by Anna Jacobs
‘Table or a tray?’ he called from the kitchen area.
She stood there, swaying. ‘I …’ She couldn’t seem to make the decision.
Suddenly he was there beside her, guiding her back to the couch. ‘I’ll bring you a tray. Sit down, but don’t go back to sleep yet. Not till you’ve had a bowl of my nanny’s best broth.’
‘Your nanny?’
‘Her recipe. She always made it when I was ill.’
‘Your grandmother?’
‘No. Nanny. As in hired help to bring up the child. My mother led a busy social life. I saw more of Nanny.’
‘Oh.’ Jessica allowed him to tuck a sheet around her legs, because although the weather was warm, she was feeling shivery now.
A tray appeared on her lap as if by magic and she sat staring at it, finding it hard to summon up the energy even to pick up the spoon.
‘If you don’t eat it all up, I’ll spoon it into your mouth myself,’ he threatened.
That made her smile. She took a taste, then another. ‘This is good!’
She finished the whole bowlful and let him take the tray away.
This time, she knew she’d said thank you, so she was quite pleased with herself. But she had to lie down, just had to.
Jessica felt totally disoriented when she awoke in the morning and couldn’t at first work out why she was on the couch. Then she remembered Jivan helping her.
She got up to go to the bathroom and looked into the kitchen as she passed. Everything was immaculate. How kind of him to tidy up before he left!
But as she passed the spare bedroom, she stopped dead in shock. There he was, sprawled on the narrow single bed next to her computer desk, one foot dangling off the edge. She leaned against the doorway for a moment. He looked younger when he was asleep.
As if he could feel her staring at him, his eyes flickered open and he sat up.
‘Jessica! How are you feeling?’
‘I’m a bit dopey, but not as dizzy as I was. I’m on my way to the bathroom. You – er – go back to sleep.’
He stretched and smiled lazily at her. ‘I’ll not need any more sleep. I went to bed early. I haven’t had such a long, unbroken sleep in ages. I’ll go and put the kettle on, shall I?’
She nodded and went into the bathroom. She felt tears rising in her eyes again at the mere thought of him staying to look after her. ‘You’re a stupid idiot!’ she told the pale face with its red nose that stared back at her from the mirror. ‘What the hell is there to cry about?’
She pulled off her smeary glasses and washed them, then managed a quick shower. Afterwards, she realised that she hadn’t brought a dressing gown in with her. Her nightdress was a sweaty tangle of cotton on the damp floor and she couldn’t bear to put it on again. Wrapped in her towel, she tiptoed out towards her bedroom, hoping to get there without him noticing.
Jivan immediately poked his head out of the kitchen. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’
He grinned. ‘Very fetching outfit.’
She could feel herself blushing, knowing she was showing a lot of leg. ‘I forgot my dressing gown.’
‘Do you want breakfast in bed?’
‘No, thank you. I’d rather eat at the table with you.’ It would be lovely to have company for the meal. She had spent so much time alone here in the last few months.
By the time she got to the table, she was tiring fast and wishing she had gone back to bed.
He pulled a chair out, pushing her firmly into it. ‘No, you can’t help, and after this, you’ll go and lie down again, young lady. Uncle Jivan’s orders.’
As he served breakfast, he said, ‘I have to go out for some publicity sessions today, but I’ll be back later to see to your evening meal. You’re not to do a thing while I’m gone, do you hear? Except stagger to the kitchen around noon for another bowl of my broth.’
‘But I can’t – you can’t— You must have other things to do than look after me!’
‘Refusing my help?’
‘No, of course not. I just – well, I feel guilty. I mean, I’m not your responsibility.’
‘If that’s all, you needn’t worry. Looking after you is making me feel virtuous. It’s a rather unusual feeling for me so I beg you not to deprive me of the experience. I might want to put it in a book one day.’
She chuckled but it was a rusty sound and the effort made her cough.
