A Weekend to Remember
Auteur·e
Miranda Lee
Lectures
15,7K
Chapitres
12
CHAPTER ONE
A LIGHT drizzle started falling soon after the road began its long winding route up the Blue Mountains. Hannah flicked on the windscreen wipers and glanced over at her passenger.
He was still sleeping, thank heavens. The drive from Sydney up to the cottage was difficult enough at the best of times. On a Friday evening, in the dark and in the rain, it was downright dangerous.
Her hands tightened on the steering-wheel, her stomach muscles following suit. What in hell was she doing? Common sense told her to turn round and go back, take Jack home, confess all and throw herself on his mercy.
I’m terribly, terribly sorry, she could hear herself saying. I don’t know what came over me, but of course I’m not your fiancee. Just a very worried secretary who simply couldn’t let that cold-hearted ambitious bitch take you for another ride. When that tile fell on your head this morning and you lost the last six weeks from your memory—including your whirlwind romance—I thought at first that might be the end of Felicia. But then a nurse at the hospital said a fiancee had been mentioned and would I please call her. In my mind’s eye I saw Felicia swanning in and winning you all over again with her looks and her lies, so before I knew it I’d opened my stupid mouth and said I was your fiancee.
Hannah’s heart almost jumped into her mouth when Jack shifted in his seat and muttered something under his breath. She sighed with relief when he settled back again, his head lolling to one side, his eyes still shut.
God, for a second there, she thought she’d been speaking out loud instead of in her head. As much as common sense kept ringing warning bells over her reckless deception, no way was she going to heed them.
She didn’t care if she lost her job over this.
And she probably would.
Hannah was determined that till Jack got his memory back—the doctor had said that that could happen at any time during the next few days—the only person with him would be herself. She was determined to keep that two-timing witch out of the picture till she could tell Jack the whole appalling truth about the woman he’d been going to marry at the end of the month.
As it stood, dear Felicia was probably at this very moment fuming over the fax from Jack saying that he was having second thoughts about their engagement, and that he was going away for a few days to think things over. The fax also added that she was not to try to contact him, and that he would contact her when he returned.
Any guilt Hannah felt over doing such an outrageous thing, including forging Jack’s name, was cancelled when she thought of what she had discovered last night. That woman deserved no consideration. None at all.
Hannah shuddered to think how close she had come to not going to Jack’s engagement party and finding out the truth. She’d arrived home from work yesterday to be greeted by her final divorce papers in the mail, which hadn’t exactly put her in the mood for partying. She’d literally had to force herself to dress, then drive down to Kirribilli, where the party was being held in a fancy high-rise unit overlooking the harbour, courtesy of a property developer friend of Jack’s.
Even before knowing what she knew now, Hannah had harboured misgivings about Jack’s choice of bride. She’d only met Felicia a couple of times in a very casual way at the office, but she had just known the woman wasn’t right for Jack.
It wasn’t jealousy on her part. Hannah had only been Jack’s secretary for a little over a year, and there was nothing between them but a strictly work-related relationship. Her feelings for Jack Marshall stopped firmly at liking, respect and gratitude. Oh, yes.. .she was grateful to him. Very grateful.
When she’d applied for the job as private secretary to the boss of Marshall Homes, Hannah had honestly thought she hadn’t stood a chance. Good Lord, it had been years since she had used her secretarial skills outside of the home.
But it seemed that Jack had been looking for someone mature, who could be relied on, not some flighty young flibbertigibbet—his word, not hers—who would leave either to go overseas, get married or have babies. She’d assured him she would do none of those things, since she hated travel, had already been married one time too many, and had had babies—two boys, now thirteen and fourteen, both in boarding-school.
Hannah had been so proud of herself when Jack had rung the next day to tell her she had the job.
Pride was something she’d been deficient in for quite some time, and in gratitude for the chance he’d given her Hannah gave him absolute loyalty in return. In her eyes, Jack could do no wrong. He deserved the best, in her opinion, and the best was not a two-faced two-bit soapie-star by the unlikely name of Felicia Fay.
Hannah’s top lip curled in contempt at the mere thought of the woman.
Really, she was beneath contempt—the worst excuse for a woman Hannah had ever met. She’d begun to suspect as much the moment Jack’s fiancee had opened the apartment door to her the previous evening…
‘Well, if it isn’t the efficient Hannah, running late for once. Whatever will Jack say!’
