by Tory Hayward
I nodded. A tiny sliver of relief unfolded in my chest.
‘I have contacts there too,’ I said. ‘This matter is very delicate, we … I have to be very careful.’
‘Yeah.’ Unconcerned, Jack hoisted his bag over his shoulder. ‘I’ll go and uncheck myself in.’
‘There’s a Singapore Airlines flight tomorrow morning to Myanmar. I want to be on it.’
‘Okay.’ He threw the words over his shoulder as he walked away in the direction of the Qantas desk.
Chapter Twenty
We drove in silence back to the lower North Shore. I focused on the busy Sydney traffic. Jack slumped down in his seat, his head cradled in his hands. He had to have a stunning headache; I had little sympathy. I wondered if he was concussed.
‘Are you concussed?’ I asked.
He shut one eye and waved a finger about in front of his face. ‘Eighty-three per cent sure I’m not.’
‘Brilliant method of diagnosis.’ I examined him out of the corner of my eye. The last thing I needed was Jack Jones with a brain injury. Not that I was convinced he even had a brain.
‘Works for me.’ He sounded amused, and reasonably un-brain injured. ‘The only time I’ve been concussed I saw about six fingers where there was only one, so now it’s my tried and tested diagnosis method. One finger and all is fine.’
I nodded. It made sense.
‘I could use a drink though.’ He glanced out the window, up at the cloudless blue sky as I drove through the leafy streets of Mosman.
I knew what he meant, but wasn’t letting him off the hook. ‘It’s 11 am.’
‘So?’
I glanced sideways at him as I took the Jag down the driveway and into the four-car garage beneath my home. Humour danced in his eyes.
‘You are hilarious.’
‘One of us has to be,’ he said drolly.
I glared at him. He wasn’t forgiven. Not even slightly. He needed to quit with all the cheerful quips and act properly remorseful.
He dumped his rucksack on a chair beside the large table in the kitchen, turned to look at me, swayed slightly and raised a hand to his head.
‘Sit.’ I pushed him into a chair, and grabbed the first-aid box from the pantry.
‘Take these.’ I found painkillers in the box, handed him the packet and grabbed him a bottle of water from the fridge.
He swallowed them obediently.
‘Uh-oh,’ he said as I filled a bowl with warm water and added a dash of antiseptic.
‘You’ve got a nasty cut on your head, you might bleed on my house. Do you want to do it yourself?’
‘It’ll make you feel better if you do it. It’s going to sting like hell and you look like you’ll get some satisfaction out of that.’ He looked suitably martyred. ‘They hit me in the back of the head, I must’ve cut my forehead when I landed on the floor.’
I pressed an antiseptic-soaked cotton pad to the cut and waited for him to flinch. Which he duly did.
‘Ow,’ he said, so sardonically that I had to force a stern expression to hide a smile. No way was I going to be amused, charmed, delighted or anything else. No. Way.
Damn the handcuffing, face-spraying, jewel-stealing bastard.
No way was I going to give him a hint of the way my senses were reacting to his closeness, either. My anger wasn’t going to be diluted because I kept remembering when we’d kissed, just hours before.
My breath shuddered as awareness trickled down my spine, and my traitorous nipples tightened. Damn them too.
A few minutes later, and after some wincing, muttered complaining and injured puppy dog looks from Jack, I stuck a bandaid over the cut and declared him fixed. I did feel a bit better.
A noise, upstairs, made us glance at each other.
I relaxed when I heard Libby’s voice.
‘Are you alive?’ She bellowed, her very Australian accent giving the last word a characteristic twang.
‘Down here,’ I shouted, and within a moment Libby appeared through the door.
‘Hey.’ She nodded at Jack when she saw him. Then peered more closely when she saw the cut on his forehead. ‘Superficial damage only, well done.’ She gave me a look of approval.
‘Don’t look at me.’ I held my hands up innocently. ‘I haven’t touched him.’
‘A hench-goon did it.’ Jack produced a look of suffering that would’ve made the most stoic woman’s heart melt.
