In the Market for Love

chapter eight



Rachel threw the concepts folder into the boot of her car and slammed it shut. Her suede bag slipped off her shoulder so she clutched at the strap, walked over to the driver’s side of the car, yanked the door open and slumped onto the seat.

“Damn you,” she muttered.

Pulling the door shut, she stabbed the key into the ignition, only for it to slip through her fingers. She groped the floor of the car searching for the keys, then sat up to insert the key more carefully.

“I can’t believe this.”

Her voice was a whisper. She shook her head, surprised to find she was talking to herself in the empty vehicle.

She crossed her arms in disgust. She’d dealt with bigger problems than Jake Austin and wasn’t going to let him get the better of her. She couldn’t disappoint herself like that.

He didn’t mean anything to her. It wasn’t like losing her husband. Jake was merely a colleague. He wasn’t even a boyfriend. What they had wasn’t a relationship and a couple of stolen kisses didn’t constitute something special. He meant nothing to her.

Nick’s death and all it entailed had left her devastated. He’d left her more alone than she’d ever imagined possible, alienated from her friends who couldn’t understand the depths of her struggle and, to top it all off, in debt.

If she could live through that she could do anything.

Including deal with Jake.

They’d met regularly about the campaign and he always talked about his child but never mentioned a wife. Now she thought about it, it was too blaring an omission. Even if he were divorced he’d surely mention his ex if only to berate her.

He’d been evasive the night they’d gone out for a drink too. Everything fit. He’d hesitated before answering a question about his ex wife. Or was she his ex?

Then he’d given Rachel his mobile number, refusing to give her his home number. The oldest trick in the book. How could she not have picked up on it?

His behaviour in his office minutes ago flashed before her eyes and it occurred to her that perhaps he’d been about to tell her he was married. He’d been forced into it by her close proximity to his wife in the corridor.

Meanwhile she’d been acting like a coquette in his office, teasing him, trying act seductive. She’d completely misinterpreted his signals. What a fool she’d been.

Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed. It wasn’t Jake for whom she was crying. He was just a man. And a married one at that. He wasn’t even the man she thought he was.

No, Jake Austin wasn’t worth shedding tears over. She stretched her arms onto the steering wheel for balance.

That man was a whirlwind, a tempest blowing through her life. He’d swept her into a storm and taken her to spinning heights and she’d known it was dangerous, known all along she could plummet to earth with the slightest slip. He’d given her a glimpse of things that could have been.

It was all coming back to her. The past was being whisked up. She couldn’t believe she’d let this happen to herself a second time.

First Nick.

Now Jake.

Both of them unfaithful.

* * *

Rachel saw her mobile phone vibrate on her desk through the corner of her eye, then heard its familiar ring. Jake’s name flashed on the little screen.

How could he phone her at work as though nothing had happened? What could he possibly have to say?

The man had gall. Far too much of it.

A realisation came to her and with it newfound calmness. Now that she knew his sordid secret, he couldn’t hurt her any more than he already had. There could be no harm in answering the call. He was nothing special to her.

She picked up the phone and heard the voice that had nearly seduced her with its rich, deep tones. “Hi Rachel. I’m sorry about this morning.”

Silence.

“When Emma barged into the office I had to run off quickly,” he said. “And I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to you properly.”

She didn’t think failing to say goodbye even warranted an apology. Not compared to lying to her and using her. What would constitute a proper goodbye? Another passionate kiss where he pretended he cared for her?

She was trapped in a business relationship with him. Agency 66 was managing her campaign. She’d worked on it for two years. It was her baby and she was not going to let him ruin all her hard work. She’d be civil with him for they were colleagues after all. She’d prove she was better than him. And this conversation would be a quick one.

All she wanted to do was get through the day, get home, clear her mind and prepare to start afresh.

“No problem,” she said coolly. “What can I do for you?”

“I didn’t call about business. It’s about tonight. I wanted to speak to you about something this evening.”

“Jake, I don’t have time for anything other than the campaign.”

A pause. “Has something happened?”

The man was infuriating. He knew full well he was married.

“Look,” he said. “There have been a couple more alterations to the concepts so I was going to drop by this afternoon and leave them with you.”

“Sure, you can leave them at reception.”

“Reception? Rachel, I want to see you.”

And it occurred to her that perhaps she should see him one last time. Away from the campaign and their work environment. After all, why should he get off so lightly while she disappeared quietly into the background?

Tonight, she could tell him face to face. Let him know exactly what she thought of him.

“Not at the office,” she said. “Maybe you’re right about tonight. Not at a bar either. I’ll come to your place. I won’t stay long.”

“My place isn’t so good.”

“I didn’t think so.”

Of course no married man would want to meet at his house. That didn’t mean she was going to let him get away with it.

“Can I come to your place instead?” he asked. “That’d be easier for me.”

“That won’t work. You’d have to get a baby sitter for a start. That’s not easy at such short notice.”

“A baby sitter won’t be a problem,” he said. “I’ve been renovating and–”

“I don’t want to hear about it. It’s your place or you can forget it.”

There was a pause at the other end of the phone. She’d let him stew.

Eventually he said, “My place at 7.30. Connor should be in bed by then. I don’t want to disturb his routine.”

She scribbled down the address, looking forward to an early evening drive to Mosman, one of Sydney’s finest suburbs.

He wouldn’t get the better of her.