Startled by her sour tone, Hannah’s hazel eyes blinked wide for a second, before narrowing to appraise further the woman her boss was to marry in four weeks’ time.
There was no doubt that Felicia was physically beautiful—more so tonight than ever before. She looked a million dollars, in fact. Masses of blonde streaked tresses framed a perfectly madeup face before cascading down over slender shoulders. Her tall model-like figure was encased in a suede trouser suit in a deep blue which complemented her big blue eyes. A long rope of reallooking pearls hung between her high, firm breasts, matching drop earrings swinging sexily from her lobes as she tipped her head to one side and returned the appraisal.
‘I see you haven’t had time to change,’ she drawled. ‘I must tell Jack not to work you so hard. Poor Hannah. Still…black always looks well on older women, doesn’t it? It’s kind on the complexion and so slimming.’
Poor Hannah was stunned into silence by such an ill-concealed display of bitchiness. The black dress she was wearing was understated but definitely after-five—not the sort of garment she would ever have dreamt of wearing to the office. And her shoulder-length brown hair was stylishly done up in a French roll, not the simple topknot she favoured for work. Despite all this, Hannah knew she didn’t hold a candle to the bright butterfly standing before her. So why the attempt to put her down?
‘I must thank you for the sweet little engagement gift you sent via Jack,’ the butterfly swept on, with a cloying smile. ‘One can’t have too many ornaments, can one?’
Hannah tried not to choke. The ‘ornament’ she’d sent had been a very elegant and very expensive Lladro!
‘Now, don’t just stand there, Hannah, looking out of place. Do come in. Jack’s busy talking to some important people at the moment, so you’ll have to mingle, I’m afraid.’
Hannah absorbed all the subtle and not-sosubtle slights of Felicia’s welcome with a rueful dismay. This was the first time she’d been alone with Jack’s fiancée for more than a minute, and the cat’s claws were well and truly out. Rather telling, Hannah thought, since she was hardly the sort of secretary to worry a prospective wife. The woman had to be a natural bitch, who believed all other women were the same.
‘I don’t mind mingling,’ Hannah returned as Felicia shut the door behind her.
‘Don’t you? Funny, I always think of you as such a shy little thing. It amazes me sometimes why Jack has so much confidence in you. You don’t seem the type to be a super-secretary.’
Hannah bristled. ‘What type would you say I am?’
Felicia’s laugh was light and tinkling. Presumably it was meant to soften the malice behind the words. ‘Oh, you know. The little-woman-athome type. You are married, aren’t you? You wear a wedding-ring and I heard someone call you Mrs Althorp the other day.’
The fingers of Hannah’s left hand automatically curled over into a tight, tense fist. ‘Actually, no, I’m not any more,’ she said tautly. ‘My divorce came through today. I just haven’t bothered to take off my rings. Maybe I never will. With the number of males who come through the office, sometimes it’s handy to be thought of as married.’
Felicia’s glance was sharp. ‘So you’ve become a man-hater, have you?’ she asked hopefully.
‘I wouldn’t say that, exactly. But I have no intention of ever remarrying, if that’s what you’re asking,’ she added, hoping to put the woman’s unfounded fears at rest.
Her smile still had an edge to it. ‘In that case, I’ll make sure I call you Mrs Althorp when I’m in the office. Funny, I know a plastic surgeon called Althorp. Has a practice on the North Shore. But of course, he can’t be your Althorp. Such a handsome, charming, cultured man.’
Hannah could hardly believe the venom she was hearing. What had she ever done to this woman but be polite and pleasant?
‘I must get back to Jack. You can look after yourself, can’t you?’
With gritted teeth, Hannah agreed that she could, all the while wondering if dear Felicia was the twenty-nine she claimed to be. Hannah’s ex-husband was a dab hand at facelifts, and all sorts of other cosmetic surgery. Dwight’s practice depended largely on ladies in the public eye who wanted to look young forever, and other poor put-upon women whose husbands and boyfriends wanted them to look like the models in Playboy magazine.
The epitome of feminine desirability these days seemed to be large-breasted, tiny-waisted, slenderhipped, tight-buttocked, firm-thighed, longlegged, small-nosed, big-lipped, wide-eyed, nowrinkles, clear-skinned beauties, with the public sweetness of angels and the private talents of whores.
