Dead tide, p.23
Dead Tide, page 23
Her hesitancy at what he presumed was an attempt at seduction only made her more attractive. He needed to make this easier for her by giving her a way out. ‘You have a house on this stretch, you said. Presumably you’re having a break?’
She cut him a brief grin. ‘Sort of.’
Jack could almost hear her scrambled mind telling her to run for it. He clung to the hope that if she was here, maybe her husband was too. He needed to create a distraction. ‘Er, Jem, it’s busy and warm out here. Would you care to come in?’ he said brightly. ‘I can do you a decent Italian coffee with my very reliable caffettiera,’ he offered, knowing how comical that sounded. It was deliberately done and he hoped it would ease the conversation and, at the same time, her discomfort. Jack gestured screwing a lid on something and it won the smile he was after.
‘Please don’t tell me you carry one around. I can’t see this beach shack providing one.’
‘It doesn’t,’ he assured her. ‘French press is the best it offers so, yes, I do carry a small caffettiera around with me when I’m travelling.’ He slid back the big glass door. ‘Have I told you that I’m a vigorous coffee snob?’
‘Aren’t we all just a bit pretentious about our coffee these days? Thank you. I could use one.’ She looked self-conscious but followed him in out of the warmth. ‘Storm’s coming,’ she said.
‘How can you tell?’ Just keep the conversation light, Jack.
Jem shrugged. ‘I’ve been coming here since I was little.’ She pointed up the beach, away from the port. ‘My grandparents had a shack that my parents modernised and now I – well, we – own it. We’ve fully renovated, mainly because Mark insisted, and now it’s far more glam than in previous generations.’
‘I imagine your grandparents thought your parents were overdoing it,’ Jack said.
‘No, I think they liked what my parents did – just simple mod cons – but now . . . they’d see it as unnecessary embellishment to what was always a simple fishing shack. It’s where Grandad would come to spend his day on the water, and us kids would play in the sand under Grandma’s watchful eye.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s not as though Mark particularly enjoys it here. He prefers an over-water bungalow in Bora Bora, to tell the truth. And I preferred how it was during my childhood. Mark makes us clean off the sand outside – it’s such a drag. As kids we used to come hurtling in, pausing only briefly to dust off whatever we could, but Mum never made a fuss. She’d just sweep up each evening. The furniture was old and kicked around, we had no TV, just a radio and, well, we had the best times. Now the kids won’t come unless they have their PlayStations or Xboxes and all that stuff. It sort of loses the point of being here. I want them to run wild like I did. And Mark’s as needy as they are.’
Jack nodded, smiling at her memory but hoping to move her away from the subject of her husband. ‘Were you waiting for me long?’
‘No, not at all,’ she replied quickly. ‘I was just passing by,’ she began and he sensed her fabricating a plausible story. ‘I didn’t know if you’d booked. I’m sure Maria is extremely happy the house is going to be occupied in the days after a long weekend.’
‘It’s terrific. Thanks for suggesting it.’
‘It looked deserted and I wasn’t going to wait at all, but then I saw you strolling back down the beach lost in your thoughts, your shirt undone and flapping around you.’
He let it slide that she had clearly waited for him and that she had probably come to Wallaroo looking for him . . . and especially that she was on the verge of something they should not pursue. It would do neither of them any good to press that button. He moved to the sink and began to run the water into his little coffee boiler. ‘These cars are a shock,’ he said, nodding towards the vehicles on the beach.
‘Oh, it won’t be long now.’ Jem chuckled. ‘As the sun starts to go down, they’ll vanish. Pfft!’ she said. ‘Just like that and the whole beach will be yours.’
‘Promise?’
‘Well, yours and mine anyway,’ she said, again not meeting his gaze.
He let that opening pass too. ‘You were right about how lovely it is here. You’re fortunate to be able to come here whenever you wish.’
She nodded but didn’t reply as Jack got busy spooning in coffee, screwing the contraption together and reaching for milk from the fridge to heat.
Jack tried again. ‘Did you bring the whole family?’
‘Er, no. School tomorrow.’ She shrugged. ‘My parents offered to look after them.’
