The Second Promise

by Joan Kilby

  “What can I do for you?” Ida asked coolly.

  Maeve shut the door and took a seat in the visitor’s chair. “Did you have a nice birthday?”

  “Very nice,” Ida replied. Spots of color flushed her cheeks, but her chin rose defiantly.

  “Will wondered why you didn’t call.”

  Ida shrugged and fiddled with her pen.

  “He’s upset that you’re not talking to him,” Maeve went on.

  “If you know that, I’m willing to bet you did your best to console him.” Ida glanced pointedly at her watch. “I’m expecting a friend.” She emphasized the word friend as if to exclude Maeve.

  Maeve felt rather sorry for Ida. Her posturing was so obviously a defense mechanism. Keeping her own expression unreadable, she asked, “Rick?”

  “Yes.” Ida sighed heavily. “What exactly do you want?”

  “I want to know what your intentions are with regard to Will. You hurt him, not so much because you stood him up, but because you aren’t treating him like a friend. Have you talked to him since Saturday night?”

  Ida doodled on a pad of yellow legal-size paper. “I stayed in Melbourne all weekend, hashing things out with Rick. I wanted to call him, but… Look, this is none of your business,” she said, suddenly aggressive. “Or are you trying to find out if he’s up for grabs?”

  “I just…I would like him to be happy.” She paused. “Is he up for grabs?” She wasn’t asking for herself, but to find out what Ida’s plans were.

  Ida threw down the pen she’d been twisting between her fingers. “No. Yes. I don’t know.”

  “Please, at least call him. Right now, he badly needs—”

  “A friend?” Ida cut in. “Why? What did you do to him?”

  “I, er, nothing.”

  “You slept with him, didn’t you.”

  Maeve pinched the bridge of her nose. This was not going the way she’d planned. “It was a once-off. It’ll never happen again.”

  “Why not? He loves you. Don’t you love him?”

  Maeve got to her feet. “I shouldn’t have come. Look, just give Will a call. Talk your plans out. He needs to know where he stands.”

  “Because he’s going nowhere with you, is that it?” Ida rose, too, and leaned over her desk. “Maybe you’d better sit back down and tell me exactly what happened between you two.”

  Maeve sank back into her chair. “There’s not much to tell,” she said dully. “When you stood him up, he invited me to stay for dinner. We had one wonderful evening—and now it’s over.”

  “Because Will said it’s over?” Ida’s hazel eyes were focused squarely on Maeve, pen in hand as if she planned on taking notes.

  “No,” Maeve admitted slowly. Ida would cross-examine her until she got at the truth; she might as well spill her guts and get it over with. “I don’t want children, so it wouldn’t be fair to Will to continue with the relationship. Maybe I should have mentioned that before we made love, but it seemed kind of presumptuous.” She held up her hand as if testifying under oath. “I swear, I never meant to hurt him.”

  “Never mind that,” Ida said. “Why don’t you want children?”

  Did she really have to go through the agonizing explanation again? Ida’s unrelenting expression said she did. “I lost a baby to SIDS five years ago,” she said tersely.

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” Ida’s hand dropped to her abdomen as if to protect her unborn child.

  “It’s okay.” Suddenly, Maeve was so jealous of Ida she couldn’t bear to look at her.

  “No, it’s not.” Ida came around her desk to crouch beside Maeve’s chair. As if they hadn’t been fighting for the past ten minutes, she put her arms around Maeve. Maeve held herself stiffly, biting her cheek to keep the tears at bay.

  Ida sat back on her heels and pressed Maeve’s hand to her softly rounded belly. “Can you feel her moving?”

  Maeve wanted to snatch her hand away. The life growing in Ida’s womb was a painful contrast to the emptiness of her own. And the gift she couldn’t bring herself to give Will.

  Then she felt a faint flicker of movement, and memories of her pregnancy came rushing back. The hopes and dreams she’d once held so dear. Now hopes and dreams shone in Ida’s face. “I envy you so much,” she whispered.

