Tomorrow's Path

by Anna Jacobs

  Barbara and her son turned up as he was speaking.

  ‘Look, I’ll just nip out to the pharmacy.’ He winked at her. ‘I have other things I need to buy as well.’

  ‘Stay and have a coffee,’ Jessica said to Barbara when her son had left with his new possessions. ‘I know the furniture has gone, but we can sit on those packing cases. Well, we can till the courier comes for them.’

  Barbara frowned as she took the battered old mug of coffee. ‘I’m going to poke my nose in because I care about you. What gives? Are you and Childering lovers or not?’

  ‘Well, yes, but then … not exactly lovers.’ Jessica blushed. ‘It started as a business arrangement, us living together, I mean.’

  ‘Strange sort of business arrangement.’

  ‘He’s lonely and I needed time to write.’

  ‘Hmm. I’ve heard some lame excuses, but that one takes the cake. Go on.’

  Jessica couldn’t resist the opportunity to confide in her friend. ‘Things got out of hand on the holiday, though, and we slept together.’

  ‘You’re deeply in love with him, aren’t you? I know you. You’d not have got into bed with him otherwise.’

  ‘I am, but please don’t say anything to him about how I feel.’

  ‘Why on earth not?’

  ‘Love is the last thing he wants. Or long-term commitment. I think he was pretty badly hurt by his failed marriage.’

  Barbara sipped her coffee, frowning. ‘That’s as may be, but why are you going to live with him if he doesn’t love you? You’re only torturing yourself.’

  Jessica clasped her hands round her mug, comforted by its warmth. ‘I’m doing it because I think he’s fonder of me than he realises. Living together may give me my only chance of forging a real relationship with him, so I have to take it.’

  Barbara groaned. ‘Jessica, what sort of reasoning is that?’

  ‘Pretty poor, I know. I’m a dreamer. Unrealistic. Reaching for the moon.’

  ‘I agree with all of those except the last. He’s not the moon; he’s just a man.’

  Jessica tried to smile, but couldn’t manage it. ‘Whatever.’

  ‘And if it doesn’t work out?’

  ‘Then I’ll leave him. But at least I’ll have something to remember. I see a different side of him when we’re alone, you know. He’s charming and fun.’

  ‘I still don’t like what you’re doing. Not at all. You’re acting like a grateful doormat. Jessica, he’s using you.’

  ‘I’m using him as well. I’ll be getting some real writing time. If Jivan continues to deny himself love, that’ll be beyond sad.’

  ‘Well, don’t say I haven’t done my best to make you see sense.’

  ‘You haven’t said anything I haven’t told myself. But at least I’ll have given it my best shot.’

  ‘I wish you luck, but Jessica, if you ever need to get away from him, you can come to me any time of the day or night.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Jivan came back just then, and at the same time a phone began ringing.

  Jessica jumped up. ‘That’s my mobile. I think I left my handbag in the bathroom. Excuse me for a moment.’

  Barbara greeted Jivan with, ‘Look after her. She’s more fragile than you realise.’

  ‘I shall try not to hurt her.’

  She waggled one finger at him. ‘You do more than try, buster. You make sure you don’t hurt her, or you’ll have me to deal with.’

  ‘I care about her happiness.’

  ‘Can’t you even say you love her?’ she threw back at him.

  ‘I don’t believe in romantic love. It’s a dangerous myth.’

  ‘Ha! That’s like saying you don’t believe the sun will rise tomorrow.’

  ‘I am as I am.’

  Barbara shook her head. ‘You are as you choose to be. You’re living behind high walls, literally and mentally, Jivan. You should come out from behind them and join the rest of humanity. Most of us are worth getting to know.’

  There was silence for a moment as they eyed one another like two adversaries unsure whether to start a fight.

  In the end he handed her Jessica’s car keys. ‘I heard what you said. Now … I believe you’re driving us to pick up the hire car.’

