Tomorrow's Path

by Anna Jacobs

  ‘Then let me just congratulate you once again. I’m afraid I’m flying out at some unearthly hour of the morning, so I won’t even be able to have breakfast with you.’

  Jessica had expected to have trouble sleeping after the excitement of the evening, but she was so exhausted after the months of gruelling work that she fell fathoms deep into a dark well and didn’t emerge until eight o’clock the next morning.

  She felt ravenously hungry so got straight out of bed and into the shower, slinging on some casual clothes. She could have had room service, but didn’t feel like eating on her own after such a lovely evening, so went down to the hotel’s coffee shop for breakfast.

  The first person she saw was Jivan, his back half-turned towards her, a newspaper in his hands.

  She hesitated, not knowing whether to join him, then he looked up and smiled as he caught sight of her, gesturing to the chair next to him. She sat down, gave the waitress her room number and ordered a cooked breakfast.

  ‘Tired?’ he asked.

  ‘No. I slept like the proverbial log. Best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages.’

  ‘You were looking tired behind the joy yesterday.’

  ‘Yes, well, I’ve been working hard.’

  ‘On your next book?’

  ‘I should be so lucky. Earning my daily bread, actually. Big project, lots of overtime.’ She grimaced.

  His voice was sympathetic. ‘It’s hard being a part-time writer.’

  ‘But better than not being a writer.’

  ‘What time does your plane leave today?’

  She smiled. ‘I’m not leaving till Sunday. I couldn’t get back to Western Australia in time for work today, so I thought I’d enjoy the weekend. I’ve never visited Melbourne before.’

  ‘You’ll be staying on at the hotel, then?’

  ‘Yes, I’m indulging myself a little.’ It wasn’t something she often did. Her parents’ stringent training in not being extravagant made it hard for her to indulge in luxuries.

  She wondered what her family would say about this win. They’d be pleased, but her mother would rather hear that she was getting married. She pushed that thought away. ‘I thought you’d have flown out with Anna.’

  ‘No. I’ve some personal business to attend to here. I’m leaving on Sunday, too, but I’ll be flying home to Queensland, not going back to Britain.’

  ‘You live in Australia now, Jivan?’

  ‘Yes, but I’d be grateful if you’d not tell anyone.’

  She must have looked puzzled, because he added, ‘My ex-wife is stalking me.’

  Jivan was surprised that he’d mentioned the stalking. He usually kept the information to himself.

  When Jessica didn’t pursue the matter, he added, ‘You may have gathered from newspaper articles that I had rather an acrimonious divorce. Since then I’ve been having trouble with my ex, who won’t leave me alone when I’m in England.’

  ‘She’s stalking you?’

  ‘Yes. And blackening my name. She’s very inventive about it, too.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘So am I. She’s become obsessive. That’s why I moved to Australia.’ He changed the subject firmly. ‘Never mind her. What are you going to do with yourself today?’

  She shrugged. ‘Just go walkabout, I think. Amble round the city centre. The concierge gave me a map and pointed out a few places I might enjoy. I thought I’d book a coach tour for tomorrow. I want to see as much as possible while I’m over in the east.’

  ‘The city centre’s easy enough to navigate. It’s all built on a square grid. Very unimaginative, but you can’t lose your way, at least. We’re near the river and station here, so make sure you’re going downhill when you want to come back to the hotel and you won’t go far wrong. And tomorrow you might enjoy a coach trip to Sovereign Hill and Bendigo. That’s a whole day affair. You’re a bit late for it today.’

  ‘What’s there to see?’

  Jivan loved the way her eyes were sparkling with interest, her whole face alight with it. And best of all, Jessica Lord wasn’t making any attempt to flirt with him.

  He realised she was still waiting for him to answer her question. ‘Sorry. I was just remembering it. Sovereign Hill is a re-creation of an old gold-mining town of the 1850s. You can ride on stagecoaches, pan for gold, view underground mines from a tram or on foot. In fact, do all sorts of fun, touristy things. The staff dress in period costume.’