  “Me?” Ida hand went automatically to her scar. “But you’re so beautiful.”

  Maeve smiled sadly. “Not all scars are on the outside.”

  Ida got awkwardly to her feet. “I’ll call Will,” she promised. “We’ll sort things out. But Maeve, he wants a family, and I promised him I’d give him children.”

  “What about Rick? Did you ever tell him the baby is his?”

  Ida’s face crumpled. “I blew it. He wants rights to his child, but he’s through with me. When you arrived I thought—hoped—you were him, coming to tell me you’d changed your mind.” She sighed and glanced away. “He’s leaving for San Diego tonight.”

  “Oh, Ida. I’m so sorry.”

  “I’ll call Will right now.” Ida went back to her seat and dialed a number. Holding the receiver to her ear, she took a tissue from a box on her desk, then pushed the box toward Maeve.

  Maeve blew her nose and glanced around the office, while Ida waited for Will to answer. Next to Ida’s framed law degree was an original watercolor of Mother’s Beach here in Mornington, painted by a local artist. Children played in the sun-sparkled shallows, and a golden retriever romped eternally through the foam after seagulls. Bittersweet longings curled around Maeve’s heart.

  “What!” Ida exclaimed. “When did he go?”

  Maeve spun around. What is it? she mouthed.

  Ida dropped the phone back in its cradle. “Will and Paul just left for Indonesia to look at a factory.”

  “So he’s really going to move offshore.” Maeve reached in her pocket for her car keys. “I’d better leave.” She forced herself to add, “Let me know what you’re doing about the wedding. The garden’s ready, but I need a couple of days’ notice to bring in the potted flowers for lining the walkway. I’ll be away for a while. My assistant will finish making the arrangements.”

  “Maeve…” Ida’s gaze beseeched her for understanding and forgiveness.

  Maeve squeezed her hand. “Take care of yourself, and your baby.”

  “Thank you.” Ida paused. “I’ll watch out for Will, too.”

  Maeve came out of Ida’s office building, took one look at the lowering black clouds and hurried to her ute. The emotional storm in her heart was reflected in the atmosphere. As she pulled out of the parking lot, lightning flashed over the bay and the first heavy pattering of raindrops hit the dusty dry earth.

  WILL GAZED out the window of the taxi transporting him and Paul through the colorful palm-lined streets of Jakarta. They wound around bicycles and jeepneys, drove past construction sites where the workers wore sarongs and inched along traffic-choked roads beneath the shadow of high-rise office buildings.

  “So what do you think?” Paul said enthusiastically. “Can’t you just picture Aussie Electronics operating out of a tropical hub of commerce?”

  “I’d hardly be able to call it Aussie Electronics, would I?” Will replied.

  Paul shrugged. “What’s in a name? I think once you see the factory your mind will be put to ease. From the specs, the facilities appear to be just about perfect.”

  The factory they’d come to check out was on the fringe of the city, in a light industrial zone. On one side of the empty building was an American running shoe factory, and on the other a German manufacturer of office furniture. At the security gate they left the taxi to meet an Indonesian agent acting for the British owner.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” the agent said, smiling and shaking hands courteously. He wore an immaculate gray business suit despite the steamy heat. “Very pleased to meet you.”

  Mr. Wayanamundra conducted the tour, interspersing his description of the many modern features of the factory with assurances that the Indonesian governmen
t would expedite relocation with a minimum of red tape.

  “Low taxes and competitive wages are just some of the many incentives for foreign investors,” Mr. Wayanamundra said, his words echoing in the huge, empty production room.

  Paul shot Will a glance that said, Didn’t I tell you so?

  “This factory will meet all your technical requirements,” the agent went on, indicating the fitted-out workbenches. “The previous occupier manufactured electronic toys.” He added with a smile, “And if you need a computer desk or filing cabinet, why, you only have to go next door.”

  Will laughed politely, then sobered. “What’s the current political situation? I know that not long ago the capital was unstable. Our news reports covered the riots and demonstrations.”

