Love...Under Different Skies (19 page)

This whole thing feels extremely awkward, and I really wish I was back home right now with my husband and daughter. They’re probably settling down to a nice dinner of burger and chips while I’m sitting here about to eat God knows what on a bed of green pasta.

Eventually the waiter disappears and Alan turns his attention back to me. “I ordered us some white wine to go with the meal. One glass is okay when you’re driving, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” I don’t normally drink anything when driving but have to admit that one glass of the glorious white stuff will probably calm my nerves a bit. I am feeling decidedly jumpy right now for reasons I’m not able to fathom, thanks to a combination of hunger and fatigue.

The waiter returns and pours me a glass of the sweetest wine I’ve ever tasted in my life.

“Good isn’t it?” Alan says when he notices how wide-eyed I’ve gone.

“Yes,
very
,” I reply, taking another sip. There’s every chance a bottle of the stuff costs as much as it would take to feed a small African village for a year.

Alan puts his elbows on the table and laces his fingers. “So how are things going with you, then, Laura?”

“Fine thanks.”

“Everything okay at home, is it?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I was chatting to Jake the other day and he mentioned you might be having a few problems.”

Blast
. I knew I shouldn’t have confided in my shop manager. Jake is a nice guy, but he can’t keep a secret if his life depended on it. During several idle conversations at work over the past few months, he’s ruined three movies for me by giving away the endings, told me all about Kathy the shop assistant’s predilection for sex with strangers, and disturbed me greatly when describing his mother’s bowel problems.

I’d made the mistake of off-loading my troubles at home onto him, and my tales of marital distress have obviously gotten back to Alan Brookes. I should learn to keep my mouth shut, but when I’m having a problem with something I like to talk about it, and Jake’s the only person around most of the time at work who I can do that with.

If I were back in the UK, Mel and Tim would have been getting an earful about my relationship with Jamie, but as they’re ten thousand miles away Jake has become an unwitting substitute—and not a very good one apparently, thanks to his loose lips.

“Um, well, my husband’s had some problems finding a job,” I tell Alan, fiddling with the stem of my wineglass.

“Gotcha. A writer isn’t he?”

“Yes. We thought he’d find more freelance work, but there’s not been much about for him.”

“Yeah, sounds about right. A lot of you Poms come over thinking work is easy to get, but if there’re any Australians who need the job, they’ll always get picked over a foreigner. Not many jobs going round the Gold Coast area in general, to be honest.”

“That’s right. It’s really not Jamie’s fault, but it’s still hard for him…”

“With you bringing home the bacon and him out of work? Yeah, I can understand that. A fella likes to be the one in charge, doesn’t he? Still it must be hard on you as well, Laura.” Alan provides me with the softest, most sympathetic smile I’ve ever seen him produce.

“It is, Alan, it really is.” I bang my hand on the table in frustration. “I just wish he’d stop being such a child about it all. It’s not my fault if he can’t find work, is it? But all I get is him moaning at me nearly every day. It’s really starting to—” Aghast, I realise what I’m saying. Here I am at a business meeting, whining about Jamie and my personal life. It’s completely inappropriate. “Sorry, Alan, you don’t need to hear all of this.”

“No worries, Laura.” He extends a hand and covers mine for a moment. “My employees’ happiness is very important to me, and I always like to know if they’ve got a problem.”

The warmth of his hand is initially comforting, but when he doesn’t remove it again straightaway, I begin to feel awkward. I have to withdraw my hand from under his instead, going for my wineglass a little quicker than is strictly necessary.

Alan sits back again and sloshes wine around in his glass before necking the rest of it like he’s swigging from a beer bottle. “Yep, relationships are a bugger sometimes. The wife and I have our moments, I can tell you.”

Please don’t, Alan. This conversation has skirted into some very personal territory and I’m starting to get weirded out by the whole thing.

“Not about me earning more than she does, of course.”

Oh bugger it.

“As far as Valerie’s concerned, my bank balance is my most attractive feature.” Alan pours himself more wine. “I sometimes think she’d prefer it if I were just a walking ATM that produced money out of my arse whenever she needed it!”

