And finished! Even as she relaxed herself for that final, total submission, he was gone. No word, no warning, and certainly no apology. The instant she reached the pinnacle, the ultimate, absolute summit of her need, Wyatt simply let her go, got up and walked away.
Discarded shirt dangling from his hand, he was across the room and out the door, even closing it softly behind him, before the first tear fell.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was a lifetime before Justine could move, an eternity before the well of tears ran dry and her discarded body once again began to regain a semblance of life.
She managed, somehow, to get herself into the bathroom and under the stinging needles of the shower without having to face herself in any mirror, and she stood there like a drooping flower as the water vainly tried to wash away the soil of Wyatt’s scorn.
She soaped and rinsed and soaped again, laving every inch of her skin, double-shampooing her hair, but still the touch of him was on her. It would be, she realised, for ever.
And she hated him. Hated him with all the passion that had earlier throbbed with love and caring and need. She wanted to kill him, destroy him, chop him into minuscule pieces. She wanted to see him suffer, to see her own revenge as strong and as hateful and as hurtful as his had been.
But she didn’t want ever to see him again. And as she listlessly sat drying her hair, spending nearly an hour at the thankless task, she knew she had no real alternative.
Already she was late for the cooking activities in the kitchens below. She couldn’t, much as she wanted it, simply walk away from Wyatt’s with the tattered shreds of her pride. She had a responsibility to her students, to her customers, and even, she supposed, to herself.
So she wasn’t yet through with Wyatt’s, although she would certainly do her best to ensure that she was through with Wyatt himself. Somewhere inside her an icy veneer was already forming over her shame, cloaking her humiliation in a freezing covering that would protect her.
When she finally dressed and hurried down the long staircase, only her eyes and the bruised softness of her mouth were visual evidence of how she felt inside.
And, luckily, she reached the kitchen without Wyatt in it, and even without meeting him on the way. She was greeted enthusiastically by her staff, though she noticed that most of them turned away quickly, returning to their work and even making unnecessary work because it meant they didn’t have to say anything about her obvious wounding.
Only Peter could do that, and he was wise enough to say nothing. But his eyes showed that he, too, had noticed, and that he was concerned and worried, but too sensitive to intrude on what was so obviously private.
Instead, he did his best to buoy up her spirits with news, good news from his viewpoint and therefore good news for Justine, although Wyatt might have disagreed.
‘Damned good thing you got me home when you did, last night.’ he chuckled. ‘You’ll never guess what I found waiting for me when I got to my room.’
Justine, too emotional to think clearly, made the required three guesses without much spirit, but laughed delightedly when he announced the real answer.
‘Sue!’ And his happiness glowed like an inner lamp. ‘She got in not five minutes ahead of me. I was going to bring her along today. She wants to meet you, of course, but I wasn’t sure of the house rules about extra visitors. Besides, she had relatives to visit today, so we’re coming out to dinner one night this week. And on Sunday, when you can be free, I’d like to take both of you — and Wyatt, of course — out to dinner somewhere different.’
‘Oh, Peter ... I ... I just can’t promise that,’ she replied, knowing he wouldn’t understand because she couldn’t tell him. ‘But certainly come here one night. I’d love to meet Sue, I really would. If only to tell her how extremely lucky I think she is.’
‘Flattery will get you anywhere,’ he grinned. ‘And now I’ll leave you for a bit. I’ve got a touch of business to talk over with Wyatt, but I’ll see you when the meal’s ready.’
‘All right,’ she said. And then, as he was halfway to the door, ‘Peter! Hang on a minute. I’ve ... a favour to ask. It’s very presumptuous, but I ... I just must.’
‘You want to know if that job offer’s still open? Of course it is, more than ever. Except I presume you’ll want to be joining our Melbourne operation, not stay in Sydney?’
Justine smiled. How very understanding, how kind he was. ‘I do think Melbourne would be better,’ she replied softly.
‘Your privilege,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘Do you want me to broach the subject with Wyatt? I will, despite it being against my better judgment.’
‘N ... no, I think that’s something I’ll have to do myself,’ Justine faltered. ‘If I can, that is, and I guess I’ll have to.’