* * *

Struggling to read the house numbers in the dark, Rachel drove slowly along View Street, Mosman, and pondered how different this was from the street on which she lived. There were no BMWs, Mercedes or Porsches parked on her street. No houses with tennis courts or vast manicured lawns.

She pulled up on the side of the road, got out of her car and took a long look at Jake’s house.

It wasn’t the kind of place she imagined he’d live at all. There was no style about it, no elegance or originality. The huge two storey Tuscan house was built to emulate the terracotta coloured rendered buildings of that part of Italy and looked severely out of place here.

The carefully landscaped grounds clearly required the skills of a professional gardener or perhaps a team of gardeners. A U shaped driveway fronted the building but she hadn’t wanted to park there.

She turned her head to take in the vista Jake had told her he enjoyed from his house. In the moonlight, she could just make out the Sydney Heads, the two thin landmasses through which all ships entered the harbour. She’d seen the view before from a park at the foot of the hill but the outlook from Jake’s house built high on a ridge was far superior.

Hearing footsteps, she turned to see Jake walking towards her from one corner of the house. Even in the dark, back lit by lights at the front of the house, he looked magnificent, his hips slim, his shoulders broad and masculine.

She waited for him to come closer. She had to be resolute. Unyielding.

“Rachel,” he said. “Come on in.”

She strode up the broad driveway towards him. “Big house.”

“Yep. Too big.”

He steered her towards the side of the house, away from the imposing double front door surrounded by ornate glasswork and the grand foyer which was no doubt behind it.

“What’s wrong with the front door?” she asked.

“Connor and I never use that door. We spend most of our time at the back of the house.”

Jake led her down a narrow path with overgrown creeper cascading over the fence on one side and a wall of climbing roses on the other. It opened onto a pretty courtyard with limestone paving and a wooden table with four whicker chairs. The garden seemed small for a house this size.

They stepped into the house through French doors. Two large Chesterfield leather sofas covered in cushions dominated the room. Children’s books and a couple of toy cars were piled at one end of the coffee table, leaving room for a platter of crackers and creamy camembert at the other.

She stepped over to a low cabinet covered in family photos and scanned them, only to find Bianca conspicuously missing from the pictures. Had he hidden her photos before she arrived?

Rachel searched for clues of a feminine presence but could find none.

“Take a seat,” he said. “Would you like a glass of wine? I had a glass of white with dinner. Or I can open a bottle of red for you.”

She could think of nothing she wanted less than to finish a bottle of wine with Jake. She didn’t plan on getting that comfortable with him. “No thanks. Just a coffee.”

She was amazed at her own reserve. It was like the calm in the eye of the cyclone, only this time she was the storm. And she would demolish everything in her path.

“Help yourself to some cheese.” Jake pointed to the platter on the coffee table and left to go to the kitchen.

What lay beneath his polite words? Did he think they were going to have pleasant conversation and refreshments?

Footsteps shuffled on the floor and Rachel turned to see a small child in racing car pyjamas.

She softened as soon as she saw him, a wave of warmth washing over her. It was amazing. He had the pale hair, soft translucent skin and rounded cheeks of a small child but with Jake’s deep, serious eyes.

The boy fiddled with a button. “Where’s Daddy?”

“He’s fixing the coffee,” Rachel said. “Connor, honey, aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”

He nodded. “I can’t get to sleep. I want Daddy to scratch my back for me. To help me sleep.”

“I’ll help you, sweetie.” Rachel placed her hand on his shoulder and nudged him gently back in the direction from which he’d come. “I’m not very good at back scratching but I can help you get back into bed.”

In the boy’s room, she straightened the sheets and doona and tucked him back into bed. She wondered if Jake had painted the fluffy white clouds on the ceiling himself.

It seemed there were two sides to the man. Father and philanderer.

She slipped quietly out of the room and watched from her darkened position in the doorway as Jake entered the living room. He put two coffee mugs on the table, and shifted his gaze to the French door, then to her burgundy suede handbag sitting at the foot of one of the Chesterfields.

Did he think she’d disappeared?

“I’m still here.” Rachel’s heels clicked on the floorboards as she made her way back to the sofa.

“Is everything alright?” Jake asked.

“Fine. Connor said he needed his back scratched so he could fall asleep.” Rachel smiled. She couldn’t help it. “He seems like a nice kid.”

“I thought you didn’t like children.”

“Shows how little you know,” she said. “I adore kids. I have two beautiful nieces.”

“I’m surprised he let you into his room, let alone allowed you to scratch his back.”

“I didn’t scratch his back. I tucked him back into bed. Anyway, kids have good instincts about these things. They’re good at judging who to trust.”

Somewhere along the line, she seemed to have lost those skills.

Jake sat down on the sofa not too close to her. “I’m glad you came around this evening.”

“Really? It sounded like you didn’t want me coming around. To your house, that is.”

Perched on the edge of the leather sofa, she leaned forward to sip her coffee before leaning back.

“You seem tense,” he said.

“I don’t usually visit strange men at night.”

Jake inched closer. “I’m not strange.”

“We might work together but I don’t really know you very well.”

“That’s just it. I’d like to get to know you better too. And there was something I wanted to talk about.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to get to know you better.”

He held her gaze. Didn’t say anything.

“I don’t like playing games,” she said.

“Neither do I.”

She pressed her hair back behind her ears.

“So why did you lie to me?”