by Darry Fraser
He didn’t say anything to that. He pulled on his jacket. “I’ll see you.”
“Yeah.”
Meg and Anne cleaned the place like it had never been cleaned before. Anne had a sheen of perspiration on her face when they finished and removed two layers of clothing.
“Wow. Some job.”
“And that’s with two of us. You move twice as fast when there’s only one.” Meg washed her hands. “Thanks, Anne. Think you want the job?”
Anne laughed. “Hey, it’s not as if I don’t know what I’m doing.” Then she came up behind Meg. “So, how long’s he gone this time?”
“Maybe two weeks, give or take whatever it takes.” Meg scrubbed like a surgeon. She knew Anne knew better than to say anything.
“If you need anything, we’re just next door.”
“Thanks,” Meg muttered, still scrubbing. She stopped and leaned over the sink. “What I need is a new life.”
Anne patted her shoulder. “Keep at it, kid. It’s coming. It’s coming.”
Meg worked like a Trojan all day. Nothing was left undusted, untidied, unwashed or unreplaced. The logs for the fire were stacked, front and back verandahs swept, cobwebs brushed away. The energy was frightening but it purged the soul. And she needed to burn off the antagonism.
By five that afternoon, she wasn’t exhausted, just totally out of things to do. So, it became Meg Time. And Meg needed to do some leg waxing. She would polish her toe-nails, and after a long shower would oil and massage her body. How she had the energy she’d never know, but she did.
She poured herself a glass of red, first. This was really the life. No guests, no men. Delightful.
But her heart-strings tugged when she thought of Jarrad. Ah well, a young fella like that needed to be out in the thick of it. No way was she ever going to try and change anyone to suit her.
Martin had taught her it couldn’t be done.
Before the shower, she waxed first, shins and bikini line. Beautiful. Then a mud mask for the face. Awk! Not so beautiful, but she would be. And afterwards, a long soaking hot shower, shampooing her hair, applying intense protein treatment, massaging her scalp. She soaped her body lavishly with fragrant gel, and rinsed off under the water until she felt guilty.
Meg emerged hot pink, glowing and very happy with herself. A new woman. She wrapped a towel around her wet hair, donned her great-white-robe, and walked into the dining area to refill her glass.
“Hi.”
She stopped short.
Jarrad stepped into the dining room from the kitchen, dirty and smelly, a glass of water in his hand. “I changed my mind. It was so cold out there it would freeze balls to brass. All I could think of was this place and the warm fire.”
“Oh.” Meg put a hand to her turban and then tightened the belt on her bathrobe. “That’s okay. Don’t blame you for wanting a warm fire. It does get pretty cold out there.”
He nodded then waved a hand in the direction of his room. “I’ll, um, be half an hour de-stinking then I’ll grab dinner at the pub.”
She nodded. Her skin was hot. She was emanating hellfire but hopefully not brimstone as well.
“Have you eaten?” he asked then glanced around. “I’m suddenly aware of no other guests.”
“It was a night off, after all, and no. I was just going to have leftovers.”
“Let me buy you dinner at the pub.”
They stared at each other a moment. Meg wondered why he’d come back. Maybe she knew, but she wasn’t silly enough to hope she was right.
“Why not?” she asked, and forced a smile. “I’ll just refill my glass and get dressed.”
“Yeah,” he said, not taking his eyes off her as she approached the kitchen.
She couldn’t get past him. “Jarrad. You-really-smell-awful.”
“Sorry. I’m going.” He turned. Then back again. “And you smell like heaven.” He ducked into his room.
Meg hung on to the door jamb. Her heart thumped, her vision was skewed. If she broke out in a sweat she’d know she was having a coronary. Damn! He wasn’t supposed to be back in for tonight.
She carefully made herself up. Not overdone. Just right. She stepped into jeans and a top, grabbed a jacket, keeping it casual. She wouldn’t do much else for the local. If she walked in there looking like some middle-aged catwalk model she’d feel worse.
She heard him rummaging around in the main area and came out of her room, bag slung over her shoulder. “You want a drink first?”
“I was looking for the open bottle of wine.”
“Bottom cupboard left,” she directed, and looked at his ironed shirt, clean jeans, neat bum. She detected a subtle, gorgeous cologne. “You smell different, that’s for sure.”
He grinned, pulling out a half empty bottle of red. “I should hope so. I just about scrubbed with Ajax to get the stink off me. A man should get back to soils testing.” He held the bottle aloft. “You don’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
“You look great. Hope you don’t think it was just the fire I came back for.”
“What else could it be?” Her heart gladdened.
“Yeah, right. I was a prick. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Understandable, really. Are you going to pour, or just wave the bottle about?”
“Can we sit at the table here a while?” He poured two really full glasses of red, emptying the last of it.
Meg sat and he sat beside her.
“If I stay here, Meg, while he’s away, how is that going to affect things?”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean, me here all by myself for God only knows how long before other visitors arrive and your husband away?”
Meg looked at the wine glass in her hands. “Do you think he cares?”
“I don’t want to talk about him. I want to know about you. What you want.”
