Man About the House

by Alison Kelly

  ‘Mandle...Mundle,’ he said, picking up on Joanna’s cue. ‘No, I’m pretty certain that’s the one she said was changed.’

  ‘Well. damn it!’ The blonde’s interest in him vanished. ‘Why wasn’t I told?’ she demanded of a brilliantly puzzled blooking Joanna.

  ‘I don’t know, Carla, I’m only the receptionist. Maybe you should check with Jeff Corbet?’

  ‘Check with him!’ the model fumed, taking long strides towards the far end of the corridor. ‘I’m going to kill him!’

  When the elevator doors swooshed open Joanna leaned past him to peer inside. ‘All clear,’ she said, stepping back to lob him a teasing smile. ‘Think you’re safe riding up to the third floor alone?’

  Glad to again be the recipient of the teasing banter he’d been missing since their excursion to the cave, he grinned. ‘Can’t hurt to live dangerously once in a while, I guess.’

  Today her hair was swept up into a retro style that left a thick gelled strand hanging loose and half covering her left eye as she gazed up at him. Brett fisted his hands to defeat the urge to reach out and hook it behind her ear. While he was genetically predisposed to being fashion conscious himself, preferring casual designer clothes to jeans and sweats, it seemed sinful that a face as uniquely beautiful as Joanna’s should be even semi-shrouded.

  The elevator doors started to close, prodding them from their silent regard of each other; Brett reflexively threw out a hand to stall them.

  ‘Well, I’d best get to the front desk,’ Joanna said, hiking her leather backpack higher onto her shoulder. Thanks for the ride and—’

  ‘What time do you have lunch?’ The question was out before Brett realised he’d even had the thought. Still, he told himself, having lunch with her was an utterly benign exercise.

  There was a slight pause before she answered. ‘One thirty, unless there’s a drama. But of course,’ she added, ‘around here that’s more the norm than not.’

  ‘Well, how about we both try and steer clear of dramas until then? If we manage it, lunch will be my teat.’ Sensing she was going to utter a protest, he produced his most winning smile of appeal. ‘Hey, I owe you for rescuing me from the clutches of the designing Carla...’

  Brett made the short ride upstairs slumped against the wall of the small compartment, mentally picturing her smiling nod of acceptance and ignoring the nagging voice telling him that inviting her to lunch was courting trouble— when he wasn’t supposed to be interested in courting anything. But, hey, it was no big deal. Not really. He’d had lunch with plenty of women he’d had no desire to hit on—his sister, his mother, his niece and...and, well, countless others whose names he couldn’t recall simply because sharing lunch with them had been of no real consequence. Just as having lunch with Joanna was no big deal!

  It wasn’t. He had no intention of getting embroiled in another personal relationship and certainly not with a kid Joanna’s age. So he was worrying about nothing. No, he wasn’t worrying! Having lunch with Joanna wasn’t going to be any more stressful than having lunch with Karessa. He was merely being unusually paranoid as a result of the Toni fiasco and perceiving problems with women where there was absolutely no chance of them existing.

  He stepped out of the elevator on the third floor, telling himself the only problem he faced was the imminent business meeting... Damn, he was a lousy liar.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘WHEN you offered to buy me lunch I thought you meant a hamburger. I’m never going to be able to eat all this in an hour.’

  Brett was still so enamoured by the dazzling smile Joanna had been wearing since they’d walked in the door of the elegant Chinese restaurant that it took him a moment to realise their meal had been placed on the table. Though aromatic and beautifully presented, it didn’t look anywhere near as delicious as the woman opposite him.

  ‘You’ve only got to eat half of it; I’ll take care of the rest.’

  ‘It’ll still be a challenge. I don’t know how to use chopsticks.’

  ‘Well, there’s no time like the present to learn. Here, I’ll show you.’

  After demonstrating the technique several times, by taking food from the assorted dishes and filling each of their plates, Brett encouraged her to try. Predictably, her first few attempts were clumsy, but eventually she was managing to get every third or fourth load to her mouth.

