Tomorrow's Path

by Anna Jacobs

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you want to cancel our arrangement?’

  ‘No!’ It was out before she could stop herself. ‘Um – that is – not unless you do. Perhaps me being here is spoiling your writing time.’

  His voice was firm. ‘I definitely don’t want to cancel our agreement. Of course I don’t!’

  ‘There’s no “of course” about it. You can be hard to understand at times, Mr Childering.’

  His eyes softened into a real smile. ‘Believe it or not, Jessica, I’m aware of that. I promise you that far from regretting your presence, I’m enjoying your company.’

  ‘Are you really?’

  ‘Yes. And it’s not because we’re sleeping together. I’m constantly surprised at how easy you are to live with and how pleasant our life is. I’d expected more difficulties, more … well, moods. Are you always so even-tempered?’

  ‘You call this even-tempered?’ She dashed away the moisture still trickling down her cheeks and blew her nose into a crumpled mess of soggy tissues.

  His hand touched hers fleetingly. ‘Compared to people I’ve lived with before, yes. I’m not talking only about my ex but about my mother and her family as well. You don’t play games with me and you say what you think – most of the time, anyway. No one can be totally honest about their feelings and thoughts, but you come close.’

  Heavens, if he only knew how she’d been trying to conceal her love – and now had to conceal another secret till she worked out what to do about it.

  ‘And you’ve started writing properly here. I love to see that. Where are you up to now, chapter ten of book three?’

  ‘Nearly finished it.’ This time she didn’t have to force a smile. She had never before enjoyed this freedom to create, to pour out the words when they welled up inside her. One day she had written solidly from ten o’clock at night till four o’clock the following morning, gripped by a sudden surge of inspiration. Afterwards she had taken a leisurely hot shower in the spare bathroom, grabbed something to eat and propped a note on the kitchen surface asking him not to disturb her. She had then slept until noon the following day, waking to a feeling of exhilaration.

  Jivan hadn’t seemed to think her behaviour strange, but greeted her with a smile when she eventually got up, and asked her how it was going.

  Her mother would have had hysterics at the mere idea of sitting up all night writing, and would have been knocking on the door, insisting she stop work.

  ‘It’s wonderful having the freedom to write when I choose,’ she said, seeing he was still waiting for a response. ‘I can’t thank you enough for that, Jivan.’

  ‘That at least I can give you.’

  ‘I still feel guilty at taking so much from you.’

  ‘You give just as much in return.’ He planted a quick kiss on her cheek. ‘And not only in bed.’

  She nodded, but her mind wasn’t on their conversation. ‘I think I’ll go and make that phone call. I’ll use the living room phone.’

  Jessica sat staring at the telephone for a moment, then dialled, trying to keep calm. ‘Mum?’

  ‘Jessica! Oh, thank goodness!’

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t write. I was … I didn’t know how to tell you.’

  ‘That you’re living with Jivan Childering?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They all seem to do it these days. Are you in love with him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Maureen Lord sighed. ‘And is he in love with you?’

  ‘I—’ She couldn’t lie to her mother, never had been able to. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Oh. Is that enough?’

  ‘For the moment.’

  There was a silence, then, ‘Give me your new address and phone number before you forget. And Jessica, love, your father says anonymous letter writers are scum, and I’m to listen to you, not this person.’

  ‘Is he there?’

  ‘No, he’s in the shop and it’s the morning rush.’

  ‘Tell him thanks for believing in me, then.’

  The conversation that followed was stilted, but not nearly as difficult as Jessica had expected and there were no recriminations.

  ‘Well, I’d better let you get on now, Mum.’

  ‘Just a moment. There’s one more thing I want to emphasise, Jessica. Your father and I both do. Don’t forget that if you’re ever in trouble and need help, we’re here and always will be. And – and I hope you find happiness with this man. We’d like to meet him sometime if things go well.’

  When she put the phone down, Jessica wept again. She had never cried so much in her life and she could guess why. She’d missed two periods now, but hadn’t taken a pregnancy test, because she’d been hoping … hoping what? That her body was lying to her? It wasn’t likely. She was usually very regular. Or that Jivan would talk about love and a future together? That was even less likely.

  As for the test, there was the small problem of keeping it secret. They usually went out together, because they only had one car.

  The phone rang again and she picked it up, thinking it was her mother calling back because she’d forgotten to say something.

  But the female voice on the other end of the line was brisk and impersonal. ‘Jessica Lord?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would you be interested in doing a survey about your shopping habits?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  She heard the sound of the connection being cut at the other end. That was strange. If it was a survey, how had these marketing people found out her name?

  It couldn’t be … No, surely it wasn’t Jivan’s wife.

  When she went to look for him, she heard the sound of fingers tapping on a keyboard in his room. It was such a busy sound, she left him to it. No reason for both of them to stop work early. She could tell him about the phone call later.

  No reason to upset him quite yet about her pregnancy, either. There were still seven months to go, after all, and she wasn’t showing yet. Some people didn’t show early on, apparently.

  But, oh dear. She loved living here with this more relaxed Jivan, loved this beautiful house too, hated even to think of leaving.

