She sighs again. “Then Olivia, the old manager, left, and Alastair started work. He was tall, good looking, gorgeous. Our eyes met on the first day, and I knew immediately that I’d go to bed with him.” She flashes me a look—it’s not apologetic, or at least, she’s not apologizing for being like that. It’s more as if she’s saying That’s who I am, sorry if you don’t like it.
“And did you?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
Her gaze drifts back out to sea. “It was hot and intense. He excited me. When I was with him, I felt as if I was walking on burning coals, or bungee jumping. He made my heart race. We went out every lunchtime.” She sets her jaw. “I’m not going to say to make love. We went out to fuck. Because that’s all it was. I should have guessed. He was evasive and guarded, secretive at times. He lived over in Kaikohe, so none of us saw him around much. But I was dizzy with lust. Infatuated. I couldn’t think straight. I never asked questions, never made demands. And then one of the other girls happened to bump into him over at the Hokianga. With his wife.”
We sit there for a moment in silence. I’m conscious of a family playing Frisbee on the grass behind us. A dog barks in the distance, and I wonder what color it makes Jess see. The idea of synesthesia fascinates me. I’m going to ask her more questions about it later. I feel as if I could talk to her forever and never grow bored.
“What happened?” I press eventually.
“I confronted him. I felt terrible to think I was having an affair with a married man. He has kids! Two of them under ten! I told him there and then that it was over. But he said he was on the verge of leaving her. He said he would never have started seeing me if he’d been happily married. He asked me to wait until he sorted himself out.”
She glances at me then. “How many kinds of idiot does it make me that I believed him?”
I give her a pitying look. “You loved him. Of course you believed him.”
Her lips thin—she doesn’t like me saying that she loved him. “I was fucking dumb, and I hate myself for it. There was always some reason why he wasn’t leaving tomorrow—it was his daughter’s birthday, his mother-in-law was ill, his wife had to have an operation. I waited for six months while he lied and cheated and went home to his wife. I became a shadow, sick with love and desperation, jealous and resentful. I did all the things I’ve read that women do—searched his pockets, checked his phone, looking for proof that he was going to leave her. I even followed him one Friday after he left work. He went to his son’s soccer match. He stood there on the sidelines and cheered his son while he had his arm around his wife, and when his son scored, he kissed her, and it wasn’t just a peck on the lips. And then I knew he wasn’t going to leave her.”
Somehow, I know this isn’t the end of the story. “What did you do?”
She scuffs her feet in the sand. “I went home, and that evening I picked up my phone and I rang his house, I spoke to his wife, and I told her that her husband was a lying, cheating bastard, and that we’d been having an affair.”
I feel a deep sense of sadness. Jess was clearly ashamed of her actions, even though it was possible she didn’t regret them. “Did she believe you?”
“Not at first, but eventually she started crying. I hung up then. Hours later, Alastair rang me and was livid—he yelled at me for ringing his home and speaking to his wife, and said that I didn’t need to come to work on Monday because I was fired. I told him he couldn’t do that and I’d take him to court. I said I’d smash all the windows of his sports car. I told him I’d sneak into his house and kill his wife’s cat and boil it in a pot on the stove.” Her lips curve up as she obviously sees alarm in my eyes. “I didn’t, of course. I’m not that crazy. I was angry. The anger went away. I just feel sad now. Sad and stupid.”
I blow out a long breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry you met me?”
“No. But I’m sorry you had to go through that. I hate hearing stories of cheating or violent men. They always make me feel ashamed of my sex.” I think about Meg, our PA at Katoa. She ran away from a violent relationship. When I first heard that, I wanted to hunt the guy down and beat him to a pulp, and then I felt shocked that it had aroused violent feelings within me. I’ve never hit a person in my life. Stratton and I are computer geeks—if we’ve been in a club and it’s looked as if a fight was about to break out, we’ve run the other way. How can men do things like this? How do they live with themselves? I’m finding it hell living with myself, and I haven’t done anything wrong.
