Clearly this wasn’t the case, and she would have to nurse her sorrows on her own. At any rate, she was relieved to be in the company of a man she could trust not to make a move on her.
Outside on the footpath, the wind made their cheeks pink, but Emily was snug in her coat and the air was invigorating—a beautiful clear and crisp winter’s night in the city.
She was starting to feel a tiny bit better already. Of course, there was still a sickening ache in her chest whenever she thought about her former boyfriend, Michael, and a stomach-churning twist of appalling guilt whenever she thought about the wife and children he’d conveniently forgotten to mention. But just getting away from Wandabilla had helped. At least no one knew her here in Brisbane and she didn’t have to face the gossip and curious glances.
The restaurants were filled with diners, talking and laughing and generally having a good time, and as Emily passed each doorway, she caught snatches of music and chatter and sensational appetising smells.
She came to a stop outside an Indian takeaway.
‘Is this what you fancy?’ Jude asked.
‘I would love a curry. We only have Chinese in Wandabilla, and I adore Indian.’
‘Indian it is then,’ he said, stepping inside. ‘Too easy.’
‘Are you going out of your way to oblige me, or are you always this easy about meals?’
Jude’s eyes shimmered. ‘When it comes to food, I’m a pushover.’
They ordered two kinds of curries—one meat and one vegetarian, as well as steamed rice and naan bread.
‘And samosas,’ said Jude. ‘For entrée.’
Heading back to the apartment with their mouth-watering packages, he suddenly took a left-hand dive into a supermarket and emerged moments later with an armful of bright yellow daffodils.
‘Wow—’ Emily swallowed her surprise as he handed the sunshiny blooms to her ‘—what are these for?’
‘I’ve heard you need cheering up.’
‘Oh.’ It was the lovely sort of thing Alex would have done. Perhaps Alex had given his housemate instructions.
‘That’s so sweet,’ she told him, feeling suddenly, unexpectedly grateful, and just a tiny bit weepy. Impulsively, she stood on tiptoe and gave Jude a kiss on the cheek. To her surprise, a dark tide of colour stained his neck.
Afraid that she’d embarrassed him, she quickly changed the subject. ‘Should we get something for breakfast while we’re out?’
‘Of course. Sorry. I’ve been a bit distracted lately.’
For the briefest moment, Emily saw something else in Jude’s grey eyes—just a flash of a darker emotion that might have been anxiety or fear. It was gone almost as soon as it arrived, but it made her wonder if he’d been distracted by more than his work.
She couldn’t exactly quiz him about it, so she turned her attention to their shopping, choosing food she thought a guy might like—eggs and bacon, and then a punnet of blueberries, a tub of yoghurt and a bag of good quality coffee. At the cash register, Jude insisted on paying, warding off her protests with a grim fierceness that was hard to fight.
A slight awkwardness descended as they hurried back to the apartment, laden with their purchases.
In the kitchen, Jude set the takeaway tubs on the table, then found cutlery and plates.
‘Where do you normally eat?’ Emily asked, not at all surprised when he frowned again. She’d already decided that his thoughtful purchase of flowers had been an aberration, and from now on she should probably expect frowns and grimness.
She half expected Jude to tell her that he preferred to eat on his own, hidden away in his room in front of his computer.
But he said, ‘Here’s OK, isn’t it?’
‘Of course.’ Emily tried not to look too surprised or pleased, but she couldn’t deny that she would prefer his company to being left alone with her own unhappy thoughts. She shot him a cautious smile. ‘What about wine? Would you rather red or white?’
‘Actually…I’m not drinking alcohol.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’ve given it up. Temporarily.’
Once again, she thought she caught a flash of emotion, as if there was something else, a deeper worry that haunted Jude. For a second she thought he was going to say more but, if that was his plan, he quickly changed his mind.
‘I won’t have wine, either, then,’ she said. ‘It’s not a great idea to drink alone.’
‘But you’re not alone.’ Jude was insistent. ‘Go on. Have a glass. It’ll do you good. You want to drown your sorrows, don’t you?’
If only she could just drown her sorrows and be rid of them. But the pain would still be there when the effects of the wine wore off. Just the same, as Jude peeled silver foil from the wonderfully aromatic tubs of curry, Emily poured herself a glass of white and gratefully flopped down in a seat.
‘That smells amazing. I didn’t eat lunch.’
‘Neither did I. I’m starving.’
At first they were both too ravenous to bother with conversation, but there were plenty of appreciative groans and nods of approval as they helped themselves to the food. Emily, however, hadn’t been able to eat much since she’d found out about Michael, and it wasn’t long before she had to call a halt.
‘My eyes were bigger than my stomach,’ she said as she watched Jude help himself to more curry. She sipped her wine instead, then because he was starting to look more relaxed, she gave in to her growing curiosity. ‘I hope you don’t mind my asking, but how long have you known Alex?’
He looked surprised. ‘Why would I mind? I’ve known him for about five years. As I said earlier, I’m a writer. Alex is my agent.’
‘Oh? Really?’ So they had a business relationship as well as a personal one. ‘That’s a handy arrangement.’
