The Second Promise

by Joan Kilby

  “I saw you the other day on the Swanston Street Bridge. I called to you, but you didn’t hear. You were too busy kissing another man.”

  The flush in Ida’s face faded, leaving her scars vivid against her white cheek. “You don’t understand…”

  “No, I don’t.” Maeve set her glass on a table and crossed her arms over her chest. “Perhaps you’d better explain.”

  Ida’s cheeks turned crimson. “It’s none of your business.”

  “I don’t care. What you’re doing isn’t fair to Will.”

  “You’re in love with him,” Ida shot back, gripping her glass so hard her knuckles were white.

  “I don’t want to see him hurt. That’s all.”

  Ida’s narrow-eyed gaze said she didn’t believe the lie any more than Maeve did. “Do you think I want to hurt him? Will’s been my friend for over twenty years.”

  “Then tell him about this other man. Or I will.” He might not thank her for the news, but, at least, he’d be spared future heartache.

  Ida paled. “You want him for yourself.”

  “Get rid of your boyfriend.”

  “Don’t you dare issue me an ultimatum.”

  “You’re carrying Will’s child, for God’s sake!”

  Ida’s eyes filled with tears. “Stop it.”

  “Get rid of the boyfriend.”

  Ida sank onto a chair and buried her face in her hands. “I can’t do that.”

  She looked so miserable, Maeve had to resist the urge to comfort her. At least, the baby meant something to her. “Then, please, break off your engagement to Will.”

  “I can’t do that, either.” Ida wiped at her eyes.

  Exasperated, Maeve stood over her. “You’ve got to do something. You can’t hide this guy from Will indefinitely. How do you think Will would feel if he found out? He’s looking forward to being a father so much.”

  “It’s not his baby,” Ida mumbled.

  A cold chill swept the back of Maeve’s neck. “What did you say?”

  Ida raised a tear-stained face. “My baby’s father is Rick, the man you saw me kissing on the bridge.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “My relationship with Will is platonic,” Ida said dully. “He knows the baby is Rick’s. It’s okay with him.”

  Platonic? Then all this time… Maeve stumbled to a chair and dropped into it. “I still don’t understand. Where does Rick come in?”

  “He’s my friend from San Diego. I met him while he was working here for six months. When his time was up, he left.”

  “And you were pregnant, so Will did the noble thing and offered to marry you?”

  “No. When Will and I decided to marry, I didn’t know I was pregnant. We’d both reached a point in life where we wanted to settle down and start a family, but neither of us believed we were going to fall in love. So we agreed to join forces.”

  Ida reached for a cocktail napkin from the stack beside the tray of clean glasses and dabbed at her nose. “The baby was unexpected, but Will says he doesn’t mind that the first one isn’t his.” She gave Maeve a wan smile. “In a way, I think he was relieved the need for procreation was delayed.”

  Will and Ida didn’t sleep together. Suddenly, everything made sense—the fact that they rarely touched, the awkwardness when they did. He didn’t love Ida, not in a romantic, sexual way. In spite of everything, Maeve’s heart sang.

  “What about Rick?” she demanded. “Does he know about the baby?”

  Ida blew her nose. “No.”

  “He looked awfully glad to see you. I think you should tell Rick he’s going to be a father.”

  “It’s not that simple—” Ida broke off, as a man and a woman entered the kitchen. She waited until they’d found the corkscrew they were looking for and left, before she continued. “Rick doesn’t want kids,” she explained. “He told me right from the start that he wasn’t ready to settle down. He’s younger than me, too. He’s only thirty.”

  “Why did he come back to Melbourne if it wasn’t to see you?”

  Ida shrugged wearily. “His job. He’ll be here a few weeks this time. Maybe a month.”

  “Still,” Maeve persisted, “you shouldn’t force Will into marriage when he’s not even the father of your child.”

  “No one’s forcing him.”

  A few moments passed before the information sank in. Will had chosen to marry a woman he didn’t love and to act as father to another man’s child, all because he wanted a family. A family Maeve, couldn’t—wouldn’t—give him.