He smiled. ‘Great. Just the two of you then.’ He turned away to prepare the coffee, anticipating with dread that she’d come alone.
‘Actually, just me this time.’
‘Oh, right,’ he said, not turning back. ‘He’ll join you, no doubt,’ he said with hope.
‘Yes, perhaps . . . depends.’ She didn’t say why and he didn’t ask.
Jack put the coffee pot on the stove and saucepan of milk alongside, turning with a flourish. ‘Biscuit?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Well, maybe we will have these on the verandah. I’ll be out shortly.’ That wasn’t subtle, but he needed to think.
She dutifully turned and did as he suggested.
Jack, Jack, Jack! He heard Kate’s voice first, sounding disappointed, then his chief’s with an I-told-you-so tone, and finally his own, full of regret. Be careful, the trio warned. He shook his head. Jem turning up could be helpful, especially if her husband followed . . . but dangerous all the same.
The milk began to tremble on the stove and he switched it off; the coffee pot began to bubble and sputter soon after. He took out two rather chunky mugs from the cupboard and was pleased sugar sticks were provided. He poured coffee into each, followed by hot milk. Jack carried out the steaming mugs and sugar on a small tray he’d discovered tucked away with chopping boards.
‘Wow, Jack, how domestic you are.’
He could hear Jem had found her composure over the last minute or so. ‘Living alone, I need to be. I’m sorry about the workman-style mugs. Half a stick of sugar – I remembered.’
She smiled and he deliberately didn’t hold her gaze long, pretending to sigh instead and look towards the sea. He sipped his coffee as he heard her stirring hers.
‘Mmm, lovely. Thank you,’ she said. ‘Just what I needed.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he replied.
‘Jack?’ Her tone forced him to turn to her. He could see in her apologetic expression that she was feeling the pull too. ‘I think I’m making you feel awkward?’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because we’re both struggling to look at each other and I guess I could call myself perceptive.’
‘You should have become a psychologist,’ he quipped.
‘You’re avoiding my question.’
No point in pretending. ‘I’m being cautious, Jem. You’re not concerned about people seeing you here?’
‘What, these people?’ she asked, sweeping an arm out and shaking her head. ‘No one’s local here. These are daytrippers, if I can call them that – just here for the break. The locals might come down a bit later.’ Jem sipped her coffee. ‘Besides, I’m not doing anything wrong, am I?’ She looked at him as though needing assurance.
‘No, but these situations are always open to being interpreted the wrong way.’
‘Meaning?’
There was a slight plea she couldn’t hide in her tone, and he could tell that she needed him to say it, to help her walk away from what she knew she should never have walked towards. ‘Jem,’ he began in a patient tone.
She put her coffee mug back on the tray. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come.’ She stood, made to leave and he resisted catching her arm, instead stepping onto the sand slightly in her way.
‘Come inside a moment,’ he said softly.
‘Why?’
‘Because if anyone’s watching, it looks more natural than us beginning any sort of difficult conversation in the open.’ He shrugged, forcing a smile. ‘People can read body language, so smile back at me and pick up your mug and let’s just go back inside a moment.’
She didn’t argue. Back in the kitchen area, he leaned against the back counter, well out of sight, which encouraged her to step away from the doors and any penetrating gazes. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked.
It came out in a rush and he didn’t interrupt, just let it rage, listening to all that had gone wrong for Jem since he’d last shared a coffee with her.
‘An affair. Okay. And do you trust this Alex guy?’
‘I have no reason not to.’ She shrugged. ‘Plus, he’s as much a victim as I am in this situation.’
‘You have no proof, right?’
Jem shook her head. ‘But what Alex was saying made so much sense. I just wanted to escape. I had to get away from Mark. This is not something I would ever be prepared to forgive.’
‘If it’s true,’ Jack qualified. ‘Petras . . . Where does that name originate from?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said, giving a soft groan of helplessness. ‘Eastern Europe somewhere. One of those countries that if you asked me to pinpoint on a world map I couldn’t,’ she said, smiling sadly. ‘I think he said Lithuania.’
