A Man Without Mercy

‘Then you should have called in my company to do the work,’ Jack said. ‘Trust me when I tell you the carpenter I’ve booked will be at your door bang on seven. He knows that if he’s late I won’t be hiring him again.’

‘I’ll have to see it to believe it.’

‘Then you will. I’ll be on time, too. Just make sure you’re up and ready.’

‘You don’t have to worry about me,’ came her rueful reply. ‘I’m nothing if not punctual.’

Jack frowned at the underlying depression in her words, anger quickly joining his concern. That bastard had done a real number on Vivienne’s self-esteem. If he ever came across him again, he’d flatten him, and to hell with the consequences!

‘You sound tired,’ he said. ‘Come on; drink up your coffee and I’ll take you home. I can see you’re in need of some serious sleep.’

Vivienne opened her mouth to tell him that he wasn’t her boss—yet—so he could stop with the orders. But then she realised that he was only trying to be kind. He just didn’t know any other way but bossy and controlling. So she drank her coffee and let him drive her home. Once there, she declined his offer to walk her to the door, but he just ignored her and did it anyway. Vivienne decided not to argue. She was beyond arguing.

‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’ Jack asked as she went about slowly inserting her key into the lock.

She sighed as she turned and glanced up at him. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said somewhat wearily. ‘Thanks for the very nice lunch, Jack. I did thank you for the flowers before, didn’t I?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. I’m not quite all there at the moment.’

‘I can see that. But you’ll be better tomorrow. And even better the day after that.’

‘I certainly hope so.’

‘I know so. All you have to do is do what Dr Jack tells you. Till tomorrow morning, then,’ he said, giving Vivienne no warning before his head bent to deliver a goodbye peck.

It was just a platonic kiss but, when his lips made contact with hers, Vivienne’s heart stopped beating altogether. Thank God he spun away immediately and strode off without a backward glance. Because if he’d looked down into her face after lifting his head he would have seen something not so platonic in her eyes.

‘Crazy,’ she said with another sigh. ‘I’m definitely going crazy.’

CHAPTER SIX

‘I’M A BLOODY idiot,’ Jack muttered to himself as he jumped into his car, slammed it into gear and accelerated away.

He knew he should go back to the office. There was always work to be done. Instead, he drove back down to Balmoral Beach where he turned off his mobile phone then sat in his car for a ridiculously long time, thinking. Then, when he couldn’t stand trying to work things out in his head a moment longer, he did something even more futile: he drove to his mother’s house.

She was home, of course. His mother was always home nowadays, recently having added agoraphobia to her long list of anxiety disorders. The only time she’d been out of the house during the past year was on Mother’s Day, and for her birthday back in February. Jack had tried to get her to go to Vanuatu with him in March but to no avail.

‘Jack!’ she exclaimed when she opened the front door, looking surprisingly well, he noted. And very nicely dressed. Sometimes, when he came to visit, he found her still in her dressing gown in the middle of the day. ‘It’s not like you to visit on a weekday,’ she added. ‘There’s nothing wrong, is there?’

‘Nope,’ he lied. No point in telling his mother about his personal problems. It would only upset her. ‘I was in the area for work and decided to pop in and see you.’

‘How nice. Come in, then. Would you like some coffee?’ she asked him as he followed her down to the kitchen.

‘I won’t say no,’ he replied.

The kitchen was super-tidy today, he noted. His mother had always been a fastidious housekeeper when they’d been growing up, but after his father had died you could always tell how depressed she was by the state of her kitchen. Clearly, if the shining sink and benchtops were anything to go by, his mother was far from depressed at the moment.

‘You going out somewhere?’ he asked as he sat down at the large wooden kitchen table.

His mother sent him a sheepish look from where she was standing by the kettle. ‘Actually, yes, I am. But not till five. Jim next door—you know Jim, don’t you?—has asked me out to dinner. We’re going to a restaurant way up at Palm Beach. There aren’t too many restaurants open on a Monday night, it seems.’