A Man Without Mercy

by Miranda Lee

  There was no doubting her shock. ‘No! I never acted with you, Jack. Never. I loved everything I did with you. I...I’m not sure why I’m so different with you. I just was, right from the start. You made me feel things that Daryl never did. I still don’t quite understand it myself. I just know that I love having sex with you and I wouldn’t give it up for the world.’

  Jack liked the sound of that. ‘We do have great chemistry together,’ he said. ‘Now, whilst we’re having an honest chat, do you think you might tell me why your place looks like it does? I don’t mean the tidiness part so much. I’m talking about the starkness of the décor. Because let’s face it, Vivienne, it’s just not you.’

  Vivienne’s first instinct was to clam up about that. But then she realised that, if she couldn’t tell the man she loved, who could she tell?

  Still, it wasn’t going to be easy. Not that she thought Jack would be judgemental: he’d had some experience with emotionally fragile mothers so he would understand better than most.

  She sighed. ‘I will have to go way back to the years before my dad left us...’

  ‘I’m listening,’ Jack said gently. He could sense her reluctance but wasn’t about to let her off the hook.

  She looked at him for a long moment before going on. ‘Have you ever watched that show on TV about hoarders?’

  ‘I have, actually. Once or twice.’ Jack was about to add that he’d been totally disgusted and revolted by the state of some of the houses those people lived in when he stopped himself short.

  Vivienne sighed again. ‘I can see by the look on your face that the penny has dropped. Yes, my mother was a hoarder.’

  Jack wasn’t shocked so much as sad. For Vivienne. What kind of childhood would she have had if she’d been forced to grow up in the kind of filthy place he’d seen on that show?

  ‘I see,’ he said. And he did. He could imagine that the children of hoarders would either grow up like them or become diametrically opposite. It certainly explained why Vivienne had an obsession with cleanliness and clutter in her own home.

  ‘So is that why your father left in the first place?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. He couldn’t bear it any more.’

  ‘Was she always a hoarder?’

  ‘No, not at all. I remember when I was little, Mum always kept the house beautifully. But after my baby brother died—he was only a week old—she became very depressed. Some days she couldn’t even get out of bed.’

  ‘Didn’t your father take her to a doctor?’

  ‘She wouldn’t go.’

  Jack nodded. ‘So that’s when the hoarding started?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. Not only wouldn’t she get rid of all the things she’d bought for the baby but she started buying more: clothes. Furniture. Toys. Like Brendan was still alive. We could have outfitted half the babies in Australia with what she bought. She used to go shopping every day, till one day she suddenly refused to leave the house. After that, she discovered online shopping.’

  ‘So your house wasn’t dirty, just full of baby clothes?’

  ‘It was dirty too. Impossible to clean rooms when they’re full of stuff. There wasn’t a room in the house—or a surface anywhere—which was free of things. The kitchen too. Even the sink. In the end, we lived on takeaway. The delivered kind.’

  ‘So that’s all you ate? Pizzas and rubbish like that?’

  ‘Yes. For a long while. But when I started high school and realised I was getting fat, I put my foot down and demanded healthier food. But Mum wasn’t interested in cooking and the kitchen was a disaster area. I tried cleaning it up when I came home from school but the job became overwhelming.

  ‘In the end, I negotiated moving into the master bedroom which had an en suite and enough room for me to set up my own small kitchen. Just a microwave and toaster, really, and a small bar fridge which Dad had left behind in his den. I got Mum to give me an allowance from the money Dad sent so that I could buy my own food and clothes. When I was home, I lived in just that room and let the rest of the house go to pot. Of course, I couldn’t have any friends over for sleepovers, so I didn’t have any close girlfriends till I left school and moved out. No boyfriends, either, of course. By then, I wasn’t large on social skills where the opposite sex is concerned. I was a virgin till I was twenty-one, which I dare say is some kind of record these days.’

  ‘I would say it is for someone as beautiful as you. Which you are, Vivienne, inside and out. And brave too. That is a terribly sad story. But you survived, and for that I have nothing but admiration for you. So how long ago was it that your mother had her heart attack?’

  Vivienne grimaced. ‘She didn’t actually have a heart attack. She tripped over the stuff she’d piled up on the stairs, fell down and broke her neck. I warned her that she’d have an accident in the house one day but she wouldn’t listen. Of course, after I moved out, things got much worse. The stairs were chock-a-block with things. Not just baby things now, other stuff she didn’t need: shoes. Handbags. Lamps. Ornaments. Silly things. When she didn’t answer the phone one evening—I used to ring her every night—I came over and found her body at the foot of the stairs.’

  ‘Oh, Vivienne. That must have been dreadful for you.’

  ‘It was,’ she choked out, the memory still having the power to upset her. She’d loved her mother, despite everything. Not that she’d ever felt loved in return. Maybe that was why she’d been so susceptible to Daryl. Because he’d told her he loved her all the time; had even made her believe it. That was what had devastated her the most, to find out his declarations of love had been nothing but a lie, right from the start. At least Jack didn’t lie to her. She respected that. When she glanced up and saw the concerned look on his face, she smiled a small, sad smile.