  She promised herself that she’d buy a test within the next month. But she had no doubt about what the test would show.

  And after that?

  His reactions would dictate her next step.

  Eighteen

  A week later, Jessica woke up in the early morning to find Jivan fast asleep beside her. He’d been writing until late last night, so she’d come to bed on her own.

  She lay studying his face. Since they’d been living here, he seemed happier. They got on so well together. He made her laugh and their backgrounds were so different he made her think about life differently sometimes, and she felt pretty sure she did the same for him.

  They had watched some of their favourite movies together, taking it in turns to choose and discussing them vigorously afterwards. She didn’t always agree with him, and didn’t pretend to, nor he with her.

  And they talked – oh, how they could talk! About anything and everything.

  Only when the press did something to upset him did a black mood come upon him, and she didn’t blame him, because she’d seen one or two ridiculous articles that were supposed to be about his womanising lifestyle. She knew for a fact that the journalists were lying: he hadn’t been with anyone else since she’d come to live with him, couldn’t have, because he’d been with her all the time.

  He didn’t stir as she got out of bed, so she went to take her shower in the spare bathroom, studying her body in the mirror and finding no signs of what was happening to it. Thank goodness she didn’t suffer badly from morning sickness; just a slight feeling of nausea when she woke up.

  She made a cup of tea and went into her office to check her emails, because most of those from the UK came in during the Australian night.

  There was one from her sister-in-law, which was unusual. Kerry usually left it to her mother-in-law to
keep in touch. Some sort of document had been attached.

  Feeling apprehensive, she began to read the email:

  Dear Jessica

  Last week Dad showed us the letter they’d received about you. Mum was upset even though she tried not to let that show. You know how old-fashioned she is about people living together before marriage.

  It’s bad enough that you’re shacking up with this man, but how could you let your family find out about it this way?

  That’s not the main reason for me contacting you, though. I’ve scanned in an article from one of those scandal rags some of the customers at the shop ask us to stock. Horrible things, they are.

  This one came out yesterday and Mum hasn’t seen it, thank goodness. She’d have a fit.

  The headline says ‘Writers’ Sizzling Love Affair Down Under’ and it’s about you and Childering. That’s bad enough, but it also says he’s known for hooking up with women for a few months and leaving them – or they leave him. It hints that he’s violent towards them.

  If you care about Mum, you’ll phone home as soon as you receive her letter, and set her mind at rest about how he’s treating you.

  Kerry

  PS Peter here. If you have any worries about your safety, you should leave Childering straight away. Trust you to get your life into a public mess. You always did have your head in the clouds. But you’re my sister and families should stick together, so if you need help, money or whatever, let me know.

  Trust Peter to believe she’d landed herself in trouble without waiting to hear her side of the story, she thought. Her brother would be the last person she’d turn to for help.

  She studied the attachment again, feeling sick at what the article hinted at. Mike Larreter couldn’t be responsible for this. The byline under the article simply said ‘Pennyman’.

  Whoever had written it should be ashamed of himself … or herself. Was it Jivan’s ex? If so, how could she have got hold of a photo taken in Australia?

  That horrible Frenton person must be involved.

  She suddenly remembered someone phoning her up, pretending to be doing a survey. And she’d been dumb enough to confirm her name.

  Jivan had believed Louisa didn’t know where he was in Australia, but she must know now. He said she seemed to find out very quickly when he was in the UK. She had a lot of contacts in the media and among people he used to know, people who didn’t know what a lying bitch she was.

  Who was the contact in Australia? That horrible Frenton person or Mike Larreter? Or both?

  When Jivan got up, it was nearly lunchtime. Jessica tried to keep her news to herself, but as he drank his morning cup of coffee, he studied her thoughtfully.

  ‘Something’s happened.’

  ‘I was waiting till you’d had breakfast to tell you.’

  ‘Tell me now. It’s obviously upset you.’

  ‘My sister-in-law emailed me and attached a scanned article from an English scandal rag. It made me feel sick.’

  ‘Show me.’

  She led the way to her office and opened her email program. ‘There.’

  She shuddered every time she saw the words Writers’ Sizzling Love Affair Down Under. ‘That photo of us was taken in Melbourne, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. Frenton was hanging around. I’d bet it’s one of his photos. How the hell did they find out where I was in Australia?’

  She told him about the recent phone call.

  ‘Damn!’ He looked round. ‘Just as I was feeling I had a real home.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have confirmed my name to the caller, should I?’

  ‘You haven’t had the practice I have at being suspicious. We’ll change the phone number.’ He gave her a quick hug. ‘They’d have found out some other way, believe me. They’re nothing if not ingenious. I’d hoped to escape notice for a while longer, though, by moving here. I shall have to do something about her.’

  ‘Isn’t it best just to ignore this?’

  ‘Did ignoring the harassment stop someone writing an anonymous letter to your parents?’

  ‘No. That’s upset my whole family.’

  ‘I think it’s time for me to fight back much more seriously. I’ll get those private investigators into a more active mode.’ He came across and put his arms round her. ‘I’m sorry, Jessica. I shouldn’t have brought you into the firing line.’