  Ida gazed at her sympathetically. “When Will and I decided to marry, we tentatively agreed that if…the need arose…we could have intimate relationships with other people.”

  “What are you saying?” Maeve fought a rising tide of nausea.

  Ida glanced around the kitchen to make sure it was still empty. Her voice dropped, and she held Maeve’s gaze. “I…I wouldn’t mind if you and he have an affair.”

  Furious, Maeve pushed to her feet, and her chair toppled over. “Oh, so you’ll let him screw around as long as he’ll stay with you in a phony marriage?”

  “That’s an awful way of putting it.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  Ida linked her fingers protectively over her abdomen and the unborn baby she was carrying. “Rick won’t marry me. I have to think of the baby’s future. He or she needs a father. So, no, I’m not letting Will go. Nor does he want to break our engagement. I’ve known Will most of his life. We won’t have love, but we’ll have something better—a lasting relationship.”

  Maeve stared at her in horror. “You’re mad, the pair of you. You deserve each other. I feel sorry for Rick. And for the baby.”

  She stumbled through the house and out the front door, praying she wouldn’t meet anyone, least of all Will. The effort he’d put into her solar panel, the sidelong glances, the inadvertent touching of their hands—had those been, not the tortured resistance of a forbidden love, but a deliberate prelude to an affair?

  She wove through the parked cars blocking the front of the house. He didn’t believe in love. That was what it boiled down to. Her skin crawled with shame at the fantasies she’d created of kisses from a man honor bound never to touch her lips. What a fool she was. A silly romantic fool who ought to have known better.

  “Maeve, where are you going?” His voice sounded behind her.

  Damn, damn and triple damn.

  Reluctantly she turned, but kept walking, backward. He was standing at that stupid kissing gate. God, when she thought about how her heart had been in her eyes…

  “Got to go,” she said, giving a casual wave. “Thanks for the party.”

  “Wait,” he called, bewilderment in his voice. He pushed open the gate and hurried through the maze of cars toward her.

  Maeve pulled her sunglasses from her purse and put them on, but she was too late: he’d already seen the evidence of tears.

  “What’s wrong? Did Paul behave like a jerk?” Will’s scowl suggested Paul would regret it if he had.

  “No, of course not.” She glanced at the blockade of cars surrounding her ute, which was wedged between a white Ford and a silver BMW. Retreat was impossible; she’d have to stand and fight. Better, perhaps, to get all the pain over with at once. “I talked with Ida. She told me about your platonic relationship. And…and Rick’s baby.” Her heart pulsed with pain when she saw Will wince. Not being the father did bother him. “I’m sorry about that.”

  He brushed away her concern. “Is that what upset you?”

  “Yes. No.” She ran a hand through her loose hair. “I just think the whole setup is wrong. It’s bad for you, bad for Ida, bad for her baby…”

  “It’s…what we wanted. What else did Ida say?”

  “She…she said you two had an arrangement. That you were allowed to see other people.” Maeve swallowed. “She hinted that you and I—” She broke off. The intensity of his gaze robbed her of speech.

  His expression changed t
o one of incredulity. “She actually said it would be okay for us to sleep together?”

  Maeve eyed him narrowly. “Wasn’t she telling the truth?”

  “She suggested that in the beginning. But later I got the impression she wouldn’t be happy with such an arrangement.” Will rubbed his jaw. “I wonder what changed her mind.”

  Maeve burned with the desire to enlighten him. A remnant of female loyalty caused her to hold her tongue. “You’d better ask Ida that. I’ve got to go.”

  He grasped her wrist, his grip strong enough to detain her but quickly turning gentle. “Now that you know…Maeve, I feel something for you.”

  “No. No.” Tears threatened, tears of anger and a biting sense of loss. “There’s no future for us. Love isn’t meant to be a clandestine coupling in some sordid hotel room.”

  “Making love with you couldn’t be anything but pure and beautiful.” His voice was low and compelling.

