Glass Ceilings

by Alicia Hope

  He was looking over her head as though drawing strength from the darkness.

  ‘Ella ...,’ and he bent his head again, saying jerkily, ‘When I lost Ella, all I could find in the rubble of my life,’ and Verity recognised her own words, ‘was my job, my career. It had always been important to me, too important according to Ella.’ He threw Verity a quick, defensive glance, and said proudly, ‘But she was also very supportive of my ambition.’

  ‘What happened?’ Verity’s voice was soft. For some reason she had to hear the full story.

  He gave a grim smile. ‘I should’ve showed her how much I loved her by asking her to marry me, but instead I bought her expensive toys, like a sports car. She’d wanted one for a long time, ever since first laying her eyes on a BMW M roadster. And that’s what she was driving, the night an out of control semi pushed her through the guardrail and down the embankment.’

  Verity saw him briefly screw his eyes tightly shut, and she whispered, ‘Oh, Royce....’

  ‘At least I can talk about it now. For a while there....’ He gave a thoughtful pause and turned to her again. ‘After I lost Ella, my career was all I had left. It helped me live with the regret of having never shown the woman I loved how much she meant to me, and I was prepared to do anything to protect it. I put it above all else, until now.’

  They stood apart in the gloom, staring solemnly at each other for what seemed like ages, until Royce said in his normal, confident voice, ‘I’ve made mistakes that I have no intention of repeating.’

  Verity gaped at him. What was he saying, and why was he looking at her like that? The dangerous second part of the double-barrelled question was hacking away at her consciousness. She could feel the blood draining from her face, and her heart was beating so fast she was certain he could hear it.

  No, no, this can’t be happening, she thought desperately, I have to get away from here now, before I lose control of myself completely.

  Gulping air, she backed away and managed to blurt, ‘Royce, I’m sorry, I just ... I c-can’t ...,’ before spinning around and hurrying towards the restaurant.

  ‘No, Verity, wait!’ But she disappeared through the doors and Royce was suddenly alone. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he did so, and then hurried after her. But some merry-making delegates accosted him as he tried to push through the crowd. His searching eyes swept the room and caught a glimpse of a scarlet sheen as Verity fled towards the safety of her unit.

  So now the roles were reversed, Royce realised grimly. With Ella he’d been the one who’d played dodge ball, who’d hesitated when he should have acted, and who was left bereft when she was taken so violently from him. He’d blown his chance to show her how much he loved her.

  But Royce James was a clever man, and clever men learn from their mistakes.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The next morning, Royce checked out promptly and headed to the island’s airstrip to board the first flight to the mainland. He’d overheard Verity saying she was taking the early flight home, so he was surprised not to find her among the group of delegates waiting to board. Perhaps she was still coming. He turned to gaze towards the units while the other passengers milled around the apron area, quietly chatting, or having a quick smoke before being called to board.

  He remained standing there until a voice from above said, ‘Are you coming, sir?’ The co-pilot stood at the top of the stairs, waiting to close the hatch.

  Royce was the only one left standing on the tarmac. He threw the co-pilot an irritated glance, but it was no use delaying the departure, Verity obviously wasn’t going to show. And the longer he waited, the more certain he was that it was a deliberate snub. With a grim set to his face, he strode over to climb the air stairs two at a time, ducking his head to go through the service door, and making his way to the second to last remaining seat.

  Verity watched from her unit’s courtyard as the plane took off and rose into the blue above the island. Sighing, she turned and went inside where her cases sat, packed and ready to go. Flopping onto the bed, she wondered what she would do with herself while waiting for the next flight. She’d risen in plenty of time to dress and finish packing, with every intention of taking the first flight out, but on glimpsing Royce’s dark head among those waiting to board, she’d opted for the later plane.

  Despite his repeated attempts to see her after their abrupt parting the night before, she’d managed to avoid him.

  It had taken some doing, she acknowledged with grudging respect, he’s not a man who gives up easily.