“He lied to me, and it’s not my fault that I didn’t realize he was married at the beginning. But deep down I suspected something wasn’t right because he was secretive. I ignored it, though, because I wanted to be with him. When I found out he was married, I should have stopped it immediately. I should have said that when he broke up with her, I’d go out with him again. But I didn’t, and I’m ashamed of that. His wife looked nice. The kids were happy. And I ruined their Christmas.”
I offer her the last oyster, and when she shakes her head, I eat it and scrunch up the paper. I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “You didn’t cheat on his wife, Jess. He did that. He’s the one to blame if that relationship is ruined, not you.”
“Sorry, I know you’re being nice, but I don’t agree. Or at least, I only half agree. I have to take some of the blame.”
“You don’t think she deserves to know that her husband’s a cheating bastard?”
She thinks about that. “I don’t know.”
“Do you think you were the only one he cheated on her with?”
Twin spots of red appear on her cheekbones. “Ouch.”
“Sorry. I’m sure you were special to him.”
“No, you’re right. There might well have been others. And if I was that special to him, he would have left her for me, wouldn’t he?” She sighs and scuffs her feet again. “Not that I would have wanted that, I don’t think. I don’t want to be the kind of woman who breaks up marriages. She’s welcome to him. Now, I’m not even sure what I saw in him. I’ve been sad, but actually I don’t think it’s because I lost him. I think it’s because I lost the idea of him. Does that make sense?”
“Oh yes,” I say, because I know exactly what she means. “We all want to be wanted more than anything. It just seems that soul mates are in short supply right now.”
We stare out at the sea for a bit. Then I stand. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”
I put the rubbish in the bin as we pass it, and then we walk down the grassy bank and onto the sand. I’m still barefoot, the soles of my feet hardened after years as a child going shoeless, something that most kids in the ‘winterless north’ do because it’s so rarely cold. Jess slips off her jandals and hangs them from her left hand.
“Do you believe in soul mates?” she asks.
I lower my sunglasses against the afternoon glare. “Honestly? No. I think there’s a sliding scale and we get on better with some people and not so good with others. Maybe there’s one woman who’s nearer to a hundred percent than any other—I don’t know. I’m thirty-four tomorrow, and I’ve been out with my share of girls, but I’ve never been in love. I’d say it doesn’t exist, but I’ve seen other people who apparently feel that way about someone, so it must do. That makes me think that maybe I’m not capable of it.”
Jess frowns at me. “That’s a strange thing to say.”
“Well, I’ve read about it, seen it in the movies, watched other people. I feel bemused at the devotion they portray. I’ve never felt that. I’ve never not been able to sleep or eat because I can’t stop thinking about someone. I’ve never been apart from a girl and longed to be back with her. That’s what love is, isn’t it?”
She shrugs. “I suppose people feel different levels of intensity. My parents never showed any of those signs you mentioned. Maybe they did when they were first together, but by the time I was in my teens, there was nothing more than a kind of tired acceptance.”
I don’t miss her use of the past
tense—my parents never showed. I get the feeling she’s not in contact with them now. I wonder why?
She glances up at me. “What about your parents?”
“Yeah, they’re happy, although it’s tinged with sadness now. I’m guessing Hemi told you who Will was?”
“Yes.”
“It was four years ago, but it’s taken all of us a long time to get over. Will and I set up a gaming company with our best mate, Stratton, and his sister, Teddi. She was Will’s girlfriend.”
“Oh, and she lost him too.”
“Yeah. And she’s blind, so it’s not like she had it easy to begin with.”
“Good grief.”
Thinking of Teddi gives me a knot in my stomach. I clear my throat. “It’s been a tough time. Stratton’s moving on—he’s got a new girlfriend, and he seems happy. But Teddi and I are struggling, for various reasons. I suppose it will get better.” My voice shows my doubt.
“Yeah,” Jess says. “They say time heals, but sometimes I think that’s bullshit.”
I give a short laugh. “Yeah.”