  The phone call was a wrong number and Jessica overheard the conversation between her friend and Jivan. Trust Barbara to come straight out with that. Still, it was nice to have a friend who cared.

  Since their return from Queensland, Jivan had withdrawn into himself. Was this because he was back into his writing or because he was afraid of getting too close to her? She suspected the latter. Even when they made love, she could sense him holding something back, which made her feel as though she had to weigh each of her own words before she released it. And yet, he was thoughtful and considerate as a lover and companion. Was he showing the tenderness he never put into words, or was she imagining that?

  If she let him see how much she loved him, would he send her away?

  Oh, stop worrying, you fool! she told herself, and went to join the others. What will be, will be.

  ‘I’ll just use the bathroom,’ Barbara said.

  Jivan smiled ruefully at Jessica. ‘I was having a little chat with your friend. If I ever write a thriller with a female protagonist, she’ll be like Barbara.’

  ‘Like Barbara?’

  ‘Mm. She’s a strong woman, though she looks and acts like the universal mother. That could throw a few interesting twists into the tale.’

  ‘You’re right. She has mothered me, as well as becoming a good friend. She says I’m too soft. I know that, but I can’t seem to change it.’

  ‘It shows in your stories. I think your readers like that about you.’

  ‘Good. I hope they go on liking it. Will you help me do an idiot check to make sure I’ve not forgotten anything? You go through all the cupboards and drawers in the kitchen and I’ll do the bedrooms. Let’s hope the courier gets here soon for our boxes. I’m more than ready to go.’

  He watched her walk out. Barbara was right. Jessica was one of the most gentle people he had ever met, though she knew how to stand up for herself. He loved living with her. He frowned. No, that sounded too romantic. He enjoyed sharing a house with her, working with her. That was a better way to look at their relationship.

  Was it a relationship now? He had meant it only as a short-term business arrangement, beneficial to both of them for a few months, but not permanent. He frowned again. Why did he keep focusing on the end? Their time together was just beginning and it promised to work well, thanks mainly to Jessica.

  He hoped it’d last for longer than a few months, because he had no doubt whatsoever that she wasn’t like Louisa and could be trusted implicitly.

  There was the sound of water flushing from the bathroom and Barbara came back, followed shortly afterwards by Jessica.

  The courier turned up and then the villa was left bare and impersonal.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Barbara said.

  Jivan watched Jessica stand in the doorway of the unit. ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘Not really. I’m just saying goodbye to my past then I’ll join you on tomorrow’s path.’

  ‘I think I’ve heard that phrase before. Is it a quote from a poem?’

  She laughed. ‘No, a hymn, though I don’t think it’s a well-known one. I heard the phrase when I started university and it’s stuck. My goodness, I expected so much of the future in those days.’

  ‘You’ve done pretty well, won awards and so on, achieved your main ambition in life.’

  ‘I suppose so. But it took a lot longer than I’d expected.’ She stared into space for a moment, then locked the front door and put the key into an envelope, which was already stamped. ‘There you are. Final task about to be accomplished. Can you stop at the postbox on the corner, Barbara?’

  He wondered why her friend had thought it necessary to warn him not to hurt Jessica. As if he would ever do that!

  Frenton drew a
blank with the limousine. It was a very exclusive company and no one at the head office would talk to him about their customers.

  So he went to keep watch on Jessica Lord’s unit. She’d have to come back here from Queensland, surely? He sat at the end of the little cul-de-sac under a tree, slouched down in the car. There was no vehicle in front of her place so he waited. And waited.

  When a car eventually drew up in front of the unit late in the afternoon, he sat up a little straighter, camera at the ready.

  But a strange woman got out, accompanied by a couple. She used a key to open the door of the unit and ushered them inside, talking and gesticulating. If he’d ever seen a sales pitch, this was one. Then he saw the sign on her car door and used his binoculars to read it: a real estate agency.

  If this woman was trying to let the villa, Jessica and Childering must have left. But where had they gone to now?

