing her stupid uniform, cursing herself. Cursing a world that allowed bastards like Mike to thrive and never pay for their cruelties.

  Wishing she had Digby’s protective arms to fall into.

  The remainder of the day stretched like a long dark winter. Jas dealt with customers with atypical distant professionalism that had her staff glancing at her sideways and steering clear. No bubbly greetings, no pauses for gossip. She did her job and clock-watched, hankering for home and a chance to tend to her bruised and hurting soul in private.

  But privacy proved elusive, even at Admella Beach. She arrived home to find Digby at the kitchen sink, peeling potatoes. With the amount of time he was spending at the house it had seemed easier to give him his own key, but good manners meant he usually checked to see if he was welcome. Today of all days he’d chosen to turn up early.

  She paused at the entrance to the kitchen and soaked in the scen
e. The room smelled deliciously of roasting meat. Pots of vegetables were set on the stove. A decanter stood on the counter next to a dusty bottle of wine. Soft rock music was streaming from a portable speaker set up on the windowsill.

  It was home like she’d dreamed of but had never managed to make real. A fantasy only glimpsed with Mike, on the rare occasions when he’d snuck over for dinner and she’d been able to play happy families for a few cherished hours. To touch a future she was never destined to reach.

  ‘Roast lamb, with all the trimmings,’ he said, smiling and pleased with himself. ‘To save you having to stress about dinner.’ When Jas didn’t say anything he eyed her, then turned off the tap and wiped his hands on a tea towel. ‘I’ll clean up, if that’s what you’re worried about.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I thought it’d be a nice surprise.’

  Jas closed her eyes. ‘Oh, Digby.’

  What a fool she’d been. All that time wasted on an arsehole when there were men like this in the world.

  ‘Jas, what’s wrong?’

  She sniffed and smiled. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’

  Clearly Digby didn’t believe her. ‘I didn’t mean to intrude. You’ve been at work all day. I just wanted to help.’

  ‘You’re not intruding.’ She dumped her things, crossed the room and wrapped herself against him, pressing her cheek hard against his chest to hear the beating of his big considerate heart.

  He stroked her hair hesitantly and kissed the top of her head. ‘Baby, what’s wrong?’

  At the use of ‘baby’, she clung even tighter, feeling stupidly fragile. ‘Nothing. I’m just not used to someone as nice as you.’

  ‘I’m not that nice.’ He bent to fake-whisper. ‘It’s all a sneaky plan to get you into bed.’

  She laughed and sniffed back tears. ‘Liar. Since when do you need a bribe to get me into bed? All you have to do is look at me and I’m ready to drag you off.’

  ‘I’m looking at you now.’

  Jas eased out of his arms. Despite her declaration, she wasn’t in the mood for sex. Not even with Digby. ‘Don’t you have cooking to take care of?’

  ‘I’d rather take care of you.’

  ‘You already are, special man.’ She reached behind his neck and pulled him close. ‘So …’ She kissed him lightly. ‘Very …’ She kissed him again. ‘Well.’

  Digby cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking the corner of her mouth as he searched her face. ‘I can turn the oven down, make this a slow-cooked lamb roast.’

  ‘A tempting thought, but I really need to look after Oxy.’ She kissed him lightly again. ‘I’ll be back.’

  ‘Jas,’ he said, when she was at the door, ‘are you really okay?’

  The words were softly spoken, husky with uncertainty. She gazed over her shoulder. The sight of his worried look made her chest feel full and thick.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, breathing in. ‘I am now.’

  The stress and emotion of the day had left Jas drained. Even a short canter on Ox along the beach in the lowering sun, the sea glittering a thousand colours as though sprinkled with polished gems, failed to energise her. For Digby’s sake, she ate her perfectly roasted lamb and vegetables with feigned appetite, praising to the hilt his proper gravy and the complementary, beautifully smooth cabernet merlot he’d chosen.

  He accepted her praise with the claim that good food was in his Wallace genes, but Jas could tell from the way he kept surreptitiously watching her that he wasn’t fooled.

  At bedtime, he sat fully dressed on the edge of her bed and beckoned her to him, directing her to stand between his knees. He rested his arms on her waist, his mouth a thin line.

  ‘Something happened today.’ He lifted his head to study her face. ‘You came home different. Upset. I thought for a bit it was me but it wasn’t. It was something else.’

  She stroked her hand over his face. His dark hair was shiny under the light, his cheeks rough with day’s end stubble. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’

  ‘It does. I don’t want you to be unhappy.’

  ‘I’m not.’ She cupped his jaw, intent. ‘How can I be when I have you?’

  He looked aside. She’d stepped too far. Jas didn’t have him. She did. Digby had warned her and yet over the past week Jas had been sure that tie was loosening. He smiled more, laughed more, observed Jas with what she thought was contentment. Perhaps it was, but in his heart, Felicity remained queen.