  “No.” She backed up between the cars, spitting out her words. “Maybe you can divide your allegiances, but I can’t. Nor will I play second string. You must have zero respect for me even to suggest it. Not to mention what that says about your so-called friendship with Ida.” She was shouting at him now, any threat of tears drying in the hot wind of her anger. “There are a few things you should know about Ida, too.”

  “I know Ida inside out.”

  “You don’t know everything.”

  “Maeve!” Will started after her.

  “Stay where you are,” she warned. She reached her ute and fumbled for her keys. To her relief, a narrow path between the cars would allow her egress.

  She climbed in and started the engine. In the rearview mirror, she saw Will staring after her, his jaw clenched so tightly he must be grinding his teeth. Laboriously, she executed a five-point turn into a position from which she could back out through the gap between vehicles. Her body flooded with adrenaline, she revved the accelerator in fits and starts until at last she burst onto the driveway, and, tires squealing on the bitumen, escaped down the road.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IDA CHECKED HER HAIR in the ladies’ room mirror, then combed her flippy curls forward over her cheek in an attempt to hide as much of the scar as possible. Quelling a pang of guilt, she slipped off the engagement ring she and Will had bought together and put it in her makeup bag, before going to the hotel lobby to meet Rick.

  His coppery-blond head turned at the tap of her high heels on the marble floor, and his smile spread at the sight of her. In his light-brown suit that fit his solid physique perfectly, he was so gorgeous that she still didn’t know why he bothered with her.

  Why, oh, why couldn’t he be the one? He wasn’t staying in Melbourne; she shouldn’t torture herself by seeing him. But she hadn’t been able to stop herself from saying yes when he’d asked for a second date.

  “There you are.” His lips were deliciously cool and lingered on hers. “I missed you on the weekend,” he said, taking her arm as they went into the restaurant. “Too bad you couldn’t have gotten out of your cousin’s engagement party.”

  “Yes, too bad.” Ida’s stomach churned. Did she have the courage to tell him? Maeve was right: sooner or later, Will would find out. Or Rick would find out about Will. She could end up with no one.

  When they’d been seated at a window table, Ida took a deep breath, straightened her spine and reached for his hand. “Rick—”

  He glanced up from the menu and gazed at her with clear blue eyes. “Yes?”

  “I…I was wondering if you wanted to go to the art gallery later. The new exhibit is a collection of paintings by Turner.”

  “I’m sorry, Ida. I was going to tell you first thing. I have to wrap up affairs at the bookstore sooner that expected. My boss in San Diego called and wants me to cut my trip short. There’s some crisis back home.”

  Smile, Ida. Don’t let him see your disappointment. This was an excuse if ever she’d heard one. “When are you leaving?”

  “Next Monday evening.” He reached for her hand. “I’ll be working overtime all week, but we’ll have the weekend together.”

  “Friday’s my birthday.”

  “Great,” Rick said. “We’ll celebrate.”

  Yeah, great. They’d have just enough time for one more romp in bed. Look where that had landed her.

  A waiter appeared. “Make I take your order?”

  Ida glanced at the menu board, but the words blurred, and, anyway, she couldn’t be bothered reading it. “I’ll have the special.”

  Rick took his time choosing. When he’d finally placed his order, he asked Ida, “Would you like red or white wine?”

  “I’ve got a slight headache. I’ll just have mineral water.”

  The waiter left, but before Ida could screw up her nerve again, Rick said, “Did I tell you about the ranch house I’m building outside San Diego?”

  “No.” As he enthusiastically described the community he was moving to, the countryside and the amenities and the friends he’d made there already, her heart sank. His life was happening on the other side of the Pacific Ocean. Far away from her. And their baby.

  Yet how could she not tell him? “Your new home sounds very nice.”

  “Have you ever been to California?” When she shook her head, he added, “You’d love it.” He hesitated. “I have holidays in late July. You could come for a visit.”

  Ida did a quick calculation. She would be nine months’ pregnant, and no airline would allow her on board. “I…I’m going to be pretty busy in July.”

  She saw his mouth tighten, and knew she’d blown it. Although he was probably just being polite when he asked her to visit. Rick was like that. “Rick? I—”

  “Look, don’t worry about it. Some other time.” He glanced at his watch, even though they’d barely been there twenty minutes.