  Childering had done it again, damn him, slipped away. Well, Frenton wasn’t going to the expense of hiring a private investigator. He’d leave that to Louisa. He had other things to do in Australia than act as her minion.

  That evening he contacted her online to bring her up to date.

  ‘He’s been in Australia all this time!’ she exclaimed. ‘Where?’

  ‘He was in Queensland, but I think he came across to Western Australia which is where his new partner lived. Where he is now is anyone’s guess.’

  ‘Who’s the woman?’

  ‘I told you: Jessica Lord, another writer. Look, isn’t it about time you let him go, love?’

  ‘No. It bloody well isn’t. I shan’t stop until I get what I’m owed, my share of his money.’

  Her voice had a strange edge to it, and not for the first time he wondered whether she was losing it. Well, you had to have a few screws loose to stalk someone as she had been doing. It had amused him to help her at first, but now he’d had enough.

  He’d have cut the connection sooner if she hadn’t been paying him to keep his eyes open. But she might get annoyed with him if he stopped helping and she could be a nasty, spiteful bitch when she took against someone.

  ‘I did my best, Louisa. Look, I’ll be in touch if I hear anything else while I’m in Australia.’

  She switched off the link without a word of thanks.

  When he switched on the TV, they were forecasting another hot day. Frenton scowled at the presenter. He’d had enough of Australia’s interminable summer heat, and this project wasn’t nearly as interesting as he’d expected. Once it was over, he’d probably head back to Europe. He was actually old enough to retire, and could afford to if he lived carefully, but who wanted to be frugal all the time?

  Besides, what would he do with himself all day if he wasn’t working? Write his memoirs? Ha! No one would want to read them and anyway, there were certain things better forgotten.

  He’d definitely stay out of Louisa’s way when he went back, though.

  Seventeen

  Jessica stood up and stretched her aching shoulders. She always forgot where she was while she was writing. As she gradually brought herself back to the real world, she went to the window to gaze out at the sparkling expanse of man-made canal, a view she never tired of.

  Even as she looked, a dolphin curved out of the water and another followed. She and Jivan had both rushed outside the first time this happened, and even after four weeks and many sightings, she still felt her heart lift when she saw a sleek grey back or heard the sound of air being blown out as a dolphin surfaced. Where else in the world could you have free-swimming dolphins thirty metres away from where you sat eating breakfast?

  She went back to sit at the computer, but couldn’t settle. It was late afternoon and she needed a break from her story.

  Guilt made her read through the letter she’d been trying to write to her parents, a difficult task. This time she’d finish it, and if it wasn’t perfect, too bad.

  Fingers clicking on the keys, she persisted through two more awkward paragraphs, trying to explain that she was living with Jivan. The letter reflected her mental turmoil! She couldn’t send it till she’d shaped it into something that made sense.

  The door opened behind her. ‘Your mail, Jessica. I didn’t bring it in earlier because you were lost in your work.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He looked at her searchingly. ‘Something wrong?’

  She shrugged. ‘Just trying to write to my family and tell them about … you know, us.’

  ‘I thought you’d done that ages ago!’

  ‘I’ve tried several times. I was determined to tell them last time I phoned. But I just can’t seem to – to find the right words. My mother is so old-fashioned about that sort of thing and ever since her cancer, I don’t like to upset her.’

  He put a letter on the desk beside her and she stared down at the ominous air mail sticker.

  ‘Oh, no!’

  He had started to leave but turned when she spoke.

  ‘This is from my mother. I got her monthly letter last week, so why would she be writing again so soon?’ Her voice faded away, but she still didn’t open the letter.

  ‘Aren’t you going to read it?’

  ‘I suppose so. Could you, um, let me do it on my own?’

  ‘Of course.’

  As she reached for a paper knife she heard the door click shut behind him. Please, she prayed silently, please don’t let them have heard about us. I should have told them. I will tell them. I’ll phone them today as soon as it’s morning in England. I don’t know why I didn’t phone before.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened her mother’s letter.