  ‘It was my own choice to live with you. You did warn me. But I agree you should do something. You can’t spend the rest of your life hiding.’

  He hesitated, then added, ‘Your brother’s tone in that email isn’t exactly … loving?’

  ‘No. Peter always sees the worst in anything I do. You should have heard what he said about me trying to become a novelist. Well, who cares about him? Come and get some breakfast.’

  ‘I’ll just grab a quick sandwich. I’m not really hungry. I need to think things through. And I need to ring Anna about my new story as soon as our time zones mesh, see what she thinks. I sent her the first three chapters. Sometimes it drives me crazy trying to work for an English publisher from Australia.’

  ‘Maybe you should go back to live there, then.’

  ‘I like Australia and I don’t like the English winters, though I love the summers there. It’s the perennial migrant’s dilemma, isn’t it, torn between their old and new countries. Do you miss England?’

  ‘In some ways, yes, especially English springs and my family. But it’s not only the sunshine here that I like; it’s the different feeling in the air, the energy, call it what you like. Maybe that’s because it’s a younger country. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever settle completely in either place, though.’

  ‘You can come back to the UK with me next time I visit. We’ll hire a serviced flat for a month or two. Well, we’ll do that if I can put a stop to this harassment. I’m not having you put at risk.’

  He put his arms round her and they stood close together for a while, then he pulled away and went upstairs. She heard the shower, then his footsteps as he came down. But he went into his room without looking for her and shut the door firmly.

  She’d never seen him so grim. This wasn’t the time to tell him about her pregnancy, though the worry of it was keeping her awake at night. She went back to her computer and fiddled around, then got angry at herself for letting that article stop her working. She made herself write, and if it wasn’t her best story-telling, well, she could always polish the scenes tomorrow.

  How many tomorrows would she have here once Jivan found out?

  They met briefly mid-afternoon and agreed to share an evening meal, so Jessica got some steaks out of the well-stocked freezer. Barbecuing usually seemed to relax Jivan.

  When he joined her, he said, ‘I’ve sent that article to my lawyer to see if it’s libellous. I’m hoping my ex and Frenton will one day cross the border into suable territory.’

  He finished his coffee, then studied her. ‘You should rest for a while now. You look washed out. I’m going to the post – do you want anything at the shops?’

  ‘Some fruit. Doesn’t matter what. No, on second thoughts, I really fancy some strawberries.’

  ‘All right.’

  It was an hour before he came back with the shopping. Then he vanished into his room and closed the door firmly. She thought, from the expression on his face, that he was up to something other than writing. She could tell.

  He had his window open and she could hear the faint murmur of voices.

  But even though they spent a pleasant evening together, sitting out looking at the house lights reflected in the canal as he barbecued their steaks, he didn’t tell her what he’d been doing.

  The next morning he said curtly, ‘I need to do some research. I think I’ll drive up to Perth. Do you want to come? I’d have to drop you at the shops for a couple of hours, though.’

  ‘No. I’ll stay here.’

  It was the opportunity she needed. She waved him off then called a taxi and went out to buy herself a
pregnancy test kit.

  When she got back, she was so nervous she dropped the box and all its contents spilled out, the instructions fluttering across the bathroom floor. She didn’t even want to touch them. Oh, she was being silly. Taking a deep breath, she picked them up carefully and found out what to do. Not rocket science!

  The test was positive. She sat on the edge of the bath, staring at the indicator for a long time. She’d known she must be pregnant, and yet having it confirmed was still a shock.

  Then she straightened her spine, literally and figuratively. Two of them had made this baby, so why was she blaming herself?

  She’d never particularly wanted children, but suddenly she wanted this one. How could you not? She was worried that the child’s father wouldn’t, though. But perhaps Jivan would change his attitude, as she had?

  She hid the test at the back of a drawer and went to sit on the terrace and think.

  The phone rang several times before the sound registered and she rushed to pick it up, worried that whoever it was might hang up. Jivan could let a phone ring itself out if he was busy, but she never could.

  ‘Yes?’

  There were some long-distance beeps, then, ‘Is that Jivan Childering’s residence?’

  ‘Yes.’ The word was no sooner out than she realised she shouldn’t have said it. But she hung on in the hope that she might find something out about who was calling.

  The voice had a sing-song intonation and the words were hesitant, as if the speaker was using a foreign language.

  ‘Please don’t hang up,’ the man said. ‘I am not trying to sell you anything. I’m a cousin of Jivan and my name is Barlal. Could I speak to him, please?’

  She didn’t know why she believed him, but she did. ‘I’m sorry. He’s out for the day.’

  Silence, then, ‘Are you the housekeeper?’

  ‘No. I’m a friend of Jivan’s. We, um, live here together.’

  ‘Ah. Then you will be able to give him a message, please. The matter is very urgent.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘His father has had a heart attack and is asking for him.’

  ‘Oh dear! I’m so sorry. I hope it’s not serious.’

  ‘We are not sure at this stage, but my uncle Ranjit has recovered somewhat and is very upset at the thought of dying while he’s so … at odds from his eldest son. Could you ask Jivan to call me as soon as he gets back. It really is urgent.’