Eventually, Autumn finds the words, delicate enough to tell Jet all that she saw. Jet, of course, shows disbelief, but as the words permeate his memories—even those he has forgotten, lost to another time, another life—he is provided with release and relief and completion. It sets his doubts and endless questioning about Darshan’s short existence straight and solidifies his belief in the solid, unavoidable cycle of life, told to him by Master Shen.
They are both overwhelmed with a sense of equilibrium, as though anything askew or dissonant in their lives has been set right. Jet asks Autumn to describe the sweet, old, wrinkled Tibetan couple for him with all the detail she can conjure and his eyes glisten, empathetic to their meagre existence, their plight, a burnt old man wishing as he dies to give his blind wife a world she has missed out on ever seeing.
As they lie on the bed, face to face, Jet wipes loose strands of hair behind Autumn’s ear. “Could I have somehow wished this insight on you?” he asks.
Autumn shrugs. “I’m not sure. I don’t know the ins and outs of any of this. Multiple lives, strange abilities and why things are the way they are. I’m as new to this as you. But I can guess.”
“What’s your guess?”
“I think, in a way, we both kind of willed it to happen.”
He nods. “Joint responsibility.”
“Yeah.”
He runs his free hand down her face, traces her lips with his finger. “There is no denying you’re autumn. Certainly no paler shade of autumn, either. You’re full of all the vibrant colours, your hair, your eyes.” He kisses her cheek. “Your skin. You’re the most beautiful autumn. Your mother must have had no choice but to call you by that name.”
“It’s bizarre. How did she know?”
He shrugs. “I think I’m even more clueless about this than you.” He kisses the tip of her nose. “All I know is how lucky am I to have you, not once, but twice?” Jet holds her tight in his arms, his eyes heavy with need of sleep and whispers, “Tell me what it was like for you, growing up, having such insight.”
Autumn reflects on the twenty-six years she has lived being able to steal memories and thoughts from others around her. She tells Jet about the first time, at eight years old, when she realised that not everyone was able to do as she does, after she spied the thoughts of a teacher who was preying on young girls, and told her mother about it. Her mother had cried so many tears learning of her gift. From that point on everything changed. Mrs Leone wouldn’t let Autumn touch her hands anymore; some memories aren’t for little girls, despite Autumn having already witnessed many, many things far beyond her years. Mrs Leone would privately rouse on her if she saw her in the backyard with her friends playing patty cake or holding hands with girlfriends as they skipped. Her father ignored that there was anything different, refusing to acknowledge her gift, forbidding any of the family to speak of it and, never again, let their hands collide, even accidentally.
Autumn soon learned that this ability of insight allowed for so much intimacy, seeing so deeply into people’s lives, while concurrently denying so much intimacy, for she couldn’t interact with people as normal people do. She avoided holding hands with friends, avoided having boyfriends in high school. She suffered being called frigid and cold-hearted so she didn’t have to witness teenage fantasies when boys wanted to hold her hand. When they did dance classes for school sport, she would make up reasons to not attend rather than risk being flooded with classmates’ histories and sometimes catching glimpses of those who have difficult childhoods or suffered shameful abuses.
Tae was the only one of her friends who knew of her gift and never once judged Autumn; never took advantage of it by asking her to spy on people and secretly gain information she wanted. Tae never withheld her hand from Autumn, was never afraid to be touched out of fear of what Autumn might see, and she had never told another soul about what she knew, even to this day.
Jordy, despite taking every opportunity available to exploit Autumn’s abilities and have her use them to his advantage, was the only one with whom she could talk freely about it, without any implication that it wasn’t an ordinary part of both their lives, because for Jordy, it has always been a part of their lives, so he couldn’t perceive life being normal without it. Even as small kids, Autumn remembers playing with her brother, holding his hand, telling him his thoughts and he would laugh and giggle when she would recount to him the childish, rude and cheeky things he had done. Then there were the times when he would take her hands and try so hard to do the same but always failed to. Jordy always made Autumn feel special for having it and she loved her brother dearly for that.
Autumn had to grow up fast, bearing witness to images and life situations children don’t normally have to endure or even conceive of. The most difficult aspect of her gift is the additional information she receives about people, especially boyfriends, others would never be privy to. On top of having to take someone at face value, she had to compute all the additional information about their past, the things they withhold, the things they are ashamed of, the things they regret, the secrets kept and, knowing all this, try not to judge them on any of it. This aspect was the hardest thing to deal with and something Autumn struggled with immensely.
And then came Jet, the only man besides her brother and father who knew of her secret and now, having learnt of their long past, knows why she opened herself up to him, when she had never done so to anyone before.
Autumn links her fingers with Jet’s. “Having always inhibited contact with my hands, it feels like such an intimate act to place my hands in yours,” she says, gripping tightly to him. “I’ve never had this much contact with anybody else before, except for my brother when we were younger.” Autumn closes her eyes and it’s almost as though she and Jet are one, their minds syncing together, their emotions intermingling. She can feel his passion for her, can see his intentions, how he perceives her body, her soul and it pleasures her deeply.
