A Prior Engagement

by Karina Bliss

  Her throat ached but she had to ask. “Is that what last night was about? Screwing me for revenge?”

  “It started that way,” he admitted. “I stopped because it wasn’t fair to either of us. Even believing the worst of you, I wanted to forgive you.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not over you.”

  She looked at him, incredulous. “What good is love without trust?” If he’d really loved her Lee would have asked for the truth, given her the benefit of the doubt. Hadn’t she done that by hanging on to the conviction—despite all evidence to the contrary—that he’d died loving her?

  “And if you believed me capable of conning an old man out of his money, you don’t know me.”

  And if he didn’t know her, Lee couldn’t really love her.

  * * *

  THE PHONE RANG AGAIN, pealing loudly in the silence. Lee left the room to answer it and Jules rolled her head back against the armchair and closed her eyes. Four days after her frenzied midnight cleaning, the smell of lemony furniture polish still lingered, a reminder of how much she’d wanted to put things right. Pushing to her feet, she went to the window and opened it wide.

  Lee came back in. “That was Ross. We’re on 60 Minutes.” Picking up the TV remote, he flicked through the channels until the interview they’d given a couple of days ago flashed up. Lee was sitting in the window seat fielding questions.

  Jules’s cell beeped an incoming text and she glanced at the screen. “Dan and Jo are letting us know it’s on.” Tomorrow all their friends would have to take sides. Lee’s actions would come in for some disapprobation but when you compared transgressions she was more obviously in the wrong. His betrayal was too complex, too personal for anyone else to get.

  On TV the scene changed. She’d joined Lee on the window seat. His arm was around her and she was smiling, her lipstick freshly applied, hair neatly brushed and her lawyer face on, expression neutral. “When it’s right, it’s right,” said TV Lee.

  Beneath her anger she felt hurt, as tender as a bruise, as familiar as a recurring injury. Maybe if he hadn’t started this “you’re the one” soul-mate business, she could have forgiven him. Maybe if he hadn’t made some part of her believe they had a magical bond.

  But he had. Not once but twice. And she’d let herself be swept away, let herself be played, twice.

  “I will say one thing about my captivity,” said the liar on screen. “Jules was my talis—”

  Seizing the remote from Lee, she punched Mute.

  “I’d say it was all true,” he said quietly, “but you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “I wouldn’t.” Jules tossed the remote onto the couch. “What the hell do you suggest we do about the press? Honestly, I could kill you for that.”

  “I have to warn you that many have tried and failed.”

  “Be serious.”

  Absently he walked to the window and closed it, drew the curtains. “I’ll call a press conference and announce I’ve dumped you.”

  “What!”

  “Think about it,” he said. “Even if we both show up smiling to a press conference and announce the breakup is amicable, a lot of people will think you should’ve stuck with the poor broken war vet so close to my pledge of undying love.”

  Jules dropped her head in her hands. “I wish to God neither of us had started down this path.”

  “As you pointed out, I stirred up the hornet’s nest, I deserve the stings.”

  Her desperation to be rid of him tussled briefly with her sense of fair play. “I’m not forgetting my culpability in this, even if you’re prepared to. Since I’ll be the pariah anyway with our friends and your family, I’ll take the fall.”

  “I won’t tell if you don’t.” Frowning, he leaned his shoulder against the mantel. “Let sleeping dogs lie.”

  “Even sleeping dogs are lying now?” Wearily Jules shook her head. “I have no problem evading media attention but I made a solemn vow when you were found alive. As soon as you knew the truth, so would they. This has weighed on my conscience long enough. Besides, they’ll want a reason why we’re breaking up.”

  “No one’s going to be surprised it didn’t work out,” he said impatiently. “Look at me, I’m a changed man.”

  She did look and saw his exhaustion and defeat—but Lee had admitted the mental fragility had been an act. “It’s not how you changed that caused this,” she said defensively. “It’s how you didn’t.”

  “Hey, I was making a statement of fact, not pleading for sympathy. But thanks for the vote of confidence that I’ve integrated the worst of both worlds.”

  “Oh, you’ll be beautiful again,” she said darkly. “On the outside anyway.”

  He grinned and it was so unexpected Jules returned it. “There’s nothing funny in this situation.”

  “I developed an appreciation for black humor in captivity.” He sat on the couch. “As I see it, the only way to avoid adverse publicity is to keep the engagement going for a few more weeks until our novelty wears off.”

  “No.”

  “Hear me out. I figure I can spend a night or two in Auckland with Ross or my family, or down south with Dan without raising suspicion, which means I’m not living in your pocket 24/7. We only need to play the happy couple on public occasions where we’re expected to be seen together. Like the boat launch, my family reunion and Ross’s wedding.”

  “More games? No.” She needed him out of her life.

  Lee inspected his ruined hands, the only testament to his ordeal he couldn’t hide. They both needed this tragic chapter to be over and as painlessly as possible. “You know what we skipped first time round?” he said. “Friendship.”

