A Man Without Mercy

But privately she’d expressed the opinion to Nigel that Jack was a pain in the neck to work for, a driven workaholic with impossibly high standards which, whilst admirable in one way, could be very trying. Of course, he did pay very well, but that wasn’t going to help him where Vivienne was concerned. Money had never interested her all that much, possibly because she’d inherited plenty of her own when her mother had died a couple of years ago.

‘If you want some advice,’ Nigel called after Jack as he headed for the door, ‘Actually taking Vivienne some flowers—not red roses, mind you—might improve your chances of success.’

Though Nigel seriously doubted it.

CHAPTER TWO

VIVIENNE’S ADDRESS WAS easy to find. It was located in Neutral Bay, only a short drive from Classic Design’s office in North Sydney. Finding a florist first was not quite so easy. Neither was deciding what flowers to buy. By the time Jack parked outside the two-storey red-brick building which housed Vivienne’s apartment, an hour had passed since he’d left Nigel.

Not a man who liked wasting time, it was a somewhat exasperated Jack who climbed out from behind the wheel of his black Porsche, carrying the basket of pink and white carnations the florist had finally convinced him to buy.

A sudden autumn shower had Jack bolting up the narrow front path and into the small lobby of the apartment block. Thankfully, he didn’t get too wet, just a few drops on his shoulders and hair; nothing that couldn’t be easily remedied.

There wasn’t any security panel anywhere, he noted as he smoothed back his hair. The building was quite old, possibly federation, though in reasonably good condition. He pressed the brass door-bell, hearing only a faint ring coming from inside. No one came to answer straight away, giving rise to the annoying possibility that Vivienne wasn’t at home. Jack now regretted not ringing first. He had her mobile number in his phone. He’d just presumed she’d be at home after what Nigel had said.

‘I’m a bloody idiot,’ he muttered under his breath as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and brought Vivienne’s number up on the menu. He was about to call when he heard the dead lock being turned. It wasn’t Vivienne who opened the door, however, but a plump, middle-aged woman with short blonde hair and a kind face.

‘Yes?’ she said. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I hope so,’ Jack replied, switching off his phone and slipping it back into his jeans pocket. ‘Is Vivienne at home?’

‘Well, yes, but...um...she’s taking a bath at the moment. I presume those flowers are for her? If you give them to me, I’ll make sure she gets them.’

‘I’d prefer to give them to her personally, if you don’t mind.’

The woman frowned at him. ‘And who might you be?’

‘The name’s Jack. Jack Stone. Vivienne’s worked for me on a number of occasions.’

‘Ah yes. Mr Stone. Vivienne has mentioned you once or twice.’

Jack was taken aback by the dry tone in the woman’s voice when she said that. He wondered momentarily what Vivienne had said about him, but then dismissed the thought as irrelevant.

‘And you are?’ he shot back.

‘Marion Havers. I live in number two,’ she said, nodding towards the adjoining door. ‘Vivienne and I are good friends as well as neighbours. Look, I presume since you’ve brought her flowers that you know what’s happened.’

‘Actually, I didn’t know a thing till I went to Classic Design’s office this morning to hire Vivienne for a job. Nigel explained the situation, saying how upset Vivienne was, so I thought I’d come round and see how she was.’

‘How very kind of you,’ the woman said with a soft sigh. ‘As you can imagine, the poor girl’s devastated. Can’t eat. Can’t sleep. She did get some sleeping tablets from the doctor, but they don’t seem to be working too well. Anyway, after this latest catastrophe, I think she’ll be needing some serious anti-depressants.’

Jack had never agreed with the way people turned to medication to solve life’s problems.

‘What Vivienne needs, Marion,’ he said sternly, ‘is to keep busy. Which is the main reason I’m here: I was hoping to persuade her to come and work for me.’

Marion looked at him as though he were delusional, but then she shrugged. ‘You can try, I suppose. But I don’t like your chances.’

Frankly, he thought he stood a darned good chance. Okay, so Vivienne was very upset at the moment, but beneath her distress she was still the same sensible young woman he’d come to respect enormously. She’d soon see the logic in his proposal.