by Ber Carroll
‘It’s already a week overdue. Alan only paid the urgent stuff while I was off sick,’ James said as he lifted the cheques from her desk.
‘Look, why don’t you put it in Friday’s mail rather than today’s? They won’t get it until the start of next week and we’ll have time to cancel it if there’s anything wrong.’
There was a Hong Kong number showing on the display panel of her phone. The shrill ringing was demanding an answer despite her fluttering stomach.
‘Claire.’
It wasn’t Robert.
‘Hello, Tony.’ She couldn’t disguise her disappointment.
‘How are you?’ He didn’t wait for an answer before continuing. ‘I’m tying up some loose ends on the bid … Robert can’t find where you saved the last version of the model … He asked me to call you.’
He doesn’t want to call me himself.
‘It’s in the S drive. Version 10.’ She gave him the appropriate directions, her voice flat.
‘Okay … let me look while you’re still on the phone … Right, I see it now.’
‘Bye, then.’
She was about to hang up when he said, ‘Hold on – can you transfer me through to Frank?’
‘He’s still on holiday, Tony.’
‘Damn!’
‘Why did you need to speak to him?’ she asked. ‘Maybe someone else can help.’
Tony paused before responding. ‘It can wait. When will he be back?’
‘Not until Monday week. Are you sure it can wait?’
‘It will have to.’ Tony wasn’t happy.
Claire put down the phone with hurt welling inside her. Robert had asked Tony to call her instead of picking up the phone himself. He was avoiding her, just as Fiona had said he would. Had she been stupid to expect something more?
Emma barged in on her thoughts.
‘I’ve just talked to Michael –’
Michael was the last person she needed to hear about right now.
‘Things are on track at his end,’ Emma went on. ‘Testing will be finished this week. Live transfer of the data is scheduled for next weekend.’
‘Does he need us in the office over the weekend?’ asked Claire rather absently.
‘No, he can do it all from Dublin. He can get right into our system from there. It’s very slow, though, that’s why he’s testing offline. All we have to do here is get James to complete the online training. Then we’ll be up and running.’
Emma was on her way out when she stopped at the door. ‘He said to say hello to you.’
‘James?’
‘No, silly. Michael.’
She had been back at work a full week. She hadn’t heard from Robert. There had been no phone call from Hong Kong and no phone call when he got back to Sydney yesterday morning. He hadn’t even come around to her office to say hello.
She received a message from Susan just before she went home. It was Monday morning in Ireland.
Hi,
Thought I’d drop you a line before starting work (I’m really not in the mood to be here today). I met Michael over the weekend. He was with Karen. I know I’m not allowed say this, but she seemed very nice. He said that he had been in touch with Australia quite a bit – was that with you? I need to know if the war between you two is still on or not. I gave him the frosty treatment on Saturday night, just in case. I called in to see your mother over the weekend. She’s very lonely without her only daughter and she was thrilled to see me. I had my dinner there. I think she wants to adopt me …
Love, Susan.
Claire left for home, lost in thought as she made her way to the station. It was strange hearing from Susan that her mother was lonely. It struck a chord, reminding her how far away she was from Dublin, and home.
Am I feeling homesick?
The city trains weren’t running; there had been a minor derailment. She made her way outside to catch a bus. It was going to take forever to get to Bondi.
She arrived at work on Tuesday morning to find that Paul had sent her a dozen red roses. She put them in a vase with bad grace. His hot and cold attitude was really starting to annoy her. Emma came in to wish her a happy birthday.
‘Who bought you those beautiful roses?’ she asked, picking one from the vase to smell.
‘Paul. I don’t want them. You can have them.’
‘Don’t be so ungrateful! By the way, this is a little something from me.’ Emma took one hand from behind her back with a flourish to reveal a box of chocolates and a card.
‘Oh, thanks, Emma!’ She smiled and opened the card.
Have a swinging Birthday – Leave your bra at home!
She laughed, her good humour restored. ‘Thanks a lot – it’s going to get pride of place on my bookshelf.’
Claire settled down and worked through the backlog that remained since her trip to Hong Kong. She tried not to think of Robert. She was packing to go home when he came in.
‘You just caught me, I was on my way home.’ Her voice was cool and she didn’t meet his eyes.
He looked at the roses in her arms and the card that she was in the process of removing from the bookshelf as he walked in.
‘Oh … it’s your birthday.’
‘Yes.’
‘Happy birthday,’ he said, giving her a slow and intimate smile.
‘Thank you,’ she said primly, moving purposefully towards the door.
‘Would you like to go to dinner tonight?’ His voice was hesitant, finally sensing her coolness.
‘I have something else planned.’
‘Well, maybe lunch tomorrow?’ he persisted, trying to make eye contact.
‘I don’t think so. Goodnight.’
She walked away, leaving him standing alone in her office, a bewildered air about him that would have made her laugh in other circumstances. She had been extremely rude, considering he was her boss. She decided that she would look for a new job as soon as possible. It would be too hard to maintain a professional distance, to pretend nothing had happened between them, and not to show how much it hurt.