Jude frowned at her, as if, yet again, he found her comment puzzling. ‘Yes, it is. Very handy.’
‘What do you write?’
‘Thrillers.’
She gaped at him. ‘As in thriller novels?’
‘Afraid so.’
‘How amazing.’ Now it was her turn to be surprised, and she stared at her mysterious host with new respect. ‘Should I have heard of you?’
‘Not unless you like reading thrillers.’
Emily liked reading crime novels, and she didn’t mind a thriller plot, but she mostly read books written by women writers because they had more female characters in their stories. ‘I’m not keen on the really blokesy books,’ she said.
Jude actually smiled at that. ‘To be honest, neither am I. In fact, I always include at least one major female character in every story.’
‘Well—’ her respect for him was growing by the second ‘—I should be reading your books then, shouldn’t I?’
His head dipped in a mock bow.
Before Emily could ask anything else, he held up a hand as if to stop her. ‘I think that’s enough questions about me.’
‘Ah…’ Emily pulled a face. ‘So now we talk about Alex? Or world affairs?’
‘Or you.’
‘Believe me,’ she warned him darkly, ‘you don’t want to go there.’
While she’d come rushing to the city to tell Alex everything about Michael, she couldn’t imagine ever confessing her personal problems to Jude. The very thought of telling him about her cheating boyfriend made her face burn. She took a swift and, hopefully, cooling gulp of wine.
As if he’d sensed her sudden panic, he said, ‘I was wondering what sort of work you do.’
This, at least, was easy to answer. ‘I work in a bank.’
‘As a teller?’
‘As a manager.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ His intelligent grey eyes narrowed. ‘Do you mean you’re a
bank manager?’
‘I do.’
Jude blinked at her.
‘Don’t you believe me?’
His smile was sheepish. ‘I’m very sorry if I looked surprised, Emily. It’s just—’ Pausing, he took a breath and clearly made an effort to stifle another urge to smile. ‘I’m fascinated, to be honest.’
‘Most men find my work boring.’ Or threatening.
‘Perhaps you’ve been talking to the wrong men.’
Well, yes, Emily had discovered this the hard way, but she wasn’t prepared to admit it now.
‘I’d love to hear how you’ve done so well so quickly,’ Jude prompted.
‘By a rather roundabout route, to be honest.’
‘The best stories are never straightforward.’
He managed to look genuinely interested, and Emily decided that Alex would be very pleased with his housemate’s efforts to play the attentive host. At least talking about her job distracted her from other thoughts.
‘The thing is, I never planned to work in a bank,’ she said. ‘I was always going to be a famous ballerina. After high school I went straight to Melbourne, to study ballet.’
‘A dancer. That explains…’ His voice tapered off.
‘Explains what?’
‘Why you’re so graceful,’ he said simply, but he looked unhappy, as if he wished he hadn’t said that.
‘I certainly loved everything about ballet. I loved the discipline, the music and the opportunities to perform. But—’ she twisted the stem of her almost empty wine glass ‘—after a couple of years, I ran into problems with a choreographer.’
‘A male choreographer?’
‘Yes.’ Looking up, her eyes met Jude’s and she saw that he was watching her with another thoughtful frown.
‘Let’s just say I have bad luck with men.’
She let out a sigh. Just being here in Alex’s kitchen reminded her of all the other times she’d been here, confiding in Alex. There was something about this setting, and the warm, exotic food and relaxing wine that seemed to encourage confidences.
And the man sitting opposite her might not be Alex, but he had the loveliest smoky-grey eyes. Right now they looked soulful and understanding, almost as sympathetic as Alex’s. Poor fellow. He felt obliged to fill Alex’s shoes.
With a shrug, she found herself saying, ‘When it comes to men, I make really bad choices. Or they make the bad choices. I don’t know. I just know I always end up miserable and running away.’
‘Is that what you’re doing now?’ Jude asked with surprising gentleness.
‘Of course.’ She lifted the glass and drained the last of her wine.
Then she jumped to her feet. ‘Now, let me clean this up, seeing as you so kindly paid.’
‘I won’t argue with that.’ He was on his feet, probably relieved to escape.
‘And, Jude,’ Emily said, as he turned to head out of the kitchen.
He turned back to her.
‘I’ll head off in the morning.’
His eyes grew cautious and he frowned again. ‘Do you have somewhere to go?’
‘I can easily find somewhere. I’ll be fine. Coming here was a spur of the moment thing. I had no idea Alex wasn’t home. Tomorrow I’ll leave you in peace.’
After a beat, he said, ‘If you’re sure.’
‘I am, truly.’
It was totally silly of her to be disappointed when Jude nodded, then retreated, wishing her goodnight and muttering something about checking his emails.
Shortly afterwards, with the kitchen tidied, Emily went to Alex’s room and, out of habit, she retrieved her phone from her bag. Almost immediately, she wished she hadn’t bothered.
The first message was a text from a girlfriend in Wandabilla.
Is it really true about Michael? OMG. How awful.
Already, the gossip was spreading.