‘It would probably be best,’ he agreed, ‘but if I get a chance I’ll mention to him that I’m going to make every attempt to steal you away. Don’t worry, I won’t even mention we’ve talked about it, but it might make your task a bit easier when the time comes if he knows there’s seriousness on both sides.’
Obviously he didn’t get such an opportunity that afternoon or at least he said nothing during the apprentices’ dinner that evening. The dinner was delightful, as good as Justine herself might have prepared; Which didn’t explain at all why it tasted like sawdust and old rags instead of spicy, rich cannelloni con ricotta.
The only saving grace was Wyatt’s absence. Without that, Justine thought, she’d not only have been unable to taste the food, she’d have been physically sick as well. Gloria, too, was absent, but Justine hardly noticed that except in passing.
She saw Wyatt once on Tuesday, twice on Wednesday and again on Thursday, but on none of those occasions did he speak to her or even offer a greeting. His eyes were like ice chips and his manner hard, diamond-hard, as if his entire being was closed off against her.
Justine herself was an automaton. She did her work, tried her best to be pleasant when required, but in reality she was little more than a walking cooking machine, her life bounded by her kitchen and her upstairs flat.
It wasn’t until the Friday evening, when Peter brought his Sue to dinner at Wyatt’s, that Justine’s own personal prison was forcibly shattered.
It was no surprise that they were coming; she had had a personal phone call from Peter to arrange both their booking and their preferences. These, he said, were ‘entirely up to you—Chefs Choice.’
Justine spent most of the afternoon on a wide range of speciality dishes, was pleasantly satisfied when each one turned out exactly as she had planned, and was even more pleased when she got the message that Peter would like her to come and meet Sue whenever she could break free.
The only bad part was that Wyatt, as she might have expected but hadn’t, was already with Peter and Sue at their table.
Justine halted in her tracks. They hadn’t seen her yet, could she possibly make a retreat, send some flimsy excuse to put off the occasion? Too late. Wyatt, at least, had seen her, although his fathomless black eyes gave no hint of recognition.
That alone didn’t matter, but she knew he would wreak a horrible vengeance if she had the rudeness and temerity to snub his friends — and hers, even if he didn’t know that.
To hell with him! The thought echoed over and over in her mind as she squared her shoulders and advanced on the table. She had to forcibly restrain it, in fact, lest those be the first words to escape when she opened her mouth.
‘Justine!’ Peter rose to his feet and took her hand, bending to kiss it with his usual gallantry and then immediately introducing Justine to his Sue. Wyatt didn’t even rise from his seat, and Justine, determined she could be as ruthlessly cold as he, blankly ignored his presence as if he didn’t exist.
For Sue, however, she had a warm and friendly smile that was honestly and genuinely returned.
‘I’m horribly jealous of you,’ Sue said immediately, and from the corner of her eye Justine caught a self- satisfied smirk gro
wing on Wyatt’s lips.
‘I am, you know.’ the younger girl continued. ‘Peter has talked so much about you that I shouldn’t be jealous, especially after you were so kind on Sunday night and sent him off just in time to meet me. I wasn’t jealous then, of course, but now that I’ve seen you I’m surprised he went home at all.’
Realisation of what she’d said made Sue blush vividly. ‘Oh, that wasn’t what I meant at all,’ she gushed. ‘It’s just that ... oh, I’m making a horrible muddle! I always do.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about it,’ Justine replied with a smile as she forced herself not to look, even for an instant, towards Wyatt. ‘Both of us had already had a long, long day on Sunday, so an early night was really called for. I’m just pleased it turned out so well for you two.’
There was the slightest emphasis there, not enough to alert or alarm Sue, or even Peter. But Wyatt caught it, Justine’s peripheral vision picked up just the slightest flicker of taut neck muscle.
‘Oh, it certainly did,’ Sue replied with another, this time very revealing blush. ‘I was so sorry to hear about your problems, though. It must have been terribly frightening, being stranded like that in the middle of the night.’