He waited in her office for a few minutes, foolishly expecting her to come back. He had been looking forward to spending the evening with her and cursed himself for not calling her during the week. When he thought of the roses and the fact she was meeting someone for dinner, he felt worse.
She was late for work the next morning, arriving at nine-thirty, flustered from rushing. Robert was hovering in the Finance area, speaking to Alan Harris. She gave him a quick glance as she opened her office door. She had barely taken off her jacket when he came in, shutting the door behind him and pulling up a seat so that he was uncomfortably close.
‘You’re annoyed with me,’ he said flatly, searching her face for a reaction to his statement.
‘No, I’m not. I have nothing to be annoyed about,’ she denied, looking at the picture on the wall behind him with feigned interest.
‘Are you upset because I didn’t call you last week?’
‘That’s your prerogative. I just want to get things back on a professional level straight away,’ she said, playing with her pen now that she couldn’t look at the picture any longer.
‘Hang on a minute. I thought we’d left things on a positive note in Hong Kong and that we would talk when I got back. Have you changed your mind?’ He was frowning now and moved back in his seat as if baffled.
‘Haven’t you?’ Emotion was creeping into her voice.
He leaned forward. ‘Claire, I’ve obviously done something wrong and I’m sorry.’ He was about to take her hand in his but saw the discouragement in her face and pulled away.
‘There’s no point in being sorry if you don’t know what you’ve done,’ she said sharply.
‘I’m sorry that I’ve upset you in any way. Please tell me what it is.’
He was looking at her intensely and she could feel a slight weakening in her resolve.
‘Robert, I’m trying not to make a big issue out of this. Not calling for ten days te
lls me quite plainly that you’re not interested. And that’s fine by me.’ She was pleased with her tone, it was matter-of-fact and quite dismissive.
‘You have it all wrong. I didn’t want to call you at work and I didn’t have your home number. I thought about you constantly all week. You must believe that.’
He sounded genuine.
She didn’t answer him but he must have seen the uncertainty in her face and pressed home his advantage.
‘Please, let’s have lunch together so we can talk with some privacy. Can I meet you in the carpark at midday?’ he asked.
She nodded, feeling drained from the pressure of resisting him.
For once, lunchtime came around far too quickly. She dreaded being alone with him and wondered how on earth she had given in. It was unfair that he had caught her when she was rushed and flustered. If she had been prepared it would have been different.
He was waiting in his car, a convertible Saab, sleek and sophisticated, making her feel even more awkward and naïve.
‘Hi, there,’ he greeted her warmly as she got in.
She mumbled a response, immediately focusing her eyes on the dash. She couldn’t talk to him, her throat clogged with a mixture of anger, nervousness and sexual attraction.
After a few minutes of silence he put on some classical music. It sounded like Mendelssohn, soothing and simple, relaxing her a little. He drove through the Northern Beaches and she wondered where the hell he was taking her. He finally pulled up at Newport Beach and turned in his seat to face her.
‘I knew I would have to convince you to forgive me somehow so I brought along a picnic for the beach. I thought it would be nicer than going to a restaurant and if you start screaming and punching me, we won’t get kicked out.’
‘A picnic? That was very thoughtful of you,’ she said, finally looking at him. There was a powerful silence as they looked at each other. She broke the moment by getting out of the car.
He took the picnic basket and a rug from the trunk of the car and they walked across the sand to the water’s edge. He spread out the rug and took her hand to help her sit.
‘See, a bottle of red, a bottle of white …’ he said with a small grin as he held up two bottles of wine.
She smiled back at him, remembering the other Billy Joel song they had danced to in Hong Kong.
‘What would you like to start off with?’ he asked.
‘White, please.’
She watched him pour the wine, trying to stay angry. He handed her a glass and changed position on the rug so he was facing her.
‘I meant what I said earlier … about not wanting to call you at work. I thought it would embarrass you.’
‘Did you also think it would embarrass me if you came around to see me on Monday when you got back?’
‘A crisis blew up with Cathair late on Friday – they were ready to pull out unless we changed one of the clauses. I spent most of the weekend and Monday on the phone to Donald Skates, trying to convince him to come to the party on something that was really only a minor change to the proposal. I even thought I might have to fly over to San Jose but we sorted it out in the end.’
She looked at him. ‘Please don’t lie to me. You don’t have to. We can easily go back to the way things were before Hong Kong.’ She knew she couldn’t but could hardly say that.
‘I’m not lying, Claire. I want us to be together. For what it’s worth, I did come around to see you at six on Monday, but you were already gone.’
‘I went home early. I was angry with my boss so I had a ministrike.’
He laughed. ‘I must remember that my good behaviour is directly linked to your productivity.’ He held her free hand loosely in his, his eyes all over her face.
‘Don’t let me drink too much wine,’ she said, leaning back on her elbows, squinting at the sun, ‘or I’ll fall asleep at my desk.’
‘We don’t have to go back. I told Samantha we were going to a tax seminar,’ he said with an expression that reminded her of a naughty schoolboy.
‘What kind of tax? Fringe benefits tax, GST or income tax?’ she asked, pretending to be businesslike.
‘I’ve no idea. Let’s pick income tax.’