Now she had his attention. ‘And is this Alex Petras involved in reproductive medicine as well?’
Jem shook her head, frowning at him. ‘No. Far from it. He’s in transport.’
‘What sort of transport?’ Jack tried to keep his voice calm but all of his senses were on high alert.
‘Trucking,’ she said. ‘Actually, he told me that more recently he’s been getting involved in aquaculture.’ She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Seahorses are in high demand, apparently.’
Jack blinked. ‘Where?’
‘Where what?’
‘Where does he farm seahorses?’
‘Here somewhere. In this region – Eyre Peninsula, Yorke Peninsula, I’m not certain. I really wasn’t that interested. I was too busy worrying about his two-faced, bitch wife banging my husband—’
Jack interrupted her. ‘You know this?’
She eyed him, puzzled. ‘I don’t have proof of his infidelity but—’
‘I mean, do you have proof that Petras has shipping interests in this region?’
Jem frowned. ‘No, he’s cultivating some exotic sea creatures, so it’s probably more like nurseries, I would think. Why on earth are you so interested in Alex?’
‘I’m just trying to get the measure of the man,’ Jack said quickly, but it sat halfway between convincing and lame. He wasn’t sure which way Jem might lean but she was mercifully distracted by what he said next. ‘After all, what he’s suggesting might implode your relationship.’
Jem pushed away from the wall where she’d been standing and paced, angrily. ‘Not might, will implode it if it’s true. Infidelity is one crack I won’t mend. These last two years have been so strange. Mark has been increasingly distant and I’ve been pretending, convincing myself that it’s just a phase, that he’s busy, that the children are demanding more and more time. But that’s head-in-the-sand stuff. I must face it. I told you I didn’t even know he worked at that place where you and I met – that’s telling, right?’ She didn’t wait for his reply. ‘There’s other stuff too,’ she said, tapping a nail against her mug and then putting the mug down in a show of frustration. ‘He’s become secretive. He’s never been like that. So now I can’t help but believe he’s lying to me.’
‘Why do you think that?’ Jack hoped she wouldn’t simply claim a wife’s intuition; that wouldn’t help him.
She described Mark’s lie about the delivery of the baby that never happened. ‘And before you ask, no, Mark doesn’t make mistakes. His mind is like a vault. He deliberately lied. He confidently gave me the name of the mother and the hospital; it was so convincing.’ She sighed, shook her head as if embarrassed. ‘He presumed it wouldn’t cross my mind to check.’
‘So you think he was with—’
‘That bitch, yes!’ At his blink, she gave a bitter laugh. ‘Sorry, but that’s how I feel. She sat at my table only a week ago, smiling, schmoozing with me in that European accent of hers, and all the while she was probably planning when next to sleep with my husband. She came up and air-kissed me at school drop-off yesterday. Whore!’
Jack wasn’t going to engage. ‘You have no proof,’ he repeated. ‘Give him some quarter. Don’t destroy your trust and marriage over someone else’s suspicion.’
‘No, Jack. It’s too late. There are other things. The other day a friend said she saw Mark having coffee with a woman. When I called him he claimed he was at his clinic, but I could hear traffic, voices. He was quick to make me feel awkward about asking, saying he was seeing a patient to her car. I didn’t believe him then, but I had no reason to mistrust him so I let it go. He was probably with Alannah the Lithuanian slut.’
Jack was sipping his cooling coffee in that second and he spluttered. She really was helplessly amusing in her anger.
‘This isn’t funny, Jack.’
He coughed, putting his coffee down. ‘It’s not, I agree.’ His shirt was now stained with the explosive mouthful of coffee he hadn’t managed to keep contained and he looked at the mess with regret.
She saw his glance. ‘I’d get that into some cold water if I were you. In fact, the best thing for coffee is this,’ she said, moving towards the sink and reaching for the dishwashing liquid. ‘And some white vinegar, if we can find it. I’ve got some up at the house if you don’t have it here.’
‘I think I spotted some old apple cider vinegar,’ Jack replied, beginning to rummage through a cupboard. ‘Someone probably left it for the next guest.’