  Keeping him at arm’s length felt like a hurtful brush-off, especially after he’d let down his guard and opened up to her, but she had to do it, at least for a while—long enough for the effects to wear off. But the effects of what? That kiss?

  The island, she decided. It’s made us act out of character. Life will return to normal as soon as we’re home again.

  Verity felt a surge of restlessness. She needed company. Brenda and Guy were still on the island, they’d mentioned they were taking the later flight. Picking up her telephone, she dialled their extension numbers. Then she called room service and ordered a carafe of filtered coffee, a pot of English Breakfast tea, and a plate of crisp pistachio bread, to be delivered to her unit.

  ‘Well now, this is a pleasant way to spend our last couple of hours on the island.’ Brenda beamed at her through the steam rising in small whirls from her coffee mug. They sat in Verity’s courtyard, around a wicker table where she’d laid out the tray of food and drinks. The morning sun bathed their surroundings in new, golden light, making all seem right with the world.

  ‘Yes, I’ll be sorry to leave,’ Verity sighed, ‘but duty calls.’ She smiled and sat forward to pour herself a second cup of tea.

  ‘And the calls ain’t all for you, lil’ lady,’ Guy drawled, leaning back in his chair and holding his mug in both hands. ‘My secretary’s already been on the blower to me twice this morning.’

  Brenda snorted. ‘Secretaries! Can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em,’ and all three chuckled. ‘And I guess you’re in the market for a new one now, Verity?’

  A serious expression settled on Verity’s face and she gave a thoughtful nod.

  ‘Good luck finding a good ’un, they’re a bit thin on the ground,’ Guy said dourly.

  ‘Well, Verity, as we’re on the subject, can I talk work for a minute?’

  ‘Of course, Brenda.’

  Guy gave an audible groan and turned to contemplate the view.

  Brenda threw him a look that said ‘don’t be tiresome’, and carried on undeterred.

  ‘I wanted to tell you about a conversation I had late last night, with a few of the other board members. About the attempted land grab at RCL.’

  Verity grew still.

  ‘We’ve been told the issue is all but resolved, that some ... innovative ... strategies have been successfully implemented.’ She paused and gave Verity a significant glance. ‘This little ploy of yours will save the company from the pain of a long term problem, Verity, not to mention expensive litigation and very public embarrassment. Well done. Although,’ and she raised an eyebrow, ‘it might’ve been prudent to run your plans past me first. You can trust me, you know.’

  Verity gave a rueful grin. ‘Thanks Brenda, I know that now. And I’m just relieved that RCL’s interests will be preserved.’

  ‘Good.’ Brenda studied her briefly before addressing Guy. ‘Well, it seems we have ourselves a CEO prepared to use novel tactics to get the job done.’

  ‘So it does.’ Guy gave a lop-sided grin and both he and Brenda nodded their appreciation at Verity. ‘Now I don’t know about you ladies, but I’ve about had it with talking shop. Golf, now, that’s a whole ’nother story. This old thrasher can talk ’bout the game ’til the cows come home!’ He fixed Verity with a level gaze. ‘Did Brenda tell ya about our nine holes yesterday morning?’

  Verity just smiled and leaned back in her chair, as Guy launched
into his tale.

  ‘She lived up to her nickname, “Belt-em Brenda”, by beltin’ everything within reach on the course, even one of my golf balls! Trouble was, she sunk the damn thing in the nearest water hazard.’

  He went on to entertain them with witty golfing yarns, and Verity was at first thankful the subject had moved on to something other than work, where there was a chance Royce’s name would be mentioned. But when, after a cautionary glance from Brenda, Guy hastily glossed over the game he’d played with Royce in the US, Verity began to suspect they were intentionally avoiding the subject of their colleague.

  Her stomach sank, and a deep furrow formed in her brow.

  Are others aware of the growing tension between us? It is that obvious, or has Royce said something?