  She didn’t know why it should matter so much when it hadn’t bothered her before, but it did.

  ‘I’d better go brush my teeth,’ she said, and was grateful for the moment alone.

  They didn’t make love. Unspoken mutual agreement kept the intimacy from turning sexual. They touched though, and kissed. Facing one another and gazing, fingers tracing butterfly steps over features, murmuring compliments about strong jaws and delicate ears and long eyelashes. Silly, affectionate and kind things to hide the pressure of unrevealed hearts until it was time to roll over and sleep.

  Jas lay spooned against him, staring at the darkness, sleep refusing to descend. She could pick from his breathing that Digby was doing the same, and wondered if he was pondering ways to extract himself from the relationship. Jas had broken the rule set between them from the start, had turned something joyous into something serious. That her admission was accidental, the fault of a fraught day, didn’t matter.

  She didn’t love him, but today had shown she was stepping recklessly close. The challenge now was to find a way to step back.

  ‘Jas?’ he whispered, his hand curving over her belly.

  ‘Yes?’

  She heard his swallow. ‘If you want to stop, that’s okay.’

  Jas closed her eyes. Here it came, the careful goodbye. ‘Is that what you want?’

  For a painful length of time the room remained silent. ‘No.’ His forehead rested against her hair, his breath caressing the back of her neck, his palm hot against her stomach. The air thrummed with tension. ‘I need you, Jas.’

  She twisted to face him.

  He gazed at her with shiny eyes. ‘But you have to understand, I can’t offer you much in return.’

  ‘You’re wrong. So very, very wrong. You offer plenty.’

  This time when they kissed, relief and something else, something heartfelt and stretched with yearning, steered their kisses to caresses, before tenderly easing them into that ultimate of intimacies. Connecting in a way that made them not quite whole, but for a heady, breathless moment, fulfilled.

  It wasn’t love, but the frangible cliff edge. Jas knew it. Saw the danger. Yet she refused to retreat.

  Digby needed her. If that meant risking the fall then so be it.

  Because a man like him was worth it.

  CHAPTER

  15

  The phone started ringing deep into the night. Digby surged upright but sleep had him fuddled. By the time he realised what the sound was, Jas had already thrown back the sheets and was heading for the kitchen.

  He checked her digital alarm clock. 3 am. Phone calls at that hour were never good news. He picked up his polo shirt from the floor and strode up the hall, pulling it on.

  Jasmine’s panicked ‘Hello’ was followed by frightening silence. Digby quickened his step. He found her braced on her palms over the bench, head down and breathing hard, the receiver on its back beside her right hand.

  ‘What is it?’

  She didn’t answer. Digby stepped closer and it was then he registered the voice. Whoever was on the line was still talking. Glancing at her, he picked up the handset and listened.

  The voice was warped, the pitch and delivery low and slow, and impossible to tell whether from a man or woman. Such was its distortion, it could have been a computer.

  ‘You’re nothing but a whore,’ it said. ‘That’s what you do. Whore yourself on decent men. Corrupting them. Can’t get one of—’

  ‘Who is this?’ demanded Digby, although he’d already guessed there’d be no answer.

  ‘—you
r own. So you steal good men from other women.’

  ‘It’s a recording,’ he said, hanging up.

  ‘Yes.’

  Almost immediately the phone rang again. Jas didn’t move. Digby pressed answer, listened a few seconds and disconnected.

  ‘She’ll keep doing that until you stop answering or the phone’s unplugged.’

  ‘It’s the same as before?’

  She nodded. On cue, the phone started up.

  The phone had an old-fashioned ringtone that was excellent for carrying across the house, but after multiple times its shrill jingle quickly grated. Digby searched for the volume control and lowered it to the minimum setting. The handset vibrated against his palm as if in quiet rage at not being heard. ‘She must be listening to know when the call hangs up so she can redial.’

  ‘Most likely.’ Jas straightened and turned to lean her backside against the bench, arms folded. ‘No fun in tormenting someone if you can’t see or hear it.’

  Neither of them had bothered with the light switch but there was enough moonglow filtering through the window for Digby to note the forced stiffness of her movements and the hard set of her expression. She was trying to be stoic, but her eyes were edged with suffering and her sweet mouth was thin with despair. The knowledge that Jas was hurting made Digby want to punch something.

  ‘How can you be certain it’s a she?’

  ‘A man wouldn’t bother.’

  She was right. This wasn’t something a man would do. Men tended to use direct means of confrontation whereas this was more underhand. The call rang out, then started again. Digby unplugged the power, set the phone down and reached for Jas, cradling her against him.

  ‘It’ll be okay.’

  Her stoicism crumbled. She shook her head, her voice choking. ‘I thought it’d stopped, that the spray paint was the last of it. It’s been over a week. I thought whoever it was had noticed you here all the time and finally realised it was you, not Mike.’ She rubbed her face. ‘God!’

  ‘We’ll get your number changed. Make it silent.’