Unfortunately for him, Libby was a nurse, and took a pretty dim view of anyone looking for sympathy who hadn’t earned it. ‘Well, at least the hench-goon went for a bit of you that you don’t use often,’ she said.
‘Have we met before?’ Jack narrowed his eyes at her.
‘I know your type.’
‘Oh, my type.’ His eyebrows nearly hit the bandaid.
‘Hey, you got rid of the handcuffs, that’s good.’ Lib looked from me to Jack with an enquiring expression. ‘Or not,’ she added after a pause.
‘How’s Nathan?’ Unwilling to discuss handcuffs, I redirected the conversation.
Libby wandered over to the window and stared out at the view of the harbour with its sparkling water and white yachts. ‘He’s writing you an email, to say thank you about the mortgage.’
She lifted a hand to her face, and I thought she wiped away a tear, though I couldn’t see properly. ‘He was speechless.’ Her voice wobbled.
Yes. Tears. She was crying. Dammit.
Lib glanced at Jack. ‘He never stops talking usually, Nathan. He talks in his sleep. Really, it’s true. The hospital staff all comment on it. Chats away,’ she hesitated. ‘Or he sobs sometimes. Now.’
I kept my expression neutral, knowing from Libby’s carefully spoken words that her grip on her self-control was tenuous and uncontrollable sobbing lurked close beneath the surface. She was a wreck. She had been for months.
Fuck cancer.
Fuck it to hell.
‘So, thank you.’ She turned brimming eyes on me, barely able to get the words out. ‘I’m sorry I yelled.’
I grinned. ‘Didn’t expect any other reaction. I would’ve been disappointed if you’d done anything less.’
‘I have to go.’ Lib blinked quickly, wiped her face on the sleeve of her shirt, and took a shuddering breath. ‘I’m late to pick the boys up.’
‘I’m going away,’ I said. I always told Lib when I went.
Lib nodded, unsurprised by this. She was used to my coming and goings. ‘I’ll miss you.’ She glanced at Jack again, speculation in her eyes. ‘You’re not taking him, are you?’
I wasn’t sure what to say, and unfortunately our silence confirmed everything.
‘I’ve got that big meeting about Nathan next week. To get the latest test results. Will you be there?’
‘I promise.’
Lib laughed suddenly, strangled and high-pitched. ‘Couldn’t do this without her,’ she said to Jack. ‘Look after her for me. I couldn’t survive this without her.’
‘Go get the boys.’
Bloody Lib. Always gushing all this emotional stuff all over the place, even though she knows I hate it.
Hugging me and winking at Jack, Lib hurried out.
Chapter Twenty-One
‘You’ve found a buyer for the jewels?’ Jack broke the silence that lingered after Lib had left.
‘No.’ I didn’t elaborate.
‘Not going to tell me?’
If I mentioned Dad, Jack would be out the door and back on his Qantas plane to England. No way would he help me if he knew it’d save the man who’d put him in so much danger. But going to Myanmar without him would be all kinds of stupid.
I glanced at him. Eyes resting on his lips.
That kiss.
No. No kissing.
For Christ’s sake, what was wrong with me?
Going to Myanmar with him might be all kinds of stupid as well.
‘I’ll tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it,’ I said.
‘Okay.’ The interest
faded from his face, replaced by a neutral expression that showed none of his thoughts.
‘I need to work. I’ll show you the guest room; there’s a desk, wi-fi, whatever you need.’ I jerked my chin towards the door.
‘I know you’re angry, Merry.’ The guilt was clear in his expression. He glanced away, at the view, and then back to me. ‘I am sorry. I will make it up to you.’
I glared at him. ‘Just come to Myanmar and then get out of my life.’
I stalked out of the kitchen.
***
Half an hour later, a footstep outside my door made me tense and glance up from the map of Myanmar I was studying. A light knock confirmed my least favourite man in the world had come to visit.
‘Merry?’
‘What do you want?’ I snapped.
‘I’ve brought you a coffee. And toast.’
I screwed up my face. Toast?
I let the silence lengthen and didn’t get up from my desk.