  “We have the wrong kind of history for that but...I’ll consider a truce.”

  “I’d prefer an armistice.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “A truce is a temporary cessation of hostilities. Under an armistice we negotiate terms and the war is over.”

  “I don’t know.” Was this another game? Jules didn’t think she could yield an inch of ground.

  “Hey, I get it,” he said quietly. “You don’t trust me. So let me clarify the terms. From here on in between you and me, it’s the truth, the whole truth,” Lee raised his right hand. “So help me, God. I won’t pretend that I don’t want you back.”

  “Lee—”

  “Let me finish. But I swear—” he raised his hand again “—that I won’t manipulate you into giving me another chance through begging, guilt or emotional blackmail of any kind. I’ll do my best not to make you uncomfortable for the few weeks we need to continue the engagement. How does that sound?”

  “Fair.” Jules’s pragmatism replaced her panic. “Let me return your honesty. There’s no hope of reconciliation. None.” She met his gaze steadily. “I need you to accept that.”

  “Then let’s tie up loose ends and do this breakup cleanly.” Lee hesitated. “I appreciate that you were trying to protect me, and I’m sorrier than I can say for lying to you about the extent of my amnesia. I’d spent so much time in captivity working out how I’d win you back that hearing you’d taken the ring, my money and were lying to everyone...”

  Jules squirmed uncomfortably.

  “Well, I was devastated. And when guys are devastated we don’t do crying jags and chocolate binges. We default to pride and anger.”

  Both useful shields. She was deploying them now.

  “Again, I apologize for that,” he added.

  “I acce
pt your apology,” Jules replied, protecting herself with formality. “Please accept mine.”

  Lee proffered a hand. “Shake on it?”

  “That won’t be necessary.” She didn’t want him to know she was shaking. “As long as we’re clear—as soon as the dust settles we go our separate ways.” Which made it more imperative that she repay his money as quickly as possible.

  “You’re calling the shots.”

  “I’ll tell Claire in person this weekend.”

  “Why didn’t you ever confide in her, once things settled down?”

  Jules swallowed. “I was too ashamed.”

  “I didn’t think it was possible to feel any guiltier,” Lee said gruffly, “but you keep proving me wrong.”

  “Don’t bother. I can reliably inform you that guilt serves no purpose.”

  “Got any alcohol in the house?”

  She dug out of a kitchen cupboard a bottle of duty-free gin her mother had brought on her last visit and splashed generous portions into tumblers. Lee topped them up from the carton of orange juice in the fridge.

  Sitting at the table, still partially set from dinner, they sipped their drinks and picked over details.

  “I’ll tell the guys this weekend,” he said. “On the way home to Whangarei I’ll stop off in Auckland and put Rob and Connie in the picture.”

  “I can phone them,” she said.

  “It’ll go down better from me.”

  “It’s okay,” Jules said after she finished her drink. “I’m expecting everyone to hate me.”

  “Not necessarily. The upside to my lousy behaviour is that it mitigates yours.”

  “Nice as it is to think so, I’m afraid my rap sheet is longer and affects more people than yours does.” He only hurt her.

  Lee stood and finished clearing the table of napkins and place mats. “I suggest we keep this quiet from my extended family. The more people we tell, the higher the likelihood of the press finding out.”

  “You do have loose lips among your relatives,” she agreed, and caught him looking at her strangely. “What?”

  “It’s still weird that you’re on first-name terms with my entire gene pool.”

  “Like I said, my rap sheet’s longer than yours.... Good night, Lee.”

  “Jules.”

  She turned to see him holding out the ring. “I’m sorry, but you’re stuck with this a little longer.”

  Only later, when Jules was tossing and turning in bed reviewing the minutiae of their armistice, did she realize Lee had never agreed to give up hope.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  LEE DIDN’T WANT to think about how badly he’d screwed up, and on a five-hundred-and-fifty-hectare property running three thousand sheep and four hundred beef cattle he wouldn’t have to.

  He just had to get there first.

  The phone woke him and a glance at the time—seven-thirty—suggested Jules had already left the house. He picked up, expecting Nate confirming a time. “Yeah.”

  “Hello?” A woman’s voice. “Is this Juliet Browne’s number?”

  “Yes, but I don’t think she’s here. Hang on and I’ll check.”

  Rolling out of bed, Lee, in boxers and T-shirt, wandered out to the kitchen, taking in the half-empty bottle of gin he’d consoled himself with after Jules had gone to bed. There was a note propped against it in her handwriting. “I’m relying on you to follow through on our agreement.”

  Lee crumpled the note in his hand. Not a bad dream he could wake up from then. And the subtext couldn’t be clearer. Don’t let me down again.

  He lifted the phone. “I’m sorry, she’s left for work. Can I take a message?”

  “Is that Lee Davis?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  “Her mother.”

  “Mrs. Browne. Hello.” He dredged his memory for her first name but came up with nothing. Every reference Jules made was to “Mum.”

  “Mrs. Edwards now.”

