In the Rich Man's World

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘I’ve got a message from Vaughan—something came up; he’s not going to be able to meet you.’

  Amelia waited for further explanation—the offer of an apology, even—but apparently Katy had said all she was going to. Already she was making to go, clearly satisfied that her message was delivered. But an hour and a half of sitting alone in the hotel bar nursing a lonely glass of champagne had Amelia’s patience hanging by a thread.

  ‘Did he say anything else?’ Watching as the woman slowly turned, her eyes taking in the champagne bottle, the empty chair and glass, Amelia felt her cheeks darken. She cleared her throat to ensure her next sentence would be delivered in slightly less needy tones.

  ‘Something came up.’ Katy raised her palms to the ceiling. ‘You know what Vaughan’s like.’

  Only she didn’t.

  The Vaughan who had sat on her bed this morning would no more have stood her up so coldly than fly to the moon—and yet, Amelia reminded herself, the Vaughan she’d glimpsed last night, the Vaughan she’d read about over the years, was more than capable of sending his PA to terminate things.

  ‘Is there anything I can help you with?’ Katy offered, her voice bordering on sympathetic as Amelia attempted a dignified shake of her head. ‘Frankly, I’m surprised you’re still here. I got the impression from Vaughan that your article was already in. Was there something you wanted to double check? I’m pretty well versed on everything…’

  But Amelia wasn’t listening. Her attention had been drawn to the foyer and, perhaps realising she’d lost her audience, Katy turned around too, following Amelia’s gaze, watching in knowing silence as Vaughan entered the lobby.

  As Amelia’s world literally fell apart.

  His hair for once was tousled, his tie loosened, white cotton shirtsleeves casually rolled up. But worse, far worse, was the fact he wasn’t wearing his jacket. Instead it was draped around the shoulders of the beautiful woman Amelia had seen in the corridor yesterday. Her dark exotic features mocked Amelia a thousand times over, her tiny fragile body, her legs surely too thin to hold her up. But what did it matter when Vaughan was practically carrying her, one arm possessively draped around her shoulders, guiding her towards the lift?

  Amelia’s mind flailed for a reasonable explanation, begged, despite the blatant evidence, that perhaps she’d got it wrong. But as they reached the lift doors and Vaughan dragged his feminine parcel towards him, buried his face in her hair and held her tight, not even Amelia could attempt an excuse in the face of such overwhelming odds.

  ‘Your article is in.’ Katy’s voice had a slightly bitchy ring, and eyes way too knowing for such a pretty face flashed in triumph or malice as Amelia slowly nodded. ‘Then it would seem, Miss Jacobs, that your allotted time slot is over.’

  A luxurious five-star hotel might have appeared the best place in the world to lick her wounds, but lying on the counterpane, too mentally and physically exhausted to climb into bed, Amelia stared at the screen-saver on her computer, agonisingly aware of what was surely going on next door, but too raw, too ashamed and utterly too humiliated to interrupt—to barge her way in and demand an explanation when she already had one.

  Her allocated time slot was over—Vaughan Mason had already moved on.

  Why had she expected anything more? Vaughan had promised her precisely nothing, save a drink in the bar and a chance to talk.

  What a fool to think she could have held him for more than a moment. What reckless thoughts had possessed her to believe for a moment that she alone could be enough to tame him?

  Reliable, dependable—boring, perhaps. Even her period came on time. The low heavy thud hit her, just as she’d told Vaughan it would, and the dull, aching feeling in the pit of her stomach was painfully familiar. She felt the sting of nausea as she dragged her tired body out of the bathroom in response to the knocking on the door, even managing a wan smile at the cheerful face of the housekeeper as she bustled into the room.

  Amelia wandered into the corridor, agony etched on agony as she heard low murmurs behind Vaughan’s closed door, and the green ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign he’d hung blurred through tear-filled eyes.

  She’d rather die than let him see her tears, Amelia decided; would rather walk away a bitch than a loser.