“Rich, I get that you’ve had a hard time, but why do you think you’re not capable of love? You seem like a very warm person to me. Someone with a lot to give.”
“I don’t feel like that.” I look at the sea. Time’s passing, and it’ll only be a few hours before the sun begins to set. That was when Will died, just as the sun was turning the sky blood-red. I dread that moment, because it marks yet another year without him, yet another year where I’ve existed rather than lived.
Suddenly I feel reckless, impulsive. “Do you want to know how I feel?”
“Tell me.”
“We were identical twins. One egg split into two. We used to joke that we were one person divided at birth. As we grew up, Will was always the bold one, the courageous one. The risk taker. He was the one who got the girls. He was outgoing, witty, charming. It was as if he got all the positive character traits and I got all the negative ones. I didn’t feel it as much when he was alive, but since he’s been gone…” I hesitate, not sure how to put it into words.
“You’re standing in the shadows,” Jess says.
I look across at her, feeling as if I have a band around my chest. “Yes. And I hate him for that.”
Chapter Six
Jess
He was the one who got the girls. I wonder whether he’s referring to Teddi. Maybe Rich has feelings for her, but she chose his twin brother. That must have been hard.
Rich lets out a long, exhausted sigh. Then he gives me a puzzled look. “I’ve never told anyone else that.”
He puts a hand over his heart and rubs it in a circle, as if it hurts. I’m not sure he knows he’s doing it. “I can’t believe I said it out loud. You must think I’m a terrible person.”
“Hey, I’ve thought and done some stupid things in my life. I’m the last person who’s going to be judgmental.” I rub his arm, because I feel that he needs comfort, and touch is the best way I know to do that. “Look, I would never presume to tell anyone how they feel. But I would imagine that what you’re feeling is all part of the grief process. You know the five stages of grief? Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance? It seems to me that you’re still in stage two. Or maybe four. You haven’t reached five, anyway. You were a twin, for fuck’s sake. It can’t get much worse than that.”
His brow flickers. “I guess.”
“Maybe you were right and Will was outgoing, charismatic, and charming. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t those things, or that you don’t have qualities he didn’t possess. I think you’re charismatic, with those dark eyes that look right through me. I find you fascinating. Heck, I knew you wanted to be alone, but I haven’t been able to keep away from you. So don’t put yourself down too much.”
He looks at me, and his lips curve up. “You say exactly what’s on your mind, don’t you?”
“Maybe. Is that a bad thing?”
“Not at all. It’s refreshing. I get tired of the city, sometimes, of polite society, such as it is. You’re like the Northland personified—real, down to earth, and natural. A piece of summer.”
“I’ve never been called natural before. I do use deodorant, you know. I’m not that much of a hippie.”
He laughs. “You know what I mean. You’re unpretentious. I like that.”
I muse on that as we continue walking. I feel comfortable with this guy, something I haven’t felt with a man for a long time. I certainly didn’t feel it with Alastair. I don’t feel that Rich is expecting anything of me. I can just be myself, and wow, that’s refreshing.
We walk slowly, cooling our feet in the shallows. It’s late afternoon, the air hot and still. Across to the east, the clouds are thickening, the horizon blurring with rain.
“There’s a storm coming,” Rich says, looking out to sea.
“Yeah. Probably got a couple of hours before it hits.” I shove my hands in the pockets of my shorts. There’s a storm coming between Rich and me, too. Something’s brewing, but I don’t know if it’s in my head or if it’s real.
I know that today is the day his brother died. I can almost see Will’s ghost standing over him, so maybe he’s the oncoming storm, a cloud gathering in darkness and intensity that is going to burst at some point in a dazzling display of grief and emotion.
I wonder whether Rich is thinking about Will now. We’re nearing the end of the beach, and we should turn around, but I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to watch the unhappiness sweep over him again, not yet.
“Have you seen the Rainbow Warrior memorial?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “I haven’t seen much of the area at all.”
“You want to see it?”
He nods. He doesn’t want to go back either, I think.