“What I want is something he either can’t give me, or won’t. Your being here doesn’t affect me at all. Except in the most positive way.”
“Glad you qualified. You’re not going to tell me what it is with you two?”
“It’s not what there is between us as much as what there isn’t. And trust me when I tell you, chances are you won’t believe me.”
Jarrad took a long swig of wine. “Do you love the guy?”
Meg found the answer quickly and spoke curtly. “No. I haven’t done for quite some time.” She shuddered. Just kept up the pretense. And now there was no need.
“That was none of my business.”
“No, but I wouldn’t have answered if I didn’t want to.”
He nodded, mouth pressed in a tight lipped line.
“It’s crazy out here, Jarrad.”
“I’m not a kid.”
“I know. But you get dealt some weird cards, at times. You just have to roll with the punches.” Though for the life of her she wondered why roll? Why not get up and fight back. Maybe she was now.
He twirled the stem in his fingers. “I can’t understand why I’m so attracted to you.”
“Oh, thanks. Possibly because I’m just so gorgeous, so enigmatic.”
“So deadpan.” He laughed. “I meant—”
She placed her hand over his. “I know what you mean. Like, why you feel this attraction when there’s …”
“Cindy.”
“…Cindy back home, waiting to be married and who’s stuck with you for four years while you procrastinate.’
He frowned. “I’m not—”
“Yes, you are.”
“You don’t know that. Jesus, I don’t know that.”
“Jarrad, you’ll go home. You’ll settle in. You’ll cruise for a while.” He was shaking his head but she went on. “Then, when it all gets comfy again, you’ll think to yourself that maybe you should just cave in and marry. That’s what’ll happen. Have a big party. Be the centre of attention for a day. Make your Mum happy.” His eyes were bleak and she laughed again. “Don’t look so down. It’s just a scenario.”
“You don’t know how close you are to the truth.”
“It’s whether or not you do.”
“Cindy is … She’s—”
“Can I say I don’t want to know?”
Jarrad shut his mouth. He nodded.
“Thank you.” She tossed back the last of her wine. “Now, either take me to the pub and feed me or risk having your left leg eaten off.”
“They’re staring again.”
“Some people just never learn.”
“Do you want to leave?” he asked.
Meg gave him a big beaming smile. “You know what? They’re staring,” she said, stabbing a juicy piece of prime rare steak, “because they want to talk to you and then talk about me. They want to show off that they know me, and they want to be friendly to you. Want to test the theory?”
He grinned. “I’m game.”
“Hey, Johnno,” Meg said waving at one of the string of locals. “Have you met Jarrad Scott? He’s doing the soils testing.”
Johnno bolted over to their table as if he had a rocket going off in a strategic position. He was Jarrad’s new best friend and encouraged others to become best friends as well. Business suddenly boomed for Jarrad Scott.
He watched his new friends wander off. “I see what you mean.”
“Thought you would.”
“At least two of them got a question in about Martin.”
“Of course,” Meg said. “I need to be reminded I have a husband, don’t you know.”
He inhaled. “If my being here is really—”
Meg held up her hand. “Your being here is just fine. Why don’t we finish eating and settle in for a few drinks?”
Once the locals realised they weren’t going to be fenced off, many of them who visited the bar also visited Meg and Jarrad’s table.
“It’s weird,” Jarrad commented quietly in between visits. “I come from a small community that gets all a-buzz with gossip and excitement, but I’ve never known this before.”
Meg laughed. “Next, we take bets on which one of them gets the news back to Martin first.”
“Like that, hey?”
“It’s only the gossip they’re after. The women here can be particularly excluding and vicious. But it’s the men who’ll be the worst ones.”
“Guess we sort of protect our own.”
Meg snorted. “I somehow don’t think that’s it.”
Jarrad toyed with his glass. “Eventually you’ll tell me, won’t you? Eventually you’ll let me know what not to do.”
She looked at him carefully. “Jarrad, with Mandy…”
“Cindy.”
“Oh, God. Sorry. It’s not deliberate.”
Jarrad was silent.
“With Cindy, if you love her, look after her.”
“I don’t want her in my pocket, if that’s what you mean. Or anyone for that matter.”
“No, I don’t mean that.” Meg took a long swallow of her wine. “My shout?”
“I’d prefer to go home,” he answered quietly, and threw down the last of his drink. “I suddenly need that roaring fire to warm my bones.”
They paid the bill, Dutch again, despite his protests, and then sauntered home in the crisp night air. Meg thrust her hands into her coat pockets and Jarrad did the same. She wondered if he were as frightened of touching her as she was of him. If she did touch him, it’d be to wrap her arms around him and hug him to her, to feel that solid wall of man against her chest, to know the weight of his security. She shook her head. She was losing it, fast. Jarrad Scott could no more give her what she needed than fly to the moon.
And the sooner she realised that the better.
“You’ve gone far away,” he commented as they sat in the empty house, tucked up on the lounge and staring into their drinks.
“Just mellowing out. It’s lovely to have a night off. And after the day’s jobs list, I don’t think I can bear to lift my head any further. Can barely think straight to talk.”