  Tell him, you coward. Do it. Just do it.

  “Rick, I’m pregnant and the baby is yours.”

  To her horror, the color drained from his face. His jaw dropped, his mouth worked, but he couldn’t seem to speak. She waited, while he gazed at her in shock. Worse than shock, she’d seen the flash of fear in his eyes.

  “Don’t worry,” she added, smiling. She was an expert at smiling. “I’m not asking you for anything. You see, the truth is, the engagement party the other night was for me. I’m getting married.”

  WILL PACED THE CLIFF TOP at Sorrento Ocean Beach, moodily watching the flat water lap the shore. After his disastrous confrontation with Maeve, he was in the mood for crashing white water. The surf was not cooperating.

  Over and over, Will tortured himself with the memory of the passion and longing in her eyes after their kiss. Followed by the hate and disgust she’d displayed when she’d thought he’d asked her for an affair. Had he really done that? Their exchange had happened so fast, been so fraught with emotion, that he hardly knew what he’d said. For one brief moment he’d glimpsed paradise—then the gates had clanged shut. He despised himself for making her feel second best. Maeve deserved so much more than he could give her.

  Will kicked at the dirt, and pebbles sprayed down the cliff. His life was out of control. He was committed to one woman and falling for another, who seemed to move farther out of reach with each encounter. She’d spoken of love, but he didn’t know what that word meant to him.

  Farther along the cliff, Mouse sat smoking a rollie and staring out to sea. He wore his wet suit peeled to the waist, revealing tattoos etched across sinewy biceps. Will and Mouse had been surfing the same beaches for years and had never exchanged more than a few words.

  Mouse finished his cigarette and stubbed it out in the sand. He picked up his board, and as he padded past Will on the way to his panel van said, “Nothing good coming this way today, mate.”

  Will acknowledged the truth of this with a grunt. He should have checked out the surf conditions on the Web site, but he’d come out here to forget his troubles for an hour or so before going to the factory. The plan hadn’t worke
d. He’d merely brought his worries along for the ride.

  At least, the situation at the Mornington plant, potentially explosive, had settled down. He’d moved the troublemakers, McLeod and Kitrick, to a section by themselves to reduce their opportunities to foment discontent. The bonuses and extra incentives he’d introduced to show his gratitude for loyalty and cooperation seemed to have lessened the grumbling.

  Will wiped the perspiration off his forehead with his T-shirt. The sultry weather didn’t help matters. He couldn’t remember a summer as hot as this one, not even from his childhood, when summer seemed to last forever.

  He bent to pick up his board. For the sake of his employees’ morale, he ought not to be late for work. He was pushing them too hard, and he’d better not give them one more thing to complain about.

  An hour later, he turned in to the service road of the industrial estate. Seeing a crowd in front of the factory and cars blocking the road, he frowned. Had there been an accident? A fire?

  He pulled to the side of the road and jumped out. Hand-lettered signs waved above the heads of his employees. A small group, including Renée, stood to one side, looking upset. As Will approached, McLeod climbed onto the flatbed of a ute and raised a megaphone to his mouth, shouting for solidarity.

  Good Lord, they were on strike.

  MAEVE WALKED into her kitchen that afternoon, just as Art was putting down the phone. “Hi, Dad—” she began, then stopped, noticing his expression. “What’s wrong?”

  “That was Renée. The workers at Aussie Electronics are on strike.” Art paced to the fridge and yanked out a bottle of beer. “I warned Will that McLeod and his mate were up to no good,” Art raved as he carelessly poured out a glass. “Bloody bastards!”

  “Look out, Dad. Your beer is foaming all over the floor.” Maeve wrung out a dishcloth and crouched to mop up. “You said yourself, Will’s been working everyone too hard.”

  “He works harder than any man Jack of ’em. Don’t those morons realize that if he doesn’t fill his contracts, they won’t be getting the bonuses he’s promised ’em?” Art took a long swig of beer. “I’ll have to go back and see what I can do to help out.”