Oh boy.

Now we’re swimming in some rough waters. I try to think of something positive to say. “I’m sure it’s not just about your money, Alan. She’s your wife, I’m sure she loves you.”

Alan snorts derisively. “Yeah, loves our landscape gardener Charlie as well, if my next-door neighbour is to be believed.”

Oh fucking hell.

“We’re barely speaking these days,” he continues. “She lives down there in Sydney, lording it over the social scene and spending all my money, while I stay up here in our holiday apartment in Burleigh Heads wishing divorce wasn’t so expensive. I don’t know how things got this bad between us, but I can hazard a few guesses.”

Good grief.

I think he’s about to give me a blow-by-blow account of his marriage breakup. And there was me worried about mentioning the grief I’m having with Jamie.

My life is saved by the waiter coming back with our food. He plonks a bowl of ring-shaped tortellini pasta down in front of me, which is topped off with what looks like mushrooms, red pepper, and some other unidentifiable vegetables in a rich red sauce. It smells divine.

Alan has ordered spaghetti with a similar-coloured sauce on top. “Hope you enjoy yours, Laura. It’s got a bit of a kick to it, so I hope you don’t mind your food a bit spicy.”

This could be tricky. I’m not a fan of spicy food. My digestive system just doesn’t get on well with it.

I’d better be polite and give it a go, though. The meal probably cost a week’s salary. “I’m sure it’s lovely,” I tell him with a doubtful smile and gather up a forkful. Praying to whatever benign deities may be watching, I put the food in my mouth and chew…

Sighs of relief all round. It’s a little spicy, but also very tasty. I can easily cope with this, providing I eat it nice and slow, chasing it with water when the taste of the chili gets a little too much. Alan tucks into his food as well, with none of the care I’m putting into the process.

“This is great,” he says after his first few mouthfuls. “I can’t remember the last time I had such a nice time with a woman in here.”

Oh strewth, he’s about to bring his wife up again.

I can see him working up to say something else about her. From the way his eyes have gone all doe-like I can only assume it’s going to be emotional for him—and cringe-inducing for me. I fork some pasta into my mouth and baton down the mental hatches.

“You really are a beautiful woman, Laura.”

What?

“What?” I say round my mouthful of tortellini.

“Yeah, absolutely stunning, I’d say.”

I start to chew very quickly and look down at my plate. Suddenly its contents have become
extremely
interesting and worthy of constant study.

“You’re a free spirit as well. There aren’t many women who would be brave enough to wear a swimming costume like the one you had on when we went down to the beach.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. I can’t believe he remembers that.

“That day really showed me what an incredible person you are,” Alan continues. “You remind me of Val when we first met.”

My, this tortellini really is wonderful.

“She was a free spirit back then, full of life. Not anymore, though. Now she’s just old and bitter.”

I wonder how they get the meat stuffed into it like that?

“You remind me so much of her when we were young.”

It must be quite a tricky process.

“But you’re even better than her, Laura! You mix that free spirit with a strong head for business.”

You wouldn’t want to put too much in because it’ll burst the pasta, but then if you don’t put enough in, you won’t be able to taste the meat properly.

“I wanted to tell you all this, Laura. That’s why I invited you to dinner tonight.”

Oh look! A lovely big bit of pepper on this piece of tortellini. Let’s see what it tastes like, shall we?

“The truth is, Laura…”

Crunch. Crunch.

“You see, the truth is…”

Crunch. Cru—hang on, this isn’t pepper.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

It’s a bit of fucking chili!

As the intense heat hits the roof of my mouth, I instinctively spit what remains of the chili and pasta out, spraying the man who’s just declared his undying love for me in half-digested food.

Coughing like a lunatic, I throw water down my gullet in an attempt to quench the fire.

Gasping, I see Alan clean off his grimacing face with a napkin. “Christ. That wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for.”

“Sor—sorry!” I say and take another gulp of water.

Sadly, I also manage to gulp a load of air at the same time, causing me to then produce a chili-flavoured burp of Homer Simpson–like proportions. Well, if you want to put a man off you romantically, spitting food at him and then belching in his face is as good a way of doing it as any, I suppose.