  An idea was forming in her mind, growing in momentum as she strode down the corridor, took the lift to the lobby and walked out into the balmy evening sun. Call it determination, or self-preservation perhaps, but she’d been here before, just six months ago, had stood weeping at a hotel door for the first and very last time, and there was no way she was going to go there again.

  Ever.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘VAUGHAN!’

  As he opened the door she got her greeting in first, smiled an efficient smile at his scowling frown.

  Prepared for the worst speech of her life.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you.’ She gestured to the sign on his door, prayed that the foundation she’d plastered on was really as good as it said in the adverts, that her burning cheeks and reddened nose weren’t somehow peeping through. ‘It’s just that I need a quick word.’

  ‘Amelia.’ She could see his distraction, sense his obvious discomfort. He had one hand firmly on the door, careful not to allow it to open further, but even a mahogany door between them wasn’t quite enough to drown out the unmistakable noise of a shower running in the background. ‘I’m sorry about before. Did you get my message?’ His voice was deliberately low, presumably so not to alert his companion to this annoying distraction, and at that moment Amelia hated him with a violence that shocked even herself. Loathed him for the degradation that suffused her.

  She’d trusted him.

  Trusted him with the most painful part of her life. And he’d chewed it up whole and spat it in her face, prostituted her with a pay-off—an article she hadn’t, in the end, even particularly wanted.

  For a small moment she was tempted to drag out the torture, to barge into his room and confront the woman she knew was in there, to force him to admit what Amelia already knew. But she couldn’t bring herself to suffer the indignity of being proved right, to choke back tears as he humiliated her all over again.

  If she were even to attempt a retreat with her dignity apparently intact, somehow she had to do this—somehow she had to look him in the eye and deliver the biggest lie of her life.

  ‘This isn’t a great time for me, Amelia. Something unexpected came up…’ His voice was low and urgent, and again he briefly checked over his shoulder. ‘Can we maybe catch up later?’

  ‘Later is no good for me, Vaughan,’ Amelia responded firmly, registering the dart of confusion in his eyes at her clipped, assured voice. ‘The office just called. They need me to head back to Sydney—something big just came up.’

  ‘And you have to go right now?’

  ‘Right now,’ Amelia confirmed, a brittle smile flashing on her face as Vaughan briefly eyed the bulging suitcase on the floor beside her before turning his gaze back to her. ‘I just stopped by to say goodbye.’

  ‘Then call me when you get back to your home—’ Vaughan started, and a frown formed between his eyes as Amelia shook her head.

  ‘Look, Vaughan, like I said, something big just came up. I could be stuck in the office for hours. I might even have to go on assignment. So I’ve no idea when I’m going to get back.’ Glancing down at her watch, she gave what she hoped was a convincing wince. ‘I’d better rush if I’m going to get my flight.’

  Vaughan’s frown deepened as Amelia shook her head and somehow managed a kind but slightly patronising smile.

  ‘Let’s not go making promises we can’t keep. Let’s not pretend that last night was anything more than…’ She allowed him a tiny pause, a brief moment to let it sink in, because it wouldn’t be easy for a man like Vaughan to fathom that a woman was actually rejecting him, Amelia realised. Like Taylor, he was completely used to getting his own way—flashing a winning smile and instantly being forgiven. But, as mu
ch as Taylor’s infidelity had hurt, Vaughan’s abuse of her trust had cut her to the core, shredded every fibre of her faith; yet somehow from agony came strength; somehow the torture of his betrayal allowed her to draw on an inner reserve, to look him in the eye and lie outright.

  ‘It was business, Vaughan.’

  He shook his head in vehement denial, the colour draining out of his already ashen face. His face quilted with raw emotion and, forgetting the door he held, he instinctively reached out for her, grabbing her upper arm, shaking her, his eyes imploring her to take back what she had just said.

  ‘That was never business. What we had last night was way more than that, and you know it, Amelia.’ His voice was rising now. A housekeeper passing with her trolley looked over in concern, and Amelia watched as Vaughan struggled to hold it together, dropping her arm from his vice-like grip, swallowing down hard to rid his voice of coarse emotion. ‘That wasn’t just business.’