Autumn kisses him, presses her naked chest, her pelvis against him. She feels his arousal, coupled with her own, an incredible sensation. “It’s so arousing. I can feel your pleasure and your anticipation.”
Jet swings his body on top of hers and kisses her hard.
“Yes,” she whispers, knowing exactly what he wants. “Yes.”
If Autumn closes her eyes she feels as though she and Jet are the old Tibetan couple again, absorbed with simply being in each other’s presence, holding one another, loving one another with a vivacity that exceeds everything else, even death.
She peers into his beautiful eyes, his handsome face, which does indeed set her alight, exactly as he promised it would and whispers, “I love you.”
Jet’s eyes widen and his lips transform into a dazzling smile. “I love you, too.”
Chapter 20
A kiss on the cheek, a whispered goodbye and Jet leaves to fly back to Sydney early Monday morning for the meeting he had scheduled. Autumn sleeps another hour before waking to dress for work. Scott travelled to Sydney with Jet, so he is not available to drive her into the office this time, instead she catches a cab.
Michael texts her at eight as she steps out of the cab onto the sidewalk: he will be in her office with two lattes and something—which he won’t disclose—she will need to be sitting down to see. Autumn bustles down the hall to her office to find Michael sitting on her desk, coffee in his hand and another beside him, along with a newspaper.
“Good morning,” she says.
“Hi. The fact you’re saying ‘good’ morning, means you haven’t seen it yet.”
She drops her bag on the floor beside her desk and takes a seat. “Seen what? And what’s with all the secrecy?”
Michael shifts his bum off the desk and sits opposite Autumn on the leather chair. He reaches for the newspaper and opens it on the desk. “Read that,” he says, poking the page with his finger.
Autumn looks at the page and the first thing she sees is a picture of her and Jet kissing in the ocean. It must have
been taken on their recent trip to the Gold Coast. Next is the heading in big, black, print: BLOSSOM BROODS WHILE JET FLIES TO YOUNG MISTRESS.
Then further below is another picture, this one of Blossom, maternally cradling her stomach.
“Oh my God,” she says, looking across to Michael, eyes wide. She flicks to the front page of the newspaper. “The bloody Australian,” she says.
“It’s in the Courier Mail too. I checked it online.”
Autumn collapses her head on the table and bangs her forehead against the desk. “What am I going to do? Everyone will know I’m getting it on with the boss. And today of all days, he’s not here.”
“I think you’re missing the point here. Mr Stark is going to be a father and he is here playing house with you. Did you know Blossom was pregnant?”
“Yes.”
Michael looks at her with feigned disgust. “You knew and yet you’re—who are you? What have you done with Autumn?”
“I only found out yesterday. It’s not his baby.”
He scoffs. “Oh, yeah. That’s what they all say.”
She stands and slams her palms against the desk. “It’s not his!”
Michael throws his hands up in front of him. “Ok, ok. I believe you.” He jumps to his feet, jogs to door; closes it before taking a seat again. “What are you going to do?”
Autumn sighs, runs her fingers through her hair then lurches for her bag. She pulls out her mobile and rings Jet. He answers in half a ring.
“I’m reading it now,” he says. “This is below the belt. She … she …”
“Never mind her. What am I going to do?”
She does not hear him for seconds as he thinks, seconds that feel like minutes, until finally he says, “I’ll get Scott to prepare an email to send out to the office. It will state that it is instant dismissal if anyone even thinks about the article, let alone mentions it. No comments are to be made to the press by anyone. Reception will be informed not to provide any press with any information and to dismiss all calls and attempts to visit. I’ll organise for a security guard to stand at reception—just in case. Meanwhile, I’ll organise my publicist to put together a statement on my behalf, on our behalf.”
“But what about the photo? You can clearly see it’s me and you kissing. You are my boss. What do I say about that?”
“I’ll get Scott to deal with it in the email. And if anyone does ask you about it, let them know they’ll be executed personally by me as soon as I’m back in the office. Please don’t worry, Autumn.”
“That’s easy enough to say. You’re not here.”
Jet sighs. “No, I’m not. But I’ll be back by two. You’re just going to have to hang tight till then.”
“Fine.”
“I love you, Autumn and I’m sorry about this.”
“I know. I’ll see you soon.” She hangs up and throws the phone on the desk before crumbling onto the chair.
“What did he say?” asks Michael.
“That he’ll personally execute anyone who even mentions the article.”
Michael stands, clasping his coffee. “I was never here.”
Autumn grins. “Thanks for letting me know about the article.”
“No problem. How about I order lunch in for us today and we’ll eat it in here?”
“Sounds good. Something fattening, followed by something with so much sugar just looking at it will make my teeth ache.”
Michael laughs. “You got it.”
“Oh, and thanks for the latte.”
Michael winks and leaves through the door, closing it behind him.
Autumn logs onto her computer and attempts to work, but her thoughts are on the article. What will the staff at Stark Consulting think when they see a picture of Autumn in her bikini, on a work day, kissing the boss? Will they thereby judge her and her position within the company differently? Is this something, as Tae had warned, that will taint her reputation, even if she tries to find another position in another company?
