Taking another sip of coffee, they are interrupted by a young woman with deep red hair, dressed in the hotel’s uniform.
“Sorry to interrupt, Mr Stark, but your table is now ready.”
He looks up to the lady and smiles. “Thanks.”
“I’ll bring those cups out for you if you like?”
Jet stands with his cup of coffee in hand. “I think we’ll be fine carrying it ourselves.”
The young woman smiles. “Certainly, Mr Stark.”
Jet waits for Autumn to stand and then ushers her towards the balcony. When she steps through the long, glass doors, the first thing to catch her eye is the panorama: the city aglow with an intricate network of orange and yellow lights. Second: the beautiful, carefully laid table sitting in the centre of the balcony. And third: the lighting—a single lantern in the centre of the table offering a soft, flickering glow, and rows of fairy lights strung in the box-trimmed shrubs lining the back wall of the balcony.
Already present is a waiter who pulls out a chair for Autumn and lays her napkin on her lap after she sits. He pours them both a glass of water and leaves them facing each other, silent, only a soft classical tune filling the air. Jet lifts his coffee cup in salute. She brings hers only inches from his.
“To you and your woman’s intuition,” he says.
She clinks her cup against his and takes a long mouthful.
“I’m serious, Autumn. Thank you for your help today. You have saved me from the wild deceptions of one Mr Paul McCaffey and oh, I don’t know, about a million dollars.”
She nearly spills her coffee again. “I didn’t realise,” she says, steadying her hands and ignoring his amused smile. “I mean, I knew the contract price, but I didn’t do the calculations. A million dollars?” she repeats.
He nods. “There abouts.” Putting his mug aside, he lifts a frosty bottle of champagne from the wine bucket sitting alongside the table. “How about we put this coffee away and I pour us a glass of champagne?”
He grins and pops the cork; fills her glass, then his.
“I must say, it feels a little bizarre sitting in such beautiful surroundings without any shoes on. I thought you said there weren’t going to be any formalities?”
He smiles. “I should have said no formalities where I’m concerned. From the hotel staff, when you rent a room such as this, it’s unavoidable.”
As though on cue, the waiter enters and sets down their dinner plates with a flourish: pan-fried scallops on roasted squares of pork belly with savoury caramel sauce and micro herbs. Jet looks down at the plate of perfectly presented food. “And the food is formal too,” he says, smiling.
Autumn laughs and pops a scallop into her mouth. “Mmm. A far cry from Master Shen’s potato and lentil curry!”
Jet nods, but his attention has veered towards the city lights. Eventually he forces a smile and looks at her again. “A long way away from Bodh Gaya,” he says.
They eat their first course and drink their champagne, chatting, but avoiding the obvious topic of why he is back in Australia. She can’t force the internal questioning away—was it her that forced his decision to leave Darshan and the orphanage?
Course two is confit of crispy skin duck with Asian greens, and Autumn’s head is already swimming from the champagne, topping up her previous state of insobriety from lunch. She peers at Jet; his shoulders have loosened, his erect posture has begun to relax and his face has a permanent smile, which makes his eyes glow with cheer. He reminds her now of the Jet she met in India, so handsome, so carefree and bearing little resemblance to the stoic businessman he has been throughout the day.
Autumn chuckles as Jet pours them both another glass of champagne.
“What?” he asks.
“I was just remembering something,” she says, laughing.
“Tell me.”
Autumn stretches towards her glass and lifts it to her mouth, taking a small swallow of the fruity, amber liquid. “The night in the music room, with me on the dreary, old piano and you on the guitar, with all the kids sitting around us singing in their out-of-tune voices. It’s been hard to top that night.”
Jet smiles, but there is sadness in his eyes. “It was a great night. I loved every moment I spent with those kids, and every moment I spent with you.”
Autumn reaches under the collar of her blouse and pulls out an old, beaded necklace made of fishing wire. “You know, I wear this often.”