He waited till she’d finished coughing then asked quietly, ‘I’m assuming you want me to stay? Do you? Or would you rather I left you in peace?’
She couldn’t lie to him. ‘It’s lovely to have you here. I don’t know how I’d have managed without you.’
‘Good. I’ll go and get the rest of my things from the hotel while I’m out.’
She was surprised when her spoon clinked against an empty dish. The porridge with dried fruit and nuts in it had been delicious.
‘Bed, now!’ he said firmly as soon as she had finished, and she couldn’t find the strength to argue with him. She had grey clouds inside her head and she ached all over.
She woke briefly around lunchtime, surprised to find she was hungry. In the kitchen she found a note propped against the kettle. ‘Soup in fridge. Don’t forget! I’m bringing something back for tea.’
This time she was less dizzy, and managed to prepare and eat the food without any problems.
She had intended to stay awake afterwards, but once again her body had its own agenda and she slept the afternoon away, waking only when she heard the front door open.
Jivan appeared in her bedroom doorway. ‘Sorry if I woke you.’
She smiled and stretched. ‘I was just coming to the surface anyway. Goodness, I can’t remember ever sleeping so much.’
He came to sit on the end of her bed. ‘You’re looking a bit better. There’s a faint touch of colour in your cheeks today.’
‘And in my nose,’ she quipped.
He smiled. ‘There, too.’ Then he stood up. ‘No peace for the wicked. I have some cooking to do.’
‘Jivan, you shouldn’t be doing this! I—’
‘I thought we’d already settled this argument, Jessica. The hotel is taking all my messages, but it’s a lot quieter living here so I’m getting a benefit from it, too. Or were you just being polite earlier when you said you’d like me to stay?’
‘Of course I like having you here.’
‘Then I’ll not need to move back to that impersonal hotel room. It’s a relief to come back here after a day of meeting strangers, and not to have to dine in the public eye and have people come up to me. Or even worse, dine alone in my room. Those Meridian publicists are slave-drivers, you know. They set up such hectic schedules, I sometimes feel like a mouse on a running wheel.’
‘Are you just saying that to reassure me?’
‘No. I’m relieved this tour is almost over. Perth is the last stop and things are winding down now, thank goodness, though they added one or two small events which meant I had to stay longer than expected.’
And he was gone, humming to himself as he clattered about in the kitchen.
She lay back and listened to the busy noises and the happy humming, which made her feel less guilty about him staying. You didn’t sing if you were unhappy. And he had a nice tuneful voice.
She decided to get up to eat. She still felt weak, but not as bad as she had been. Making a big effort, she got out her best dressing gown, a drifting flowery thing she only wore to cheer herself up when she was feeling down. She felt shy as she went into the kitchen wearing it.
His eyes were searching, but he seemed satisfied with what he saw. ‘I like your robe. Very glamorous.’
‘It was a present to myself last year. I fell in love with it and I didn’t need it, so I made Christmas the excuse to buy it.’
Jivan didn’t comment on the sadness of a lovely young woman having to buy herself a present. He hadn’t even bothered to do anything special at Christmas. His mother had invited him to visit her, but h
e hadn’t felt like making the long flight to the UK.
And anyway, she only wanted to show off her famous son at her parties. She never had been a loving mother. He’d had more love from his father … until Ranjit went back to India and started another family.
He had come to realise that Jessica was as lonely as he was. It was the writer’s curse, as he knew only too well. You didn’t get books written by partying. But if he hadn’t been in hiding, he would have spent more time doing things like going to the theatre or seeing the few people he considered true friends.
Unfortunately, whenever he went to the UK Louisa always found out where he was within a day or two, and then the rumours about his lifestyle started again and she played nasty tricks on him, or paparazzi followed him, hoping to get a scoop on a scandal.
What scandal? He was living as celibate a life as any monk at the moment.