Hannah didn’t quite qualify. Admittedly when she’d married Dwight, at nineteen, she’d been very pretty and her figure excellent. She was still pretty enough, she supposed, with neat features and nice big eyes. And, being fairly tall, she still looked good in clothes. But the birth of two boys by the time she’d been twenty-one, plus another fourteen years, had taken a certain toll. As for her talents in the bedroom…Well, least said, best said about that.
Felicia, however, obviously did qualify—in every way. Her face and figure were second bar none. Her public demeanour in front of Jack was feminine and accommodating. As far as her private demeanour was concerned…Hannah had no doubt that Felicia’s talents in the bedroom were superb as well, to have Jack doing what he’d vowed never to do. Getting married.
Hannah sighed. God, she just hated to think of Jack married to that woman! Felicia was like this apartment—all surface glamour and glitz, but with no soul. In a way, she reminded Hannah of Dwight. Both of them were social climbers, who cared more for appearances than anything else. Jack would find no more happiness with Felicia as his wife than Hannah had with Dwight as her husband.
But it was none of her business, was it, whom her boss married? He was a grown man, thirtyfour years old, with a mind of his own. If she dared venture an adverse opinion of his new fiancée, he wouldn’t be at all pleased. It might even reverberate on her and the job she valued. Really, there was nothing for it but to smile sweetly and keep her mouth firmly shut.
Hannah moved from the marble-floored foyer down three cream-carpeted steps and into the first of the large living-rooms. It was peppered with small groups of people, all with drinks in their hands, several with cigarettes as well. She cringed as the smoke haze teased her nostrils, setting off that old tell-tale pang of need. Irritated with herself, she swept a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and pressed it to her lips, taking a few swift sharp swallows. It wasn’t as good as a cigarette, but it was better than nothing.
Glancing around, she quickly spied Jack across the heads in the next room. Nothing strange about that. At six feet six inches tall, Jack’s head usually stood above all others. His longish wavy jet-black hair was hard to miss as well. Hannah stood, sipping her drink and quietly watching him from a distance.
Not a classically handsome man, Jack nevertheless had a face one remembered, with its large, strong features, deeply set blue eyes, squared jaw and uncompromising mouth. One also remembered the scar that ran from his left eyebrow across his cheekbone to his left ear—the result of a run-in with a knife when he was a lad. Or so the rumour went.
Looking at him objectively, Hannah had to concede that a pretty boy, Jack wasn’t. But, with shoulders and a body to match his height, he was physically a very impressive and intimidating individual.
She could still remember catching her breath in surprise when, during her job interview, Jack had suddenly stood up to attend an incoming fax. Prior to that he’d been leaning back in his swivelchair, his long legs stretched out under the desk. She hadn’t realised how tall he was. Even now, when he strode into the office some mornings, she could still be awed by his size.
Hannah was not used to physical men. Dwight possessed an elegant, slender frame—nothing like Jack, who was a big bull of a man. No, not a bull—a bear. But, like a lot of big bears, underneath all the huff and bluff, lay a soft heart.
Too bad it had to be snared by the likes of Felicia.
Hannah moved through the archway which separated the two rooms, her eyebrows lifting in surprise once Jack came into full view. For he was dressed as she had never seen him before, in a sleek black dinner suit with satin lapels that would have done an ambassador proud.
Hannah stared, amazed that Felicia had persuaded Jack to wear what he always called a ‘penguin’ suit. His usual garb was shorts and a T-shirt if it was hot, jeans and a sweatshirt if it wasn’t. Occasionally he sported a pair of casual trousers and a proper shirt if he was going to a restaurant. No tie, though. He despised ties. Yet here he was, with a bow-tie choking his muscular neck.
There was no doubting the power of love!
Or sex, Hannah added with silent cynicism. Men’s brains went from their heads to their groins when it came to sex—especially with women who looked like Felicia. Feminine instinct warned Hannah that her boss didn’t really love his new fiancée. He was sexually besotted, that was all. As for Felicia…Hannah felt certain that she didn’t love Jack either.
But there was nothing she could do about it.
Hannah stopped her progress towards her boss once she saw who Jack was talking to. It was Gerald Boynton, the owner of this unit and a highly successful property developer. About forty, he was one of those sleazily handsome men, with slicked back hair, a pencil-thin moustache and dark oily eyes which slid all over you.