‘It’s a peace offering,’ he said through the door.
I rolled my eyes. Which was kind of pointless as he couldn’t see through wood.
‘Come in,’ I said, as ungraciously as I could.
The handle turned and he came in slowly, balancing a plate on top of a mug.
‘It took me a while to figure out the coffee machine,’ he said, placing the mug and plate on a stack of seventeenth century manuscripts from a monastery in Scotland. I winced and picked them up quickly.
The coffee smelled wonderful, and he’d brought me Vegemite toast, perfectly Vegemited ... not too little, not too much, spread evenly to the edges of the slice of white bread, and after the butter had melted and soaked in. The man knew how to Vegemite, I conceded that.
It did not make up for his other sins. Not at all.
I stood, for lack of anything else useful to do.
‘Vegemite,’ I said. I wanted to hand the peace offering back, but the toast looked too good. I put the plate down on a clear spot of desk and waited for him to leave.
He didn’t appear to be intending to move.
‘Thank you,’ I said, sounding as dismissive as I could.
‘Give me another chance, Merry. Please?’
I hadn’t expected him to be so forthright, his words startled me slightly.
‘I don’t give chances.’ It was the truth. ‘And you’ve had two, and you’ve blown them both.’
‘I know you understand why I did it.’ The utter conviction in his voice was reflected in his expression.
I wanted to yell Go To Hell at him, because he was right. I did understand, and the guilt over my father’s involvement was making it hard to maintain my outrage.
‘You don’t know me at all. Don’t assume I empathise with anything.’
I bit into the toast. Watching him, and pretending to be nonchalant.
He shrugged slightly, as if to say ‘your move.’
Picking up a nearby basket of pot shards, I shoved it at him. Thinking I might as well keep him occupied instead of hovering around me making inflammatory comments. He took the basket and examined its contents with interest.
‘Make yourself useful.’ I tossed him a tube of PVA adhesive and he caught it in his free hand.
‘Okay. But I haven’t repaired pots since—’ he hesitated.
‘Since when?’ I asked, curious at the way he’d stopped speaking so abruptly.
‘Since I was doing my degree at Oxford.’ The reluctance to make this admission was as obvious in his voice as his face.
‘Think you remember what to do?’
‘More or less,’ he said.
We worked in silence for probably twenty minutes.
I spent a lot of time focused on my laptop screen, trying to pretend that all my senses were NOT attuned to Jack as he looked over the pot shards and began to arrange them, like a 3D puzzle.
I researched Myanmar, but time and again my concentration ebbed and my mind filled with Jack Jones, question after question popped into my mind.
He shifted in his seat, just a little, but the tiny noise startled me.
‘Why did you come with me? Why aren’t you on a plane home?’ The words burst out.
He twisted around, looking surprised.
‘Because I owe you I. I feel—’
‘You’re so full of crap.’ I zeroed in for the attack. ‘You just want to grab the jewels and return them to the Indonesian government. Don’t you.’
‘No I—’ He looked startled, but I saw with satisfaction there was a hint of culpability in his expression.
‘Forget it. I made a mistake. I can do this on my own. You should leave. I’ll call you a taxi.’
‘I’d be lying if I said getting the jewels to the Indonesian government hadn’t crossed my mind. They should go back to where they belong.’
‘I’ll call you a taxi,’ I said again, grimly.
‘I’ve missed my plane. I’m not going anywhere. I want to know where the jewels end up.’
He put the shard he had in his hand down. Then turned the chair so he faced me properly.
‘Merry. Do you want to know why I’m here, why I’m really here?’
I nodded; finally, the truth. ‘Of course.’
‘Because I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you on the beach, digging for the jewels. Because—’
‘Spare me.’ I rolled my eyes. Tried to push frostiness in front of him, to keep hidden the tingling burst of emotion his words created. ‘I will not fall for your bullshit.’
‘It’s not bullshit.’ His quiet sincerity peeled away every defence I had. ‘I’m coming to Myanmar whether you like it or not. I should never have walked away from you in Chinatown, not after everything you did for me there.’