  ‘You’re making me do this so that you get more, aren’t you?’ she accused when a piece of satay beef failed to make it to her mouth after several attempts. ‘You’re using those things with ten times the speed and success I am.’

  ‘Understandable, since I’ve been using them since before I could talk.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Nah, not that early, but before I started school at any rate,’ he amended, discreetly signalling the waiter. ‘Dad was fanatical about any and all Asian food, but especially Chinese. We even had a Chinese cook once.’

  Her smile faltered and she slowly shook her head. ‘You have no idea of the difficulty I have imagining what it must’ve been like for you and Meaghan growing up. My own upbringing was so...different.’

  The cautious statement presented an opportunity to discover more about her first-hand, but the appearance of the waiter halted the immediate pursuit of his curiosity. ‘The lady would like a knife and fork, please.’

  ‘Brett,’ she whispered, flushing furiously.

  ‘What?’

  His genuine confusion put him on the receiving end of an irritated glare before she turned an apologetic expression to the waiter. ‘I’m so sorry to seem rude. But it’s just that I haven’t used chopsticks before.’

  ‘There’s no need to apologise, madam,’ the waiter said. ‘It’s a common request.’

  ‘Oh.’ The barely whispered word would’ve been a clue to her embarrassment even if her colour hadn’t risen again.

  ‘I swear you’re the only woman I know who blushes.’

  ‘Probably because I’m the only woman you know who’s so completely ignorant of basic day-to-day knowledge.’

  ‘Hey, I was paying you a compliment.’

  ‘Oh...well, er, thank you.’ She seemed so surprised that he had to wonder if it was because she’d never been complimented before or had merely expected less of him.

  ‘Still,’ she said, ‘if you know a way of preventing one’s self from blushing I’d like to know it.’

  He shook his head. ‘Can’t help you. I suspect the only way is to become really hard-edged and jaded...and I wouldn’t like to see that happen to you.’

  The waiter had returned with the requested knife and fork on a small tray. After setting it down, he proceeded to present Joanna with a sealed set of chopsticks. At her questioning look, he smiled. ‘I thought madam might like to practise at home.’

  ‘Oh, I would! Thank you. Thank you very much.’

  Her delight was such Brett could only nod in agreement when the waiter murmured, ‘My pleasure, madam. “Hard-edged and jaded” is nothing new to me; your sincerity and thoughtfulness is.’

  It was for Brett, too, yet he couldn’t manage to contain his laughter as Joanna’s embarrassment manifested itself in the usual manner.

  ‘Stop it,’ she said, her own voice corrupted by humour. ‘I’m convinced one day every blood vessel in my face will explode.’

  Once she had utensils she was familiar with, Joanna was more at ease, and enthusiastically tried all of the seven dishes on the table. It made a pleasant change to dine with a woman who didn’t want to estimate the number of calories in every morsel of food on her fork and wasn’t coy about stating what she liked and disliked about each one—her opinion of his favourite Mongolian lamb being that it was okay, but only if you were desperate to have your sinuses cleared.

  ‘You’re exaggerating,’ he told her. ‘It’s not that hot.’

  ‘Maybe not, if you’re used to it, but unlike you I don’t have a Chinese cook in my past.’

  He seized the moment. ‘So, what do you have in your
past?’

  The radiance of her mood dimmed. ‘Nothing very exciting.’

  Those three sadly flat words hung alone for so long Brett wanted to kick himself for mining what up till now had been one of the most enjoyable meals he’d ever shared. They’d chattered and laughed over a host of inconsequential things, and if that was what it took to keep her smiling, then he’d stick to light-hearted topics. He was frantically searching his mind to come up with something when she spoke again.

  ‘My parents were always very strict and very narrow-minded,’ she said, her eyes watching her right hand play with her water glass.

  ‘Or at least they were with me,’ she qualified. ‘I don’t know what they were like when my older sister Faith was growing up, but she was twenty-three when I was born, and like an extra parent to me anyway.’ She sighed. ‘I was one of those change-of-life babies; Mother was forty-five when she had me and Father was ten years older than her.’