  She chewed her lower lip. She didn’t want silly gossip to jeopardise the budding respect of RCL’s workforce and her colleagues for their new CEO. But she couldn’t broach the subject, that would only give it credence. All she could do was hope she was wrong.

  And would it be just silly gossip, or is it founded on something real?

  Verity quietly clicked her tongue in irritation.

  Brenda was laughing loudly at a story Guy was telling, so Verity made herself concentrate on the conversation again. When both the carafe and tea pot were empty, and the last sliver of pistachio bread polished off, Guy and Brenda returned to their units to make final preparations for departure. Verity found herself sitting alone in the fragrant courtyard.

  The morning sun was gaining strength and its warmth persuaded the jasmine blooms to release their perfume, but Verity only half noticed the sweet-smelling aroma. Firmly pushing thoughts of Royce aside, she mused on the question of a replacement for Kerry. She wondered again if Claire would consider taking on the job. She hoped so, it would be great to have someone in the outer office working with her, not against her. When a droning sound caught her attention, she looked up to see a plane descending towards the island’s runway.

  It was time to go home, and back to reality.

  Let what happened on the island, stay on the island. Please....

  Verity was relieved to have a window seat by herself for the short flight to Perth. She could enjoy looking at the ocean below without having to make idle conversation. Guy had chosen to sit beside Brenda, and Verity was pleased to think they might have forged a new friendship. But she also suspected he’d known Verity would appreciate some space and time to herself. He certainly was a perceptive old buggar.

  As the little plane flew over Ploughman’s Reef, Verity found herself once more reliving the ill-fated dive trip. She recalled the look on Royce’s face when she’d been about to sever her link to their shared air tank, in preparation for the emergency ascent to the surface. Although in a desperate, life‑threatening situation himself, she was sure she’d seen concern for her safety as well.

  There’s more to him than meets the eye, she admitted grudgingly to herself.

  What was it he said? Oh yeah, ‘Don’t believe all the hype. I’m not the ogre many people think I am.’

  Well, maybe you are and maybe you’re not. But I’ll decide that for myself, Royce James.

  * * *

  Claire thrust open the villa door with a huge grin, and hugged her friend. ‘Glad you’re back. How was the island?’ She took Verity’s case and they both went inside.

  ‘It was lovely, Claire. What a beautiful spot. We’ll have to go there one long weekend so you can see it for yourself.’

  ‘Oh, yes, colour me ready and waiting!’

  Three Bells Jack sauntered over to rub himself lovingly against his mistress’s legs, purring loudly. Verity’s face split into a wide grin, and she scooped him into her arms.

  ‘Hey, buddy, good to see you too.’ She put her cheek against his rumbling tabby head and followed Claire into the kitchen, where she saw teapot and mugs laid out in readiness for a cuppa and a catch-up.

  Claire bustled over to switch on the kettle, and Verity said, ‘Thanks so much for looking after Jack and the place while I was away. Everything been OK?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, fine. It was a real hardship caretaking the joint for you, I can’t wait to return to my own mansion,’ Claire giggled, and Verity threw her an amused glance. Claire went on, ‘Just one thing though. You know how you said Jack had been off his food?’ Verity fixed worried eyes on her, so Claire said quickly, ‘Well, he was a bit picky the first night you were away, but after that he ate every single scrap, and I reckon would’ve gone back for seconds if I’d offered ’em.’

  ‘Oh, really? That’s great news.’ Verity scratched Jack’s ears and hugged him to her once more, before putting him on the mat at her feet and running her hand over his purring, arched back. She straightened and said matter-of-factly, ‘Now, let’s get down to the serious business of a cuppa and a chat. Got a bit to tell you, and something important to ask you....’

  In the days that followed her return home, Verity assumed she would quickly and easily slip back into normal routine. She was certain that being in a familiar environment again would have the more private memories of her island trip, like those of most holidays, fading with almost impious speed into obscurity. She felt ready for a meeting with Royce, although her emotions, when she dared examine them, were still puzzlingly tender to the touch.