‘I don’t trust you.’ I threw it at him, even though, despite everything, I did. I would not have gone to the airport if I didn’t.
‘I don’t blame you,’ he said. ‘But you can trust me. I’m not going to set you up, steal the jewels and leave you in Myanmar.’
‘I’m exchanging them for my father.’
The silence rang between us. Emotion flickered in his blue eyes, but faded quickly.
‘For my father,’ I said again, in case he had missed it. Victory was just a breath away. I’d played my trump card. ‘The man who stole the jewels from Wuu. The man who got your partner, Dan, in so much trouble.’
‘I heard.’
Silence again. He just looked me, his face closed, blue eyes searching my expression.
Then he nodded with a satisfied air, like the pieces had slipped into place. ‘I understand. Finally all this makes sense. They’ve got your dad. He’s been kidnapped.’
‘So I’ll call you that taxi?’ I didn’t hide the note of challenge.
‘If I wanted to leave, I’d leave.’
Confusion swept over me. This was where he walked out. This was where he took himself out of the door, out of my life and left me in peace.
‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘It’s alright.’
‘No it isn’t.’ I screwed up my nose. This was not playing out the way I’d anticipated. The understanding and empathy in his face, which for a ridiculous moment made me want to throw my arms around his neck and sob out the whole horrible story, was not what I’d expected. There had been no hard words, threats or accusations, and I wasn’t sure what to do.
‘I don’t understand … What do you want?’ I looked at him in confusion. ‘Nothing is making sense.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re not very good at this, are you?’
‘Good at what?’
‘Being attracted to someone, showing emotion, confiding in someone, interacting with other humans …’
He was completely wrong. I interacted with people successfully all the time. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’
‘Well, I’m sure I can think of a way to help you understand. Let’s go down to the kitchen. It’s lunchtime. You didn’t finish your toast. I’ll make some more coffee, we’ll talk.’
>
‘Coffee?’ I wasn’t used to other people taking charge. I wasn’t used to people saying things about emotions. I wasn’t used to feeling like I wasn’t on my own.
He stood. But instead of heading out the door, he came around the desk. I stood up. Then wasn’t sure why, and sat again.
He stepped close to my chair and leaned down, so that his eyes were on a level with mine, so I couldn’t escape his gaze. He could kiss me if he wanted, just by lowering his lips onto mine. My breath caught.
‘There, in the edges of your eyes.’ He smoothed a thumb over my cheekbone. ‘I can see fear.’
The word hung in the air between us. I couldn’t breathe. I recoiled back.
‘You see nothing.’
Though I knew he did. I knew exactly what he’d seen. My terror. Of getting close to him. Of connecting with him. Of ending up like my mother. Withering away in my father’s shadow, playing second fiddle to his obsessions and endless quests. Starving quietly, in love with a man who could never fully love me back, and trying to numb my shattered heart with alcohol.
‘Tell me what scares you?’ He lightened the question with a half smile, but there was seriousness behind it.
‘You.’ I met his eye, it was the truth. He terrified me. But I’d never tell him why. ‘You break into my beach house, stalk me, handcuff me and then spray me with some vile drug. So now I’m scared of you and you are only here because I have no other choice. Understand?’
‘Ah, Lioness, you know why I did it. I’m sorry. I’m asking you to forgive me.’
‘No.’ But there was no anger in the word. ‘Why should I?’ I whispered.
‘Because you want to. You just won’t let yourself admit it.’
‘There’s nothing to admit.’ I couldn’t look at him, afraid that meeting his eyes would be an admission.
***
‘Come on then.’ He straightened, grinned and gestured to the door. ‘Coffee time.’
He stopped as he reached the door. ‘It’s going to be okay, Merry, I’ll prove you can trust me. We’ll work it out.’
‘We? How can you make all these assumptions—’ The protest died on my lips as he walked out. He wasn’t listening anyway.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘Sit.’ He gestured to the kitchen table and turned his attention to the elaborate coffee maker that was Dad’s pride and joy.