  Dear Jessica

  I’m writing to your old address and hoping that this will still reach you. When you phoned last week, you didn’t say anything about moving, so we’re a bit puzzled about what’s going on.

  A few days ago, we received a letter, a dreadful letter, from someone signing it ‘an anonymous well-wisher’. It said you’d moved away from Perth and were living with Jivan Childering. He’s the writer whose books you like so much, isn’t he?

  The letter said he was a dreadful man, who’d beaten his first wife, and you were putting yourself in danger living with him.

  There the paper was bubbled and the ink smeared. Jessica drew in a shaky breath. Her mother must have been weeping as she wrote. But how dare this person say Jivan was a wife beater? She’d stake her life on it being a lie.

  Was this … could it be his ex-wife trying to cause trouble? Mopping her own eyes, she turned back to her mother’s letter.

  The person sent some newspaper cuttings showing you at the airport with him, so it must be true that you’re living together. We were very upset that you hadn’t told us.

  I don’t know if it’s true that this Childering beats women, but you should be very careful if he shows the slightest sign of violence.

  Your father said I should phone you but I couldn’t say this clearly. I’d have been too upset. It’s taken me several goes to write this letter.

  Jessica, will you please phone and tell us what’s happening? Please! Whatever it is, it’s better than losing touch. We love you so much and worry about you living so far away.

  If you ever need help, need anything, don’t forget that we’re always here for you.

  The handwriting changed at the bottom, where her father had added a bit, in his large, slashing script, with several underlinings:

  Whatever you’re doing with yourself, Jessica, I’m not happy that you haven’t let us know about your move and your new living arrangements.

  Your mother is worried sick and I’m angry that you’ve upset her, but I can’t see you falling in love with a violent man and I do not trust writers of anonymous letters. They’re only trying to cause trouble.

  Ring us up as soon as you receive this letter.

  Jessica drew in another quivering breath and more tears fell as she re-read the page and added a blister or two of her own. How could Jivan’s ex have known her parents’ address?
They weren’t celebrities.

  It didn’t take her long to guess what must have happened and work out who had sent this anonymous letter. When she worked for the government, she had given her parents as next of kin. Their address would still be on record at the department. Only two people could have accessed that information: Mike Larreter and Barbara.

  She knew it couldn’t be Barbara, so it had to be Mike who’d done it out of sheer spite.

  ‘You’ll get yours one day,’ she muttered. ‘And I wish I could be there to see it.’

  She tried to stop crying but couldn’t. She reached for a tissue and blew her nose. You’re being unreasonable, she told herself. You knew what you were getting into when you accepted Jivan’s offer, and you knew how it would hurt Mum.

  But she hadn’t thought of Mike playing such a nasty trick.

  She went to stand by the window. It was no good. She’d have to phone them, though heaven alone knew what she’d say to them.

  She glanced at her watch. It was nearly tea time, so would be early morning in England. They would be up by now. Best to get it over with. It wouldn’t grow any easier with keeping.

  And she’d better tell Jivan before she phoned home.

  She went along to his office. He was standing by the window, staring at the water. His computer screen was unlit and the desk was a tangle of papers.

  ‘I’d like to phone England.’

  ‘You didn’t need to ask that, surely?’

  ‘I feel better if I ask, since you won’t let me pay my share of the bills.’ She turned to leave, but he strode across the room and stopped her, catching hold of her arm and swinging her round gently to face the light.

  He studied her face for a moment, then folded her in his arms. ‘What’s happened to upset you? Tell me.’

  For a moment she leaned against his chest and let him hold her. ‘The letter was from my mother. She was very upset because an anonymous well-wisher had written to tell them about us.’

  ‘It’ll be my ex.’

  ‘I can’t see how your ex would have my parents’ names and address. I think it’s more likely to be Mike Larreter.’

  ‘Would he do that?’