  ‘That sounds fascinating.’

  ‘Some people don’t like history being commercialised, but I do. It brings the era to life for me when I walk into an old chemist’s shop, full of coloured bottles and mysterious potions. It’s not at all the same to read about it.’

  Eight

  Breakfast was over all too soon and Jessica said goodbye to Jivan with regret. He was such an interesting person to talk to.

  She went up to fetch her things and walked out alone to explore.

  After a while, she stopped at a café and wrote a postcard to her family, giving them her news, then concentrated on enjoying herself.

  In spite of a couple of breaks for coffee and lunch, by mid-afternoon her feet were aching and she was feeling tired, so she visited a bookshop and treated herself to a couple of nice, thick paperbacks.

  She sighed at the prospect of another early night with a book, even if it was a book she’d been dying to read. Story of my life, she muttered.

  Of course the first person she saw as she entered the hotel restaurant that evening was Jivan. As he looked across at her, his expression wasn’t at all welcoming and there was a visible hesitation before he nodded a greeting.

  She gave him a quick smile and made her way across to an empty table at the opposite side of the room, choosing to sit with her back to him. She concentrated on the menu, feeling a little hurt by his attitude, but determined not to give him any reason to think she was pursuing him.

  Before she could order, a shadow fell across the menu. She looked up and there he was.

  ‘Sorry. I was miles away when you walked in, thinking about something. As we both seem to be on our own, maybe you’d like to join me for dinner, Jessica?’

  She kept her expression as cool as possible. ‘Thank you for the offer, but you mustn’t feel obliged to entertain me, Jivan. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself and I don’t want to impose on you. Nor do I want to give the gutter press false ideas about us and set them baying after you again.’

  ‘If you’re willing to risk them telling lies about us, so am I.’

  ‘Oh. OK, then. I don’t mind.’

  He looked down at her, his expression thoughtful. ‘I can’t guarantee to be entertaining, but I really would welcome some company tonight, though I didn’t realise that until you came in. One grows tired of dining alone in strange cities. Being a bestselling novelist is supposed to be a glamorous life, but mostly it isn’t.’

  ‘Well …’ She still hesitated, not wishing to be rude, but unable to forget his cold expression when he had first seen her.

  ‘Please come and join me.’ He gave her another of those genuine smiles which warmed his whole face. ‘I’d join you here, but I think I have the better table by far.’

  She moved across the room and allowed a waiter to fuss around them, setting her a place. When the man had gone, she looked at Jivan. ‘Have you ordered yet?’

  ‘No. Not yet. Are you hungry?’

  ‘Absolutely ravenous! I did a lot of walking today.’

  ‘What did you see?’

  She enumerated on her fingers, ‘St Paul’s Cathedral, Princes Bridge, the Botanic Gardens and the Yarra River. Then shops, shops and more shops.’

  ‘Did you buy any clothes?’

  ‘No, books. Much more fun.’

  When their hors d’oeuvres arrived, she bit into a juicy prawn and made a satisfied noise in her throat. ‘Australian seafood is the best in the world.’ She selected another and couldn’t help noticing that he was spearing his food lethargically, as
if he had no real appetite.

  None of her business. She concentrated on her own meal, letting him pace the conversation.

  ‘Did you arrange a trip for tomorrow, then?’

  ‘Oh yes. I took your advice and booked a coach tour to Sovereign Hill, or rather got the concierge to book for me. I especially fancy riding on a stagecoach. I’ve never ridden on one and I’d like to, in case I ever write a historical novel.’

  ‘Are you likely to do that?’

  ‘Maybe one day. It’s my second interest. I wrote one once, when I was much younger, but it was pretty awful. It was a good plot idea, though, and I’d like to rework it when I have more time. Do you always write thrillers?’

  She realised with a jerk of embarrassment that this might be tactless, but it was too late to change the subject now. Would she never learn to watch her tongue? ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound nosey.’ She blushed and speared another prawn to hide her confusion.