‘And then to have to book into a hotel,’ Peter added. ‘Really, Justine, I’m still a bit angry that you didn’t telephone me instead; we could have arranged something. At the very least you might have phoned Wyatt; he’s usually quite good in emergencies.’
Justine grinned. Her inner resources were suddenly alive with sheer, lovely vengeance. Wyatt was almost visibly squirming in his seat now. He knew! He knew now that all of his accusations were false, that his ... his rape of that afternoon, however unconsummated, was totally unjustified.
To hell with him! ‘Wyatt,’ she said without so much as a glance in Wyatt’s direction, ‘was quite obviously too busy that evening to be worrying about me. Besides, I’m pretty hard, according to some people. I could cope and I did.’
Squirm, you devil. Squirm and wriggle, and I hope you die, she thought. But don’t you dare try to apologise, not now; not ever. Because I’ll throw it in your face and make you eat it. With mushrooms.
‘Well, I have to admit I was surprised when I arrived on Monday and found you’d only just got here ahead of me,’ Peter told her. ‘You could have saved me the cab fare, not that I couldn’t afford it or anything.’
Justine had a ready reply, and although she ached to throw it out like a slap in Wyatt’s face, she didn’t. She couldn’t, not without possibly hurting Sue or Peter, and she wasn’t prepared to debase her friendship just for a crack at Wyatt.
‘Well, it all worked out satisfactorily in the end,’ she quipped finally, and was mightily amused to see that even that seemed to register with Wyatt.
Justine looked in his direction then, not at him, but past him to where Possum hovered expectantly. It took only a slightly raised eyebrow to have Possum scampering for fresh drinks for the table and a glass of Justine’s favourite wine for the chef, and Justine returned her attention to Peter and Sue without even having to meet Wyatt’s eyes.
Again, it was Sue with her youthful, innocent enthusiasm who picked up the conversation and once again afforded Justine a vengeful comment.
‘I have to say that I just loved the interview you did with that ... oh, what’s her name? It doesn’t matter anyway, because what I wanted to say was that I found your description of Wyatt a bit ... much?’
‘Oh, I thought it was quite tame, myself,’ Justine replied. ‘But then there’s a limit to the kind of language you can use in a family publication.’
Sue’s eyes widened. Then she smiled. ‘Oh, you’re just joking, of course,’ she said. ‘Even after all Peter’s told me, I can’t imagine Wyatt being that much of a chauvinist.’
‘Oh, he hides it well ... rather like his age,’ Justine replied. And while everyone but herself laughed, Wyatt’s laughter was hollow, chilling and dangerous.
‘What Justine really means is that I’m somewhat intolerant,’ he said, speaking up for the first time. ‘She finds it very, very easy to remember that I was, admittedly, opposed to hiring a female chef. But she just as easily forgets that I did hire her, regardless of my better judgment, and that I only occasionally regret it.’
Like now, I’ll bet, Justine thought angrily. But she didn’t have to speak, because Wyatt still held the floor.
‘It’s just unfortunate that she doesn’t forgive as easily as she forgets.,’ he said, and she was somehow impelled to meet the fire of his eyes. And fire there was! His eyes were fairly blazing with an unholy, diabolical light.
Was he trying to tell her something? Well, too bad, she thought. I don’t even want to know. But she did know. His words might have been generally directed at his audience, but they were aimed solely at her.
‘Actually,’ she said, speaking very, very carefully, ‘Wyatt isn’t nearly as bad as some bosses I’ve known. A friend of mine once got tangled up with a boss who had the nerve to accuse her of sleeping with one of his friends. Her boss had seen her out with the fellow, but he didn’t realise that on her way home she’d had a car breakdown, much like mine. She was late for work next day and he went totally off his brain with accusations.’
She paused so long, not only for effect but to cautiously structure her thoughts, that Sue broke in to ask what had happened.
‘She must have been furious,’ said Sue, but Justine noticed Peter sliding back in his seat so that his lady’s figure hid his own face from Wyatt. He knew. And so did Wyatt, of course. If looks could kill I’d be dead, thought Justine.