Jet’s promised email whooshes into her inbox within twenty minutes of the phone call as all the staff are arriving to work. She can already hear murmurs and footsteps, computers logging on and the coffee machine in the kitchen, but, so far, no knuckles on her door or phone calls.
This morning Autumn has two appointments, back to back from nine, followed by admin which should take her through to lunch. Then there is only an hour or so until Jet arrives.
Autumn’s heart knocks hard against her ribcage when her phone buzzes. It’s reception.
“Your first appointment, Mr Masters is here.”
He’s early.
“I’ll be out in a few.”
“Sure.”
No signs of unexpressed opinions in the receptionist’s tone of voice. No innuendo. Just clean, clear communication, as usual. Autumn’s stomach twists as she places the phone of the receiver; she senses the calm before the storm. She grabs her pen, notebook and the client’s file. At the door, she breathes in deeply before she opens it and pokes her head out. She looks left, then right along the hall. All is quiet. Autumn sneaks out, pacing towards reception. Her client is waiting on the row of chairs; a security guard hangs near the elevators, beefy arms crossed over his chest.
Autumn forces a smile, introduces herself and leads her client into the conference room. The appointment runs overtime, mostly because Autumn is unable rein in the client’s willingness to talk her head off. This leaves her with barely enough time to rush back to her office, glimpse the fourteen emails that have come through, mostly from Tae she notes, and all marked with the little red exclamation mark symbolising them as urgent.
Autumn grabs the next client’s file and her phone vibrates on the desk. She grimaces. It’s her mother ringing for the sixth time. A whoosh sounds from her computer. Autumn glances at the screen. Tanya. Her stomach tumbles. The storm is definitely on its way. She clings tightly to the file and notebook and rushes out of the room. If she isn’t in her office, she can pretend the phone calls and emails do not exist. Her mobile beeps loudly into the silence of the office as she closes the door: a reminder—she should be so lucky.
The next client is an old, angry, arsehole. He whinges the entire time about how Stark Consulting’s price is too high and how he would have preferred to have had a man meet with him today. Then he spends the final moments of the appointment expressing how insulting it is for Jet to send one of his plebes, a female at that, instead of being here himself. The excuses Autumn offers for Jet and for being a mere woman are met with heated responses and assumptions of favouritism and skewed priorities. She nearly tells him to come join the rest of humanity in the new millennium instead of sulking in the nineteen-fifties with all the other crusty old businessmen who have refused to move on.
When the meeting finishes she walks the client to the elevator and says her final spiel and goodbye. The old man, with pale, wrinkled skin and untrimmed eyebrows, peers at Autumn with his cruel eyes and says, “At least you’re not afraid to use your assets.” He looks at her breasts. “Fastest way to the top, but also the quickest route to the bottom. Good luck, love. Enjoy the boss while he’s interested.”
Autumn clenches her lips together and can feel the heat radiating from her face, flowing through to her hands, which start tremble. The lift dings and the old man steps in and is gone. Autumn takes his file and pitches it across the reception floor. The receptionist gasps.
“Burn it!” Autumn says to her. “He will not be a client of this company. Crusty old sexist bastard.” She turns and storms out of the room, down the hall to Michael’s office. She strides in, slams the door behind her, leans against the door, handle still in hand and bursts into tears.
Chapter 21
Michael’s mouth gapes. He hastily apologises to the person on the other end of his current phone call, slams the phone down and jogs to Autumn. He takes her arm, leads her to a seat and forces her to sit.
“Spill it,” he says as he takes his seat again.
; Autumn tells him about what the client had said to her in the foyer. Michael tries to frown, but she can see his eyes are smiling, then his lips curl up and when he is certain Autumn is not going to kill him, he laughs. “That old dog. I swear, some of these old guys…”
Autumn wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “Yeah, yeah. Hysterical,” she says.
“What did you say to him?”
“Nothing. I was dumbstruck. When he left I threw his folder across the floor. Poor old Bessa nearly had a heart attack. I think she thought I was having a meltdown.”
“I think it sounds like you were having a meltdown.”
Autumn reaches for a tissue off Michael’s desk and wipes her nose. “Believe me, that wasn’t even close. You’ll know if I’m having a meltdown. I’ve got about fifty emails and missed calls in that,” she points in the direction of her office, “fucking office. Once I’m through those I’ll show you what a meltdown is.”
“No thanks. I’ll give it a miss. But honestly, don’t get yourself so worked up over this. Every office in the world is filled with mistresses and pregnancies, and men and women sleeping with their bosses. You’ll be a topic of conversation for two minutes max and then it will all be over. Just let it ride on past and refuse to get on board the wave.”
“So philosophical, Michael.”
He grins. “That’s me. Just call me Socrates from now on.”
Autumn cracks into a smile. “Sure, Socrates.” She stands. “I’ll see you at lunch.”
“No meltdowns though, please.”
“I can’t guarantee it. I did see an email come through from Tanya.”
He sighs, then shrugs. “I’ll be there, regardless.”
“Thought you might.”
The Paler Shade Of Autumn Page 18