  ‘No, Vaughan, you’re right.’ She gave a small shrug and, bending over, picked up her case. ‘It was pleasurable too. Unlike yourself, I can actually manage to mix the two.’

  ‘So that’s it?’ Bewildered, he shook his head, and Amelia knew she’d thrown him into confusion, could see the utter abhorrence in his eyes that a woman could so easily turn the tables on him. ‘You were using me?’

  ‘We were using each other, Vaughan,’ Amelia explained, apparently patiently, though her heart was hammering in her chest, bile rising in her throat as she cheapened herself to his level. But not for a second did she reveal it, standing not very tall, but somehow proud as Vaughan received a small taste of the medicine that over the years he’d so regularly given out. ‘I’ve got the story I wanted and you’ve got the press on your side—for now, at least.’

  It gave her the first stab of pleasure she’d felt since seeing him in the foyer, a tiny hint of bitter joy in reprisal, and it stirred her on to twist the knife in its final turn.

  ‘It’s been nice, Vaughan.’

  Offering her hand, she wondered if he’d take it, wondered if he’d recover his ego quickly enough to attempt the upper hand. But Vaughan was clearly struggling, raking his hand through his hair, his breath coming loud and harsh as he turned to the door that had slammed behind him. For a tiny instant Amelia actually felt sorry for him, watching this dignified, proud man rummaging in his pockets for the swipe card, then standing back as the housekeeper who had been hovering moved to let him in, then stepped back again as the door opened of its own accord.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  Dark hair still wet from the shower spilled down over olive shoulders, and the face devoid of make-up was nothing short of exquisite. Somehow Amelia processed these facts. Somehow she managed to stand as gravity lost its pull. Those exotic eyes she had viewed from a distance in the foyer were even more beautiful close up, with flecks of gold in their feline depths as she slowly took in the scene, then looked up to Vaughan, demanding an explanation.

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  If this woman couldn’t work it out for herself then Amelia wasn’t going to enlighten her—which maybe went against the grain of sisterhood, but frankly, at that moment in time, Amelia didn’t care.

  ‘There’s no problem, Liza.’ Vaughan offered a reassuring smile. ‘Amelia’s just a journalist, sniffing around for a story.’ Navy eyes that had once adored her stared at her now with disgust. ‘Isn’t that right?’

  ‘But what does she want?’ Liza demanded, wary eyes slanting more suspiciously now—only not at Vaughan, but directly at Amelia. ‘Don’t you lot have any respect for other people’s privacy? There’s a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door—how dare you just intrude…?’

  ‘It’s okay, Liza.’ His voice was supremely gentle as he guided her back inside—an utter contrast to the black look of hatred he was shooting at Amelia. ‘It’s nothing for you to worry about; nothing at all.’

  Slamming the door in her face, he left her standing. And despite what he’d done, despite the pain he’d caused, somehow he’d still managed to win. Somehow he’d managed to turn the tables on her. His rejection, his outright abhorrence towards her, was such a far cry from anything she could have imagined. The pain in his eyes, the lack of dignity in his defeat…

  In one fell swoop he’d soured her tiny taste of victory—and worst of all, Amelia realised as she stood there, shocked and reeling, had been the softness in his voice when he’d spoken to Liza. The protectiveness of his gestures had cut her to the core.

  It was jealousy that was choking her as she gathered up her case and stumbled to the lift, jealousy seeping from every pore, every fibre in her body, as she hobbled like a wounded animal along the long, lonely corridor.

  Vaughan Mason was a bare-faced liar, a cruel, vindictive bastard, and yet…

  Punching the lift button, leaning back against the cool glass mirrors, finally she gave in to the tears that would surely choke her…

  She wanted it to be her.

  Wanted Vaughan to be wrapping his arms around her. Wanted Vaughan shooing away the world for her when it all got too close.

  Vaughan Mason was the man she truly loved.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘SORRY, there’s absolutely nothing.’ The ground stewardess tapped away at her computer one more time for luck. ‘I’m afraid Friday night out of Melbourne is possibly the worst time to get a cancellation. There’s nothing till the red-eye tomorrow at six a.m.’