They were sitting close, his knee would touch hers and move away, her shoulder would rest on his as she spoke then pull back.
Into the silence went Meg’s thoughts. No matter who she met or where she was, she had the responsibility of this business. By hell, it owed her, not Martin. It owed her. And it tied her up. Or down, whichever way you looked at it. It was almost a twenty hour a day job, exhausting both physically and mentally. She had to keep up with the day to day running of the place, the tours, the meals and the office work. The marketing itself was demanding and exhausting.
Thankfully Anne had decided she needed a job. What a bonus she would be. But with Martin gone, Meg would have to—
But Martin hadn’t gone. He was just away, and would be back when it suited him.
“Meg?”
“Mmh?”
“If Martin doesn’t come back…”
“He will. There’d be no-one else out there to pick him up and let him play his man games.”
“But if he didn’t, or at least if he did and you decided you’d leave him, would you…”
Meg sat up, her bones weary and her muscles sore. “I will never leave this to him. Never. So it would have to be Martin to leave. And you know something? He knows which side his bread’s buttered on, so there won’t be much chance of that.”
“You can’t live this sort of life without—”
“I’ve known you four days. Let’s drop it.”
“I can see what’s happening.”
“No, you can’t. You can see only what I’m telling you. Not the whole story.”
“What do you mean?” Jarrad sat closer.
“Martin has another side to the story. I just wished I knew what it was.”
“What? Treating you like a bloody door-mat—”
“I’d feel better if I knew why—”
“You’d feel better about how he’s treating you?”
“Don’t shout.”
Jarrad slumped in the seat, his shoulder nudging hers. “I just don’t get it.”
“Me either. But maybe it’s me. You walked in at the wrong time. I’m sorry.”
“Nice excuse for burying your head in the sand.”
“Yes. It is.” Meg stared into her glass.
“That’s what they say about married couples.”
She looked up at his frowning face. “What?”
“They say they begin to think alike.” Jarrad leaned over and put his glass on the table, stood, moved by her and went to his room, closing the door behind him. “Goodnight.”
The rush of heat to Meg’s face surprised her. How neatly had he turned the tables around. Her own head in the sand.
She sat there a while, glanced once at his closed door and saw the strip of light under it. If she was anything less of a coward she would march right over there and—
But that had always been her problem. In the old days she would’ve accepted the challenge, picked up the gauntlet and barged into his room, believing that’s what he’d expect her to do. But in every situation where she played out her fantasy, sometimes alcohol-induced, sometimes not, the man simply wanted his privacy. Was sick of the banter and her stubborn refusal to see things another way.
Not this time. If Jarrad had shut the door, he meant it should stay shut. Meg would not beat it down, crying and raging against the unfairness of life.
The light in his room flicked off and a sense of the full-stop descended on her. There was no open invitation. The man had gone to his bed, expecting to be alone, and he was. She need not entertain ideas that he felt otherwise.
She stood up and stretched, opened the slow combustion fire and refilled it with mallee stumps, then went to her own bed.
Her empty bed. Yet without Martin in it, it seemed filled with the hope that one day it wouldn’t be so empty. She sneered at the anomaly. In her current situation, a bed with two bodies in it was emptier than a bed with one body in it.
Meg undressed and slipped between cool sheets, shivering a little as her
body heat adjusted. She snuggled down on her side and let her thoughts drift again to Jarrad, his delightful sense of humour, his open and cheerful outlook, and wondered what else it was that attracted her to him. Beyond the so-called animal magnetism, what attracted him to her? What sort of person were you and therefore, what sort of person did you attract?
She rolled on to her back. Look at the facts. He’s just plain gorgeous. You recognise that. He knows you recognise it. He responds to that. Simple.
Groan.
Was it pheromones, or a last ditch effort from her body to get the babies it needed to justify its existence? Well, what a specimen it chose for procreation. If that was ever going to happen, her hormones were leading her to him by the nose.
Thing was, the baby issue was never going to come to ...ahem ...fruition.
All right, Meg. Look beyond the physical.
Nup.
OK. Get a grip. You’ve known him four days or so. He ticks all the boxes you have on your list...
He is dark haired, has a good body, seems honourable, has a great sense of humour. He smells good—well, after a shower. He talks to me... even better, converses with me. He doesn’t care that anyone can see he’s interested in me—and, he compliments me.
The list was going to be a long one, it wouldn’t end at one page. But how on earth was she going to make anything come of it? Even men wanted something more than just a good rumble in the jungle.
Or did they?
And what could she even offer? She was older, married, locked in to her mortgage and bank loan and her busy business.
Could it be more than just the base attraction? Could there be a real reason, apart from her need and his want? And at what price?
A part of her cringed and she tucked up a bit tighter in her bed. If only the fairy-tale ending could be hers.
Don’t be silly.
She straightened out deliberately then stretched. No point following this track, she didn’t have all the answers. All she knew was that when he looked at her, her heart raced, her voice caught in her throat, a peculiar smile tweaked her lips and a merry dance happened in her belly and tapped an insistent beat all the way to her cha-cha.
Just like now.
Everything drew her to him. Smell. Touch. Sight. Sound. Taste.