Hannah couldn’t stand a bar of him.
Recently he’d bought great tracts of land around the Wyong area, and wanted Jack to build his quality homes on the various developments he had planned. He insisted that together they would ‘revolutionise’ housing on the Central Coast.
That was the way Gerald Boynton talked. Very big. Still, there was no doubt he got things done, and it looked as if Jack would sign up with him. Hannah felt that it was the second dubious partnership her boss was about to enter into.
The urge to have a cigarette consumed her again, and she swivelled round to see whom she could cadge a cigarette from. The need quickly became a compulsion. Her fingers itched. She licked dry lips. It had been two whole months since she’d gone cold turkey, and she’d hoped she’d moved beyond this. It was clear that she hadn’t.
Giving in to temptation with a rush of rebellion, she headed straight for a group of smokers, only to have someone grab her by the arm and pull her to a halt.
‘Oh, no you don’t,’ a deep male voice growled.
Hannah whirled to find Jack glaring down at her from under beetling brows, his piercing blue eyes carrying reproach.
‘No, you don’t, what?’ she tried, but her own eyes were smiling ruefully. When Jack had first noticed she’d given up cigarettes he’d declared himself her watchdog, he himself having only given up the dreaded vice a few months before. His vocal pride in her success so far had always stopped her sneaking one behind his back. Till tonight.
‘Hannah, Hannah,’ he sighed. ‘I can read you like a book. You were coveting that fellow’s cigarette over there like a starving man covets a Big Mac. Admit it. I caught you just in time.’
‘Yes, boss,’ she sighed back. ‘I admit it. I was about to become a fallen woman.’
He smiled a wry smile, showing big white teeth within his wide, strong mouth. ‘Not you, Hannah.’
‘Yes, me,’ she insisted, but laughingly.
‘You two seem to be having a good time together,’ Felicia said as she snaked her arm through Jack’s. ‘Is it a private joke, or can any old fiancee join in?’
‘Hannah was about to have a cigarette,’ Jack told her in all seriousness.
‘So? She’s entitled to, isn’t she? You’re only her boss, Jack, not her keeper.’
Was Hannah imagining things, or had she just seen the first chink in Felicia’s acting ability in front of Jack? She could have sworn there had been a veneer of acid coating the woman’s supposedly light words.
‘I know how hard it is to give up smoking,’ Jack said. ‘Hannah needs someone to keep tabs on her.’
‘What a sweetie you are, Jack,’ Felicia said, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek. ‘After we’re married, we’ll both keep tabs on her!’ This with a sly look Hannah’s way.
Hannah only just managed to stop herself from pulling a face at Felicia in return. Why, oh, why didn’t men see through this type of female? It wasn’t as though Jack was naive where women were concerned. Heck, no. There’d been a steady trail of girlfriends over the past year. Still, one had to concede that a woman like Felicia didn’t come along every day of the week.
Hannah endured the next hour of the party with great difficulty. Felicia spirited Jack out of her company in no time flat, leaving her to ‘mingle’ again, which wasn’t all that easy. Really, this was a party of Felicia’s friends, not Jack’s. There was not a single employee present from Marshall Homes other than herself. She began to wonder why Jack had insisted she come. On top of that, everyone she spoke to and who spoke to her seemed to be smoking—several of them offering her cigarettes. In the end she couldn’t bear it any longer, and accepted one.
Feeling guilty, and terrified that Jack would see her, she slipped out on to one of the two balconies the unit opened on to. Being midwinter, and with a cool breeze blowing at this height, none of the guests had availed themselves of either. Hannah had to huddle into an alcove to keep the cigarette alight, turning her back to the wind as she puffed away like mad. Oh, how soothing it felt! But how wickedly weak it made her feel!
Dwight’s repeated criticism over her many failures to give up smoking permanently popped back into mind, making her drag even more deeply. To hell with you, she thought savagely. And to hell with that blonde bimbo you replaced me with!
When she heard the sound of a glass door sliding open, Hannah almost died. Fearing it was Jack, come to spring her, she quickly squashed the cigarette underfoot, then squatted down behind a leafy rubber tree. Not daring to breathe, she was waiting for her boss to discover her guilty quaking self when a low moan broke the cold night air.