Jet’s eyes widen and he leans across the table taking the necklace between his fingers. “Oh my God. Darshan gave you this and you still wear it?”
Her cheeks burn; she lowers her face. “Um, yeah. Silly, hey?”
He shakes his head. “Not at all.”
“It’s just he touched my heart that little boy.”
Jet lowers his eyes. “Mine too,” he whispers.
“How long have you been home? It mustn’t have been long after I left, I’ve heard your name in the news for many years now.”
“I left about three months after we met.”
“That soon?”
“There were a number of reasons that affected my decision to come home. Don’t worry, you weren’t the sole reason. Mainly, I realised no matter how many people you have working on the ground, money is a necessity in this world.”
“So, you got back into business to help out financially?”
He nods.
“I’ve heard of everything that you do. The orphanages, the education programs, the international aid, it’s really resonated with me, even before I knew that you were you. That’s why I applied to work for Stark Consulting, because I admired you.” She laughs and shakes her head. “I tried for years to get into one of your companies.”
He laughs. “I’m sorry. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have made you wait.”
“Why don’t I see your face in the news, Jet? I hear about your charities, but there are never any pictures of you.”
“It’s better if the media stay out my life and the only way that can happen is if I don’t let them know who I am. They have a wonderful way of twisting absolutely everything. I found early on that I spent the entire time trying to justify what I did and didn’t do, rather than focusing my efforts on helping.”
She nods. The waiter interrupts them, wheeling a stainless-steel trolley lined with plates of many different desserts, from cakes to tarts, to brûlées and pastries. Autumn’s eyes widen as she shifts her line of vision from the gorgeously decorated desserts back to Jet.
“I don’t know what you like, so I asked for one of everything,” he says.
She smiles. “And I’m so grateful you did, but I can’t handle it when I have so many to choose from.”
“How about we get three and we share them. That way you don’t have to decide on only one.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“Your choice.”
Autumn decides on a citrus tart, vanilla-bean baked cheesecake and a rich, chocolate mud cake. The waiter places them in the middle of table along with two small glasses of port.
Jet takes an ample spoonful of citrus tart and shovels it into his mouth. “You’re a woman after my own heart. This has to be my favourite of all desserts.”
She follows his spoon with her own, taking a generous fragment of the tart. “I’m more than happy to please.”
He moves onto the chocolate cake next, not talking until he has had two delicious mouthfuls. “What has been occupying your time in the last five years, Autumn?”
She smiles. “I finished uni for one. Then I travelled to Cambodia, volunteering in some of the orphanages there for about twelve months.”
“Cambodia? So, India never crossed your mind again?”
“Of course it did. Many times I nearly tried to contact you, nearly booked flights to come back over, nearly made the excuse I really wanted to give my time at the orphanage and that it wasn’t you I wanted to see.” She breathes out heavily. “I’m sorry. That’s inappropriate. You have a woman in your l
ife and you’re my boss for Christ’s sake.”
One of his eyebrows lifts slightly. “It’s good to know I wasn’t the only one. You have haunted my thoughts for a long time.”
“I guess life had a lesson to teach us.”
“Yeah.” He takes a spoonful of the cheesecake. “So you visited Cambodia?”
“It was the most rewarding and yet the most heartbreaking thing I have ever, ever done in my whole life.”
He nods. “I understand completely. That heartbreak, seeing children so impoverished is what drives me every day to do more.”
“The worst part was this four-year-old little girl I saw. She had her own little shack on one of the prisons’ grounds. Her shack had nothing but a dirt floor. She would beg for food from the prisoners and take it back to her home and eat it by herself from a little wooden bowl. She had been on her own, fending for herself since she was two years old. Two years old,” she says incredulously. “What type of world is this, Jet? That a little girl has to fend for herself from the age of two.”
“You don’t have to make sense of it. Just know that it is how it is and do all you can to create change.”
She nods. “I started my own charity that I run in my spare time to raise money for the orphanages. I’ve done alright, but nothing even remotely in the proportions you achieve.”
