by Lena Dowling
Caro looked up from the desk to say goodbye, but wisely made no other comment.
Brad held the main door back out on to the street open for her.
‘Your place or mine?’
‘Yours.’
Out on the footpath, Brad was relieved to find that his driver was waiting right outside. This wasn’t a neighbourhood in which someone in a designer suit would want to linger. Instinctively, he pulled his jacket sleeve down over the ostentatious watch his mother had given him. Georgia looked around furtively.
He hadn’t expected that. She had grown up here, and yet even Georgia was nervous?
‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine.’
Despite what she said, Georgia shuddered and almost leapt into the back of the car when the driver opened the door for them.
He slipped in beside her and Georgia shuffled over, throwing her briefcase down on the floor.
‘No, you’re not okay. You’re afraid. Something upset you, Georgia — out there on the street. I saw it in your eyes. What’s going on?’
Georgia balled her hands into fists, and then looked away from him, out the window.
Brad shook his head, fully expecting the wall Georgia had built around her to come crashing back down, guillotine-like, but instead she turned towards him, looking him briefly in the eye before staring down at her hands.
‘I ran into someone here a couple of weeks back. Someone I used to know — a drug addict. He was strung out. He asked for money. I said I didn’t have any. He left. It was fine.’
‘It can’t have been fine, or you wouldn’t have looked like that back there. Tell me.’
He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his gaze locked on to hers.
Georgia sighed and he released her, sensing she was about to open up.
‘He, I mean Jake, was an old boyfriend of my mother’s. He…well, he was in his twenties when he lived with us. My mother was a drug addict as well.’
‘I wondered if she was an addict. I’m so sorry, Georgia. Is she…?’
‘Yeah. She’s dead — dirty needles, drugs cut with poisonous substances, or sheer carelessness. If addicts can’t get clean they all die one way or another in the end. She had a pretty good innings considering. She was in her forties when she finally overdosed. I found her. I called an ambulance. They administered Narcan, but it was too late.’
‘How old were you when that happened?’
‘Twenty — I was already in law school. I had just dropped into take her some food and check up on her, but she was already gone.’
‘Jesus. I’m so sorry, Georgia. This Jake, did he hurt you?’
‘No. He tried — plenty of times, but I was always two steps ahead of him.’
Georgia lent against his shoulder and gripped his arm with both hands. He breathed in her sweet fragrance; fruity and floral, it reminded him of something innocent and precious. Something he had an overpowering need to protect.
‘Good,’ he said, and not just because Georgia was safe. He was pleased not to have to find this Jake and take care of him; conduct that would be considered unbecoming of a solicitor.
Not that censure by the esteemed New South Wales law society would be sufficient deterrent, if it came to that. He might not be ready to divest himself of the Spencer family fortune for Georgia, but at that moment, with the perfumed scent of her hair in his nostrils and her warm body clinging to his, he couldn’t think of anything else he wouldn’t do for her.
Chapter Nine
The second time Georgia woke up in Brad’s ostentatious apartment she wasn’t nearly so daunted by it. She had only chosen to come to his place so she could leave if she needed to, but when they arrived back at his penthouse for round two of what they had started at the shelter, Brad admitted that he actually hated the over the top decoration, and that he kept it to please his butler.
Butler?
How was she supposed to feel about that?
The old guy who had been serving the food at Brad’s beach house, the one she had mistaken for a caterer, had woken them with a cup of coffee on a silver tray. She hadn’t meant to stay so long but she had fallen asleep. The next thing she knew, after only a split second’s worth of surprise at finding two people in the bed, the butler was asking ‘what type of beverage madam would require’.
And this time, when she slipped into the living area to collect up her clothes, she found them in a neatly folded pile on the sofa with her thong sitting on top.
‘OMG!’
Hearing the exclamation Brad came running into the living room, his arms up in fists as if he was ready to defend her. He had been like that ever since she told him about Jake, keeping her close and cradling her in his arms all night. She had never felt so safe as she had with Brad.
‘What’s wrong? Oh, the clothes thing.’
He chuckled, relaxing his arms down by his sides. Yes, he does that sometimes. Don’t worry; he does all my laundry, including my smalls. Nothing shocks him. Jeffrey was responsible for my potty training too as I recall.’
She laughed.
‘Jeffrey, the butler? I thought you would have had a nanny?’
‘Well, the first one was very attractive and after my mother found her in bed with my father that was it — no more nannies. Jeffrey sort of stepped into the breach. He was like a mother, father, and valet all rolled into one.’
‘Poor little rich kid deserted by his parents and left to the servants to raise.’ As soon as the taunt was out of her mouth she regretted it, but he didn’t react and for once, it didn’t annoy her. She expected that from him now. Brad, she realised, was calm under fire. It was only when she was threatened that he seemed to go into red alert mode.
‘Pretty much.’
His tone was not so much annoyed as bitter. She gave him a questioning look, but he ignored her expression, pulling her to him. He kissed her, then pulled away.