Hannah froze as more telling sounds met her ears. Dear heavens, someone was kissing, or making love, or doing something decidedly sexual. How embarrassing if they found out she was there, listening to them!
Hannah almost groaned aloud when she heard the woman say ‘darling’ on a husky whisper. For it was Felicia. The thought of being a silent witness to Jack and that woman doing and saying intimate things made her skin crawl.
‘You like that, darling?’ she murmured.
‘God, Felicia, what am I going to do without you?’
Hannah snapped to attention. For the man wasn’t Jack!
‘You’ll survive, Gerald. You do have your new little mistress to keep you satisfied, after all.’
‘She’s not a patch on you in bed.’
‘Such a flatterer, you are,’ Felicia cooed. ‘You’re rather good yourself. I’ve never met a man with your style and imagination.’
‘Then why the hell are you going to marry that big oaf? He’s all brawn and no brains. I wish to hell I’d never introduced you to him. You can’t possibly enjoy going to bed with him. I would imagine having Jack on top would be like being run over by a bulldozer. God, don’t stop.’
Felicia laughed. ‘In that case there must be something to be said for being run over by a bulldozer. Jack might not have your formal education, Gerald, but he’s street-smart and not to be underestimated. And what he lacks in irnagination he more than makes up for with a quite amazing stamina. I’m not that much a martyr that I would marry a man who couldn’t satisfy me in bed.’
‘I’d be quite happy to keep on satisfying you. Any time. Anywhere.’
‘Yes, but you won’t marry me.’
‘That’s because I’m already married. God, I’ll pay you, if that’s what you want.’
‘Not enough, darling. Under that supposedly magnaminous façade you wear, you’re the original Scrooge.’
‘I didn’t get rich by being stupid.’
‘Neither will I. Modelling and acting hasn’t brought me any real fame or fortune, and my looks won’t last forever. I’m going to marry Jack Marshall, and there’s nothing you can say or do to stop me. He’s the ideal husband for me. A multi-millionaire. A self-confessed workaholic. And a man who doesn’t want children. What more could I possibly hope for? Now, I really must go. Jack will be out of the bathroom by now.’
‘But you can’t leave me like this,’ Gerald groaned.
When Felicia laughed, Gerald told her where she could go in decidedly obscene terminology. Felicia laughed again before opening the glass door and going back inside. Gerald must have quickly followed, because all of a sudden the balcony was very silent and very, very cold.
A shudder of revulsion ran through Hannah. Now the matter was settled. She could not let Jack marry that revolting woman. She wouldn’t say anything tonight, but first thing tomorrow morning she would take Jack aside and tell him all she had overheard…
I would have, too, Hannah reminded herself valiantly now, as she glanced over at her sleeping boss again. If Jack had come straight downstairs into the office this morning. If he hadn’t gone off instead to the site of the exhibition village Marshall Homes were building at Cherrybrook. And if that damned tile hadn’t hit him on the head, knocking him unconscious and obliterating the last six weeks from his mind.
Lord, she could still see the shock on Jack’s face when she’d announced their new relationship. If his head hadn’t been aching so much, he might have sought to question her further. But his pain, plus his obsessive hatred of hospitals, had obviously kept all the questions she had seen in his eyes from finding voice at that time. His one and only objective had been getting out of there. Then, once in her car, the sedating painkiller the doctor had prescribed had taken over and he’d drifted off to sleep. He hadn’t even woken when she’d made the stops required to complete her outrageous plan.
Now Hannah began to wonder just how long he was going to be out of it. Then she began to worry that it might not be the drugs keeping Jack asleep. Maybe it was a case of severe concussion? Maybe he was going to fall into a coma? Maybe he—
‘Oh, hell!’ she swore, slamming her foot down hard on the brake as the back of a mud-spattered semi-trailer suddenly materialised through the misty rain. Everyone and everything shot forward when the brakes gripped in the wet, the car slewing wildly. A collision was avoided by mere inches.
Jack was instantly but dazedly awake. ‘What in blazes?’ he growled, then shot a most disconcerting glance over at Hannah. It was part-pain, part-disorientation, part-disbelief. Gradually the fog seemed to clear from his eyes and he frowned at her. ‘What in hell do you think you’re doing, Hannah?’
Oh, my God, she thought. He’s got his memory back.