“Anything is good enough.”
“I’ve been working in business ever since I got home from Cambodia and seven months ago I got this job at Stark Consulting. Not much more to say really.”
“Do you have a partner?”
She shakes her head. “I’m not so successful in that department. It’s tough when you know every thought in your boyfriend’s head.”
He smiles. “That would be tough.”
“So now I am going to keep working at my charity and working at my position in your company. I’m planning to make another trip next year to see how my efforts in Cambodia are being implemented on the ground.”
The waiter interrupts, relieving the table of empty plates and refilling their port glasses.
“Is there anything else I can get for you this evening, Mr Stark?” he asks.
Jet turns to Autumn. “Would you like anything else? More dessert?”
“Um, no. I think I have definitely had enough.”
“If you could leave me a bottle of this port in the lounge that will be all I need for the evening.”
“Certainly. Have a good evening, sir.”
Jet nods.
The waiter leaves through the doors and Jet stands. “Let’s move this into the lounge, shall we?”
Autumn lifts her glass, taking a small sip as she stands. Having been seated for the entire night, she hasn’t realised the extent to which the champagne and port has affected her. Walking behind Jet, each step feeling as though she is wading through thick clouds and her mind swirling with indulgent gluttony, she says, “I’ve had more than my fair share of alcohol today.”
“Are you ok?” Jet asks, stopping dead in his tracks. Autumn’s attention not on her surroundings, her mind otherwise numb, doesn’t stop in time and walks directly into Jet. She spills her drink down the front of her blouse, as well as Jet’s drink. He takes her by the shoulders to steady her, looks at the ruby spillage down her shirt and then at Autumn’s expression. The corners of his mouth curl until he can no longer stifle a hearty chuckle. Autumn, not of her most lucid or rational or responsible, but rather full of drunken candour, begins to laugh as well.
“What is it with you and spilling things on your clothes?”
She shakes her head, still laughing. “I have no idea. You seem to be the only person I do it around.”
He takes Autumn’s glass and places it on the coffee table. “Come with me,” he says, heading off in the direction of his bedroom. Autumn follows.
Jet leads her through his bedroom and on to the bathroom that lies behind two more double doors. The Victorian theme seamlessly flows through to the bathroom, from the marbled floor and walls, to the silver vertical striped wallpaper and gold, ornate tap-ware. Autumn peers around, eyes wide. It is bigger than her own ensuite and bedroom combined, back in her poky unit across town.
He grasps a white face washer from the vanity and runs it under some cold water.
“Here you are,” he says, handing the washer to her. “Do your magic. You’re obviously an expert at removing stains.”
She tries to return him an offended glare but a grin betrays her. She takes it from his hand, their fingers briefly touching. She flinches back as her heart is filled with an incredible heaviness.
“Thank you,” she says, a whisper.
“I’ll, ah, leave you to it.” He turns and strides out of the bathroom, sliding one of the doors to give her privacy.
Autumn is in no state to clean anything. She dabs with little effort at the stain, leaving a large wet patch and doing nothing in the way of removing the ruby remnants of port. It is a futile effort. The shirt will need to be soaked and failing that, thrown in the bin.
She leaves the washer, now pink, on the basin and walks out to meet Jet. She finds him closer than expected, sitting on the end of his bed, head in his iPad, fingers madly flying over the touch keyboard. Not wanting to interrupt him, she quietly sits on the bed beside him, leaving at least a metre between them, trying to maintain some professionalism in the least professional location possible—his bedroom and, worse than that, his bed. Jet hits the send button and the iPad whooshes. He clicks it off and lays it on the bed beside him.
“Sorry,” he says, looking sheepish. “You were quicker than I anticipated.”
She looks down at her ruined shirt and can imagine how she must appear through his eyes at the moment. “It was a futile effort,” she says, frowning.
“I can see that.”
“But as my dad would say: plenty more shirts in the sea.”