Alan waves a hand in front of his face. “Strewth. Better out than in!”

Pushing the plate away from me, I take a deep breath, another gulp of water, and attempt to sit up as straight as I can. “I think it might be best,” I say, mustering what remains of my dignity, “if I went home now, Alan.”

“Oh, okay,” he replies sullenly.

“I apologise for gobbing my food onto you.”

“No worries. I shouldn’t have ordered something so spicy.”

“Quite possibly.”

The doe-eyed look returns. “You will think about what I said, though, won’t you? About my feelings for you?” His heartfelt, romantic tone is ruined somewhat by the blob of masticated pasta still stuck to his forehead.

“This is all…all very strange.” I actually manage to produce a scowl. “I thought this was going to be a business meeting.”

“I know. I should have been honest with you months ago. I really do love you, Laura.” His voice has gone up a couple of octaves.

“No you bloody don’t!”

“Yes I do.”

“You only think that because I remind you of your wife when she was younger. You just told me that.”

Alan stamps one foot under the table. “That’s not it. I love you!”

Oh for crying out loud, now I’m dealing with a love-struck teenager rather than a multimillionaire businessman. My tone of voice changes into what can only be described as parent mode.

“Now you look here, Alan Brookes,” I say, waggling a finger. “You brought me here under false pretences. You can’t just spring this kind of thing on a girl. You’re my boss.”

“Sorry, Laura.”

“What?”

“I said I’m sorry, Laura. I just couldn’t think of any other way to come out with it.”

“You shouldn’t have come out with it
at all
. We’re both happ—we’re both married!”

“But I can’t help the way I feel.”

I look at his puppy dog eyes and frustration boils over. This is
completely
unfair.

If this was a man who didn’t write my monthly cheques, I’d be able to deal with the situation easily. I’d simply make it bloody clear that I wasn’t interested in him in that way and show him my heels.

But Alan Brookes is my boss, and apparently a sixteen-year-old boy again. Teenage boys don’t take well to rejection. If I storm out of here, I could be cooking my own goose. Alan can fire me at a whim if he so chooses. Therefore, despite the fact that I’d like to just tell this lovesick idiot that I have no interest in him, I’ll have to soften my approach a bit—unless I want to join Jamie huddled over the job ads every day.

“Look, Alan,” I say in a softer tone. “I’m very, very flattered by all of this. You’re a wonderful, handsome man.”

That’s good, girl. Massage his ego a bit.

“But I have a husband and a daughter to think about.”

He hangs his head. “I know. This is totally wrong of me.”

“No, it isn’t.”

I see a spark of hope in his eyes.

Shit
. That was the wrong thing to say. I may have gone a bit over the top here in my desire to keep him sweet. “I mean, it was a lovely gesture,” I say trying to backtrack.

It’s no good though, the damage is done. That light in his eyes isn’t going out now. I figure I’d better get out of this before I bury myself in an even deeper hole.

“I’m going to leave now, Alan. This is all very confusing and I need some time on my own. Will I see you at the meeting with the distributors on Friday?” I add.

“Yes, I’ll be there.”

“Good.” I stand up. “Well, I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.” I point at his forehead. “You may want to check your face in the mirror. Good night.”

With that, I walk off towards the exit, passing Baldo without so much as a glance.

By the time I get back to the car, I’m fully in shock. My boss has just told me he’s in love with me. I responded by pebble-dashing his face with red-hot pasta, and I chastised him like he was a naughty schoolboy caught setting fire to worms in the backyard with a magnifying glass. Then I changed tack completely in an effort at self-preservation and managed to lead him on. Talk about your mixed signals.

Where does this leave me now, Mum? I have to keep working with this man, but how am I supposed to after what transpired this evening?

I know. I’ll do what any self-respecting woman would do in similar circumstances: completely ignore the issue and hope it goes away. Yeah, that’s constructive, isn’t it? The next time I see Alan, I will be all business and pretend like today never happened. With any luck, he will do the same thing. As long as we’re never in the same room together alone, everything should be fine.