  ‘It’s all right, Jack,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to cry. Frankly, in a way, Mum’s dying was a relief. Let’s face it, she’d been wretchedly unhappy for years and years. I’m surprised she hadn’t committed suicide before that. She often threatened it. Anyway, after the funeral I hired a rubbish removal company to clear the house out, then I hired industrial cleaners to clean it from top to bottom. I couldn’t bear to do anything in there. It hurt too much to even look at it. Once it was fit to sell, I auctioned it off. I wanted it gone and I didn’t care what price I got for it.

  ‘Strangely enough, it sold for an amazingly good price. The agent explained that, despite its slightly dilapidated state, the house was in a prime location and the block of land was large. I got enough money to buy this place and have it totally renovated, with enough left over to attract the likes of Daryl. Till he met someone seriously rich, of course,’ she added.

  Jack’s fingers tightened around the handle of his coffee mug when he heard the bitterness in her voice. How long would it be before she got over that creep? He felt reasonably confident she no longer loved Daryl, but that kind of betrayal was hard to forget and impossible to forgive. It also made a person reluctant to trust.

  Patience, Jack, he lectured himself. Patience.

  ‘Like I’ve already told you several times, Vivienne: you’re better off without the likes of him. You’re still a young woman. You have your whole life ahead of you.’ With me, he was dying to say but couldn’t. Not yet. ‘Plenty of time to get married and have children, if that’s what you want. Meanwhile, you can afford to be selfish for a while. Do things that give you pleasure. Live for the moment. You’re looking forward to making over Francesco’s Folly, aren’t you?’

  Her bleak eyes actually lit up. ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘Though, I must insist, I want the decorator I usually have and not the one who did this place, thank you very much,’ he said bluntly.

  She laughed. ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘And just think, on top of the pleasure and satisfaction you’ll get from doing a brilliant job, you’ll have me all to yourself every
weekend. That can’t be too bad, since you like having sex with me so much. And, let’s face it, I’m going to be randy as hell after not seeing you all week. You won’t be able to keep up with me.’

  Vivienne smiled. ‘You should know better than to challenge me, boss. I am competitive by nature. And obsessive to boot. I can guarantee you’ll be the one to cry for mercy before I do.’

  ‘I have only one thing to say to that, missy.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Bring it on.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  VIVIENNE WANDERED THROUGH the upstairs apartment, turning on all the lights—it got dark early in the winter—and checking that everything was just so. She’d decided on finishing this area of Francesco’s Folly first whilst she lived in one of the downstairs apartments. It was the easiest part to change, but it had still taken close to two months to complete, mainly because some of the furniture she’d ordered had taken six weeks to arrive. But she was extremely happy with the results and she thought Jack would be too.

  She hadn’t let him see any of it yet, teasing him that it was all black and white and horribly minimalist, with nothing but black leather, glass furniture and fake Picassos on the walls.

  Vivienne could not wait for Jack to arrive tonight, because tonight was the big reveal. She felt as excited as a kid on Christmas morning, glancing at her watch as she hurried downstairs and along past the pool to the balcony which was closest to the driveway. It was nearly six. He would be here soon; he usually left Sydney around three. Friday afternoon traffic was tricky, though. He sometimes got held up getting out of the city, or on the motorway. But if that was the case he would ring her and let her know he was running late, and she’d received no such call this afternoon.

  He was very considerate that way. He also brought her the most gorgeous bunch of red roses every Friday, which she found so sweet. It made her hope that his feelings for her were gradually becoming as strong as her feelings for him. Then, one day, he might decide he didn’t want to stay a bachelor for ever; that marriage and children and a life here at Francesco’s Folly was what he wanted after all.

  But she didn’t let her hopes get too high. Jack was still very passionate with her. Their weekends together were wonderful, but a few times lately she had caught him falling oddly silent and looking off into the distance. They would often sit and share a bottle of wine on the balcony on a Saturday afternoon. Last weekend, when she had asked him what he was thinking about, he’d said nothing much. Just life. It was an odd answer for him. Odd for him to sit and think like that. He wasn’t overly keen on thinking.

  Vivienne could not help but worry that he might break off their relationship once Francesco’s Folly was finished. It was a depressing thought, but one which she refused to entertain too often. For now, she was happy. Or as happy as a girl could be under the circumstances. Still, she was careful not to do or say anything which might spoil the rest of their time together. She never told him that she loved him, even when the words were in danger of tripping off the end of her tongue—especially when he was making love to her. She always bit her tongue and said something else. Or nothing at all.

  Her heart lifted as it always did when she saw headlights turn into the driveway at the bottom of the hill. Jack was home. Safely home.

  Whirling, she ran inside so that she could be there, waiting for him when he came in. She didn’t run all the way to the front door. That would have been too needy. Too clingy. She went to the kitchen, ostensibly to check that the curry she was making was fine. Which, of course, it was. She always cooked for him on a Friday night, knowing he would be too tired after his long drive to take her out anywhere. Besides, she liked to conserve his energy for other things.

  ‘Honey, I’m home,’ he called out as he walked in, one arm full of red roses as usual. And a bottle of champagne in the other.