  “That is all finished now,” Mr. Wayanamundra reassured him. “The rebel factions are completely under control. Foreign investors have nothing to fear. In any case, this industrial park is guarded by the very highest security systems.” He paused at a door and drew a set of keys from his pocket. “Through here are the offices, modern and up-to-date.”

  Will could find nothing to complain about with regard to either the offices or the factory. The building fit all his requirements, plus had room for expansion should he wish to add to his line of products in future.

  But as they left the building, he looked back, trying to imagine the name Aussie Electronics written across the front. No matter how hard he stretched his mind, he couldn’t see it. He waited while Paul thanked Mr. Wayanamundra effusively for his time, added his own thanks, then fell silent in the taxi on their return to the hotel.

  “So what do you think?” Paul asked for the third time, after they’d registered and settled into their room.

  “I think I’m hungry. Let’s go find something to eat.”

  He knew Paul was frustrated with his recalcitrant attitude, but so far the trip had made him more uneasy about the move, rather than less so. The problem was, he couldn’t pin down what was bothering him.

  THE NEXT MORNING Will and Paul met with government officials and leaders of the local business community. While Paul and the Indonesians negotiated terms and conditions, Will recalled what Maeve had said about true control being the power to choose the direction of your life. Here he was having to choose between the lesser of two evils: selling out or moving offshore. He’d never felt less in control—

  “Right, Will?” Paul said, interrupting his musings. “Refreshments would be nice.” The accountant shook his head with a meaningful lift of his eyebrows. Wake up! he clearly was saying.

  “Er, right,” Will replied, glad to discover he was only agreeing to the cup of coffee the pretty, solemn secretary had just placed in front of him.

  Despite Paul’s silent injunction to take part in the discussions, Will went on with his internal dialogue. The solution to his crisis teetered on the edge of his understanding, and his brain would not leave the problem alone.

  Selling out would mean jobs lost, trust broken, plus all the uncertainty and effort of building a new business. Moving offshore would entail losing control of day-to-day operations, and he hated losing control. Which was why he couldn’t contemplate selling majority ownership to his employees.

  He sipped the strong bitter coffee and sighed. He’d been through this over and over again. Something was missing, some essential factor in the equation.

  The secretary, or tea lady, or whoever she was, offered him a pastry from a tray. He took one, noting with mild interest that her gold necklace consisted of the letters of what must be her name. “Thank you…Made.”

  Her response was to beam with pleasure. Speaking softly but emphatically in Indonesian, she bowed and smiled repeatedly before moving around the table with her tray. Will smiled back, uplifted by the moment of personal contact.

  That was when the root of the problem struck him. Personal contact. The Indonesians he would employ should he relocate to Jakarta would be nothing more to him than faceless workers. And he would be merely the foreign investor who was, possibly, as much a source of resentment as of employment. Yes, those workers would have lives and families, problems and aspirations, just like Renée and Art and the rest. But he wouldn’t ever be here long enough to get to know them. He would never ask so-and-so about his kid’s graduation, or commiserate with them over who won the Grand Final, or have a beer with the gang at a Christmas barbecue.

  His problem wasn’t losing control but losing personal contact.

  “Will?” Paul was looking at him strangely.

  He realized then that he’d gotten to his feet. “Thank you all very much for your time,” he said, including the gathered bureaucrats and businessmen in one polite glance. “Gentlemen, I have made my decision. Aussie Electronics will remain in Australia.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  RETURNING HOME from Melbourne Airport, Will peered through the streaming rain, trying to keep in sight the red taillights of the car ahead. Thick black clouds had turned day to dusk, and periodic flashes of lightning illuminated the city skyline.

  Traffic crawled through the city and out to the eastern suburbs. Gutters overflowed and low sections of the road were underwater. The wind blowing the storm in from the southern ocean had taken down power lines and uprooted small trees. By the time Will pulled into his driveway he was exhausted.

  The big house was cold and empty. Before he even turned on the lights or changed his damp clothes, he went to the study and listened to the messages on his answering machine. There were no messages from Maeve. But Ida had left three.