‘That’ll do. Here, get your shirt off first, and then look for it. The sooner we get this into water, the better.’ As he hesitated, she looked back at him with exasperation. ‘Hurry up.’
He tried not to appear overly self-conscious as he undid the two buttons that held his shirt on and slipped it off, immediately looking away and busying himself finding the vinegar. He handed the bottle to Jem, who had already plunged his shirt into the now slightly soapy cold water. ‘That should do it,’ she said, tipping two scant lids of vinegar into the water. The pungent smell of the fermented apples filled their immediate space and it was an excuse for him to step back.
‘Now we wait,’ she said and turned back to him.
Jack pointed his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the bathroom. ‘I’ll just go and—’
‘No, don’t,’ Jem said, placing a hand on his chest. Her fingers were still damp, cold against his warm skin.
Jack covered her hand with his. ‘Jem,’ he began in a cautionary tone. ‘You’ll re—’
‘I won’t. You don’t know how angry I am, Jack. If you’re in the mood, then I want this, to remind myself that I’m in charge of my life.’
23
Jack released Jem’s hand to smooth a wayward strand of her honey-coloured hair as they stood in the kitchen. He nodded. ‘I’m not going to be your revenge, or the source of despair later.’ As she began to protest, he continued. ‘No, listen to me. You have children, you have a family life you love, and you’ve got a husband – you don’t know if he is having an affair, you simply suspect it on the word of another. And you can’t necessarily trust that other person’s opinion. Surely you’d rather trust Mark?’
Jem stared at him, uncomprehending for a moment. ‘I hate you for making me feel responsible.’
He shrugged. ‘You’ll love me down the track for being your conscience.’
‘And there was I thinking every man’s a bastard, or a liar. But you’re different.’ She hugged him and it felt friendly rather than erotic. Jem turned her cheek against the expanse of his chest.
He was still yet to hug her back, feeling unsure about what he could do with his arms that would signal empathy but not encouragement.
‘Mmm, not only are you not a liar but you smell damn good, Jack Hawksworth,’ she murmured.
It was too much. Jack’s healthy libido began to answer Jem’s need as she pressed closer against his bare skin; now his body was calling on that desire to be answered. Adding to his discomfort was his knowledge that he was lying to her face, even though she suddenly trusted him more than the next closest man in her life.
‘Jem, come and sit down.’
‘You’re not going to lecture me, are you? It’s bad enough that you’re behaving holier than thou. Here’s a woman offering herself to you and you’re saying let’s talk. It’s not doing my self-esteem any good at all.’ Now her voice cracked.
He guided her to the worn leather sofa. It wasn’t very comfy but he’d long ago accepted that holiday home owners tended to put in cheap furniture or that which had seen better days in their families. ‘Just give me a sec,’ he said. He raced into the bedroom and grabbed a thin blue windcheater, pulling it over his head as he returned.
‘Spoilsport,’ she groaned, her tone dark.
‘You’ll be calling me something else in a minute.’
She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I haven’t been truthful with you and I think I should be.’
Her frown deepened. ‘You’re married,’ she said, sounding careless. ‘So what? So am I.’
‘No, I’m single. I’ve never been married,’ he asserted, adding, ‘Nor am I involved with anyone at present.’
Her gaze narrowed, and she looked pained. ‘Gay?’
He shook his head.
She shrugged. ‘Then I don’t get it.’
‘I’m with the police.’
Jem Maddox blinked slowly, processing what she’d just heard. ‘Police?’ she repeated.
‘A detective,’ he said, unable to hide how bad he felt. He had no intention of letting Jem know just how senior he was.
‘What?’ She shook her head, confounded. ‘Why? I mean, what’s that got to do with me?’
‘Absolutely nothing. If you hadn’t come to visit, you’d be none the wiser and I wouldn’t feel obliged to explain myself.’
He watched her breathe out, impressed by her composure. She’d felt comfortable enough to bare her soul to him, offer her body too, only to discover the man she trusted had been lying since she met him. He’d be fuming in her position.