‘I’ve got to go. There’s something important I want to sort out at the office, right away. Jeffrey will make you breakfast if you want it. He’s usually in the kitchen at this time of day.’
‘When will we…’
‘See each other again? I think that’s pretty much up to you. Far be it from me to try to distil what this means, but if you turned up again here for dinner this evening I wouldn’t be disappointed.’
Ouch.
She supposed she deserved that. Georgia slumped down on to the couch.
Was she really doing this? Seeing someone? Properly seeing someone, not just casually, and someone who was rich enough to employ a butler into the bargain?
‘Can I bring you some breakfast, madam?’
She turned to the older man who had come into the lounge and commenced dusting ornaments on the marble mantelpiece above a gas fireplace.
‘Jeffrey, can I ask you something? Do you like being a butler? Is it okay for you here?’
‘Oh yes, my life here has been wonderful. After the way I grew up, well you wouldn’t understand and that’s a good thing, but gaining the security of a live-in job that came with a ready-made family was priceless. I don’t think Bradley would mind me saying he’s almost like a son to me.’
‘The way you grew up — I don’t mean to pry. But were you poor?’
‘Desperately poor — but we didn’t need to be. My father had a reasonable job as a mechanic, but he was an alcoholic so we lived hand to mouth, as they say.’
‘I do know what that’s like. Exactly what that’s like.’
‘Oh, my poor dear. Well, you’ve fallen on your feet here. Bradley adores you.’
Bradley adored her? Her insides contracted, and not with hunger. She clasped a hand to her throat. The thought was terrifying.
The butler’s face clouded over.
‘Oh dear, I hope I haven’t said the wrong thing. Let me get you breakfast. Everything looks better on a full stomach. Nothing is too much trouble. Waffles? Full English? Continental?’
The old man was jabbering. She shoul
d put him out of his misery.
‘Do you have puffed wheat, the kind with honey on?’
‘Of course — come with me, dear.’
Jeffrey led the way out of the lounge into a large industrial style kitchen, a gleaming mass of stainless steel with two enormous fridges, four sinks and a ten ring gas burner.
‘Wow — this looks like a restaurant kitchen.’
‘In its heyday it almost was. The Spencers were great entertainers.’
Jeffrey pulled out a bar stool from underneath the bench and patted the seat, indicating she should sit down.
‘Actually, you sitting there takes me back. That’s exactly where Bradley used to sit when he got home from school. I’d make him a snack, and then he would usually do his homework right here in the kitchen. He was a good kid. Very placid. It usually took a lot to rile him. Apart from standing up to his parents to insist on becoming a lawyer, he pretty much went with the flow, which was perhaps to his detriment. If he had been a difficult child he might have received more attention from his parents.’
‘What were his parents like?’
Jeffrey moved swiftly around the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and various cupboards, answering her question as he went. ‘Brad’s father spent most of his time at the office, or at least that’s where he said he was, and Brad’s mother threw herself into charity work and entertaining. Evelyn is still alive, but she spends a lot of time in London. Even with her living overseas, I don’t think Bradley sees much less of her than he did when he was a child, and being an only child meant he was very much alone.’
He placed a bowl of puffed wheat and a small jug of milk down on the counter in front of her, then handed her a spoon.
‘Oh,’ Georgia said thoughtfully, digging in to her cereal.
So that is what Brad had meant about being left out. To an extent she could empathise, but at least Brad had someone when he was growing up. It was hard to feel too sorry for someone who had their own personal butler, even if that butler did have to act as a stand-in for his parents.
She ate the rest of her breakfast in silence, and Jeffrey returned to the lounge with his duster. Once she had finished the cereal she slipped out of the apartment, and took the train back home to change before returning to the city.
She got in to work an hour or so later to find Miriam had arrived before her. Spinning around in her chair to face Georgia’s tiny work area, she handed over Georgia’s messages, which she traded for the draft addiction centre proposal that needed to be typed.
‘Dayton’s secretary just told me that Spencer has negotiated his release from the partnership. Georgia, does this mean what I think it means?’
‘Presumably it means we get our corner office back,’ Georgia replied, deliberately misinterpreting Miriam’s question.
‘I meant, are you and Spencer officially seeing each other now? Is that why he’s leaving the partnership?’
‘Yes, I guess so.’
Brad’s comment that he had something to sort out at the office made sense now.
Miriam let out a squeal.
‘Keep it down. No need for the whole office to know. Dayton and Llewellyn are going to be seriously pissed off as it is.’
‘If he really loves you he’ll make the severance payment big enough to cover the disappointment.’
If he really loves you.
Bradley adores you.
The words fused, combining in force to jump up and smack Georgia in the face. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Her heart palpated in her chest like she was about to have a coronary. This was all going way too fast. She stumbled back against a copy machine, accidentally setting it going.
‘Crap.’
‘It’s okay, don’t panic. Here — just push cancel. Someone’s left it activated for a job — no harm done.’
Miriam studied her.
‘Are you okay, Georgia? You look strange. It’s not just the copier is it? Speak to me, Georgia.’