We reach the end of the sand, where the pohutukawa trees fill the banks with their distinctive red Christmas flowers, and we turn left and follow the path around the holiday park and onto Putataua Bay. Then we climb up the cliff to the memorial of the Greenpeace protest ship. It consists of an arch of basalt boulders which casts a rainbow-shaped shadow on the ground. The Warrior’s propeller is attached to the central pillar, solid and stationary, a heart that will never beat again.
Rich drops to his haunches to read the plaque, and does so in fluent Maori. “I hapaitia te kaupapa ete whanau o ngatikura oti ra nga te iwi whanui tonu.”
I kneel beside him to read it in English. “A tribute to the Rainbow Warrior and her crew in their endeavours for peace, conservation and a nuclear free planet.”
“Tell me about it,” he says. “I’m guessing you know all the details.”
“I do. It was blown up in Auckland Harbour in 1985 by two operatives from the French foreign intelligence service. They were hoping to derail the Greenpeace campaign against French nuclear testing in the Pacific.”
“What’s it doing here?”
“She was refloated so she could be given a forensic examination, then scuttled off the Cavalli Islands. She’s used as a living reef—a dive wreck.”
“I bet you would have been on that boat if you were a teen back then,” he says with a smile.
“Absolutely I would have. I’m extremely proud of our country’s efforts to remain anti-nuclear, even though it’s cost us.”
“Yeah, I don’t think the French or British like us much. Or the U.S.”
“It’s a price I think most New Zealanders are willing to pay if it means we can remain nuclear-free.”
“Are you a member of Greenpeace?” he asks.
We begin the walk back down to the beach. “No. I wanted to get involved, but life always seemed to get in the way. I know that sounds like an excuse. It is an excuse, I suppose. I’m one of those people who’s full of ideas and plans, but rarely puts them into action.” I stop, seeing Maria’s shaking finger in my mind’s eye.
I wait for him to scold me for being negative, but to my surprise he just says, “Are you religious?”
“I don
’t have religion but I have faith. I believe in something beyond this world, some greater power, I suppose. Are you?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I used to be. I’m not anymore.”
The sky’s turning dark to the east, and at that moment a rumble of thunder echoes, far off in the distance. I don’t mind storms, but for some reason it makes me shiver.
“Is that to do with Will?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate. He gestures to the tattoo on my wrist—what’s called the horned goddess, a full moon with a crescent moon to either side. “You’re a pagan?”
“Kind of.” I examine the tattoo. “My parents were very religious. I rebelled against that in my teens. Then in my twenties, I met someone, a friend, who was a Wiccan, and much of what she taught me made sense. I got this as a symbol, a reminder to myself that I had to make my own way in the world, and I wasn’t bound to my parents and their views. I do believe a lot of what Maria taught me. I find comfort in it when things are hard.”
“Because you believe you’ll be rewarded in the afterlife?”
I give him a wry look. “So you think religion is the opiate of the masses?”
Rich grins. “To be fair, in context, Marx also says religion is ‘the heart of a heartless world, just as it is the spirit of a spiritless situation.’ He was saying that religion provides solace, so it does have purpose. But when it fails to provide that solace it makes us question everything, and then we feel worse because we’ve lost our belief system. And we feel even more alone.” He stops abruptly, as if he feels he’s said too much.
We walk for some time in silence. I think about the faith he’s lost, and that makes me think of mine. I try not to question too much, because it’s hard when I don’t have the answers. Faith means having spiritual conviction rather than proof, doesn’t it? I want to believe there’s a purpose behind everything, and that I haven’t suffered in vain. I don’t want to believe this is all pointless.
This bay is much smaller, and when we reach the end, we turn around and start heading south again. To our left, the sky is the color of treacle on the horizon, but the clouds are thick and navy blue as they head inland. It’s a beautiful sky, like a Turner painting. We’re in for one hell of a storm.
My New Year Fling: A Sexy Christmas Billionaire Romance (Love Comes Later Book 2) Page 5