  It struck Brett that she didn’t use the formal terms ‘Mother’ and ‘Father’ with the type of snobbish intonation of respect the aristocracy bred into their kids, but in an empty, remote sort of tone. If he’d been pressed to try and attach any emotional inflection to them, then he might have said there was a hint of regret present.

  Sensing he’d learn more with subtle encouragement than probing, he swallowed his multitude of questions with a mouthful of green tea.

  ‘Father was a very religious man,’ she said. ‘He adhered to the Bible in the strictest possible way, insisting we read it morning and evening before we ate. On Sundays and Holy days it was also read at lunch, plus an extra hour of prayer in the morning and evening.’

  She sighed. ‘Don’t worry about trying not to look amazed,’ she said, picking up on the incredulity he hadn’t been able to hide. ‘I know it’s not normal.’

  Unsure whether she meant ‘normal’ as in usual or ‘normal’ as in sane behaviour, he refrained from saying, You’re telling me!

  ‘Father wasn’t very tolerant of anything modern. We weren’t allowed to play music, or have a television or magazines. I was eleven before I even saw a TV programme.’

  This time Brett couldn’t contain himself. ‘Eleven. But what about your schoolfriends? Surely they had TVs; you must’ve seen them when you slept over at their house or went to birthday parties and such?’

  The simple directness of her gaze more or less told him the answer to that even before she did. ‘I didn’t go to parties or sleep-overs, Brett.

  ‘To make friends at school or anywhere else you have to have popularity and the opportunity to cultivate those friendships. I had neither. I wasn’t permitted to mix with other students outside of school, which meant I didn’t have anything in common with them at school. It didn’t help that I was a naturally good student, or that because the teachers felt sorry for me they tended to give me extra attention.’

  ‘Geez, just what every kid craves—the extra attention of teachers.’

  He’d hoped for more than the sadly ironic smile his facetiousness drew. He wanted those turquoise eyes re-ignited with the excitement they’d held when she’d first entered the restaurant, the sheer delight they’d portrayed over something as simple as a gift of cellophane-wrapped chopsticks.

  ‘Actually, I was grateful to the teachers,’ she said. ‘Which I guess indicates how different I was to normal kids. But they used to leave the library unlocked at lunchtimes so I could sneak in and read all the books I wasn’t allowed to read at home but which were essential to the syllabus. At other times I used to pore over the atlases and encyclopedias, learning about countries and customs I’d never imagined existed.’

  ‘Books you weren’t allowed to read...’ Brett frowned. ‘I don’t understand. I take it we’re not talking Penthouse and Playboy, here?’

  The comment made her laugh. ‘You know, until I started working at the agency I didn’t even know what those magazines were. If anyone had asked me I’d have assumed they were about toys for rich men and architecture.’

  ‘Well, you’d have been right on one count.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m not sure many of the girls at the agency would appreciate that comment.’

  ‘Probably not. But then I’m not interested in winning the approval of any of the girls at the agency...’ He deliberately let the sentence dangle, but regretted the action when she shifted uncomfortably. He tried to salvage the conversation. ‘So what were the books you couldn’t read?’

  ‘Anything my father deemed ungodly or immoral. Which included just about everything from Shakespeare to comic books. No magazines of any description were allowed in the house and he vetted the daily papers. Those articles he felt we should read were cut out for us; the rest he burned.’

  The entire concept of such a dictatorial parent was beyond Brett. ‘But what about your mother? Surely she didn’t approve of all this?’

  ‘Genesis 3:16 sums up my mother’s whole life.’

  His expression gave him away, because before he could ask, she said, ‘It states to the wife “...in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children; and thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee.’” She sighed. ‘That was the beginning and the end of my mother’s existence.’

  There wasn’t a lot he could say. At least nothing that was tactful.

  ‘Moving to Sydney has been like moving to another planet,’ she told him.

  ‘You like it?’