‘What the hell do you want from me?’ he’d asked Louisa the last time she’d caught him on his own in a hotel bar during an unavoidable visit to the UK.
‘I want us to get back together.’
‘Get together? You must be joking! After all the trouble you’ve caused me? No way. And how would you benefit from having a husband who hated you?’
‘I’d benefit because I’d not have to work. I’m well over running around pushing idiots into the limelight. I deserve to enjoy the benefits of your success, have servants and a big house, buy what I want.’
‘I don’t live like that.’ Though he could afford to, he supposed.
‘You forget how I helped you when we were first married, when you were starting off as a writer. You owe me a share of your success, dammit, and I won’t leave you alone until I get it. We could have a marriage in name only, except I’d go to big functions with you.’
Where she had got those ideas from, he didn’t know. Sure, she had given him some hints about dealing with the press and presenting himself on TV when they were first married, but that would have meant nothing if his books hadn’t taken off. She really had gone beyond reason this time.
He realised he’d been standing lost in thought and looked across at Jessica.
‘Are you all right, Jivan?’
‘Yes. I was just remembering something.’
‘Something unpleasant, from your expression.’
‘Yes.’
He banished the thought of Louisa and gave his attention to his sick friend. And yes, he realised, Jessica had become one of his true friends now.
He nodded towards the table. ‘If madame would be seated, I’ll serve the meal.’
‘Thank you, kind sir.’
Jessica had seen that Jivan was deeply upset by his thoughts, but if he’d wanted her to know the details, he’d have told her. She didn’t like people prying into her affairs and he was probably the same.
She sat down and watched him serve a chicken casserole, with fluffy mashed potatoes and broccoli. ‘I’m feeling hungry again. I haven’t felt hungry for ages.’ Weeks, actually.
The food tasted as good as it looked and her plate was empty before she knew it. ‘You’re a very good cook. However did you whip this up so quickly?’
‘I’m delighted you approve. But I can’t claim all the credit. I bought a cooked chicken, some mushrooms, a packet of mashed potatoes and a jar of my favourite ready-made sauce. But I did open the jar all by myself.’
She laughed. ‘Then you’re a connoisseur of sauce mixes.’
He inclined his head. ‘Why, thank you, ma’am.’
She couldn’t quite fathom the look in his eyes tonight. He seemed different from the man in Melbourne in a way she couldn’t understand. He’s enigmatic, she thought. That’s the word. ‘There’s a cask of white wine in the fridge. Why don’t you have a glass with your meal?’
‘And you?’
‘No, thanks. I’m only just getting my head back together. I don’t want to risk losing it again.’
‘You sure you don’t mind if I have one?’
‘Not at all. You’ve more than earned it.’
He served himself and raised the glass to her before drinking. ‘To your recovery, gracious hostess, your complete and lasting recovery.’
She felt shy and breathless. ‘Th-thank you.’ She couldn’t help wondering why he had stayed to look after her. But she was enjoying his company so much she wasn’t going to quibble about it.
In fact, just having him there made her feel better. Much better.
Ten
Jivan stayed with Jessica for a week, vanishing during the first couple of days to attend signing sessions and a TV interview. He also attended one evening function.
In between engagements, he shopped for her, cooked for her, washed for them both and cleaned the house, all with practised efficiency. Clearly he was used to living alone and doing for himself.
Best of all, he talked to her. In fact, they talked for hours. About writing, about their views of the world, about books they’d read. Not about his personal problems, though. Or about hers, either.
On the third evening he asked if she would sign his copy of her award-winning novel. ‘I like to have author-signed copies of my friends’ books.’
She stood frozen for a moment. ‘I can’t imagine signing a book for you. I have all your books, you know.’
‘I’ll sign those, if you like. It’s a fair return.’
‘I’d love it.’ Before he could change his mind, she went and got his books from the shelf near her bed. ‘Here.’ She held out a pen.
He looked at the pile of rather battered volumes. ‘You’ve either lent them to all your friends or you’ve read them more than once.’