  ‘I, too, wrote other things in my salad days. The publishers weren’t interested, so I continued to experiment and found they were very interested in my thrillers. So I kept on doing it, because I enjoy the challenge of fitting the pieces of a puzzle together, and thinking out shocks and turn-arounds. I also enjoy the financial fruits of my labours. Money can be a useful commodity.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘What would you do if you had one wish granted, Jessica, and money no expense?’

  ‘Give up my day job to write.’

  ‘Don’t you enjoy your work at all?’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s all right. But my boss is out to make a name for himself before he hits forty and that’s only a couple of years away so he’s pushing us hard.’ She sighed. ‘He might be a nice guy if he weren’t so ambitious. We’ve been out together once or twice. I haven’t told him yet but that’s over now.’

  ‘Because of the prize?’

  ‘No. Because of the sort of man he is and how he’s treating his staff.’

  ‘How will he take his dismissal?’

  ‘Not well. Mike’s a good hater. Boasts that he never lets anyone get away with messing him around.’ She sighed, shaking her head vigorously. ‘Why am I talking about him, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘It’s Uncle Jivan’s Problem Page again.’

  They both chuckled, remembering their conversation in London.

  For the rest of the meal they chatted comfortably, but he made no effort to prolong matters beyond a glass of port in the bar, nor did he escort her up to her room.

  A coolness and distance came over him towards the end of the evening, as if he were warning her off. Come no further! Here be dragons!

  That was fine, she told herself firmly, as she walked across the foyer. If he didn’t fancy her, that was his privilege.

  The trouble was, she found him very attractive indeed.

  Tonight she had felt alive again, she thought, as the lift started moving. Fully alive, interested in a man.

  But would she still feel good when she got back to Perth?

  The following morning she breakfasted in her room, determined not to force a situation where Jivan would feel compelled to invite her to share his table again.

  She walked quickly out of the hotel afterwards, both relieved and disappointed not to have bumped into him.

  The coach firm’s departure point was just a couple of blocks away. She strode along, taking everything in, avid for the new experiences the day would bring. The sky was cloudy and there were very few people around. At eight fifteen in the morning the shops weren’t open yet and the streets were quiet – perhaps people didn’t start work as early here as they did in Perth? Or perhaps it was just in this district?

  The alleys between the tall buildings seemed slightly sinister without people bustling around. Maybe that solitary van was carrying stolen merchandise … She chuckled as a plump older man got out of the van with a parcel, complaining to someone inside it that his damned knee was playing up again today.

  She boarded the coach, the first passenger to arrive, smiled at the driver and settled into the front seat behind him. The other passengers started to trickle on board and she pulled out her brochure to study the route they were to take.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’ a voice said above her head, and she jumped in shock, dropping the leaflet.

  ‘Jivan! I thought you had some appointments today?’

  ‘Last-minute rescheduling. Do you mind if I join you?’

  ‘No, of course not. I was miles away when you spoke. You startled me.’

  ‘I noticed.’ He picked up her brochure from the floor, his warm hands touching hers briefly and sending a shiver along her arm. His smile was relaxed this morning. She was feeling anything but relaxed.

  As he slid into the seat next to her, he smiled. ‘Telling you about Sovereign Hill made me feel nostalgic to see it again. I haven’t done anything frivolous for months. Like you, I’ve been working too hard.’

  ‘Well, it’s great to have company.’ She stopped trying to remain calm and detached, and settled down to enjoy the day. This time he was the one who had sought her company.

  And they did enjoy themselves! Sovereign Hill was a place of utter magic from start to finish, or perhaps they were both in the mood to create their own magic.

  All the shopkeepers in the ‘town’ wore period costume, which meant long skirts for the women, with a few of them wearing crinolines. The men had side whiskers, and brightly coloured waistcoats with heavy gold watch chains draped across them.

  Here and there actors were playing the parts of citizens, even a wedding group with a drunken bridegroom, who came staggering along the street behind his bride and had to be coaxed into the stagecoach with her.