Georgia’s mouth felt like it had filled with something dry and thick, making speech impossible.
‘Brad l-loves me?’ she stuttered.
‘Me and my big mouth. Probably. Maybe. I don’t know. Look, don’t freak out. Brad hasn’t said he loves you, has he?’
‘No.’
‘So you’re in the clear then, aren’t you?’
‘I guess so.’
‘Just go with it. Enjoy the ride. I know you don’t believe this, but sometimes things do work out, okay, and if it doesn’t, well, no matter what, at least you’ve got your office back, haven’t you?’
‘And I’ll have my addiction centre.’
The idea immediately cheered her up.
‘Not this proposal you’ve given me to type up? The centre that’s going to cost three million dollars a year to run?’
Miriam gestured towards the handwritten document Georgia had placed on her desk, the three million dollar sum leaping out of the dot point summary on the first page.
‘Yes.’
‘You’re not going to ask Brad to fund that, are you?’
‘I was thinking about it. The Spencer Trust is already paying most of the outgoings for the women’s shelter anyway, and this is a huge improvement to the existing service.’
‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Georgia.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t know, but something tells me that where Brad’s concerned it’s not a good idea to mix business with pleasure.’
‘Like what?’
‘Uh, nothing. Just be careful, okay.’
‘What’s going on? One minute you’re trying to push me into his arms and the next you’re telling me to watch it?’
‘I don’t think Brad likes being asked for money.’
‘There’s a big difference between being cranky when he’s asked to put in for an office sweepstake and something as important as this centre.’
Miriam was reading far too much into Brad’s touchy response to an office whip-round. Getting the pip over the endless annoying requests for colleagues’ various raffle tickets and sponsorship drives or the odd sweepstake was hardly the same as supporting a major initiative to tackle drug addiction.
‘If you say so.’
Miriam’s reluctance to back down unsettled her, but she dismissed it. Her secretary made far too much of a big deal about a lot of things, including the idea that Brad was in love with her.
‘Oh, and there was another message from Brad, one I didn’t have time to write down. He said he’s made reservations at Café Macquarie, for dinner at eight. He also said he’s making it easy for you, and you’d know what that meant.’
He was making it easy for her.
After work, it was a relief not to have to decide whether or not to show up at Brad’s apartment. Meeting for dinner somewhere neutral was a lot less confronting, and choosing a café, somewhere unpretentious where she would feel comfortable, was thoughtful of him. She had searched for the address on the internet. Café Macquarie was on the sixth floor of the former maritime building housing the city’s fine art collection. After returning to her apartment to shower and change into something more relaxed, she took a train back into the city to the stop nearest the art gallery.
She found the lift tucked away behind the gallery’s reception area, and once the elevator doors opened on the sixth floor, it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dim light.
Oh no.
From the slick foyer where two receptionists alternated between welcoming guests and taking bookings on their headsets, she could see that Café Macquarie was a dining establishment, but not a café by anyone’s standards.
Contemporary styling, high backed leather chairs, sparkling glass reflecting the candlelight, and a staggeringly close Sydney Harbour Bridge illuminated large in lights made her want to retreat to the elevator. Taking an uncertain step backwards, she saw Brad already seated at a table. His dark eyebrows rose in brief but certain acknowledgement.
He had seen he
r.
There was no choice but to walk into the restaurant. For the moment she was covered head to toe in a black coat, but once she reached the table she knew that she was going to have to take it off. Underneath the coat she was wearing slim fitting jeans, knee high boots, and thankfully a filmy, tunic-like black silk top Miriam had insisted she buy on one of their shopping trips. She looked good enough for an outing to the mall or for an actual café, but not for formal evening dining. Her mind darted for a solution. If she kept her coat on until she reached the table, and if she sat down quickly enough, she just might avoid anyone noticing that she had worn jeans and boots after five to one of the city’s best restaurants.
‘Excuse me. Excuse me, madam.’
A waiter was at her side asking to take her coat. Georgia backed away, and then sucked in her breath, galvanising herself for the walk among Sydney’s well heeled.
She felt quizzical eyes follow her across the restaurant, and heard conversations stall then turn to murmurs as she reached Brad Spencer’s table. Her throat tightened, tears forming behind a dam of determination that she hoped would hold. She had been in this situation many times before, although she had sworn it would never happen to her once she had her own life and her own money. She had always been the kid in the inappropriate, second-hand clothes, years before vintage became chic, and here she was again surrounded by whispers and nudges.
The clinking of glass on glass, cutlery on plates and the buzz of genuine conversation resumed as soon as Brad Spencer stood up to meet her, pulling her to him and kissing her.
Clearly, any woman out with Brad Spencer could wear what she liked, or more to the point, what he liked. Spencer approval was obviously Sydney approval. She should have felt grateful for the rescue, but it rankled. Her annoyance, however, was not enough to stop her body responding as it pressed against him, her mind recalling his contours as if she now had an internal map of him, or the kiss that he gave her, barely appropriate for such a public setting, searing her lips like an outback branding iron.
‘You look stunning — bold. I like it,’ he said.