  He’d sent her a message early the first morning, advising that he’d be on site but away from his office a lot of the time, busy instigating the expansion project’s next phase. She half expected he’d try to see her after hours, but he’d kept his distance. Despite his physical dissociation, he still managed to infiltrate her thoughts.

  In bed at night, physically tired and hoping sleep would overtake her quickly, Verity inevitably found herself lying awake, staring at the ceiling, with her mind turning over and over what had happened the previous week. And the last night on the island featured repeatedly, as though on a constant replay loop.

  What had he meant when he said, ‘... you were becoming more to me than simply a boss’? And ‘... I put my career above all else, until now.’ And ‘... I have no intention of repeating my mistakes.’

  Although she angrily ordered herself to drop the subject so she could get some sleep, her thoughts were determined to disobey. They continually returned to Royce, and hovered over the second part of that dangerous question; the one she was avoiding even more desperately, but which seemed to loiter ever nearer her consciousness.

  And another puzzling phenomenon had returned. Jack was off his food again.

  ‘What is it with you, mate?’ She asked, exasperated, when he once again turned up his nose at his favourite tuna dinner. ‘How come you ate alright when Claire was looking after you, but now I’m back, you’re on a hunger strike again?’ Verity felt around his furry body with her fingers, but he didn’t have the leanness of a hungry cat. Jack purred, enjoying the attention, blissfully unaware he was worrying his mistress.

  ‘Don’t do this to me, buddy.’ She frowned and drew him into a cuddle, saying breathlessly into his fur, ‘I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.’

  He’d been the one constant when her marriage to David, and the rest of her carefully constructed life, had come crashing down. Together, she and Jack had been a united front against the wretched onslaught, and when David vacated the role of significant other in her life, Jack had stepped in to fill it.

  When his lack of appetite persisted, she took him to the vet, only to be told what she already knew. Three Bells Jack was in fine health. It was a relief to have it confirmed, but still perplexing that he wasn’t eating properly.

  The next evening, Verity was sitting in her garden enjoying a glass of wine while Jack had his daily prance outdoors. She watched as he meandered through the garden beds, ears pricked for any movement, before climbing up to perch on the top of her wide gate post. When he bent his head to first lick and then start chewing on something, she sat bolt upright, almost spilling her wine in the process.

  ‘H
ang on, Jack, what are you eating?’ She sprang to her feet and hurried over to him.

  He stopped munching for a moment and turned languorous eyes on her. A small fish’s tail hung from one side of his mouth, and another tasty morsel rested at his feet, still glistening with sea water.

  Verity inhaled sharply, and shook her head. ‘So that’s it! Someone’s been feeding you bait fish. I should’ve known, you’re a terrible sucker for fresh catch.’ She stretched up a hand to tousle his grey head, and watched him finish crunching his way through the bounty. ‘Well, I’m not sure I’m happy about you taking food from a stranger, but at least it explains your lack of appetite for tinned tucker.’

  Curious about who might have been leaving the fish, Verity let Jack out earlier for his prance the following evening, and sat outside with him, quietly sipping her drink. Sure enough, as the sun was losing its red-gold grip on the horizon, she heard footsteps on the gravel outside her gate, and saw a hand reach up and place three fat, silver bait fish on the post. It was a man’s hand, she was certain of that.

  A short dog-summoning whistle and another crunch of gravel heralded his imminent departure, so Verity hurried over to peer through the gate, to try and glimpse the generous angler. She saw a wagging tail disappearing up the path, in front of a tall man carrying a fishing rod and tackle box in one hand, and a white bucket in the other.

  She gasped and froze as recognition dawned. She knew the big-hearted fisherman.

  It was Royce.

  Later that week, Verity dressed in a long-sleeved polo shirt, cotton cargo pants and her old joggers, and tucked her hair under a baseball cap. She hoped an evening stroll might clear her head and tire her so she’d sleep better. Her recent restless nights and the increasing pressures at work were combining to exhaust her, as were her efforts to keep her defiant, wandering thoughts at bay.