  Jivan signed them up to pan for gold in a stream, and it was much harder than it looked. Jessica spluttered with laughter as he spilled the wet grit all over his expensive trainers.

  ‘Let’s see you do better!’ he challenged.

  She took a lot more care when swilling the water around her own flat pan, crowing triumphantly when she found some minute specks of gold left in the edges of the central hollow. The attendant put these into a tiny box lined with cotton wool for her to take home.

  Afterwards they visited the gold mine, opting to walk through it rather than take the tram. Inside, it felt chill and damp almost immediately, as if they really were deep underground. Scattered around in alcoves branching off the main walkway were tableaux with realistic life-sized models of miners at work. They looked like people suddenly frozen into position. Some were kneeling in cramped tunnels, others wielding pickaxes or pushing trolleys.

  Partway through the mine, Jessica was separated from Jivan and deliberately allowed the other group members to get ahead of her so that she could feel the atmosphere better. It was unnerving to stand there on her own with the water dripping down somewhere close by and the flickering candles blowing to and fro in a draught. After a few moments she decided with a shiver that the tableaux were altogether too convincing and hurried to join the rest of the group in case one of the fibreglass miners suddenly came to life and reached out to grab her.

  Sometimes a vivid imagination could be a disadvantage.

  It was part of the pleasure of the day that no one recognised Jivan behind his dark glasses and that he entered into the fun of everything, including a stagecoach ride. The coach rocked about so much she had to clutch his arm to steady herself, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  To her surprise the horses were lathered with sweat after only ten minutes, and Jivan teased her for feeling guilty.

  ‘They are pulling other people, too, you know. It’s not your fault alone.’

  ‘Yes, but so many people. There must be – what? – twenty people on this heavy coach, and only five horses. It doesn’t seem fair.’

  He shook his head at her and chuckled. ‘You’re too soft-hearted, but it’s a good fault.’

  After that, they went to have their photo taken in period costume, a crin
oline for her, and false side whiskers and bowler hat for Jivan.

  Across the road was an emporium which stocked crinolines and miners’ gear for the tourists. She was very tempted to buy herself a crinoline as a souvenir, even going so far as to try one on. Jivan, with a stockman’s hat perched on his sleek dark head, encouraged her to do so, but in the end she refused. Better to save her money at this stage.

  ‘Let me buy it for you, as a memento of the day,’ he suggested when she turned away.

  ‘Oh, no! Really, I couldn’t! Besides, I wouldn’t have anywhere to store it. I live in a very small unit.’ To her relief he didn’t press the point.

  They came out on to the main street again and bought ice creams, a treat she rather doubted would have been found in an original gold-mining town, but who cared? They were delicious.

  After that, they stood side by side to watch a blacksmith at work. Jivan’s shoulder was pressed against hers. If it had been any other man, she would have linked her arm in his, but she wasn’t going to risk doing anything that might spoil the outing.

  It was growing harder to remember to be careful how she reacted to him.

  It wasn’t a busy day at Sovereign Hill, so there were almost as many actors and shopkeepers as tourists. Jessica stopped at the top of the street to take a photo and look back. ‘You were right about it bringing history to life. You can imagine what it would really have been like, can’t you? The mud and the horses and the chaos.’

  ‘Yes.’ But his eyes were on her, not the street, and his expression was thoughtful.

  By then it was time for them to return to the coach.

  ‘I don’t want to go back to reality,’ Jessica mourned.

  ‘We all have to do that.’ His voice was flat, with an echo of bitterness.

  She was prepared to bid him farewell at the hotel, but it was he who detained her. ‘Would you like to eat out somewhere with me tonight? In Chinatown, perhaps?’

  ‘Er – well, if you haven’t anything better to do, that’d be lovely.’

  ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘Are you sure? You mustn’t feel obligated to entertain me.’

  ‘You said that before, but I asked you of my own accord because I’m enjoying your company.’