Jet laughs. “I share your father’s sentiments.”
“Me too. And thinking of this in a positive light, now I have an excuse to go shopping.” She lets out a breathy sigh and flops back onto the bed, stretching her arms above her head. “I think I have more than extended my welcome tonight.”
Jet lies back, rolls on his side to face her. “Definitely not,” he says. “I’ve thoroughly enjoyed your company. I would have otherwise spent the night working and eating on my own.”
She rolls over to meet his gaze, lifting her head up on her hand. “I should probably get going. Got an early start tomorrow. I have an important position to fill now.”
He smiles. “I remember you telling me about that. Did you ever find out if that boss of yours discovered your existence?”
“Turns out I had actually met him a couple of times.”
“I thought so.”
He rolls onto his back and looks to the ceiling, his voice now devoid of cheek. “Can I tell you why I came back to Australia?”
“I’d… yes, of course.”
“Seeing you today has brought it all home again. It’s been a while since I’ve thought about it all. It’s very easy to be distracted by the material universe—extravagant hotel rooms, expensive suits.” He looks at her from the corner of his eye. “Women.”
Her eyes narrow. He rolls over again on his side, mimicking her position, placing his head on his hand. “After you left,” Jet closes his eyes and swallows heavily. “Darshan, ended up,” he breathes in, trying to control the crack in his voice, “he died.”
“Oh my God.”
“It was an incredibly tough time.”
“How? What happened to him?”
“Malaria.”
“I’m so sorry, Jet. I mean, I felt a heaviness when you touched my hand just before in the bathroom, but I’ve drunk too much, I couldn’t form the pictures in my head.”
“He died in my arms, Autumn. It broke me in half. I was all he had and I let him down. With the proper medical care he would have survived, but we didn’t have the funds or resources available to give him what he
needed.”
Autumn feels a tear roll down her cheek and she wipes it away with her hand.
“I knew then that I could do so much more, could make a much broader impact by earning money to provide medical care, education, food, clothing and general opportunities. So I came home and started Stark Developments. I had not one cent to my name, but I made it happen. Every dollar I earned above basic living expenses I sent back to the orphanage and then as the business began to grow, I looked further afield to Mongolia, and South and central Africa. It’s not something I let too many people know about, but with our history, I thought you should know.”
Autumn grips the necklace around her neck and feels an unstoppable wave of grief saturate her. Her throat is constricted, aching. “I’m so sorry, I know how much you loved Darshan.”
“He was like my own son.” His eyes begin to flood. “It almost fucking broke me. I swear, I have never felt such pain and I chickened out, Autumn. I fucking chickened out. I couldn’t do it anymore. It was just too hard.”
“What about Jenny?”
“She’s still there, but she’s stronger than me. Always has been. Her purpose line is greater.” She catches a tear with her thumb as it rolls down his cheek. “I loved that kid.”
“I know you did,” she whispers.
He tries to smile, but only half his mouth can do it. “Master Shen told me it’s simply the natural cycle of life and Darshan would now again be a son or a daughter to some other lucky parents.”
“I believe that.”
Jet nods. “Me too. It doesn’t make it any easier though.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
Chapter 11
Autumn’s eyes open to a dark room. She sits up slowly, disoriented, head throbbing from need of water. She peers around at her unfamiliar surroundings until the sights of the room bring memories, enough to explain her whereabouts: Jet’s hotel room. She glances at her watch: nine-thirty a.m. What happened last night? She had been talking to Jet on his bed, the same bed she is in now, and must have fallen asleep. She thumps her forehead with her palm.
“Jet?” she says to the silent room. But no-one answers. “Hello? Jet?” she says again, throwing the thick cover back and rolling out of the bed, letting her stocking covered feet feel the satiny carpet beneath. Autumn turns on a lamp beside the bed and jumps when her mobile vibrates loudly against the timber surface.
The Paler Shade Of Autumn Page 10