Emily’s mind flashed to the photo she’d seen on Facebook just yesterday, a shot of Michael, her boyfriend of twelve months, with his pretty wife and two cute children, a little boy who looked just like him and a baby girl with golden curls.
Pain washed through her, an appalling tide of anguish and grief. How could he do that? She’d given him a whole year of her life, and she’d been ready to spend the rest of her life with him.
How could she have been such a fool?
CHAPTER TWO
NIGHTS were the worst for Jude. During the day, he could keep his thoughts under control and he wouldn’t allow himself to worry. At night, however, the shadowy fears returned to haunt him, jumping out to snare him when he was almost asleep, or sneaking by the back door, sliding into his dreams.
Tonight, he came awake, shaking and drenched in a cold sweat, and he sat up quickly, hating the fact that waking brought very little comfort. His real life was almost as frightening as his dreams. His increasingly frequent headaches pointed to something serious, especially as lately his vision had begun to blur at the edges.
Alone at night, with no distractions, he found it so much harder to stop himself from worrying. This damn problem was dominating his life right now—even though he tried to hide it as best he could. All his life he’d viewed any illness as weakness—a bad habit he’d no doubt learned from his father, who’d never had any sympathy for their childhood illnesses. Measles, flu, grazed knees…his dad had always made his irritation very apparent.
Once, when Jude was about ten, he’d broken his leg playing football.
‘This will be a test of your manhood,’ his father had said. ‘Nobody likes a whinger.’
It was a message Jude had taken to heart.
Now, he noted the time—three-thirty a.m.—which wasn’t too bad. He’d already had several hours’ sleep, and he only had to manage for a few more hours before it would be daylight again.
Rolling over, he closed his eyes and willed himself to relax, but in the perfect stillness he heard noises coming from down the hall.
Soft sounds of crying.
From Emily’s room.
Any lingering thoughts about his own problems vanished. Jude sat up, listening intently through the darkness. Emily’s sobs were muffled, no doubt by her pillow, but, even so, the crying went on and on in an uncontrollable outpouring of misery.
The sounds were like hammer blows to Jude’s conscience. He knew damn well that if Alex were here Emily wouldn’t be crying like this. He’d promised Alex he’d keep an eye on her.
His feet hit the floor and he was halfway across the room before his head caught up with his chivalrous impulses.
OK. What, exactly, was he planning to do? Go to Emily? Offer her a shoulder to cry on?
Brilliant. If she’d broken her heart over a good-for-nothing boyfriend, she was hardly going to welcome another lusty bloke offering to hold her in his arms.
Sinking back onto the edge of his bed, Jude remembered the way she’d looked at dinner as she’d talked about her unhappy track record with men. She’d seemed so fragile, with shadows beneath her eyes and a trembling droop to her soft pink mouth. It was hard to believe she was the same tough cookie who managed an entire district’s bank accounts.
Obviously, the louse of a boyfriend had struck a cruel blow, and she’d come here to recuperate. To be consoled by Alex.
Alex would have known how to help her. Alex would have listened and encouraged her to talk and he would have known, instinctively, what she needed. Whereas Jude felt utterly helpless and totally inadequate. To make matters worse, he’d more or less accepted her offer to leave, which was tantamount to booting her out of the door.
How lousy was that after he’d promised to look out for her?
At last the crying settled down, but Jude couldn’t get back to sleep. He w
as in the kitchen quite early, brewing coffee, when Emily came into the room. In her nightgown.
Far out. He almost dropped the coffee pot. What was she thinking?
Her nightdress wasn’t deliberately provocative or see-through, but the frothy concoction of cream and lace frills hinted at her nakedness underneath. And, with her red-gold hair tumbling about her pale shoulders, she looked like an old-fashioned princess, a young Elizabeth the First. An appealing but tired princess who’d spent a troubled and anguished night.
Jude tried his best not to stare at the delightful hints of her breasts and bottom. He wondered if Emily assumed he was immune—gay, like Alex. He knew he should probably explain that this wasn’t the case, but he wasn’t sure how he could introduce the subject without tying himself in knots and embarrassing them both.
Instead, he tried to cover his reaction with an attempt at cheerfulness. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked brightly. ‘In the mood for pancakes? Or bacon and eggs?’
To his surprise, Emily made a shooing gesture. ‘Don’t worry about breakfast. I can look after it. You need to start your writing.’
‘What are you? A slave-driver?’ He smiled to indicate this was an attempt at humour.
Emily merely blinked. ‘I thought you wrote madly all day and didn’t bother about meals.’
Well, yes, he had given that impression last night, hadn’t he? Truth was, he’d been writing since four a.m., and his hunger pangs had steadily mounted. For hours now he’d been fantasising about the breakfast ingredients they’d bought last night.
About to grab a frying pan, he saw, again, the red-rimmed despair in Emily’s eyes, lingering traces of her midnight tears. She would probably find cheery chatter at breakfast painful. Perhaps the kindest thing he could offer was to stay clear and hide behind his work.
‘I’ll head off then,’ he said quickly. ‘But, before I go, I’ve been thinking about your plan to leave. You know there’s no need.’
Falling for Mr. Mysterious Page 2