‘I haven’t lent them to anyone. I’ve re-read them several times. I love the complexity and cleverness of your stories.’
He stared at her, then started signing, but she rather thought she’d seen a look of pleasure replace the sadness in his eyes.
‘You’d make some woman a wonderful housekeeper,’ she joked the next evening as she sat down to yet another delicious meal. ‘How did you learn to do all this?’
‘From books or online. A man has to eat, after all, and in the early days I couldn’t afford to eat out all the time.’ He stared into space, then added, ‘I cooked for my wife too, though she doesn’t eat much. She’s skeletally thin.’
‘It must have been hard to see your love fade.’
‘Louisa was never in love. She was interested in being the wife of a famous person and didn’t care at all about my books, as long as I was successful. She found it very boring that I had to spend so much time working, though she hid that well at first.’
‘Didn’t she have any interests of her own?’
‘Oh, yes. Herself. After she gave up her work in PR, she began working out at the gym daily to make her body perfect. She loved buying clothes and, as I found out later, enjoyed a little variety in her men. I think she must have been unfaithful almost from the start, but it was three years before I found out. And yet, she didn’t want us to divorce.’
‘But you did.’
‘To me, it’s not a marriage if you’re unfaithful. The one and only thing we did agree on was that we didn’t want any children.’
She looked at him in surprise. ‘You sound very vehement about that.’
His expression was sombre. ‘The world I was born into wasn’t easy for children of mixed race, though it’s better now.’
‘The world you were born into?’
‘My mother’s family is very upper crust. I think her affair with my Indian father was her one and only act of defiance – and his. They’re both back in their respective folds again, though she changes husbands rather more often than others do. But as I’ve found, being a writer doesn’t fit with family life and children need parents who are there.’
‘I’d like to have children one day – if I ever meet anyone suitable.’ When he didn’t respond, she sneaked a glance sideways and saw that his mouth was a grim straight line, so waited quietly for him to speak.
After a while, he went on, ‘I might as well finish the tale, if we’re going to stay friends, which I hope we shall do, but after this I don’t want to talk about my marriage again. I was the one who insisted on the divorce, and then had to fight to retain even my future income from writing. In the end, I offered Louisa the house and all it contained in return for a final settlement, and threatened to stop writing completely if she asked for more. I have a small private income from a godmother, and she knew I could survive without my writing money.’
Taking a deep breath he added, ‘But since I became successful, she’s begun stalking me. I love the warmer climate here, but she’s the main reason I moved to Australia. I thought she’d gradually turn to other things. Only she hasn’t.’
‘She must be crazy.’
‘Yes. I think she is. I intend to move every year or so, renting a house through my agent under an assumed name.’
‘Wow! That’s terrible. You shouldn’t have to live like that.’
‘I think she’s mentally ill, but it’d be hard to prove it.’
He sat twisting the empty wine glass between his fingers for a minute or two longer, then looked up. ‘That’s enough about me.’
She dared to lay her hand briefly on his arm and clasp it for a moment.
‘Let’s talk about your future now, Jessica. What are you going to do with yourself?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Are you really going back to your job? From what you’ve told me, it sounds as if that man’s trying to make your life as miserable as he can.’
‘Oh, he’s doing more than try. He’s succeeding.’ Her voice broke on the last syllable and she had to take a deep breath before she could continue without breaking down.
‘There’s nothing else I can do but soldier on, Jivan. If I could get six months of leave without pay, I might just about manage to live on my savings for that long. But Mike won’t allow me any leave at all, not even one lousy week.’
‘Why not?’
‘Since he missed out on a promotion, he’s out to prove he gets results that don’t cost the earth, so he’s overworking us.’
‘Can’t you find another job?’
‘I’m thinking about it.’ She yawned and smiled at him. ‘I’m tired now. I think I’ll go to bed. I’ve enjoyed our talk.’