  ‘That’s fine.’ Amelia ran a tired hand through her hair. ‘If you can book me on that, it would be great.’

  Perhaps the stewardess had expected a wail of protest, a demand to see her supervisor, because when Amelia meekly accepted she offered her first smile. ‘You can check your luggage in now, if you like.’ As she snapped a label around Amelia’s case, her smile moved to sympathetic. ‘Do you want me to call the airport hotel? See if I can get you a room?’

  Amelia shook her head. ‘I’ll just wait in the terminal.’

  And she would. Because time seemed to have taken on no meaning now. There was no point paying for a bed she surely wouldn’t use, and—bizarrely—she didn’t want today to be over. Didn’t want to close her eyes on a day that had started so perfectly and ended in disaster. Didn’t want to go to sleep tonight because that would mean she’d have to wake up tomorrow, wake up and move on to the next phase of her life. And right now she wasn’t ready to face her grief alone.

  But sitting at a café, drinking coffee after coffee, listening to the piped music, Amelia decided that Melbourne Airport was perhaps the loneliest place she’d ever been.

  Hordes of people milled around, with trolleys clipping ankles, children dodging parents, reunited couples embracing, tearful lovers parting, and she watched it all. Occasionally she headed outside to stand in the warm night air, staring at the illuminated glass tunnel that led towards the terminals, remembering walking along it with Vaughan at the start of their adventure, remembering how good her life had been the last time she’d been there—the broad set of his shoulders as she’d clipped along behind, laughing at some throwaway comment Vaughan had made. She was scarcely able to comprehend that it had been just a few short days he had been in her world; that a man she had known for such a short space of time could be etched on her heart for ever.

  Thought she had known, Amelia corrected, shaking her head as an anxious flyer attempted to cadge a light for his final cigarette before boarding.

  Her pensive mood shifted slightly then, the inner reserve that had seen her through her degree, helped her forge her way in the cut-throat world of journalism, revealing just a tiny glimpse of the silver lining around the blackest cloud to enter her life.

  She’d be okay. Amelia knew that deep down—knew that she deserved better than Vaughan Mason was prepared to give. She’d been right in what she’d said to Vaughan at the restaurant—she wanted it all, and she wouldn’t settle for less.

  The bundles of early editions outside the closed newsagent’s had Amelia stoppin
g in her tracks, and it would have taken a will of iron to move on and not take one. This was her work, after all. It was her name beside the headline.

  What Price a Heart?

  Frowning, Amelia glanced up at the newsagent, shutters firmly down, but that was the least of her problems. The headline didn’t make sense. Okay, she hadn’t sat typing wearing the rose-coloured glasses of first love, but she certainly hadn’t portrayed Vaughan as ruthless.

  Nothing in her article had portrayed him as heartless.

  She could see the curious looks of a cleaner as, intending to pay in the morning, she ripped open the plastic bundle and pulled out a newspaper, intending to take it over to a table and sit down and read.

  She didn’t even make it one step.

  The fragile beauty of Liza was captured in a photo as she unfolded the paper. Vaughan’s arm was protectively around her, just as she had witnessed back at the hotel, but the caption beneath screamed words she had never even thought of, shaming her to the very core as somehow she read on.

  Mason comforts his sister-in-law Liza.

  Horrified, her eyes widened as she read the article, trying to drag in a lungful of air as her breathing came shallow and fast, her pulse pounded rapidly in her temples. Though Amelia had never had a panic attack this was as close to one as she ever wanted to come—she was drenched, literally drenched in revulsion as she read tomorrow’s news, and the only thing that stopped her from collapsing, stopped her knees literally buckling beneath her, was the knowledge that she had to forewarn Vaughan—somehow tell him how appallingly he’d been treated, try and get him to understand that even though her name was on the article she’d played no part in this.

  She just made it to the washroom in time.

  She retched over and over at the mere thought of the damage that had been done. Everything made sense now, but she knew—knew—that never in a million years would Vaughan understand that she hadn’t wittingly played a part in this.