  With a sigh, he picked up the phone and dialed her number. “Ida? I just got back. Are you okay?”

  “Will, we need to talk.”

  He wanted only to sleep. And time to think before he dealt with Ida. But her voice was strained, almost desperate. He could imagine her twisting the phone cord, worry wrinkling her forehead beneath the wisps of auburn hair. “What’s wrong?”

  “Can I come over?”

  Whatever was bothering her must be bad if she was prepared to drive through the storm. “Sure.”

  He turned on all the lights, took a hot shower and made himself scrambled eggs and toast. He’d just put on a pot of coffee, when the doorbell rang.

  Ida’s spiky hair was dripping, her clothes disheveled. She gazed at him with wide wet eyes, then flung herself at him. “Oh, Will.”

  He closed his arms around her. Silently, he led her into the lounge and sat her in front of the fire he’d lit to dispel the gloom. “Hang on a tick. I’ll get us some coffee.”

  When he returned he gave her a cup and took a seat facing her on the couch. “Well?”

  Ida’s eyes flooded with tears. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call you on my birthday. Maeve said you were upset. I feel terrible.”

  Mention of Maeve set off a maelstrom of complicated emotions. He ignored them to concentrate on repairing his relationship with Ida. “I was upset. I thought our friendship meant more to you than that. I was worried about what you were going through. And hurt that you couldn’t confide in me.”

  “Oh, Will,” she whispered. “Can our friendship survive our marriage?”

  “That, my dear, is the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.”

  She lifted her gaze to his. “Are you in love with Maeve?”

  That question he didn’t want to answer, least of all to himself. But what was the use of avoiding the issue? Slowly he nodded.

  She took a deep breath. “Then I release you from your promise. You don’t have to marry me.”

  The fire crackled in the silence that followed. From outside came a distant rumble of thunder and the steady drum of rain on the tile roof. Will tried to analyze the feelings her announcement evoked, but his heart was a whirl of mixed emotions, while his head spun with contradictory thoughts.

  “What’s happening with you and Rick?” he asked, putting off a response. To respond would require a decision.

  Ida shrugged unhappily. “In a word—nothing. He wants t
o know his child, which was a nice surprise after what he’d told me earlier. But he’s through with me.”

  Will sipped his coffee. “Perhaps he’s just angry you took so long to tell him about the baby. Give him time to adjust to the situation. After all, he came back to Melbourne to see you—”

  “He came back for his job,” she replied automatically.

  “He didn’t have to call you.” Will noticed her averted eyes. “You didn’t tell him you were getting married before he had a chance to ask you himself, did you?”

  She hung her head. “I might have.”

  “Oh, Ida!” Will exclaimed. “If you put him off every time he tries to get close, of course he’s going to keep his distance. Can’t you accept that he might love you and want to be with you? Possibly even marry you?”

  Tears trickled down her cheeks. “I wish I could believe that, but I can’t. I just can’t.”

  Will gazed at her in sorrow. He’d thought he knew Ida, but he’d had no idea she was that low in self-esteem. He wagged a finger, putting on a comical voice. “‘A fine mess you’ve got us into this time, Ollie.”’

  Ida smiled bleakly.

  Will got up to poke a crumbling log back on the fire. And thought about how you never really knew a person until tough decisions came up.

  He turned back to Ida. “If you’re not going to be with Rick, what are you going to do?”

  “Marry you—if you’ll still have me?”

  He wasn’t sure he could do that, even with Maeve out of the picture. “But is that what you want? A moment ago you were releasing me from my promise.”

  “I wanted to give you the option.” Her eyes filled again. “Because I can’t decide. That’s why I came here tonight. To ask you as a friend to make the decision for us both.” She leaned forward and took his hand. “Maeve says she doesn’t want children. So if you still want to marry me, I’ll do it. And I’ll do my best to forget about Rick and be a good wife to you. I mean, in the long term, after the initial attraction has worn off, what’s the difference between deep, lasting friendship and love?”