‘Income tax it is,’ she agreed and they toasted a truce.
She lay in his arms for a long time. The warmth of his chest moving against her, the crashing waves and distant sounds of traffic lulled the hours away. The winter sun fell towards the horizon, leaving a chill in its wake.
‘Maybe we should go?’ she suggested reluctantly.
He sat up and took something from his trouser pocket. It was a velvet box.
‘Let me give you this first. Happy Birthday!’
She blushed. ‘Robert, you really shouldn’t have!’
‘Open it. I can return it if you don’t like it.’ He sounded anxious and watched her carefully as she opened the box.
It was a silver pendant, simple and beautiful.
‘Thank you … I love it,’ she whispered, putting it around her neck and looking down to examine the effect as it glowed against her skin.
He fastened it for her, kissing the nape of her neck. She felt the familiar desire that flared up whenever he touched her. His lips moved down from her neck to her back and his hands moved at the same time to stroke her hair. It was dark now and the beach was almost deserted. He turned her slowly and she returned his kisses, locking her arms around his neck. It felt so good to be back in his arms, to be able to kiss him. His hands were stroking her inner thighs, her skirt riding up to accommodate him.
‘Not here,’ she whispered.
‘I know. Come back to my place.’
They kissed fiercely and broke apart.
His house was a mixture of golden wooden floors, cream walls and splashes of colour from paintings, lamps and rugs. A huge wooden bed dominated the bedroom. There was a sensual smell in the room, a blend of polish and his aftershave. It was very tidy, with the exception of a pair of jeans thrown across the bed. They kissed and proceeded to finish what they had started on the beach.
She stroked his hair as they lay without moving or speaking. ‘I should be getting home.’
‘Why don’t you stay the night? I could drive you home in the morning before work,’ he suggested, his voice sleepy.
She hesitated for a second. The day had lulled her into a comfortable sense of lethargy and the thought of exerting herself to go home was not very appealing. And she didn’t want to leave him.
‘Don’t you mind?’ she queried, unsure if he was just being polite or if he really wanted her to stay. She didn’t want to intrude into his private life; instinct told her that he liked his space.
‘Not at all.’ He yawned. ‘Man, I’m tired … I’m not used to hanging out with twenty-somethings.’
Claire fell asleep curled against him, feeling secure and happy. The phone rang in the early hours of the morning. Robert picked it up before it woke her fully.
‘Tom, it’s the middle of the night.’ Robert sounded resigned, as if phone calls at that hour were a regular occurrence. The bed clothes moved with him as he sat up. ‘It’s okay. What was on your mind?’
Tom spoke for a few minutes and Robert listened intently.
‘You’re saying I have to pay her spousal support?’ Robert said finally, his voice alert and hard, slicing through the dark.
Another few minutes elapsed, with Tom doing all the talking. Claire nearly fell back to sleep, jumping when Robert spoke again.
‘That’s absolutely ludicrous – we were only married for a year! Can’t I file the divorce somewhere else to get out of it?’
Robert was angry. Claire was fully awake now but she didn’t open her eyes.
‘Then you’d better start getting creative with my assets, Tom. There’s no way she’s getting her hands on half of what I’ve worked hard to accumulate over the last year …’
Claire turned on her side, hoping her movement would remind him she was there. The conversation tapered away to
more normal sounding stuff before he hung up and they both went back to sleep.
When she finally woke, it was with a niggling unease and it took her a while to link it to the phone call. Obviously, the conversation was about his ex-wife. Tom must be the lawyer handling the divorce. She lay there, anxiously thinking over what she had heard, trying to tell herself that it was none of her business. Trying to tell herself that lots of relationships break up on bad terms and she shouldn’t read too much into what Robert had said. She suddenly felt she knew very little about him.
‘Don’t tell me Sleeping Beauty has still not risen?’ He was carrying breakfast on a tray. He sat on the bed next to her and kissed her forehead before balancing the tray on her knees.
‘Look, banana muffins, your favourite.’ He broke off some, holding it to her lips.
She turned her head away.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘If I tell you, you’ll only say it’s nothing to do with me.’
‘Try me.’ He offered the olive branch, made it easy to ask.
‘It’s about the phone call … the one you got this morning.’
‘You’re cross with me for waking you up?’ he asked with raised eyebrows.
‘No, silly … it’s just that you sounded so angry … and so …’
‘Mean? Tight with my money?’ he prompted, taking her hand in his.
She couldn’t find a diplomatic answer so she waited for him to explain.
‘I can understand how you would think that from what you heard me say to Tom.’ He sighed, letting go of her hand to stand up.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought this up.’
‘No, you should have … you have every right to know what a big mistake I made with my marriage, what a bad judge of character I am. I confused companionship for love, and didn’t realise until the honeymoon that I’d married a drunk …’
‘That must have been awful,’ Claire said, sympathetic as she watched him pace the room.
‘Yes, it was pretty bad. I rang her mother after the honeymoon. I had never even met the woman – Julia told me that she had no contact with her – anyway, I found out her number and rang her. I figured that if I wanted to find out about the real Julia, her mother was the obvious place to start.’