  That didn’t help a bit. He scrambled for small talk. “Congratulations on your recent marriage.”

  “Heavens, it’s been months now. How are you feeling?”

  “Very well, thank you,” he lied politely. Your daughter just crushed me for the third time.

  “It’s odd, but I only know you from attending your memorial service. Jules couldn’t bear to discuss you, so you’ve got the advantage over me.”

  Mrs. Edwards’s assumption that Jules had regaled him with anecdotes was interesting considering how often her daughter had changed the subject whenever her childhood came up. Fortunately her mother didn’t wait for a reply.

  “For years Jules lectured me about being a fool for love,” she confided, “and yet here she is, throwing herself into an engagement with a guy she hasn’t seen for nearly two years. You can’t imagine how great it is to get the last word, although if you’re marrying my daughter you might have a new appreciation of it in a few years.” He heard her belly laugh come down the line. “Just kidding. You must come over to the Gold Coast and stay. Have you set a wedding date yet?”

  Did Jules want her mother to know the truth? They hadn’t discussed it so Lee played it safe. “Not yet.”

  “Gus is rich. We could host the wedding here. We’ve got a beautiful property leading down to the water... Think about it. What are you doing, staying in the military?”

  “I haven’t decided.”

  “I’m sure Gus could give you a job. He’s big in property over here. Will you, sweetie?” It took Lee a moment to realize she wasn’t talking to him. “He says sure, we could use you on billboards. ‘Hostage to renting’...something like that.”

  “That’s, um, very kind of you.”

  “Don’t be silly, you’re family now. And it’s nice to be able to do something for my baby girl. She cleaned up my messes for years. Not that you’re a mess... My tongue!” Another peal of laughter. “Take care, Lee, and I look forward to meeting you.”

  There was little likelihood of that now. “And you.”

  After an exchange of goodbyes, they hung up. Lee took two Tylenol and went to pack and was still shoving clothes into his weekender bag when Nate rang the doorbell at eight.

  “You look like shit,” his mate greeted him. “Didn’t you get any sleep last night?”

  “And hello to you, too.” Slinging the bag over his shoulder, Lee pulled the front door shut behind them to lock it.

  “If you were smiling,” Nate commented as they strode toward his SUV, “lack of sleep would be a good thing, but that scowl...”

  “Save the fishing for Heaven Sent. I’m not ready for the third degree.” Everyone needed to be together before he spilled the beans.

  Climbing into the passenger seat, Lee tossed his bag onto the backseat. “In fact, topics are strictly restricted to the vehicular.”

  “Suit yourself.” Nate flicked the ignition and the V8 engine roared to life. “Let me tell you about the torque on this baby.” His former troop mates enjoyed waxing lyrical on engines. As soldiers in a mobility troop, mechanical expertise had formed part of their stock in trade.

  Discussing engines passed the two-and-a-half-hour drive to Ross’s beach house on Auckland’s West Coast and the second stage of the long drive south was enlivened by an argument over cravats or ties for the wedding suits.

  In Hollywood, Nate said with a straight face, fedoras were popular, and metallic bow ties. By the time the ute arrived at the cattle sale where they were rendezvousing with Dan,
Lee had shored up his brave face and was almost certain it would hold.

  Nate pulled up outside the big corrugated shed where the auction was and Lee and Ross got out.

  “So have fun, kids. I’ll see you later.”

  “You’re not staying?” Lee had planned to tell them when they met up with Dan. His only goal this weekend was to mitigate any fallout for Jules.

  “Seen one cow, seen them all.” Nate slung an arm along the open cab window. “ I’m meeting Jo—” Dan’s wife “—at a café to drink good coffee instead.”

  “Hair gel, good coffee.” Shaking his head, Lee revised his plan. “And I thought I’d had the life-changing experience. The Taliban has nothing on L.A.”

  “Let’s buy Nate a bumper sticker,” Ross suggested. “Metrosexuals are us.”

  “Hey, I’m not the bore who talked wedding details for the past hour,” Nate retorted. “So long, Groomzilla.”

  The ute’s wheels spun in the dry clay of the makeshift parking lot as Nate accelerated and left them standing in a swirl of dust.

  Both men breathed deep and then grinned at each other. “I love the smell of cow shit in the morning,” said Ross.

  “Me, too.” Around them, dusty trucks and utes were angled haphazardly under shade trees or bunched as close to the auction shed as their owners could get. Farmers avoided walking if they could; their working days were physical enough.

  They found Dan eying stock prospects from the labyrinth of wooden walkways above the pens, but a clatter and snort interrupted their greetings. Amidst the broad backs of the cattle, a young bull tossed his head and charged the four others in his pen. Brandishing cattle prods with the economical precision of orchestra conductors, two stockmen segregated it, aided by a border collie, which darted around the animal’s heels to stop it from bolting.

  “If you’re buying for beef and not breeding, why get bulls instead of castrated steers?” Lee asked. “They’re only more trouble.” Testosterone, he thought bleakly, the bane of males everywhere.