  It was hard to tell what was brighter, her broad, unabashed grin or the flare of glee shining in her eyes. ‘I love it,’ she said, her voice hushed with passion. ‘It’s so big and so bright. Loud and exciting. So wild, yet sophisticated. For the first time I feel like I’m really alive, you know; like I’m part of something.’

  She laughed, shaking her head. ‘I know that must sound really childish to you...’ There was no apology in her tone. ‘But to someone who craved to travel the world and had never been permitted to go anywhere but school without her parents, this is like...well, I don’t know...’ Again she laughed. ‘Like having your first taste of Belgian chocolate and knowing you’ve still got a whole box of the stuff to get through!’

  He laughed. ‘Let me guess... My mum introduced you to the chocolate?’

  ‘Mmm. And that’s only one of the things for which she’ll have my eternal gratitude. I like your mother,’ she added.

  ‘So do I, when she’s not trying to force her business onto me,’ he said dryly.

  ‘Ingrate,’ she said pleasantly. ‘It could have been a feed and grain store.’

  ‘Meaghan said you’d inherited the family business. Is your sister running it alone now?’ Wrong question! his brain chided as she momentarily stiffened.

  ‘I guess so. I don’t know. We haven’t kept in contact. Or at least Faith hasn’t.’ Her voice tightened. ‘I’ve sent her a dozen letters since I started working for Meaghan and she hasn’t answered one. Even though we didn’t part on good terms I was hoping we might be able to stay in touch. I suspect it’s time to chalk that idea up as a failure.’ Though she worked hard at appearing unaffected it didn’t come off.

  ‘Some people aren’t much for letter-writing,’ he said, not to excuse the sister but in the hope of lightening her again shadowed eyes.

  ‘It’s not that,’ she said softly, her gaze now downcast. ‘Faith still adheres to my parents’ beliefs. She’s not ignoring me because she’s too busy to write, but because I had an affair with a married man.’ Her head came up and she looked him squarely in the eye. ‘By the standards I was raised with...I’m morally corrupt.’

  He was struck momentarily speechless by two things. The first was that she’d made the statement without even a trace of self-consciousness. The second thing was that she’d even made the statement!

  ‘What a load of crap!’ he exploded, startling not only Joanna but the diners at nearby tables. He lowered his voice. ‘You can’t really believe that, Joanna? You can’t,’ he insisted.

  ‘No...’ she said. ‘I don�
��t. Not any more. But it’s what Faith believes. And because she does I’m estranged from the only member of my family still living.’

  Brett was about to point out that, all things considered, she ought to be counting her blessings, but Joanna was on her feet before he got the chance.

  ‘I better get going or I’ll be late. Thank you for lunch. I really enjoyed it.’

  Her breath-defying smile flashed at him, warm and sincere, and it was a few seconds before he sufficiently recovered from its impact to have her wait while he paid the bill.

  They parted company at her reception desk, only because some model arrived sobbing over the fact that she’d just missed out on a job and was determined to air her ideas of possible suicide methods to a too sympathetic Joanna. Brett wondered whether if he voiced the idea of buying razor-blades in the same breath as bemoaning that he too would never grace the catwalks of Paris Jo would send some of those whispered reassurances and consoling hugs his way.

  Of course, the most ironic thing about the whole situation was watching Joanna take the maternal role with a woman who he guessed was probably five years older and light years more experienced than she was. Then again, he’d learned at lunch that experience and maturity were relevant things. For all Joanna’s worldly innocence, her childhood had been bizarrely unchildlike. And thanks to some jerk who’d taken advantage of the results of that childhood, and a sister who’d branded her morally corrupt, her entry into adulthood hadn’t been any picnic either.

  By rights he’d have expected her to be resentful of her sister and withdrawn and distrustful of people. Instead, she was deeply hurt because she couldn’t re-establish contact with someone who’d shut her out of their life in the cruellest possible way. Yet, as angry as he was at the way Jo had been treated, he couldn’t help feeling pleased and flattered that she’d revealed intimate details of her life to him with a frankness and trust that instinctively made him want to prove them well placed.