  ‘Is this to celebrate the big reveal?’ she said, beaming.

  For a split second, he hesitated to answer. And then he bent to give her a brief peck on the lips. ‘But of course. What else?’

  Why, she wondered, did his voice sound so odd, as though he was disappointed about something? Had she said something wrong? Done something wrong?

  ‘I made your favourite curry,’ she raced on as she put the bottle of champagne in the fridge. When she turned, she found him arranging the roses in the vase which was always at the ready on the pine counter. ‘You know you don’t have to buy me flowers every week.’

  ‘But I like to,’ he said, and smiled at her. ‘Come on, best show me Francesco’s apartment before we do anything else. I know that’s what you want to do. You’ve been talking about nothing else every night this week. But be warned, if I don’t like it, you’re in big trouble.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said with mock worry, because she was sure he was going to like it.

  He did. In fact, he loved it, even the fact that she had had all the walls stripped back and painted white. Not a stark white, however; a soft off-white which had a hint of cream in it. It was the perfect backdrop for the furniture she’d chosen: Mediterranean style pieces made of richly grained wood, which gave the place the kind of solid but warm feel she’d seen in pictures of Tuscan villas she’d sourced on the Internet. The deep plump sofas and chairs she’d chosen for the living room were covered in soft linens in warm colours: creams, fawns and a buttery yellow, with the occasional splash of olive-green thrown in. The fireplace remained, its once-heavy wooden surround replaced by Italian marble made in a warm brown shot with gold streaks.

  The two en suite bathrooms and kitchen were white, of course, but she’d used the same brown marble on the counter tops and dual vanities. The fittings were gold—though not real gold—evoking quality without being over the top. The living areas were tiled in large cream tiles, with thick rugs dotted here and there for warmth and colour. The carpets in the bedrooms were sable, which went well with everything.

  What pleased Jack the most—and consequently thrilled Vivienne—was her choice of artwork, both for the walls inside the apartment and the art gallery on the top landing. Not originals and not worth a fortune, either: prints of famous landscapes and seascapes, which definitely looked like things he would recognise: beautiful beaches and graceful sailing boats. Stately mountains and picturesque valleys. Their frames were expensive, however. Some were gilt, some shabby-chic white, depending on where they were positioned.

  ‘You like, boss?’ she said cheekily when he just stood staring at one seascape for a long time. It was hanging over the fireplace in the living room, and was of a spectacular beach on a rugged coastline.

  ‘Too much,’ he replied.

  ‘How can you like anything too much?’ It was a peculiar thing to say.

  He didn’t answer her, just turned away from the picture abruptly and strode across to the sliding glass doors which led out onto the balcony. He reefed one back and stepped out into the cold night air, going over to where the rusted and broken railing had been replaced by clear panels of toughened glass. Vivienne followed him out there, unsure what was happening here. He stood at the railing for a long time in silence before turning and facing a by-then shivering Vivienne. Inside was air-conditioned, but outside was now very chilly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said abruptly. ‘I thought I could do this but I can’t. Not any longer.’

  ‘Do what?’ Vivienne asked, suddenly feeling sick to the stomach.

  ‘Wait...till Francesco’s Folly is finished.’

  So this was it, she thought despairingly. He was going to break it off with her.

  She wanted to scream that she wasn’t ready yet. That she needed longer with him.

  But then she realised that no amount of time would ever be enough. If he didn’t care about her the way she cared about him, then what was the point of delaying things?

  ‘So what is it you’re tryi
ng to say, Jack?’ she said, desperately trying to hide her wretchedness. ‘You don’t want me any more? Is that it?’

  His eyes widened, his head jerking back. ‘Good God, woman, nothing could be further from the truth. Not want you any more? I want you every minute of every day. I love you, Vivienne, so much that not being able to say the words is slowly killing me. I can’t play this game any more. I thought I could wait till you fell in love with me before I said anything but I find I can’t. Seeing this place tonight...this absolutely glorious place...I don’t want to ever live here by myself. I want to live here with you. As husband and wife.’

  ‘Husband and wife?’ she choked out.

  Jack could see that he’d shocked her but nothing was going to stop him now that he’d opened his mouth and said something. ‘Yes, I know I said I didn’t want to get married and have children,’ he raved on. ‘But that was before I fell in love with you, Vivienne. Love changes things. It makes you want more. And, yes, I know it’s probably still too soon for you. But do you think you might possibly come to love me one day? You already like me, I know, and you like having sex with me, so loving me is not such a big leap.

  ‘I promise you that, if you marry me, I will do everything in my power to make you happy. I will never cheat on you. Never. And I’ll give you anything you want. You can have a hundred children, if that’s what you want. No, wait...perhaps not that many...but two or three, or even four, I would consider. Three is not a good number. Yes, four would be good. So what do you say, my darling, beautiful Vivienne? Would you at least think about it?’

  She didn’t say a single word. She just stared at him, then burst into tears.

  Oh God, Jack thought frantically. What did that mean? Was she happy or sad?

  Naturally, he gathered her into his arms—naturally—holding her against him till the weeping subsided to the occasional hiccup. By which time Jack was frozen to death standing out there in the wind.