‘Oh, it wasn’t too bad,’ she continued. ‘She was a bit of a cold fish anyway. She merely stood up to him as best she could, then got even later. She fed him mushrooms—poisoned mushrooms.’
There was a gasp from Peter, who immediately grabbed up his napkin to cover his face. ‘Sorry,’ he said when he finally emerged all red in the face. ‘Bit of wine went down the wrong way, that’s all.’ Wyatt seemed not to notice, but Justine, who could hardly keep a straight face herself, went in mortal terror for the next few moments, afraid Peter would break up entirely.
He nearly did, too, when his fiancé, either amazingly perceptive or startlingly naïve — Justine thought it likely the former — turned to Wyatt and asked with a perfectly straight face, ‘Aren’t you glad now that you don’t like mushrooms, Wyatt?’
Give the devil his due, Justine thought as she struggled with every vestige of control to keep from giggling herself, Wyatt Burns was cool. Better than cool. He never so much as cracked a smile as he replied with equal calm.
‘Actually, Sue, I had been starting to develop a taste for them,’ he said. ‘But I think Justine has rather put me off them again, at least for the moment.’
And he looked squarely at Justine, a look of haughty superiority that screamed ‘Nyah!’ in total silence. It was as if he was daring her to keep trying to needle him.
Too bad, mate. I don’t do anything that you want, she thought, and immediately dropped all the word games and began making noises about returning to her duties.
‘Don’t be silly, Justine,’ Wyatt snapped before anyone else could speak. ‘All your main courses are done and if you’re needed they know damned well where you are, anyway.’
It was an order, and a poorly disguised one at that, judging from Peter’s flickering eyebrows. ‘I told you so, even warned you,’ said his expression, and Justine replied with a look that shouted quite clearly, ‘And I wish I’d listened.’
But the look she gave Wyatt held no such message. Nor did her voice when she finally spoke. ‘Well, if it’s going to be a party, perhaps you’d allow me to slip up and change,’ she said. ‘Or would you rather I just stayed and felt silly dressed like this?’
Oh, that horrid, wolfish grin! Teeth ... the better to eat you with, my dear. And that half-raised eyebrow, mocking, sceptical, alluring.
‘Perhaps you’d like me to see you safely upstairs,’ he said, and the in
nuendo dripped like venom ... or was it nectar?
The look Justine shot him was one of pure, undiluted contempt. Wasn’t it? Well, it was supposed to be, although his face didn’t reveal much.
‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any great danger,’ she said, and added silently, ‘so long as you’re down here.’ And he heard it, silent or no. There was a single flash of anger in those eyes.
At least, she thought, this time both Peter and Wyatt rose politely at her departure. She fled to her room and quickly unpinned her hair, shrugging it into a golden cloud as she reached into the wardrobe to pull out the dress. The dress, the same silky caftan Wyatt had so skilfully removed from her during his attack on Monday.
She was back in the dining room within minutes, striding through the room with an unexpected but exciting awareness that every man in the room was staring as she passed.
Even Wyatt! Especially Wyatt, and he wasn’t only just staring; he was getting her message loud and clear and straight. And Justine wished she could shout it at him, right out loud, despite it being so obscene she felt uncomfortable even thinking in such language.
When he politely rose to hold out her chair, she stayed resolutely on her feet until he finally let go of it, allowing her to seat herself at only the cost of a black scowl as he slid into his own chair.
And the same to you, she thought, smiling at him in a gesture that deliberately added insult to injury.
The rest of the evening fairly flew past, with Peter, Sue and Justine doing virtually all of the talking while Wyatt grew increasingly withdrawn. Not that he visibly displayed his moodiness; he seemed merely content to sit back and let the others carry the conversation.
It meant that Justine was deprived of further opportunities to needle him, which she had already decided to do in any event, but it didn’t stop Peter.
Justine stopped Peter. This was her game, she decided, and at his first attempt to slip in a sly dig at Wyatt she so positively deflected his attempt that he immediately got the message.
They sat until the restaurant was virtually empty, and it wasn’t until Wyatt casually suggested that they could dance if anyone was interested that Justine felt the first flutterings of panic.
Dinner at Wyatt's Page 15
